“Why, Sir Nevin? Why would someone knowingly create a device which serves no purpose other than to kill vast numbers of their own kind, most of whom are not soldiers and many who are children?”
Nevin did not respond. He had no answer for that question.
“From what you say, Sir Nevin, thousands of the people who lived in this place called ‘Hiroshima’ were killed instantly and many more thousands died afterwards or suffered for years with horrible disfigurement and injury. How could such a thing be allowed to happen?”
Nevin reminded himself that Anson’s heartfelt reaction could stem from labile emotion leaking through psychological instability—although he had asked himself these same questions many times. His own feelings aside, Nevin explained that Hiroshima was bombed decades ago and only two “nukes” had ever been used in war. Besides, many people became pacifists afterwards and would actively protest any impending use of such weapons. “In a way, an outrageous act of war could become a strong deterrent or the means to end hostilities.”
Anson thought deeply about those words and after a minute, nodded slightly as if in agreement.
Nevin suggested that he make some sandwiches to go with cookies and tea. He called back as he walked into the kitchen, “I’m going to heat up a cheese sandwich. You want me to nuke one for you?”
Anson responded with a wide-eyed look of terror. “You are going to nuke something?”
Right away Nevin knew he made a bad choice of words. “That’s just a harmless expression. I just mean I can heat them up in the microwave oven. Just so the cheese will melt.”
Anson relaxed at the assurance that a microwave oven was as cooking device and not a weapon of destruction.
Both men sat at the kitchen table until they finished eating. Anson remained deep in thought for some time until he practically blurted out, “Sir Nevin, you say that only two nuke bombs have ever been used in a war, and that none have been used in many decades even though your army has ‘stockpiled’ thousands of them. Does this mean that the presence of these powerful weapons has been a way to cause peace? If your Kings are afraid of these bombs, does this fear force them to live peacefully and not provoke their use?”
Nevin, still the teacher, replied, “A lot of people think these high powered weapons are a deterrent, except that we’ve still had some kind of conventional war or armed conflict every decade since atomic bombs were used. In fact, my country is involved in several right now in one way or another. I’d have to say the evidence shows that a nuclear arsenal is not much of a deterrent for war at some level.”
Anson seemed deflated at this response. After a few more minutes of thought, his face brightened. “If the Kings of Gilsum and Antrim knew that weapons exist like your nukes, perhaps they might also fear the destruction that could befall them. They might choose to ally themselves to prevent the coming of any such weapons into their world. Sir Nevin, is there a way I can bring proof to the Kings of the existence of your nukes?”
Nevin wrinkled his forehead at the naivety of these suggestions. There were several flaws with Anson’s thinking, some due to gaps in logic and others from historical contradictions. Concerned that the “mage” might overreact emotionally to a challenging argument, Nevin said he could show him photographs of the devastation in Hiroshima. Anson did not quite understand, but after a quick explanation of photography his face flared with excitement, “That is what I need! What you call, ‘photos!’ Please, take me to them.”
Though he was still a little concerned about the man’s impulsiveness, Nevin said he could get some pictures. Since his printer was a cheap lo-res model, he offered to take Anson to the college library where they could get better quality photos. Before leaving, he suggested they save time by getting some book references by way of Nevin’s personal computer. Expecting Anson to claim ignorance about laptop computers, Nevin led him over to the desk and said, “If you liked TV, you ought to really get a kick out of this.”
Chapter 9
Hiroshima in Pictures
Anson expected to see TV-like pictures on the computer monitor. When he saw Nevin deftly tap his fingers on something called a keyboard, followed by the appearance of many words on the glass, he was awed beyond belief that a small box could house so much writing.
“This is a library reference board,” Nevin explained. “I am going to use it to search for some relevant publications for us. This should only take a few minutes.” Nevin resumed his keyboard entry.
Anson tried to follow the writing as it appeared on the monitor until something distracted him. A smile ensued as he perceived something he must have been unconsciously waiting for. A faint sensation of mental flux emanated from Nevin as he tapped away on the keyboard—similar to the psychic energy which surrounded spellcasting, although much less in intensity. Anson nodded to himself with satisfaction.
