Ithanalin's Restoration. Lawrence Watt-Evans

and lift it off the ground so it couldn’t get any traction, she could probably carry it away, but holding on if it squirmed would be difficult. If it was able to get its hooks on a doorframe or sign bracket somewhere, she doubted she could pry it away.

      And that left out the whole question of what the bowl and spoon would be doing during all this.

      Fighting it bare-handed was not a good idea, and she wished she had brought some serious magic, or at least some help.

      And if just capturing a coat-rack was difficult, what would she do if the couch put up a fight?

      Talking it into cooperating seemed the only sensible solution, but she couldn’t think of what else she could tell it.

      “All right,” she said, “I won’t rush you—you come home when you’re ready. Do you remember where it is?”

      It hesitated, then waved back and forth—no.

      “It’s just up Wizard Street. If you want to follow me, you can see for yourself.”

      It took a moment to consider, then nodded. The hooks curled back to their natural shapes.

      Kilisha forced a smile. “Fine!” she said. “This way.”

      And she turned away and started for home. By an intense effort of will she managed not to look back until she was out of the side-street and back on Wizard Street.

      The coat-rack was following her, several feet back.

      She was still too dazed and upset by everything that had happened to manage a smile, but she did let out a small sigh of relief. The spoon stroked her forearm soothingly as she hurried homeward.

      CHAPTER SIX

      Yara was standing in the doorway, waiting. “Oh, thank the gods!” she said when she saw Kilisha approaching.

      “Hello,” Kilisha replied; she waved, and cast a glance over her shoulder.

      The coat-rack was still there, but seemed to be hanging back, hesitant to approach. Other pedestrians were staring at it now, which Kilisha was sure was not helping.

      The spoon and bowl, on the other hand, seemed very happy to hear Yara’s voice; the spoon was waving its handle cheerfully, and the bowl hugged Kilisha’s side.

      “Are the children around?” Kilisha asked.

      “They’re inside,” Yara said, looking past Kilisha at the coat-rack.

      “Good. We need to talk.” She carefully didn’t look back again as she walked up to the door.

      Yara stepped aside, and Kilisha crossed the familiar threshold.

      Ithanalin was still crouched, half-sitting, half-rising, on the floor; the mirror was still on the wall, and the rest of the room was still completely empty. Kilisha bit her lip as she looked around.

      She had hoped that some of the furnishings might have found their own way back, but obviously none of them had. There was so much yet to be done!

      And it would take planning; marching out into the streets and running around practically at random had been foolish. She was a wizard’s apprentice, just a year short of journeyman if all went well, not some silly child!

      “Kilisha,” Yara said, “is he all right?”

      “Well, no,” Kilisha replied, startled. “I mean, you can see that.” It occurred to her belatedly as her gaze returned to Yara’s worried face that maybe some words of reassurance, rather than blunt honesty, would have been appropriate.

      But she was an apprentice; lying to her master’s wife, no matter how comforting, was not fitting.

      “Is he going to be all right?” Yara asked.

      “I certainly hope so, but I can’t promise,” Kilisha replied.

      “Oh, you sound just like him! What happened? Why is he like this?”

      Startled, Kilisha said, “Didn’t you ask the mirror?”

      “I asked it questions, but it kept saying it didn’t know—it didn’t know where you were or when you’d be back or what I should do to help, and I gave up.”

      “Oh.” Kilisha frowned. “Mistress, I can’t take the time to explain right now—we need to get these things safely put away.” She held out the arm with the spoon wrapped around it, catching the bowl in her other hand. “Could you take these?”

      Hesitantly, Yara reached for the spoon—which practically jumped into her hand. It clearly liked Yara even more than Kilisha; it wrapped itself around her wrist, vibrating with pleasure so intensely that Kilisha almost thought she could hear purring.

      “Oh, my heart!” Yara said, startled; she tried to drop the spoon, but it had already secured itself, and thus released it did not fall, but instead wound its way, snakelike, up her arm, sliding into her sleeve.

      “Oh!” Yara said again. “I don’t…”

      “It won’t hurt you,” Kilisha said quickly. “Don’t lose it! It has part of Ithanalin’s spirit in it.”

      The spoon had now completely vanished into the loose sleeves of Yara’s tunic. Yara stared at her own shoulder, then blushed.

      “I think I know which part,” she said. Her bodice twitched.

      Kilisha did not need to ask what Yara meant. She swallowed at the thought that Yara was probably right, and she herself had had the spoon wrapped around her own wrist; that was hardly the sort of thing that ought to happen between a married master and his apprentice!

      It was a good thing that the person who had picked it up on Cross Avenue had been a man, rather than a woman, or she might have had a harder time convincing anyone that Kilisha owned it. For that matter, it was a good thing that Ithanalin’s preferences had been as definite as they were.

      “Here,” she said, holding out the bowl.

      Yara accepted it gingerly. “What does this do?” she asked.

      “I have no idea,” Kilisha said. “It’s got another part of his spirit, but I don’t know which.” She turned. “Did the coat-rack come in?”

      “No,” Yara said.

      “Blast! We need that, too.” She hurried back out into the street.

      There was no sign of the coat-rack.

      “Mistress,” she called, “you keep hold of those things, but could you send the kids out here to help me?”

      “All right,” Yara replied. Kilisha could hear her retreating footsteps.

      “Excuse me, sir,” she called to a nearby pedestrian. “Did you see a coat-rack go by?”

      “I think so,” the man answered uncertainly.

      “Which way did it go?”

      “Um…that way,” he said, pointing west.

      Muttering to herself, Kilisha set out back down Wizard Street.

      She had gone less than a block when she spotted the coat-rack, its square peak visible over the heads of the handful of intervening pedestrians.

      “Stop!” she called. “Coat-rack! Come back!”

      The top of the coat-rack vibrated at the sound of her voice, but it did not come to her; instead it stepped sideways, as if looking for an alley to hide in. It ducked behind the open door of a shop—Adagan the Witch was sweeping out, and had his door at right angles to the frame.

      Kilisha let out an annoyed sigh. She turned to see whether the children had emerged yet.

      Telleth was leaning out the door of the shop, looking puzzled.

      “Telleth!” Kilisha called. “Come here, please!”

      Hesitantly,