The women looked ordinary enough. Some were young, some middle-aged, and some old. They wore similar clothes to the villagers in Trallonia the Village, though with touches that showed they were wealthier. All of them wore brooches, for example, fancy brooches with jewels, or amber, or gold beads.
There were thirteen women, which Anya thought was significant. Their luggage was stacked up against one of the standing stones, a pile of cloak bags and valises, topped with thirteen round hat cases. This too was probably important.
“We got everything, then?” asked one of the older women, looking down the table at everything laid out on, under, and beside it.
“I think so,” replied the woman next to her. She checked items off on her fingers, and other women nodded or signaled as she spoke. “Pig’s coming tomorrow, but the spit is up and the fire pit is ready, isn’t it, Agnes? Bread will be delivered by noon—Mollie’s lad is taking care of that. Wine is coming—the cart is going slow so as not to upset the claret. Egnetha’s lover boy the wine merchant chose it special, so it should be good. Greens from my own garden. My Gert will pick ’em fresh in the morn.”
“None of that rampion, mind,” said one of the women. “I can’t abide it.”
All the women laughed.
“There is something,” said the first woman. “But I can’t think … we’re missing something. An ingredient? One of the herbs? I just can’t put my finger … ”
Once again, the mirrorlike surface of the pool flashed. Anya screwed her eyes shut against the brilliance, opening them slowly as the intensity of the light faded.
Gradually the third vision, the one of something that might yet come to be, coalesced on the surface of the water.
It was Trallonia again, the village this time, but not as Anya had last seen it. She was looking at the village green, which was not the well-kept square of lawn she was used to, but a small field rank with weeds. The houses across the way had holes in their thatched roofs, and ill-made shutters where once they had diamond-paned glass windows.
A villager Anya recognized, though it took her a few seconds, came skulking by the green. It was Rob the Frogger … but far leaner and more ragged than he had been. He had no staff over his shoulder, no suspended frog baskets, and no shoes. His feet were wrapped in dirty rags.
One of the shutters eased open, and a hoarse voice called out from the unseen darkness within.
“Get any?”
“No,” said Rob, very shortly. “Not allowed anymore. She says all frogs are to be gathered by castle servants and sold in Rolanstown. That’s the latest. We’ll be eating dirt and drinking air.”
He was answered by a groan, and the shutter slowly closed. As it eased shut, the vision faded, leaving Anya staring openmouthed and miserable at the pool, which now once again only showed the reflection of the candle flames and, there in the middle, the blurry image of a distressed princess, staring.
“What did you see?” asked the Wizard quietly.
Anya hesitated for a long moment.
“I think I won’t tell you the third one,” she said. She had been profoundly disturbed by that vision, most of all by Rob the Frogger’s reference to “her.” It forced the princess to confront some of the fidgety doubts that had been crawling around in her mind ever since Bert had asked about whether Morven would be a good queen. Or there was the even worse thought that the “her” Rob the Frogger mentioned might mean Anya herself—that even if she managed to defeat Duke Rikard, she’d end up as a sorcerer, and be as evil as he was anyway, or worse.
But how could she prevent that? What if it was some future Morven that Rob the Frogger was talking about? It was true she might be a very bad queen if she was not guided in some way. A very forceful way, since Morven wasn’t one to listen …
“It is only something that might come to be,” said Anya, half to herself, seeking reassurance that wasn’t there. “Something I don’t want to happen.”
“I understand,” said the Wizard. “But the first two visions? I may be able to assist you in understanding whatever the pool has shown.”
Anya told her, simply describing the two visions, though it was hard for her not to cry when she talked about listening to Tanitha. She had to reach up and stop her lower lip quivering, pretending she was just wiping her mouth.
“I loved those stories about the Dog with the Wonderful Nose,” said Ardent happily. “She had so many adventures, and always worked out what to do by smelling something or other. Do you remember the one about the lost sausages?”
“Not now, Ardent,” said Anya, settling the dog back down and scratching his head. He’d become so excited about the story that he’d forgotten his training and jumped up at her.
“The Mirror is tricksome, and not always to be trusted,” cautioned the Wizard. “But I believe this time it may have shown you things you need to know.”
“How does it work?” asked Anya, repeating her earlier question. “Is it because the water is in a dead dragon’s eye socket?”
“Yes … and no,” replied the Wizard. “Yes, because the bone is a necessary raw material. But the pool as a magical object for divination was made by carving thousands of runes into the bone and investing them with magic. Everything under the surface is covered with them. It took my predecessor and the Seven Dwarves more than ninety years to make it, over three centuries ago.”
“And like all magic things made by wizards, it is flawed?”
The Good Wizard bowed her head to acknowledge this.
“What is its flaw?” asked Anya.
“It sometimes shows things you want to see, rather than what you need to see,” replied the Good Wizard. “This can be quite a serious drawback.”
“I don’t think it did that this time,” said Anya. She wiped her eyes, turning the motion into a yawn. “Except maybe the first vision … I need to think about what it showed me. And I need to sleep. Maybe I’ll work something out in my dreams. If … I mean, if it’s all right for us to stay the night here?”