The Wizard Who Ate the Map

How it begins

The map tasted faintly of aniseed. Hugh Calder mentioned this after eating it, which Rosa Ren considered a poor time to begin discussing its identifying features.

'There was a bun beneath it,' he said.

'There is still a bun beneath it.'

He looked at the table. Rosa moved the plate into view. The bun sat perfectly intact under a small square of greaseproof paper. Hugh sighed with the dignity of a man whose mistakes had once required entire councils to repair.

'In my defense, the map was folded very convincingly.'

Rosa had been paid half in advance to guide him to Bellweather, a village that moved when it disliked its neighbors. Her baking cart followed the village every third month. She knew its preferences, which included south-facing hills, reasonable millers and people who did not arrive announcing that maps gave them rights.

Hugh had arrived with a map. Now he did not have one, which might improve their chances.

He hiccupped. A tiny golden arrow escaped his mouth and pointed through the window.

Rosa watched it dissolve over the flour bin. 'Do that again.'

'I don't think I can.'

He could. The next arrow pointed toward the stable. The third became a miniature picture of a bridge, then a cartwheel, then an angry goose. Hugh held his stomach.

'That is either a route,' Rosa said, 'or your breakfast has formed an opinion.'

Outside, the old road shifted two yards to the left. Her horse looked over its shoulder with the resigned expression of an animal accustomed to magical clients.

Hugh's face had lost its amusement. He reached for the little leather case beside his chair. Inside lay a folded letter, worn soft at the edges. Rosa saw only the opening line.

PLEASE DO NOT COME LOOKING.

She put down the remaining bun. 'Before we follow those arrows, I think you need to tell me why Bellweather left.'