After a few minutes of data entry, Nevin spun around in his chair and with a flourish made one last push with his finger on the keyboard. As page after page appeared on the small screen, Anson tried to read them. His head bobbed up and down, back and forth as Nevin scrolled the lines quickly on the screen. He marveled, “This is truly the work of great magery to cause written words to appear by such simple efforts—without any use of a writing implement! You say you are not a mage, Sir Nevin, but such acts of wizardry could not be believed without seeing.”
Nevin did not respond to the compliment; instead, he had Anson press one of the computer’s function keys. Instantly, another nearby box started emitting shrill whirring sounds and two sheets of paper glided into an attached tray. The stranger from Antrim could not comprehend what he had done.
“That’s the printer you hear,” Nevin explained. “It will give us a written list of references to take to the library.” Nevin showed the printout to Anson. “This ought to be sufficient.”
Anson looked with admiration at the printed pages, impressed that it took almost no time and effort to produce compared with the handwritten and crudely printed work he had seen before. This method of writing and printing could solve one of the major problems that plagued some of the old spellbooks transcribed by hand. Scribes sometimes reproduced written work as they thought it should be.
Nevin interrupted Anson’s admiration of the printout. “Come on. Let’s go to the library.”
* * *
The two men left the apartment and walked across the campus to the college’s main library. By this time, it was later in the day and Anson was refreshed enough that he was no longer withdrawn from his surroundings, so the ambient sounds endemic to a college campus at mid-day. A woman on a motor scooter zipped past them, causing Anson to jump back from the edge of the street. The vehicle moved too fast to get a good look at it, but he thought it could be some kind of heavily armored, speedy little horse with a bad case of flatulence. Turning his attention back to their destination, he asked Nevin about his village library. Nevin pointed to the building just ahead.
Anson was totally unprepared to behold a four story structure dedicated for the purpose of housing books. “How many books can there be in one place?”
“I think there’s about 700,000 volumes here,” Nevin said. “That’s a fair collection for a college of this size.” Anson missed the intimation that Hempstead might be considered a small college. In the short time since his deliverance, Anson had seen some startling things that were beyond his comprehension, but the sheer size of this building for its singular purpose was practically a dream-like experience for a person who respected books as much as he did. He trembled as Nevin led him by the arm up the granite steps and into the building.
Gawking at the hugeness of the first floor and its maze of tables, shelves and study carrels, Anson scarcely heard any of Nevin’s comments about the library’s features. The place had a cathedral-like silence punctuated by the sound of shuffling steps on tile floors from occasional students. Nevin guided him to an ascending spiral stairway, the way to the “stacks.”
A tour of the second floor added
to the extraordinary experience. Anson agreed that this area of the library was appropriately named as they walked around, between and among hundreds of shelves packed with thousands of books. Each aisle was identified by placards with a mysteriously coded system of signs, apparently well understood by Nevin and others in search of specific books. To Anson, there more books here than an entire village of readers could peruse in a lifetime. What could the rest of this huge building be used for, he wondered, not realizing that there were two more floors of book stacks similarly arranged.
Anson peeked down one of the narrow aisles and startled at seeing a person emerge from an opening in the wall and scurry away. Nevin took him over to the opening, a set of metal doors he called the “elevator.” He said, “This is nothing more than a platform raised and lowered by a system of pulleys and wire ropes. The people who work here use this movable platform instead of the stairs to move heavy loads of books.” He added that anyone emerging from the doors was probably one of these people, so there was nothing odd about it.
Anson followed along as they meandered through the stacks with Nevin occasionally picking out a book from their list. A few students exchanged pleasantries with Nevin and basically ignored Anson, yet Anson could tell from these encounters that Nevin was accorded high status. There was no doubt that Nevin had achieved distinction in this community of sages.
