A Logical Magician lm-1

by Robert Weinberg

  “The forces of darkness and everlasting night are rising in our city. Civilization is terribly threatened. Humanity needs a champion to battle them. You’re that man, Jack.”

  The old man paused, a faint smile crossing his lips. “No reason for you to use the Ambrose alias. I prefer my real name. Call me Merlin.”

  “Merlin?” asked Jack, still reeling over the bearded man’s initial remarks. “Like the famous magician of King Arthur’s court?”

  The bearded man laughed. “Like him? You misunderstand, Jack. I am him. I am the legendary Merlin the Magician.”

  2

  “Uh, sure,” said Jack, standing. Beads of sweat trickled down his back. The old man was crazy. The sooner Jack got out of the office, the better. “Sure you are. If you don’t mind, it’s time for me to leave. I just remembered that I’m late for another appointment.”

  Jack headed for the door. Behind him, he heard the lunatic who thought of himself as Merlin chuckle. “Come back and sit down, Jack,” the man said quietly.

  In the middle of a step, Jack froze. His brain shouted “Continue!” but his body refused to obey. Horrified, Jack found himself pivoting about, turning away from the door. Moving stiffly, like an automaton, he swung around and marched back to his chair. Unable to do a thing, he found himself back in the seat, facing the bearded man.

  “Do you still doubt my identity?” asked his tormentor.

  “All I know is that you’re nuts,” said Jack evenly, surprised to discover he had regained control of his arms and legs. He suspected, however, that a mad dash for the entrance was hopeless. “Anybody can use a mind-controlling drug. Nothing supernatural about that.”

  “And you inhaled it as a fine mist in the air upon entering the room,” said the old man, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Amazing the advances made in chemical warfare these past few years.”

  Smiling gently, he stretched out his hand. “Perhaps this will change your opinion,” he said. Softly, he muttered a few words that Jack couldn’t hear. Bright lights flashed, and out of nowhere, a McDonald’s cheeseburger—or at least so the wrapper proclaimed—rested on the man’s palm.

  “Hungry?” asked the magician, tossing the sandwich to Jack. “Go ahead. Take a bite, then explain that away.”

  Jack drew in a deep breath. If he was hallucinating, this dream was astonishingly realistic. With a shrug, he wolfed down the hamburger. It was still hot. His belief in magic increased with each mouthful.

  “Okay,” he concluded, wiping his lips, “I’m willing to concede the possibility that you might be Merlin the Magician. But, before I’m fully convinced, there are sure a hell of a lot of questions that I want answered.

  “First, though, can you use that same trick to materialize something to drink? The cheeseburger made me thirsty.”

  Chuckling, Merlin again spoke a few words, and a large McDonald’s cup filled with Coke appeared on his desk.

  “How do you do that?” asked Jack, reaching out for the drink.

  “A simple teleportation spell,” said Merlin. “It only works on small objects. There’s a fast-food restaurant down the street. I reach out with my mind and snag what I want when no one is watching. A few dollars transported to the cash drawer pays my tab. Merlin of Camelot,” he concluded a bit haughtily, “is not a freeloader.”

  Jack drank the soda pop, his thoughts chaotic. Instead of discussing a fantasy world, he found himself in the midst of one. The notion challenged his sanity. Up until twenty minutes ago, he thought he understood the way the universe functioned. Not so any more.

  “I’m willing to listen,” he declared uneasily, putting the drink down. “Though,” he added truthfully, “I’m not sure I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “As reasonable a statement as one can make,” said Merlin. “I expected no more. Listen closely.

  “All my life,” the magician continued somberly, “I have been a seeker of knowledge and truth. For nearly a millennium, I investigated the mystery of my origin. First by magic, and then during the past few hundred years, by science. I cannot guarantee what I tell you is the truth, but it is the only explanation I have.”

  Jack nodded. Better to learn the facts, no matter how unbelievable. He recalled that Harold Shea, in the Incomplete Enchanter series, didn’t realize magic actually worked until halfway through the first novel. Thinking about the story, Jack realized why Megan had asked him so many questions about modern-day heroes confronting magic. She had been preparing him for these revelations. But why then the mathematics?

