"The punishment will fit the crime," the soldier threatened. "You don't mean he's going to throw us into fits for punishment!" Charlie bleated.
"I could think of someplace better to throw you," the guard growled. "Shut up, now, and wait your turn."
"A tern wouldn't be half-bad roasted," Charlie mused. "The wings are kind of bony, though."
"I thought they made a jingling noise," the first rag man said, and turned to the guard. "Can we wing for service?" Alea stared, unbelieving. "They're joking!"
"If you can call those jokes," Magnus groaned. "I don't think we have to worry about seeing a war-they're still making comedy programs."
"Pretty poor program," Alea said, "with only a mud but for a scene."
"Pretty poor comedy," Magnus replied.
"I'll show you service!" The guard yanked a length of rope from his waist. "Pozzo, go get a bowl of mush."
The other guard grinned and went out the door.
The first guard tied the rope through the bonds on Charlie's wrists, then passed it through a ring set in the wall and tied the other end to George's wrists. The other guard came back in with a steaming bowl of porridge and set it just a little too far away for the two thieves to reach. Both soldiers went out, grinning and laughing, and for the next ten minutes, Alea and Magnus watched the two men's antics as they tried to reach the bowl of porridge. First they both lunged at it and were brought up short, their hands jerking up higher behind their backs. Alea winced with the thought of their pain, but the two men seemed far more distressed at not being able to reach the bowl. Then Charlie stood up and held his wrists right next to the ring on the wall while George hobbled forward on his knees, leaning as far as he could-but the bowl was still out of reach. Chagrined, he stood up and retreated, letting Charlie try, and Charlie did manage to step through his bound wrists, bringing them in front of him-but that kept him even farther from the bowl, so he stepped back through, but was no better able to reach the bowl than George had been. Then the two tried to untie each other's wrists with their teeth, giving them scope for many ribald comments. At last George sat down and reached with his feet, trying to pull the bowl toward him. Charlie realized what he was doing and stepped through his wrists again, then held them next to the iron ring, and George squirmed forward, wrapping his feet around the bowl and pulling it in, but just as he was about to sink his face into the mush, the guard came in to untie them, informing them that the magician was ready for them. The two men stumbled out of the but with howls of dismay. A disembodied voice told Alea and Magnus, "See what happens to Charlie and George next week, when..." before his voice was drowned in static and the picture turned into another sea of colored dots.
Alea sat, numbed and amazed. "They're making fun of it! They're actually making fun of war! Or of army life, at least."' "It can't be so bad a fight as all that," Magnus said. "Either a very small war, or a very short one."
"Perhaps," Alea said, "but there must have been some kind of war, or there wouldn't be soldiers arresting them!"
"And famine," Magnus agreed, "or they wouldn't be trying to steal a bowl of porridge-and punished for it. But if they could laugh at it so quickly, it must have been short."
"Now, wait," Alea protested. "This was twenty-five years after that last news program, wasn't it?"
"No," Herkimer said. "Only ten years. I thought you might find it interesting."
"We certainly did," Alea said, still feeling numb. "What else were these people watching?"
Herkimer showed them snippets of very crudely made dramas and comedies; the subject matter alternated between war and famine on the one hand, and magic and astrology on the other. Pagan gods frequently meddled with the people, confusing the issues tremendously-and sometimes resolving them. "What kind of civilization is this," Magnus asked, "where war mixes with magic and mysticism?"
Alea smiled thinly. "It sounds like my own people."
"Let us hope their war is past!" Magnus said fervently. "How many years have we skipped through, Herkimer?"
"A hundred seventy-eight, Magnus. The quality of the signal has been deteriorating steadily. I am having to process it more and more elaborately in order to present a coherent picture."
"Thanks for your efforts," Magnus said. "Let's see the next program."
The screen appeared again, showing a worn and haggard woman sitting at a desk in a harsh and glaring light with stark shadows. On the desk stood an easel holding pictures. As she finished one story she pulled the picture from the easel, revealing another. The camera moved closer to fill the screen with the easel picture, wobbling as it went, then moved back out to include the woman again.
