by Tom McGowen
“What of Sir MacHinery?” interjected Maggie. “He would not fear these ghosties. Could he go in and dig up the sword?”
“The sword was buried by magic and can only be raised by magic,” Merlin replied. “No; somehow the dark spirits must be driven off so that I can enter Stonehenge and raise the sword.”
At that moment there was a sudden and disturbing interruption. The bearded painting spoke with urgency. “Someone is attempting to break through the barrier and enter this house,” it announced.
Chapter
7
When he awoke from his much needed night’s sleep with a yawn and stretch, Simon Smith’s first thought was his robot. He could hardly wait to begin the tests. Hurriedly throwing on a pair of jeans, an old sweat shirt, and a pair of battered loafers, he rinsed his face from a basin of cold water which stood beside the bed on an ornately carved nightstand. He had not bothered to shave for several weeks and had a tangled growth of beard.
Not even stopping for a cup of coffee, he hurried downstairs to the main hall where he had left the robot. Thrusting open the great door, he rushed into the room, only to stop short in consternation at the sight of the empty chair.
His first thought was that the robot had somehow toppled over, so he got down on all fours and peered beneath the legs of the chair and table. Then he stood up and stared desperately about the great hall. His eye lit on a mouse hole and, searching for some explanation, he decided that perhaps a mouse had emerged from the hole, climbed upon the robot, and somehow accidentally pressed the activating button. Leaping for the door he impatiently tugged it open and began a frantic search of the entire castle. After thoroughly combing the castle for better than an hour and finding nothing, he came to the conclusion that the robot had been stolen. Since the only people nearby, so far as he knew, were the citizens of Strathgow, it seemed obvious that one or more of them had sneaked into the castle during the night and made off with his precious model robot. Rushing from the castle, he hurled himself into his car and roared down the cart road to the town.
Reaching Strathgow, which was just beginning to stir with morning activity, he drove wildly through the streets until he saw the figure of Constable Wier, strolling about on his morning rounds. The constable was dressed in full uniform of dome-shaped helmet and brass-buttoned, dark blue coat. However, he had always refused to wear the blue, regulation police trousers, preferring to wear a kilt instead, so the overall effect of his appearance was something unusual. Simon brought his car to a screeching stop in the middle of the street and pelted toward him. “My robot!” he shouted. “My robot’s been stolen!”
If Constable Wier’s appearance was unusual to the physicist, Simon’s appearance was even more unusual to the policeman. The constable had not seen the American since the first day he had driven into town, at which time he had been clean shaven. Now, the sight of the disreputably clothed, bearded figure charging down upon him startled the constable considerably. For a moment he was about to call for help, but then he recognized the American’s car and realized who the man was. He knew that Smith was a scientist, and, like many ordinary folk, had a sort of feeling that scientists, artists, writers, and actors all had a kind of freedom to look as unusual as they pleased. He instinctively forgave Smith for his appearance for which he would have chided one of Strathgow’s citizens. “What’s that ye’re sayin’ Professor Smith, sir,” he asked politely. “I didn’a quite ken it.”
“My robot!” Simon repeated almost tearfully. “My robot has been stolen!”
Constable Wier hadn’t the faintest notion what a robot was, but he knew that scientists frequently used animals in their experiments, so he leaped to the conclusion that Smith was talking about something like a hamster or guinea pig. “Now, now,” he said gently, “perhaps ye merely forgot to lock its cage and it’s simply wandered oot.”
Simon stared at him. “Cage,” he said stupidly. “Why should I keep it in a cage?”
Constable Wier shook his head. “Och, now,” he said seriously, “no matter how tame it may have been ye canna expect it to stay put if ye dinna keep it caged. Like as not it slipped oot o’ the castle and is rootin’ aboot in the woods.”
Simon shook his head. “Impossible,” he said. “I hadn’t brought it to life yet.”
The police officer favored him with a long stare, during which his eyes slowly widened. The mystery of the mad American scientist was at last cleared up. “Ye mean,” he said in a shocked whisper, “that ye’re experimentin’ at bringin’ dead things to life?”