  “Ever since the Age of Reason, man has sought to explain away the supernatural. Science has no tolerance for anything that cannot be examined under a microscope. Thus, faeries and elves, demons and devils are dismissed as the foolish beliefs of ignorant peasants. In this modern world there is no room for magic. Yet, it still exists, and with it all of the fanciful beasties and beings of myth and legend.”

  Merlin paused, dramatically. The old man was not only a magician, Jack observed wryly, but a bit of a ham as well. “Humanity shares a collective subconscious. An overmind of unlimited potential, it has the power to forge dreams into reality. And it has done so for all of man’s history. This world-mind is the source of all occult and supernatural beings that have ever existed.

  “I sprang into being a thousand years ago, created by the hopes and aspirations of all those who dreamed of a place called Camelot. Originally, wandering bards sang songs of the exploits of a nameless magician in Arthur’s court, making them up as they entertained. Soon, storytellers were weaving similar tales of magic, calling this sorcerer Merlin. The simple peasants of the time listened and believed what they heard was true.

  “In time, the legend of Merlin the Magician grew famous throughout the land. Mankind’s collective subconscious absorbed my history and believed it true. People believed I existed. That evidently was enough. The line between fact and fancy blurred, and I was born.”

  Again Merlin paused, as if awed by his own story. “Though perhaps ‘born’ is not the right word, for I emerged from the shadows exactly as you see me today—an old man with flowing white hair and silver beard. I was Merlin the Magician, weaver of spells, companion of kings.

  “For hundreds of years, I traveled about the land, practicing my craft, battling injustices whenever possible. During that time, I encountered many others like me, beings created by mankind’s dreams and nightmares. Some were good, others evil, but most possessed both attributes, reflecting the dual nature of their creators.

  “Gradually, humanity stopped believing in fairies and elves, ghouls and ghosts. Rationality overwhelmed superstition. Yet, though man no longer accepted us, we still survived.”

  The magician rapped his knuckles on the desktop. “Despite my nebulous origins, I am as solid and real as any man. As is the case with any supernatural being. Once created, we exist independent of humanity’s wishes. Moreover, since our bodies are vortexes of mental energy, not flesh and blood, we neither age nor die.”

  Merlin’s pronouncements made an odd sort of sense. Ever the science fiction and fantasy fan, Jack couldn’t help but wonder if this vast, collective subconscious mind as described by the magician wasn’t actually a manifestation of mankind’s latent psionic power. The idea offered all sorts of possibilities. He envisioned a gigantic pool of mental energy tapped upon by an unsuspecting humanity, giving life to its dreams… and nightmares.

  “How do you explain your magic?” he asked, half-suspecting the answer.

  “As a creation of this pool of psychic energy, I, and all those like me, are directly linked to it. When I perform magic, I merely tap into that bottomless well of mental power. It requires little effort on my part. With much greater effort, gifted mortals can sometimes do the same, which explains the occasional human sorcerers.”

  Jack nodded. It all fit together. One other question disturbed him, though.

  “If what you say is true, then where are the rest of these supernatural beings? If all of
you are immortal, then the world should be overflowing with mythological creatures.”

  Merlin shook his head. “We are immortal but by no means invulnerable. Each of us came into being with our specific strengths and weaknesses. The dreams of mankind define us. Thus, a vampire commands terrible powers but one ray of sunlight turns him into dust. And a werewolf is helpless before silver. Over the course of centuries, many of us sank back into the limbo from which we emerged, killed by the very ones who gave us life.”

  Leaning forward, Merlin looked Jack straight in the eye. “Can’t you guess the rest of the answer to your question, my young friend? I am not unique. Thousands of us still survive, living undetected among our creators. As civilization evolved, so did we. We merely changed with the times.”

