Sir MacHinery

by Tom McGowen

  Merlin yawned, more for the effect it would have upon the watching demons than for Urlug’s benefit. “Obviously, Gwedhedda was not the champion,” he observed. “You were wrong again, Urlug. There are still four humans and a brownie left.” He deliberately excluded mentioning MacHinery. “And they are continuing forward. Or had you not noticed?”

  “That is easily seen to,” said Urlug grimly.

  Chapter

  19

  Old Angus, whose short legs made progress through the massive piles of treasure exceedingly difficult, waded and scrambled after the others as quickly as he could. They were some distance ahead of him when he finally reached the end of the cave, where he paused a moment to glower back at the dwarves. “Ye fools!” he shouted. “What will ye eat? How will ye live? Ye’ll die here uselessly, workin’ away at yer silly baubles. There’ll be naught left o’ye in a few months but bare bones clutchin’ handfuls o’ bright stones!”

  The dwarves did not even hear him. Some were excitedly heating up the brazier, others were gathering jewels and ingots of gold and silver. They babbled excitedly among themselves. Angus spat contemptuously into a pile of rubies worth a king’s ransom and left the cave.

  It was fortunate that his progress had been slow, and that he had stopped to jeer at the dwarves. For MacHinery, with Simon and the others having caught up with him, had moved on through a short tunnel and into another cave. They were clustered closely together, and the instant they entered, a mass of ropes dropped from the ceiling, covering them in a great net which immediately began to tighten. So thick were the ropes and so tightly did they entwine the group that MacHinery’s arms were pinned to his sides. Angus, hurrying to catch up, found them like this, dimly visible in the faint glow from the treasure cave they had just left.

  “Losh,” exclaimed the brownie, and yanking his tiny dirk from its sheath in his stocking, began sawing at the горе.

  “Cut the ones nearest MacHinery’s right arm,” grunted Simon. He was squeezed painfully between Small and Wier. Angus obeyed immediately. The ropes were as thick as his arm, but his dirk was razor sharp, and he was amazingly sturdy for his size. Even so, it was some time before the strands began to part and MacHinery was able to exert sufficient power with his hydraulic muscle to break the rope through. But this enabled him to free the arm that held the Sword of Power, and using this he began to cut through the remaining ropes with ease. Panting, Angus stopped sawing and sat down to watch. Within a short time, the robot had the entire group free.

  At this very moment, from an opening at the other side of the cave, a dozen demon soldiers entered and immediately stopped, frozen in astonishment. They had expected to find the last members of the invading army trussed up tightly within a net of ropes, and had been ordered to drag them into the presence of Urlug and the chief demons. “I can take care o’ these few,” said Maggie, and pointing a gnarled finger at them, muttered a few words. One of the demons had been holding a torch which dropped suddenly to the ground, and in the light it cast saw a dozen, large, black beetles which instantly scuttled from sight.

  In the black room Urlug hissed like a snake. “That cursed witch and brownie.” He seemed to ponder a moment. “Could it be the witch? She has minor powers and she seems to be without fear. I shall test her, and the brownie as well.”

  “Good luck,” said Merlin, with a great deal more calmness in his voice that he actually felt. “Your last snare did not seem to work very well.”

  Urlug made no reply, but several of the demons were whispering agitatedly to one another, and the wizard saw a chance to heighten their obvious fear. “Your master seems ever more impotent, does he not? I tell you again, he will not stop the champion—nor can your entire army. I promise that you will see it melt away before your eyes.”

  “Silence!” exclaimed the shadow in a whispered shriek. It bent ferociously over the circle of light in which the figures of the four humans, the brownie, and the robot were revealed.

  They were now moving through a pitch black tunnel, Simon in the lead, bearing the torch which the demon soldier had dropped. The tunnel was long, and it seemed to be taking hours for them to move through it. Maggie was gasping for breath. “We must stop a bit. I’m too old to keep goin’ at such a pace.”

  “I fear I am too,” agreed Angus, who was wheezing lustily.

  Obediently, the robot stopped. “It is unfortunate that the aging process in humans causes such disabilities,” he observed. “I have noted that your blood supply does not flow as well as in a younger individual. Thus, you tire more easily.”

