A SEARCH OF HIS BOOKS confirmed Martinus’ belief that he had no cantrips powerful enough to lift the veil from Holger’s mind. But with a few passes and some foul-smelling fumes, he provided the Dane a new face. A mirror showed Holger his own countenance turned dark and rough-looking; his hair and the short yellow beard he had grown were now black, his eyes brown. Alianora sighed. “I like ye better as ye were,” she said.
“When you wish to resume your natural appearance, call on Belgor Melanchos and this will whiff away,” said Martinus. “But beware of getting too close to any sacred object. The sword Cortana, for instance, will dissolve the spell too. Not that the sin involved in this particular thaumaturgy is more than venial, but it does have pagan elements, and the holy influence—Anyway, keep your distance from blessed things. Inverse square law, you know.”
“Better fix up my horse,” said Holger. “He’s rather distinctive too.”
“My dear fellow!” sputtered Martinus.
“Please,” puffed Alianora. She waved her lashes at him.
“Oh, very well, very well. Bring him in. But mind he behaves himself.”
Papillon almost filled the shop. He emerged as a big chestnut destrier. While he was at it, Martinus also transformed Holger’s shield. When asked what new device he wanted, the Dane could only think of Ivanhoe, so he got an uprooted tree. He himself, because of being involved in the illusion, could only see these changes in a mirror.
“Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you what I’ve been able to learn,” said the magician. “Not before noon, mind you. These backwoodsmen keep ungodly hours.”
On the way to the inn they passed the church. Holger stopped his horse. He wanted to go in and pray. But no, he dared not with this disguise. More of the unknown knight? He must have been pious in his fashion. It was hard to fare back to darkness without having received the Host… Holger kicked Papillon into a trot.
By this time night had fallen and they groped through unlighted streets to the tavern. A plump, cheerful-looking man met them in the courtyard. “Lodging for yourselves? Aye, sir, I’ve a fine room which has even pillowed crowned heads.”
Which I hope didn’t lie uneasy because of bedbugs, Holger thought. “Two rooms,” he said.
“Oh, I’ll snark in the stable wi’ the horses,” leered Hugi.
“We still want two rooms,” said Holger.
As they dismounted, Alianora leaned close against him. He caught the faint sunny odor. of her hair. “Why, dear lord?” she whispered. “We’ve slept side by side in the glens.”
“Yes,” he muttered. “But I don’t trust myself any more.”
She clapped her hands together. “Oh, good!”
“I—I—Hellfire! Two rooms, I said!”
The landlord shrugged. When he thought no one was looking, he was seen to tap his forehead.
The chambers were small, with no more furniture than a pallet, but seemed clean enough. Holger wondered how he would pay. He’d had too much else on his mind to remember he was broke. And Alianora, the woods child, might have forgotten about that aspect. Furthermore, gossip of his original entry would have spread through the town; someone would be sure to deduce that the dark-complexioned knight had gotten his face from Martinus, and perhaps that talk would reach the Saracen’s ears. Well, he’d just have to cross his bridges as he came to them.
He shed his armor and donned his best tunic and hose, but kept his sword by him. When he emerged, he met Alianora. He was rather glad the corridor was too dark for her to see his expression. “Shall we go eat?” he asked lamely.
“Aye.” Her words were a little choked. Suddenly she caught his hands. “Holger, what is ’t ye dinna like about me?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I like you very much.”
“But that I be a swan-may, wild and unchristened? I could change that,” she gulped. “I could learn to be a lady.”
“I—Alianora—You know I’ve got to get home. In spite of what they say, I’ve no real place in this world. So sometime I’ll be leaving you. Forever. It’d be hard on both of us if… if I took your heart with me, and you kept mine here.”