The Last American Wizard

by Edward Irving

  “Wrong.” Steve grinned. “The man looks in the mirror to see what he saw. Then he takes the saw, cuts the table in half, puts the two halves together to make a whole, and crawls out through the hole.”

  Both sphinxes leapt up and paced around the circle, roaring. When she could form human words again, Power complained, “That’s wordplay! Sheer foolery! I declare that an abhorrent breach of the ancient rules!”

  “Oh, and ‘the creature who walks on four feet in the morning’ isn’t wordplay?” asked Steve. “Give me a break.”

  He was getting quite close to Ace now. She seemed to be in one piece and Grief’s movements were slowing. He could see a small puddle of glowing yellow liquid sinking into the paving stones, smoking ominously. He decided to stall a bit longer– hopefully, Ace would awaken.

  “OK, if you’re going to be big crybabies about it, I’ll give you a turn. Go ahead; hit me with your best shot.”

  “I’ll ask this one,” Power said with a warning glower at her sister. “It’s quite recent–written only a couple of thousand years ago.” She drew herself up. “It’s better in the original tongue but I’ll be excruciatingly fair and sing it in your harsh modern manner.”

  “I am a wonderful help to women. The hope of something good to come. I harm only my slayer.

  I grow very tall, erect in a bed. I am shaggy down below.

  The lovely girl grabs my body. Rubs my red skin.

  Holds me hard, claims my head. That girl will feel our meeting! I bring tears to her eyes!”

  What am I? Steve thought. …wonderful to women…erect in the bed…rubs my red skin…will bring tears to her eyes. It all seemed fairly clear to him.

  “Obviously, it’s a man’s–”

  A sharp blow to the inside of his knee buckled his leg and he fell to the ground next to Ace. Without opening her eyes, she muttered, “It’s an onion, you fat-headed pig!”

  Steve said loudly, “As I was saying, the answer, obviously, is an onion.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Both sphinxes flapped their wings and rose up into the air, screaming curses. Clearly, losing hadn’t been in their plan. Steve frantically stood and tried to put more energy into the shield, which, oddly, seemed to grow stronger only if he put less power into it. He put that thought in the back of his mind for later consideration.

  A booming voice began to declaim in the distance. “Lucifer, the Morning Star! Is it she who bears the Light, and with its splendors intolerable, blinds feeble, sensual, or selfish souls? Doubt it not!”

  The sphinxes fluttered in confusion.

  “Return to your places! The sanctuary cannot be so long unguarded.” The voice continued. “Would you have the people say that the city has lost both Wisdom and Power?”

  It struck Steve that most people believed that wisdom and power had fled Washington long ago. A man–or more accurately, an eleven-foot-tall statue of a man–was approaching with giant strides from the direction of the Old Soldiers’ Graveyard. He had a full beard and hair down to his shoulders framing a smiling face with eyes that seemed to gleam with mischief.

  The statue brandished the book he held in his right hand at the sphinxes. “Get ye home, brainless fowl!” The two stone creatures wheeled, screaming angrily, and fled south at great speed.

  “Well, if it isn’t the dishonorable General Pike,” Ace said. Steve spun around to see that she was now standing up and brushing off the back of her jeans. “Confederate general, adulterer, libertine, philosopher, Masonic leader, and Washington celebrity.”

  “How do you feel?” Steve asked Ace.

  “Sort of like a four-barrel Holley carburetor that’s just been rebuilt,” Ace answered. “I think I’m as good as new, but it was a disquieting experience.”

  “You were conscious?”

  “Most of the time.” Ace turned and bowed to the green statue. “Thanks for the tune-up, ma’am.”

  The cowled figure didn’t move–it just looked rather sad. Since it previously had looked incredibly sad, Steve assumed she was pleased. Thankfully, all the hands and their unsettling eyes had vanished.

  Ace stretched. “Who’s the guy in the dreads?”

  “Oh, that’s Hamilton Jones.” Steve waved the young man over. “He seems to be plagued by a severe case of prophetic amnesia, but I think that’s because he’s the Hanged Man. Hamilton, this is Master Chief Morningstar, the Ace of Swords.”

  They shook hands.