  “Aye,” sighed Maggie, “ ‘tis a mortal hard thing to grow old and not be able to walk as fast as ye’d like—or do many another thing ye could do when ye were young.” She sighed again. “I’ve tried many a spell, as have most wizards and witches, but there seems no way to keep from gettin’ old. Och, I’d dearly love to be young again.”

  “I too,” agreed Angus.

  Above the glowing circle, Urlug chuckled evilly. “That is the way,” he hissed. “For both of them!”

  After a time, Maggie indicated that she could continue once more, and the party resumed its progress. Only a few more minutes elapsed when they saw, far ahead, a faint light.

  “What is it, MacHinery?” queried Simon.

  “We are coming to another large cavern,” explained the robot. “It seems to be lit by a torch. I find this unusual.”

  “So do I,” grunted Angus. “Let me slip ahead and peer things oot. I’m small enough to keep from bein’ seen.”

  “I’ll come behind ye,” said Sergeant Small, fondling his weapon. “Just in case it’s a trap.”

  They moved cautiously, and as they neared the entrance to the cavern, Angus got down on all fours and crept stealthily forward. Carefully, he put his head around the corner and peered in. The cavern was small and was lit by a single torch, mounted in an iron wall bracket. From a crevice in one wall, a stream of water was trickling down into a large pool, formed by a semicircle of stones, some three feet high.

  “A fountain,” muttered the brownie, licking his lips. The tiny leather water bottle he carried slung over shoulder was nearly empty, and he had been feeling the pangs of thirst for some time. He turned and called to Small who was crouched some distance back in the tunnel. “ ‘Tis a small empty cavern lit by a torch, and there’s a fountain in it. We can get a drink.”

  Small reported this to the others, who abandoned caution and came hurrying into the cavern.

  “Och, I can sure use a drink!” exclaimed Constable Wier.

  “Just a minute,” said Simon. “It could be poisoned, put there to kill us all. MacHinery, can you detect any foreign substances in it?”

  The robot marched to the pool and considered it. “It is nonpoisonous,” he announced.

  “Gude,” said Angus, slipping his flask from his shoulder and unstoppering it. “Perchance this is but a place where the demons come fer their own water.” But in the act of dipping his flask into the pool, a glint on the brown rock wall caught his eye. A golden plaque inscribed with Gaelic characters was inset into the rock. Squinting his eyes, the brownie read the words laboriously. “All who bathe herein will once again have the youth of their desire and the forgetting of their cares.”

  He translated this for the others, then spat contemptuously. “A bath! It may not be poison, but like as not ‘tis some demon trick.”

  “I think you’re right,” observed Simon. “We’d best forget it. Let’s keep going.”

  They had not taken more than a half dozen steps when Angus realized that Maggie was no longer with them. Turning, he saw her raptly gazing into the sparkling water of the pool. A sudden fear clutched his heart. “Nay, Maggie, nay,” he said, hurrying back and tugging at her robe. “ ‘Tis a trick, I tell ye, a trick.”

  “Perhaps,” said the witch in a sad voice. Then she smiled. “When I was a lass o’ twenty, I was the prettiest girl in the Highlands. All the laddies sought me oot, but there was one I fav
ored. His name was Ian. We used to walk in the woods, hand in hand.”

  “Wait, Maggie,” yelped Angus, jumping up and down. “Dinna ye see this is a temptation for ye—and for me too, maybe. Like happened to the dwarves.”

  Suddenly, the witch plunged her hand into the water, then quickly withdrew it, regarding it almost fearfully. Droplets of water trickled off the rosy fingertips of the hand of a young girl. Slowly Maggie brought her other hand next to it; the withered, gnarled, age-spotted hand of an old woman beside the fresh, soft hand of a young girl.

  “To be young again,” whispered the old woman in a low, wondering voice. And suddenly, she stepped over the stone wall and plunged into the pool. With a wail of anguish, Bathsheba leaped in after her.

  “Maggie!” shrieked Angus.

  “Stop her,” yelled Simon.

