"Oh," breathed Mad Miltzin. His gra.s.shopper eyes bulged expressively. "Oh."

"You see, Sire." Nevenskoi noted his monarch's reaction with satisfaction. "Masterfire's potential remains largely untapped. Will you not concede as much?"

"Magnificent," whispered the king. "Spectacular. She is so very beautiful!"

"Your Majesty's pleasure is my greatest reward."

"She is the most glorious creature I have ever beheld," opined His Majesty. "Flawless. Peerless. Never have I encountered such intensity, such unabashed ardor!"

"It is but one form among countless possibilities, each more wondrous than the last," Nevenskoi suggested with a significant smile.

"To think how we've misjudged!" marveled the king. "This ent.i.ty that we've known as Masterfire should by rights bear the t.i.tle of-Mistressfire. Yes, it is perfect-she is perfect. The very essence of true femininity-and we did not perceive it, until now! How could we have been so blind?" is perfect. The very essence of true femininity-and we did not perceive it, until now! How could we have been so blind?"

"Majesty, all mortals err."

"Nevenskoi, I must touch her! It's possible, is it not? Do not deny me, my friend, do not deny her her-for I sense her longing, it burns in those incomparable eyes!"

"I believe that a certain limited contact may be possible," Nevenskoi consented cautiously. He considered. He controlled Masterfire, he could trust Masterfire, up to a point. "Yes. You may hold her hand. Briefly."

"It is a start." Miltzin's eyes traveled the undulant green form. "The start of a journey, I am certain."

"One moment, Sire." Nevenskoi concentrated his thoughts and spoke with his mind. Loveliness. You have done well, I am proud of you. Now hear me. It is important, very important. Loveliness. You have done well, I am proud of you. Now hear me. It is important, very important.

Whatwhatwhat? asked Masterfire. asked Masterfire.

The king desires to touch you.

Eateateateateateat- None of that. You will suffer his touch, and you will consume nothing.

Badmeat touches me, I eat.

No! You will not eat. Not a morsel. You will not so much as frizzle a hair on his head. Do you understand me?

NoNoNo.

Yes you do.

Who is badmeat to touch Masterfire?

Our sovereign, our ruler.

Not mine.

No more argument. Nevenskoi focused his will. Nevenskoi focused his will. You hear my commands. You will obey. You hear my commands. You will obey.

No fun.

Offer your hand to the king.

Not a real hand, anyway. Complaints notwithstanding, the blazing beauty extended a graceful green arm. Complaints notwithstanding, the blazing beauty extended a graceful green arm.

Miltzin hesitantly accepted the proffered member. The slim hand of fire lay harmlessly across his open palm, and an entranced smile overspread his face. Very gently he closed his fingers to clasp the hand of Masterfire, and for some moments stood savoring the contact.

"I sense the wild flare of her emotions," the king proclaimed at length. "And I believe that Mistressfire likewise senses mine. We are kindred spirits, she and I. We have bonded." Lightly he stroked the long green fingers, which flickered at his touch. "Ah, she is exquisitely responsive."

EAT! Masterfire shivered with eagerness, and for a split second the human guise wavered. Masterfire shivered with eagerness, and for a split second the human guise wavered. Pleasepleaseplease! Pleasepleaseplease!

No. I absolutely forbid it.

WHY?.

"She is pa.s.sion personified," observed the king. "She is divine. I must know her fully, Nevenskoi-I must experience her totality. You will find a way of effecting our union. I am relying on you, my friend."

"I-well. Union. Your Majesty has taken me by surprise," Nevenskoi answered with perfect truth.

Eateateateateateateateateat- "But it is not so amazing," Miltzin IX observed reasonably. "You are the creator of Mistressfire, her father and teacher. Surely you, who know her so well, must have perceived that she and your monarch possess twin souls of fire. What could be more natural than the longing of two such spirits to merge? For I trust I do not flatter myself in a.s.suming that Mistressfire shares my desires."

Eateateateateateateateateateat- "I can safely report that she is not indifferent, Sire. Still-"

A sharp knock at the study door spared Nevenskoi the necessity of further invention.

"Ah, I had quite forgotten." Miltzin shook his head. "But then, my attention has been fully occupied!" He raised his voice. "Come!"

The door opened. A footman hovered at the threshold. He took in the naked green flaming female handfasted to the king, and his eyes rounded. His jaw dropped, but no words emerged.

"Send him in, send him in," Miltzin commanded, amused.

The footman bowed deeply and retired mutely.

"It quite slipped my mind, I've sent for that marvelous new sous-chef," the king explained blithely. "That talented fellow shall have a royal commendation, and perhaps a little pourboire to go with it. I'm sure you'll agree, my friend, that he deserves both."

"The sous-chef?" Nevenskoi froze, paralyzed as if some blood vessel in his brain had burst, and he could only repeat helplessly, "The sous-chef?"

