by Scott Meyer
“If we’re fighting something we can’t damage, then we’re doomed. Nobody needs practice being doomed.”
“Least of all us,” Gwen said. “We have a natural talent for it.”
Jeff held up his hands as a signal of surrender. “I admit, that was a mistake. I can dial up the sensitivity of the back region. No problem. It’ll be done in time for the next fight.”
“Good, but that wasn’t the real problem today,” Roy said.
Like the other wizards, Roy had stumbled across a data file that proved reality was actually a computer program. By manipulating the file’s various entries, it allowed him to do seemingly magical things, like flying, and traveling back in time
Unlike the other wizards, Roy found the file on a room-sized corporate mainframe in the early nineteen seventies, by which time he was already middle-aged. Thus, he was older than the others, and from an earlier, less enlightened time. One could tell from looking at his outfit—a trench coat and fedora modified to work as a wizard robe and hat, his iron-gray crew cut, his staff, which was the bridge cue from the pool table at his favorite dive bar—and his manner of speaking, which tended to be bracingly direct.
“Can you explain to me how, aerodynamically, a dragon could hover, then move sideways over a hundred feet in less than a second?”
Jeff shrugged. “You all said you wanted the dragons to be less predictable.”
Brit said, “And we do. I’m sorry, Jeff, but they only attack one of three different ways. One either comes straight at you like it’s trying to play chicken, gets behind you and chases you, or comes at you from the side.”
“Yeah,” Martin said. “We aren’t calling out front, flank, or follow at the beginning of every battle because we like alliteration.”
“Well, not just because we like alliteration,” Gwen said.
“But listen to yourselves,” Jeff said. “They attack from the front, the back, or the side. I’m sorry to tell you this, but if you count above and below as sides, which the dragons do, then there are no other choices. There are only three physical dimensions. I only have those three options, unless I have the dragons attack you in the past, which I could do!”
Phillip placed a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. We don’t mean to gang up on you. The problem isn’t that they attack from specific directions, it’s that once a dragon starts attacking one of us from that direction, it only attacks us from that direction, and always in the same way.”
“But they choose their plan of attack at random.”
“Yes, but once they’ve chosen, they behave predictably.”
“Which is why I thought the evasive maneuvers I added would be welcome.”
Tyler said, “But a dragon wouldn’t be able to hover and lurch sideways like that. We need the dragons to be unpredictable, Jeff, but we also need their actions to be things we could reasonably anticipate.”
“You’re asking me to make them predictably unpredictable.”
“That’s what we need,” Phillip said. “Can you do it?”
“It’s possible. Anything’s possible. I just have no idea how.”
“Well, you don’t have to get it done today.”
“Yeah,” Gary said. “The next battle isn’t until next week.”
As the meeting broke up and the wizards went their separate ways, Phillip and Brit the Younger left together, as did Martin and Gwen. Tyler turned to Gary and said, “I’m gonna go get some food. You in?”
Gary said yes. Tyler asked Jeff and Roy if they wanted to come along. Jeff said no. Roy glanced at his dejected friend and told the other two to go on without them.
Tyler said, “Suit yourself. What do you feel like, Gary? Say, what happened to your staff?”
All of the wizards used either a staff or a wand, often personalized in some way. Tyler’s staff had a Rolls-Royce hood ornament for its headpiece. Jeff’s usually had dolls of the four members of KISS lashed to it but, as Tyler noticed, today there were only three dolls.
Gary looked at the staff and said, “Oh, yeah, I lost Gene Simmons. I haven’t replaced him yet.”
Tyler said, “I’ve got time. I’ll help you look for it.”
“No, I know where it is, and it’s lost. I’d just rather get a new one.”
“That’s silly. If you know where it is let’s just go get it.”
Jeff bit his lip, grimaced, then said, “Okay, look. I was sitting in the latrine, the big communal one in Leadchurch, playing with the Gene Simmons doll, which I do when I’m bored, and I dropped him. He’s gone. Understand?”
