The Ambivalent Magician

by Simon Hawke

  Sandy sighed heavily. "I am the queen, and yet you know more about my husband's plans than I do," she said. "He never confides in me anymore."

  "Your husband, madame, is a fool," one of the other men seated at the table said.

  "Whatever he may be, Lord Edward, he is still your king, and I will demand you speak of him with respect," Sandy replied firmly.

  Lord Edward merely inclined his head in response. Clearly, while Sandy commanded respect within the room, her husband, the king, did not.

  "Let us be honest with one another, Your Highness," said Luke the Luthier, director of The Craftsman's Guild. "We all have our own reasons for being here. The aristocrats among us have lent their efforts to our cause because they see Warrick as a threat and they realize, with no disrespect intended to His Majesty, that the king simply lacks the capabilty to stand up to him. We commoners are here because with each passing day, our freedoms are eroded further and the people suffer more."

  "You think I do not care about the people, Luke?" asked Sandy.

  "No, Your Highness, clearly you do, and if you were on the throne in place of your husband, I have no doubt the welfare of the people would be your first concern. But the fact remains that while your husband sits upon the throne of Pitt, Warrick and Sheriff Waylon rule in all but name. We had all hoped to avoid a violent revolution, but it may be the only answer."

  "You speak treason, Luke," Sandy said.

  "My lady, may I remind you that you are committing treason yourself by the mere fact of your presence here," the soft-spoken luthier replied.

  Sandy compressed her lips into a tight grimace. "Well, I will have you know that I have just come from a meeting with two of the prime movers behind this revolution, and what I have learned may change your mind."

  "You met with them yourself?" Lord Aubrey said with astonishment.

  "I have met with them on several occasions," Sandy replied. "But you may relax, Lord Aubrey. They do not suspect who I really am."

  "Still, the danger to you-"

  "Is not as great as you may think," Sandy said, cutting him off. "However, 'tis not the point. The point is that The Stealers Guild foments this revolution merely to advance their own criminal purposes. If it succeeds, then they shall benefit from the removal of Sheriff Waylon and the period of disorder that is bound to follow until proper rule can be restored. And if it fails, then they shall take advantage of the fighting to line their pockets unmolested, for they have taken care to see that others will take the blame when it is ended. They have lit the fire, and now it has gathered its own momentum. Those who are vocal as the leaders of this revolution are but the unknowing pawns of The Stealers Guild. The support they now receive from them will quickly fade the moment anything goes wrong. And you may rest assured it will go wrong."

  "With the army marching for Brigantium, what is to stop it?" one of the others asked. "They leave behind only the palace guard, augmented by some soldiers."

  "And what do you suppose will happen when the army returns?" Lord Aubrey said. "The king may be deposed, and Sheriff Waylon and his deputies lynched by the mob, but Warrick will take care to keep himself protected, even if the mob does gather up the nerve to storm his tower, which I strongly doubt. Warrick will merely sit back and let it all happen, and when the army returns from Brigantium, they will seize power effortlessly and place Warrick on the throne. The crafty wizard has played his hand extremely well. He has convinced the king to send the army to put down this outlaw mage, whom Warrick fears as a rival to his power, and at the same time, the absence of the army tempts those who would plot against the king to action. With one move, Warrick seizes power and consolidates it."

  There was silence in the room as they all saw the logic of Lord Aubrey's remarks.

  "What are we to do, then?" someone asked.

  "I can think of but only one solution, for the present," Sandy said. "We must abduct the king."

  "What?" said Luke with disbelief.

  "My husband does not wish to see the truth," said Sandy. "He must be made to see it. The revolution will doubtless come soon after the army marches on Brigantium. The palace will be their first objective. If they seize the king, his life is surely forfeit. But what if they cannot find the king? When the army returns and puts down the rebels, Warrick will not be able to assume the throne so long as the king lives. Then he will be seen as a usurper, and as such, will never gain support from any of the other kingdoms."

  "True," Lord Aubrey said, nodding in agreement. "The other rulers would be fools to sanction such a blatant seizure of power. They would be forced to unite against him, if only to safeguard their own positions."

