A voice said clearly, “I am Mawdoor, keeper of the curse, prisoner in this damned cask for longer than a wizard should exist. Release me, mortal.”
Bishop said without hesitation, his voice deep, “Will you swear that you will be the most trustworthy wizard in this world?”
There was a deep rumbling sound, then, “Yes, I swear it.”
“You will return the demons to their realm?”
“Yes, it will be done.”
“When?”
“Immediately. Release me!”
Bishop sat back on his haunches, staring into the cask. He nodded slowly. “It is done.” He picked up the wand and pointed it into the cask. “The curse is done.”
There was utter silence. Then there was singing—many voices raised in a beautiful harmony, singing, chanting—and then silence again.
The cask began to shake. Bishop and Merryn backed away from it.
It exploded into brilliant colors—reds, blues, oranges, greens—and those colors flew upward and outward, cracking and popping, like myriad small explosions of noise and color, and the noise became louder and louder until they both clapped their hands over their ears.
Then the incredible noise, all the colors, the cracking and popping, the cask, all were gone. Simply gone.
They were alone in the hole.
“Do you know something, Merryn?”
She cocked her head to one side.
“It just occurred to me that I should very much like to see you on your knees in front of me.”
Her head remained cocked. “Whyever for, Bishop? You wish me to worship you?”
His eyes nearly crossed. He could see her, dammit, see her on her knees, see her touching him, see her taking him in her mouth. He shuddered. They were in the bottom of a hole, by all the saints’ wayward children, with no way out, and he suddenly wanted her to take him in her mouth?
He was mad.
And what had happened was madness. They were trying to ignore it, to focus only on the present, on what was real, on what they could see and touch. A good thing, he thought, the present. He knew neither of them wanted to think about the strange cask and the wizard Mawdoor and the demons, all gone now, thank God. It was all just too much.
Suddenly Bishop heard laughter. It was the same laugh he’d heard when he’d first leaned over the mouth of the hole. The same laugh as when a hand had slapped his face. The laughter was becoming louder and louder.
He looked at Merryn. She was waiting for him to speak, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t.
He realized that she didn’t hear the laughter.
Suddenly he smiled. “No, being on your knees in front of me, it’s not at all about worship. I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s get out of this hole now, Merryn. Give me your hand.”
She didn’t question him, just gave him her hand.
He clasped her fingers, pulled her close and wrapped his arms tightly around her. The laughter was soft now, right in his ears, filling him, and he knew there wouldn’t be a hand to slap him this time. And he wondered, Is that you, prince? You want me out of this wretched hole, don’t you? You want me out of your cave.
Bishop smiled as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw a rope ladder going up the side of the hole.
“Where did that come from?” Merryn said, and there was no fear in her voice, just wonder. “It wasn’t there before, was it, Bishop?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
He said no more. After all, what could he say? That the prince had put the rope ladder there? He supposed they were both beyond fear now, beyond what they couldn’t begin to explain, to understand. Bishop said, “Mayhap the ladder was there all the time, and we just didn’t see it.” Aye, it had been invisible. Was that true? He had no idea. But he’d known, known all the way to the soles of his dirty feet, that it would be there when he opened his eyes.