Reporter

Nothing interesting had happened in at least several days, as mortals measure time, and that was an unacceptable state of affairs. I was quite bored. I was just trying to decide on a guise to wear while I went out to stir up trouble when I noticed the woman trying to get into my labyrinth.

Well, that was always good for some amusement, so I settled back into my preferred shape, that of a human woman, sat on the floor in front of my looking-tile, and watched the show.

The woman currently walking around the border of my maze had a stern appearance and a matter-of-fact manner. She carefully inspected every inch of the outside hedge, periodically stopping to jot something down in the notebook she carried. She did not look like an amusing person, but then, that sort usually is anyway, if despite themselves.

When she’d circled the labyrinth twice and found no entrance—I don’t want to make it easy for them, after all—she tied up the hem of her skirt, grabbed the hedge, and began to climb. Now of course, I can’t just allow people to climb over the hedges. That is cheating, and while I of course have nothing against cheating, the point of a labyrinth is to have to make your way through it, and there is nothing interesting about treating it as a mere obstacle course.

But there does have to be some way in, so, except for the thorns, there’s no barrier to climbing the outer wall. So she scrabbled over, tearing her clothes a bit and picking up a few scratches. That didn’t faze her.

She looked around and scribbled in her notebook a bit. She was standing in a long passage of the labyrinth and could go either right or left. Of course, having entered the maze as she had, she thought she’d discovered a shortcut. I grinned and leaned forward to watch more closely. This part was always fun.

She again climbed up to the top of the hedge. Or tried to. Because somehow, though it was only about ten feet tall, she just couldn’t seem to reach the top. She was about five feet up, and her head should just have been peeking over the edge, when she realized she was not as far up as she should be. There were several feet of hedge above her. She looked puzzled for a moment, but continued climbing. Maybe she assumed she hadn’t climbed as high as she’d thought.

After another few minutes, she looked up again. There were still several feet of hedge above her. Then, she looked down.

She was way, way up high, far higher than she possibly could have climbed, hundreds and hundreds of feet up. She went pale and her jaw dropped, but even in her shock she kept a firm grip on the hedge and didn’t fall. People have, before. I don’t let them die when they hit the ground. Some might say I’m soft hearted, but really, what is interesting about cleaning up dead people splattered in your walkway, even if you can do it by magic? I make them bounce. They hit the ground screaming and bounce off, then land gently on the ground outside of the maze. They don’t come back.

But this woman took a deep breath and began to climb down, and after three steps she was back on the ground. She didn’t try to cheat again.

She was trying to find her way by mapping the maze in her notebook, so I changed it around a few times. It annoyed her to no end, but didn’t deter her, and nine hours later she stood in front of my door, slightly worse for wear but still entirely composed.

My door is a mirror, from the outside, and some people find it confusing, as they are supposed to. This woman did not even seem surprised. She knocked, not hard but loud enough to be heard, then waited. I got the feeling she would wait and wait until I opened the door. Watching someone wait is boring, so I answered the door.

“Lady Kimlkal? My name is—”

I cut her off. “The title is both unnecessary and incorrect. I do not appreciate its use.”

She was unruffled. “I beg your pardon, Kimlkal. As I was saying, my name is Mercuria Frisson and I’m a reporter, currently freelance. I was wondering if you will consent to an interview.”

That was unexpected, and I had to be impressed at the audacity of it. “You want to interview a god?” I asked her.

“Actually, I’m planning to do a series of articles, on various gods. I’m starting with you because you’re the most interesting, and it would be a good hook.”

Right. Because interviews with gods weren’t enough of a draw as it was. Mercuria was probably starting with me because she’d had a better idea of where to find me than some of the others, who live in such inaccessible places as on clouds, or under the ocean.

Of course, just because I knew it wasn’t true doesn’t mean I wasn’t flattered. And this would certainly be entertaining. So I let her in and served her some tea—perfectly good tea, though she looked at it as dubiously as if it was some strange potion designed to change her into something interesting—which it wasn’t, I swear. She sniffed it, took a small sip, and, at finding herself still human and not seeing anything that hadn’t been there before, drank the rest.

“Are you ready to start?” she asked me.

“Of course.”

“So a little background. You’re the Trickster god, that means you… do tricks?” From her voice, and the awkward phrasing of the question, I realized she hadn’t really thought out what she’d ask; hadn’t expected to actually get this far.

“Do I look like a trained seal? I don’t do tricks, or turn tricks, I play tricks. On other people.”

“Right, so as the Trickster god you play tricks on people. So, um, who worships you?”

“Anyone who is at all interesting.”

“Such as…?”

“Well, criminals, of course, and rebels, and children if they can get away with it. The desperate, the mischievous, and anyone who needs any kind of luck. People who want to turn the world inside out and aren’t afraid of the consequences. I take a special interest in those who see the humor in life, and,” I smiled a small, slightly evil smile, “an even specialer interest in those who don’t.”