  "A clever plan to save your husband, Highness," Luke said softly. "And once he is back upon the throne, what will have changed?"

  Sandy gave him a hard look. "If you think I propose this plan merely to save my husband's life, then you have learned nothing about me since I joined you. He is my husband and my king, and I will do my duty by him. But I am also queen, and I have a duty to my people. My presence here is evidence of that. If I cannot prevent the revolution, then I shall do my utmost to prevent the people suffering from its results. If you can think of a better plan, then I am sure we are all eager to listen."

  Luke looked down and remained silent.

  "Fine then," Sandy said. "There is little time to waste. Now here is what I propose ..."

  "I think I'm going to be sick," said Hightower with a moan.

  "Then let me up first," Megan said quickly, fumbling with the safety straps and jumping out of the machine.

  "Where are we?" Pamela asked, looking around at the room in which they had materialized.

  "Warrick's sanctorum, in the Alabaster Tower," Megan said. "We're home, in Pittsburgh!"

  "Well, you're home, maybe," Pamela said as she got out of the machine and looked around. "But as a little girl named Dorothy once said, 'I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.'"

  The walls around them in the circular chamber were all constructed of large blocks of heavy, mortared, pale white stone. The floor was made of thick wood planks. The furnishings were well made, but crude by modern standards, fastened together with wooden pegs instead of nails. The windows in the thick walls were arched and shuttered. Everywhere Pamela looked, there were piles of ancient, leather-bound vellum books and rolled-up scrolls, just stacked wherever there was room. The tables and shelves were covered with ceramic jars and glass beakers containing dried herbs and powders and other unidentifiable objects, some of which looked like specimens from a pathology lab. There was a large carved desk that held a human skull, turned brown with age, with a hole in the top to hold a candle. Pamela examined some items spread out on what appeared to be an altar. There were candles of several colors, a large silver chalice, several cauldrons of varying sizes, amulets holding precious stones, ceramic bowls, ritual knives and crystals, oils and unguents and jars of powdered incense along with a mortar and a pestle.

  "This looks like a set for a bloody horror film," said Pamela.

  "If you think it looks strange in here, take a look outside," said Hightower, standing by a window.

  Pamela came up beside him. What she saw made her gasp. The tower was built upon a hill, and spreading out below them was a medieval city, with several main avenues paved with cobblestones and twisting, narrow side streets and back alleys. The buildings were all constructed of wood and mortared stone, and the people moving through the streets were dressed in tunics and loose breeches, with thick leather belts and woolen cloaks. Several horse-drawn wagons rolled through the streets, containing wooden barrels and hay and produce from outlying farms. Nearby and to their left, rising high above the surrounding buildings, was a stone castle, complete with moat and drawbridge, walls and battlements and crenellated towers. It was shortly after sunrise. The city was slowly coming awake.

  "If I wasn't seeing this with my own eyes, I'd never believe it," said Hightower. "It works, Pamela! We've actually gone back through time
! We're in London in the Middle Ages!"

  Pamela scanned the horizon. She frowned and shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she said. "The Thames should be over there," she said, pointing. "Where is it? And look at those mountains in the distance. We're not in London. We're somewhere else entirely."

  "You're right," said Hightower. "But where?"

  Pamela shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "But Marvin's here, somewhere. He's got to be."

  "Are you sure this is the same place he went back to?" Colin asked.

  "That man, Warrick, came from here," Pamela replied. "This is his home, apparently. And he had Marvin's time machine. The question is, how did he get his hands on it?"

  "Look," said Colin hesitantly, "I don't want to rain on your parade, but I think you should consider the possibility that something may have happened to him."

  "I know," said Pamela. "I've already thought of that, believe me. It's been over a year since Marvin disappeared. But I can't give up until I know for sure."

  "I understand," said Colin. "But now that we're here- wherever 'here' is-we need to make a plan." He glanced back at the time machine. "That thing's our only way back home. How do we know it's safe to leave it here while we go out looking for Brewster?"

