by Simon Hawke
Nah... that sucks.
I know why you people buy these books. You want action. You want adventure. You want ferocious dragons and valiant elves and courageous dwarves and swashbuckling heroes and heroines and all that hack-and-slash, role gaming, Tolkien kind of stuff. Whoever heard of politically correct fantasy? Hell, you can't even teach Snow White and the Seven Dwarves anymore, because it shows a woman in a subservient role to little men. They're saying that the Brothers Grimm are much too violent and could traumatize small children; Hansel and Gretel depicts cannibalism and cruelty to senior citizens; Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs shows cruelty to animals; Sleeping Beauty promotes sexual molestation, because the prince kisses her while she's suffering from diminished capacity; Peter Pan has Native Americans functioning in racially stereotyped roles and promotes a negative image of the physically challenged in Captain Hook; and Cinderella depicts class envy and has disturbing overtones of foot fetishism. I tell you, enough's enough. Somebody's got to draw the line and take a stand.
Never fear. Remember, always trust your narrator. And your faithful narrator still has an ace up his sleeve. In this case, it happens to be a character we've met before, in the second novel of this trilogy (The Inadequate Adept, Warner Books). Remember Black Jack, the freebooter who captured Shannon and would have taken her in for bounty if riot for Brewster's dramatic rescue at the end of the last book? You may recall we mentioned that he's now leading the mercenaries with Lord Kelvin's army. (Yes, I know he's been offstage for the length of this entire book, but that's what really minor supporting characters are for. You introduce them briefly in the beginning or somewhere near the middle and in the end, it turns out they have a key role to play in the resolution of the plot. Well, they do it all the time on Murder, She Wrote.)
Anyway, it so happens that Black Jack was riding out ahead of the main body of the army with the mercenaries under his command when what should come galloping down the road toward them at breakneck speed but Pamela's horse, with Colin the Chamberpot tied to the saddle and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Now, the sight of a riderless horse coming straight at you and apparently screaming "Help!" is enough to give most anybody pause, unless your name happens to be Wilbur Post and you're used to talking horses. Some of the mercenaries freaked and started shouting, "Sorcery!" and "Witchcraft!" However, Black Jack was made of sterner stuff and he rode out and stopped the runaway horse, at which point he discovered it wasn't the horse that was screaming after all, but the chamberpot tied to its saddle. We'll take it from there...
"What in blazes are you supposed to be?" Black Jack said, cutting the chamberpot loose and holding it up before him.
"Ohhh, thank God!" said Colin with a groan of pain. "I never want to see another bloody horse as long as I live!"
Black Jack took out his dagger and smacked the chamberpot with its hilt. "I asked you a question, pot!"
"Ow! Jesus! Take it easy, for Christ's sake!"
"I will ask you one more time, before I crush you beneath my horse's hooves. Who and what are you?"
"All right, all right! Just hold your bloody horses! No pun intended. My name is Colin Hightower, and I'm a reporter."
"A reporter of what?"
"Of news, what do you think?"
"You are a paid informant?"
"No, I'm not a ... oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand."
"What are you? Are you human?"
"Of course, I'm bloody human! I'm under a spell or something!"
"How came you to this state?"
"I was standing in Warrick's place and I picked up a book and opened it, and the next thing I knew, poof. I was a bloody bedpan."
"I see," said Black Jack. "And how came you here? Whose horse is this?"
"It's ... excuse me, but do you mind telling me exactly who you are?"
"Ohhhhh, someone get me out of here!" came a voice from the bedroll tied to the back of the saddle.
"What's this?" asked Black Jack with a frown. "More enchantment? Here, hold this." He tossed Colin to one of his men, who hobbled the chamberpot a moment before getting a firm grip on it.
"Watch it!" Colin said.
The man stared at the chamberpot wide-eyed, holding it well away from him while Black Jack cut loose the bedroll with his dagger and unwrapped it, revealing the magic mirror.
