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Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

Page 27

by Foster, Alan Dean;


  and we didn't listen."

  "Now is not the time for recriminations or for the

  THE MOMENT or THE MAarciAS 241

  4

  . ^

  laying of blame. We must try to get word to the

  population. A general uprising is our only hope. Or

  we might try to bribe one of those close to him to

  attempt an assassination."

  "That will not be easy and could hasten our demise,"

  said old Trendavi, "considering how carefully he

  guards himself."

  "Nevertheless, we must try. In matters both magi-

  cal and political he grows stronger by the day. We

  dare not waste a moment in trying to unseat him. I

  do not intend to end up as fish food. If only

  Clothahump had seen fit to send us some real help."

  "All right, mates." Mudge climbed to his feet and

  sauntered over. "That's just about enough. I admit

  we 'aven't made much of an impression on this

  Markus or anyone else in your bloomin' community,

  and we did kind o' botch our intended nocturnal

  visit to this Markus's bedchamber, but don't blame

  your problems on Jon-Tom 'ere. We were doin' a bit

  o* all right until somebody put a sword accidental-

  like in the wrong place and tempers got out o' 'and

  for a minim. Jon-Tom's done the best he could for

  you sorry lot. We didn't get you into this mess, you

  know-

  "'Ere we are, come down *ere out o' the goodness

  o' our "carts"—Jon-Tom gaped at the blatant false-

  hood but said nothing—"to try and 'elp you folks

  out o' a tight spot, and all you can do is moan and

  bawl about wot you didn't get. Maybe we ain't done

  so good so far but from wot I sees we ain't done any

  worse than you 'ave. So let's call a halt to the mutual

  name-callin' and see if we can't work together to

  figure out a ways to keep our skins intact, wot?"

  It was silent in the cell until Jon-Tom said softly,

  "Thank you, Mudge."

  The otter spun on him. "Shut your bleedin' cake-

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  242

  *ole and start thinkin' of a ways out, you bloody in-

  terferin* twit." He stalked over to the bars in a huff.

  "Charmin* friend you got there," Quorly told

  Jen-Tom.

  "He is unique, isn't he?" Feeling a little better

  about himself, he turned back to the Quorum. "All

  right then. We're still alive and we've still got our wits

  about us. Opiode, if you're such a great wizard, how

  come you haven't magicked your way out of this

  prison?"

  "Do you not think I have tried, man? The first

  thing Markus did after we were placed in this cell

  was to ensorcel it with some kind of containment

  spell. My powers are useless here. Not that I think he

  fears my magic, as he has already defeated me in

  contest, but he is very careful and takes no chances

  with any who oppose him."

  Jon-Tom nodded, eyed the stone walls surround-

  ing them on three sides. "What about digging our

  way out?"

  "With this?" Cascuyom held up a spoon and a

  dull-bladed knife. "Even if we could cut into this old

  rock with our eating utensils, we don't have enough

  time."

  Jon-Tom was about to make another suggestion

  but was interrupted. Footsteps sounded on the stairs

  outside their cell. Everyone turned to look.

  The jaguar who had overseen their capture strode

  down the steps, leading a group of heavily armed

  guards. He approached the bars and peered through.

  The prisoners glared back, their expressions run-

  ning the gamut from defiance to contempt. The

  officer ignored them.

  "Which one of you is the leader here?" He grinned

  nastily. "And I don't mean you, Trendavi. The only

  thing you lead anymore is the procession to the

  urinal." The deposed premier said nothing. He had

  THK MOMENT OF THK JMAOICUHT

  243

  retained his dignity if not his position. "Come on,

  speak up."

  " T is," said Mudge suddenly, pointing toward Jon-

  Tom.

  "Thanks," Jon-Tom said dryly.

  Mudge shrugged. "You always said you wanted to

  lead, mate. No reason to be bashful now."

  Memaw stepped forward. "I am the leader, you

  young hooligan. 1 will go with you." The javelina

  opened the grate-

  Jon-Tom pushed her gently aside. "No, Memaw.

  It's all right. I'll go." He turned to face the jaguar.

  "Where are we going?"

  "The Great Markus wishes to know why you have

  infiltrated his home and how many other traitors lie

  in wait outside to cause him further mischief."

  "Ain't no other traitors but us," said Knorckle.

  Memaw turned and swatted him up the side of his

  head, knocking his hat off. "Aren't we clever today,

  Knorckle. Tell me, are you going to help them pull

  the lever when they hang us, too?"

  "Sorry, mum." The abashed Knorckle bent to re-

  trieve his hat.

  "Markus," the officer continued, "would also know

  whence you came, whether any of you escaped, and

  what the intentions of your allies on the outside

  might be." This time none of the prisoners was

  inspired to comment. The jaguar returned his gaze

  to Jon-Tom.

  "I advise you to cooperate and reply truthfully to

  any questions Markus may ask." Jon-Tom's heart

  gave a little jump but he held his silence. "Master of

  the dark arts that he is, he possesses means of

  making you tell the truth that are both slow and

  painful."