"Remember, these pictures are several weeks old," she told her audience. "They've been sent to us by post riders, since our ancestors' gadgets won't send pictures by wire anymore. To be blunt, they don't work."
Magnus darted a dismayed glance at Alea; she met it with consternation of her own.
The woman started talking again, drawing their gazes back to her. "Plague has broken out in Oldmarket City, Ebor City, Holborn City, and Exbury Big Town. Their people are fleeing into the countryside. They may carry plague germs with them. Avoid strangers. It will prove impossible to keep them out of your towns-there are just too many of them-so I recommend evacuation. Take your valuables and your treasured mementos and go live in the forest-city people like me are afraid of the woods and the wild animals. Let them have your towns; keep your lives."
"I wouldn't take her advice for a second!" Alea said. "I would think she was just trying to frighten me away so somebody could steal my house!"
"Then the villagers probably thought that, too," Magnus said, troubled. "I wonder how badly they fought over a handful of cottages?"
"The other cities have no disease yet," the woman told them, "but farmers are afraid to bring them grain and other foodstuffs, so prices have skyrocketed and bread riots have broken out here and there. Gurus and magicians have managed to quiet them. Still, if you are a farmer watching this broadcast, please take your extra harvest to the city nearest you; you'll receive at least ten times the usual price."
"Who does she think she's fooling?" Alea demanded. "If the farmers know about germs, they know that people from one city visit other cities every day. They may get a high price, but they'll bring home plague as well as money!"
"I'm afraid the farmers did realize that," Magnus said sadly. "I wonder how long it took before the city people came out to the countryside as a mob, to take whatever food they could find?"
Alea shuddered. "Then the plague probably swept the whole continent!"
"Here in Lutabor, the power plant has stopped working," the woman said. "We're only able to stay on the air because we have our own generator, but we don't know how much longer our fuel will last, and the methane plants have stopped operating. The weather's getting colder, so people are moving out to the countryside where they can at least keep themselves warm by burning fallen trees."
"And steal farmers' houses," Alea whispered, staring in dismay.
"The fighting must have been desperate," Magnus agreed. "It's the end of a world!" Alea breathed.
"And the beginning of a new one." Magnus frowned. "Assuming they didn't all die out. I wonder what we'll find there."
"We'll have to end this broadcast now," the woman said. "We'll talk to you again tomorrow if we can. Remember, please, if you live in any of the small towns around Lutabor-our refugees have no disease, but they do have money for buying food, so there's no need to be afraid of any of us. That's all we can manage today. We wish you well, and I hope I'll be able to talk to you again."
"Was she?" Alea asked as static replaced the picture.
3
"I'm afraid not," Herkimer said. "That was the last television broadcast from the planet. There are still radio broadcasts coming in, but the signals are of very low quality and the announcing amateurish. Their news programs are clearly rumor and devoted to superstitious nonsense, such as communicating with
the dead, magic, and hauntings."
Alea looked skeptical at the word "superstitious," but Mag nus said, "They described a civilization falling apart."
"It would seem so," Herkimer agreed. "We will be close enough to commence orbit in twenty-six hours. Perhaps a photographic survey will clarify matters somewhat."
It did, but not for the better. The pictures Herkimer presented them showed magnificent cities that, on closer inspection, featured broken windows, tumbled masonry, and streets choked with rubble, empty except for small bands of people, some deformed. Here and there, the pictures showed pitched battles.
"The cities certainly died," Magnus said, his face tragic.
"There seem to be a few who couldn't bear to leave." Suddenly Alea stiffened. "Magnify, Herkimer!"
The band in the center of the screen jumped outward to fill it There were five people-two men and a woman wearing patched tunics and coarse leggins, and two others who wore hooded robes. One of the men walked hunched over by a bent spine, another limped with a twisted foot. The woman glanced up at the sky to gauge the weather, and they saw she had only one eye, the other covered by a patch.
"Nobody wanted them around," Alea whispered.
"So the cities are sanctuaries for the outcasts," Magnus said, his face grave. "Let's have a look at the countryside, Herkimer." The city street dissolved into an expanse of patchwork fields dotted by small villages with thatched roofs-but as the landscape unrolled below them, they saw larger towns clustered around central hills upon which stood mansions in front of broad courtyards surrounded by smaller buildings.