"Many thanks, kind stranger," said the mirror. "I thought I was about to be jarred loose from my frame!"
"And what are you supposed to be?" asked Black Jack, holding up the mirror and staring into it at his own reflection.
"I am the Enchanted Mirror of Truth. Ask me any question, and the truth shall be revealed."
"Indeed?" said Black Jack. He frowned, thinking of a way to test this claim. "All right, then. What was my father's name?"
"Ah, well, it depends, you see," the mirror replied. "The truth is always relative. There is the truth you know, or think you know, and then there is the truth as 'twas told to you, which is the truth the teller knew, or thought she knew, and then there is the objective truth, which often has subtle shades of meaning-"
"What in thunder are you babbling about?" demanded Black Jack. "I asked you a simple question!"
"No question is ever truly simple," the mirror said. "You believe your father was called Jack the Red, a legendary freebooter with whom your mother fell in love while he was passing through your town on the way to the War of the Three Kingdoms. But in fact, while there really was a Jack the Red, and he was a legendary freebooter, your mother never even met him. She simply told you that story so you would have a strong male role model to think of as your father. Your mother always believed your real father was a man named Walt the Tinker, an itinerant peddler who sold pots and pans, dry goods, and herbal suppositories. He also did odd jobs and small repairs. Your mother was almost certain that he was your father, for it could have been any one of about a dozen men or more and he seemed the most likely candidate. But in truth, 'twas your Uncle Fred."
"My Uncle Fred!" said Black Jack with astonishment. "But... you mean my mother's brother?"
"Well, half brother," said the mirror. "They had different fathers, although your grandfather never knew that. You see, your grandmother-"
"Enough!" said Black Jack, scowling. "Was the pot telling the truth?"
"Colin? Well, reporters are supposed to tell the truth, though of course, accuracy in reporting is always subject to a certain amount of inherent bias on the part of the reporter. In Colin's case, telling the truth was never really one of his strong suits, but in this particular instance, his reporting of the facts can be considered essentially reliable."
"I am getting a headache just listening to all of this!" Black Jack replied. "Whose horse is this?"
"Yours," said the mirror.
"Not the one I'm sitting on, you benighted piece of glass! The runaway one bearing you and the pot!"
"Ah, well, you didn't really specify which horse you meant. The one you're asking about belongs to Warrick the White. 'Tis part of the stable used for his men at arms."
"I meant who was riding it?"
"Well, you did not ask me who was riding it, did you? You asked to whom it belonged. If you wish a correct reply, you need to ask the correct question. The horse under discussion was being ridden by Dr. Pamela Fairburn, who was on her way to Brigand's Roost in search of her intended, Dr. Marvin Brewster."
"You mean the sorcerer, Brewster Doc?"
"He is also known by that appellation, although in truth his real name is-"
"Was she traveling alone?"
"She was traveling in company with a wench named Megan and a squad of Warrick's men-at-arms, but Warrick's men had left her at the river crossing, where she met two others."
"Aye, those men passed us but a short while ago. They seemed in a great hurry. Who are the two others that she met?"
"Lord Aubrey of Ravenhurst and Her Highness, Queen Sandy of Pitt."
"The queen!" said Black Jack. "Impossibl
e! What would the queen be doing on this road?"
"She is en route to Brigantium, to offer herself as hostage to the wizard Brewster, so that Lord Kelvin will be unable to attack and will be forced to negotiate, instead, thereby averting the war."
"Blabberglass!" said Colin.
"Quiet, you!" said Black Jack. He scowled. "If there is to be no war, then there will be no spoils. We shall not be able to pillage the town."
"Indeed, 'twould be bad form to despoil a town after a truce had been agreed upon," the mirror reflected.
"Shut up. I'm thinking." Black Jack frowned, considering the situation. "All right, I have it. We shall tell Lord Kelvin that this tale of the queen held hostage is merely a ploy of the sorcerer, Brewster Doc, meant to prevent our attack. 'Tis not really the queen, but only an apparition. The real queen is safe in her palace, back in Pittsburgh. And you, mirror, will confirm this."