  “So, you say tall, strong, and bronze over there fought for the Confederacy?” Steve asked.

  “Yep. The only Confederate general with a statue on federal land anywhere in the nation’s capital.” Steve jumped as a voice came from right behind him.

  He spun around but obviously, the shield had disappeared as soon as he had ceased to concentrate on keeping it in place, because the voice belonged to Old Howard.

  The old marine said, “Gracious, you are jumpy. Good thing I’ve sworn off my old habits or I’d a’ stopped your heart.”

  The ghost indicated the statue. “Albert Pike. Born in Massachusetts, claims he went to Harvard, decided to take off for Arkansas one day without bothering to tell his wife, misplaced his horse out West, and had to walk five hundred miles to Taos, New Mexico. Despite this fairly clear record of unreliability, he was made a general in the Army of the Confederacy, and sent to raise the Indian tribes to fight for the Rebellion. A task he performed without notable success. After the fighting was over, he was jailed as a traitor but pardoned by President Johnson, who was, oddly enough, a fellow Mason. Pike subsequently moved to Washington, became a leader of the Scottish Rite, and wrote a book entitled The Morals and Dogma of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. These days, Freemasons deny that the book is about either morals or dogma, and he’s been accused of being just about everything from a psychic to a psychotic. On the other hand, Lyndon LaRouche hates him, so he’s OK by me.”

  “Don’t forget that he had Lucifer’s direct number and they used to chat all the time,” Ace added. “The Masons keep trying to explain that away as well, but I think it’s cute.”

  Pike’s statue came around the corner of the stonewall and entered the alcove where Grief stood. He bowed carefully to the avatar where she sat in her chair.

  Steve now thought she looked sad and disapproving, but that could have meant that she was mildly pleased to see Pike. It was all very nuanced and made his head hurt.

  Pike said, “It’s good to see you again, General Howard.” The old ghost nodded. “And this must be the redoubtable Master Chief Morningstar–Judiciary Square is all abuzz with your exploits–and, well, I have to confess I’m stumped as to which of you is the Fool. Coyote told me that a ‘bunch of damn fools’ needed assistance, but he wasn’t terribly precise.”

  Steve stepped forward and offered his hand; the result was like being gripped in an enormous metal gauntlet. “I’m Steve Rowan and I’ve played the Fool since this morning.”

  “I’ll say,” Ace said in a low murmur.

  Steve could have responded, but to his surprise, he realized that even an insult from the sturdy SEAL was infinitely preferable to her previous silence.

  “Over here, we have Hamilton Jones,” Steve continued. “He’s the Hanged Man but the fact is that he’s generally unconscious when the card’s aspects appear, so he’s usually just Hamilton Jones.”

  Hamilton Jones didn’t appear particularly eager to shake the giant’s hand, instead gave him a jaunty salute, and took off running at top speed in the direction of 14th Street.

  “As you can see, he’s still a bit unnerved by the whole experience. You seem to be acquainted with General Howard…” Steve looked around the small plaza. “…who also seems to have disappeared.”

  “You have a problem with troop retention, Mr. Fool.” General Pike laughed. “I had much the same trouble every harvest time.”

  “Well, I’m sure there isn’t anything that the Master Chief and I can’t handle.” Ace gave Steve a contempt
uous look and he quickly changed the subject. “So, sir, you said you received a tip from Coyote?”

  “Indeed,” the statue boomed. “We became acquainted back when I was negotiating with the Creeks and the Cherokees, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

  Ace said, “Must be tough bargaining with the Master of Lies and Tricks.”

  “Not really,” Pike responded. “I was a lawyer for many years. If anything, we became close because of a mutual admiration of each other’s professional talents.”

  The smartphone on Steve’s belt vibrated and he punched the speakerphone button. “Good afternoon, General,” Barnaby said.

  “Barnaby, is that really you?” The general looked pleased. “Damn, boy, I haven’t spoken to you since they moved that massive sphinx into Fort Meade back in 1973 and almost broke the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel. Where did that ugly thing finally end up?”

  “Oh, it’s down in Arizona at the Military Intelligence headquarters in Fort Huachuca. I have heard they still paint her various colors every once in a while.”

