The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War

by Glenn Michaels

  They ate a lavish meal in the Casa Calcada restaurant in Porto, Portugal and left by portal to jump the Atlantic to see the sights in New York City. Paul confessed that he had always wanted to see Christmas in that city since watching Home Alone 2. And the two Armsteads did very much enjoy themselves, visiting the huge well-decorated Christmas tree and all the Christmas lighting at Rockefeller Center, and then window shopping at Bloomingdales, Macy’s, Saks, and Lord & Taylor. But the crowds were a bit much and they left to attend the Christmas Eve Pageant at the West Tisbury Congregational Church on Martha’s Vineyard, an outstanding Christmas event that dated back several decades—one that was highly recommended by the general public.

  They strolled the snow lined streets of Boston, admiring the city’s many and wonderful decorations; then they portaled to Aspen, Colorado for a carriage ride through snow filled streets. From there, they returned to Boston and retired for the night at the XV Beacon Hotel where their room sported a gas fireplace and comfortable New England décor. Daneel 1 dropped by for a few minutes to deposit several gifts wrapped in brilliantly colored Christmas paper, then he zipped out again via portal.

  Paul and Capie cozied up together in front of the fireplace, roasting marshmallows, drinking hot chocolate, and listening to all of their favorite Christmas carols.

  Ω

  In the morning they exchanged gifts, where Paul gave Capie a diamond bracelet and three very expensive 1.6 oz. bottles of Clive Christian No. 1 perfume for women. In addition, he passed along gifts given to her by the Scotties, including several boxes of gourmet chocolates from Pierre Marcolini, LA Burdick, Leonidas and MarieBelle. Paul’s presents from Capie included a TAG Heuer men’s Carrera chronograph watch, a dark gray Italian silk/wool suit and, from the Scotties, a graphing calculator, a binary clock, and a portable retractable whiteboard, complete with a set of colored marking pens.

  Capie smiled when Paul opened the package with the suit. “Dear, I love you to death but you really do need some new clothes.”

  He smiled and gave a nod in agreement. “We can work on that when we get back to Earth on a permanent basis. I’m sure we can come up with some new clothing for both of us. But the suit here is really nice. I love it! Thanks!”

  They dressed, checked out of the hotel and ate brunch at The Capricci, a five star restaurant on the Italian island of Anacapri in the city of Capri. They dined outdoors, on the patio where the fresh warm breeze from the Mediterranean Sea was a stark contrast to the snowy vistas of Finland, Boston, Aspen and New York City.

  Afterwards, they portaled to Venice, touring Saint Marks Square, Doge’s Palace, and Basilica San Marco, followed by a sumptuous dinner in Ai Mercanti and, of course, an extended and very romantic gondola ride along some of the more scenic canals of the city.

  A trip halfway around the globe took them to Las Vegas, just in time to get premium seats in the Reynolds Hall at the Smith Center to watch the full orchestra production of The Nutcracker. From there, it was a short portal hop to the Bellagio Fountains to enjoy watching the dancing streams of crystal clear water synchronized with all the popular seasonal tunes.

  At 11:30 p.m. PST (8:30 p.m. HAST), they took a series of short portal jumps to the desolate crest of the uninhabited island of Lehua, just north of Ni’ihau Island. They stood on the cliff above the rocky shoreline below them, looking across the moonlit breakers of the Pacific Ocean. Here the ocean breeze was quite pleasant.

  Capie sighed. “I had a wonderful time,” she confessed sadly. “Oh, why does time have to go by so quickly?”

  Paul hugged her, recognizing that her rhetorical question didn’t need an answer from him. Indeed, he was wondering the same thing.

  Not far from their location, a portal opened up and several black cubes floated through. The Daneels were starting to arrive.

  “It’s almost time to go,” he stated sympathetically. “This won’t be the last chance we have to holiday like this. We have many years ahead of us.”

  She smiled and kissed him deeply. He returned her kiss with great enthusiasm.

  “I love you,” she declared, as she pulled back, her eyes locked on his.