  But it was too late. Tinkling laughter was their only answer. Simon, Small, Wier, and the brownie stood rooted to the floor in wonder as a figure stepped gracefully from the pool. Pulling back shining, golden hair that had been plastered wetly across her face, the girl gazed at them wonderingly out of clear, blue, young eyes. A tiny mewing from the pool caught her attention, and reaching back, she pulled a small, sodden kitten from the water.

  “It worked!” said Angus wonderingly. “D’ye feel all right, Maggie?”

  “It’s hypnosis,” said Simon, uncertainly.

  “I feel wonderful,” said the girl, answering the brownie’s question, as she stroked the tiny kitten cradled in her arms. She glanced about the gloomy cavern. “But what am I doing in this awful place? I want to be out in the sunshine! I want to run through the grass!” With a happy laugh, she sped on twinkling feet back into the darkness of the tunnel through which they had just come.

  “Maggie! Come back. We need ye!” shouted Constable Wier.

  Angus shook his head. “ ‘Tis no use,” he said wearily. “The plaque up there says that all cares will be forgotten. She doesna even remember why she’s here.” He gazed at the pool. “But it made her young again.”

  “Angus!” said Simon sharply. “Don’t do it!”

  The brownie looked up at him. “Dinna worry,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll not be tempted. I told Merlin I’d see this through to the end and do what had to be done. Let’s be on our way.”

  In the room where Merlin lay bound, the shadow figure slowly reseated itself on the throne of gold. “So!” came the noxious whisper. “It is the brownie. He has shown no fear and he has resisted temptation. A good choice, Merlin, and one I little suspected. But I have found him out. He is too small to bear the sword, so you have the slave bearing it for him. No doubt you have a spell that will cause him to grow sufficiently at the proper moment.”

  “You assume too much,” said Merlin, hurriedly. “There are still the three mortals. It could be one of them. Take care, least you make another mistake.” He licked his lips, and there was a worried expression on his face.

  “You poor fool,” sneered the shadow, “you make it more obvious every minute by your very protests. It is the brownie.”

  Inwardly, Merlin was laughing. Lo, I have become a skilled actor, he thought to himself. Should I ever lose my magic, I shall go upon the stage.

  The shadow stood up. “The end is now in sight,” it hissed softly. “Assemble the army!” The shadow bent forward, red eyes fixed upon the prostrate form of the wizard. “There is not even a need to waste further magic upon them. They will be slain by the spears and swords of my demons. I will even let you watch the death of your champion!” He laughed, and suddenly the shadow was gone and the spiraling, smoky thing that Merlin and Angus had seen days ago on the beach at Loch Bree, stood in its place. “Bring him!” it ordered, and swept out of the room.

  Chapter

  20

  Saddened by the loss of the old witch, whom they had all come to love for her gentleness and wisdom, the three men and the brownie moved silently out of the torchlit cave and into another tunnel. They had walked only a short distance when Simon noticed something.

  “This floor is smooth,” he observed, peering downward. “It’s not like the rest of the places we’ve been through.”

  “ ‘Tis like a road,” remarked Constable Wier.

  “Unless I miss my guess,” said Angus grimly, “ ‘tis the beginnin’ o’ the road that leads to the city o’ the demons.”

  Each man felt his heart begin to pound with excitement. Sergeant Small checked his Sten gun and adjusted his canvas bag to a more convenient position. Wier clutched his nightstick tightly. As a weapon it was quite ineffective, but it was, to him, a symbol of his authority as a British constable.

  Rounding a bend, they suddenly came to the tunnel’s end. The road widened into a broad, flat highway. And ranged across it, less than fifty yards away, drawn up in battle array, was the army of Demonland.

  There were several thousand of them, Simon guessed. The foot soldiers in their dull black, scale armor, holding iron shields and armed with cruelly barbed spears, were drawn up in two groups. They stood beneath colored banners of blood red and jet black that hung limply in the windless air. In the center of the array was the host of demon cavalry, dressed in black and silver armor and helmets ringed with sharp pointed horns. They carried curved swords and long lances, and were mounted upon giant, red-eyed rats which were also sheathed in black and silver armor, and hung with tasseled trappings of red.

