Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [74]
Caladnei blinked. "I've been here before. Just once, when Van-gey was testing me-but then he cloaked it from me somehow. I've never been able to reach it again."
Myrmeen Lhal was shooting wary glances in all directions, her sword half-drawn. She gave Elminster an enthusiastically venomous look, so he smiled and blew her a kiss-which turned her glare stony.
They were standing in a flagstone-floored cellar, the cross-vaultings of its low, arched ceiling perhaps a handspan overhead. Ahead, beyond two littered tables and a hoopback chair be-draped with some rather dirty towels, was what looked like a kitchen: a scarred marble counter heaped high with dirty dishes and pans, flanking two sinks. Above the counter was a window, deep-set in a ferny bank and looking out through a few trailing vines over a pleasant deep-forest glade.
Standing at the counter with a bowl of almond butter in one hand, a fat loaf of bread under one arm, and his other hand wielding a knife that was scooping and slapping between bowl and the sliced-off, exposed end of the loaf, was an all-too-familiar man.
He was stooped and fat and wore dirty black robes and sandals. His wild gray-white beard flowed down over his chest and reached in every other direction, too. The mouth hidden somewhere in the midst of it was hard at work creating the reason he hadn't heard the ringing sound of Myrmeen half-drawing her blade, or Caladnei's softly wondering words.
Vangerdahast the wizard was singing a bawdy song about a lass from Arabel-Myrmeen's lips tightened-who'd fallen under his spell-Caladnei frowned-and was now begging for more… despite certain wizards growing sore…
Vangey's singing voice was atrocious-a flat, rough wreck of a tone cloaked in the exaggeratedly fruity stylings he'd no doubt heard the haughtiest bards offer at Court (though they'd probably kept to one key, something the former Mage Royal was in no danger of doing), and he kept breaking off his song to choke, cough, and spit enthusiastically into the sink.
His knife was layering a finger-thick and still growing deposit of almond butter onto the end of the bread-loaf. Its swirl of oily brown was already bedecked with sprinklings of parsley, chopped garlic, and dill… and Elminster grinned slyly as he looked sidelong at Caladnei's horrified face and watched it tighten in revolted anticipation of what her former mentor would most probably do next-which was, yes, to start to gnaw on the spread end of the loaf without bothering to slice it off or find a plate-though where a clean one might be lurking, in all the clutter, was itself a puzzling challenge-or, for that matter, make any sort of nodded offering to the gods.
What Vangerdahast did instead was launch into a second and filthier verse, through a mouthful of almond butter and bread while rocking on his heels and rhythmically conducting his imaginary wanton lass as he sang. In this manner, he turned away from the window just enough to catch sight of three visitors he'd certainly never expected to see standing in his empty pantry instead of the strongchests of provisions whose arrival he was expecting.
He blinked, rocked back to face the window while singing the next line, then turned again to frown at the pantry-perhaps in hopes the three were some sort of momentary mind-dream or the result of recently emptying the bottle he now plucked up from the sink to glare at.
The three figures did not go away-even after he spat the gooey remnants of almond-buttered bread at them in sudden fear and mortification, following these offerings with a roared, "How by all the Seven feldurking Sisters did you get here?"
"Magic," Elminster replied brightly with the broadest of impish grins.
Vangerdahast's eyes blazed. He flung bread in one direction and knife in the other, letting the empty wine bottle crash back down into the sink. In the next motion he raised trembling arms and took a step toward the Old Mage as if he were going to try to strangle Elminster. At last he let