  “And I you,” he responded. He reached out an arm, taking the spacesuit that Daneel 1 had for him while Capie reluctantly accepted hers. They had so much experience with putting them on that it was only the work of a couple of minutes plus a few spells to don them and seal them up. Then, with Paul opening a portal, they strolled leisurely through, hand in hand.

  First stop would be the Moon, to the peak of Mons Huygens, the largest mountain there. Then they would use a series of portals back to Ascraeus Mons on Mars. Tomorrow, it would be back to daily grind, in their preparations to make war on the wizards of Earth.

  NINE

  Dracula’s Castle

  Mount Izvorul Călimanului

  Călimani Alps

  Transylvania, Romania

  Saturday 10:24 a.m. EET

  January

  Seven of them in the room. Only seven.

  The most powerful people in all of the world.

  The greatest wizards of Errabêlu.

  All of them, together, constituted the most privileged, the most exclusionary and supreme ruling body on the face of the entire Earth.

  The Conclave of Magi.

  They were gathered in the Hecate Room, which was the Transylvanian Castle’s State Room, named after the Greek goddess of magic herself. The State Room, only marginally smaller than the Great Hall, was the room reserved for entertaining the most distinguished, the most eminent of guests and nobles. Designed to impress, the Hecate Room was extraordinarily and lavishly furnished and decorated with thick Oriental rugs on most of the polished wooden floor, an abundance of ornately carved furniture and with several elegant and intricate tapestries, striking paintings, and plaques and crossed swords draped or hanging on the walls. On one end table sat a large walnut hourglass, on two others baroque candelabrums, their small flames flickering in the room’s still air. The south wall consisted entirely of huge stained glass windows, depicting scenes drawn straight out of the Middle-Ages, with kings, queens, knights on horseback, and flying fire-breathing dragons. In the wall opposite of the windows was the large open hearth of a great fireplace, lined on the outside with massive granite-gray stones, and on the inside with fire-bricks blackened by centuries of soot. Above the solid six-inch thick oak beam that served as the mantel for the fireplace, hung an enormous maple-wood carved picture frame in which was mounted a highly elaborate sigil—a magical symbol—from The Lesser Key of Solomon. In the fireplace, a roaring fire cackled brightly among a huge pile of hickory logs, casting dancing shadows throughout the room while at the same time heating the room to a toasty temperature.

  In a semi-circle in front of the fireplace was arrayed a wide variety of large wooden chairs, seven of them in total, each one personally selected, furnished and occupied by a wizard of the Conclave.

  Oliver Jacob Clarke, Errabêlu of the United States, was tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, made exclusively of American Ash. His was the center seat—his current right, as the ruler of the world’s most powerful nation. Of medium height, trim but of athletic build, he was a distinguished looking man with long jet black hair and a hint of gray at the temples. Wearing a simple Western style business suit, Clarke’s appearance was more of a mid-level diplomat or a corporate businessman.

  Born in England in the year 1435 and acquiring his powers at a young age, Clarke had very early on recognized the potential in the new lands of the Western Hemisphere, the ones discovered by Columbus and his other contemporary explorers. Despite the empty wilderness and the primitive nature of the inhabitants thereof, Clarke had promptly immigrated to the New World, staking his claim to all of North America. He had, without delay, established himself in full and total control of the small governments both in New York City and Kingston, Ontario. And his gamble had eventually paid off, though it had taken centuries to bring his efforts to full fruiti
on.

  In the seat to Clarke’s right sat Oleg Nevsky, the Errabêlu of Russia. Oleg held the distinction of being the oldest person in the room—indeed, even one of the oldest of the wizards of all the Earth, though his age and appearance seemed to be more equivalent to that of a typical forty-something year old male. Sporting wide shoulders, a heavily muscular build and a stern visage, Oleg was staring into the fire, his mind obviously somewhere else at that moment. He had come from very humble, impoverished beginnings, born of peasant parents in a small Slavic village in the eleventh century. Struggling all his life, he had fought tirelessly and ruthlessly to establish a stable but powerful government among the Russian peoples, using every method available (including revolution, war, and murder) to accomplish his goals.

