«Now,» he said, «ifsomeone will give me a little clay or wax, I’ll show you how sympathetic magic is done.»
Miach came forward and leaned over with interest, as someone brought a handfull of damp clay to Shea, who placed it on a piece of wood and formed it into a rather crude and shapeless likeness of the seated King. «I’m going to do a spell to make him rise,» said Shea, «and I’m afraid the effect will be too heavy if you don’t chant. So when I start moving with my hands, you sing.»
«It shall be done,» said Miach.
A verse or two of Shelley ought to make a good rising spell. Shea went over it in his head, then bent down and took hold of the piece of wood with one hand, while he murmured the words and with the other began to make the passes. He lifted the piece of wood. Miach’s chant rose.
So did a shriek from the audience. Simultaneously an intolerable weight developed on Shea’s arm, a crack zigzagged across the floor, and he half-turned his head in time to see that the royal palace and all its contents were going up like an elevator, already past the lower branches of the trees, with one of the spectators clinging desperately to the doorsill by his finger-tips.
Shea stopped his passes and hastily began repeating the last line backward, lowering his piece of wood. The palace came down with a jar that sent things tumbling from the walls and piled the audience in a yelling heap. Miach looked dazed.
«I’m sorry,» began Shea. «I.»
Patting his crown back into position, King Briun said, «Is it ruining us entirely you would be?»
Miach said, «O King, it is my opinion that this Mac Shea has done no more than was asked, and that this is a very beautiful and powerful magic.»
«And you could remove the geas on this woman and return the pair to their own place?»