"Excuse me, but I am the Enchanted Mirror of Truth. And that is not the truth, you see. I cannot tell a lie."
"Then I will smash you into a thousand pieces."
"Well, actually, now that I think of it, the queen's heart is with her people back in Pitt, and since home is where the heart is, then I suppose an argument could be made that she really is at home, in a sort of metaphysical sense."
"I rather thought you'd see it my way," said Black Jack, with an evil grin.
"Captain, what should I do with this?" asked the burly mercenary to whom Jack had thrown the pot.
"I have no use for that baggage," Black Jack replied. "Keep it, if you wish, or else throw it away."
"Now wait a minute ..." Colin said.
"I never had a chamberpot that talked before," the mercenary said. "And 'twould be more convenient than squatting in the bushes."
"No!" Colin said. "You wouldn't!"
"Aye, I think I'll keep it," said the mercenary, tying Colin to his saddle. "I could always sell it later."
"Let's move on," said Black Jack. "Send word back to Lord Kelvin about the wizard's ruse with the queen, and tell him I have Warrick's enchanted mirror to confirm it. I want to be across the river within the hour. I want to see what sort of preparations these Brigantians have made."
As the riders galloped off, Colin jounced helplessly against the saddle of the mercenary, clanking painfully against his scabbard.
"Oh, no, not again!" he wailed. "If I ever get out of this, I swear to God I'll quit this bloody job and become a CPA!"
And as Colin Hightower contemplated the unpleasant prospect of being used as a field latrine, the mercenaries moved on toward the river, with the main body of Lord Kelvin's army just behind them.
Twelve
Sandy and Aubrey's horses had traveled a long way, and for the last few miles, they had carried two people each, so they needed rest. The group dismounted several miles past the river crossing, so the horses could be walked a bit to cool them down. As they walked, Pamela told Sandy and Aubrey the story of how she had arrived in their world and where she had come from. Aubrey and Sandy listened with fascination, and when she was done, they peppered her with questions, which Pamela tried to answer as best she could.
"So your intended, Marvin Brewster, is not really a sorcerer, after all?" asked Aubrey.
"I suppose it depends on what you mean when you say sorcery," Pamela replied. She took out her pistol. "In my world, this is not considered an example of sorcery. It's an example of technology. Given the proper knowledge and skills, and the proper tools and materials, anyone could make one of these."
"But one could say the same of sorcery," said Sandy. "Given the proper knowledge and skills, and the proper tools and materials, anyone could cast spells. The trick is in acquiring those things."
"Exactly," Pamela replied. "No reputable scientist in my world takes magic seriously, and yet, a lot of what science has produced would have been regarded as sorcery in days gone by. Who knows, maybe the laws of physics are different somehow in this dimension. Warrick was unable to work his magic in my world. So perhaps, here, given the proper knowledge and skills, even Marvin or I could learn to do it."
" 'Tis possible," said Sandy. "I had been taught the Craft from the time I was a child. Had Aubrey been given the benefit of the same instruction, he too could have been a witch."
"It just all seems so amazing," Pamela said, in an awed tone. "For years, there have been theories of parallel universes existing in other dimensions, and now we have proof. When I think of what this could mean for our respective worlds..."
"Indeed," said Sandy. "We have much to learn about one another. I would be most curious to see your world. Carriages that move without benefit of horses to pull them, flying machines, boxes that transmit sounds and images through the ether, devices that allow one to speak with people many miles away ... It sounds like a truly wondrous place. We must seem so simple to you by comparison."
"In a way," said Pamela, "but at the same time, I can think of countless people in my world who would give anything to live as you do here, in pristine, natural surroundings, without all the stress and noise of our modern society. There are many people in my world who long for the simpler times of the past. I think I could easily make my home here. And I'm not all that sure there are many things about my world that I would miss. Toilet paper, maybe. And hot showers."