  On Clarke’s left side, Yuan Wu, the Errabêlu ruler of China, held out his goblet to the Oni who was serving the room’s occupants with liquid refreshments. Wu was the youngest member of the Conclave, only assuming a seat thereon in 1952, usurping the Errabêlu wizard of Pakistan. Since that time, he had steadily advanced through the decades to occupy the third most powerful chair in the Conclave. Wu was, even for a wizard of Errabêlu, extremely brutal and ambitious. No one else on the Conclave doubted Wu’s lust for power, his ambition driving him toward the goal of gaining control of both the Conclave and the world.

  Saito Masayo, of Japan, held the fourth seat, to the right of Oleg. With templed hands, he dispassionately waited for the meeting to start, his expression stoic and patient.

  Nacci Misra, one of the two women wizards in the room, occupied the seat to the left of Wu, as ruler of the nation of India. Cecily Fairfax of Great Britain, who was lowering herself into her chair to Nacci’s left, was the other female. To Saito’s right was Duncan Ruggiero of France, leaning on one elbow, idly staring into his wine glass as he slowly swirled the contents therein.

  Clarke took a swig from his mug, nodding satisfaction to the Oni standing near, still holding the pitcher of ale.

  “Now, get out,” he muttered, idly waving a hand in the direction of the door. The Oni backed away hurriedly, shutting and locking the thick wooden door behind itself.

  With a casual gesture of one hand, Clarke sealed the room in terms of magic. Now, nothing could disturb them nor could anyone outside the room listen to anything that was said.

  “I hereby call this emergency session of the Conclave of Magi into order,” he intoned in a stiff, formal voice.

  “Please! Save us from stodgy protocols,” Cecily implored with annoyance, slapping down her glass of gin and tonic on the end table next to her seat. “The brass tacks are what we want. That wizardry high-jinks in your country two months ago. Was that your handiwork? Have you broken the Aleppian Accords?” she demanded to know, referring to the ancient pact of bylaws agreed to by all the wizards of Errabêlu, drafted in the old city of Aleppo, Syria several centuries previously.

  “That…event…in Wyoming was none of my doing!” insisted Clarke.

  “That outburst, explosion, or whatever you call it, created a talisman, did it not?” Nacci challenged. “All wizards know that a super-talisman such as that event obviously created, is illegal by the Accords.”

  All seven heads nodded in acknowledgement. The wizards of Errabêlu very strictly adhered to those Accords. While it was perfectly permissible by their statutes to do battle one-on-one (and sometimes two-on-one) including murdering each other, it was not acceptable behavior to start an arms race. Thus building a talisman far more powerful than those possessed by other wizards was not allowed.

  “Judging by the energy released and the weather disruptions, that talisman must be fifty, maybe a hundred times the power of the talisman all the rest of us carry,” judged Wu with a scowl. “Such a talisman must be the size of a horse drawn carriage, perhaps larger. Not very practical. It shouldn’t be too difficult to track down, given its nature.”

  Clarke made a wry face. “Good luck on that. It’s no longer in the United States—that much I can guarantee.”

  “If you did not create it,” Saito asked, inclining his head to one side. “Who did? The alleged rogue wizard, of whom we have all heard so many rumors?”

  “Oh, he exists, all right,” asserted Ruggiero sullenly, staring into his wine glass again. “His name is Paul Armstead. Celeste found him in North Africa a year ago, where apparently the Oni of the Errabêlu wizard of Pakistan had chased him. He said he was from California. He claimed he was given his powers by a genie only a few days before.”

  “Preposterous!” scoffed Wu with a deep frown.

  “Agreed!” said Cecily with a glower.

  Ruggiero held up a hand. “Celeste and I felt the same way. We were certain that he was, uh, a spy, perhaps from a member of the Conclave—”

  “Not from me!” snapped Oleg with a glare.

  “Or perhaps from some other wizard,” hastily amended Ruggiero. “That’s why we didn’t just kill him outright. We were, uh, trying to interrogate him, in an attempt to get some answers.”

  Saito pursed his lips thoughtfully. “He escaped from you, is that it? Very unfortunate. How did he manage to escape from you?”

  “A great question,” muttered Nacci, her look casting daggers in Ruggiero’s direction.