When Tyler finished laughing, he said, “Yeah, I understand. Man, leave it to you.”
“Oh, shut up. It could have happened to anybody.”
“No, Gary, you were sitting in a communal latrine, playing with a KISS doll. I would never do either of those things, and I’d certainly never ever do them at the same time.”
“Well I guess that’s what makes you and me different.”
“No, it’s what makes you different.”
Tyler and Gary dematerialized, taking their argument elsewhere, leaving Roy and Jeff alone in the pasture. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” Roy said, “They all know what you’re trying to do is hard.”
Jeff shook his head. “My repeated failure keeps reminding them.”
“Ah, don’t be that way. You can figure it out, but you won’t do it by feeling sorry for yourself. Look, why don’t we go to your workshop. You can show me what you’ve done so far. Maybe a fresh set of eyes on the problem will help. I’m pretty much done with my weapon macro. I want to reshape my nose cone to maximize the shockwave, but that’s just fine-tuning. I have plenty of time to help.”
“Thanks, Roy, but this is my job. Like you said, I’ll figure it out. I just need to work the problem. Something’ll come to me.”
Roy understood. “You wanna get some dinner? I’m headed to the Rotted Stump.”
The Rotted Stump was the town of Leadchurch’s local tavern and inn.
“No thanks,” Jeff said. “You do realize that you’re the only wizard that actually likes eating there, don’t you?
“Yeah. That’s just because I’m the only wizard the other people who eat there like, but if you’re with me, everyone should be nice enough.”
“I need to take some time and run through what happened in the battle while it’s fresh in my mind.”
“Suit yourself, kid. Don’t drive yourself crazy over it. That won’t help either.”
Roy clapped Jeff on the back, then teleported away, leaving Jeff alone. He considered going home. Then he considered going for a quick flight to clear his mind. Finally, he sat on a clean patch of grass right there in the pasture and watched the sheep ignore him.
3.
Bishop Galbraith stood outside the lead church, his church, admiring how the late afternoon sun utterly failed to glint off the church’s lead siding and shingles.
He heard a young female voice behind him say, “Good morning, Your Excellency.”
Bishop Galbraith turned around to see an eleven-year-old girl with bright, energetic eyes, wearing dull, tired clothes. A wiry gray dog stood by her feet, wagging its tail so vigorously, it was having to bend at the waist to put enough force into it.
“Good morning to you, Honor,” Bishop Galbraith said. He glanced down at the wiggling dog. “What brings you and Runt to town?”
“Sonny needed to go to the market to buy supplies.”
“I see. Smart lad. Catch them late in the day when they’d rather unload their wares for cheap than carry them home for the night.”
Bishop Galbraith started walking slowly toward a small door near the rear of the church. He had tarnished silver hair and deep frown lines, but he was not so old that his mobility was affected. He didn’t wal
k slowly because he was forced to. He walked slowly to force others to.
Honor followed the bishop. Runt followed Honor, running in a zigzagging pattern behind her.
“Tell me,” the bishop said, “has Sonny mentioned whether the merchants are treating him fairly?”
“He hasn’t said they don’t. Why?”
Galbraith thought, Because I warned them if I heard any talk about a merchant mistreating Sonny, everyone would be talking about how I mistreated that merchant.
“No reason, Honor.”
“I don’t want to bother you, Your Excellency. I just wanted to give you our tithe.” Honor reached into the rough burlap bag slung around her shoulder and produced a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “It’s mutton. I hope it will do.”
Bishop Galbraith took the bundle. “You always say that you hope the mutton will do, and we always accept it. I’ve never seen someone so apologetic about giving to the church.”
Honor looked at the ground. “I figured you’d rather have coin, or gold, instead of just meat.”
“Young lady, do you know what we do with the coins and gold that get tithed to the church?”
“Give it to the less fortunate?”
