A Plague of Wizards

by Wesley Allison

  Hsrandtuss sat back and reached into his mouth to scratch around one of his back teeth. Then he spat on the ground. A male appeared and handed him a water skin. After pouring a long stream of water into his mouth and swallowing, he handed the container to the girl.

  “You know the answer already,” said the girl. “Don’t you?”

  He climbed to his feet and stretched himself up to his full height.

  “Who do you think you are talking to? Of course I know.”

  “Which is it then?”

  “It is all three, little soft-skin. Xecheon has chosen as their general an old enemy of mine—a warrior of some skill. His name is Tokkenttot.”

  “The one from the story!” gasped Terra. “You stole Tokkenoht from him. You stole his sister!”

  The king hissed. “Yes, and he wants his revenge. He has taken twenty great war machines from the humans, the ones whose name sounds like salamander mating calls. They are designed to destroy to city walls and fortifications. They have also sent two hundred human warriors to help operate them.”

  “Salamander mating… the Bordonians?”

  “Yes. They are the ones.” Hsrandtuss stretched his right shoulder, still scarred from the dryptosaurus bite. “Of course none, of this is as troubling as the fact that they have themselves a new god leading them—a small blue female dragon. They are calling her the Goddess of War.”

  “Goddess of War.” The words came out of Terra’s mouth as a whisper.

  “Now, go get your gear together. You and I have quite a distance to travel, and quickly too.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Where are we going? You and I will meet the main army of Xecheon! We shall grind their soldiers into the ground, we shall rip apart their war machines with our bare hands, and we shall knock their puny goddess right off her false temple! For I am Hsrandtuss, the greatest king in the nine ages! And you are Stands Tall With A King!”

  “Um, yes… that’s who I am.”

  * * * * *

  Hundreds of miles to the west, the first passengers were climbing aboard the afternoon train to Mallontah. These were all passengers of wealth, who could afford comfortable first class rooms in which to relax, since it was still two hours until the train left the station. No one would want to sit that long in anything less than first class. Among these few individuals was a tall, thin man. The jacket he wore, with upturned collar, must have been excruciatingly hot beneath the summer sun. His hat was pulled down to cover his almost white hair. When a voice behind him spoke, he literally jumped three inches.

  “I didn’t realize you were leaving, Wizard Coote.”

  The wizard turned around to find Police Chief Saba Colbshallow standing very close. Unconsciously, his hand reached up, even as the incantation for an amnesia spell came to his lips. Then he noticed Saba’s hand in his pocket, the shape indicating that a pistol probably accompanied the hand.

  “I… I was hoping to leave unnoticed.”

  “Why? You haven’t done anything that should concern me, have you?”

  “Of course not.” His eyes were suddenly moist. “It’s just time to go.”

  “I thought you were going to help us with our wizard problem.”

  “Don’t you know? Can’t you see?” Coote’s voice cracked. “You don’t have a wizard problem.”

  Saba frowned. “We shot one. Arrested a couple more. That seems to have put a damper of public disturbances,” he allowed. “Of course we’ve got a few in jail. Still, there are quite enough to keep my men on their toes.”

  “Fools! They’re fools!” Coote grabbed the police chief by the lapels even as he broke into a fit of sobbing. “They don’t have enough art in them to feel what’s coming! It’s coming! It’s coming and none of us are going to survive!”

  Saba grabbed the wizard by the wrists and pulled him around the corner of the ticket booth.

  “Go on about your business,” he barked to the few other passengers turned audience members. Around the corner of the building, with nobody in sight, he looked deep into Coote’s eyes. “What they hell are you on about? What’s coming?”

  “The Drache!”

  “The dragon? It ate one wizard, and nobody’s seen it since.”

  “Not the dragon.” His voice became a whisper. “It’s mother.”

  “What they hell are you talking about? That dragon was raised from an egg by…”

  The wizard squeaked.

  “Senta!”

