Silverlock (Prologue Books)

by John Myers Myers

  Meanwhile the old fellow had finished mumbling over Jones’ hands. “Just as I thought. You’re a man born to succeed,” he declared. “I could tell you much more; but I wanted to establish that fact, so we’d see whether it was worth while to try to do anything further. Now just what is your dilemma, my son?”

  “Well, a certain man — I’d rather not give his name — has abducted, or rather he’s had his men abduct my fiancée; and — ”

  “Wait!” the doctor commanded. He slapped himself on the forehead. “You’re that one. Now it comes back to me. Captain Face — am I right? — told me that you know who’s responsible for the crime but not where your inamorata was taken.”

  “Yes, you have it. We did find out where she was, though, but only after she had been removed to one of my Lord — to one of my enemy’s other strongholds.”

  “She was moved, to be sure.” The doctor wagged his head. “That accounts for it. After the good captain left, I stole a few minutes from my labors to consult the heavens about your case; but when I rechecked the stars, as I am always careful to do, they told me she was farther away than they had originally reported.”

  “Do you know where she is, then?” Lucius asked.

  “No, I am not that perfect in my knowledge. The most I can assure you is that she is still in this vicinity. And as long as that is so, it seems to me that a little preparation of mine, a minor achievement but still useful, would go far toward solving your problem. Come with me, my son.”

  Taking a candle, he led Lucius into an adjoining room. They were gone only a few minutes, but when they returned Jones was smiling for the first time since he found that Hermione had been kidnapped. He was holding a jar of something in his left fist, from which his ring was now missing.

  “Once more let me thank you, sir,” he said, shaking the old fellow’s hand. “Believe me, if ever I come into a fortune, you will have all the materials you need.”

  I was about to prompt the captain, but he made good on his word. “Speaking of materials, doctor; you may not have noticed, but in that ring Jones becomingly gave you, there’s a ruby? Do you have any use for such a thing?”

  “A ruby?” The doctor took the ring out of his pocket and looked at it as if he had never seen it before. “By Trismegistus, you’re right! Young sir,” he said to Lucius, “for ten years I’ve longed for such a jewel, not out of any desire for personal ornamentation but because I’ve long suspected it was the missing ingredient in my so far abortive efforts to create the philosopher’s stone. God bless you for your generosity to an old man!”

  On that note of piety we left, to be guided back to the Fir Cone by the captain. He would not come in, however.

  “I’d like to buy you that bottle I owe you,” he stated, “but I’ll have to defer the pleasure. A soldier can’t afford to make a night of it when early morning duty is lying in wait for him.”

  Neither of us pressed him, Lucius because he wanted to gloat over his acquisition and I because I wanted my curiosity relieved. “What did he give you?” I demanded, when we were alone.

  “The means of locating my Hermione,” Jones said, as we entered the tap room. “We know from the hunchback that she’s in one of my Lord Ravan’s castles, and we have learned from the doctor that her new prison isn’t far away. That narrows things down to simplicity.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Someone was at the table we had formerly used, so we selected one in another corner. “Even at that,” Lucius continued, “we might be entirely stumped. We could stare at a castle and its high walls for years without being able to tell whether or not it held my darling. And when we take the risk — which’ll be a big one, I promise you — of entering a castle, we want to be sure it’s the one she’s in.”

  “No use being shot for cracking the wrong safe,” I agreed. “So what?”

  “The great doctor,” Lucius said, patting the jar, “has given me the means at once of disguising myself and of gaining access unseen in the night to any window. And windows are sure to be open at this season.”

  “The doc did that, eh? No, I don’t want any more of that slugged wine. Bring us a couple of glasses of brandy.”

  “He did, indeed,” Lucius said, when the waiter had gone. “In this jar, Shandon, is an ointment which will change me into an owl.”

  I started to laugh, then I didn’t. The recollection of what had happened to me on Aeaea shut out complete skepticism. It also prompted my next words.

  “How about changing back into a man? Did he tell you the way to do that?”