"The new sous-chef, man! The genius, the rising star, the Architect of Appetizers. The gifted-what was his name, again? Oh, yes-the gifted Master Giggy Neeper!"

A new figure appeared in the doorway.

"You may approach," Miltzin invited graciously.

The newcomer bowed low, entered, and there was Cousin Giggy, much as Nitz Neeper remembered. Fifteen years older, of course. The snub-nosed, freckled, skinny adolescent of yore had thickened around the middle and his sandy hair was receding, but Giggy remained entirely recognizable.

Terror welled within Nevenskoi, and he cast desperate eyes around him. Trapped.

Giggy Neeper's astounded eyes fastened on Masterfire. For a moment or two he saw nothing else. Recollecting the presence of his sovereign, he tore his eyes from the green woman, fixed them on the king, and held them there with obvious effort.

"Master Neeper, I have summoned you to my presence in order to commend the excellence of your work," the king announced. "I have been most favorably impressed-indeed, I've been delighted-by your manifestations of skill, imagination, and virtuosity. Your ganzel puffs are the lightest in the world. Your truffled tartlets beggar description."

"I am greatly honored, Sire." A flush of pleasure suffused the sous-chef's face.

"Truly, my dear fellow, you are an artist marked for greatness in your chosen field. It gives me pleasure to surround myself with men of talent, I revel in the juxtaposition of masterly minds. Thus I'm doubly pleased to present you to a fellow admirer of your work, the ingenious adept Nevenskoi, creator of this gorgeous fiery stunner here, whose presence I think you haven't overlooked. Nevenskoi can't resist your brandied dormice. Eh, Nevenskoi?"

The adept inclined his head in wordless a.s.sent.

"I am most grateful, Majesty. Your praise overwhelms me," Giggy declared with becoming modesty. He turned to Nevenskoi. "And I thank you, too, sir. Maybe it would interest you to know that the brandied dormice recipe is a refinement of a dish that my grandmother used to prepare for special family gatherings. I can still remember sitting at her big polished table as a boy, feasting on her soused dormice. Everyone loved them, and I had one cousin in particular who used to gobble them by the handful-" He stopped. He stared. His eyes rounded and his voice rose an incredulous octave. "Nitz? Nitz Neeper, is it you you?"

"I do not understand you." Nevenskoi's Rhazaullean accent was more than ordinarily p.r.o.nounced. Behind the facade of polite incomprehension his heart hammered and his guts twisted.

Badness? asked Masterfire. asked Masterfire.

"It is is you!" Giggy decided. "I can hardly believe it! Nitz, we all thought you were dead!" you!" Giggy decided. "I can hardly believe it! Nitz, we all thought you were dead!"

"You jest, Master Neeper?" Nevenskoi frowned, mildly puzzled. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the king observing the scene with interest, and his alarm approached panic.

Whatwhatwhat? Masterfire demanded. Masterfire demanded.

"Wait until Dosie and Jilfur hear that you're alive! They'll be absolutely bowled over! They speak of you often, you know. Why in the world haven't you been in touch all these years?"

"And what is all this, my dear fellow?" inquired the king. "You and my Nevenskoi know each other?"

"Know each other! Sire, this is my dear cousin Nitz Neeper, missing these fifteen years. It's like a miracle, finding him here like this!"

"Majesty-" Attempting a faintly bemused smile, Nevenskoi produced a pained facial contortion. "This kitchen person makes a joke or else a mistake. I have never seen him before in my life, nor have I encountered any member of his family."

"Nitz, how can you say that?" Giggy Neeper reproached. "What's the matter with you? You can't have forgotten your own kin!"

"Master Neeper, I believe you commit an honest error," Nevenskoi returned generously. "This I can understand. Perhaps I bear some resemblance to this long-lost cousin of yours. Such things happen. But please understand, we have never met before this day."

"Nitz, that's plain ridiculous. Do you think your own first cousin won't know you, just because you've gone and colored your hair? I don't remember you ever having that much hair, though. Oh, I see. It's a wig."

"You are very much mistaken. You-"

"Gad, is is it a wig?" demanded the king. He stared. "He's right, isn't he? I never noticed that!" it a wig?" demanded the king. He stared. "He's right, isn't he? I never noticed that!"

"No, Sire, this is a great misunderstanding-"

"Give it a tug, then. A good, firm tug."

"Majesty, I take exception. This is most demeaning, most distasteful-"

"Give it a tug, Nevenskoi, or I'll call in one of the footmen to do it for you."

"That will not be necessary." Nevenskoi's innards were up in rebellion. Ignoring the internal tumult, he drew a deep breath and met his sovereign's eyes squarely. "I confess it is true, Sire. I wear a wig. A small vanity, harmless and quite meaningless. I hope you will not think too ill of your servant."

"And what of your name, man? Is that likewise a small vanity?"

"Never, Sire. I am born of an ancient and n.o.ble Rhazaullean line."

