Nevin sat at his desk and laid his hands on the computer keyboard. Reflecting for a minute until it booted up, he typed some commands that gave him access to various reference sources. He checked dictionaries, encyclopedias and map services which turned up one little town called Gilsum in New Hampshire and another called Huxley in Iowa. This search was a long shot anyway because these were probably fabricated words in what now seemed an incredibly elaborate delusion.
As intriguing as this situation was, Nevin decided that he had to turn his attention to his own affairs. He had to move from his apartment within the week, so it was time to start packing. He needed to get to the bank to close his account and withdraw what small savings he had accumulated, which would get him to his aunt and uncle’s hobby farm downstate. They were his closest relatives and getting on in years, so they would welcome his help through the summer months. During that time he could look for another job and get himself better situated. He would rather think about that later, so he got up to sprinkle some food for the goldfish. He half-consciously concluded that he should offer the aquarium to Mrs. Nelson, his landlady, who always admired it and would take good care of the fish. Maybe she would take the houseplants, too. After helping out Anson, he definitely had to focus on solving his own personal problems.
Moving to the hobby farm was a plan for his immediate future, more or less. Some future, he thought. How he would miss sharing the wonderful insights of science and the discourse with students. Those wonderfully idealistic, open-minded young souls who would get so excited about the marvels of science and its potential applications to improve the human condition. Even if he never had the chance himself to apply any of his scientific knowledge to help people in need, there was always a chance to inspire others like Mr. Thompson.
Nevin was slowly realizing that his prospects for inspiring students was over, and a glimmer of insight suggested it was mostly due to his own stubbornness. He felt as empty as those cardboard boxes in the corner of the room. When should he start packing, he thought, momentarily forgetting about the strange little man asleep on his couch.
Chapter 7
Demonstrations
Nevin spent the rest of the morning packing his books and belongings. As he knelt to examine the contents of a box, he was startled by Anson’s tap on the shoulder. Even more startling was what this strange little man said.
“Sir Nevin. My people and I need your help. Would you help us find a way to save Antrim?”
Antrim? That was a different name from any this strange fellow had mentioned before. “I thought you were from Huxley?”
Nevin’s response was a little curt, but he was not used to having any guests and had temporarily forgotten about Anson. He realized he should delay packing and get to the bottom of this situation. “Let’s figure this out, Anson. I’m not sure just what is going on, but I need to ask some questions so we can detemine the best way to help you. Let’s go sit at the kitchen table.”
Nevin was growing more concerned because Anson’s reference to the people of “Antrim” instead of “Huxley” could mean his delusion was deteriorating, a bad sign if he was truly mentally disturbed. It did not occur to him that Huxley might have been a village in the larger land called Antrim.
Nevin seated himself and Anson followed suit. The way Anson seemed so deferential and respectful was a little disconcerting. All this “Sir” and “High Mage” stuff was really out there. Nevin studied the man’s face, still seeing the appearance of sincerity and deep concern. “All right, Anson. Let’s start with what happened to you just before we met this morning. Tell me the whole story.”
Over the next hour, Anson recounted the events leading up to their meeting. Nevin said little during this time, but sat poised to question any inconsistency that came out of the incredible story. By the time Anson finished, Nevin was astounded at the vivid detail and logical consistency in what had to be a massive delusion that required a great deal of effort to conceive. Despite the sincerity and likability of his strange visitor, the part about him being a small town’s mage was too much to swallow. How could Nevin believe the existence of magic and mutable laws of physics? On the other hand, he did not want to profess the same failure of imagination that prejudiced other scholars in his experience. He leaned forward and said, “That is some story. I have to tell you that it is hard to believe without some evidence.”
Anson raised a hand, nodding slightly. “I understand your hesitation in believing my tale, Sir. My skills in magery may be middling, but I will agree to any test you wish.”
Nevin’s immediate reaction was not to encourage any further delusional thinking by consenting to a test that might precipitate hallucinations. If Nevin refused to believe Anson’s incredible story after the test, would Anson become agitated? On the other hand, Nevin thought, he seems so sincere. And he really may need help of some kind, if I can only be figure out what it should be. “OK, Anson. Let’s see, you referred to some kind of deliverance by using a spell. What else can you do?”
Anson hesitated and spoke with humility, “I have developed my skills to the level that I can achieve reversibility, at least with some of the basic spells like ustulation. Do you have a candle?”
“Ustulation” was not a word used in everyday conversation, but Nevin knew its meaning. It was an obscure word for some type of burning, something like the ceremonial burning of wine, but not many people would likely know that other than a scholar or ancient history buff. Becoming a bit more anxious at the prospect of a demonstration involving fire, he would go along with this a little further. He opened a drawer in an end table and got out a stubby votive candle and placed it on the table in front of Anson.
Anson took a deep breath and concentrated his attention on the candle, muttering some words that were barely audible. After a few seconds, Anson raised his right hand, pointed two fingers at the candle and gave them a sudden flick. Instantly, the candle lit. Just as suddenly, the candle went out as Anson flicked his fingers in the opposite direction. He repeated this action two more times with the candle becoming lit and unlit with the precise timing of his finger movements. Still displaying the same tone of humility, Anson said, “Such a demonstration may seem simple play to you, Sir. Would you like me to do more?”
