“Kazmina,” she said, gently shaking the wizard, “you've got to change me back now... Or tell me what's going on.”

Kazmina wasn't fully awake. “What's wrong?” she mumbled, propping up on her left arm.

“This doesn't feel wrong, that's what's wrong! I'm forgetting what I'm supposed to be, just like when we were geese. By the time we go to see Psavian, I'm afraid I'll have forgotten why I came back to find Tsavila!”

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 5 of 22

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Feel free to repost or mirror it on any noncommercial site or list. You can also create derivative works, including adaptations to other media, or new stories using the same setting, characters and so forth, as long as you mention and point to the original story.

An earlier version of this novel was serialized on the tg_fiction mailing list from December 2010 to March 2011. Thanks to the people who posted comments on that draft.

The full novel is already available from Lulu.com. I'm serializing it here in twenty-two parts, at least one chapter per week if I can manage it.

Other things were on her mind when she startled awake out of a nightmare of being attacked by the mbekivu eagle. Her surroundings gradually brought back her memories of the day before. She needed to pee. She disentangled herself from the sheets and from Kazmina's right arm, which had fallen across her belly sometime in the night, and quickly put on her tunic, trousers and shoes. The pre-dawn light from the narrow window was dim, but adequate for her dark-adjusted eyes. She emerged from their room and went down the hall to the garderobe.

It was only after she wiped herself that she realized how strange it was that none of that had felt strange. She hadn't been aroused by the touch of Kazmina's arm or her naked presence, hadn't felt surprise at her own body on waking, hadn't needed to think deliberately about sitting down to pee or figure out how to wipe her secret parts, hadn't felt any annoyance at the absence of her manly parts or the need to sit down beforehand and wipe afterward... It all came as naturally to her as flying and knowing whither to fly came to her as a goose.

She returned to the room, finding Kazmina still asleep. She hesitated, but decided to wake her.

“Kazmina,” she said, gently shaking the wizard, “you've got to change me back now... Or tell me what's going on. You can change me just before we go to the tailor to be measured, and then again just before we go to Psavian's house...”

Kazmina wasn't fully awake. “What's wrong?” she mumbled, propping up on her left arm.

“This doesn't feel wrong, that's what's wrong! I'm forgetting what I'm supposed to be, just like when we were geese. By the time we go to see Psavian, tomorrow or whenever the new clothes are ready, I'm afraid I'll have forgotten why I came back to find Tsavila!”

“You won't forget that,” Kazmina said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “The spell makes you feel comfortable being a woman, but it's not going to mess up your memory. When you turned into a goose you had a little tiny brain; it takes several extra spells for me to retain human rationality and memory in animal form, and I had to compensate by learning how to fly in that form the way I learned to walk and talk as a baby... But a woman has just as good a memory and reason as a man.”

“I mean,” Launuru said, grasping for the Tuaznu words to express her meaning, “I'm afraid I won't feel about Tsavila the way I felt about her before.”

“Oh.” Kazmina looked thoughtful. “Well, you probably won't — ”

“What?!”

“ — but don't worry, it's not like you'll forget about her or not care about her. Your manly passion for her won't just disappear; it will turn into womanly friendship — if it hasn't already — and then when I turn you back into a man, it will become passion again.”

“But how will I — ” She thought of the prospect of meeting Tsavila like this. Lying awake under the stars the night before last, he had planned what he would say, how he would tell Tsavila he was the same man she knew, disguised by Kazmina so he could meet her; how much he had missed her; how much he still loved her... Could she say all those things he'd planned to say, and be entirely convincing, if when she finally met Tsavila she felt only friendship for her? She tried to analyze her current feelings toward Tsavila, and only succeeded in confusing herself.

“It will be all right,” Kazmina said. “I'm hungry, what about you?” She stood up and pulled on her robe.

They ate breakfast in the common room of the inn, then left to seek a good tailor. As they got deeper into the city, the one-storey wooden buildings of Northgate gave way to two and three-storey buildings, many of brick or stone, and the traffic grew denser; they had to dodge carts and carriages to cross the wider streets, and sometimes squeeze their way through crowds against the flow of traffic. Before they had gone far, Kazmina said to Launuru: “We have to do something temporary about your clothes — they're too obviously a man's, the way they're so tight in the chest and hips.” She spoke the words and made the gestures she'd used to turn bundles of dried grass into men's clothing, and Launuru's tunic and trousers adjusted to fit her much better. “Thank you,” she said, looking around to see if anyone had noticed this open display of magic. It didn't look as though anyone had; the tunic and trousers were still of the same undyed cotton, only their shape having changed.