"No castles, at least." Magnus frowned. "It's not quite a feudal setup."
"Isn't it?" Alea asked. "Could we have a closer look at one of those mansions, Herkimer?"
"Of course," the computer answered, and one huge house swam toward them until it filled the screen.
"It's made of stone," Alea pointed out, "and the walls are pretty thick, to judge by the depth of the windows-which aren't all that large, by the way."
"No, they're not," Magnus agreed. "Three feet high at the most, and maybe two wide. Not a fortress, but it would still be ard to capture."
"There are no walls around the property, though," Alea admitted, "so they can't be too worried about attack. Either that, their weapons are so powerful that the walls would only be ere for privacy."
"Let's hope it just means a peaceful culture," Magnus said. "But one with rulers and subjects," Alea pointed out. "See how many people are out there working in the fields?"
"That could simply mean that everyone works." Then Magnus saw the woman in green silk riding on a gray horse and the man in velvet and brocade who rode the chestnut stallion beside her, with several liveried guards behind them. "Or it could be a rigid class system."
"You would raise a question." Alea glanced at him with noyance. "Now I want to go down there just to find out th answer."
"So do I," Magnus admitted. "Even more, though, I want find out why they're so sure of the peace. No one's weari armor, and that isn't a very large troop of bodyguards." H added as an afterthought, "Of course, the peasants could be o pressed."
Alea shrugged. "How badly? We've seen worse, much worse Besides, you can't tell just by looking at them."
"Yes, though Brigante was the first planet I've seen whe that wasn't true."
Alea shrugged. "All we could see from orbit was that the was a priestly class and a peasant class. It made sense that th priests should have been exploiting the peasants."
"Yes, and it took a dirtside tour to find out that the peop were really quite happy." Magnus winced at the memory of civilization that had no government above the level of a to council-if you didn't count the secret society that had virtual become the government.
Evanescent's telepathic species had a great deal to do wit the smooth running of Brigante's society, too, and was whe the alien had joined them-though only Alea knew about h and at the moment, even she didn't remember.
"Displaying catalog," Herkimer said, and the screen befo them became a collection of small pictures arranged in three walls, one behind the other.
Magnus glanced from one frame to another. "A medieval civilization amid the ruins of a modern one-well, I've seen that before."
Alea thought of her home world and winced. "We'll have to be on the watch for people who remember how to use the old machines-or even to build new ones." She remembered the dwarves of Midgard building radio transceivers.
"Well, we won't learn anything more up here." Magnus stood up. "Cancel display, Herkimer, and fabricate us some costumes like the ones we've seen, would you?"
The picture-walls disappeared, and Herkimer asked, "Costumes of the privileged class or the peasantry, Magnus?"
"Do you feel like being a lady of wealth and breeding this time?" Magnus asked Alea.
"A peasant will be fine, thank you." Alea had a grudge against the wealthy and privileged. "Besides, the ruling class is so small that they probably all know each other and would be very suspicious of strangers."
"True," Magnus agreed. "Peasants, Herkimer. We'll start at the bottom and work our way up, as usual."
Alea stood, too. "Should I start calling you Gar Pike again?"
"That would be wise," Magnus said, nodding.
"I don't know why you bother with that alias," Alea grumbled. "No one here is going to know who Magnus d'Armand is."
"Only the wrong people."
"You mean SCENT agents. We don't even know that there are any of them working here."
"In fact, there probably aren't," Gar said, "but it's one chance we don't have to take. I'd prefer my former colleagues don't recognize me if they do happen to be in the neighborhood." The fact that SCENT was also his father's organization was just as much of a problem-the name "d'Armand" was rather famous among their ranks.
Privately, Alea suspected that Magnus would be easy to recognize under any name-on backward planets where nutrition was rarely what it should be, there weren't very many men who were nearly seven feet tall. On the other hand, there weren't many women who were six feet four inches, either. Even on her home world she had stood out, to her sorrow. She once again felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude to Magnus for taking her away from that misery, but stiffened her face, determined not to let it show.
