WIZARD AT LARGE. Terry Brooks

“What in the world is that?” Ben muttered and reached down to pick it up. He studied it wordlessly for a moment, hefting it, peering into it. “Doesn’t appear to be anything inside,” he said. “It feels empty.”

“High Lord; I have a thought!” Questor said suddenly. “This bottle and Abernathy may have been exchanged—transposed, one for the other! Transpose sounds like transform and transfer, and I think the magic’s are close enough that it is possible!”

Ben frowned. “Abernathy was exchanged for this bottle? Why?”

Questor started to reply and stopped. “I don’t know. But I am quite positive that is what happened.”

“Does this help determine where Abernathy is now?” Willow asked.

Questor shook his head. “But it gives me a starting point. If I can trace the source of the bottle, then perhaps…” He trailed off thoughtfully. “Odd. This bottle seems familiar.”

“You’ve seen it somewhere before?” Ben wanted to know immediately.

The wizard frowned. “I am not sure. It seems as if I might have and at the same time it seems I must be mistaken. I do not quite understand it.”

Along with just about everything else, Ben thought rather unkindly. “Well, I don’t give a hoot about this bottle,” he declared, “but I do care about Abernathy and the medallion. So let’s find a way to get them back. Whatever it takes, Questor, you do it and do it quickly. This mess is your responsibility.”

“I realize that, High Lord. You need not remind me. It was not my fault, however, that Abernathy tried to move out of the incantation’s sphere of influence, that the dust flew into my face when I tried to stop him, and that I thereupon sneezed. The magic would have worked as it was intended to work if I had not…”

Ben impatiently brushed the explanation away with a wave of his hand. “Just find him, Questor. Just find him.”

Questor Thews bowed curtly. “Yes, High Lord. I will begin at once!” He turned and started from the room, muttering, “He might still be in Landover; I will begin my search here. The Landsview should help. He should be safe for the moment in any event, I imagine—safe even if we do not reach him immediately. Oh! Not that there is any reason he shouldn’t be safe, High Lord,” he added, turning hastily back. “No, no, we have time.” He started away again. “The sneeze was not my fault, drat it! I had the magic perfectly under my control, and… oh, what is the point of belaboring the matter, I will simply start looking…”

He was almost through the door, when Ben called after him, “Don’t you want this bottle?”

“What?” Questor glanced back, then hastily shook his head. “Later, perhaps. I have no immediate need for it. Odd, how familiar… I wish my memory were a little bit better on these things. Ah, well, it cannot mean much if I cannot summon even a faint recollection…”

He disappeared from view, still muttering—the Don Quixote of Landover, searching for dragons and finding only windmills. Ben watched him go in frustrated silence.

It was difficult to think about anything beyond the lost medallion and the missing Abernathy, but there was nothing to be done about either until Questor reported back. So while Willow went into the gardens to pick fresh flowers for dinner and the kobolds went back to their work about the castle, Ben forced himself to resume consideration of the latest complaint of the G’home Gnomes.

Intriguingly enough, the gnomes were no longer so anxious to pursue the matter.

“Tell me whatever you have left to tell me about the trolls,” Ben ordered, resigned to the worst. He settled himself wearily in his chair and waited.

“Such a beautiful bottle, High Lord,” said Fillip instead.

“Such a pretty thing,” echoed Sot;

“Forget the bottle,” Ben advised, remembering for the first time since Questor had departed that it was still there, sitting where he had put it down on the floor next to him. He glanced at it in irritation. “I’d like to.”

“But we have never seen one like it,” persisted Fillip.

“Never,” agreed Sot.

“Can we touch it, High Lord?” asked Fillip.