“Huh. That was pretty good,” Nevin replied with as straight a face as he could muster. His mind worked hastily to try to explain the trick. He had done a lot of reading about debunking magic tricks and supernatural phenomena. Performing magicians used electrical wires and timed incendiary capsules to achieve similar effects, but this demonstration was happening in his own kitchen. The demonstration halted as someone knocked at the door.
Nevin stayed a quizzical look at the candle as he went to the door. Upon opening it, a short woman in her mid-sixties stood there smiling at him. “Hello, Mrs. Nelson,” Nevin said. “What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Mr. Reasoner. I just thought I would check and see if you were still planning on leaving us. You’ve been such a good tenant, we hate to see you go. Do you know if you will be leaving?”
As Nevin started to answer her question, he looked back as Anson murmured something in a low voice. The little man walked over to stand between them, looking straight at Mrs. Nelson’s face.
Nevin acted a little awkward about Anson’s presence before answering. “Yes, I expect to leave by Sunday, Mrs. Nelson. I appreciate your kind words. This has been a pleasant place to live and your rent was very reasonable.” He looked at Anson again, who was smiling and still staring at the woman. “Um...Mrs. Nelson, let me introduce you to my guest, um, Anson…Anson Huxley. He is visiting us, um, on a foreign exchange program. Anson, this is Mrs. Nelson, my landlady.”
Anson furrowed a brow, thinking this must be a joke on Nevin’s part. He was sure that Nevin must have understood the spell of indifference he just invoked. Furthermore, Anson had been careful to focus the effect only on the woman; he did not want to risk offending Nevin by making this distinguished man the obje
ct of a spell.
Mrs. Nelson responded with a gratuitous nod, looked directly at Anson and then ignored him. She looked past Nevin, as if he had introduced someone else in the room. “Where is your friend? Is he shy? Well, listen, if you want to bring him ‘round for some tea and coffeecake, just give me a buzz. See you later, my boy.” She turned and left.
Nevin, now totally confused as he closed the door, tried to apologize for her odd behavior. “I hope you are not offended, Anson. It is not like her to ignore someone like that. I don’t know what was wrong with her.” Seeing that Anson was still grinning, he added, “I suppose you’re going to say you invoked a spell of invisibility and only I could see you.”
Anson gave a little laugh. “Not invisibility, Sir. I do not think that is possible. It was merely a spell of indifference. I thought you might have heard me cant the words.” Anson’s face turned more serious. “Sir Nevin, if you would allow it, I have many questions to ask you as well. I am not certain whether we were fated to meet, but it is clear to me that you can help my cause.” Anson bowed slightly and pointed toward the kitchen table. “Please sit with me again.”
No less confused, Nevin took a seat. His mind raced, trying to explain all this weirdness without allowing himself to believe that any of it could be true.
Anson opened with his first question. “If you are not a High Mage, as you say, can I assume you are a High Sage in this land, and with your vast number of books that you have more knowledge than commonfolk?”
That was an odd way of putting it, but Nevin affirmed, “I guess that’s right, although you make it sound rather extraordinary. Maybe where you come from that’s the way you would explain what I am.”
Looking sheepish, Anson forced another question. “Please tolerate my familiarity, Sir. As you can see, you are much taller and broader than I, and I am a common size for my land. Is it normal for humans here to be so large? Are your people the offspring of giants? Do you use your size and strength for the fighting arts, or do you rely on magery? Are there...”
Nevin raised a hand and interrupted him, “Whoa! Those are pretty wild questions and I don’t know whether to answer them or not. This whole situation with the magic tricks is beginning to unnerve me a little.”
Anson recoiled at this reply, shrinking in apology.
Nevin tried to calm down. “Okay. Okay. Let me put it this way for you: I may be a little above average in height with a higher level of education than most people, but I haven’t been in a fight in a long time. I don’t like fighting and find nothing ‘artistic’ about it in any form. I don’t use ‘magery’ or any type of chicanery—no offense meant, Anson, but I don’t believe in it. As far as giants go, I don’t know any unless you want to count a few basketball players. Look, Anson, I’d like to help you if I can but I have some personal affairs to deal with and I’m kind of short on time. I have to move out of here and find another place to live, although I’d rather not get into my personal situation if you don’t mind.”
Anson was further chagrined that his questions proved intrusive. “I am sorry if I have offended you, Sir. It is just that my cause is so desperate! Constant warring in my land is causing its destruction. The attack in my village shows that little time is left before Antrim will fall. Not just my village, Sir, but the whole kingdom may be threatened! I can see that you are a man with high knowledge, perhaps with greater powers than a mage. And if you could abide me a little while longer, I need your counsel in seeking a deterrent which would persuade the Kings to stop their fighting.”
The pleading look in Anson’s face caused Nevin to hesitate. Certainly, there could not be any truth to this story. Maybe Anson came from some small backward country where they have some sort of primitive war going on, but this magic stuff makes it all seem so weird. There must be some rational explanation. Could there be any harm in going along with this a little longer?