Before they were halfway to Tailor Street, Kazmina asked, “How much further is it?”

“A kilometer and a half, maybe?” Launuru hazarded; she'd always been better at languages than at figuring. “Would you rather we hire a coach? This is a safe enough neighborhood I'd prefer to save our money for the clothes — ”

“No, walking's fine. I'm just surprised at how big it all is. It just goes on and on.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it's one of the biggest cities I know of.” It was probably eight or ten times bigger than Vmanashi, which, Launuru reflected, might be the only city Kazmina had ever seen.

When they reached Tailor Street, Launuru made inquiries, and selected a tailor specializing in upper-class women's clothing. They presented themselves in the front of his shop.

“My good sir,” Launuru said, putting on a Tuaznu accent, “my cousin and I have traveled hither from Netuatsenu, and suffered misfortune on our way. A few days ago there was a fire at our inn, and we lost all our clothes, being forced to buy these poor garments from the neighboring farmer's wife. We wish you to make for us three sets each of fine clothes after the current mode here in Nilepsan.”

The tailor was a little condescending at first, but when Launuru did not blink at the price he quoted, and did not hesitate or bargain before paying for the first set in advance, he became assiduous. He measured them, then showed them materials and sample garments, asking their preferences; Launuru translated for Kazmina, and, though she would have preferred to have this over with as quickly as possible, they played their parts and dithered over the selections for some time before placing their order. The tailor assured him he could have the first set available by the evening of the following day.

Launuru fretted inwardly at the delay, but it could not be helped. After buying better shoes from a nearby cobbler, and ink and paper from a stationer, they returned to their inn, and spent the rest of the day rehearsing their parts; Launuru memorized the history Kazmina had devised for her fictitious cousin, and the true history of her father, Kazmina's father's older brother's son, who lived in the far eastern province of Setuaznu. Kazmina meanwhile wrote a note of introduction in the wizardly language Rekhim.

They ate in the common room again for supper. The other guests were mostly older men, with a couple of families. Launuru had been noticing the strangeness of how normal she felt less and less often as the day went on; one of these moments occurred during supper, when she realized she had been looking appreciatively at a good-looking man at the opposite table. She was briefly worried, but decided, on analyzing her feelings, that she felt nothing serious for him; her attachment to Tsavila was in no danger.

The next day after breakfast, Kazmina wanted to explore the city. Launuru led her from one monument and fine building to another for some hours, and they lunched at an inn not far from Westgate. Soon after leaving the inn, they passed a small crowd gathered around a storyteller, who was telling “How Rupsevian Made the Kentsan Flow West.” His voice was clear and his sense of timing excellent, and Launuru wanted to stay and listen, but Kazmina quickly grew bored, so she reluctantly tore herself away.

They walked along the Kentsan, looking at the waterfowl and the boats, until they reached the Broad Bridge, where they crossed and spent a couple of hours looking at the paintings, bas-reliefs and statues in the temple of Psunavan before returning across the river and heading for Tailor Street. Kazmina suggested that they bathe before trying on their new clothes; Launuru considered returning to their inn and requesting a tub of hot water from the innkeeper, but they ran across a neighborhood bathhouse whose signboard indicated that it was women's day. Launuru paid the attendant two nobles, and they entered.

It was only some time after they had undressed, dipped into the hot pool, and scrubbed themselves and their dusty, sweaty clothes that Launuru felt a momentary strangeness, realizing that though she was surrounded by naked women and girls, several of them young and pretty, she felt no arousal or excitement. When she finished scrubbing Kazmina's back, a woman about their age, who'd apparently come to the bathhouse alone, asked Launuru to help her scrub her back, and she did so matter-of-factly, quickly dismissing her lack of arousal as unimportant.

Launuru climbed out of the pool to go hang their clean clothes on the drying rack in the inner courtyard, then returned to the pool to relax for a while. She and Kazmina lazily, intermittently conversed, Kazmina asking her occasional questions about Psavian, his family, and the layout of his home, and quizzing her on her cover identity as Kazmina's cousin. After a while they dried off, dressed, and went on to Tailor Street.