  “Oh, surely. All that’s necessary is to screech twenty-one times and fly nine times in a circle counter-clockwise.” Lucius looked as apologetic as his excitement would permit. “Would you mind very much if I left you and went up to the room to try it now?”

  “Go right ahead,” I urged him. I was reasonably sure he had been played for a sucker, and I thought it would be less embarrassing for him if he found it out with no witnesses. “But when you get to be an owl, remember to be a housebroken one.”

  Sipping slowly, I was about halfway through my pony when Golias came in. “Did you have any luck?” I asked.

  “My associates thought so.” He made his pockets clink. “And that’s not groats, obols, or picayunes, either. That’s gold, my boy. Where’s Lucius?”

  I grinned as I nudged Jones’ un tasted brandy toward him. The more I thought of it, the more I thought I had something funny to tell.

  “He’s practicing to be an owl.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, he wants to be able to fly around and look in windows at night.”

  “H-m. That could be very useful, if he can work it.”

  Golias was being too matter-of-fact to suit me. “Damn it all, I know it can happen, but he’s been shaken down by a couple of phonies. They took him for that swell ring of his. It’s worth a small fortune, and the one who ran the medicine show pretended he only wanted the gold and that ruby for experiments in alchemistry, or some such thing.”

  “I see.” Golias, I was pleased to observe, was looking more alert. “How’d you meet this alchemist?”

  “A guy who calls himself Captain Face picked Lucius up at a bar and — ”

  “Face!” Golias took his brandy at a gulp and rose. “Come on. We’d better see how he’s doing.”

  Leading the way, he took the steps two at a time, and hurried down the corridor toward our room. I heard a scuffling sound and a succession of queer grunts as we approached. Then we pushed through the door.

  Jones’ clothes, hastily shucked, were draped over various articles of furniture, but their owner wasn’t in evidence. The only tenant of the room was a donkey. While we stared, it gurgled twenty-one times, a jackass unsuccessfully imitating an owl, and ran around and around. Then as I watched in growing horror, it repeated the act. At the end of the second performance it stood still, but nothing happened.

  “He can’t work the antidote,” I groaned. “Good God, Golias! What do we do now?”

  17

  Jones Meets Admirers

  HAVE YOU EVER SEEN a hysterical donkey? When it finally dawned upon Jones that he wasn’t going to regain human form, he blew his long-eared top, prancing, wriggling, and jumping, as if in hopes of shaking off the loathsome shape. He ended by standing straddle-legged in the middle of the room and venting his anguish in a mournful bray.

  The ear that wasn’t listening to him was alerted for the approach of an indignant management. I didn’t know what to do, but Golias took charge of the situation.

  “Stop it, Lucius!” he commanded. “We’ll get you straightened out, but you’ve got to give us a chance.”

  Jones tried to speak but only succeeded in giving a horse squeal. “Be quiet!” Golias snapped. “If you don’t, we’ll be arrested, you’ll be confiscated, and you’ll stay a donkey.”

  I heard doors opened, and two or three people called questions; but apparently nobody had located the site of the disturbance. Lucius, althou
gh he trembled violently, stopped making noise.

  “That’s it; just take it easy.” Golias patted him. “This Captain Face, Shandon. He was a jolly-looking, bearded, dark-haired fellow?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “This is the sort of trick he and his partner would pull, peddling any old lotion they happened to get hold of, without knowing or caring just what it would do. Fortunately I have enough on both of them to twist their tails and make them snag an antidote from whomever they got it from. Lead me to them.”

  “I couldn’t find the place in a million years. Could you?” I added to Jones. I spoke with some diffidence, not sure I would be understood; but the donkey shook his head. “You see,” I explained, “it was dark, and Face must have led us down a dozen small change streets. But how about you, Golias? You seem to have known these lice before.”

  It was his turn to shake his head sadly. “Too many years ago for me to remember how to get to their hangout, which they’ve probably changed a half-dozen times since then anyhow. And with loot like Lucius’ ring in their mitts they’ll lie so low it’ll be useless to try to hunt ’em in the streets. I’m afraid they’ve beat us.”

