Tanya Huff - Be It Ever So Humble

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Be It Ever So Humble

by Tanya Huff

"So, got any dirt on this place?" Magdelene asked the gold and black lizard who was sunning itself on

a nearby rock. The lizard, looking more like a beautifully crafted piece of jewelry than a living creature,

merely flicked its inner eyelid closed and pretended to be asleep. Children with rocks or nets it had to do

something about. Young women in donkey carts who asked stupid questions could safely be ignored.

Magdelene studied the little village nestled along the curve of its natural harbor and chewed reflectively

on a strand of chestnut hair. It looked like a nice place, but, as much as she wanted to settle down, as

tired as she was of constantly packing up and moving on, she knew better than to get her hopes up. In a

dozen years of traveling, she'd learned that the most jewel-like villages, in the most bucolic settings,

often had the quaintest customs. Customs like welcoming wandering wizards with an axe, or attempting

to convince wandering wizards to stay by outfitting them with manacles and chains, or by suggesting the

tarring and feathering of wandering wizards with no better reason that the small matter of a straying

husband or two. For the most part, Magdelene had found these customs no more than a minor

inconvenience, although, had she known the man was married, she would never have suggested they ...

She grinned at the memory. He'd proven a lot more flexible than she'd anticipated.

"Well, H'sak?" She spit out the hair and glanced back at the large mirror propped up behind the seat

of the cart. "Shall we check it out?"

H'sak, trapped in the mirror, made no answer. Magdelene wasn't entirely certain the demon was

aware of what went on outside his prison, but, traveling alone, she'd fallen into the habit of talking to

him and figured, just in case he ever got out, it couldn't hurt if he had memories of pleasant, albeit one-

sided, conversations. Not, she supposed, that a bit of chat would make up for her trapping him in the

mirror in the first place. Stretching back, she pulled an old cloak down over the glass-no point in

upsetting potential neighbors right off-then gathered up the reins and slapped them lightly on the

donkey's rump. The donkey, who had worked out an understanding with the wizard early on, took

another few mouthfuls of the coarse grass lining the track and slowly started down the hill to the village.

At the first house, Magdelene stopped the cart and sat quietly studying the scene. A few chickens

scratched in the sandy dirt that served the village as a main street, and a black sow sprawled in the only

visible bit of shade, her litter suckling noisily. A lullaby, softly sung, drifted through one of the open

windows, and from the beach came the screams and laughter of children at play. Just the sort of lazy

ambience she appreciated.

"Who are you?"

Languidly, for it was far too hot to be startled, Magdelene turned. A boy, nine or ten years old, naked

except for a shell threaded on a frayed piece of gut, peered up at her from under a heavy shock of dusty

black hair. Although he showed no signs of malnutrition or neglect, his left arm hung withered and

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useless by his side.

"My name is Magdalene." She pushed her hair back off her face. "Who are you?"

"Juan." He edged a little closer. "You a trader?"

"No. I'm a wizard." Over the years, she'd discovered life worked out better if she didn't try to hide

that. It made explanations so much easier when things started happening. And things always did. The

boy looked her up and down and tossed his head. "Ha!" he scoffed. "Tell us another one. Wizards got

gray hair and warts. You're not old enough to be a wizard."

"I'm twenty-seven," she told him a little indignantly. He was a fine one to talk about not old

enough.... "Oh." Juan considered it and apparently decided twenty-seven was sufficiently ancient even

without the gray hair and warts. "What about your clothes, then? Wizards wear robes and stuff.

Everyone knows that." He had a point. Wizards did wear robes and stuff; usually of a dark, heavy, and

imposing fabric; always hot, scratchy, and uncomfortable. Magdalene, who preferred to be comfortable,

never bothered. "I'm the most powerful wizard in the world," she explained as a rivulet of sweat ran

under her bright-blue breast-band, "so I wear what I want."

"Yeah, sure," he snorted. "Prove it."

"All right." She gathered up the multicolored folds of her skirt, jumped down off the cart, and held

out her hand. "Give me your arm and I'll fix it."

"Oh no." He backed up a pace and turned, protecting the withered arm behind the rest of his body.

"You ain't proving it on me. Find something else."

"Like what?" Juan thought about it a moment. "Could you send my sister someplace far away?" he

asked hopefully. Magdalene thought about that in turn. It didn't seem worth antagonizing the village just

to prove a point to one grubby child. "I could, but I don't think I should." The boy sighed. The kind of

sigh that said he knew what the answer would be but thought there could be no harm in asking. They

stood together in silence for a moment, Magdalene leaning against the back of her cart-perfectly content

to do nothing-and Juan digging his toe into the sand. The donkey, who could smell water, decided

enough was enough and started toward the center of the village. He was hot, he was thirsty, and he was

going to do something about it.

As the cart jerked forward, Magdelene hit the ground with an unwizardlike thud. Closer proximity

proved the sand was not as soft as it looked. "Lizard piss," she muttered a curse, rubbing at a stone-

bruise. When she looked up, Juan had disappeared.

She shrugged philosophically and, following along behind the donkey, amused herself by pulling

back an image of Juan as an adult. Long and lean and sleekly muscled, it was a future worth sticking

around for. At some point between now and then, she appeared to have convinced him to let her fix his

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