  "Then I'm to be taken to Markus?" The jaguar

  nodded.

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  244

  Jon-Tom could hardly believe his luck. That was

  just what they'd been trying to achieve all along. He

  didn't say that, of course. Instead he tried to look

  defiant. "I'm looking forward to the meeting."

  "Then you're either braver than you look or

  dumber." The jaguar gestured. The guards formed

  a semicircle around the cell entrance while thejavelina

  pushed the gate inward. As soon as Jon-Tom had

  been pulled out, the gate was slammed shut again.

  The noise echoed through the dungeon.

  "There is just one thing " Jon-Tom spoke off-

  handedly.

  The jaguar eyed him impatiently, paws on hips.

  "Don't waste my time, man, or I'll have you dragged

  into Markus's presence. He won't like that."

  Jon-Tom leaned close, whispered conspiratorially.

  "I'm not really the leader of this bunch. I'm a wan-

  dering minstrel, see, and I was forced to join them.

  Now, I know you probably think I'm making this all

  up"—the jaguar nodded sagely—"but that's why I'm

  not afraid of meeting the great Markus. He'll know

  the truth. Only thing is, I'm afraid he won't believe

  me unless he hears me sing, and I can't sing without

  my duar. The one your troops took from me."

  The officer considered, eyeing Jon-Tom intently.

  For h
is part, the prisoner assumed the blandest

  expression he could manage. Finally the jaguar glanced

  toward his subofficer.

  "What of what he says?"

  The fox replied in a gruff voice. "Aye, there was a

  duar among the supplies we inventoried."

  "Was it thoroughly inspected?" Jon-Tom couldn't

  breathe.

  "It was, sir. Appears to be a perfectly ordinary

  instrument." Jon-Tom breathed again.

  The officer nodded absently toward Jon-Tom. "A

  peculiar encumbrance to carry into battle. Yet you

  TBK MOMENT OF THE MAOICt/W

  245

  say you came to talk and not to Fight." He grinned.

  "Well, you can't have it back "

  "But it's only an instrument," Jon-Tom pleaded,

  seeing a last chance slipping away.

  'Tough. Personal property of all you traitors is

  confiscated. There is one way .you could regain

  possession, however."

  "What do I have to do^"

  "Convince Markus you're innocent." The jaguar's

  laughter boomed through the dungeon. "Let's go,

  and let there be no more talk of what you wanti"

  The otters crowded against the bars, shouting

  encouragement, while the deposed members of the

  Quorum hung back near the rear of the cell and

  looked on sadly.

  "Chin up,Jonny-Tom!... stiff upper lip, old boy...

  don't let 'em get to you ... show 'em wot you're made

  of, Jon-Tom!... give 'em 'ell, mate!"

  Jon-Tom turned and rewarded his friends with a

  hopeful smile as he started up the steps. A trio of

  alert guards preceded him while three more followed.

  The officer stayed close to his side at all times. No

  chance to break free.

  They climbed half a dozen flights of stairs until

  they finally emerged onto a stone parapet. After the

  heavy damp of the dungeon, the cool night air was a

  shock to his system. Several stories below, the water

  of the great lake glistened in the moonlight.

  As they marched him toward a tower, he thought

  of making a break for it, of diving over the side to

  freedom. Two things restrained him. For one, if he

  happened to misjudge his leap, he would splatter

  himself all over the stones below. For another, he was

  a much better runner than he was a swimmer. No

  doubt Markus had his own allies among the aquatic

  species. Armed beavers or muskrats could recapture

  him in seconds.

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  246

  Besides, it might cost him his chance to finally

  meet (his mysterious Markus the Ineluctable. He'd

  rather have gone to the meeting with his duar nestled

  reassuringly under his arm, but at least he was going

  to see what their nemesis was made of. He wondered

  if the officer paralleling him sensed his nervousness.

  What would Markus the Ineluctable be like? Human.

  yes. He already knew that. But what kind of human,

  and from what world? His own, this one, somewhere

  else? Was Markus nothing more than an ambitious

  local wizard who'd concocted his story of coming

  over from another universe solely to frighten and

  intimidate his opponents? Or did he come from

  some mysterious unknown dimension where evil held

  sway?

  What was "human" and what was not? Couldn't

  something with horns on its head and a barbed tail

  be described as human? And if the latter description

  proved to be nearer the truth, what concern would

  such a creature have with the petty problems of one

  Jonathan Thomas Meriweather?

  The tower they were marching toward could only

  be approached by a single narrow walkway. Elsewhere,

  the stone walls fell sharply toward the water far

  below. The guards Hanking the entrance were the

  largest Jon-Tom had seen. Both lions stood half a

  head taller than six feet and were armed with mas-

  sive metal axes.

  The jaguar exchanged greetings with his oversized

  cousins, and the party was admitted to a hallway

  beyond. Once inside, Jon-Tom couldn't help noticing

  that his escort abruptly lost a lot of its boldness.