  If he was stumped, I saw no help at all. Lucius felt the same way, for his ears drooped, and he gave a sob. The very inhumanness of the sound went to my heart.

  “Can’t anything be done?” I whispered, so that Jones wouldn’t hear if the answer was negative. “Can’t we take him some place else, like you did with me that time on the island?”

  Once more Golias shook his head. “You were under a personally applied spell, and all that was necessary was to get you outside the sphere of influence of the person casting it. This stuff Lucius rubbed on can be applied anywhere and consequently will stick with him anywhere.”

  “Maybe we can scare up another alchemist who’ll give us the right answer,” I suggested.

  “That’d probably be a waste of time. Unless we stumbled on the one who made it, he wouldn’t know what was in it, so he wouldn’t have any idea how to go about making an antidote.” Golias sighed. “There’s only one thing — No, before we do that there’s a letter to be sent to Lady Hermione’s family, telling what’s happened to her. I’ll write it before we go to bed and send it off by early stage post. That might help her and give us more time to help Lucius.”

  “Do you think her people can beat Ravan’s hand with the arch king in it?” I asked, recalling that Hermione herself had counted on no such thing.

  “It’s possible. As members of the old noblesse they have influential connections; and whereas they might not object to the match as such, they might very well object to having the lady held in durance unwed. They could perhaps raise such an outcry on a point of order that even Jamshyd himself would see fit to heed it.”

  “What do we do in the meantime? You said there was one thing.”

  “Consult the Oracle. We can find out what to do for Lucius there all right, but it’ll take a while to make the trip. Don Rodrigo may be back from his own journey before we return.”

  I made a wry face. “That’ll be a hard idea for Lucius to take with him, but he’s got to risk it. Do you want to break it to him, or shall I?”

  Neither liking the dirty job, we both tackled it. Once we had persuaded Jones that it was the only thing to do, we had to consider other problems which Lucius’ transformation had raised for us. First in point of time if not of importance was where Lucius should be quartered.

  “No management is going to let us keep a jackass in the room with us,” I murmured. “And — how about food?”

  “It’s a delicate point, but you’re right.” Golias glanced to where Jones stood blinking at a mirror. It reflected a sleek donkey, uniformly dark brown except for a heart-shaped white patch on its left shoulder, where, in his human state, Lucius had a similarly shaped birth mark. “As a matter of fact we ought to try to smuggle him out to the stable tonight. If we bring him down by daylight, there’s apt to be trouble.”

  I didn’t say so, but I was pleased at the suggestion. It would have been impossible to sleep while Lucius sadly ambled about the room. Fortunately he agreed as to the propriety of going to the stable; the hitch came in executing his removal. He was unable to negotiate the stairs, and we had to half carry him down. The two late mainstays of the tap room looked as if they were accustomed to view donkeys or anything else at that hour, but the waiter was less sophisticated. To him, after greasing his credulity with silver, Golias slipped the explanation that some rowdy friends, whose sense of humor we deplored, had introduced the animal to our room.

  Having left Lucius in the stable boy’s charge, with admonitions that he should under no provocation be abused, we had the drink our shaken nerves needed. Then Golias wrote his letter to Hermione’s family, and I went to bed. It had been a rough forty odd hours since I had last slept, and in a way that was a good thing. Only an overwhelming weariness made it possible for me to get the rest I needed.

  “How far away is the Oracle, and how do we get there?” I asked, as we ate breakfast the next morning.

  “It’s a ways south and a cut west,” Golias responded with his usual indifference to distances.

  “Oh, yes; I remember asking the same thing and getting the same answer before I dropped off last night.” I took a gulp of ale. “Does any road go there directly?”

  “We’ll cross Long River just below Erech, then follow the shore road to Troynovaunt. From there we’ll head south and west. There’ll be some roads, but you’ll get your fill of cross-country work before we get there and back.” Golias munched thoughtfully. “Do you reckon we ought to have Lucius shod before we leave?”