  "No one ever comes to Warrick's sanctorum," Megan said. "The people are afraid of this place. No one who's ever entered this tower has ever been seen again."

  "Yes, and now we know why," said Pamela. She leaned out the window and looked to the left and right. "This tower doesn't appear connected to any other structure. But at the same time, except for the castle over there, it's the tallest building in the area. It seems hard to believe that just one person would be living here. Megan, what are we liable to find if we go out that door?"

  "Warrick has his minions," Megan said. "They reside here in the tower, on the lower floors. Warrick's private living quarters are on the upper levels, but I have never seen them. I think no one has."

  "Minions?" Colin said. "What do you mean?"

  "Men-at-arms and servants," said Megan. "They dress in Warrick's colors, a white surplice with a light blue band across it."

  "You mean soldiers?" Pamela said. She glanced at Colin uneasily. "That could present a problem. How do we get past them?"

  "Ever play poker?" asked Hightower.

  "You mean bluff?" said Pamela, uncertainly. "We don't even know what we're doing."

  "Leave it to me," said Colin. "I'm an old hand at this sort of thing. Look, Warrick's stuck back in our own time, right? Without that machine, there's no way he can get back here. So, instead of trying to sneak around, which always makes people suspicious, we put on a bold front instead and confront things head on. Warrick is some sort of royal sorcerer, right, Megan?"

  "Aye, he is royal wizard to the King of Pitt," said Megan.

  "That means he undoubtedly has some pull around here," Colin said. "So, since he's not here to contradict us, we'll simply claim he sent us here to take care of things while he's off in-what did he call it?-The ethereal plane?"

  "Yes, I think that's what he said," Pamela replied. "But are you sure this is the smart thing to do?"

  "It's our best chance," said Colin. "We're completely on our own here, and what we need more than anything right now is information. And these are primitive people, aren't they? It shouldn't be too difficult to pull the wool over their eyes."

  Pamela took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "I hope you're right. But it's going to be very risky."

  "Risky?" Colin said, raising his eyebrows. "Are you joking? We've just traveled back in time, for God's sake, and we don't even know for certain where we are. Just how much more risky can things get?"

  "I think from here on in, the risk is only going to escalate," said Pamela wryly. "But your suggestion's worth a try. We're simply going to have to make things up as we go along."

  "Right," said Colin. "Okay, Megan, I want you to go out there and find whoever's in charge around here and tell him ... hmm, let's see ... just tell him Warrick wants him to report here at once. We'll just improvise from there. Go on, now. And be firm. Act as if you're carrying out Warrick's personal instructions."

  "Very well," she said, and turned to go.

  "Megan, wait," said Pamela.

  She turned around.

  Pamela moistened her lips nervously. "You ... you will come back, won't you?"

  Megan looked startled, and then she looked a little hurt. "Colin helped me get out of that awful place they kept me in," she said, "and you helped me get back home. Did you really think I would be so selfish and ungrateful as to leave you in the lurch?"

  "I ... I'm sorry, Megan," Pamela replied. "It's just that. . . well, I must confess, I'm more than a little bit afraid."

  "Warrick is no longer here," said Megan, "so there is far less reason to be afraid. And now that I have seen him and returned to his tower, the compulsion he had placed upon me is gone. I will return to help you. I promise."

  She turned and went out the door.

  "Don't worry, she'll be back," said Colin. "She may seem a bit erratic, but she's a good girl."

  "Well, in that case, I hope you're a good poker player," Pamela replied. She took out a pack of cigarettes and her lighter, and stared at them ruefully for a moment. "I'd quit smoking, you know. I started again when Marvin disappeared. I suppose I'll be giving it up again. I don't imagine I'll be able to buy any cigarettes here."

  "Hold on a moment," said Colin. "Don't light up yet."

  "What? Why not?"

  "I've got an idea. Give me your lighter."

  Puzzled, she handed it over.

  "Let me have one of those cigarettes."

  She shook one out and handed it to him.

