The Bloated Curse

by Steve Goble

The prospect of women and whiskey hurried Spider John along the shortest route to Gilada's House. The cutlass in his right hand would dissuade anyone tempted by the leather pouch strapped tightly around his left – he hoped. If not, he wasn't going to lose the pouch without a fight.

Mist filled the nameless alley. Although Spider knew the streets of Carnivah fairly well, he had never ventured this way after dark. The air stank of urine and ambush. He muttered thanks to Nid for the twin full moons that spilled light between the windowless walls. His eyes shifted from a heap of moldy hay on his left to a nasty yellow cat on his right, but danger sprang from neither source.

A glance backward told him there was no pursuit. That surprised him, somewhat, but the previous owner of the pouch-prize was a stranger to Carnivah – a crowded, mazy city of many ethnicities. The Rangarian probably would have a difficult time picking up Spider's trail.

It was possible, too, that no one had seen him scoop up the coins. And the Rangarian likely did not know the true worth of one of those coins. Else, he'd never have wagered it in a dice game.

Spider John stood motionless, waiting to feel the nudge of magic. It came, an insect-tickle on the back of his neck. He looked around and saw a wolf spider clinging to a web dressed in orbs of mist. The wolf spider sat still, unworried about the world beyond its web.

Good omen, that. Spider John exhaled slowly – but oh, so quietly – and relaxed. He even sheathed the cutlass. The clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones told him he was near the alley's end. He kissed the pouch and grinned.

Spider stepped into a wide street and glanced north and south on Breakneck Road. The wagon he'd heard was vanishing into the mist northward. Torches glowed like orange stars in the fog. Only a few people milled about. A trollup strolled toward him, but Spider waved her off. This night, a common streetwalker would not do.

Spider hefted the pouch once more and set out south at a pace to stretch his long legs. Gilada's House beckoned.

A half-hour later, with the pale moon tucked behind the obelisk of Mendon Tower and the bloody red moon hovering just above it, Spider John found Gilada's House. He took stock of his appearance. His shirt and trousers weren't precisely clean, but were as clean as anything he'd ever worn. He'd wiped and scraped the mud from his high boots and even trimmed his whiskers. He'd mixed a bit of fruity wine with his bathing water, hoping for a nice clean scent.

He figured his preening didn't come close to that of Gilada's normal clientele, but it was the best he could do on short notice. And he wasn't waiting another night. The gods could snatch his prize away as capriciously as they'd presented it to him.

Gilada's House was made of stone quarried when Carnivah was young, before the Mnogon Empire took over on some flimsy political pretext backed with not-so-flimsy swords. An oval building, three stories high, with two single-story wings reaching forward like the arms of a lover – or a gigantic crab. Music trilled from upper windows, played on strings finer than that of the usual ship's fiddle. Spider smelled the aroma of meat. Real meat, not fish or salted barrel pork. His mouth watered.

He opened his pouch and removed his prize, a small, copper triangle. He sniffed it. Licked it. Bit it. It was still real. Spider flipped the coin several times, half expecting it to vanish. It didn't. It was still there, a rose on its face and a winking cat on its tail.

A formidable portcullis loomed to Spider's right. He rang a small black bell tucked into a recess in the wall next to a barred window. Shutters behind the bars opened in an instant, revealing a smiling, freshly feminine face surrounded by clean blonde hair.

"Hello, sir." To Spider, she seemed every bit the alluring siren. He wondered if her duties were strictly limited to answering the bell.

"Spider John, miss. My name is Spider John Quail. I'd like to enter in."

Her brows went up and her head cocked to one side, but the smile remained. "Sir, our establishment is quite expensive, and nights must be reserved by purchasing a token in advance." She brushed curls away from her face.

"I've mine right here." He proffered the copper coin, holding it between finger and thumb where she could see it. "Good from sundown to sunup, I believe?"