Bishop Galbraith thought, Less fortunate? This girl, whose sixteen-year-old brother is raising her on his own while they tend to their sheep, is ashamed that she can only give me food to help those less fortunate.
He said, “We use part of the tithes to assist the needy, but we don’t give them money directly. We buy them the things they need, because merchants tend to give the church a fairer price. One thing everyone needs is food. You giving me mutton actually saves me the trouble of going out and buying it.”
“So you don’t mind if we tithe with goods instead of money?”
“Not at all. In fact, when you and your brother bring in mutton, I’m inclined to say it counts double, so feel free to tithe half as often.”
A male voice said, “Does that go for everyone?”
Galbraith heard the voice off to his left, and noted that the breeze was blowing in from his right, which is why this particular parishioner had managed to sneak up on him.
The bishop turned to face the man and said, “No, Hubert, it does not.”
Hubert was gaunt and filthy. It was hard to describe him further. His hair, clothes, and skin were all filth colored. He nodded and smiled at Honor with filth-colored teeth, then continued his conversation with Bishop Galbraith. “Don’t be so hasty, Father. You’d be surprised at some of the things I find in the course of my work.”
“You’re a dung sifter, Hubert. Some of the things you find might surprise me, but the vast majority of it would not.”
“Often I find things that are quite valuable.”
“Were quite valuable, Hubert. You find things that were quite valuable once. No, in your case, I ask that you tithe in money.”
Hubert smiled and bowed slightly. “I had to try, Your Excellency, but I understand. Money it is.”
“Not money you found,” Galbraith added. “In fact, you can tithe half as often as long as you give me your word that you’ll only donate money you were given as change or were paid directly by another person. Now if you’ll excuse us, I need to bring this young lady inside.”
Galbraith took two quick steps to a small lead door set into the side of the church. He opened it and ushered Honor inside. Runt paused at the threshold for an instant, but Galbraith gently encouraged her to enter with his foot.
After the lead door swung shut with a dull whump, Honor asked, “Why did you need to bring me inside?”
Bishop Galbraith said, “Because I needed to come inside to get away from him, and I wouldn’t have felt right about leaving you behind.”
Bishop Galbraith led Honor and Runt around a corner, through a door, and into the church’s kitchen. Nuns in flour-dusted habits and stained aprons fussed and tinkered in an atmosphere heavy with smoke and steam. “This,” the bishop said, “is where the food we purchase for the poor is prepared.”
The bishop called out, “Sister Flora. Young Honor has donated some of her and her brother’s wonderful mutton.”
He held up the bundle Honor had given him. Sister Flora swept forward to take the meat from the bishop. “Oh, isn’t that nice. Thank you so much, Honor. I assume you’d like it prepared as usual, Your Excellency.”
“However you think is best, Sister Flora. The kitchen is your area of expertise, not mine.”
“And would you like it, and the rest of your dinner, served in your quarters as usual, Your Excellency?”
Galbraith chuckled and looked at Honor. “There’s been some misunderstanding, Sister Flora. Honor donates her mutton for the poor.”
Sister Flora said, “I know she does.”
Bishop Galbraith laughed, as did the nun, who looked down at Honor, then jumped as if someone had jabbed her with something sharp. “Bishop Galbraith,” she said, “you know you can’t bring a dog in the kitchen. It’s not clean!”
“Sister Flora, I’m sure it’s all right. If you had your way I wouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen.”
“That’s right, and for the same reason.”
“Relax, Sister Flora. We’re just passing through.” He turned to Honor and asked, “Where are you off to next?”
“Back to the market to meet up with Sonny.”
“Excellent. Would you mind if I walked with you? I’m headed to the Rotted Stump to hear informal confessions.”
Honor asked, “You hear confessions in a tavern?”
Sister Flora said, “Informal confessions is just what His Excellency calls it when some guilty soul buys him a drink.”
The bishop shrugged. “Those who want to buy a drink for a clergyman usually feel bad about something. When I accept their generosity it makes them feel better. It’s an important duty I perform for the good of my flock.”
