Majestrum

“Then how is it done?”

“By magic, I suppose. How else?”

“That is a foolish and flippant answer,” he said. “‘Oh, it’s magic,’ is not a handy solution to every mystery. I am not the child.”

When the Wheel turns, much that is impossible in the old phase becomes commonplace in the new.

“Could Rievor be hiding himself behind some magical cloak?” I asked my other self.

“No,” he said. “I believe he is exercising that most potent form of invisibility: the one called, ‘not being present at all.’”

“I have a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“A daring and bold one,” he said.

“Is that wise?”

“It has to be that kind of plan. It’s that kind of cosmos.”

A lifelong habit of being right also had the effect of diminishing one’s social appeal, especially among those who prefer to keep the bubble of their various illusions a safe distance from a needle-sharp and probing intelligence.

“He began to dream the dreams that always seduce a tyrant: powers beyond powers, worlds at his feet, whole realms bowing to his whims.”

“And the dreams occluded his faculties,” I said. “It was ever thus, we may be thankful, else tyrants would never fall.”

I cannot comment on your beliefs. What appears self-evident to one person may seem to another observer to be entirely the product of an idiosyncratic bent.

Also, there was a remarkable display of objects that primitive humanity had allegedly thrust through various parts of their bodies—some of them extremely sensitive—for decorative effect. I shuddered slightly at the thought: self-mutilation, though everyone’s right, had always taken me aback.

Talking was only one of the uses to which Chalivire liked to put her large and loose-lipped mouth; another was filling it with the products of The Braid’s renowned kitchens.

My alter ego was awake and listening. “Magic,” he said.

“To one whose only instrument is a drum, all melodies are much the same,” I answered inwardly.

Life is a hopeless rear guard action against an overwhelming foe; still how can we not admire those who battle on regardless?

“I have a reputation for genius,” I said, though I lowered my voice. “It can withstand some eccentricities.”

Have you considered the possibility that our standards as to what is important may differ?

“What is your theory?” my assistant asked, but again I declined to answer. A mistaken theory that never went farther than its originator’s mind does not count as an error.

“Who was it who said that irony is the fundamental operating principle of the universe?”

“I believe,” I said, “that it was Henghis Hapthorn.”

Insanity was not unknown among the wealthy. Indeed, some forms of madness had sometimes been cultivated as fashionable accessories.