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"Not I," the silver magiman explained hastily. "But yes.
Some lower . . . mages and magesses have faces with hair.
Never make their places as mages of... but not everyone is ... sent for
mightiness."
"Destined for greatness," Keff corrected IT. IT repeated the word. "So why are
you not great? I mean," he rephrased his statement for tact, "not one of the
mages of-IT, put in that phrase he used?"
"Oh, I am good-satisfied to be what I am," Chaumel said, complacently folding
his fingers over his well-padded rib cage.
"If they're already being drugged, why amputate their fingers?" Carialle
wanted to know.
"What do fingers have to do with the magic?" Keff asked, making a hey-presto
gesture.
"Ah," Chaumel said. Taking Keifs arm firmly under his own, he escorted him
down the hall to a low door set deeply into the stone walls. Servants passing
by showed
Keff the whites of their eyes as Chaumel slipped the silver wand out of his
belt and pointed at the lock. Some of the fur-skins hurried faster as the red
fire lanced laserlike into the keyhole. One or two, wearing the same keen
expres-
sion as Brannel, peered in as the door opened. Shooting a cold glance to speed
the nosy ones on their way, Chaumel urged Keff inside.
The darkness lifted as soon as they stepped over the threshold, a milky glow
coming directly from the substance of the walls.
"Cari, is that radioactive?" Keff asked. His whisper was amplified in a
ghostly rush of sound by the rough stone.
"No. In fact, I'm getting no readings on the light at all.
Strange."
"Magic!"
"Cut that out," Carialle said sulkily. "I say its a form of energy with which
I am unacquainted."
In contrast to all the other chambers Keff had seen in
Chaumel s eyrie, this room had a low, unadorned ceiling of rough granite less
than an arms length above their heads.
Keff felt as though he needed to stoop to avoid hitting the roof.
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Chaumel moved across me floor like a man in a chapel.
The furnishings of the narrow room carried out that impression. At the end
opposite the door was a molded, silver table not unlike an altar, upon which
rested five objects arranged in a circle on an embroidered cloth. Keff tiptoed
forward behind Chaumel.
The items themselves were not particularly impressive:
a metal bangle about twelve centimeters across, a silver tube, a flattened
disk pierced with half-moon shapes all around the edge, a wedge of clear
crystal with a piece of dull metal fused to the blunt end, and a hollow
cylinder like an empty jelly jar.
"What are they?" Keff asked.
"Objects of power," Chaumel replied. One by one he lifted them and displayed
them for Keff. Returning to the bangle, Chaumel turned it over so Keff could
see its inner arc. Five depressions about two centimeters apart were molded
into its otherwise smooth curve. In turn, he showed the markings on each one.
With the last, he inserted the tips of his fingers into the depressions and
wielded it away from Keff.
"Ah," Keff said, enlightened. "You need five digits to use these."
"So the amputation is to keep the servers from organiz-
ing a palace revolt," Carialle said. "Any uppity server just wouldn't have the
physical dexterity to use them."
"Mmm," Keff said. "How old are they?" He moved closer to the altar and bent
over the cloth.
"Old, old," Chaumel said, patting the jelly jar.
"Old Ones," Carialle verified, running a scan through
Keffs ocular implants. "So is the bangle. The other three are Ancient, with
some subsequent modifications by the
Old Ones. All of them have five pressure plates incorpo-
rated into the design. That's why Brannel tried to take my palette. It has
five depressions, just like these items. He
probably thought it was a power piece, like these."
'There's coincidence for you: both the alien races here were pentadactyl, like
humans. I wonder if that's a recur-
ring trait throughout the galaxy for technologically capable races," Keff
said. "Five-fingered hands."
Chaumel certainly seemed proud of his. Setting down the jelly jar, he mbbed
his hands together, then flicked invisible dust motes off his nails, taking
time to admire both fronts and backs.
"Well, they are shapely hands," Carialle said. 'They wouldn't be out of place
in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel frescoes except for the bizarre proportions."
Kefftook a good look at Chaumels hands. For the first time he noticed that the
thumbs, which he had noted as being rather long, bore lifelike prostheses,
complete with nails and tiny wisps of hair, that made the tips fan out to.
the same distance as the forefingers. The little fingers were of equal length
to the ring fingers, jarring the eye, making the fingers look like a thick
fringe cut straight across.
Absently conscious of Keffs stare, Chaumel pulled at his litde fingers.
"Is he trying to make them longer by doing that?"
Carialle asked. "It's physically impossible, but I suppose telling him that
won't make him stop. Superstitions are superstitions."
'That's er, grotesque, Chaumel," Keffsaid, smiling with what he hoped was an
expression of admiration.
'Thank you, Keff." The silver magiman bowed.
"Show me how the objects of power work," Keff said, pointing at the table.
"I'd welcome a chance to watch with-
out being the target."
Chaumel was all too happy to oblige.
"Now you see how these are," he said graciously. He chose the ring and the
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tube, putting his favorite, the wand, back in its belt holster. 'This way."
On the way out of the narrow room, Chaumel resumed his monologue. This time it
seemed to involve the prove-
nance and ownership of the items.
"We are proud of our toys," Carialle said deprecatingly.
"Nothing up my sleeve, alakazam!"
"Whoops!" Keffsaid, as Chaumel held out his hand and a huge crockery vase
appeared on the palm. "Alakazam, indeed!"
With a small smile, Chaumel blew on the crock, send-
ing it flying down the hall as if siddding on ice. He raised the tube, aimed
it, and squeezed lightly. The crock froze in place, then, in delayed reaction,
it burst apart into a shower of jet-propelled sand, peppering the walls and
the two men.
"Marvelous!" Keff said, applauding. He spat out sand.
"Bravo! Do it again!"
Obligingly, Chaumel created a wide ceramic platter.
"My mother this belonged to. I do not ever like this," he said. With a twist
of his wrist, it followed the crock. Instead of the tube, the silver magiman
operated the ring. With a crack, the platter exploded into fragments. A glass
goblet, then a pitcher appeared out of the air. Chaumel set them dancing
around one another, .then fused them into one piece with a dash of scarlet
lightning from his wand. They dropped to the ground, spraying fragments of
glass every-
where.
"And what do you do for an encore?" Keff asked, sur-
veying the hall, now littered with debris.
"Hmmph!" Chaumel said. He waved the wand, and three apron-clad domestics
appeared, followed by brooms and pails. Leaving the magical items floating on
the air, he clapped his hands together. The servers set hastily to work
cleaning up. Chaumel folded his arms together with satis-
faction and turned a smug face to Keff.
"I see. You get all the fun, and they do all the nasty bits,"
Keffsaid, nodding. "Bravo anyway."
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