  "Take one and hold it between your thumb and middle finger, like this," he said, demonstrating, holding it so that his palm was cupped around it. She followed his example. "When Megan comes back, just follow my lead. I may not know my history all that well, but tobacco was a New World crop, wasn't it? It was never seen in Europe until old Sir Walter Raleigh started shipping it back home. So chances are these people have never seen cigarettes."

  Pamela smiled as understanding dawned. "Very clever," she said.

  "You just need to start thinking like a con man," Colin replied. "Anything we can do to play on these people's superstitions is only going to strengthen our position. You still have that pistol, don't you?"

  "Yes, it's in my purse."

  "Good. How many bullets do you have?"

  "A full magazine, less one round," she replied. "And I always carry a spare, so that makes a total of thirteen."

  "Well, we'll have to be very sparing of them," Colin said. "We don't know how long we're liable to be here. What else have you got in that purse?"

  "My compact, a lipstick, keys, wallet, checkbook and change purse, some ... some feminine things, a packet of facial tissues, an electronic organizer, a penlight, two ballpoints, a pocket tape recorder, a small canister of Mace, a rape whistle ... can't be too careful, you know. Oh, and a small pocket knife, one of those Swiss Army things. Marvin gave it to me for a present."

  "Regular Girl Scout, aren't you?" Colin said with a grin. "Let me see that tape recorder."

  She took it out and handed it to him.

  "Right," said Colin. "Now let's see if we can't prepare a small demonstration of our 'supernatural powers,' shall we?"

  A short while later, there was a knock at the door.

  Colin quickly lit their cigarettes. "Enter," he said imperiously.

  The door opened and Megan came in with the captain of Warrick's personal guard.

  "I have brought the minion you summoned, my lord," said Megan with a deep curtsy.

  The captain of the guard stared at them uncertainly, taking in their strange clothes, and then his eyes grew wide as he saw both of them exhale smoke through their nostrils.

  "Kneel, mortal, and show proper respect for the astral familiars of your master," said Colin, "or I shall burn you with m
y touch!" And with that, he snapped the cigarette lighter.

  At the sight of the flame apparently emanating from Hightower's fingers, the captain dropped immediately to his knees and lowered his head. "Forgive me, my lord!" he said. "Do not burn me, I beg you! I... I did not know! The wench did not explain-"

  "Silence!" Colin said;

  The captain bit off his words and remained on his knees, his head lowered.

  "Look at me," Colin commanded.

  The captain swallowed hard and looked up, fearfully.

  Colin put his hand into his jacket pocket and pushed the play button on the recorder. "Shall I kill him now, Master? Shall I tear him limb from limb and feast upon his flesh ? "

  The playback was his own voice doing a rather poor Peter Lorre impression, but it served its purpose admirably. The captain gasped and his eyes bulged. He turned white as a ghost and started shaking.

  "Nay, Unseen One," Colin said theatrically. "There will yet be time for you to feast on human flesh. We have need of this one."

  "I... I beg you ... do not harm me, Lord!" the captain stammered, gazing wildly around him for the source of the disembodied voice.

  Colin hit the playback once again. "This one seems a poor servant for our purpose. Perhaps we should feast on him and find another."

  "Please, Unseen One! Stay your hand!" the captain cried. "I shall do whatever you ask! Give me but a chance to prove myself!"

  Colin raised his hand to his chin, as if in thought, and took a deep drag on the cigarette he had cupped in his palm. He exhaled a long stream of smoke through his nostrils. "What is your name, worthless one?"

  "I am Ivor, captain of the royal wizard's guard, my lord."

  "Well, Captain Ivor, I bring a message from your master, Warrick," Colin said. "He has departed for the ethereal plane and sent us here to see to matters until his return. You and all here are to give us your unquestioning obedience, or suffer the fangs of the Unseen One. Do you understand?"

  "Aye, my Lord, I shall do whatever you command!"

  "Good," said Colin. He turned to Pamela. "Perhaps he will do."

  "That remains to be seen," said Pamela, exhaling smoke.