  Sighing, Ruggiero set his wine glass down and made himself look back at her, hardening his expression to stone. “To be honest, I still don’t know how he did it. The best guess I have is that he made water explode.”

  Every other wizard in the room reacted in surprise. For several seconds, they were silent as they considered the impossibility of Ruggiero’s claim.

  “I’ve never heard of a magical spell that can do that!” insisted Oleg, banging down his tankard of Kvass on the end table next to his chair and crossing his burly arms over his thick chest.

  “There isn’t any such spell,” Cecily contended.

  Ruggiero shrugged but didn’t argue the point.

  Saito leaned forward. “Back to my question. That business in the American west. Was this rogue wizard responsible or not? Does anyone know for sure?”

  There was more silence in the room as each waited for another to speak first.

  Clarke broke the impasse. “It would seem that no one really knows. But I personally have no doubts that it was him. Especially considering what I do know about this rogue wizard.”

  “Which is?” Nacci asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “MacDougall and Hamadi have both been taken out,” Clarke responded, before taking a sip of ale from his mug.

  Wu looked up sharply. “So that rumor is true also? MacDougall is missing?”

  “It would seem that he is dead,” Clarke admitted ruefully. “So McNamee, in Australia, has told me. McNamee—well he gave me a story of how McDougall showed up, chasing Armstead to the outback of Western Australia. It gets rather wild after that.”

  “How wild?” asked Cecily, eyebrows raised.

  Clarke responded with a solemn expression. “It involves the launching of a homemade spaceship.”

  Ruggiero took a quick gulp of his wine. “Yes, that’s pretty wild.”

  Saito grimaced. “There were stories, even pictures of a so called alien spaceship in the Middle East. Was that the same craft?”

  “McNamee says not,” Clarke informed them, shaking his head sadly. “A totally different ship. But that ship in the Middle East was probably from Armstead too. You see, right around that same time, was when Hamadi disappeared.”

  “Ah!” hissed Oleg, slapping a knee with the flat of his hand. “That explains why that little war brewing in the Middle East fizzled so quickly.”

  “Is Hamadi dead too?” Wu asked pointedly.

  Clarke shrugged. “No one I’ve talked to has any idea.”

  Saito nodded slowly. “So, this rogue wizard, if he could build working spaceships, make water explode, take out two of our number and stop a war in the Middle East, then why can’t he do other impossible things?”

  “Such as creating a super p
owerful talisman,” Cecily said sullenly.

  “Exactly,” Wu said, nodding in agreement.

  “If he can create talismans a hundred times more powerful than ours, then he is incredibly dangerous,” Wu said, stating the conclusion everyone else in the room was thinking.

  “We must get rid of him, obviously,” Oleg firmly declared.

  “That might prove to be difficult. There has been no sign of him since early November,” Clarke said with a heavy sigh. “We can’t catch him if we don’t know where he is hiding.”

  “Then we must know more about him, learn his weaknesses. Perhaps draw him out into the open.” The old Russian glanced around at the other wizards. “Who has the answers?”

  “He does have a weakness,” Ruggiero declared with a grim smile. “He’s a Normie lover, you know.”

  “Yes, that makes sense,” agreed Saito, glancing at the fire thoughtfully. “It’s why he used that spaceship in the Middle East to stop the war, to save the lives of Normies.” He jerked back around, raising his eyebrows and looking at Clarke. “And last summer, at the Olympics, was it he that rode that bomb into the stadium?”

  “So it would seem,” Clarke concurred, with a furrowed brow. “Which makes Ruggiero’s point a very interesting one.”

  Cecily nodded vigorously. “Yes, I agree too. We can use that against him, as has been suggested, to draw him out into the open and into a trap.”

  “An excellent idea,” Wu conceded with a small smile. “We need something like a disaster of some type, or possibly a war, something that is killing a lot of Normies, in a place that we can surround with several wizards and lots of Oni.”

  Clarke leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to one side as he considered the options. “The current hotspots in the world are the Middle East, Afghanistan, several countries in Africa, Turkey, Ukraine, and Mexico. There are lesser conflicts scattered all across the globe, of course. Pick one.”