The Wizard was still trying to ignore the Garden.
He had filled the garden-section of his spell-chart with random squiggles to signify, “This part is meaningless,” and added “IGNORE THYS PARTE” in a graceful calligraphic banner. He even added a clever sketch of the cat, Wander, being indifferent: Ignore this thing, as I would.
But despite this, the garden would not stay inert. The squiggles kept sprouting tendrils, which grew into clusters of leaves with mysterious eyes beneath them. Some of the vines had begun to creep into the main drawing, the part that symbolized the Palace and its four Exceptions, violating the spell’s energy flow. His own work was turning against him. It simply would not do.
Since this spell was being recalcitrant, he laid it aside and tried to reset his mental energy. He paced around his study for a few minutes. He picked up a random book and started to read, then set it down again. He doodled a glowing picture of the cat in mid-air, made it arch its back and hiss, then erased it with a swipe of his wand. He levitated the brandy bottle, and had it pour him a goodly glass. He sipped the brandy, then set it down beside his rebellious drawing.
An illuminated vine, heavy with grapes, had crept across circle representing the Prison. Savagely, the Wizard erased the vine’s progress, sent it back to the periphery where it belonged. He rolled up the spell and shoved it into a desk drawer. “Be still!” he ordered. He slammed the drawer and set a “No more changes” ward on it.
He hoped that would work. He was out of ideas.
Removing the spell from his desk had uncovered his apprentice’s sketch for a meat-preservation system. The Wizard picked it up and studied it. Live animals, with cleverly-detailed eyes and muzzles, hocks and hooves, occupied the left side of the drawing. But where had they come from? The Wizard had not thought much about the provenance of livestock. There was likely a cow, because there was often fresh butter. And the presence of eggs implied the existence of chickens. But did they live here. or were butter and eggs brought in from the nearby village? And, if so, by whom, and how often?
He rang the bell to summon his apprentice.
“Yes, sir?” The young man stepped through the study door, bringing with him a faint whiff of the stables, and an underlying scent of unwashed shirt. This was the problem of the Boy’s double duty, the Wizard reflected. He made a mental note to increase the frequency of laundry.
The Wizard waved the Boy to his usual seat beside the desk. “I wanted to ask you about the livestock.” He tapped the drawing to provide context. “Do we raise it here? Or buy it? Or what?”
If the Boy was surprised by his master’s ignorance, he kept it to himself. “A bit of both. We keep a milch cow, a few pigs, and a flock of chickens. There are also goats and a colony of rabbits. There are half a dozen sheep, which produce lambs in the Spring, but are mostly just for wool. Other animal products are purchased from the village, as needed.” The Boy paused, considering his words. “Just so you know, sir, they need a few day’s advance notice for large orders. And they prefer to be paid in local currency, or at least in gold.”
“I see.” The Wizard rubbed his chin. “And this prodigious menagerie – the cow, the chickens, the pigs, and the rest – do you care for them, along with the horses?”
“I do not, sir. They are the Gardener’s concern. He and his assistants.”
The Wizard sucked on his teeth. “That fellow… has assistants? Why was I not informed of this?”
The Boy spread his hands, in the universal gesture signifying: that’s not my circus. And certainly not my monkeys.
“I never gave him permission to hire a staff. I can’t have strange people wandering around my estate!” The Wizard started rummaging though his desk, looking for old contracts.
The Boy, finding himself ignored, quietly took his leave. If he stayed any longer, there was a chance that some of the monkeys would be assigned to him, and that would be a serious annoyance.
The Wizard did not find a contract. He now recalled that his agreement with the Gardener was, at best, verbal. And probably merely implied. He remembered shouting “Here’s your bloody greenhouse, then!” at the distant trees, and hearing only echoes as an answer.
That was… how long ago? Years ago. He had not yet set about turning the world into stone.
The Boy was gone, the coward. But the Wizard had long believed that if you wanted anything done properly, you had to do it yourself. Except for the things you simply could not stand doing, and those you assigned to people who would take orders without fussing about them. Like that kitchen Girl, who was usually sufficiently deferential, except for her recent sass about the lamb.
He could not stand to work in the garden, and so he hired the Gardener. Or, rather, he had ordered the being that already inhabited this place to take charge of it, and shape it into his, the Wizard’s, private garden. And then he, the Wizard, had done his best to ignore that fellow and his whole constantly changing domain. The Garden, the woods, and now, it seemed, this vast, teeming menagerie of livestock. Things kept changing, even when he forbade it.
And how well has that worked out for you?
He heard the rebuke in the Gardener’s sly, light tenor voice.
It simply would not do! With a snarl of frustration, the Wizard threw on his outdoor cloak, lifted his staff from the rack above the fireplace, and rushed down the stairs to the Great Hall and the long-closed front door.
