A Logical Magician lm-1

by Robert Weinberg

  While no student of psychology, Roger recognized a fatal flaw when he encountered it. The Crouching One could be controlled by its needs. Though it commanded astonishing powers, the demigod had the personality and instincts of a spoiled child. Given enough time, Roger felt sure he could subtly gain absolute mastery of the creature. And then the world would be his plaything.

  “I want you to contact von Bern on that magical telephone device you use,” said the Crouching One, breaking into Roger’s daydreams. “Tell him to use whatever force is necessary to kill Collins. He can offer any reward, enlist any ally in this task. As long as the German does not jeopardize our master plan, he can do anything he wants to accomplish my desires. No half-measures this time. The human champion must die. Without any more delays.”

  “You said that yesterday,” remarked Roger casually. “Are you confident the Huntsman can handle this situation on his own? He hasn’t shown any sign of competence so far. Chaos Sword or not, he’s not particularly bright. You need someone with real brains on the scene. Maybe I should fly to Chicago and personally oversee the operation. That way there would be no mistakes.”

  “And leave me to fend by myself?” said the Crouching One, slowly shaking its head from side to side. “I would be lost without you, my faithful servant. Lost and alone. Helpless in this confusing, modern world.”

  Not particularly superstitious, Roger found himself involuntarily crossing his fingers for luck. Sarcasm by the Crouching One usually preceded fireworks.

  “It was only a suggestion,” said Roger. “I was merely trying to be useful.”

  “Useful,” repeated the demigod. “How considerate. The thought of escaping my power never once entered your thoughts. You know that my strength wanes with distance. In Chicago, you would be free of my grip. And filled with the secrets learned from me.”

  “I—I—I would never do that,” stuttered Roger, knowing his life was on the line. The Lord of the Lions was not a forgiving god. “I’m loyal to you. I swear it.”

  The Crouching One nodded. “A wonderful thing, loyalty. It can be bought by many things—gold, jewels, love, even hate. But the strongest bond is fear.”

  The demigod pointed to the book it had been reading before Roger had entered the library. “Do you see that small black spot on the cover of that volume, my loyal servant?”

  Roger glanced at the hardcover. “Yes,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

  “Watch it,” said the Crouching One. “Watch it closely.”

  Roger stared at the mark. A tiny, dark blemish, less than a half-inch in diameter, it looked like a fingerprint. With a sudden flash of insight, Roger realized that it was exactly that. The fingerprint of the Crouching One.

  Staring intently for a minute started his eyes burning. He blinked to clear the tears, then blinked again, this time from bewilderment. The spot appeared larger. And darker. Much darker.

  After a few seconds, Roger realized what was taking place. The circle consisted of crumbling black ash, as the leather binding aged hundreds of years in seconds. Like a slow but relentless blight, the mark continued to grow. The breath caught in Roger’s throat as within a minute the volume turned into a pile of dust.

  “Look at your arm,” said the Crouching One. “You know where.”

  Trembling, Roger gazed at his elbow, where the Crouching One had touched him after its escape from the magic circle. Barely visible were five tiny black spots. Choking back a scream, he looked at the smiling demigod.

  “The touch of my hand is legend,” said the Crouching One. “Pestilence and plague are my servants. Death and decay are my children. Remain true to me and your rewards will be beyond number. Betray me, and the blight will claim you.”

  Roger’s gaze jumped back and forth from the pile of dust to the fingerprints on his elbow. His face was white as chalk.

  “I’ll contact von Bern now,” he finally managed to whisper hoarsely. “No more suggestions. Whatever you say, goes. You’re the boss.”

  “A wise choice,” said the Crouching One. “A very wise choice.”

  14

  The day crept by at a snail’s pace. Jack expected no less. Under normal conditions, he was not a patient person, and these were definitely not normal times. He hated waiting. All his life, he had tackled problems head-on, attacking trouble before it had a chance to develop. He believed in getting things done, never procrastinating. Enforced idleness drove him crazy.

