A Logical Magician lm-1

by Robert Weinberg

  “The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime,” said Jack. “That’s nuts.”

  “Sure it is,” said Anderson. “But look who’s here. Put your hands out in front of you, Collins. Real slow, now.”

  “Don’t bother, Jack,” said Cassandra from the front door of the lab. The Amazon moved so quietly that she had approached completely undetected. Her staff lashed out like a snake, its silver tip kissing Anderson’s hand. Bones cracked like peanut brittle. The security chief yelped in pain and dropped his gun. But he refused to give up.

  Lurching forward, Anderson slammed his body into Jack’s. Together they tumbled against a lab table. Not bright, but tough, the security man knew exactly what he was doing. A raised knee caught Jack in the groin, bringing tears to his eyes. Shielding his broken hand with his body, Anderson whipped his other arm around Jack’s neck. Straightening, he wrenched Jack upright, so that the two of them stood facing Cassandra.

  “Do anything stupid, sister,” said Anderson, “and I’ll break your boyfriend’s neck.”

  Jack gasped for air, feeling lightheaded. He wished the security chief hadn’t used the term “boyfriend” with the Amazon.

  Cassandra, her walking stick aimed like a spear at the security chief’s head, hesitated. “Let him go,” she finally declared, “before you make me really mad.”

  Anderson laughed. “I’m shaking.” With a snarl of rage, he tightened his grip around Jack’s neck. “His windpipe can’t stand much more pressure. One more twist and your druggie friend is in the obituary column. Time for you to drop the stick. Now!”

  Her eyes burning with anger, Cassandra lowered her staff to the floor. For a second Jack suspected she planned to launch the stick like a spear at Anderson. Evidently, the same thought occurred to the security chief. Carefully, he shifted his position so that Jack’s body completely shielded him from the Amazon. Raising her empty hands to indicate her compliance, Cassandra backed away from the wood staff.

  “Smart girl,” said Anderson. Grunting with effort, he slowly started to shuffle to the door of the lab, dragging Jack along with him. “Stay right where I can see you. Benny Anderson knows all the tricks in the book, and then some. Twitch funny and Collins’s neck goes snap.”

  They were less than five feet from the exit when an unexpected figure filled the doorway.

  “What is the meaning of this disgraceful conduct, Mr. Anderson?” declared Darrell Quiggly, Dean of Students. A tall, thin man, with iron-gray hair and distinguished features, Quiggly filled many roles on campus, including that of Anderson’s boss. “Release that young man at once.”

  “But, Dean…” began Anderson, swinging around to confront the official. “This is that drug…”

  “No excuses, Anderson,” interrupted Quiggly, his voice raised in anger. “I said release him. Violence against students is strictly forbidden, no matter what the reason. Immediately, if you value your job at this university.”

  The Dean’s appearance and the confusion he caused was all the diversion Cassandra needed. Jack sensed rather than saw her grab her walking stick, position it correctly, and thunk the security chief across the head in the span of mere seconds. Silently, Anderson released his grip around Jack’s throat and collapsed to the floor unconscious.

  Swallowing and rubbing his neck, Jack stared at the Dean, waiting for Quiggly’s reaction. Surprisingly, a broad grin crossed the school official’s face.

  “Fooled you too,” he chuckled, his features already twisting like Silly Putty. “Damn, I’m good.”

  “Simon,” said Jack, barely able to speak. “You’re the best.”

  “Lucky we found those battery packs as soon as we entered the photo department,” said the changeling. “I sent Fritz to the car with them and came to lend a hand here. Anderson’s ranting and raving cued me in on what was happening and I reacted accordingly.”

  Gingerly, Jack touched the unmoving security guard with his foot. “What do we do with Benny?”

  “Leave him there,” said Cassandra, with a shrug. “The tap I administered should be good for an hour or more. That’s plenty of time for us to disappear. Considering your reputation already, a few broken bones and stolen equipment won’t change anything,”

  “It might add a few more years to your sentence,” declared Simon. “Assuming your case ever makes it to trial. I figure fifty years to life at the moment.”

  “Maybe longer,” said Jack, grinning. “We better save Merlin, because there’s no way in hell I can salvage my reputation on my own anymore.”

  Stepping over Anderson’s body, he walked over to the storage shelves. Carefully, he lifted the long black rectangular tube from where he had placed it only minutes before.

  “See if you can find another one of these,” he said to his companions. “The one thing I’ve learned from reading hundreds of fantasy novels is that it never hurts to have a spare super-weapon when dealing with the forces of darkness.”