  Coote began shaking. Saba kicked open a side door of the office, throwing the man inside and then following him. A middle-aged man in a railroad uniform was sitting in the only chair, sipping a cup of tea. Saba pulled out his pistol.

  “Get out!”

  The man dropped his teacup, which shattered on the floor, and ran out. Saba shoved Coote into the recently vacated chair.

  “Senta’s not dead?”

  “No,” cried Coote. “I mean I don’t know if she is or isn’t or was or whatever. But whatever it was… that she was… it was their fault! And now she’s killing them all!”

  Saba slapped him across the face, knocking off his hat.

  “Listen. Tell me what’s going on and I’ll let you get out of here.”

  The wizard nodded.

  “Who are they?”

  “The Zenith.”

  “And what is The Zenith?” asked Saba, through clenched teeth.

  “It’s a secret extra-governmental organization of wizards.”

  “Another secret magical cabal? Like the Reine Zauberei?”

  “No, not like them. The Reine Zauberei were trying to ensure the purity of the master race. The Zenith is, well, mostly just about making sure that Brech interests are secured.”

  “Yes, it’s the exact bloody opposite. Are you one of them?”

  “No,” whined Coote. “I swear to Kafira, I’m not. Master Brockton was, so I have some connections.”

  “What do they have to do with Senta?” asked Saba, but he was afraid he already knew. He had read the story of Zurfina’s life—about how she had been imprisoned because she was too powerful and refused to be controlled. The book implied that it was some part of the government that wanted to control her…”

  “She was like Zurfina…”

  “Kafira’s tits! They threw her in prison?”

  “No. I don’t know what they did, but it wasn’t prison. They did something else. I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s over now. They’re over now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Zenith has these places—powerful places. Magic places, you understand? And they have members who are very powerful—much more than me. In the last three days, they’ve… just… gone.” The wizard sucked in two deep breaths and tried to steady himself. “Imagine sitting in your garden, looking up. You see the constellations in the sky, and then they just start turning off, one after another, until there’s nothing but blackness. It’s like that. All of the powerful wizards in the Empire—someone has turned them off.”

  “How do you know it’s Senta?”

  “I’ve felt her before. I mean her magic.”

  “Kafira’s eyes,” sighed Saba. “I think you’ve gone bloody mad. So just get the hell out. Get on your damned train and I don’t want to see you again.”

  Fulbright Coote jumped to his feet and shot out the door. The police chief followed him out, just in time to see him disappearing through the train’s open doorway.

  Walking the length of the station platform, Saba took the dozen steps to the main walkway, without holding onto the handrail and without really even thinking about it. On the walk out to the street, he lowered his eyes to see the names carved in the memorial brinks that made up the railroad station’s main entryway.

  “Chief!”

  He looked up to see Kale Loewy standing beside a police carriage. He was shifting from one foot to another in an effort to see which set his new sergeant’s uniform in the best light.

  “What’s the matter, Loewy?�
��

  “Oh, um, Sergeant Timburgen was wondering if you could meet him at the new warehouse down on Marigold and Carp.”

  “Marigold and Carp?” Saba wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. “Where in the hell is that?”

  “Somewhere south of Zaerietown, I guess. You know how they’re building out that way.”

  “Well, is he there now?”

  “Yes. He said he’d stay till you got there or I told him you weren’t coming.”

  Saba waved Loewy toward his vehicle and then climbed into the passenger side.

  “So what’s the matter?”

  “What’s the matter with what?”

  “What’s the matter that Timburgen needs me to see to?”

  “Oh, yeah…” The sergeant paused as he pulled the steam carriage out into traffic. “Well it was at this corner that Gorman shot that wizard, day before yesterday. You know, the one who raped the girl.”

  “Yes, right. I remember.”

  “Timburgen arrested three hedgies right near that same corner this morning. He thinks there might be more to it than just coincidence.”