"Yes, sir, if it is genuine. May I have it?" She held her palm out just beyond the bars, where Spider would have to reach inside to give it to her. He smelled a trap, and glanced about for some sort of spidery omen, but found none.

"Why not," he said. He dropped it in her palm and withdrew his hand as from a flame. No shackles clutched his wrist, no blade hissed viciously downward.

The pretty blonde picked up a small wooden box from the counter beneath the window. With a thumbnail painted the same color as the sunset, she flicked the box open, and with the other hand ceremoniously fit the coin inside it. The box seemed too small for the coin, but it fit nicely.

"Sir, your coin is genuine," she said suspiciously. "May I ask how you came by it?"

"Do you ask that of everyone?" He leaned close to the bars, and challenged her with his eyes. She backed up a good three feet.

Spider feared he'd be refused admission, so he softened. "I got it through a business dealing," he whispered. He omitted the details of how a serious disagreement between a tavern wench and a traveling musician had forced the Singing Frog's boisterous crowd to duck flying tankards, tipping tables and splintering chairs. It was diversion enough for Spider John, who had quickly recouped all his dice losses – plus that lucky coin – and left amid the music of curses, laughter and shattering wood.

The girl shrugged. "See here, sir …" A whisper, from beyond Spider's view, cut her off. The blonde listened to words Spider could not quite discern, and she looked doubtful. But her smile returned.

"Forgive me, sir. You have been admitted. Enjoy your evening."

The portcullis began its slow climb on chains hidden within the walls, without the tiniest hint of creak or scrape. "Through there, sir. Someone will open the inner door for you."

The inner door was crafted of stout oak, and Spider John, ship's carpenter, admired the flawless fit and detailed scrolling. Spider John, thief and survivor, pondered for a moment what a neat cage he'd be in once the portcullis closed behind him.

He stepped through the arch gingerly, as though he were walking a plank, ready to spring back at the slightest danger sign. But the inner door opened immediately, and a beautiful young woman wearing something pink and ghostly-shimmery waved him inside. Spider followed her, and wondered what kept the dress from falling off. Her long tresses were flame-red – not Spider's favorite at all – but she smelled cleaner than any soap he'd ever known. She didn't really walk. She glided.

"I am Nilla. Of the six, there are but two of you tonight," she said, waving him into the grand central parlor. "Have a seat where you please. Can I bring you something to drink? We have anything you could like."

"Excuse me," he said. "The six?"

She smiled. Spider John decided he could change his mind about red hair very quickly. "There are but six of those coins, the one you used to get in here, in all the world," she said. "Gilada likes to keep the guest list small on any given night, so that we can focus all of our attention on our guests."

Spider looked at his lavish surroundings and dreamed about all those resources devoted to him alone. He decided there was enough splendor for himself and one other, but hoped the other four wouldn't show.

He felt weak in the knees, and started thinking about that drink. But what to order? He'd spent the better part of his life on the sea, where captains tended to buy the cheapest beer and wine just so there could be more of it. He gazed at exotic woods, clean marble, gold trimmings, carpets finer than anything he'd ever slept on, and realized he didn't have a clue what to order.

"It's all covered by the coin, correct?"

Nilla smiled and put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. No woman had ever touched him so, and something akin to magic-tickle brushed the hairs of his arm. "Of course," she said. "Whatever you wish to eat, whatever you wish to drink, whatever you desire at all, is yours for the asking until sunrise."

Spider smiled shakily. For a sun-tanned, salt-washed seadog with a missing finger and hair that tended to go where it wanted, this was all new. Like stories he'd heard about the life ever after … with some lewd twists. "Surprise me, girl. Fetch yourself something, and bring me a jack of it, too."

"Of course. Pick a seat." She turned away and disappeared. Spider John wandered into the parlor. Great fireplaces dominated three of its walls. Divans, rocking chairs, Shirimizar seating cushions, a pair of kingly thrones – so many places to sit he stood frozen.

"Over here," a soft voice beckoned. "I have been waiting for you."