Honor asked, “When you accept their drink, does that mean their sins are forgiven?”
“Absolutely not,” Bishop Galbraith said. “If anything they’re probably making matters worse. The Lord detests taking shortcuts.”
The bishop said farewell to the nuns and left the kitchen. Honor started to follow, but after the bishop had turned his back, Sister Flora handed her a hunk of bread. Honor took it and started to thank her, but the nun put a finger to her lips and winked. Another nun threw a bit of meat to Runt, who leapt to catch it in midair. Honor silently mouthed the words thank you, but Sister Flora nodded her head toward the bishop’s direction and made a shooing motion with her hands. Honor and Runt ran to catch up with the bishop, who was already holding open the door to the outside.
After they had walked for a while in silence, Bishop Galbraith asked, “Sonny doesn’t mind you walking around town unaccompanied?”
“No. As long as I steer clear of Kludge and his boys, I’m pretty safe.”
The bishop looked down at Honor and smirked when he saw the bread in her hands. His smirk faded when Honor let out a little yelp of alarm. He looked up, and saw a bearded man in light blue robes and a pointed hat holding a wooden staff, and a woman in a dark blue robe and hat and horn-rimmed glasses materializing in the street in front of them. The bishop’s smile came back, stronger than before.
The man said, “Bishop Galbraith, good to see you.”
“Phillip.”
“I believe you’ve met my friend, Brit.”
“Indeed. Good day, Brit. Have either of you met Honor and Runt?”
Phillip bowed theatrically to Honor, and then also to Runt. “Good to meet you, Honor. Runt.” Phillip opened the door to his shop, a two-story building with a window full of dusty trinkets, dried, dead animals, and small bottles full of smaller dead animals and trinkets. He invited the bishop and Honor in. Honor was relieved when the bishop said, “N
o thank you.”
As she and the bishop continued to walk, Honor said, “You’re friends with a wizard, Your Excellency?”
“Yes,” Bishop Galbraith said. “Phillip has helped me more than once.”
“I see.”
After a few silent steps, Honor asked, “Do you know why that witch wears a mask?”
Galbraith said, “She’s not a witch. She’s a lady wizard.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Witches and warlocks use magic and are in league with the devil. Wizards use magic, but as near as I can tell, Phillip doesn’t even believe that the devil exists.”
“Oh. Sorry. Do you know why she wears that mask? It looks like it might be carved from wood. It’s too thin to keep anyone from knowing who she is, and the little windows it holds in front of her face make her eyes look bigger than they should.”
Bishop Galbraith said, “I don’t know. We could go back and ask.”
Honor said, “No,” a little too quickly.
Galbraith asked, “Tell me, Honor, what do you think of wizards?”
“Father never much liked them.”
“Yes, but I didn’t ask what he thought of them. I asked what you think of them.”
“They’re strange.”
“That’s true.”
“I don’t trust them.”
Galbraith laughed. “I don’t trust them either.”
“But you said that one is your friend.”
“Yes, he is. I don’t trust wizards, but I do trust my friend Phillip. Just like I don’t trust people, but I do trust my friend Honor. Do you see what I mean?”
Honor said, “Yes, I think I do. But . . . Your Excellency, I’ve seen wizards do some strange things in the sky out near our place.”
Galbraith snorted. “I’ve seen them do strange things in the middle of town. Girl, you don’t know much about wizards, so it’s wise of you to be cautious. It would also be wise of you to learn more about one or two of them. I can tell you that Phillip has used his powers to help many people. Did your parents ever tell you that the parishioners of the lead church used to suffer terrible pain in their knees, elbows, bellies, and heads? Phillip stopped that. Said he put a spell of containment or something on the lead siding. I don’t understand it, but it worked. If you ever get the chance, I say strike up a conversation with Phillip. You’ll either learn that you like him or you’ll learn that you don’t. Either one of those is good to know.”