The Evil Wizard Smallbone

by Delia Sherman

  “Gray foxes,” he said, “ain’t like red foxes. Red foxes get the publicity, but you can do things we can’t. Climb trees, for instance.” He stopped, nose lifted. “Dang. Coyotes.”

  Nick smelled them, too — rank, meaty, rotten, wrong. His lips drew back and he chattered angrily.

  “Whole pack of ’em,” Smallbone said. “The old wolf, too. Dang.”

  Now was the time, Nick thought, for the old man to turn into something big and dangerous, something that could fight coyotes. But Smallbone just pricked his ears and dove into the undergrowth.

  The coyote stink was getting stronger. Instinct sent Nick skinning up the nearest tree, his paws turning in to pull him up the trunk. Once safely out of reach, he balanced on a sturdy branch and looked around. Through the trees, he saw a bush-tailed red fox perched on a giant boulder. His ears were glued against his skull, his teeth were bared, and he was surrounded by coyotes.

  Nick danced on his branch with frustration. Why didn’t Smallbone blast the coyotes with a spell? He was the Evil Wizard Smallbone, for Pete’s sake. Why didn’t he turn into a dragon and eat them?

  A huge wolf appeared, glimmering unnaturally white against the dark pines. As Nick watched, whimpering, the air crackled, and there stood the Evil Wizard Fidelou, shaking back his long black hair and howling with laughter.

  If the coyotes smelled wrong, Fidelou smelled worse. He smelled like rotten eggs and raw sewage and dead rats in a muddy basement and spoiled milk. He smelled of pure evil. Nick crouched down on his branch and stayed very still. A land wind tossed the pine and ruffled his fur, blowing Fidelou’s scent into his nose and his own scent out to sea.

  Fidelou kicked the coyotes aside like so many puppies, grabbed the snarling Smallbone by the scruff of his neck, and held him high.

  “Well, if it is not my old friend Smallbrain!” The harsh voice crept along Nick’s bones like a chill wind. “How I have longed to meet you again! But you grow cautious: you keep to your den. So I find your weakness, eh? Your new apprentice, the apple of your eye. I remove him, and voilà! You follow, like a dog after her pup. Where is he, then, this precious apprentice of yours? Not here? Perhaps your rescue has failed, and he waits in my dungeon for you to join him. Perhaps I will kill him, eh? Or perhaps I will give him a pelt, make him my own obedient little dog, and teach him to hunt seals.”

  Smallbone, who had been hanging limply in Fidelou’s grasp, snapped.

  The wolf wizard tightened his grip. “You have no honor, you. I bring you a formal challenge, and you sulk, you hide, you decline to answer. By the Rules of Story, I have the right to fight you here and now, but I will not. Fidelou is honorable, even to a mortal hedge wizard. Before we duel, you will eat, drink, rest. And then it will be my great pleasure to kill you.”

  With a flick of his hand, Fidelou produced a sack, stuffed Smallbone into it headfirst, and slung it over his white-cloaked shoulder. Then he gathered up the coyotes with a huntsman’s whistle and strode off among the trees.

  Nick intended to follow him; he really did. The thought of Smallbone in the power of that stinky, horrible wolf wizard made him want to yip like a kit. He had to rescue him. If only he could figure out how to climb down the tree. If only he weren’t so hungry. If only he weren’t so very, very sleepy.

  The sky was navy blue when Nick stretched, licked his paws, backed down the tree without thinking about it, and sniffed around for something to eat. When he came to his human senses, he was crunching on a bone, and the fur of his muzzle was sticky and matted. Licking it, he tasted fresh blood.

  Concentrate. He had to concentrate.

  Slowly, he remembered. Fidelou had captured Smallbone — or maybe Smallbone had let himself be captured. Anyway, Fidelou hadn’t killed Smallbone. He wanted to duel him. He was even going to give him time to rest.

  There had been a wizards’ duel in “The Wizard Outwitted.” It had been exciting to read about, with lots of shape-shifting into wind and clouds and dragons. Since it was a fairy tale, the good guy had naturally won. Which brought up the question of what would happen when the dueling wizards were both, officially, evil.

  Nick’s sensitive ears picked up a tiny rustle under a bush nearby. A mouse, or a shrew. His mouth filled with saliva. Sweet eating on a mouse. No — he shook his head sharply. Smallbone. Smallbone was in danger. He had to rescue him.