The whisper had a tinge of conspiracy in it. Spider peeked around an oak column that ran to the ceiling, and saw the speaker sitting at a small table, staring at a chess board with pieces of silver and gold. He hadn't known what to expect when he heard the voice – it sounded neither masculine nor feminine.

But he certainly hadn't expected a sweaty man weighing near as much as a blow-whale.

"You fear some sort of trap, don't you?"

The blow-whale – until he learned the man's name, Spider couldn't think of him as anything else – wore what was obviously a makeshift robe, probably cobbled together from curtains or bed sheets. He sat on a wooden chair that Spider supposed must have been ensorcelled to bear the weight. Spider guessed the man to be of slightly less than his own unspectacular height. But his girth … Spider wondered if the man would fit through a cargo hatch.

"I am a wary man," Spider said, taking the seat opposite.

"Good," Blow-Whale said. "A wary man is just what I need." His eyes left Spider's face and gazed at the board, where a gold pawn edged diagonally forward all by itself. A silver pawn vanished as the gold one moved into its square.

"Not for hire," Spider said, his hand tickling the hilt of his boot-dirk below the table. "I am a patron here, not part of the service."

Blow-Whale looked at him oddly, then laughed. "Oh. Of course. You misunderstand. I … like the girls, too, Spider. I am a guest here, like you. But I do wish to hire you for something in line with your particular skills."

"How do you know my name, not to mention my skills?" Fingers silently tugged the blade from its scabbard.

"The same way I do this," Blow-Whale said as the remaining pieces settled themselves into their starting positions. New pieces appeared to fill the blank squares. "I am a wizard, a considerably powerful one. My name is Frittifreck … not Blow-Whale."

Spider stiffened. So the man could read his thoughts. He returned the dirk to its home and put his hands on the table. He idly pushed forward a silver pawn. "Pulling the knife would be a bad idea," he said.

"Horribly bad. As would missing out on all the fun of tonight," Frittifreck said, waving a hand at the young ladies who were escorting other gentlemen into the room. Spider wistfully wondered if the new arrivals would dilute the quality of Gilada's services. Nilla came by with something red and sweet in an honest-to-Nid crystal goblet and placed it before Spider. She sat on his lap.

Frittifreck cleared his throat. "A few minutes, dear? Mister Quail and I are discussing business."

"No, we are not," Spider said. "This young lady and I are discussing pleasure."

"Spider," Frittifreck groaned. "There will be plenty of time for that, I assure you. First, we must discuss why I summoned you here."

"Summoned?"

"Yes. The coin sought you out, because I wanted to meet you."

"It did not seek me out, I won it fair and –"

"You stole it."

"…wait a damned…"

Frittifreck laughed. His jowls wobbled. "It does not matter that you stole it. It was intended to find you." The wizard closed his fried-egg eyes and pursed his fat lips for a second. Then he stared at Spider with a lascivious grin. "You think that dull fellow you were dicing with put the coin on the table of his own accord?"

"He was a dumb-ass, a foreigner."

"But surely, he would have recognized the coin? Heard the tales surrounding this legendary establishment? Word gets around."

"Probably,"Spider admitted.

"He bet the coin because he had no idea what it was. It seemed perfectly ordinary to him, because it was looking for you. I spelled it that way."

"Why me?" The red-head started to leave, but Spider held her hand. "Stay right here, please?" She smiled and kissed him.

The wizard shrugged. "Not you specifically, but someone of your talents."

"Which talents? You need a sailor? Those are not hard to find. A carpenter? I make things solid, but not pretty. And I am good with a sword, but far from the best in this town."

"Yes, those are mundane talents, indeed, and in greater supply here in Carnivah perhaps than anywhere else. But you have another talent. You dabble in magic, yes?"

Spider stared at him. "No! I mean, I know spider omens, but that's about it."

"How did you learn to read spider omens?"

"I got stuck on an island and the folks there taught me. But it's not magic."

"Have you ever tried to teach this talent to anyone?"

"Sure."

