“There are dog slippers there too, Ardent,” said the Wizard. “And ones for young Master Shrub and Champion Smooth Stone Oysterbreaker.”
“I don’t need slippers,” said Smoothie. She sat down, bent double, and licked her feet clean in a few seconds.
“How do you know all of us?” asked Anya. Only Shrub and herself had given their names.
“I am a wizard.” The Good Wizard pulled at her beard again, but it still wouldn’t come loose. “On to baths! Robes will be provided, while your clothes are washed and … ah … mended. Or perhaps replaced?”
“That was an accident,” said Ardent, noticing the Wizard looking at the holes in Anya’s kirtle. “About these baths, perhaps just a shallow one; I c-c-could pop in and out? And soap … soap isn’t really—”
“Ardent,” said Anya in a firm but kindly tone. “You will have a bath. With soap.”
She helped the dog on with his slippers. They were soft leather moccasins that fit perfectly over his paws and were tied with blue ribbons. Shrub’s were sturdier wooden clogs with felted soles, and there was even a kind of sock that went over his tail so it wouldn’t drag dirt across the floor. Or the precious carpets.
“Very good,” said the Wizard. She opened the door and led them into a vast hall. Though it must have been carved out of the rocky hill, the walls were lined with paneled chestnut, as was the ceiling high above, save for the great oaken beams and braces.
The floor was entirely covered in carpets, so that whatever surface lay beneath was invisible. Dozens and dozens of carpets, of different sizes and designs and patterns, overlapping one another everywhere. In places there were raised sections where clearly three or four carpets lay beneath the visible ones, making for a rather uneven surface. The carpets were of very mixed ages: some of great antiquity, very old and faded, others vibrant, their colors strong, as if they had just been made. It was unusual flooring, Anya thought, but certainly warm and comfortable.
There was a massive fireplace at the far end, bigger than the largest one in the hall at Trallonia Castle, just as this hall was also much larger. Several logs—really the rough-hewn trunks of large trees—were burning slowly in a grate made of wrought iron in the shape of interwoven roses, with oversize thorns. Bronze firedogs that looked very much like Ardent, only larger, stood at each end of the hearth, their snouts bright from rubbing, flanks dark with the patina of great age. An iron basket held an assortment of pokers, tongs, toasting forks, and ash shovels, some bronze, some iron, and some of a silvery metal that Anya couldn’t identify.
A long table of dark, polished timber dominated the hall. Only the far end was set for dinner, thirteen places in all, though the table could easily seat forty. Each setting featured half a dozen different knives and forks, Anya was very pleased to see, suggesting a quantity of food. And there were three glasses, two metal goblets, and one wooden beaker set for each diner too, indicating a great choice of drink. Anya didn’t care about that, as she drank only water, but it was still impressive.
There were four ordinary-looking heavy oak doors on the left wall, and eight rather extraordinary doors on the right wall. These eight special doors were painted with scenes of craft and industry, beautiful paintings, but very old, as could be seen by some parts that were faded or obscured by decades or perhaps even centuries of collected dust and grime.
The painted doors depicted people—curiously small and broad people—hard at work, their lips curiously pursed. Not pouting, though Anya couldn’t quite work out what they were doing.
One door showed a forge, bright with fire, two leather-aproned smiths hammering at an anvil; another a cobbler at a last, putting gold nails in the sole of a fancy boot; the next, weavers at a very large carpet loom; then jewelers at their desk with fine instruments; embroiderers on their stools with great spools of thread all around; a cabinetmaker with many different timbers in front of him, a partially made screen under construction; and the seventh showed a room of many bones and tusks, with two of the short folk engaged in an intricate carving of some very long and whorled horn that Anya thought might be that of a unicorn, save that it was black and not a lustrous and pearly white.
The eighth door had the portrait of a wizard, much like the Good Wizard when she was in full regalia, with the long white beard, the starry hat, and staff. But it was not her face with those bright eyes, nor quite the same beard, and the hat was taller and had bigger stars and no comet. The staff had nine gold bands and a giant ruby on the end. This painting was even more clouded in darkness at the edges, a sign of great age.
“Bathhouse is through there,” said the Good Wizard, pointing to the first plain door on the left. “My apprentices will help you with towels and niceties. Choose any bath you like. There should also be a small terrarium where you can place your frog prince—”
She looked to one side, tilting her head to listen to an invisible apprentice.
“Yes, it has been put there. It is quite secure, and contains a number of bugs and so forth. Please, choose your bath.”
The door opened, revealing a large, steamy chamber beyond, in which nine copper bathtubs with brazen feet were arrayed in a line, each with a small table beside it laden with soaps and oils. They were already full of hot water, as evidenced by the steam. There were paper-and-bamboo screens arranged between them, which were open at present, but could be slid shut for privacy. Each of the screens was decorated with a different motif, reflecting the paintings on the doors. Anya noted the closest had small anvils, the next shoes. Clearly, the doors and bathtubs were identified for some other reason. Perhaps simply convenience, so the inhabitants of the Wizard’s halls could say “the Smith’s door” or “the Cobbler’s bath.” But it seemed to be more significant than that.