Nevin placed several books on a table and invited Anson to look through them, then excused himself to take care of some personal business with the library. Anson was left alone for about thirty minutes, during which time he looked through all the books Nevin had collected. He finally chose three photographs which suited his purposes: one of a mushroom-shaped cloud over the city of Hiroshima, a second which showed vast devastation of homes and buildings, and a third picture of several adults and children with injuries or deformities attributed to the radioactive fallout. With these pictures as proof, he might convince the Kings of Antrim and Gilsum of the futility of their war, but he was now facing a moral dilemma of his own. He had to force himself to commit a desecration. He closed his eyes with a grimace, then proceeded to tear the three pictures from their books and hide them inside his shirt under his tunic. When Nevin returned, Anson asked to go back to the apartment to further seek Nevin’s council.
They went down the spiral stairway and exited the building—totally unaware that Anson’s every movement was watched by a familiar pair of eyes the entire time they were in the stacks.
Chapter 10
Bartram
Nevin made small talk with Anson during the short walk back to the apartment, but the time had come to send him on. He had to turn Anson over to someone better suited to help him; if not a friend or relative, then a doctor or some appropriate authority. Once inside the apartment, he asked Anson to take a seat on the couch.
“This has certainly been an unusual day...for both of us, Anson, but, uh, I think we have to—”
A timid knock at the door interrupted him.
Upon opening the door, Nevin faced another man, also less than five feet tall with the same well-proportioned features as Anson. This man was mostly bald and appeared to be about fifty years of age. Strangely, both Nevin and Anson found the face familiar. Before Nevin could raise a question, Anson went to the door and gasped, “Bartram?” The man nodded.
Turning to Nevin, Anson said in a hushed tone, “This is Bartram. He is also a mage from Antrim.”
“What? Now you’re really putting me on.” Nevin looked back and forth at Anson and the man standing at the door. Then he remembered how he knew this man. Leaning forward slightly and pointing a finger, “Your name is Bartram, isn’t it?” he said. “Don’t you work at the library?”
The man barely nodded again.
“Come in.” Nevin showed him in, feeling a little relief that Anson knew somebody around here.
Hiroshima
“You’ve worked at the library for a year or more. Bookman is your last name, Bartram Bookman. I remember now. I always thought you had a great name for a librarian. Is there a chance you know this man?” Nevin pointed at Anson. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I hope you can help me locate someone who knows him because he really needs some help.”
Bartram shyly nodded his head in agreement, unclear what he was agreeing with.
It was a bizarre sight with Nevin standing more than a head taller than these other men, all of them waiting for another to speak. Bartram nervously blinked and made quick, timid glances back and forth in obvious discomfort. Nevin broke the awkward silence. “Let’s sit down in the living room. Maybe somehow we can make some sense of all this.”
Nevin and Anson settled on the ends of the couch, while Bartram sat, or rather half-way sat on the edge of an armchair, looking like he might get up and run out any second. Again, Nevin broke the awkward silence. “Bartram, you have met Anson before?”
Bartram replied meekly, but with the same deferential respect that marked Anson’s speech, “Yes, Mr. Reasoner. It was some years ago.”
Nevin was encouraged that the mystery surrounding Anson might soon clear up. “Do you know if he has any family here? Someone who can give him a place to stay?”
Bartram grew more anxious and answered haltingly, “Well, Sir, I don’t know what he has told you or what I am free to say about him.”
Anson interrupted, “Please, Bartram. Say what you will. I feel safe with Sir Nevin and I am uplifted to see you alive and safe as well.”
Nevin visibly shook his head and frowned. “What do you mean, ‘alive and safe?’ How do you know each other? And I am not a ‘Sir.’”
Nevin was completely unprepared for Bartram’s answer. “I last saw Anson when he was nearing the end of his apprenticeship with Old Burack. He was not yet an independent mage, but it was clear that he had great promise and would distinguish himself.” Turning to Anson, Bartram added, “I assume you deciphered the deliverance spell from the old palimpsest?”
