“Suppose I could find a way to set you free?”
“I’d take it most cheerfully. But you cannot.”
“But if I could?”
“As I said, I’d take it.”
“What is the first thing Lapthorn says when he summons you?”
“ ‘Come out, Caspardutis.’ That is what he says. There’s a great deal more to it than that, of course, spells and such, but that’s what it always comes down to.”
“And what do you do?”
“I drop whatever it is I’m doing and come into the pentagram where he has placed this child’s body.”
“Has anyone told you to come into the pentagram?”
“No. But it seems reasonable enough.”
“But you are not specifically ordered to do so? Your going into the pentagram is your own assumption or interpretation of his command?”
“I suppose it is, if you look at the matter with a solicitor’s eye.”
“With what other sort of eye should one look at the details of a contract?”
“Well . . . All right, I take your point. But what does it matter if I appear within the pentagram or across the room or even in the stable?”
“None that I can see. You can respond to his summons by materializing as far away as you like, or as near.”
“Near? What are you hinting at, Master Amer?”
“Yes, what indeed!” a voice thundered from the doorway.
“Now you’re for it,” Caspardutis said. “I’m getting out of here!”
The idiot’s eyes went blank.
Lapthorn strode into the room, tall, scarecrow-thin, with dull black hair falling over his eyes. The scar on his cheek was livid with sudden anger.
“You’d come uninvited into my house, would you?”
“That is the case,” Amer said.
“And you would learn my secrets, Master Crafter?”
“I have found out what I need to know. You have enslaved this child, Douglas, making him a conduit, a receptacle, for the elemental who calls himself Caspardutis. That, sir, is against the laws of God and man. Furthermore, you have enriched yourself at the expense of the citizens of Rock Harbor, since your diabolic work has attracted a host of evil spirits, and called forth a deal of bad luck upon the town. You are responsible for several deaths here, sir.” Lapthorn shrugged and grinned. “These petty people don’t count, my dear Amer. Ordinary folk are always at risk when magic is afoot. You know this very well; you are a warlock yourself. We serve the same master.”
“Untrue,” Amer said. “I have never served Satan and never will. I am of the ancient and honorable guild of alchemists. We are investigators of hidden principles of the universe, not practitioners of black magic.”
“Well, then,” Lapthorn said, “so much the worse for you. If you won’t serve black magic, sir, the Art will serve you, as it has already served your slut of a wife!”
“Samona? What have you done to her?”
“She tried to lure me away from my house, to give you time to enter and set up whatever feeble mischief you may have at your disposal. But I saw through your transparent scheme, and have dealt with her as a beautiful but treacherous trull should be dealt with.”
Lapthorn chuckled and turned away. Amer felt a flood of rage rise in his heart. If this unkempt degenerate had touched a hair of Samona’s head—At the thought, a blood-red mist rose before his eyes. An uncanny shriek like tearing brass came from his throat. He launched himself at Lapthorn like a mountain cougar—
And found himself a moment later flying through the air, to land in a heap in the far comer of the room.
Shakily he got to his feet. He was glad to note that he had broken no limbs in the violent fall. But he felt suddenly helpless; his psychic defenses were scattered by the intensity of the blow. And he remembered an adage that was as true for magic as it was for science: every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
He realized he’d been tricked. Lapthorn had sought successfully to provoke him, getting him to launch a blind and unplanned assault. Lapthorn’s powers had enabled him to turn the force of the attack back on its perpetrator.
Now Amer’s psychic force was spent. It would take him hours, days, to restore himself. Lapthorn, his enemy, wasn’t going to give him enough time.
Then the front door creaked. Both men turned to look as it slowly swung open, letting in a sigh of evening breeze.
And Samona came in.
Cool and beautiful, neatly and modestly dressed, every hair in place, she advanced into the room.
“So, Master Lapthorn,” she said sweetly, “you did not choose to wait for me while I got my shawl?”
“As soon as I was out of your presence,” Lapthorn said, “I saw through your scheme and hurried home. And I found this.” He gestured at Amer.
“You have been ungentle with him,” Samona remarked, crossing the room to stand by her husband.
“I’ve only begun. When I’m finished I’ll serve you, too, mistress of trickery.”
Samona put her hand on Amer’s shoulder. Amer could feel the pulse of vitality pass from her to him. He straightened, feeling strength return to him. But it was not enough.
Lapthorn surveyed the two, frowning. He drew back slightly.
“I could deal with you both myself. But why should I bother, when I command that which will harrow the flesh from your bones and carry your souls down to the special Hell that awaits those who try to thwart a magician? Caspardutis, come to me!”
The room was very quiet. There was no sound but the soft tick-tock of the grandfather clock. Douglas, the idiot boy, sat passive and dull-faced in his little chair. No trace of spirit animated his face or small body.
“Caspardutis! Do you hear me? I command you by Solomon’s Seal to come to me this instant!”
Lapthorn stood in front of the pentagram, stretched to his full height, his hands upraised and head thrown back. There was a sound of crackling energies. The low-burning fire in the hearth flared up and cast blue and green flames. Lapthorn staggered for a moment, then regained his balance.