"Toilet paper?" Aubrey said with a frown.
"Hot showers?" asked Sandy. "You mean the rain is hot in your world?"
Pamela shook her head. "I'll explain all that some other time," she said. "Right now, I'm more concerned about-"
"Horses!" Aubrey said, turning suddenly and looking back the way they had come. "And they're coming up behind us."
"It couldn't be the army," Pamela replied. "They couldn't have crossed so soon, could they?"
"I do not see how," said Aubrey, "but whoever they are, we will never outrace them mounted two up, on tired horses. We had best take shelter and let them pass."
They led their horses into the trees and underbrush by the side of the road. Moments later a large party of about forty mounted men galloped into view.
"Mercenaries!" Aubrey said in a low voice. "They must have crossed right behind us. I recognize the one in front, a murderous rogue named Black Jack."
The riders reined in almost parallel to them as Black Jack raised his hand to indicate a halt. He glanced down at the road, looking for tracks, then scanned the trail ahead of them. Then he looked off to the side of the road and smiled.
"You may as well come out, Your Highness!" he shouted. "I know you're there. You cannot escape. Come out, or must I send my men to beat the bushes for you? If they find you, they will be none too gentle, I assure you."
Sandy sighed with resignation. "To have come so close and failed!" she said miserably.
"We haven't failed yet," said Pamela. She reached into her purse and palmed her rape whistle, then took out her Walther. "Come on," she said. "When all else fails, take the bull by the horns and spit in his eye!"
They stepped out of hiding.
"Ah, there you are, Your Highness," said Black Jack with a grin. "And Lord Aubrey, the great friend to the common people. A bit far afield, are you not? Have you lost your way?"
"If you lay one hand on the queen, you rogue, you shall answer to me!" Lord Aubrey said, placing a hand on his sword.
"I tremble," Black Jack replied. His gaze fell on Pamela and his eyes widened appreciatively. "And you must be the Lady Pamela, the outlaw wizard's woman. I must say, he has exquisite taste. But you waste your beauty on a sorcerer, my lady. They are not known for indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. Whereas I would indulge with you at every opportunity." He grinned.
"In your dreams, you arrogant ass," said Pamela. "I am more than merely a sorcerer's lady. I am a sorceress myself. And if you do not turn around and ride back the way you came, you will find out just what sort of pleasures I indulge in."
"Indeed? Pity your manners do not match your looks. I will have to teach you how to address a man wit
h more respect."
"I would do as she says, Jack," said Aubrey. "You have already overstepped your bounds. I am surprised she has not already struck you down."
Black Jack smiled. "You expect me to fall for such an obvious bluff? You disappoint me, my Lord Aubrey. I thought you gave me credit for having more intelligence than that." He turned to Pamela. "Very well, then ... sorceress, if that is truly what you are. Go ahead and strike me down."
"If I call upon the power of the thunder," Pamela said, "you and all your men shall die."
Black Jack made an airy gesture. "Call away."
Pamela raised her rape whistle, took a deep breath and blew a shrill and piercing blast. The horses of the mercenaries all started plunging about and rearing. Several of them bucked their riders off. Black Jack's horse shied, but he got it back under control after a moment and shouted out an order to his men. "Hold your ground, you fools! Are you frightened of a child's penny whistle?"
"Well, so much for that idea," Pamela muttered.
Black Jack brought his horse around to face her. "Is that feeble trick the best that you can do?"
"I have only called upon the power of the thunder," Pamela replied. "And now it grows within me. If you force me to unleash it, you will all be doomed."
"Enough of this nonsense!" Black Jack replied irritably. He drew his dagger and flipped it around expertly, holding it by the point. "Now then, Sorceress, I shall call your bluff. You have until the count of three to strike me down with this so-called power of thunder. For when I say three, I shall lodge this dagger in your heart. One!... Two!..."