  Again, the magician smiled. “In my youth, I was Merlin the Magician. When people turned their back on sorcery and burned warlocks at the stake, I hid my powers behind the title of doctor and pharmacist. Later, when reason became king, I called my magic science to survive. In this day and age, I predict the rise and fall of stocks and bonds. Megan makes sure my forecasts are not too accurate. No one trusts a forecaster who is always correct. Still, we earn a princely sum each month.

  “The others are out there, unnoticed by most, still endowed with their original powers. Like myself they have adapted and changed with the times. Magic fills your daily life, Jack, though most humans never realize it.”

  Merlin reached out, and a cup of coffee magically appeared in his hand. He sipped it slowly, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts.

  The cynic within Jack’s soul maintained that magic was nonsense and could not exist in a logical world. Unfortunately, that line of reasoning implied that he had slipped over the borders of reality and imagined this whole encounter. And was, therefore, totally nuts.

  With a shake of his head. Jack rejected that theory. Ever the pragmatist, he accepted the evidence before him. His parents taught him the necessity of adapting to changing circumstances. Though Jack doubted they envisioned a situation like this, he felt sure they would approve of his reactions.

  “I’m convinced,” he told Merlin. “But what does it all have to do with my job application?”

  “Just one minute and I’ll explain,” replied the magician. Opening a drawer in his desk, he fumbled around with unseen boxes. Finally, he pulled out a small leather case. “Found them,” he announced mysteriously.

  “Found what?” asked Jack, his eyes narrowing as Merlin rose from his seat and circled over to Jack’s chair.

  “Nothing to worry about, my young friend,” said the magician, snapping open the container. He held it out so that Jack could see the contents. Inside, resting on a bed of cotton, were two tiny slivers of bright red plastic.

  “Enchanted contact lenses,” declared Merlin, carefully lifting one out of the case. “Much more practical than the rose-colored glasses we used for centuries. Wear these and you’ll be able to instantly distinguish between a real human being and those only masquerading as such.”

  Jack shuddered. With 20/20 eyesight, he had never worn glasses, much less contact lenses. The thought of anything resting on his eyeball made him queasy. “Uh, I’ll pass on those,” he said, raising his hands in protest.

  “Nonsense,” said Merlin, weaving his fingers past Jack’s limbs. The lens touched Jack’s left eye and vanished. The same happened with the right, “I told you. These are magical. You won’t feel a thing.”

  The magician spoke the truth. Jack’s eyes felt unchanged. Only now, he viewed the world tinted lightly pink.

  “Look at me,” commanded Merlin. “Do you see an aura around my body?”

  “No,” answered Jack, frowning. “Should I?”

  “Look at your hands,” replied Merlin, “and then answer your own question.”

  Jack recoiled in surprise. His arms, his legs, his entire form glowed with a faint golden radiance.

  “The rose-colored contact lenses extend your vision into the supernatural spectrum. All humans possess an aura. Supernatural beings do not.” Merlin sighed. “I suspect it reflects on that intangible essence called the soul.”

  “You still haven’t answered…” Jack started to say, but Merlin ignored him. Instead, the magician reached back into his desk drawer. This time, he pulled out a thin plastic card. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed it to Jack.

  “Sign it on the back,” the magician instructed. He twirled his fingers, and a pen materialized on the desk top. Writing on the casing of the ball point identified it as a free souvenir from a local hotel.

  Jack examined the plastic rectangle. Bright gold in color, it appeared the same as an ordinary credit card except for the name. UNIVERSAL CHARGE CARD, proclaimed the logo.

  “What is this thing?” he asked, as he wrote in his name. “There’s no bank name on here.”

  “Nor is one needed,” said Merlin. “It works by magic, much in the same fashion as the never-emptying purse of folk tales. You use it the same way as an ordinary charge card. Buy whatever you need on credit. The card is universally accepted by any store that accepts charges. It even works in cash machines. And, there’s no upper expense limit.”

  Jack stared at the rectangle suspiciously. “Yeah. But who pays the bill?”