After seeing and trying on the first sets of clothing the tailor had made for them, a long dress in blue silk with axolotls embroidered along the sleeves and a wide yellow belt, for Launuru, and one in red silk with embroidered knot-patterns, for Kazmina, Launuru pronounced them satisfactory and paid for the next set, to be ready the following day. The tailor showed them the others he and his journeyman had in progress; eager to go see Tsavila and her family as soon as possible, she briefly agreed that they looked good and hurried out.

“Are you hungry?” Kazmina asked her as they emerged onto the street. “Shall we go eat at our inn or look for some other on the way there?”

“Psavian's family eats supper about this time, or a little later,” Launuru said. “I don't see any reason not to go there now that we're dressed properly.”

“It's been a long day,” Kazmina said, “and though the bath was pleasant and relaxing, I'd still like to get a good night's sleep before I face Psavian.”

“All right,” Launuru said. They returned to their inn.

The next morning, Launuru finished her breakfast quickly and fidgeted, watching Kazmina eat and asking her when she'd be ready to go.

“You see,” Kazmina said, “you had nothing to worry about. Being a woman hasn't made you forget your goal in coming. You're still anxious to see Tsavila and speak with her...”

“Exactly,” Launuru rejoined, “so can we get going?”

When Kazmina finished eating, they returned to their room and changed from their cheap clothes, slightly stained from supper and breakfast, back into the fine dresses they'd taken delivery of the day before. Then they set out, hiring a carriage for a significant fraction of their remaining money. They crossed the Broad Bridge and went past Temple Square along South Street to the neighborhood where Psavian's family lived. A short time later they stopped before Psavian's house, Launuru calling out to the driver as they approached it to identify their destination. They emerged from the carriage and she rang the bell on the gate.

A few moments later, a servant emerged from the house and came to the gate. “May I ask your business?” he asked through the bars, eying the women and their clothing.

“This is the house of Psavian the wizard, is it not?” Launuru asked, knowing perfectly well that it was. She put on a slight Tuaznu accent.

“It is.”

“Then tell him that Kazmina, daughter of his old friend Znembalan,” she gestured to her companion, “is traveling in Niluri with her cousin Shalasan daughter of Ndeshisan, and wishes to visit him, if the time is suitable. Else, he may send word to our inn sometime before we leave the city, informing us when he wishes to receive us.” Then, “Give him the note now,” she said to Kazmina. Her companion passed the note through the bars.

“I shall inform him at once,” the servant said. “In the meanwhile, you need not wait here on the street; come in and make yourselves comfortable in the parlor.” He unlocked the gate; Launuru dismissed the carriage, and followed Psavian's servant through the garden to the front door. He left them in a large parlor opening off the vestibule.

They did not have long to wait, but Launuru's anxiety made the short time seem far longer. She nearly started from her richly upholstered chair when Psavian burst into the room and cried out in a language she didn't know.

Kazmina answered in the same language, apparently, and rose from her chair, crossing the room and extending her hand to the old wizard, who bent his head and kissed it. Launuru rose and smiled nervously. After Kazmina and Psavian exchanged a few more words — presumably in Rekhim, the wizardly language about whose complexities Tsavila had complained to him at the name-day feast where they'd met — Psavian said to Launuru in Ksiluri: “I am pleased to meet you, Shalasan daughter of Ndeshisan.”

Launuru belatedly realized she should extend her hand as Kazmina had done. She did so and said, as Psavian kissed her hand, “And I to meet you, sir.”

“Your cousin tells me you do not speak Rekhim? Does your branch of the family follow another school of magic, then?”

“Alas, my grandfather did not inherit our great-grandfather's talent for magic. My family are merchants.”

“I see. You speak our language very well.”

“Thank you. I traveled much with my father and mother when I was small, and learned Ksiluri and Ksarafra when we stayed for some time in various cities of Niluri and Harafra.”

“Excuse me one moment.” Psavian spoke with Kazmina again in Rekhim, then said to Launuru: “You visit us at a joyous but busy time. My daughter is to be wed three days hence, and tomorrow morning we will leave for my country estate at Tialem for the wedding festival. But I must hear the news of my friend Znembalan and his family; I hope that you will honor us with your presence at the wedding, if your business in Niluri permits such a diversion, or at least visit until supper this evening?”

“We would be happy to attend the wedding,” Launuru said, her heart pounding, “if it is truly suitable...”