"How did they do?"

"Not so good."

"Spider, you were able to learn spider signs because you have a high capacity for magic. It's inborn."

"You're daft, and boring," Spider said. He gazed at the red-head. "You are not boring at all," he told her. He drained the goblet in one drink. It was delicious, sweet … and then it burned like fuel.

"Slowly," the girl said, raising her own glass to his lips. "Slooooooowly." He drank. It was like, like … he had no idea what it was like. But it was wonderful.

"Back to the matter," Frittifreck said, clearly agitated. "The coin was spelled to seek out someone with a capacity for magic. Someone who could accomplish a task for me. The coin found you."

"I don't want to be no wizard," Spider said. "And I can read spiders, that's it. Not exactly the same as reading minds or making pawns disappear."

"I do not want a wizard. I want someone with a certain … resistance … to magic, as some people become resistant to specific poisons by imbibing just a little at a time over a long period."

"Fetch more of this lass, would you?" She toddled off and his eyes stayed on her. "Listen, Blow-Wha, er, Frittifreck. I have not imbibed any magic."

"Oh, but you have. How did you lose the finger?"

Spider winced at the memory. "A demon bottle bit it off. Actually, it tried to bite it off, on its way to eating the rest of me. I cut the finger off myself, to escape."

"A battle with a magical foe, yet you survive."

"So?"

"There have been other such encounters, correct? Undead? Ghosts? Very, very large sea beasts?"

Spider laughed. "A man of your size should not mention very large sea beasts. It's a hostile world, Frit. Lots of nasty stuff out there. Most of it is out to get you."

"Yes, indeed," Frittifreck said, squirming in his chair. Spider could hear it creak under the man's weight, and wondered how long the floor would hold up. "Lots of nasty stuff … and it always seems to find you. Yet you survive."

"So?"

"You are a nexus, Spider, a focal point for magic. By the goddesses, man, had you had proper schooling when you were young, you could have been a very powerful wizard indeed."

"I get by just fine as it is, Frit." The girl returned with the drink, a kiss and a piece of chewy candy. She resumed her spot on Spider's lap. "What is all that to you, Frit?"

"Just this:. Your talent makes you the man for a job I need done, concerning my predicament."

"Predicament?"

"My weight, damn it!" Frittifreck roared. He even tried to stand, but gave up after a second's effort produced a goblet's worth of sweat. "I was not always as you see me. I have been cursed. I grow larger each day. Soon, I will not …"

"And you want me to -"

"Find the ratshit bastard who did this to me!"

"I am having fun here," Spider said as the red-head filled his mouth with more of the wonderful liquor. "Ain't got time to …"

"Consider tonight a down payment, and remember this is all at my considerable expense," Frittifreck said. "If you will do this thing for me, there will be another night like this."

Spider considered. "I am not a hired killer. Not even for this."

"You just find him. I will kill him."

"Why not just send one of your coins to find him?"

Frittifreck sighed. "The quarry is not a mercenary sailor with a nodding acquaintance with magic – sorry, no offense meant – but an actual wizard, as capable as me. Could I get around more easily I might track him down, but …"

"Cobblestones scream every time you take a step, huh? And your bones probably can't take the strain of all that -"

"Damn you, will you do it? I will arrange the means to know when you have found him, and I will arrive to finish the matter."

"Must be some magic if you can move all that lard."

Spider winked at the girl. He found himself enjoying the role of sought-after hero. He might change his mind in the morning, but for now he'd go along. "Yeah, Frit. I will do it. You pay well enough. We can discuss details after sunup, though."

The wizard wiped sweat from his face with a scarf he conjured from the air. "Very well. Enjoy yourself tonight, Spider John. And if you think to double-cross me, and I know you do, consider that I can make more than pawns vanish without a trace."

Spider stepped reluctantly into the morning air. He wished the girls had come by to see him off, but the farewells on the staircase inside would be memorable enough. Now, it was time to find Frit's tormentor.