  They exchanged anxious, uneasy whispers and

  searched the torchlit corridor with darting, nervous

  eyes. Their words and reactions showed they didn't

  want to proceed any farther down that singular

  passageway, but the jaguar bravely led them on.

  TBTJB MOMBJVT Of THE MAQICIAH 247

  Until they halted ten feet from a last door. The

  officer took Jon-Tom's arm and pulled him forward.

  Stopping before the door, be rapped three times on

  the wood with one paw. The door opened slightly.

  Putting the other paw in the middle of Jon-Tom's

  back, the officer gave him a shove and sent him

  stumbling inward. The door was pulled shut quickly

  behind him.

  The room was not large, with a high ceiling and

  open wooden beams from which dangled wired-

  together skeletons. Whether they had belonged to

  the subjects of arcane experiments or to unlucky

  supplicants, Jon-Tom had no way of knowing. The

  room was softly lit, and the source of the illumina-

  tion was a shock.

  In place of the familiar torches or oil lamps or, for

  those wealthy enough to afford them, globes containing

  light spells, were several battered but serviceable-

  looking fluorescent light fixtures. Though he searched

  hard, he couldn't see any cords or sockets. Never-

  theless, the lights shone efficiently.

  The furnishings were of local manufacture. Many

  were decorated with gold and pewter. There was a

  large table with chairs, many sculptures and wall

  hangings, and several tall crystal vases full of jewels.

  Of more interest than that, than even the fluorescent

  lights, were the three two-foot-long model airplanes

  ensconced neatly in alcoves in one wall- There was a

  Fokker biplane painted red, a Cutlass WWII dive

  bomber, and a miniature Beechcraft Bonanza.

  "You may approach," declared a voice.

  Jon-Tom whirled and stared toward the poorly lit

  far end of the room. The voice was heavily accented.

  Was this Markus the Ineluctable? He moved toward

  the voice, ready to retreat as best he could if the

  wizard reacted with blind rage.

  As he crossed the room he made out a large

  Alan Dean Poster

  248

  wooden throne resting on a dais several steps higher

  than the rest of the chamber. Small tables held silver

  candlesticks. Leaning up against one leg of the throne

  was an exquisite, bejeweled, and quite functional

  sword. Jon-Tom was cheered by the sight. It hinted

  that the Great Markus didn't have total confidence

  in his magical abilities-

  Markus the Ineluctable slouched on his throne

  and regarded his prisoner imperiously. Resting by

  the wizard's right hand was by far the strangest

  object in the room. Jon-Tom couldn't take his eyes

  off it.

  "I am," t
he inhabitant of the throne announced

  grandly, "Markus the Ineluctable, Markus the Great,

  Ruler of Quasequa and all the Lakes District and all

  the lands that conjoin them. Soon to be Emperor of

  the World."

  "Yeah," Jon-Tom replied evenly, "I know who you

  are. What I want to know," he said, pointing at the

  alien intrusion lying next to the wizard's right hand,

  "is if that's a pastrami on rye. It looks like a pastrami

  on rye." He sniffed. "It smells like a pastrami on rye.

  It's got to be a pastrami on rye!" His mouth was

  salivating. He could smell the mustard ten feet away.

  Markus's eyes widened as he stood. Jon-Tom had a

  dear view of him for the First time. He wore a

  strange black suit backed by a dirty white shin and

  black bow tie. The tie rode the collar slightly askew.

  There was a moth-eaten black top hat on his head.

  In his left hand he held a stick or cane of black

  plastic tipped with white at both ends. A black cape

  trailed across the throne behind him.

  All in all he presented a moderately impressive

  appearance, except for one thing which the inhabit-

  ants of Quasequa would tend to overlook. Markus's

  shoes were brown brogans.

  "How dare you digress in my presence!" he snapped,

  THE MOMENT OF THE MAQJCIAM

  249

  but there was evident uncertainty in his accusation.

  It lacked conviction.

  Five six, maybe five seven,"Jen-Tom decided. In his

  late forties and not in real swell shape. In fact,

  despite the wizard's strenuous efforts to suck it in, a

  ' substantial paunch kept creeping .out over his belt

  line. There didn't appear to be much hair beneath

  the black top hat. Bushy brown eyebrows framed

  deeply sunk, dark eyes. Bags sagged beneath. The

  nose was flat and almost triangular. Jon-Tom couldn't

  tell if the shape was natural or the result of having

  been broken several times.

  The mouth was thin and delicate, almost girlish.

  Frizzy sideburns exploded from both sides of the

  head. An enormous fake diamond ring glistened on

  one Finger.

  "Excuse me. It's just that the last time I saw a

  pastrami on rye was in the Westwood Deli on Wilshire

  Boulevard. If you knew what I've been eating these

  past months, you'd understand my reaction."

  Markus the Ineluctable descended from his throne

  and found himself in the awkward position of having

  to stare up at his prisoner.

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  "I've heard it all my life." He was no longer afraid.

  t" Still not too hopeful, but no longer afraid. "I'm a

 

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