Free Fain the Sorcerer by Steve Aylett Page A

felt a bad flicker of sensation. Thorn was seated at the small white round table. Today he was a gaunt albino with a silver half-moon blade arcing from the back of his head like a rudder. Fain seated himself opposite, on a garden seat woven from white metal. On the table was a cut white ivory diamond the size of a duck egg, each facet engraved with the face of a different insect. The room was filled with the scent of headache trees and everythyme. There was no triangular door. 73
    Fain had learned from the mermaid the million colours of water, none of which had a name. Looking at Hackler Thorn, he said, ‘ Your luck is grey. ’
    Thorn ’ s face twitched like a cat ’ s ear. ‘ At least you ’ re honest. ’
    ‘ Is that really the least? I seek the truth, when there isn ’ t anything better to do. Which there never is, Lord Thorn. ’
    ‘“ Lord Thorn, ”’ Thorn repeated, savouring the words. ‘ I like that. ’ Looking up, Fain saw a chandelier of black crystal which hung like a widow spider.
    ‘ This prejudice against skulls and shadow, ’ said Thorn. ‘ Both are necessary aren ’ t they? ’
    ‘ Absolutely, ’ said Fain. He was glad to have one of his own arguments expressed.
    ‘ Life is quantum entanglement, a red labyrinth of delays and repeated perplexities. I was an innocent once, but now I ’ m reformed. And you, with that bog of shadows you call a mind. Who the hell are you ? ’
    Fain saw Thorn ’ s face prowing out, beginning to change, and instantly wished himself in the cottage kitchen. Above, he wished himself another fifty years back. The kitchen seemed quite orderly, the portraits of squires and maidens quite legible, and there were devices and pieces of meat on the table. Fain swept them off, upended the table and walked at it, breaking his nose. Staggering outside into a bright garden clogged with roses, he saw Thorn standing near a stone basin which tumbled a fountain of fresh water. Today Thorn was a skeleton full of meat and a head bound in human skin. Fain realised abruptly that this was Thorn simply presented as human. The warlock wore a black cloak decorated with triangular autumn leaves and red heart snails. He was bending to examine the earth. ‘ Oh yes nature trots out the dandelions, big deal. ’
    ‘ Mr Thorn, ’ Fain called.
    Thorn straightened up, frowning. ‘ Who are you? And my name ’ s not Thorn. ’ He bent to examine a rose. ‘ Another tag of slithering formulae. ’ He stood, and kicked it from the earth.
    ‘ No sense in that, ’ said Fain. ‘ You may as well fight against your own gums. ’
    ‘ Your nose is bleeding. And anyway, maybe I will. I happen to hate my own gums, why not? Squatting there while I do all the work. It ’ s bad enough I ’ m trapped in this skull and viewing the world through these crooked teeth. And look — the garden is filthy with petals! ’
    Fain laughed, and because he did not want to offend the man, who was standing directly in front of him, he laughed from both sides of his mouth while keeping the middle closed — the effect was apparently not what he ’ d hoped for, as the man looked suddenly startled and incredulous.
    ‘ I could arrange to have you bitten by a gnome, ’ the man told him.
    ‘ Not much fun. ’
    ‘ Fun? When you inspire indignation you know you ’ re alive. ’
    ‘ I agree, ’ said Fain emphatically. ‘ Someone who loves the world cannot remain unstirred. ’
    The man seemed unconvinced. ‘ These verbal trinkets clink in your own wind. Let ’ s sit over there, I ’ ll explain something to you. ’
    Fain glanced back at the simple, towerless cottage as the man who would be Thorn led him to a terrace rich with broken capillaries. Here was the stone image of a wingless lion and the earthenware feet of a missing statue. A garden table bore a book bound in red leather. Tea stains made the yellowish tablecloth resemble the pelt of a giraffe. As they sat down, Fain perceived Thorn ’ s heart perched