“If at all possible, you must. Wait one moment, I must tell my children of your arrival; my daughter in particular will wish to see her old playmate.” He spoke with Kazmina again, then left the room.

“What did he say?” Launuru demanded as soon as he was gone.

“He asked after my father, then how you were kin to me; then after he spoke with you he told me about the wedding — he said they're leaving tomorrow for his estate — ”

“He said the same to me.”

“And he invited us to attend. Isn't this perfect? I told you he would invite us to stay.”

“We'll see if I get a chance to talk to Tsavila alone, though. She'll be ever so busy with the preparations for the wedding.”

“I'll see to it.”

But it was neither Psavian nor Tsavila who entered the room next, but a young man of Launuru's own age, whom she did not realize until that moment how much she had missed.

“I apologize for the delay, good ladies,” he said. “I am Verentsu, Psavian's youngest son. My father and sister will join us shortly. Shall I send for food or drink?”

It took Launuru some little time to respond; she was too overwhelmed by the sight of him. She had never noticed before how large his eyes were, or what color (hazel, she now realized).

After silently staring at him for far too long, then stammering for a moment, she finally managed to say: “We ate just before leaving our inn... Ah, perhaps my cousin wants something to drink.” She managed to tear her attention away from Verentsu for a moment and ask Kazmina if she wanted something.

“A glass of wine,” Kazmina said, “any sort they have... Are you feeling all right?” She looked worried.

Launuru didn't reply. “My cousin would like a glass of wine,” she said to Verentsu. “I suppose I'll have one too.” Then, belatedly thinking of something else she'd omitted: “I am Shalasan daughter of Ndeshisan; my cousin is Kazmina daughter of Znembalan.” She extended her hand, her heart pounding even harder.

“I am honored to meet you,” Verentsu said, and bent to kiss her hand. Kazmina extended her hand and he kissed it. “One moment.” He bowed and left the room, but didn't go far or stay long; she heard him talking to a servant in the passage, after which he returned and seated himself in a chair near them.

“I gather that your cousin speaks little Ksiluri?”

“She speaks only Ksetuatsenu and Rekhim,” Launuru said. She tried to focus on her cover story. “It was our complementary skills which suggested this voyage to us... There is a saying in Netuatsenu, 'Two women may travel safely, if one of them is an enchantress.' And I know several languages, having traveled much with my father and mother as a child; so we decided to see the world, or as much of it as her magic and my languages can open to us.”

“I am overjoyed that your travels have taken you here,” he said. Then, switching to Tuaznu, he said, haltingly, “My ability of Tuaznu is small, but I wish to say I am happy in meeting of you both.”

Kazmina smiled, and said, slowly and with careful enunciation, “We are happy to meet you as well.”

Verentsu switched back to Ksiluri. “I gather that you have met my father and sister before...?”

“My cousin has,” Launuru said, after a moment's distraction. Being in his presence was bringing back intense memories from their long friendship. “I believe they, and her father, were all present at some great conclave of wizards and enchanters that was held in our country some years ago.”

“Yes, I remember now,” Verentsu said; “they were gone for three or four months one year. I don't recall exactly how long ago, but it was when I was still being tutored at home, not yet at the merchants' academy.”

“So you are not yourself a wizard, then?” Launuru asked, for once thinking clearly of what Kazmina's fictitious cousin would ask on hearing that.

“No, my father and sister are the only wizards in the family. I'll graduate from the academy later this year; I have a position waiting for me with a trading consortium here in the city, but I think I may work as my father's business manager instead. I have helped managed the household and his wizardry business for him for some months now, in the intervals of my last term at the academy.”

At this point the servant returned with three glasses of red wine on a tray. Verentsu handed two of them to the ladies (very gracefully, Launuru noted with approval); Launuru thanked him, and the servant withdrew.

“So,” Verentsu said, after they had each taken a sip of wine, “I have heard that you have had a war in your country. Has it not made travel dangerous — ?”

Before Launuru could think of a reply, or even spend more than two heartbeats cursing herself for not paying more attention to the revolution going on around her while she traveled through Netuatsenu, two other figures entered the room. Kazmina, Launuru and Verentsu all rose.

“Tsavila, may I present Shalasan of Netuatsenu?” said Verentsu, with a nod toward Launuru. “You already know Kazmina, though you may not recognize her after so long...” But it seemed that she did; she crossed the room at a run and embraced Kazmina, after which they talked excitedly in Rekhim for two or three hundred heartbeats.