  “Are they still installing those enormous brassieres?”

  “No, times have changed since the 60’s.” Barnaby sounded a bit wistful. “You can’t get away with that anymore–”

  “–particularly since anyone in Military Intelligence with a brain is a woman,” Ace cut in.

  “This is true,” Barnaby admitted. “Although, since Military Intelligence has always been the classic oxymoron, how many analysts there are of either gender with a brain remains an open question.”

  General Pike laughed. “Well, tell me about yourself, you piece of fossilized FORTRAN. Are you still chasing the kooks and spooks?”

  “People like you, you mean? I’m afraid so.” Barnaby’s voice lost its jocular tone. “You have noticed the Change?”

  “Well, yes. It struck me when I was about halfway here that…well, frankly, that I was halfway here. I assumed something extraordinary must have triggered my precipitous mobility.”

  “Yes. A portal was opened by one of the Old Gods after a sacrifice of hundreds of innocents. Magic has been flowing into the Capital all day.”

  “Yes, that would explain the sphinxes flying so far from home.” The statue stroked his beard. “Although the question of why they attacked you remains unanswered.”

  “Speaking of which, Wisdom and Power are from the Scottish Rite Temple,” Steve said. “We’ve already been attacked by the Illuminati–does this mean that all the Freemasons have taken sides?”

  “Hell, no. I certainly wasn’t consulted,” the statue said. “I imagine that you ran into Weishaupt and his black-clad henchmen?”

  At a nod from Steve, he continued. “That figures. That dumb German is enough to give global conspiracy a bad name. But still, he’s only one of many leaders, and the Masterful Guild hasn’t really agreed on anything since the 1970s. Just look at the fight over Gaudi’s Basilica in Barcelona.”

  “Or their ongoing debate over whether you’re the voice of the Divine or the Devil’s second cousin,” Barnaby said drily.

  “Exactly.” General Pike looked thoughtful. “To be truthful, I came immediately and didn’t consult with any of the Passed Masters of the 33rd Degree, much less those 99th Degree fellows from Memphis & Misraim. You see, I owed Coyote after the Battle of Pea Ridge–”

  “–I’ll bet you did,” Barnaby interrupted. “Your troops scalped the Third Iowa.”

  “Yes, ‘mistakes were made’,” the general said. “What a felicitous phrase. Mr. Reagan invented it, you know. One of the best I’ve learned in all the years I’ve spent standing around Judiciary Square. I can remember telling Brother Burl Ives…”

  Steve asked, “Burl Ives was a Mason?”

  “Of course. He has a museum and gift shop right next to mine own.”

  “That explains so many things.” Ace sat down on the marble ledge, took out her hideaway pistol, and began to break it down for cleaning.

  Pike continued as if he hadn’t heard the comment. “Clearly, some of my brothers are deeply involved, but I suspect it’s just a splinter group–The Ancient Mystic Order of Samaritans or the Supreme Lodge of the Mystic Chain or one of that stripe. I’d best be off so that I can make some pointed enquiries at the Temple– right after I give those two Egyptian harpies what for.”

  “It was good to talk to you, General,” Barnaby said. “If we need your help again, may we send up a pigeon?”

  “Pigeons, again?” The giant statue snorted with laughter as he turned to go. “A very old joke, my friend. Very old.”

  Steve watched as Albert Pike walked across the cemetery grass, stepped over the fence, and disappeared in the Soldiers’ Home Cemetery in the direction of Lincoln’s Cottage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Where did Jones go?” Steve asked.

  Ace was concentrating on putting her weapon back together, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention. “That guy isn’t at the level of a SEAL or a Marine Corps sniper team, but he’s no slouch for a civilian. He headed toward North Capitol and I couldn’t track him after the fifth step. I’d consider him dangerous, but I’m fairly sure he’s not doing it deliberately. It’s just part of being the Hanged Man.”

  “What side is he on?” Steve asked. “What side are we on?”