"Oh, come off it, Nitz," Giggy Neeper advised. "You ought to be ashamed, spinning such tales. Your father was Klisp Neeper, shopkeeper of Flenkutz, and a very good man too. What do you think he'd say if he could hear you now?"

"My family's estate stood above the village of Chtarnavaikul, as Your Majesty already knows." Nevenskoi's eyes watered with desperate sincerity. "Then came the deadly mudslide-"

"You and your whoppers." Giggy Neeper shook his head. "I'd almost forgotten those incredible lies, but now it all comes back to me. All right, Nitz. If we've never met before, then how is it I know about that scar on your right wrist? You were about seventeen years old, and you were fooling around at Granny's hearth-you had some wild notion that you could make the fire do some sort of trick, I forget what, and it didn't work anyway-you only managed to give yourself a beauty of a burn, which left the scar. What about it?"

"Yes, what about it?" echoed the king. "Is your wrist really scarred, Nevenskoi? Push back your sleeve, let's have a look."

"Majesty, this is absurd."

"You refuse?" Miltzin IX's smile vanished.

"Sire, what signifies a scar? It means nothing and proves nothing. I-I do not deserve this." Not after all my hard work Not after all my hard work, he wanted to say. Not after I've come so far and accomplished so much. I am creator of Masterfire, a great marvel. What does it matter where I came from, or who my father was, why should anyone care? Not after I've come so far and accomplished so much. I am creator of Masterfire, a great marvel. What does it matter where I came from, or who my father was, why should anyone care? All of this and more he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat, the familiar nervous pangs lanced his belly, and he clutched his middle with a gasp. All of this and more he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat, the familiar nervous pangs lanced his belly, and he clutched his middle with a gasp.

Owww! A cry of silent sympathetic pain burst from the mind of Masterfire. A cry of silent sympathetic pain burst from the mind of Masterfire.

Nevenskoi scarcely noticed. Preoccupied with miseries both physical and mental, he allowed his link with the sentient flame to falter, along with his control.

"Owww!" This time the yelp of pain came from Miltzin IX. Abruptly dropping the green woman's hand, he inspected his own palm, which was deeply reddened and no doubt destined to blister.

The woman of flame suddenly roared into greatness, stretching to a height of some twelve feet. For a moment or two she stood there fully intact, wild cloud of hair scorching and blackening the ceiling, intense heat radiating from her body. Then the limbs flickered and twisted, the sculpted curves of the torso gave way to glaring chaos, the head appeared to explode, and a formless ma.s.s of ungoverned fire blazed at the center of the king's study.

Miltzin squawked and backed away, both arms up to shield his face. Giggy Neeper screamed, dashed for the exit, was through it and gone in an instant.

The carpet beneath and around Masterfire blackened. The brocade window curtains vanished in a green flash, and the polished wood of the desk began to char.

"Stop!" Nevenskoi was not aware that he spoke aloud. There was no reply, no intimation that he had been heard, and it took all the experience and expertise at his command to force himself to pause, to order his thoughts and collect his faculties, before addressing Masterfire again. Stop. Stop.

EAT! The green flame sent excited experimental tentacles snaking toward the bookcases. The green flame sent excited experimental tentacles snaking toward the bookcases. DANCE! BIG! EAT! DANCE! BIG! EAT!

Stop. Pain and alarm still rocked his concentration, and Nevenskoi forcibly suppressed both. Pain and alarm still rocked his concentration, and Nevenskoi forcibly suppressed both. Stop. Now. Obey. Stop. Now. Obey.

DANCEDANCEDANCE! I am Masterfire, and I am feeling FINE! I am glorious, I am gorgeous, I am me. The musical scores littering the desktop went up in flames.

Stop. Consume nothing more. Dwindle. Small. Small.

Don't wanna. A stack of unopened correspondence vanished. A stack of unopened correspondence vanished.

Stop that. Soon I will be angry. Obey. Now.

Nevenskoi strained his will to the uttermost, and his creation, struck by the desperate force of the a.s.sault, submitted without further resistance. In an instant Masterfire shrank, great ma.s.s dwindling to a fist-sized ball of flame. Nevenskoi's shoulders sagged and a long sigh gusted from the depths of his lungs. After a moment he ventured a glance at the king.

Miltzin IX stood poised for flight. His face was white and the palm of his right hand was red. He was staring at Masterfire, his expression shocked as he observed, "She attacked me."

"An overspill of youthful high spirits, Majesty," Nevenskoi soothed. "Unsuitable perhaps, but essentially innocent."

"She would have killed me. I was unprepared for the violence, the treachery."

"Sire, there was no malice in this. It was an accident. Masterfire is like a child, unruly and impetuous at times, but-"

"A child full of cunning and duplicity," the king interrupted. "And where did she learn them, I wonder? Who was her master? It is not a difficult puzzle. Who is the habitual liar, the cheat, the impostor? Push back your sleeve, Nevenskoi, or whatever your name is. I want to see your wrist."