Launuru looked on happily, glad to see Tsavila looking so well. But a glance aside at Psavian started her worrying; he was smiling, but she was not sure that the smile was a benevolent one. For a moment, she thought he might have seen through her disguise.

After a brief conversation, Tsavila turned to Launuru and said in Ksiluri, “So you are Kazmina's cousin Shalasan?”

“Yes,” Launuru said, eager to speak with her alone and tell her who she really was. They had so much to talk about!

“I'm pleased to meet you,” Tsavila replied. Then Psavian said something in Rekhim, and Tsavila and Kazmina both replied briefly. Kazmina looked slightly disappointed. Psavian spoke again in Ksiluri, saying “I hope you will excuse us, my lady; we wizards have much to discuss. Verentsu, please keep our other guest entertained. Perhaps you can show her around the house and garden.”

The three wizards left the room. Part of Launuru was disappointed not to have a chance to converse with Tsavila, but a much larger, surprisingly insistent part was delighted at the chance to be alone with Verentsu. She would have time to talk to Tsavila later, anyway, if Psavian was inviting them to stay through the wedding...

Verentsu turned to her as his sister and the others left the room. “Where were we? I think I had just asked you about your journey, when my father and sister came in...”

“Yes,” Launuru said, thinking frantically. Should she tell him now, or continue play-acting until she had occasion to tell Tsavila privately? Somehow it seemed like a bad idea to tell him just now, though she couldn't think why. “You asked about the revolution...? There's been a lot of trouble, of course, but most of the fighting was near the capital; we avoided that area, going southwest from Vmanashi until we got to Harafra.”

“It must have been exciting, even so,” he said. “I've never been farther north than Ristaha myself. — Did you pass through there on your way here?”

“Yes,” she lied; he'd walked through that city on his way north, and she thought she remembered it well enough to compare notes with him if he wanted to.

“It's not as big as Nilepsan or Nesantsai, of course, but I thought it was a fine city; I wouldn't mind living there. The Paletaksu is a much cleaner river than the Kentsan...”

“I suppose so,” she replied; “it probably comes of the city being smaller, fewer people dumping their — ” She thought suddenly that a lady ought not perhaps to speak plainly about that. Perhaps she could be excused as a foreigner...?

There was an awkward silence for a moment, broken when she said: “And we saw — ” at the same moment he said: “Yes, I suppose — ” They broke off again, then laughed.

“Go on,” he said.

“Well,” she said, “we saw the big equestrian statue they have of Kahespo. I think it's probably five or six yards high, and wonderfully lifelike.” He had stood in its shadow for hours, haranguing one passerby after another about the dangers of meddling with the affairs of wizards.

“Did you see the observatory?”

“No, I'm afraid not.”

After some little further talk about the journey, Launuru managed to turn the conversation toward Verentsu himself and his family; but she learned comparatively little that she didn't already know. He had been managing the business side of his father's wizardry practice, as his mother had done before her death, and his brother Melentsu had married a young woman from Nesantsai, one day after the period of mourning for their mother was ended. Verentsu was beginning to ask after her own family and their business when they heard the distant ringing of a bell. She supposed that someone, Psavian perhaps, was ringing for a servant somewhere; but a few moments later, as she was recounting the history Kazmina had obliged her to memorize, and wondering if it wouldn't be wiser to tell him her real identity already, the manservant who had admitted Kazmina and Launuru entered.

“Begging your pardon, master, but Omutsanu and Itsulanu have arrived. Shall I show them in here? Your father said he and your sister and their guest were not to be disturbed...”

“Yes, Rapsuaru, show them in.”

Moments later, the servant ushered in two men, one about Launuru and Verentsu's age or a little older, and one seemingly of Psavian's age — though it was a chancy thing to guess the age of a wizard. Launuru gazed at them in horrified curiosity.

“Shalasan, this is my sister's fiancé Itsulanu and his father Omutsanu,” Verentsu said. “Omutsanu, Itsulanu, this is Shalasan of Netuatsenu...” Launuru scarcely heard what else he said about her. He had hated them from the moment he heard their names, when Tsavila had told him, weeping, of her arranged marriage; but he had never met either until now. Now she found herself thinking that Itsulanu was not bad looking, although of course nowhere near as fine a man as Verentsu; his skin was coarser and his eyes an uninteresting brown.