  Alone? his boy-self sneered. When you can’t even keep your mind on him for two seconds? You need to get rid of this fox while you still can and get some help.

  Man, those mice — they were definitely mice — smelled good.

  Nick dug out the mice and scarfed them up like extra-crunchy chicken nuggets with fur. After he’d licked his paws clean, he brought his mind back to the problem at hand, which was what?

  Oh, yes. Rescuing Smallbone. Which he couldn’t do the way he was now, with his fox senses screaming to him to hide or go home, anywhere but after those coyotes.

  Home, he thought. He’d go home. Turn himself back, get the bookshop to help him, make a plan.

  Raising his nose, Nick searched the air until he sensed Smallbone’s mark. He trotted off through the undergrowth.

  The first mark was on a tree stump, the second beside a rock. The third was a pile of scat, followed by a spruce tree and a cushiony patch of lichen growing on an old stone wall. As Nick clambered over, it was as if he woke up out of a long dream. He knew he was at the western boundary of Smallbone’s territory, and that this Wall was the Sentry that guarded it. Evil Wizard Books was not far now. He sniffed the air. That way.

  Night fell as Nick trotted briskly past a pond full of fat frogs and through the woods toward the smell of magic. His paws hurt from the long run and he was hungry again, but he was home.

  With the last of his strength he changed himself back into a boy and collapsed on the porch of Evil Wizard Books. As the world began to fade, the door opened and a cloud of books flew out around him. Nick closed his eyes and passed out.

  Nick woke up on the bookshop floor with Jeff licking his face. The sky out the window was a pale gray, and the birds were tuning up their morning chorus. He felt gritty and sore and guilty.

  “It’s because of me,” Nick told Jeff. “He’d be safe if he hadn’t come after me. I’ve got to go save him.”

  Jeff whined hopefully, and Nick realized that none of the animals had eaten since the day before. The goats hadn’t been milked. He himself was so hungry that his stomach hurt. And he needed a plan. He couldn’t go up against Fidelou without a plan.

  He’d ask the bookshop to help him — as soon as he’d seen to the animals. Smallbone would skin him if he let the animals go hungry and dry.

  Nick pumped water and handed out hay and feed and milked, then turned Groucho and the goats out into the meadow to graze just in case he wasn’t back by nightfall. Then he went to the bookshop.

  It was quiet and cool and darker than it should have been, given the sunshine outside. Nick lit the lamp and turned to the shelves. There was no reason to beat around the bush, so he came right to the point. “Fidelou’s got Smallbone,” he announced. “I’m going to rescue him.”

  His words were met by silence. No rustles. No book soaring or fluttering or floating out of the shadowy aisles. His heart began to pound.

  “Is this one of your stupid tests? Because I don’t have time for that. Fidelou’s dead set on a wizards’ duel, and I don’t know if Smallbone will win!”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, and then a book fluttered down the stairs and landed neatly in Nick’s hands. It was E-Z Spelz for Little Wizardz. It wasn’t a joke — as far as Nick could tell, the bookshop didn’t make jokes, although sometimes the books did. And E-Z Spelz had always been his friend. He opened it and read.

  We’ve done what we can. Now it’s up to you.

  It was coming up on noon when Nick went to rescue the Evil Wizard Smallbone. He had Smallbone’s pipe in one pocket, a map of Maine in the other, and a basket on his arm containing a very indignan
t Tom. He closed the door behind him, whistled to Jeff, and headed toward the path to Smallbone Cove. He did not lock up.

  It was a beautiful day. The weather had softened, and the path through the woods was almost dry. Leaf buds were swelling on the trees, and pink and white flowers were blooming among their roots. The air was alive with the faint, high creaking of peepers and the shrill voices of birds arguing over nesting spots. Nick unbuttoned his jacket and walked faster. He’d drop by the Mercantile, leave Tom and Jeff with Lily and tell her what was up, then walk to Fidelou town.

  What he really needed was a car, but he didn’t think Lily would lend him hers. Maybe he could thumb a ride.

  Smallbone Cove was quiet. The fishing boats were still out on the Reach, the kids were in school, and Nick didn’t care where the rest of the Covers were. They couldn’t help him anyway.