Nevin apologized for being so direct and said he would try to help if he could, for which the so-called mage seemed almost tearfully grateful. They talked a while longer, mostly with Nevin asking questions about the state of war between what he now understood as the kingdoms of Gilsum and Antrim. Anson was so ready with answers that Nevin was astounded at such a monumental delusion. The story was so intricate and believable that Anson must have an enormous intellect or imagination, which was had to be admired in its own way. Nevin finally suggested they take a break, offering Anson some tea. When he got up to make it, he turned and said, “Let’s move into the living room. I want to check on the progress of our own imminent war, if you don’t mind.”
Anson wondered how someone could “check on the progress” of a war apparently nowhere in sight. He followed Nevin to the living room and they both took a seat, opposite a large rectangular item encased in a window of darkened glass. Anson watched as Nevin reached over to an end table and picked up a hand-sized object studded with buttons. After Nevin pointed the buttoned object at the dark window, Anson watched with amazement as a picture immediately appeared in the glass.
Seeing Anson’s astonishment, Nevin blithely asked, “Don’t you have cable television where you’re from?”
Chapter 8
New magic
Anson’s mouth dropped upon seeing the tiny moving images on the glass. He pointed in astonishment and fell back in his seat. “By the powers! What kind of magic is this?”
That was quite a reaction, Nevin thought, as he pondered an explanation. It was practically impossible that an adult in today’s world could be unfamiliar with television; the most underdeveloped countries have mass availability of TV and videos on personal cellular devices. It seemed unlikely that Anson was play-acting or carrying out a prank, and his delusion was too finely detailed to be drug-induced. And what would explain the spellcasting demonstration? Nevin decided to go along with Anson’s story for the time being, which was getting easier to do because this strange little fellow was so believable and authentic in his astonishment. Besides, it was getting more interesting to pull all the pieces of this mystery together. At least it was a temporary diversion from losing his job and facing an uncertain future. “Don’t you have anything like TV in Antrim?”
Anson shook his head, still wide-eyed with wonder. Finally, he found his voice and blurted several questions, “Are these pictures of real humans in this window? Are they sprites? Or spirits? Is it their own voices we hear? Where are they? Is it only necessary for you to point that thing with little bumps to make the pictures appear? Why do you not consider yourself a mage with such an extraordinary display?”
“Well, if you have never seen television before I guess this could seem like magic. A hundred years ago, people here would have thought the same thing. Same for computers and pocket phones.” Nevin was not overwhelmed by this barrage of questions; he had experienced similar amazement many times by naive students learning about the latest scientific marvels. He replied as he often did when explaining a miraculous new scientific invention to an awed student: He drew a picture. Grabbing a sheet of paper from the printer near his computer, he sketched the basics of a camera, transmitter, and receiver powered by electricity. “Radio waves travelling from a central transmitter are received by devices inside this TV. Once the waves are received, you have several choices for programs at any one time which you select by using this remote control.” Nevin used the remote to rapidly flip through a selection of channels. He offered the remote control to Anson, who declined to touch it.
“Can you see these ‘radio waves’ received by the box?” Anson asked.
“No. The waves are invisible. An electronic component in the TV—behind its ‘window’—senses the waves and turns them into light pulses which form the pictures you see on the screen.”
Anson looked bewildered. “Invisible waves that travel through the air and get changed into pictures? My goodness, Sir Nevin, this is magery of the highest order. The magic of my land is child’s play compared with these things you do.” Anson shook his head in disbelief. Le
aning forward in his seat, he asked if he could see more.
“Sure. What would you like to see?” Nevin flipped through several channels, but the abrupt sequence of pictures was too confusing for Anson to make a selection. After picking a channel for him, Nevin set the remote control back on the end table, and said with a grin, “If this is the first time you’ve seen television, I’ll leave it on the public channel for you. That way you won’t get disillusioned by too many commercials. This particular program is a documentary on World War II.”
Anson was keenly interested in the documentary and asked Nevin questions continuously throughout the program. The idea of persons flying in machines that could travel at incredible speeds was hard to comprehend, but two parts of the program especially interested him. After the program was over and Nevin turned off the TV, the first thing Anson asked about was gas warfare. Nevin explained how chlorine, mustard gas and tear gas were developed and used. When Anson said he had experienced something like that prior to the Gilsum attack on his village, Nevin was immediately struck by the first inconsistency in the delusion. Gas warfare would not occur if “Antrim” was a pre-industrial, agrarian society as he described. This may be a sign that the delusion was beginning to break apart. Yet he did recall that Anson’s eyes were quite red and irritated when they first met. That could be a coincidence. There are many possible explanations for acute eye irritation.
The other part of the documentary which made a deep impression on Anson was the bombing of Hiroshima. When he realized that the mushroom-shaped cloud was the result of a bomb of immense power dropped on a civilian population, he hid his face and gasped. Eventually he turned back toward Nevin with a look of bewilderment, as though he had just learned a most terrible secret.
The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology Page 6