The Wizard sits in his study with the black cat on his lap.
The chair in which he sits is carved black walnut, with scrollwork on the arms and beasts’ paws as its feet. It is upholstered in red velvet. The Wizard’s slippered feet rest on a carpet of crimson wool, figured in a design of intertwined dragons. To the right of the chair is a brass-topped stand, which holds a cut-glass tumbler and a dusty bottle of brandy.
He lifts his wand and draws a rectangle in mid-air. A blank sheet of parchment appears. A gesture,and the color of sheet deepens from white to eggshell to antique tan. The Wizard nods. He taps the wand against his other hand, and its tip becomes a pointed brush.
The cat sits up, alert, and bats at the wand. The Wizard pushes her paw away. His aged face assumes an expression of concentration as he draws four black circles on the parchment, then taps each to fill it with white. After some thought, he uses his fingers to slide the circles on the page to form a triangle around a central circle, then resizes them: largest at the apex, smaller on the lower corners, and the smallest in the center.
The cat meows. “No worries,” says the mage. “I’ll put you in there later.” The cat re-settles into a compact bundle of fur, but she still watches.
The Wizard is designing a spell. At this early stage, a spell is indistinguishable from a narrative, a flowchart or a transit map. The mage, who has had some artistic training, thinks of it as the initial blocking out of shapes and proportions that will form the bones of a finished painting. This new diagram is a map of his domain and its dependencies, which the spell is intended to enlarge. The four circles represent rooms, and also persons. The Wizard thinks of them as Exceptions.
As we have seen, the mage’s palace is a study in stone, a triumph of artistic petrification. But no man, even one as abstracted from reality as the Wizard, can live on stone and magic. And so four regions of the palace are exempt. The first is the Study, which is a comfortable oasis of cushions and carpets, tapestries and polished wood, with a crackling fireplace and a small but comfortable bed. This is the Wizard’s own domain, the santuary where he retreats to eat, to sleep, and to plan fresh forays into magic. The cat, too, spends much of her time here. Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.
The second Exception is the Kitchen, which, like most palace kitchens, is set out of the way, slightly below ground, approachable from outside by the servants’ entrance. In normal life, a kitchen of this size would have a grand roster of staff, ranging from butler and head cook, down through sous-chefs and their assistants, specialist bakers, distillers, roasters and cheesemakers, and downward still, to the lowest tier of overworked scullery maids. A staff of, perhaps, dozens.
In the Wizard’s palace, there is only one. This is the girl, whom the Wizard calls Girl, or Kitchen, or, sometimes, when he is distracted, Food. She prepares his meals and brings them to him, tapping shyly on the door of the Study, standing to one side in case she is met by a blast of irritable violet fire. She shares the kitchen with a vast array of the Wizard’s magical contrivances, which allow a lone girl to prepare a worthy array of dishes. And also with the cat, who comes to beg food and sit by the fire, or curl up next to the girl when she collapses, exhausted onto her straw-filled pallet.
The third Exception is the Stable. In his younger days, the Wizard was fond of horses, and he still fancies a good ride through the countryside when no-one is looking. The stable is managed by the boy, whom the Wizard calls Boy, or Stable, or, when he is not thinking clearly, Horse. It is an extensive stable, but the work is not onerous since most of the horses are kept in stone form, which require neither feed nor mucking out of stalls. Since the boy has so much free time, he does double duty as the Wizard’s assistant.
The cat has been seen in the stable too. Where there are horses, there is grain, and where there is grain, there are mice. The cat also enjoys the boy’s company, since he knows all the best places for gentle scritches.
The fourth Exception is the Prison. Until recently, it was occupied by a prince. The Wizard is not particularly annoyed that he escaped. He was getting rather tired of this one, and there are always adventurers who see the mage’s wall as a challenge rather than a reasonable prohibition. The Wizard never bothers to learn their names. If he calls them anything, it is Young Idiot.
The cat has no reason to visit the Prison. But sometimes she does. Cats need no reasons for their behavior.
The Wizard has named the cat Wander. She has not told me her true name yet. It is enough to know she has one, and that it is her own business.
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Ooh! I’m enjoying this!