  The Mercantile’s window was boarded over, and the sign said CLOSED. Nick opened the door and went in.

  Four pairs of startled eyes — two blue, two dark — turned to him from different parts of the store. They belonged to Ollie, Hell Cat, Mutt, and Dinah, who were putting the Mercantile back in order after the Howling Coyotes’ last visit.

  “Hi, Foxkin,” Dinah said.

  Nick had no time to waste on manners. “I got to go somewhere,” he said, “and I don’t want to leave Tom and Jeff at the house in case I don’t come back right away. Will you take care of them?”

  Dinah looked alarmed. “I don’t know if Mom —”

  “C’mon, Dinah. She could handle a coyote, she can handle a couple of pets. Or maybe you can get one of the farmers to take them.” He thrust the basket containing Tom into her arms. “Where is she?”

  Dinah clutched the mewing basket. “Town Meeting. She’ll be a while.”

  “Why do you need somebody to look after them, anyway?” Mutt broke in. “Where’s Smallbone?”

  “Gone,” Nick said flatly. “Fidelou got him. They’re going to fight a wizards’ duel, and I have to try and stop it.” He felt better saying it, even if it didn’t make any difference. “I was going to tell Lily, but you can do that.”

  “Wizards’ duel?” Ollie asked uncertainly.

  Nick jittered impatiently. “It’s like a giant game of rock, paper, scissors, only the wizards turn themselves into dragons and winds and try to kill each other.”

  “What happens if Smallbone loses?” Dinah wanted to know.

  “Smallbone won’t lose,” Hell Cat said. “His speciality is turning people into things. What’re you worried about?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Nick said. “Fidelou’s not human. He’s really old and really powerful and really horrible. As bad as you think Smallbone is, Fidelou’s a thousand times worse. He stinks. And if he kills Smallbone, you’re next.”

  He looked around the circle of frightened faces. He saw excitement, fear, and suspicion. “You’ll tell your mom, right?” he asked Dinah. “ ’Cause I gotta go.”

  Mutt had been down on the floor, wrestling with Jeff, but when Nick started for the door, he stood up. “Hold on. I’m coming, too.”

  Nothing else would have stopped Nick, but that did. “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m not mad at Smallbone anymore. You’re right. He’s different from who he was. He even smells different.” His thin upper lip lifted slightly. “Besides, I hate coyotes.”

  Ollie cleared his throat. “I’ll come, too, if you think there’s anything I can do.”

  It was a brave offer. Nick considered it. “I don’t know. Can you drive?”

  “Do you have a cart and a horse?” Ollie asked.

  Nick shook his head. Ollie looked relieved.

  Dinah bounced impatiently. “We’ve got a car. And I know how to drive it, too.”

  Everyone’s attention shifted to her. There was a thoughtful silence.

  “But you can’t leave Smallbone Cove,” Mutt pointed out.

  “We don’t know that, not for sure. Nobody’s tried, not in living memory. Besides, the Weathervane and the Stream are still weak, right?” Nick nodded. “Then it’s worth a try.” She turned faintly pink. “I’m a scientist. I experiment. And I’ve always wanted to see outside Smallbone Cove.”

  Nick wanted to tell her no, but he didn’t. It was her decision, not his. The fact that he’d feel better if she came was beside the point. “That’s it, then,” he said. “Mutt, Dinah, and me will go to Fidelou.”

  Hell Cat looked affronted. “I’m coming, too.”

  Everybody stared at her. Mutt snorted. “That’s a hoot and a holler. What about ‘Smallbone’s evil and I hate his guts forever’?”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Hell Cat said loftily. “You need somebody with brains along on this picnic.”

  Dinah stole her mother’s car.

  “She’d only say no if I asked,” she said. “Besides, if we rescue Smallbone, he’ll square it with her, and if we don’t, I’d rather she killed me than be a coyote.”

  Mutt and Hell Cat got in the backseat, Mutt looking like he’d rather be in Smallbone’s kitchen, Hell Cat bouncing with excitement. Nick got in the front seat next to Dinah, and they drove off toward the Stone Bridge. Nobody talked about what might happen to Dinah when they crossed it, but Nick, at least, could think of nothing else. He was pretty sure what happened to Covers who ventured outside the Town Limits, and he thought Dinah knew, too.