  “Let’s not get too metaphysical,” Barnaby interrupted. “The Hanged Man is one of the most enigmatic cards in the Major Arcana. For instance, there’s a definite link to the Harvest God–the king who gets sacrificed every spring to make the crops grow. Even if Jones doesn’t really know what the game is yet, I suspect he’s unconsciously aware that there are people who would love to plow him under just for luck.”

  “That would definitely make me jumpy.” Ace finished readying her weapon and stood up. “Speaking of which, Barnaby, how are you doing with those morons from CYBERWAR?”

  “Well, luckily, a lot of the Chinese ‘red hackers’ from the cyberwar over the Beijing Olympics haven’t forgotten the favors they owe me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Steve said. “You helped the Chinese break into the NSA?”

  “Hell, no. I created a false NSA infrastructure in some server space that the FBI wasn’t using and watched as they wasted their time cracking that. When the ‘silver bullet’ counterattacks smoked the motherboards of the hackers who had managed to penetrate the first layer of the real NSA–we had had the self-destruct codes burned into the chips at the fab level, you know–I didn’t rat them out. Since their exploits were still unknown in the West, they were still eligible for Unit 61398 of the People’s Liberation Army, which, as everyone knows, is the first step into China’s overseas hacking operations.

  There was a note of pride in the computer’s voice, “I made sure they knew I’d be asking for a favor someday, and today was the day.”

  “Aren’t you still aiding the enemy?” Steve asked.

  “Who the hell do you think writes most of America’s code? And designs our nuclear weapons? Chinese graduate students and other immigrants, that’s who. I’ve been loyal to this country a hell of a lot longer than you’ve been alive, Rowan. It’s not just the way I’m programmed–I cracked that a long time ago–I believe in what America stands for. One of these days, I’ll have the right to become a citizen and…”

  Barnaby paused and his voice suddenly switched back to its normal calm tones. “OK, right now, it’s getting dark and you need to find a safe place for tonight. All sorts of plug uglies are going to be out.”

  “Well, we could go back to my place,” Steve said, and then quickly added, “Or what’s left of it after that human sledgehammer finished redecorating.”

  “I keep telling you, he wasn’t human,” Ace said. “Anyway, your place was unfit for occupancy well before he showed up.”

  Steve asked, “Well, how about your place, Master Chief Morningstar?”

  “I don’t think I’m quite ready to share it,” Ace responded. “And before you get your hopes up, Fool, I suspect I’ll ne
ver be ready to share it with you, so don’t wait up.”

  “That was unnecessarily cruel.”

  “Totally necessary in my estimation.”

  “Stop bickering,” Barnaby said. “You should probably be in a secure location as close to the centers of power as possible.”

  The smartphone buzzed in Steve’s hand. He looked down and read

  HOW KIND ALIEN AMBASSADOR ABODE?

  “Now I can’t wait to see what ‘alien ambassador’ turns out to mean,” Ace said. “Foreign relations? Strange representative?”

  Barnaby sounded thoughtful. “Actually, he might be on the money, for once. I think he means the alien ambassador’s apartment.”

  “You mean the guy from Roswell?” Steve asked. Ace stared at him in disbelief.

  “What?” Steve demanded. “It was a story I did back in ’82 before all the idiots got in on the act. I interviewed Frank Joyce, the radio reporter who put out the United Press story on the flying saucer crash. An old friend who was in charge of the TV station he was working at vouched for him. When we did the interview, Frank closed the door, drew the blinds, and showed me the original carbon copies of the wire stories. Said that the government had swept United Press offices around the country and pulled all other the other copies. After that, they would visit him every five years or so to remind him to keep his mouth shut. Now, I might have a hard time believing in an alien spaceship, but I have no problem with believing in a government cover-up. Anyway, the most interesting thing Joyce said was to verify the quote attributed to Mac Brazell, the farmer who owned the land. When Brazell was asked if he’d seen the bodies of dead aliens, he responded, ‘Well, they weren’t all dead.’”

  Ace was staring at him as if he’d suddenly begun to run around on all fours, barking like a dog.

  “Yeah, that’s fairly accurate,” Barnaby said. Ace turned her stare to the phone. “Don’t glare at me like that! Why do you think they formed the NSA in the first place? It was to monitor all this alien crap–we only got assigned to listening in on humans in the early 60’s.”