“And what do you do for your worshippers? What do they pray for, and do you grant their prayers?”

“If I want to. Luck’s a pretty common wish; the smart ones specify good luck. Bad things happening to their enemies, good things to happen to themselves. To change their lives, or the world.” I smiled at the memory of the last time I’d answered that particular prayer. “Those tend to be good ones.”

“To change the world for the better?”

“That’s probably what they want, most of the time, or for the better to them, at least. I just try to make it… more interesting.”

Mercuria looked a bit uneasy at that. “Do you have any sense of, well, morality?”

I laughed. “Morals are for mortals. But I’m not evil, just… not bound by that sort of thing. If it’s any comfort, if you’d fallen trying to climb over the labyrinth, you wouldn’t have died.”

“Just been seriously injured?” she asked dubiously.

I gave her a look. “That’s not any fun at all.”

“So what would have happened?”

“Why should I give it away? You can always find out when you’re leaving. Which will be soon, I’m beginning to lose interest.”

“Just one more question then. Could you demonstrate your powers?”

I smiled and snapped my fingers, and a parrot perched on Mercuria’s hand where her notebook had been. The reporter looked astonished, and not overly pleased. “Don’t worry,” I told her, then said to the parrot, “Repeat the first thing I said to Mercuria.”

“The title is both unnecessary and incorrect,” squawked the parrot. “I do not appreciate its use.”

Mercuria gawked at the bird.

“See? Much better than a notebook. Keep him on your shoulder and you won’t even have to bother writing things down.”

“Thank you!” she said with feeling. “For the interview, and for the bird. Um, I’ll make sure you get a copy of my article.”

I laughed. “That won’t be necessary. I assure you, I’ll see it.”

“Um, right. Well, thank you.” She turned towards the door.

I watched her through my tile as she left. It’s not usually as interesting as watching people on their way in, but I didn’t have anything better to do. And Mercuria surprised me. Rather than making her way back through the labyrinth, she closed her eyes and began to climb up the hedge. As it had before, it grew as she climbed it, and by the time she stopped she was so far up that had there been people below her, they would have looked like ants. She gently touched the parrot on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and jumped.

And of course, she bounced right out of the labyrinth. She landed less than gracefully, but got up, checked to be sure the parrot was alright, brushed herself off, and continued on her way.

I was so impressed that I made a note to keep an eye on Mercuria Frisson, and send her some luck—good luck, I will emphasize—when she needs it.

And the article about me was excellent.