  “Round-off charges discharge the debt,” said Merlin glibly. “With interest on billing errors, clerical mistakes and overdue refunds filling in the difference. Taken separately, they amount to a mere pittance. Combine the tens of millions of transactions negotiated each month, and this floating pool of resources amounts to a fortune. Don’t worry about cheating anyone. They all get paid.”

  Jack sighed. The magician’s explanation sounded too smooth. He came across like a used car salesman, eager to make a deal. The bottom line was what worried Jack.

  “Can we get back to the part about the rising forces of darkness?” asked Jack. “And humanity’s champion?”

  “Of course,” said Merlin. “That’s why I hired you.”

  Jack groaned in exasperation. “Why did you hire me?”

  “Because you answered the advertisement,” replied Merlin, his tone benign, as if speaking to a foolish child. He paused. “It was laced with spells to attract the proper individual.”

  Seeing the bewildered expression on Jack’s face, the magician smiled. “Perhaps I should explain things from the beginning.”

  “What a novel idea,” said Jack.

  Merlin stood up and walked over to the huge windows. “Businessmen pay me to predict industry and stock market trends. While I carefully avoid being too accurate, I still provide the best service in the field. Needless to say, none of my clients realize my information comes not from analysis of political and social events but from a crystal ball.

  “Recently, a major corporation requested I prepare a long-term analysis of employment opportunities in the Chicago metropolitan area. Usually, I turn down such projects, but this time I agreed. Not that I promised much. The future is not set, and the further ahead one looks, the less reliable the prediction. Too many outside factors affect the outcome. At best, I see what might be, not what will be. Which offers us the faint hope that changing the present will affect the future.”

  The fear evident in Merlin’s voice sent a ripple of apprehension rippling through Jack. “How far ahead did you look?”

  “A year,” said the magician, barely audible. “They insisted I try, and, to be frank, the challenge intrigued me. So, I cast my spells and gazed into my crystal.”

  “What did you see?” asked Jack, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “Death and destruction.” Merlin’s words rang of despair. “War, famine and plague. An end to civilization as we know it. The beginning of a new Dark Age for humanity.”

  Jack shivered. “And you think I can change the course of history? One man stop all of that?”

  “I know you can,” replied Merlin. “The world I saw stank of dark sorcery. An evil darkness haunted the land, rejoicing in the desolatio
n. It was fully responsible for what had happened. You must find this monster in the present and destroy it to save the future. You’re our only hope, mankind’s lone champion. Not that it will be easy. For, though I dread the thought, I suspect one of the Old Ones has returned.”

  “How do you…” Jack began but never finished.

  In the outer office, Megan screamed.

  “What the hell!” yelled Jack, rising from his chair. Behind him, the door crashed open. A half-dozen bikers, dressed in black leather and chains, crowded into the room. A metal-studded glove slammed into Jack’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  Struggling desperately to get up, Jack sensed rather than saw the kick aimed at his face. It smashed into his forehead with mind-numbing force. He collapsed to the carpet, blackness overwhelming him, with Megan’s terrified shrieks echoing through his mind.

  3

  Groaning, Jack opened his eyes. It hadn’t been a nightmare. He was still in Merlin’s office. Everything looked the same. Except the magician was no longer there. Not expecting an answer, Jack called out Megan’s name. No one replied.

  Gingerly, he touched where his skull throbbed with pain. He jerked his head away in agony. Nothing felt broken, but he worried about a possible concussion. Dizzily, he forced himself to his feet.

  The room spun about, then steadied. He rubbed his eyes in annoyance. The colors seemed wrong. There was a pink tint to everything. Then he remembered the rose-colored contact lenses.

  The thought sent his mind reeling. He barely glimpsed the invading bikers, but he felt sure they hadn’t possessed auras. Merlin and his daughter had been kidnapped by supernatural foes.

  Jack toyed with calling the police. He rejected the idea instantly. That path led straight to the mental ward. His own initial reaction to Merlin’s identity made that clear. And Jack couldn’t back up his claims with magical powers. The authorities were out. If anyone was going to save Merlin, it had to be him.