A number of the folk of Strathgow appeared while this conversation was taking place and eased in closer to hear as much as they could. Most of them were near enough to hear Constable Wier’s whisper, and there was a general gasp of horror. Old Ritchie MacMullin let out a triumphant wheeze. “I told ye, I told ye!” he croaked. “He’s a mad scientist makin’ monsters from parts o’ dead things! A Frankenstein he is!”
Simon stared about at the ring of horrified faces. “Don’t any of you know what a robot is?” he demanded. “It’s not a dead thing; it’s a machine! I’ve built a machine that can think and move and work like a human being and one of you has stolen it!”
“Now, now,” said Constable Wier, sharply, “that’s a serious charge Professor! Why would anyone here take yer machine? What could they do wi’ it?”
“Why, they could—” began Smith, then stopped short. Looking at the faces of these simple people he realized that if none of them even knew what a robot was, they could hardly realize its value. “I don’t know,” he answered miserably, and attempted an explanation. “Look here, folks, a robot is a mechanical man. It’s designed to do work like digging coal or working in a steel mill and things like that. I designed it and built it with the idea that such machines could help free men from most of the hard and dangerous jobs they have to do now. I spent every cent I had on the parts for it and was going to activate it, that is, start it up, this morning. But when I woke up, it was gone from the castle.”
A great light had dawned in the eyes of most of the crowd that surrounded the physicist. This, they could understand, and they approved of it. Simon Smith was not a mad scientist making monsters, but a fine man working to make life easier for people. Several of them removed their caps in reverence.
“Well now, I think I do understand,” said Constable Wier grimly. “It does sound as if someone has made off wi’ yer mechanical man, Professor, but I think I can tell ye for sure it was no one from here in Strathgow.”
“Well, who then?” asked Simon glumly, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his tattered jeans.
There was a long silence, then Ritchie MacMullin cleared his throat. “It could only have been the Wee Folk!”
“The who?” asked Simon, vaguely.
“The Wee Folk,” said Constable Wier, nodding. “The Little People. Some call ‘em pixies.”
“Pixies?” said Simon in amazement. “You mean like little elves and fairies and things that dance around under toadstools?” He made wiggling dance motions with his fingers.
“The Wee Folk are just the Wee Folk!” declared Mr. Darling, positively. “And if they’ve taken yer mechanical man, there’s naught ye can do aboot it!”
“Perhaps,” said old Ritchie slowly, “Maggie MacMurdoch would know.”
“Who’s Maggie MacMurdoch?” queried Simon.
“Och, she’s the witch that lives up on the mountain not far from yer castle,” replied the old man.
Simon Smith exploded. “Do you actually mean to tell me,” he said loudly, turning in a slow circle, “that you people still believe in witches and pixies and that sort of thing in this day and age. I mean, really believe?”
“Well o’ course,” said Mr. Darling in an injured tone of voice. “You’ve made a live mechanical man have ye not? It’s all the same sort o’ thing.”
“It is not!” yelled Simon, momentarily forgetting his loss. “You’re talking about superstition and metaphysical nonsense.
What I did was a simple application of physical laws and electronic principles. Oh, well,” he sighed. “Why argue. Tell me where this Maggie Mac-what’s-her-name lives, and I’ll see if she knows anything. I’ve got to find my robot.”
The retired army man, Sergeant Major Small, spoke up. “Ye’d get lost in the woods up there, laddie,” he said. “I’ll go wi’ ye and show ye the way.”
“This is police business,” said Constable Wier, officiously. “So I shall go wi’ ye too and conduct the investigation.” Never having had an investigation to conduct, he was enthralled at the prospect.
The two men climbed into the car, and Simon Smith drove back up to the castle atop Auld Clootie. “We’ll have to go on foot from here,” remarked Sergeant Major Small. Following a barely visible path, they made their way to the foot of the mountain.
