It had been a long time since he had thought about the greenhouse.
It was one of his proudest inventions when he was young: a ring-shaped conservatory, laid out in twelve sections like the face of a clock. Or in this case, like the months of the year. (How odd, he thought, that those numbers mapped so neatly. What was it about the number twelve?)
The section nearest the house, “six o’clock”, was the current month. Which, he had just been rudely reminded, was July. But walk to the right, and you entered the eariler months. At “four” on the clock-face, you were in May, and there were peas and strawberries, young leeks and fresh mint leaves ready for picking. Continue walking, and you were in the chilly depths of winter. Nothing of interest there, but you could continue counterclockwise into autumn and harvest apples and pumpkins, onions and garlic at “eight o’clock” (where it was September) before returning to July, and the exit. A year’s worth of produce in a few acres, and everything in season.
And he enjoyed it, he really did. But it had been brought home to him, first by that rude Girl with her roast chicken, then by the Boy, whose opinion he was forced to respect since he was also his apprentice: spring produce did not mean spring lambs, or anything else in the animal kingdom. The spells were not compatible, even if he’d had the space for a separate cyclical barnyard. Or the staff. The magical automata were no good outside the palace, and neither the Boy nor… that other fellow could take on extra duties.
The Wizard buried his face in his hands, and considered the possible advantages of vegetarianism.
No, that simply would not do. He enjoyed a rare steak as much as the next man, not to mention the occasional spring lamb. It was surely within his rights, as Master, to expect it.
“It seems to me,” the Boy said, “that the obvious solution is improved storage.” He was sitting at the Wizard’s desk, sketching a diagram on a sheet of parchment. He held it up so his mentor could see it: a cow, a pig and a lamb walk toward a sqare box in the middle of the sheet, their direction indicated by arrows. In the box hang three carcasses, split open and hanging by their hind legs. To the right of the box is a drawing of the Girl holding a roasted joint on a platter and smiling. Above the box is a calendar with an X through it: a symbol of stopped time.
The Wizard took the page and studied it, scratching his chin. “The question, of course, is how? What powers the box?”
“We use a time spell in the Slow Room, but that’s only good for a week or so, maybe a month for cured meats like ham and bacon.” The Boy tapped the parchment with his pen, thinking. “Intense cold, perhaps? Things keep well if they stay frozen.”
The Wizard nodded. “But a cold spell is attention-intensive. Let it lapse, and you have a lot of spoiled meat. Not a pleasant prospect.”
“Unless…” The Boy was on a roll now, and unwilling to give it up. “Unless we kept it in whichever greenhouse is currently doing January, and move it forward each month. It’s how we get ice in the summer.”
“A pitcher of ice is small, and not particularly heavy. But a collection of carcasses, suitably housed? Who would move it forward? That fellow?”
“We could ask him.” The Boy sounded doubtful.
“I would rather not have that conversation. He’s a bit full of himself, don’t you think?”
“Very much so.” The boy shrugged. “Besides, if you keep things frozen too long, they go off. I tried freezing a trout in the January section a while back. And moved it as time passed. But three months later, it was quite nasty.”
“So, cold is out. But there are other ways to achieve stasis. Like the thing we do with the horses.”
The Boy rubbed his chin, a habit he had picked up from the Wizard. “Stone. So, petrify meat animals and restore them just before slaughter? It could work…”
“But you would still have a large carcass with a very short shelf life. No, I was thinking, petrify the carcass…”
“…and restore it when you need a roast, or a rack of ribs, or whatever?”
“Yes. Then re-petrify the rest for later. Total tine ‘in flesh’ could be mere minutes.” The Wizard used his wand to draw the outline of a boulder around the box containing the meat and tapped the page, filling it with a stony texture.
“Could that work?”
“I see no reason why not. Best part is, your petrifaction spell needs no maintenance. You spend mana setting it and breaking it. The rest of the time, it simply is.”
“I like it,” said the Boy. He scritched the ears of the cat, who had climbed onto his lap to look at the diagram. “I think Wander likes it too.”
“Let me give this some thought,” said the Wizard, steepling his fingers. “But I think we have a workable idea here.” He tapped the diagram. “This has been most helpful, Boy. Could I interest you in a celebratory glass of port?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” his apprentice replied.
—