–
“Hey! You there! We need to talk!”
The Gardener looked up from the tangle of new potatoes he was excavating with a garden fork. The Wizard was hurrying toward him, steadying himself on the uneven ground with a gnarled staff.
The Wizard waved, and shouted again, “Hey!”
“Oh, hullo, Gerrit. Haven’t seen you in ages.” The Gardener lifted the bunch of potatoes and shook off the excess dirt before dropping them into his basket.
“I need to talk to you.” The Wizard came to a panting halt and leaned on his staff. “Why is it so bloody hot out here?”
“Because it’s July?” The Gardener shrugged. “What can I do for you, then?”
“What’s all this I hear about a cow? And chickens? And assistants? I never said you could hire assistants.”
The Gardener shoved his broad hat to the back of his head and gave the Wizard a searching look. Green eyes. Pointed, foxlike features.
“I see. Just let me drop these praties off in the kitchen. Then we’ll go meet the livestock. Wait here – I’ll just be a minute.”
The Gardener hoisted the basket on his shoulder and headed toward the palace, leaving the Wizard fuming and fanning himself with his hand. He jabbed the tip of his staff into the loose soil and stirred it, uncovering a clump of earthworms. The pulsing pink strings disappeared into the soil again. Disgusting.
“All done,” the Gardener called. “Let’s go around this way, behind the greenhouse.” He dropped the empty basket off by the conservatory entrance, and motioned for the Wizard to follow.
“What’s back here?” the Wizard demanded.
“We need a place to keep living, breathing beasts. That mausoleum where you store the horses won’t do.” They had reached the farmyard, with its trough and pump. On one side was a cluster of wooden sheds. On the other, the carved stone archway of the stable.
The Gardener gestured to the sheds. “The first is for the cow, the second for the sheep and goats. The pigs bunk over there, to the right. Hen coops and rabbit hutches are built along the back walls.”
The Wizard peered into the cow’s shed. It smelt of hay and dung. It seemed to be empty.
“No, they’re not there now,” said the Gardener. “It’s a fine day, so everyone is out in the pasture.” He steered the Wizard around the sheds, then spread his arms, gesturing toward a broad, grassy slope bordered by forest.
Beasts of all sorts were scattered over it, like a pastoral Peaceable Kingdom. A mixed flock of sheep and goats grazed in the middle distance. A pair of young pigs were rooting under an oak tree. A scattering of hens and rabbits pecked and nibbled their way through the tall grass. One of the hens led a gaggle of fuzzy piebald chicks.
“There’s the cow,” said the Gardener, pointing to a fawn-colored creature at the upper edge of the slope. “She’s a Guernsey. Would you like to meet her?”
“Clear over there!” the Wizard moaned. He leaned heavily on his staff.
“I’ll call her over.” The Gardener tipped back his head and let out a complicated yodel. The cow lifted her head, gazed in their direction, then trotted down the field, heavy udder swaying.
“She has horns!” said the Wizard, accusingly.
“Most cows do, unless you take them off.”
“And she needs to be milked!”
“She’s good for a few hours yet. We usually go for sunrise and late afternoon, unless she has a calf.”
The Wizard sucked his teeth. “And you care for all these creatures yourself?”
“I have some help with it.”
“Aha!” the Wizard exclaimed. He shook his finger in the Gardener’s face. “Caught you! You’ve gone and hired servants!”
The Gardener laughed and patted the cow’s flank. She ambled off and resumed grazing. “Calm down, Gerrit. Of course I have assistants. You have to, with a farm this size. But I would not call them servants. And I would not say I’ve hired them, exactly.”
“Then who? Or what? Magical automata?”
“You know those infernal things don’t work outside your house.”
“Then… what? Exactly?” The Wizard raised his staff. “Tell me!”
Everything froze in place. Time stopped. The breeze fell silent.
The Gardener pressed his index finger against the Wizard’s forehead. He gazed into the old man’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Be still.”
“Don’t… worry…,” the Wizard repeated. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if he were asleep.
The Gardener waited several seconds, then patted the Wizard’s shoulder. “It’s very hot out here, isn’t it, Gerrit? Let me get you a glass of cold water. Then you can go back inside, and have a nice, long afternoon nap.”
The Wizard opened his faded eyes and stared at the cloudless sky. “Do you know what I would like? A nice, cold drink. Then I’m going back inside to take a nap. It’s too hot out here for an old man.” He shook his head as if trying to remember something. “Thank you for showing me the cow. She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? And she gives good milk?”
“Some of the best. Just come with me, Gerrit. I can get us some ice from the Winter house. Then we can sit in the shade with a nice, cool drink and admire the young orange trees. They are coming along rather nicely. I think next year they will bear fruit.”
—