They had been in the woods only a short time when, to his everlasting credit, (and surprise) Constable Wier found a clue. “Look here,” he cried in excitement. There was a slightly muddy patch near the path, and clearly imprinted in it was the mark of a small, oddly shaped foot.
“That’s my robot’s footprint,” exclaimed Simon. “Good for you, Officer Wier; we’re on the right track.”
Constable Wier swelled with visible pride. “All in the line o’ duty, sir,” he said stiffly, touching his fingers to the bill of his helmet in a polite salute.
The three men were wheezing a bit when they finally emerged from the forest into the clearing outside Maggie MacMurdoch’s cave. “You mean she lives in there?” said Simon distastefully. “Boy, what a kook she must be!”
He strode toward the opening, entered the shadows and came to an abrupt halt. “Hey, this is no cave” called. “There’s just a plain, blank, rock wall!”
“What?” exclaimed Sergeant Small and Constable Wier in unison. Hurrying forward, Small reached out a hand and timorously felt the solid rock. “I dinna understand,” he mused. “I have been here many times, years ago, and there was a door here.”
“Are you sure it’s the right cave?” asked Simon Smith. “Maybe it’s somewhere farther along the mountainside.”
“Nay, this be it,” declared Constable Wier. “I’ve been here myself a time or two and there was a door! I dinna ken this at all!”
Then, as the three men stood silently, each wondering what to do, the wall of rock suddenly shimmered and became a wooden door which swung slowly open.
Chapter
8
Inside the witch’s magic room, a moment of silence followed the bearded picture’s announcement. Then Merlin said softly, “Can you judge their intentions?”
“Not evil,” stated the painting. “I do not believe they come from Urlug. There are three of them, all mortals. Two appear to be rather frightened, and the other is angry and concerned.”
Merlin grunted. “Perhaps it’s safe to look at them.” He stepped to the murky mirror and peered into it. “They do seem to be just ordinary mortals, but we cannot be too careful. Maggie, do you know them?”
The witch hobbled to the mirror. “ ‘Tis Constable Wier and Sergeant Small o’ Strathgow,” she said. “But I dinna know the one wi’ the beard.”
“Let me see,” pleaded Angus. Merlin lifted the brownie up so that he could peer into the mirror. “I know him,” said Angus. “ ‘Tis the foreigner who’s been livin’ in the castle where we found Sir MacHinery.”
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed the wizard. “So that is the man who constructed MacHinery. I would like to meet him. A man as wise and skillful as he could be of great help to us. Maggie, may I ask you to invite these men into your home and bring them here?”
“Of course, Great Merlin,” answered the witch, and made her way down the passage toward the door, which swung open as she reached it. She nodded to the three men who stood, open-mouthed, in the doorway. “Will ye please to enter, gentlemen,” she said, and added, “quickly.”
Simon strode in at once, followed hesitantly by the two Scotsmen. The door thumped shut behind them, which made Wier and Small jump apprehensively, but the physicist scarcely noticed. “Are you Maggie?” he demanded. “Do you know anything about my robot? It’s a machine that looks like—”
Maggie interrupted with a smile. “Come this way please,” she said gently. As Smith entered the magic room, the small silver figure of his robot caught his eye at once.
“There it is!” he yelled joyfully, rushing to the robot’s side. Bending over, he examined his handiwork carefully. “Seems to be in order,” he mumbled. “I hope they didn’t jar anything loose when they dragged him here.”
“I was not dragged,” the robot informed him. “I walked.”
Smith jerked upright in surprise. “You’ve activated him!” he exclaimed, glaring at the witch and the tall, robed and bearded man, who was watching with an amused expression. “You could have ruined everything by messing around with something you don’t understand! Officer Wier, I want you to arrest these people for stealing my robot.”
“One moment,” said Merlin, calmly. “I understand your concern, but let me put your mind at ease. The machine is not in the least harmed. I fully appreciate what a great work of art this mechanical marvel is, and what it means to you.”