  By eight that night, he was experiencing extreme difficulty staying awake. Professor Winston was a school institution. Which, in college jargon, meant he should have been forced to retire ten years ago. Nearly blind, hardly able to walk, he spoke in a voice that rarely rose above a whisper. Seventy-eight years old, with tenure, he insisted on teaching one course each semester.

  In a rare flash of wisdom, the chairman of the department assigned the professor an elective course in Advanced Topologic Design. Along with the esoteric and difficult subject matter, the class was further handicapped by scheduling it on late Friday evening. No one felt any sympathy for the six brave students who enrolled in it.

  Jack handled all the paperwork for the course. Winston lectured, assigned homework, and prepared tests. Jack graded the papers and calculated the students’ grades. Unfortunately, to keep up with the material, he was forced to attend the class each week. Though he tried dutifully to remain awake through Winston’s discourses, he rarely remembered more than a few words of the professor’s rambling monologues.

  Tonight, as if sensing Jack’s impatience, the elderly teacher was in rare form. He spent the evening solving problems on the blackboard, speaking directly to the wall. Not a word of his lecture escaped to his students. Jack, sitting in the back row, stared at the ceiling and drifted off into daydreams. Involuntarily, his eyes closed as boredom overwhelmed him. He was not entirely awake or asleep but in a region between—one that was well known to students of all ages.

  “Jack,” a young woman’s voice whispered in his thoughts. “Can you hear me?”

  “Megan?” he asked, not using words but instead instinctively thinking the reply. A mental image of the young woman’s elfin features materialized before him.

  “Yes, it’s me,” replied the girl, her voice echoing in his mind. “I tried contacting you in sleep last night, but deep slumber made communication impossible. It’s a lot easier when you’re barely conscious but still nominally awake.”

  “You can thank Professor Winston for that,” he projected back to her. “Where are you? What’s going on? Are you and your father safe?”

  “We’re unharmed,” she stated, answering his last question first. “I’m not sure of my location. Father cast a sleep spell on the two of us right after we were captured so we couldn’t reveal any information to our enemies. Unfortunately, it made it difficult for me to learn anything either. The Border Redcaps, under the command of Dietrich von Bern, kidnapped us, but I sense from your thoughts that you know that already. They’re holding us prisoner along with a whole bunch of hysterical women in a vast dungeon somewhere in the city. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”

  “That’s all right,” thought Jack, trying to focus his thoughts clearly. “Why didn’t your father contact me this way? I need to ask him a million questions. Maybe more.”

  “Merlin can’t enter the dream world,” replied Megan, offering no further explanation. “And there’s no time for chatter. You’re already drifting away from me. This link can’t last much longer.”

  Megan’s astral voice sounded frightened. “You’re in danger, Jack, terrible danger. Von Bern and his cohorts plan to kill you tonight. They’re already on campus, waiting for you in ambush. For some reason, they can’t enter the building you’re in, otherwise they would’ve attacked already.”

  “Huh? How did you learn all that? You’re asleep.”

  “It’s part of Merlin’s spell. Our senses continue functioning even while slumbering. I overheard two of the Border Redcaps discussing you
r murder. Evidently, word had come from von Bern’s master that you were to be killed no matter what the cost.

  “I failed to contact you last night, but I had to try again when I learned their plans. Either your daydreaming state or the urgency of my message made communication possible.”

  “What should I do?” he asked. In this dreamlike state, the threat hardly worried him. “Any suggestions?”

  “Don’t leave your present location,” said Megan, her voice growing faint. “As I told you, von Bern and his men can’t enter the building. Something about the place frightens them. You’re safe inside it. Stay there till morning.”

  “In the math building?” said Jack. “What makes this place so special?”

  “I don’t know,” came Megan’s reply. Her voice was fading fast. Jack could hardly hear what she was saying. “No matter what, don’t let them force you outside.”

  “Megan?” Jack called, but there was no answer. “Megan?”