There was a strange look on his face, a look of alarm that swiftly changed to terror. “What have you done?” he cried. Then his hands clutched at his temples. “Get out of there!” he shrieked.
Samona turned to Amer. “My dear, what is happening?”
“Just watch, my love,” Amer said, patting her hand.
Lapthorn clutched at his head and commenced to stagger around the room, bent almost double. He stumbled into a table, recoiled and knocked over a chair, almost tripped over it, recovered and began to turn in a frenzied hunched circle, like a rabid dog trying to devour its tail. His frantic circling brought him against a tall cupboard filled with china. He knocked it over, then fell to the floor where he lay amid the shards of porcelain, thrashing about like a beached trout, his hands tearing at his hair and his bootheels drumming frantically against the planks. Then his body gave one final spasm and lay still.
Samona asked, “Did you contrive to feed him poison, my love? For I know not else how you produced this reaction.”
“Samona!” Amer cried. “Could you actually believe I’d poison a man in his own home?”
“I know you did somethingSamona said.
“I did but acquaint Caspardutis, his captive elemental, with a possible loophole in the terms of his possession. It was not poison, or even witchcraft, or alchemy, either, but a lawyerly quibble that I suggested.”
Lapthorn’s body stirred. Presently he sat up.
“It was a good trick,” he said. His voice was that of Caspardutis. “When I went away before, I considered your words. I saw there was indeed a lack of precision in the terms laying out how I was to present myself when Lapthorn called. But if you hadn’t pointed it out to me, Master Amer, I would still be running to the ends of the universe for his gemstones.”
“I don’t understand,” Samona said. “How could it matter where you appeared when he called you?”
“Si
nce the position was not specified,” Caspardutis said, “I could appear anywhere at all—even in Lapthorn’s own mind. That is what I did, and there was a struggle for possession of the body.”
“Which you won,” Samona said.
Caspardutis in Lapthorn’s body bowed gracefully.
“And now what will you do?” Amer asked. “Will you continue to live on Earth as Lapthorn?”
“I shall not!” Caspardutis replied. “I have important business on the ethereal plane. I’ve been away from it too long as it is. I but pause to thank you, Amer, and now I’ll discard this carcass and return to my true home.”
“A moment!” Amer said. “When you depart, Lapthorn will return to himself and be able to call you forth again. Remember, he still commands you by the Seal of Solomon, if he can but regain himself.”
“True,” Caspardutis said. “Your grasp of the matter is incisive, sir! Again I am beholden to you. What a fine mind was lost in Hell when you failed to join the Devil’s forces. But I see a solution. Farewell!”
Lapthorn’s body gave one convulsive shudder and lay still. When Amer bent over him, he could feel no heartbeat.
“I had not expected that,” he said. “Elementals don’t often kill, no matter what the provocation.”
“Nor has he this time,” Samona said. “Look!”
In the comer, the idiot Douglas was stirring. His hands fluttered in front of his face like frightened pigeons. His mouth twisted as though he would speak but could not. His eyes were strained open, and the expression in them was baleful.
“It is Lapthorn inside there!” Samona cried.
“Yes, it is,” Amer said. “He has been well and truly served by the magic he practiced. Equal and opposite reactions! As he served others, so is he served. He made the idiot a vehicle for a spirit, and now he must live within the idiot. And he’s powerless. Caspardutis has sealed the idiot’s lips and he cannot speak.”
“But what are we going to do with him?” Samona asked.
“What do you mean, do?”
“I’m referring to the idiot child. No matter who lives inside him, he must be fed and clothed and sheltered. Who is to do that?”
Amer considered the question soberly. “My dear, that is for the town council and the witches’ coven to decide. We have done enough. The rest is up to them. Come, it is time we went home.”
“Yes,” Samona said. “I will make us some dinner. It has been a hungry night’s work.”
“We will eat and pack,” Amer said, “and prepare Amy for a journey.”
“Where are we going?”
“Did you not hear me say before? Home! To our place on the mountainside! We’ve had enough of civilization for a while.”
1992
DUKAKIS AND THE ALIENS
Trust Robert Sheckley, author of Dimension of Miracles, Mindswap, and Untouched hy Human Hands, and probably the finest humorist in the history of the field, to provide an answer which is both uniquely science-fictional and uniquely Sheckleyesque.
Dukakis had always known that first day in the White House was going to be weird. But he could never have guessed how weird. The strangeness began as soon as he was alone in the Oval Office. He sat down in the big presidential command chair and closed his eyes, just for a moment, to dream again the dream that had come true—himself, President, sitting in the Oval Office, the highest office on the planet, and almost certainly the whole solar system with all its asteroids and comets . . .
“Mr. President, sir?”
Dukakis’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t even heard anyone come in. Rubber-soled shoes, he supposed. But he hadn’t even heard the door open. He’d left word everyone was to leave him alone until he called for them. And now here was this guy, early thirties, balding, leaning anxiously over him. The guy’s dark hair was cut short and parted on the left. He wore a dark blue suit. There was a small white flower in his buttonhole.
“Yes, what is it?” Dukakis asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Watkins, sir,” the man said. “One of your new Secret Service guards.”