Before accepting the mission, Spider had looked for some omen – a web, a skitter here or there – but had seen none. Gilada's House was too clean for spiders, he supposed. So, he'd have to trust his own judgment.

His own judgment told him a return visit to Gilada's would be a good thing.

His finger tugged at the amulet Frit had given him. The snug fit of the necklace itched, but Frit swore the amulet would provide protection from death rays, curses and the like. It also would allow Frit to track Spider's progress. Frit wore one like it, and Spider wondered how tight the fit was around that tree-trunk of a neck.

He wandered toward Breakneck Road and considered his quest. He was looking for a swarthy wizard named Horn, with nails of silver and a patch over his right eye for which Frit claimed credit. That was the hurt, one in a long series of sorcerous exchanges, that had prompted Horn to turn Frit into a blow-whale. Spider, hungover as he was, couldn't remember what had started the duel.

Where to begin? A wizard of Horn's clout wouldn't frequent the dives Spider knew well. Perhaps a better place? Spider headed toward one he'd seen, but never entered.

A sword pointed at his nose stopped him. "Well, you disappeared of a sudden yesterday, didn't you?"

Spider's gaze left the sword tip and focused on the face behind it. The Rangarian. Behind him stood three more men, likely hired thugs. The Rangarian waved Spider into an alley.

"So, you have the money from the table, I suppose?" The Rangarian was missing a tooth, and spit a lot as he talked.

"No, by Nid, I do not. Wasn't going to stay in that tussle just for a few coins. Weren't worth it."

"You were seen!" The Rangarian spat as he backed Spider against a wall.

"They hang killers in Carnivah," Spider said. "Want to hang for a handful of coin?"

"They will not look long for your killer, sailor man," the Rangarian said, pulling his short sword back for a thrust and spitting through the hole in his smile.

Spider spat, too, right in the Rangarian's face. Spider stepped sideways, and the Rangarian's blade shattered on the wall. Spider drew his cutlass, but one of the Rangarian's henchmen put a boot in Spider's stomach. Air rushed out of Spider as he collapsed.

He heard their boots as they surrounded him. Daggers, boots and fists would be their weapons, perhaps a cudgel. He had to freeze them, create a chance to flee, or he was dead.

Spider ignored the pain in his stomach and rolled, toward them. Up quickly, his sword stabbing upward, he caught a thug through the chin. He ran, pushing the thug across the alley, blood spurting from the skewered jaw.

Spider whipped his sword free and spun. He'd expected the shock of his attack to freeze his assailants. A cudgel across his nose told him he'd miscalculated. He fell on his ass, blinded by pain. He waved the sword uselessly and clutched his nose. He felt the blood dripping into his sleeve. He awaited the blows, and silently wondered which afterlife tale of all those he'd heard would prove to be true.

No blows came. He heard a pop, like the snapping of a sail in sudden wind. Lights flashed, but he wasn't sure if they came from inside his head or without.

Spider shook his head to clear hair and blood from his eyes. All four of his attackers stood motionless, like insects in amber. With arms and legs lifted in attack, they looked like statues of bizarre dancers.

Spider didn't plan to stay and investigate. Good fortune was rare and seldom lasted long. He rose and started to run. But after a few steps, he noticed a new interloper in the alley. One who almost spanned it.

"Frittifreck!"

"You might have mentioned you had enemies who might hinder your mission!' The wizard's voice was muffled by a bloody rag he held to his nose. Spider wondered which of the thugs had been quick enough to deal the wizard a blow.

"Didn't figure on running into the Rangarian again," Spider said. "Thanks for the help." He fingered the amulet, a silver eyeball. "So this thing works, huh?"

"Did you suppose me a liar?" Frittifreck barked. "Of course it works. Now, do you suppose you can remain alive long enough to find Horn?"

Spider wiped blood from his face. "Sure. I will. Can you get me a longer chain for this thing, though? It itches my neck."

