Master and Fool Read Free Page B

well
away by now. Nabber took a deep breath, briefly asked for Swift's own luck, set
in motion the opening mechanism, and then stepped onto the hallowed ground of
the palace.
    Feeling a peculiar
mixture of excitement and fear, the young pocket made his way to Baralis'
quarters. He had a letter to deliver, an answer to be waited upon, and his own
skin to be saved at all costs.
    "Concentrate,
Jack. Concentrate! "
    Stillfox's voice
was tiny, immeasurably distant. Outside of time. Still, such was the power of
the human voice that Jack found himself obeying it anyway. He had to concentrate.
His consciousness plunged to his belly whilst his thoughts focused on the
glass.
    "Warm it,
Jack. Don't smash it."
    Every muscle
tensing, every hair on end, both eyeballs drying for want of a blink, Jack
tried to do what Stillfox asked. He sent himself--there was no other word for
it, he sent that which made him who he was, what rested in his mind and bounded
his thoughts-outside of his body toward the glass. It was terrifying. The
terrible vulnerability of forsaking one's body, combined with the bittersweet
lightness of the soul. How could men do this? he wondered. How could Baralis
and Stillfox and Borc knows who else ever get used to the shock? "Careful,
Jack. You're wavering."
    Part of him wanted
to shout out, "Let me waver, then." Better half in his body than not
at all. Instead, Jack concentrated harder. Through the thin, busy particles of
air he traveled, to the hard slick surface of the glass. Only when he got there
it wasn't hard. It was slick, but strangely soft: malleable as lead, running like
slow honey or a fine summer cheese. He felt the downward push of the glass and
began to understand how false and artificial its current state was. It had been
shaped unnaturally by man and was quietly fighting its constraints. It would
take centuries, perhaps eons, before it reverted back, but it would eventually
succeed. Nothing had a memory as long as glass.
    Jack knew all this
without as much as a single coherent thought. He just knew it, that was all. He
also knew, in something more akin to instinct than intellect, that the glass
would welcome the warming. It would not fight him. The warming would
bring it that much closer to its goal.
    Strangely, it was
this knowledge that empowered Jack. No longer a man with a whip, he became a
man with a key. Gently, so gently, tiptoeing with his mind, he melded with the
elements of the glass. Fear skirted periphery-close, but he paid it no heed;
nothing mattered-only the join. If Stillfox spoke now, Jack didn't hear him.
    He became aware of
the vibration of the glass: strong, unwavering, almost hypnotic. Jack felt
himself falling in time with it. How right it felt, how very right.
    "Jack! Be
careful! You're losing yourself." Stillfox's words carried more weight
than speech alone; they were heavy with sorcery. Jack felt the other man's
power. It was repugnant to him. The glass was his, and he would brook no
interference. Then suddenly, something was forcing its way between him and the
glass, a sliver of thought turned to light. It acted like a wrench, cleaving
apart the join. Jack fought it aggressively. He had been rocked into quiescence
by the vibration of the glass, and now he was a giant awakened. No longer warm,
the glass grew hot An orange line began to glow around the rim.
    "Jack, I
command you be gone! "
    Jack felt a powerful
shearing, saw a bright flash of light, and then he was torn away from the
glass. As he sped back to his body, the glass exploded outward, sending chunks
of molten glass flying through the air. Even as he settled himself within flesh
and blood, the fragments hit him. Scorching, sizzling, cracking like whips,
they landed on his chest and on his arms. Jack, dizzy with the shock of
returning, shot up from the chair. His tunic was smoldering, the skin burning
beneath. Too new in his body to feel pain, Jack could only feel honor. He had
to get away from the glass. Pulling at his