Magnus misunderstood the expression; his voice lowered, becoming gentler. "Come now, it won't be all that bad. We'll probably discover that the peasants are well fed and well clothed, and quite happy with their lot. Besides, we could do with a touch of sun and fresh air again."
"And rain!" Alea's pulse quickened at the thought. Truth to tell, she would have taken shore leave even if nobody on the planet needed her-after six months shipboard, she was glad of an excuse to go outdoors again.
So was Evanescent, of course, but she didn't bother telling the humans-or even reminding them that she existed. There would be time enough for that, if it were necessary.
The next shipboard day, Herkimer spiraled around the planet Oldeira to the night side, where he settled into a clearing in a forest, not far from a road, that led to a village only a few miles away. Magnus and Alea went down the gangplank, he with a spring in his step, she nearly dancing. They picked their way across the clearing by the light of a lantern that had a very medieval look, then disappeared into the trees.
Herkimer remained, gangplank extended, though usually he would have lifted off as soon as they had disembarked and been halfway back to orbit before the humans had reached the forest. Now, though, the ship still sat, as though trying to remember what it was supposed to do next-until Evanescent prowled down the gangplank, a huge ball of a cat face with a foreshortened feline body that seemed much too small. Nonetheless, she moved with fluidity and grace as she disappeared into the forest, following the trail of the humans' thoughts.
Only then did the gangplank slide back into the ship and Herkimer rise into the night sky, not even knowing that his computer-brain had been dormant for a few minutes. He wouldn't
even think to compare his memories to the ship's clock, for how could he have lost time without being aware of it?
They broke out of the underbrush onto the road. Alea looked up at the narrow strip of sky, so strewn with stars that it gave as much light as a full moon on Terra. Then she turned to Gar. "What do we do now? Look for a guide?"
"I usually do," Gar admitted, "preferably someone who's planning to keep traveling for a while."
"Meaning someone on the run," Alea interpreted, "who has no love for the local government but needs protection."
"Yes," Gar said, "but not a real criminal, just a good person who's fallen into trouble-a soldier on the losing side, perhaps, or a peasant who couldn't pay his taxes."
"That shouldn't be hard to find, in a medieval society." Alea turned to face the road. "Let's just hope we find them before the real outlaws do."
Mira had managed to stay free for two days-nights, rather, since she didn't dare travel when it was light and the soldiers could see her. She had hidden in a haystack the first day and watched between the straws as a party of them rode by. They hadn't brought the dogs then, thank heaven, or she would have been discovered. The second night, she had waded down a stream until her feet were numb, then managed to climb a vine to a tree limb, where she had warmed her feet until she was sure of them again, and could walk the lower limbs from tree to tree until they were too far apart to cross from one to another. By that time, though, she had been at least a hundred feet from the bank, and the hounds weren't likely to pick up her scent if they'd been following the water.
There were dangers at night, of course, and she went with her heart pounding, starting at every noise, frightened at the mere thought of the ghosts who were apt to come looking for her-but the magician hadn't sent them yet. Wild ghosts were even more frightening, for she'd heard stories about them taking over people's minds-though just as many stories claimed that couldn't happen till a person was dead, and then it would be ghost against ghost, and surely the newer would be stronger and would win.
This was the third night, and she doubted that the hounds and the soldiers would hunt her so far from home, so she dared to walk on the road instead of picking her way over tree roots under the shadows of the pines. Roketh would send word to the other magicians, though, and their guards would be alert for a woman traveling alone. If they found her, they would chase her, catch her, and send her back to Roketh-so she still went cautiously, alert for the sound of hooves or marching feet. She was just beginning to breathe more easily when she saw the glimmering mist gathering over the road ahead of her. She stopped, heart in her throat, and watched, rooted to the spot, as the mist thickened and bulged into arms and a head with hollow, staring eyes and a dark circle of a mouth-but nothing more, only a blank bulge with darkness for features. It was raw energy, a specter gathered but still unformed, a wild ghost, a thing seeking form and purpose. Its kind were the most dangerous sort of phantoms, for they were voracious.
A Wizard In The Way Page 3