Frit quivered with anger, his face turning sunset shades. "A minor inconvenience, whilst I grow larger by the hour! Dammit, on your way!"

Spider blinked. He'd never imagined anything as large as Frit could vanish so suddenly.

An hour later, in Carnivah's Old Town market place, Spider sat on a bench. Mist from the fountain pool that divided the wide street cooled his face. The brief skirmish had winded him. That surprised him, for he was a hearty man by nature and accustomed to hard work.

The night before at Gilada's must have taken more out of him that he thought. He smiled. Being tired was a small price for a night like that. But the sore feet, that wasn't so easy to shrug off.

He removed his boots with a struggle. The air and fountain mist felt wondrous on his toes. He decided a rest and a pipe would help him consider his search for Horn. He tugged the clay pipe from its place on his belt and reached into his shirt pocket for the leaf.

The pocket bulged more than he'd remembered. Had one of the girls at Gilada's stuffed it?

He unrolled a pitiful amount of leaf, just enough for one pipe. He felt the pocket. Nothing else in there. So why did it feel so full?

He decided the hangover was making him daft. Perhaps it would be best to keep walking.

His boot would not go on his right foot. The foot was swollen. He didn't remember taking any blows on the foot, or kicking anyone. So why the swelling?

The other foot was swollen, too.

Spider stood, his normally loose pants clinging to swollen thighs. His shirt was tight as a full sail across his back and belly. Belly? He rarely ate or drank well enough to have a belly.

Had one night of rich pastry, un-watered wine, savory red meats with sweet dripping sauce and nuts and grapes and fruit and …

His head spun. He had eaten a great deal, but he'd … exercised … a great deal, too. Surely this kind of weight gain had to be the result of …

Magic.

Damned magic. Damned Blow-Whale.

Spider stood, with more effort than it should have taken. He tugged at the amulet, but he could no longer pull it far enough forward to see it. It hid under his chin. Spider knew he wouldn't be able to pull it over his head.

His fingers felt for a clasp, but found none. He tried to recall the moment when Frit had hung the damned thing around his neck. His mind's eye remembered no clasp.

Damn! He searched his memory. Had he met Frittifreck before? Did the wizard owe him some hurt? Why would Frit want to curse him?

He could not recall Frit from his past, even as he tried to envision a slimmer version of the blow-whale wizard. There could be no vengeance behind this magical attack.

By now, Spider had wandered to the fountain pool. Desperate, he fell to his hands and knees, staring at his porcine reflection, egg-bulge eyes peering back at him. He tried to turn the amulet chain around his neck, hoping the water's mirror surface would reveal a clasp his fingers and memory could not find.

The chain cut his neck. He could scarcely get a chubby finger between chain and neck without losing skin. "Nid damn all wizards!"

He clawed at the chain. It would not break. It would never break. It would remain on his neck until it choked him. Spider John wondered if the freakish growth would stop with his last breath, or if he would grow until the chain severed his head.

"Why!" he screamed. He supposed Frit could hear him through the amulet's workings. "Damn you, fight like a man, you Blow-Whale bastard!"

Frit did not appear, of course. A master chess player, Frittifreck would take no unnecessary risk.

Spider spat blood into the fountain. His nose was bleeding again from the blow he'd taken earlier. He'd have died in that alley had Frittifreck not intervened.

That thought gave him pause. Why would Frit save him from alley thugs if his intention was murderous to begin with? Why not let the thugs kill him in the alley?

Because you don't sacrifice a pawn that you need. Spider howled. "Oh, Frit, you bastard. You needed me to live long enough, didn't you?"

Spider stood, ignoring the passers-by who had stopped to glare at the madman. Some made signs against any danger he might send their way.

Spider screamed into the misty air. "Have you lost a lot of weight, you Blow-Whale? Are you down to porpoise size?" He tugged again at the amulet. "There is no Horn, is there? This thing on my neck, it's pushing your curse onto me, right?"