Trickster

He should have gotten lost. That is the point of a labyrinth, after all. I didn’t chose to live in the center of one so people could just walk straight up to my door. Oh, sure, it’s not quite impossible to find me, and the smart or desperate or those who are simply good at mazes do find me, sometimes. But they have to look, and they get lost. This man walked through the maze as if it was any old road, never taking a wrong turn or running into a dead end. I wondered if he had a map, but as far as I knew there were no maps of my labyrinth, and even if there was one, he’d have to look at it sometimes. It’s not an easy maze. There’s no possible way he could have memorized it.
　
It took him less than twenty minutes from entering the maze to reach my door. I watched him through a tile on my floor, which functions as a magic mirror but is less expected. I would hardly enchant something so usual as a mirror, and the tile has the added bonus that I can stomp on it when I see something I don’t like.
　
I didn’t like how easily this man was navigating my maze. I stomped on him several times, and set up a few more barriers just in case he did have a map, but they didn’t stop him any. I briefly considered adding a couple extra walls so he was completely surrounded, but as annoyed as I was, my curiosity stopped me. I wanted to know how he did it.
　
He paused at my door. I was glad of that. My door was a mirror, and had no handle or knocker on the outside. From inside, the mirror was a window, and I turned away from the tile and watched the man through the door. He knocked, but I didn’t go to open it. I’m not in the business of making things easy for people.
　
He knocked again, and again, then went around the house to look for another door or perhaps a window. He found nothing. I have windows, of course. They simply can’t be seen from the outside. The man returned to the front and knocked again, harder. I began to think he’d break down the door. He stood scowling at it, until suddenly his face lit up and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper and some charcoal and scribbled something and held it up to the window.
　
It read, Please let me in.
　
So I did.
　
“You’re Kimlkal?”
　
“No, I’m just some peasant who happens to live in the center of a labyrinth.”
　
“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be a woman.”
　
“And I wasn’t expecting you to be an idiot.”
　
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s only, the person who told me about you referred to you as he.”
　
“I can take whatever shape I want, of course, but yes, I’m a woman. I didn’t call you an idiot because I was offended, but really, what kind of fool goes looking for me with excpectations?”
　
“You’re right. And I probably am an idiot.”
　
“Not really, considering how well you managed to get here. How exactly did you manage it? And who are you?”
　
“Sorry. My name is Steaquild, and I am a desperate man. As for the maze, I poured a puddle of paint at the entrance last night. You must not have noticed it in the dark.”
　
“And you followed my footprints in.” It was clever, so I decided to hear him out. “Why are you here?”
　
“I’m in love. She loves me as well, but... it’s rather a stupid story. The woman I love happens to be a princess. And her father happens to be an ass. So he set three tasks that must be accomplished before he will allow anyone to marry his daughter. They’re impossible tasks, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “What are they?”
　
“The first is to untie an impossible knot.” He took out of his pocket an intricate knot nearly the size of his fist. “It has no ends. I don’t just mean they’re inside it, there aren’t any at all.”
　
“Then how was it tied?”
　
“I don’t know.”
　
“Why should I help you?”
　
He looked at me, and I could see the desperation in his eyes, but he answered, “It might be amusing.”
　
He was right, but I almost refused anyway. People can’t expect me to solve their problems for them, especially not when they come to me and ask. But the knot was impossible! How could I resist?
　
“Is there a deadline?”
　
“Midnight tonight.”
　
“Come back at eleven,” I told him.
　
I spent the rest of the day working at the knot. It was fascinating. It was also futile. At ten thirty, a few of the coils were a little looser, but it was nowhere near being untied. So, I found a ball of string, played around with it a little to make it look, at least superficially, like the knot, and put a little magic on it to fool anyone who looked closely. I hid the real knot in my pocket; I wasn’t done with it yet.
　
When Steaquild returned, I showed him the ball of string. I didn’t tell him it was a ball of string. “See, you just pull this coil here,” I touched what was actually the loose end of the string, “and the whole thing will unravel. You should wait to untie it in front of the king.”
　
“How can I trust you? What if I pull the string and nothing happens?”
　
“You can’t trust me, of course, but surely you knew that when you came to me for help.”
　
So Steaquild took what he thought was the knot, and left, and the next day he returned. He looked grim. “I untied the knot. Thank you. But the second task really is impossible.”
　
“What?”
　
“To travel backwards through time.”
　
“He specified backwards?”
　
“He said travel through time, so I waited a few seconds and said I had. He wasn’t amused, and added that it had to be backwards.”
　
“Do you know what to do when something’s impossible?”
　
“Go to you?”
　
“Cheat!”
　
“But… I can’t cheat. It wouldn’t be honorable!”
　
I forbore from telling him that he already had. “Steaquild, are you the only one competing for the princess’s hand?”
　
“No…. But I’m the only one she loves!”
　
As if that mattered, though I sensed it was true. “And do you really think all your rivals will act so honorably?”
　
“Perhaps not.”
　
“You came to me. If you wanted to win honestly, you should have asked someone else. Of course, anyone you asked would tell you it's impossible. How much do you love this woman?”
　
“How do I cheat?”
　
“How are you supposed to prove you’ve traveled backwards through time?”
　
“He didn’t specify. He knows it’s impossible. I’d have to have serious proof, for him to believe me. For anyone to believe it, really.”
　
I thought for a few minutes. “Did I mention I can take whatever form I want?”
　
“You’re thinking of pretending to be some historical figure I brought back from the past.”
　
“Not a historical figure, you could have just gotten an impersonator.” I led Steaquild outside, and turned into a brontosaurus.
　
Steaquild gaped at me. “That should do it.”

He led me back to the castle. In my dinosaur form, I was to big to get inside, but of course, everyone rushed out.
　
“I have traveled back through time,” Steaquild announced. “I was not able to stay long, but I brought this creature as proof. It will most likely not be able to remain in this time for long, but you can see that I have been in the distant past.”
　
Everyone gawked at me, of course. I let them, until I got bored. Then I disappeared, and was back at home.
　
Steaquild returned the next day. He was grinning. “It worked, of course. And I don’t even need to cheat on the next task.”
　
“So you don’t need my help?”
　
“Only as proof. The task is to talk to a god.”
　
He had accomplished that, all right, but I almost refused to give proof, just because it would be funny if the task he’d actually accomplished was the only one he couldn’t prove. But I decided it would be even more amusing to go along with it. So I went back to the castle with Steaquild, in my own guise this time, or at least the one I was currently using. I put a little glow around myself, just to be obvious.
　
The king received us in his great hall. “I am honored to present Kimlkal, the Trickster god.”
　
The king’s jaw dropped, and a great cry of excitement came up from behind me. I glanced over; it was the princess. I turned her into an okapi, and her father into a donkey, and Steaquild into a platypus, and the rest of the audience into crows, because I like crows. Well, I had to prove I was a god, didn’t I? And it was only temporary, they’d regain their normal shapes in a few hours.
　
I went home and fiddled with the impossible knot.