“Fair enough, if somewhat inconvenient,” Kaligir agreed. He looked down, as if just now noticing he held a mug, and took a sip.
“And finally,” Gresh said, holding up three fingers. “I refuse to participate in the murder of half a million speaking beings. Aren’t we taught that what made humans more than mere animals was that the gods taught us to speak? Well, spriggans can speak, too. They can make and keep promises. They can understand far more than you might think. They were bright enough to figure out things about the mirror that we might never have guessed. If they hadn’t told me what they knew, I might not have guessed as much of the mirror’s true nature as I have. I don’t say they’re human-they’re stupid and annoying and troublesome, and I don’t want them in my house-but they are thinking, speaking creatures, and killing them indiscriminately is wrong. I won’t be a part of it. Destroying the mirror might kill them-so I won’t do that. I know better than to think I can stop the Wizards’ Guild from doing whatever it pleases, but I will do what I can to keep you from exterminating the spriggans. I’m sure you can find ways to kill individuals who are especially troublesome or dangerous, if you must-I could even suggest a few spells that might help. I’ll do nothing to stop that, any more than I’ll stop a magistrate from hanging a murderer. But I won’t help you to wipe them all out, guilty and innocent alike.”
Kaligir took a long, thoughtful swig of beer before replying, “It seems to me that your first and third reasons contradict each other. Destroying the mirror cannot both multiply and exterminate the little pests.”
“There’s a contradiction, yes. That’s because I don’t know which is true. Destroying the mirror might kill them, or it might multiply them infinitely. I don’t know. And neither do you.”
“Not yet,” Kaligir admitted.
Gresh nodded. “Well, then-I’ve explained my position. I delivered the mirror. I ensured it would not produce more spriggans. I have fulfilled my end of our contract; I expect the Guild to honor its end. I trust my shop will be permitted to resume normal business operations immediately? And my fee will be paid promptly? And that my bill for expenses will be honored, when I have prepared it?”
“The shop can re-open, of course, and your expenses will be paid. We will expect the return of all remaining powders and potions. When we have verified that the mirror is truly in Tobas’s possession, and that it really is the correct mirror, Enral’s Eternal Youth will be cast on you.”
Gresh smiled. Returning the powders and potions was not ideal, but otherwise he appeared to have won on all points. “Excellent!” he said. “Thank you!” He lifted a hand in salute, regretting that he had given Esmera his mug.
Tobas, Esmera, and Kaligir all drank in response. Kaligir wiped foam from his beard and said, “I do have a few questions, though. You said you have ensured the mirror would not produce any more spriggans. How did you do that?”
“That’s a long story.”
“And Tobas, you said in your message that you were not bringing your wives-it’s of no consequence, but in that case, why is Karanissa here?”
Tobas had been caught with his mug to his lips; he spluttered. “That’s not Karanissa,” he said.
“It’s not?” He turned to Esmera.
“My name is Esmera,” she said, and curtsied.
Kaligir stared at her for a moment. Then he looked at Gresh. “Is she part of your long story?”
“Yes, she is,” Gresh said.
“Then I think I would like to hear the tale now.”
“Of course; if you would join me?” He gestured at the velvet chairs.
There were not enough seats for all four of them. Esmera said, “Shall I go help Twilfa?”
“If you would,” Gresh agreed.
Then he sat down with the two wizards and began explaining everything that had happened over the past several days.
By the time he finished, all three of them had consumed a mug or two of beer, as well as a modest amount of the bread, cheese, and fruit the two women had delivered. From what Gresh saw of them, Twilfa and Esmera appeared to be becoming fast friends-they were laughing happily at each other’s jokes as they brought out the food and drink.
He also noticed that a spriggan had slipped into the shop and was listening from a nearby shelf.
“So you believe that there is a corresponding mirror in another reality,” Kaligir said thoughtfully. “And you’ve convinced the inhabitants to seal it away in a box.”
“Yes.”
“And what happens if it is taken out of that box?”
“Then we would once again have reflected spriggans emerging into the World,” Gresh said. “Which is why I did not leave the mirror in the spriggans’ possession-I wanted it somewhere we could keep a watch on it.”
Kaligir nodded. “You would send messages by writing them on spriggans, and using the Spell of Reversal, reflect those into the spriggans’ realm.”
“That’s one approach,” Gresh said. “After seeing what happened to Esmera, though, I can suggest another-cast Lirrim’s Rectification on a spriggan, and it should become a part of its original in that other realm, providing a direct and more efficient means of communication. This would also, incidentally, render the spriggan vulnerable to ordinary weapons and magic; it might be a suitable punishment for troublemakers.” He looked up at the spriggan on the shelf. “You might want to spread the word about that.”
The spriggan squealed and ducked out of sight behind a stuffed owl.
“That’s a very interesting possibility,” Kaligir remarked, as he glanced at the now-empty bit of shelf.
“There are a good many other possibilities here, as well,” Gresh said. “It seems to me that it should be possible to put the spriggans to use-yes, they’re stupid and clumsy and absent-minded, but they can be made to cooperate. I think they might be very handy as messengers, for example.”
“Or spies,” Kaligir murmured thoughtfully.
Gresh did not comment on that; he had thought of it himself, but had doubts about how well it would work.
“Then the outcome is satisfactory?” Tobas asked. “Even though there are still half a million spriggans in the World?”
“We’ve survived them this long,” Kaligir said. “Now that we know more of their true nature-assuming that Gresh is correct-I think we ought to be able to manage them.”
“Then might I ask about my fee, for services rendered? The tapestry?”
Kaligir blinked. “Oh, that’s between you and Telurinon. I don’t see any reason that it shouldn’t be started, though.”
“Oh.” Tobas looked annoyed, but said nothing more.
“And Esmera?” Gresh asked. “Does the Guild have any interest in her?”
“The reflection of Tobas’s wife? No-as far as I can see, she’s just another animation, like Lady Nuvielle’s miniature dragon, or those teapots so many people like. She’s none of the Guild’s concern unless she starts casting spells herself.”
“She’s a witch,” Gresh pointed out. “She does cast spells.”
“But not wizardry. Witchcraft is the Sisterhood’s problem, not the Guild’s.” He stood and held out a hand. “I believe we’re done here, then.”
Gresh rose, as well, and took the wizard’s hand.
“Thank you for your services,” Kaligir said. “Send me the bill for expenses at your earliest convenience, and I’ll see that it’s paid. Give me the unused powders and potions; I’ll take those with me. Then I’ll see about having Enral’s Eternal Youth cast.”
Gresh nodded. He crossed to the bottomless bag to retrieve the rather battered box that held the remaining jars.
Five minutes later the doorbell jingled as Kaligir departed, box in hand.
“That went more smoothly than I feared it might,” Gresh remarked.
“Yes, it did,” Tobas agreed, picking up the flying carpet. “I suspect that there’s been discussion within the Guild we weren’t privy to, and that worked out in our favor. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to go now and see if I can get back to Ethshar of the Sands before dark. I want to get that tapestry started!”