  “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go earn the big money they’re paying us. We might as well, since there’s no longer any wizard problem for us to worry about.”

  “Who says there’s no wizard problem?” wondered Loewy.

  “Nobody.”

  It was a twenty minute drive to the corner of Marigold and Carp, the latter a small side street running south on the east side of Sir Radley Staff Memorial Park. The park was a wide swath of green grass, broken here and there with willow and maple trees, saved from the axe when the others were felled. In the center of them all, was a truly remarkable pine tree, at least five hundred feet tall and with a base larger than most homes in the area. It had been transformed from a wonder of a tree to a magical land for children to play in. A spiral staircase wound up around the great trunk to the doors of several rooms carved from the living wood. Hanging in the branches were dozens of platforms from which rope ladders, sliding poles, and swings carried imaginary pirates, explorers, acrobats, and fairy queens to their respective realms.

  Loewy pulled around the corner and parked across the street from the play area, in front of a huge stone building. Saba was still staring at the great tree.

  “We never had anything like this when I was a kid.”

  “Me neither,” said Loewy. “Of course back in Redgepool, all the kids had jobs.”

  “Yeah,” said Saba, climbing from the vehicle.

  They found Sergeant Timburgen waiting under the shade of a pine tree—a tiny example of the species, across the street from its great relative, in front of the stone building. He was eating slices of apple as he cut them from the fruit with his penknife.

  “Chief,” he said, when they approached.

  “Sergeant, I understand you have something you think warrants a little more attention.”

  “That’s right. I don’t know if you’re aware, but it was right on this corner that Avery Gorman tried to bring in that wizard.” He stopped and pulled out his notebook, flipping through a few pages. “Razi Geber. Something of a big shot, I guess. Had him on attempted rape and extortion, among other things.”

  “I’m familiar with the overall events,” said Saba. “I wasn’t aware that it was right here.”

  “Then this morning, I came across these three hedge wizards. And they…” He stopped and pointed to the large stone building. “I would bet anything they were trying to break into this place. So, I start thinking—maybe whatever interested them, might have been what drew Geber here too.”

  “Possible,” said Saba.

  “There’s a bit more to it than that,” said Loewy.

  The other two men turned to see that he was looking across the street to the children playing in the park.

  “Do either of you know Celery the Great?”

  “No,” said Timburgen.

  “Yes,” said Saba, snapping his fingers to force the memory to the front of his brain. “He’s the wizard the dragon ate!”

  “That’s right,” confirmed Loewy. “And she did it right over there.”

  “Huh,” said Saba. “All right. Let’s see what’s in here.”

  The side of the large structure that faced Carp Street had a narrow walkway leading to a single door. Saba walked to the left and glanced down at the side facing Marigold. There were no doors there, just a long line of windows, high up off the ground. He decided that there must be larger doors or at least a loading dock on one of the other two sides, but he didn’t feel inclined to look for them now. Stepping back to the single-width door, he pulled out his key ring and searched for the master key.

  “Shouldn’t we find out who owns the place?” wondered Timburgen.

  “If there’s nothing to it, then there’s no point,” said Saba. “If it turns out it’s something related to all this, we’ll be looking them up.”

  He found the small key with a skull at the top and stuck it into the padlock hanging from the hasp on the door. The padlock popped open and he pulled it out, handing it to Loewy. The doorknob was new and turned easily enough, allowing the three police officers entry into a vast room.

  There was plenty of light coming in from windows high along the north and south sides, illuminating a room only slightly smaller than a football field, it’s pitched roof held up by several dozen large square pillars. The entire place smelled like of new rubber and clean oil. As far as they eye could see, were huge machines covered with steam pipes and large gears and sprockets. There was no hissing of steam compressors or cranking of gear arms. There were no workers. The entire building was quiet

  “New factory, eh?” said Timburgen. “Not much here for a wizard to be interested in.”

  “What do you suppose it is?” wondered Loewy. “Looms? Could be a shirtwaste factory.”