Nevin was dumb struck. Is this some kind of folie a deux? After a pause, he attempted to speak but stammered, which was very unusual because Nevin was rarely disarmed in speech. “Uh...What? You mean...um...that Anson...really is a...wait a minute! Let’s get this straight.” Nevin had to settle himself. “Bartram, are you trying to say that Anson really is a mage, like a wizard or sorcerer or something? And that he got here by some magic spell? And now I’m supposed to believe that you’re also some kind of magician who comes from some place called Huxley, which I can’t even find in an atlas except for Iowa! Come on, fellas. What’s going on here?”
Bartram replaced his anxiety with mild annoyance. He concluded he was not in personal jeopardy, but he was a bit irritated at Nevin’s attitude. “Mr. Reasoner, I assume you are not experienced with magery of the sort we have practiced, so it is easy to see your difficulty in believing our stories. However, you must surely see that your world has things that likewise seem incomprehensible to us. Radio and television, or the computer over there, and certainly your nefarious taser and electric chair—these things operate on invisible power sources which people from our land could not imagine possible. I have been at Hempstead for a while and have adjusted to the wonders of your land. But I can see that Anson has only recently been delivered and the differences in this place must be upsetting to him—much more upsetting than our differences are to you, Sir. I just hope that he was delivered alone and that there is no immediate threat to either of us.”
Nevin screwed up his face in perplexity. Bartram continued. “You needn’t worry, Mr. Reasoner. I will ‘take him off your hands,’ as you might say. He can share my room until he decides how to make his own adjustment here.”
“No, Bartram,” interjected Anson. The other two men looked at him with surprise at his sudden assertiveness. “I have already decided that I must return to Antrim. War has taken a terrible toll there. High magery is being used by the Gilsum army. Their attacks will be unstoppable.”
Bartram bit his lip at this revelation.
Anson made a further appeal to his fellow mage. “I am not certain how to reverse the deliverance spell. If you help, I am sure we could succeed. We must get back.”
Nevin frowned. Did he just say “we?”
“If you must return, I can aid you,” Bartram answered, to Anson’s visible relief. “But I will not return to Antrim. It does not surprise me that conditions there are dire as you say, but at my age I choose to stay here in this sanctuary, where there is both safety from persecution and an opportunity for higher learning that would never occur in Antrim. I will help you with the spell, Anson, although you need a night’s rest before attempting it.
Nevin listened, desperately trying to resist the implications of this conversation.
“Mr. Reasoner,” Bartram spoke with more self-assurance, “Both Anson and I must depend on your silence to allow us to go on with the lives we have chosen. I know of your reputation as a scholar and I expect you must be deeply curious about our origins, but you are also known as an honorable man. If I agree to allay your curiosity about Anson and myself, you must swear on your honor to keep secret what I tell you. Do you agree, Sir?”
Nevin had exhausted every possible explanation he could pose for this unbelievable situation, and nothing made sense. How could he believe that these two men were wizards who transported themselves from another place or time? His unwillingness to believe the appearance of the situation was evident in his response, “I don’t think anyone would believe me if I did say anything about your story.”
Bartram did not conceal his annoyance. “I am disappointed but not surprised by your lack of belief. You think of yourself as a man of science. Therefore, for you, any assertion outside of common knowledge needs objective proof that can be replicated on demand. Am I correct, Mr. Reasoner?
Nevin nodded hesitantly.
“Scientific chauvinism narrows your perception of what can be believed, Mr. Reasoner, and your access to knowledge is far less than what it could be.” Bartram’s indignation was not subtle. “A person of your advanced learning must be aware of examples of ‘magic’ in your world unexplained by science, yet very real to those who see and experience them—the voodoo practitioners in Haiti, the shamans of New Guinea, the study of parapsychology at some of your esteemed universities. Even a spark of static electricity from a wool coat to a metal object seems like magic to many people of the world. However, Mr. Reasoner, I will offer you objective proof of our skills, if that is what you need.”
The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology Page 7