  “Did you have a question, Mr. Collins?” asked Professor Winston, turning away from the blackboard. Held tightly in one hand was a piece of white chalk. He pointed it like a gun at Jack’s forehead. “I thought I heard your voice.”

  “No sir,” said Jack, straightening up in his chair. “Just clearing my throat.”

  “Oh, well.” The elderly professor looked down at his watch. “No one ever seems to have a question. Not in my classes, at least. That’s all for this week. Students, don’t forget to pick up your homework assignment sheet on the way out. Assuming I remain functional, I will see you next Friday.”

  Cautiously, Jack sauntered over to the windows that covered one wall of the room. He glanced outside, searching for Redcaps. High above street level, his location afforded him a bird’s-eye view of the campus. Classrooms were located on the second, third, and fourth floors of the math building. Needless to say, Winston’s class met on the top floor. At the end of the hall. If possible, the faculty would have put the course in a closet.

  Housed on the main level were the department offices and the college’s computer labs. The first floor was the only one in the building that was air conditioned. The machines needed their environment kept cool all year round. No one cared if the students roasted, but the computers required pampering. During the summer, the lab was the most popular spot on campus.

  Jack whistled softly as he counted eleven red caps in the moonlight. Though they were invisible at ground level, he had no trouble spotting the gang members from forty feet above the street. Megan hadn’t exaggerated. The bad guys were out in full force tonight. Jack smiled ruefully. It was nice to know they considered him that dangerous.

  “Spot any good-lookin’ women, Jack?”

  The sound of Simon’s voice, only a few inches away, caught Jack completely off guard. Sweat froze into icicles on his back. Slowly, he turned and faced the faerie. His hands gently circled the changeling’s neck.

  “Don’t ever sneak up on me again,” he said quietly. “Or I will strangle you.”

  “Sorry,” said Simon, with a wan smile. “I warned you. It’s my nature. I can’t help yielding to temptation. You weren’t at your office, so I came searching for you. Old Winston told me you were still here. What’s so fascinating outside?”

  Silently, Jack released his friend, then pointed. Simon’s eyes bulged in shock.

  “And you accused me of scaring you,” said Simon. “That’s the second time today I made the mistake of looking out a window at your prompting. Remind me not to do it anymore.”

  The changeling sighed. “I walked right past them and didn’t see a thing. Obviously, the devils were waiting for a bigger prize. Lucky you caught sight of them first.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” said Jack, and he proceeded to tell Simon about his dream conversation with Megan.

  “Incredible,” said Simon, “absolutely incredible. Despite all the talk about psi powers, wild talents and ESP, thought communication is extremely rare. The effort requires an incredible amount of mental energy. Merlin’s daughter, huh? And you conducted an actual conversation with her? Very interesting.”

  “It never happened to you?” asked Jack.

  “Nah,” said Simon, dismissing the idea with a wave of the hand. “Faeries don’t dream. You say this Megan is beautiful as well as talented? She sounds like a very special lady. One certainly worth a bright grad student’s pursuit.”

  “She’s extremely beautiful,” said Jack wistfully. “Smart, too. Unfortunately, being Merlin’s child, she’s probably seven hundred years old. I don’t mind dating older women, but one the age of a giant redwood would be stretching things a bit.”

  “But she’s…” Simon began, then clamped his mouth shut. Eyes twinkling, he patted Jack on the back. “The path of true love never runs smooth, my young friend. But, remember, affairs of the heart usually work out in the end.”

  “Oh, yeah?” said Jack sarcastically. “Like Samson and Delilah? Or Tristan and Isolde? Or Romeo and Juliet? Or…”

  “Enough,” interrupted the changeling. “I concede the point. Still, I have a feeling the future holds a few surprises for you. Supposing, of course, that we survive the night.”

  “Good point,” said Jack. “It seems to me our best course of action is to remain here till tomorrow. If the Border Redcaps can’t enter the building, and that appears to be the case, I don’t see any way they can drive us out. No reason for us to suffer in the meantime. Let’s order a pizza and relax in the faculty lounge. I have a key.”