  There was a brief moment of silence as the immense horde of demons and the tiny handful of invaders from the upper world regarded one another. Then, clearing his throat, Constable Jock Wier took three steps forward and pointed his wooden nightstick at the demon army.

  “I arrest ye in the name o’ Her Majesty’s government,” he announced in a loud voice, “for disturbin’ the peace and incitin’ a riot. I warn you that anything ye say may be used in evidence against ye. Noo, lay doon yer weapons and come along peaceable.”

  The spectacle of a single policeman attempting to arrest this entire weird army was so ludicrous that Simon couldn’t hold back a nervous giggle. For a moment he wondered wildly where Wier would find a jail big enough to hold them all.

  “Nice try, Jock,” grunted Sergeant Major Small, “but it’s no gude. They’re goin’ to charge. Lie doon, all o’ ye.”

  Dipping his hand into the canvas bag, he brought out a grenade, yanked the pin, and threw it in a high arc that brought it down right at the front of the charging demon cavalry. There was a burst of flame and an explosion that roared with tremendous violence throughout the cavern. A half dozen rats and riders went down squealing and shrieking in pain. Without waiting a moment, Small hurled another grenade after the first. The charge shuddered to a stop as the rats, overcome with fear and out of control of their riders, scattered in all directions.

  “So much for them,” chuckled Small. “Noo for the infantry.” Dropping to one knee, he began to fire short bursts from the Sten gun into the ranks of the demons who were milling about uncertainly, still terrified at the noise and disaster caused by the grenades. The Sten gun also made a tremendous racket, and there were screams of pain as dozens of the horrid creatures were felled by its bullets. The demons understood swords and spears and axes, but these terrible noises and flashes of light and invisible death that struck them down were powerful magic against which they were helpless. Their front ranks began to press back against the rear ones in terror. The nobles who led them were in as great a panic as their troops.

  “They’ll break in a minute,” observed Small, professionally. He fished out his last grenade, pulled its pin, and threw it so that it fell into the center of a mass of demons. There was another terrible explosion, and more screams of pain and terror.

  “Remember what I told you, Lords of Demonland,” boomed a loud and familiar voice from somewhere behind the demon army. “You cannot withstand us. Urlug is powerless to aid you. You will be swept away likes leaves in a wind.”

  “That’s Merlin!” yelled Simon in wild exuberance.<
br />
  The demons broke. Flinging down their spears, they fled in terror along the road toward their city, fighting and jostling one another to escape. Almost in seconds, the road was empty save for two figures. One was Merlin, hands still tightly bound to his sides. The other was Urlug, writhing and curling in rage, his red eyes aglow with hatred.

  “Your great army seems to have been defeated,” commented Merlin.

  “They will be suitably punished,” Urlug hissed like an angry serpent. “But I need them not. Behold! Your champion is now my captive.”

  Angus suddenly found himself enclosed in a small, closely barred cage. “What’s this?” he yelped in dismay.

  But MacHinery was still moving swiftly forward. In the light of the torches, which had been thrown aside by the fleeing demons and lay smouldering on the road, the great sword glinted in his hands. “Wrong again, Urlug,” said Merlin. “My champion is now coming to put an end to you, foul creature of darkness!”

  Urlug coiled backward in dismay, perceiving suddenly that he had been tricked. Until this moment, as Merlin had so desperately hoped, Urlug had regarded the robot as a mindless mechanical slave. It had been more than a thousand years since he had last been called to the upper world, and when he thought of machines at all it was only in terms of things that moved by means of cogs and wheels or counterweights like a drawbridge or a watermill. He was baffled by this silvery, manlike creature, but as yet, he had no fear of it. Summoning his power, he engulfed the robot in a blast of flame that would have burnt any living creature to a crisp, and turned lead or even iron into molten, running liquid.

  MacHinery continued to move forward, unharmed. The metal alloy from which he was constructed could withstand temperatures far hotter than ordinary fire. Rapidly the distance between the small, silver figure and the great, smoky one was closing.

  “You cannot destroy him,” said Merlin, calmly. “And he is without fear.”