  A snort made us turn toward the window by which our table was placed. “Good morning,” I mumbled, still not used to passing the amenities to an animal. “It’s a pet of ours,” I said to the waiter, who was not the one we had bribed the night before. “Don’t drive him away; he’ll behave.”

  “Well, tell him to keep his goddam snoot away from the bread,” the waiter growled. “It’ll give the joint a bad name if it got around — Look at that, now!”

  I did look. Lucius had transferred his attention to my beefsteak and was wolfing the remains of it. As I gazed at the unwholesome sight, he returned to the bread. This time he snapped up a couple of slices. He had his muzzle in my ale before I found voice.

  “Hey, quit that!” I commanded. “You’re supposed to be a; that is you are a — See here; don’t you know you’re supposed to like hay instead of this stuff?”

  “This is very interesting,” Golias said, but I noticed he moved his own breakfast out of reach. “Apparently donkey appetites don’t go with the hide.”

  “I’m going for the landlord,” the waiter announced.

  “Beat it before you get us in trouble!” I said to Jones, half beseechingly and half angrily. As yet I wasn’t convinced, either by his demonstration or Golias’ explanation. “You’ve already had a big wad of hay, haven’t you?”

  He shook his head, and with it the fragment of a halter he’d chewed through to escape.

  “Well, I’ll see that you get some as soon as I’ve ordered another breakfast. Now please scram before that damned waiter — and if he wants a tip, he’d better mint it himself — comes back with the proprietor.”

  In place of obliging, Jones ate three more pieces of bread and lapped up the rest of my ale. He was in the act of so doing when Turgis came hustling in. Golias commenced jingling the coins in his pocket, but it was an unnecessary gesture. The landlord saw what we had been too flustered to see. His other patrons, far from being outraged, were delighted with the novel spectacle. So instead of blasting us, he looked thoughtful.

  “What do you want for him?”

  “Some hay,” I fenced. “I guess your stable boy neglected to feed him. He’ll be all right when he has some hay.”

  Turgis refused to be put off. “I mean how much will you take for him?”

  “He’s not for sale,” Golias said.
“How about some more breakfast for my friend here?”

  Anxious as I was for breakfast, I was becoming more anxious to get gone. I didn’t like all the attention we were drawing.

  “We’d better pay Jones’ bill and explain that he’s already left,” I murmured.

  “Right,” Golias agreed. “Oh, here comes trouble. There’s the waiter who was on deck last night.”

  It is not to be expected that a man who will take a bribe will be faithful to his hire. As we apprehensively watched, the newcomer approached the proprietor and whispered something in his ear. Turgis, who had withdrawn when his proposal was refused, now drew near again.

  “I want to see a bill of sale for that jackass,” he said.

  “Take your shadow snipe hunting,” Golias ordered. He spoke quietly, but he jabbed at the mans waistband with his knife.

  The fellow jumped back. “That donkey was left in your room, so its the property of the inn. You try to take him away, and I’ll have you arrested.”

  There were two more bites on Golias’ plate. He ate them while Turgis waited for a retort and I tried to think of a good one. Then Golias rose.

  “Meet me outside, Shandon,” he said casually. With the words he vaulted through the window, from which Jones withdrew his head just in time. “Lucius, let’s go!” he roared.

  The maneuver divided their forces and attention. The landlord couldn’t decide whether he was more anxious to follow the donkey or retain me as hostage. By the time he decided that he had better hold the prize in hand, I had grasped the situation and was on my feet.

  “Stop him!” he yelled.

  Well, a man has a right to say “stop him” when someone is taking a swing at him. It was an ineffective defense, though. I caught him on the cheek with a punch that made him stagger against a table behind him. A couple of waiters and a busybody patron were between me and the door, but there was a hundred and ninety-five pounds of me backed by momentum. I stiff-armed one, scraped a second off on the jamb, and took the other out into the hall. There we fell together, but as I was using him for a cushion, the wind was knocked out of him. He let go when we hit, and in an instant I was out in the street.