“Oh, you do, do you,” replied Simon belligerantly. “Well, just who the heck are you, anyway?”
“My name,” said the wizard with twinkling eyes, “is Merlin.”
Simon stared at him, rubbed his nose thoughtfully, then glanced up at the ceiling. “Not by any chance,” he said in a tone of exaggerated awe, “the Merlin of King Arthur’s Court?”
“I’m afraid so,” said the wizard, rubbing his mouth to cover a grin.
“Oh, boy! Pixies, witches, and now Merlin,” sighed the physicist. He bowed low. “Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Mother Goose!”
Merlin chuckled openly, and turned his head slightly. “Do you see now what I meant, Angus,” he remarked, “when I told you this was an age of disbelief?”
The brownie, who had been hiding behind the table, came forward a few steps and revealed himself. Simon stared at his foot-tall figure, then stepped forward and tentatively prodded Angus at his belt line with one finger. The brownie angrily slapped it away.
“H’m,” mused the physicist. “You could be a hypnotic illusion of course, but I rather suspect that you’re simply an exceedingly small midget.” He stood up and glanced around. “I think I’m beginning to get it,” he announced. “You’re putting together some sort of circus sideshow and you wanted my robot as one of your attractions.”
Merlin chuckled again. “You see, Angus?” he said “His disbelief will always allow him to find what he regards as a rational explanation.”
“Aye,” sighed the brownie. But then he pointed at the constable and Sergeant Small, who had been gazing about the room in awe, and were now staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. “But they believe, do they not?”
“Oh, yes,” said the wizard. “However, this is the sort of man we need.” He nodded toward Smith. “And we must have his robot.”
“You’re not getting my robot for any sideshow,” Smith said angrily, but the wizard held up his hand.
“Let me explain,” he pleaded. Very quickly he told the story of the war that occurred untold ages before, of the new threat of the demons and their powerful ally, of his release from the lake by Sir MacHinery, and of their realization that only the robot could wield the Sword of Power, defeat the terrible creature from the netherworld, and thwart the demons. Simon listened to all this with facial expressions that changed from disbelief, to derision, to tolerant amusement. When Merlin had finished, the physicist shook his head.
“That’s one of the wildest tales I ever heard,” he grinned. “You may not be a real magician, old boy, but you’ve got a heck of a good imagination. You could sell that story to any science fiction magazine in the world.”
Constable Wier spoke up. “Dinna be hasty, Professor Smith,” he said grimly. “Ye dinna understand this p
art o’ the world. I’ve seen many strange things in my time and heard o’ stranger, and if the demons are on the move—I’m afeard!”
Simon made an impatient gesture. “Look, I’m willing to admit that there may be some primitive race living in these mountains, and that they plan to come out and make trouble, but why not simply notify the authorities? Why all this mumbo jumbo about shadowy beings from the depths of the earth, and magic swords and witchcraft? As I say, why not just notify the proper authorities in Glasgow or Edinburgh, and let them handle the problem.”
“Firstly, because they would not believe me any more than you do,” answered Merlin, “and secondly, because even if we could convince them, it would take far too long for any action to be taken.” He shook his head. “We cannot wait. We must move now or it will be too late.”
“Well that’s just too bad,” declared Simon Smith, “because I think you’re a bunch of nuts. I won’t prefer charges against you, but I’m taking my robot and getting out of here right now.”
Merlin was not sure what he would have done had Simon attempted to carry out his threat. He momentarily considered putting the three mortals under a spell of sleep, but the problem was solved for him by an unexpected source.
“I will not go with you,” Sir MacHinery announced in his monotone voice, turning his head in Simon Smith’s direction.
“Huh?” was all that Smith could say.
“When you constructed me,” intoned the robot, “you programmed me to protect human life at all cost. I am incapable of harming any human being. I am programmed to sacrifice myself, if necessary, to protect a human. If I do not destroy Urlug, which is a nonhuman creature, and the demons break forth, the human race will be harmed. My programming will not permit me to let this occur.”