“Yes, Watkins, what can I do for you?”
“Sir, there are certain matters of state secrecy that we members of the presidential bodyguard are sworn to divulge to the new president as soon as he is physically inside the Oval Office.”
“Must that be right now?” Dukakis asked, rubbing his eyes.
“You can understand our hurry, Mr. President. There are matters of highest importance of which the public is not really informed. Not even the inner circle of advisors and experts knows everything, and certainly not all the details. The only person who knows it all is the president. He is the final arbiter, the place where the buck stops, the man who has to at last decide what should be done.”
“Done about what?” Dukakis asked.
“That is for you to decide, sir, after I have divulged to you what is arguably the biggest secret of this or any administration in the past or even into the foreseeable future.”
Dukakis laughed. “What is it? Are you going to introduce me to little green aliens?”
Watkins paled visibly. “Has someone already gotten to you?”
“What are you talking about?” Dukakis said. “I was making a joke.”
“The aliens are no joke,” Watkins said. “Come with me, sir, and I’ll take you to them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The aliens, sir. I’m taking you now to meet them.”
“Not now,” Dukakis said. “I’m really not up for aliens. And I’m supposed to meet the President of Nigeria in fifteen minutes.”
Watkins made an expression of concern. “I had hoped, sir, that we could do this expeditiously.”
“What about next Tuesday, between ten and eleven, for the aliens?” Dukakis asked.
“I’m afraid that won’t be soon enough for them,” Watkins said.
Dukakis laughed, then noticed that Watkins was not laughing. Dukakis’s face resumed its familiar lugubrious non-smiling lines. He asked, jokingly, but in a tone that one could take seriously, too, if one wanted to, “What do we care what will or will not be soon enough for them?”
“I’m afraid we care very much,” Watkins said. “This is a matter of the utmost urgency. Please come with me, Mr. President. There are some people you need to meet. I suppose ‘people’ is the correct word.”
Dukakis stirred uneasily. This first Secret Service briefing wasn’t going the way he had anticipated. Why hadn’t anyone told him about this alien thing? He felt out of his depth.
“I’d like to call in my advisors,” Dukakis said.
“We’d prefer you didn’t,” Watkins said. “Not yet. You can consult with them after you’ve learned about the alien matter. But not before. You must be briefed first so that you can decide how much to tell your advisors.”
“I don’t understand what it is I’m being briefed on,” Dukakis said.
“You will very shortly,” Watkins said. “If we may just proceed . . .”
The Secret Service man seemed to be familiar with the Oval Office. He walked to a tall closet and unlocked it with a key from his pocket. Dukakis looked in over his shoulder. There was a long row of suits hanging on a rack. Watkins pushed them aside, revealing, behind them, the open-framed ironwork of a small elevator.
“I didn’t know this was here,” Dukakis said.
Watkins smiled. “You weren’t supposed to. Not until now.”
Watkins opened the gate. Dukakis walked into the elevator. Watkins came in behind him and closed the gate. Dukakis went to the switchboard. There were four floors listed.
“Which one should I press?” Dukakis asked.
“None of them,” Watkins said. “These just go to the parking garages under the White House.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Using a Swiss Army knife, Watkins pried at the panel. It came loose. Behind it was a single red button caged in a wire holder. Watkins took off the wire container.
&
nbsp; “Now you can press it,” he said to Dukakis.
Dukakis pressed the red button. There was a soft hum of machinery. The elevator began to move down, then sideways. It picked up speed alarmingly.
“What’s powering this thing?” Dukakis asked.
“Tesla coil,” Watkins said.
“Never heard of it,” Dukakis said.
“The full technology has never been released to the public.”
“Why not, if it’s so good?”
“That’s part of what we’ll be explaining to you, sir.”
“Where are we going?” Dukakis asked.
“To the secret installation under Dulces, New Mexico.”
“New Mexico? But that’s thousands of miles away!”
“Two thousand and seven miles from Washington, to be exact. But magnetic induction travel like we’re doing is very rapid.”
“You said the secret base?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I didn’t know we had any secret base there.”
“We don’t, strictly speaking. We have an Air Force base. The aliens, however, have a secret base under ours.”
“Underneath? You mean under the ground?”
“Yes, sir. There are nine underground levels to it.”
“That’s a big underground city,” Dukakis said.
“Yes, it is, sir.”
Watkins felt along the wall of the elevator, pressed two small buttons. Cushioned seats unfolded into existence. A secret bar opened from the wall.
“You’ve got everything in here!” Dukakis said admiringly.
“Even a fax machine. Though we’re traveling so fast as to make use of one unnecessary.”
Dukakis made himself comfortable. Watkins opened one of the floor panels and took out lunch. Dukakis thought the turkey sandwiches were a little dry, but they were pretty tasty; real turkey breast, not that pressed stuff. A bottle of High Sierra Beer washed it down nicely. Whoever stocked this place knew his beer, Dukakis decided.
There were current newspapers in a little rack. Dukakis read for a while, then tried to figure out the rate of speed they were traveling at. But he couldn’t work it out. Looking at his watch, he saw they had been in the elevator for almost two hours.
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