Spider pulled his sword from his scabbard and spun around desperately. "Suppose I kill myself, huh? Would that undo the spell? Is that why you could not let me die in the alley?"

He put the blade to his throat, and sighed at the fat he felt there. His skin itched all over. "Come on, Frit, let's have it out."

Frit, of course, did not appear.

"Damn it!" Spider flung the useless sword to the cobblestones. How could he make Frit come forth? How could he attack a wizard?

He paused. Frit's nose was bloodied in that alley. How? The thugs surely hadn't gotten a swack at him ... Frit the master chess player would not have allowed it. The wizard had surprise on his side, and could attack from a distance.

So why had Frit gotten close enough to get his nose bloodied? Spider stared at his reflection and studied his fat, bruised and bloodied face. The murderous smile and hellish glint of eye that formed on his mirrored face surprised even him.

"It works two ways, don't it? Got you, Blow-Whale!"

With that, Spider John rolled into the fountain pool.

The water was but a few feet deep, but Spider sank and stayed on the bottom. He clung to the rough bottom, fighting against his new cursed buoyancy. He had to stay submerged, had to fight the instinct that said rise, rise …

He fought for long seconds. He could feel his chest trying to force air out. The ancient fear of all sailors scratched at his mind. It took shape, a cowled and faceless shape, and it cooed into his ear.

You're going to drown. You're going to drown. Drown. Drown. Droooooooown …

Someone tugged at Spider's collar, yanked him to the surface. He spun and coughed. He grabbed Frittifreck – a marvelously thin Frittifreck – and stared into the wizard's face. Frit was nearly blue, and was breathing as hard as the near-drowned Spider.

Spider hit the wizard in the jaw. It did not surprise him when he felt the blow on his own chin.

"Curse … transferred … to … me," Spider said, punctuating each word with a punch that hurt him as much as it hurt Frit. But he had to keep Frit off balance. He could not allow the wizard time to get off a spell.

Spider forced Frit below the surface. He sat on the wizard and laughed maniacally as Frit's feet and fingers splashed around him. But his own breath was choked off quickly, and he could feel water that wasn't really there filling his mouth and lungs.

He counted to ten, then rose.

Frit stood, sputtering and coughing. Spider, sputtering likewise, dunked him again. This time he counted a dozen racing heartbeats before allowing Frit to stand.

"Lift … this … spell … or we … both … die," Spider said, fighting to get the words out while his lungs heaved.

Frit turned awkwardly to run, but fell. Spider plunged in on top of him. He lifted Frit in a wrestler's hold, his arms encircling the wizard's arms and his hands behind the wizard's neck.

"Don't … doubt," Spider spat. "Both live … or both die."

Frit's cough became a howling, then an unintelligible curse. Spider felt the amulet snap from his neck.

He slowly dragged the wizard to the pool's edge. He slammed Frit's forehead against the cobblestones, and smiled when he did not feel the blow on his own head. He leaned close to the wizard's ear.

"Why me?" Spider whispered harshly.

Frit breathed heavily for several seconds. "Could have been anyone… . Anyone susceptible to magic. I needed that quality in my … receptacle … to transfer the curse. The coin just … picked you."

"Bad choice for you," Spider said. He slammed the wizard's head against the cobblestones once more. "Why by Nid's Eight Legs should I let you live?"

"Because you said you would," Frittifreck answered quietly. "Suppose your spidery god is listening? Dare you break an oath? We both live, or we both die, you said." "I dare what I wish," Spider cursed. He bit Frit's ear until he felt blood in his mouth. The wizard screamed.

Spider lifted his hand and stared hard. Already, it seemed smaller than before. And Frit seemed to be bulging.

"It's undone," Frit said. "You win."

"And you live, wizard. This day. But pray you do not cross my path again."

Spider clambered out of the pool, and left Frit to heft his own fattening frame. Spider wandered over to his sword and picked it up.

"Now, before I go, there is the matter of payment. Have you a copper coin, triangular, with a rose on one side and a pretty little kitty on the other?"