  Dinah slowed down as the car approached the Stone Bridge, then gave it the gun. The car lunged over the Stream, then stopped with a lurch, its front wheels resting on the county road.

  Nick looked at Dinah. She was staring at her arms in horror as they sprouted a coat of thick, glossy fur — silver gray with black spots like her hair. Her fingers spread into flippers, her head lengthened into a snout, and then Nick was sitting next to a harbor seal wedged between the seat and the steering wheel, groaning.

  There was a shocked pause, then Hell Cat said, “Golly. Who’s going to drive now?”

  Nick reminded himself he couldn’t hit a girl. “Shut up, Hell Cat. Mutt, help me get Dinah out of the car.”

  It wasn’t easy. Dinah flapped her flippers when they tried to move her and threatened them with a mouthful of small sharp teeth. In the end, she fell out of the car on her own and galumphed awkwardly across the bridge. On the far side, she collapsed against a tree.

  She was still a seal.

  “What’ll we do now?” Mutt asked.

  What Nick wanted to do was jump in the car and see how fast he could drive to Fidelou. But he couldn’t stand seeing Dinah so sad and helpless when he knew she was so brave. She’d stolen the car for him, after all, and done her best to get him where he needed to be.

  “We take her back,” he said.

  Hell Cat’s eyes went wide. “All the way to town?”

  “There was a sign for the Smallbone Cove Goat and Dairy Farm back down the road. We’ll take her there. I’ll get the car, and you bring her some water from the Stream. It can’t hurt her, and it might help.”

  Like Jerry, Nick had learned to drive on Uncle Gabe’s pickup. Lily’s old Ford was a lot easier. Nick turned it around and pulled up near the tree where Mutt was trickling water into Dinah’s mouth from his hands. The three of them shoved her into the backseat and drove back the way they had come.

  Whether it was the water or being on the right side of the Stream, Dinah was definitely regaining her natural shape. She still looked like nothing you’d want to find on your front porch on a bright April morning, but she’d lost her muzzle and her whiskers and reabsorbed some of the fur. Mutt and Nick helped her to the porch, rang the bell, and ran for the car, getting in just as a woman in a red shirt opened the door and saw Dinah slumped on her porch swing.

  Nick stamped on the accelerator and laid rubber out of there.

  When they got to the Stone Bridge, Nick took a piece of string and Smallbone’s pipe out of his pocket and hung it on the rearview mirror.

  “What’s that for?” Hell Cat asked.

&nb
sp; “Finding spell,” Nick said shortly. The stem swung left and right, then stopped, quivering. “Inland,” Nick said. He took out the map and handed it to Mutt. “Here. You navigate. We got us a wizard to rescue.”

  It was a horrible drive. No state trooper alive was going to believe that Nick was old enough for a license, so they kept to the back roads, some of them dirt, none of them straight, all of them treacherous with potholes and frost heaves. Nick was ready to jump out of his skin.

  Suddenly, the pipe stem swiveled to the right. Nick spun the wheel and screeched to a halt.

  “Why are we stopping?” Hell Cat asked.

  Nick rolled down the window. The rotten stench of Fidelou’s magic hung in the air like smoke. He unhooked the pipe from the rearview mirror and spun it gently. The stem whipped around once, then pointed straight at what looked like an impenetrable tangle of bushes and briars. Nick unfocused his eyes.

  The road to Fidelou was a track barely wider than the car, unpaved and rutted, with branches dangling low enough to brush the top of a coyote-biker’s unhelmeted head. “There it is,” he said.

  “I don’t see nothing,” Hell Cat complained.

  “Good thing you’re not driving, then.”

  Nick rehung the pipe on the rearview mirror and, keeping an eye on the stem, drove forward. They crawled along, the axles complaining as they bumped over the deep ruts. If Fidelou didn’t kill them, Nick thought, Lily would.

  “So, Foxkin,” Mutt said, “what’s the plan?”

  Nick hadn’t made one. But he wasn’t going to tell Mutt that. “We check out the lay of the land.”

  Hell Cat made a rude noise. “By driving up to Fidelou’s lair in Lily’s old Ford?”

  Nick kept his eyes on the pipe. “You didn’t have to come, Hell Cat.”

  “I suppose you got a better idea?” Mutt asked her nastily.

  Hell Cat grinned. “Glad you asked. First off, we ditch the car before we get to town.”