  “We won’t have problems with campus security?” asked Simon.

  “There shouldn’t be,” replied Jack. “The guard locks up the computer lab early, but the rest of the building stays open all night. It’s not uncommon for grad students to remain till dawn in their offices grading papers or studying for finals. Friday evening, we should have the building completely to ourselves.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Simon. “Fighting the forces of evil is enough trouble without having to worry about innocent bystanders as well.”

  “Agreed,” said Jack. “There’s a pay phone in the hall. I’m ready to place that order for pizza. Which do you prefer—deep dish or thin crust?”

  15

  “What’s the time now?” asked Simon nervously.

  “Five minutes later than before,” said Jack irritably, not bothering to look at his watch. “Ten minutes later than the time before that. And so on back for the past hour. You’ve asked me that question at least a dozen times tonight. It’s made reading this novel awfully difficult.”

  “Sony,” said Simon. “I’m a mite nervous, that’s all. No reason for you to snap at me.”

  With a sigh, Jack dog-eared the page he had been trying to finish for the last twenty minutes and closed the book. Grunting with the effort, he laid the volume on his desk. An immense historical novel entitled With Fire and Sword, it weighed nearly five pounds. The first of a trilogy dealing with war and rebellion in 17th-century Eastern Europe, the book was considered the national epic of Poland. Jack had been reading it in his spare moments for much of the spring term. Well over 1200 pages, the novel read like Robert E. Howard’s swords-and-sorcery adventures crossed with War and Peace. Jack originally harbored vague hopes of finishing the book before he finished school. Now he hoped he would reach the conclusion while still alive.

  “I understand why you’re worried,” said Jack, rising from his chair. “But there’s no reason to be scared.”

  He peered out the window of his office. The Border Redcaps had emerged from hiding once the security guard left the building. Nearly fifty of them crowded the plaza in front of the mathematics complex. An equal number waited at the rear entrance. Silently, they watched and waited, never once making any effort to approach the doors of the building.

  Cookie-cutter monsters, Jack mentally noted, studying the features of the evil faeries. Each Redcap was a virtual duplicate of every other. They were all a little over six feet tall, big and bulky, with swarthy features, and s
kin the color of old leather. Each of them had a pushed-in pug nose, flat ears and greasy black hair that poked out in wild disarray from beneath their identical red baseball caps.

  The rest of their outfit consisted of metal-toed motorcycle boots, faded blue jeans, and shiny black leather jackets cluttered with studs and chains. All of them wore dark leather gloves. Jack suspected they all spoke with the same accent. Their gathering resembled a Hell’s Angels clone convention.

  “I wonder if the school founders built this complex on top of an old Indian burial ground or someplace like that,” said Jack. “Maybe that’s the reason the Redcaps can’t enter.”

  “Not very likely,” said Simon. “No reason Indian religious beliefs would effect Old World Faeries. Maybe they hate mathematics.”

  “Placing them squarely in tune with a majority of Americans,” said Jack, chuckling. “I can’t see how the subject, no matter how distasteful, could prevent a supernatural being from entering a building. Besides, you’re inside.”

  “I’m good. They’re evil,” said Simon. “That’s the one big difference between us.”

  Jack’s brow furled in concentration. “If mathematics actually bothers the forces of darkness,” he said thoughtfully, “it would partially explain why Merlin chose me…”

  The ringing of the campus church bell halted Jack in mid-sentence. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, the clapper chimed loudly, announcing the hour.

  “Midnight,” said Simon softly. “Evil’s hour.”

  As if in response to the changeling’s remark, a huge black limousine pulled up on the street a hundred feet from the math complex. The automobile glowed with an eerie white light, the sight of which gave Jack goosebumps. The car exuded dark, supernatural menace.

  A low moan escaped the crowd of Border Redcaps. Hurriedly, they scrambled away from the entrance of the mathematics building, leaving a clear path from the limo to the door.