  “Sweet mother of Kafira,” whispered Saba, as he walked around the closest giant machine.

  It had been years since he had seen it. In fact, it had been years since anyone had seen it. But he still recognized it. This one was new. It was unused. Its massive clockwork mechanism had yet to be animated. Its power had yet to be harnessed. It had yet to have instructions typed into it. But he still recognized it.

  “It’s the Result Mechanism.”

  “What’s that?” asked Timburgen.

  “It’s a steam-powered calculating machine,” said Loewy. “Isn’t that right, Chief?”

  “That’s right,” said Saba, stepping away from the great device and looking down a row of at least ten more huge machines just like it. “Kafira.”

  “I heard it from Cameron,” said Loewy, stepping close to the police chief. “Wizards can use these things to craft more powerful magic. Dangerous magic, eh?”

  “That’s the way I understand it. Who do we have that can come down here and keep an eye on this place?”

  “We don’t have anybody,” replied Loewy. “Those of us who’ve lived through this pile of ssotook are sergeants and we haven’t had time to train up any new recruits.”

  “See if Eamon Shrubb is still in town,” said Saba. “Give him anyone available that can shoot. Get Gorman down here. I want anyone who even looks like a wizard dead before they get within a dozen feet of this building.”

  “Right, Chief,” said Loewy. “I’ll get right on it.” He headed for the door.

  “Is um… is that technically legal?” asked Timburgen. “I mean, if we just shoot somebody?”

  Saba just sighed and looked at him. “I don’t give two figs.”

  * * * * *

  The previous two evenings had featured particularly beautiful sunsets. It was as if the sky to the northwest was filled with magic that set the clouds all aglow. Hoping that this evening would prove just as beautiful, local photographer Edin Buttermore had taken his steam carriage to the farthest northwest part of Port Dechantagne, past the overgrown front gate of the Drache Girl’s estate, and up the dirt road to Feasley Mead
ow. He kept a careful watch for dangers, not the least of which were the tyrannosaurs that sometimes frequented the area. He needed no reminding that Feasley Meadow took its name from Orin Feasley, who with his wife and five children visited the beautiful spot for picnics and such, until the entire family was tragically eaten.

  The road and the meadow were pleasantly free of large man-eating dinosaurs, though a pair of dim-witted polacanthus browsed the azalea bushes. Hopping out of his car, he quickly set up his tripod and carefully aimed his camera. With a practiced hand, he slid a photo plate into place and opened the camera’s iris to expose what he hoped to be fine shot. If it was good, he could paint over the print made from this negative, creating a colorful imitation of the view that only he was currently able to enjoy.

  Having taken his shot, Buttermore crossed his arms, took a deep breath, and simply enjoyed the view. It was magnificent. Suddenly there was a small pop and a woman appeared before him, on her hands and knees in the grass, naked. Without thinking about it, the photographer did what came natural. He deftly exchanged the exposed plate for a new one and snapped another shot. As he closed the iris, the woman vomited violently onto the ground.

  Only then did he stop to think. He had to help her of course. Grabbing a throw blanket from the back seat, he rushed over to her and draped it across her bare back. He helped her climb shakily to her feet, clutching the blanket around her shoulders. It wasn’t quite big enough to offer her any real modesty, but Buttermore valiantly struggled not to ogle her. Instead, he looked up into two large grey eyes.

  “Well, hello Mr. Buttermore. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Oh, Kafira.”

  “No. Not Kafira.”

  “Oh, no. I… um, recognize you, Senta, of course.” He guided her up into the front passenger seat.

  “Did you take another naked picture of me, Mr. Buttermore?”

  “Um, yes. I confess I did. There is just one exposure though—easily destroyed. No reason to kill me… or anyone I know.” He ran back and gathered his camera and other gear. Then he turned and looked into her eyes.

  “You are a cheeky monkey,” she said. “Wait. We have to get my things.”