  35

  Roger hated animals. He considered them dirty, stupid, and useless creations, placed on Earth for one purpose and one purpose alone—to serve as food for people like him. Not surprisingly, he had never visited the municipal zoo. If asked to list a hundred places in the city he wanted to visit, the zoo undoubtedly would be number one hundred, following even hospital emergency rooms at midnight, unsupervised kindergarten classes, and hare krishna festivals. Yet, despite his inner revulsion for the surroundings, he found his trip to the zoo on May first strangely fascinating.

  His “uncle,” as he named The Crouching One for those few mortals who encountered the demigod, had insisted on the excursion. Ever since learning of the existence of the zoo from a newspaper article a week before, the Lord of the Lions had pressed Roger to schedule an afternoon sojourn at the wildlife preserve. It seemed singularly appropriate that they visit the park on what was scheduled to be the day of the ancient god’s greatest triumph. Or, as Roger secretly hoped, his greatest failure.

  Dressed in a bright yellow shirt adorned with red flowers, loose-fitting slacks, and sandals, the Crouching One appeared a typical senior citizen out for a day of sun and relaxation. Dark sunglasses kept hidden its blazing eyes. It walked slowly and carefully, avoiding human contact as much as possible, and remained surprisingly polite considering its godlike pride. Even Roger, expecting a disaster of near biblical proportions, was impressed by the Lord of the Lions’s demeanor.

  They spent most of the day at the lion enclosure. A warm spring sun had lured the beasts outside, and they rested on the rocky perches and grassy knolls of their huge compound. The zoo tried to duplicate their animals’ original habitats as closely as possible, and the lions appeared quite comfortable in their savanna-like surroundings. A high concrete wall and wide trench separated them from the idle and the curious.

  The Crouching One stared at the huge beasts with a single-minded concentration that after a few minutes Roger found disturbing. Though he knew the origins of the demigod’s title, the Lord of the Lions, for the first time he realized exactly how true was that name. The shape and form of the Crouching One’s skull uncannily resembled that of a jungle cat. Even the way the demigod stood unmoving, as if ready to pounce, approximated that of the huge beasts.

  “Talking to them?” asked Roger, only half in jest as he noticed the Couching One’s lips mouthing words without sounds.

  “Of course,” replied the ancient God, turning its head for a second to stare at Roger. Even the dark glasses could not hide completely the glow of its eyes. “Though men worshipped me, these here,” and it gestured with gnarled fingers at the lions, “are my children.”

  The Crouching One returned its attention to the beasts. “These few are much different than the great killers of my time. Instead of hunting, they are content to be fed. They are lazy, preferring to spend their time resting in the sunshine instead of searching for prey. Civilization has ruined them, made them weak.”

  The Lord of the Lions smiled its unpleasant smile, the smile
that twisted its face into a shape not the least bit reflecting humanity. “All of that shall change shortly. When my rightful powers return, I will shatter their cages. And the hunting cry of my children will once again echo through the land.”

  Not wanting to irritate the demigod, Roger decided not to mention that these days, half the citizens in California owned enough legal and illegal firepower to stop a herd of rampaging elephants, much less a pride of old and near toothless lions. There were certain truths about modern civilization that the Crouching One was not yet ready to accept.

  Roger looked down at his watch. “Only a few more hours till sunset in Chicago. According to the last call from von Bern, everything is running on schedule.”

  “As I predicted,” said the Crouching One. “Exactly as I predicted.”

  “Maybe,” said Roger, treading on dangerous territory. “Still, the German never caught Jack Collins or his friends. The computer news service from Chicago reported a robbery last night at Collins’s college. The security chief’s account of the affair was pretty garbled, but it sounded like our enemy. And he took some pretty fancy scientific equipment.”

  “Bah,” said the Crouching One, and it flicked one hand in an angry gesture of dismissal. On the other side of the moat, several of the lions growled loudly. “I refuse to let this mortal worry me any longer. He is a thinker, not a fighter. His allies are few and relatively powerless. They are helpless against the Huntsman and his Border Redcaps. That they have avoided death is a tribute more to their luck than any special skills.

  “Tonight, if they dare try to stop the sacrifice, they will have to confront von Bern in his den. The German has recruited nearly a hundred more Redcaps to his banner. What can a handful of do-gooders manage against von Bern and his legions? Science is no match for sorcery. And, do not forget the presence of the Great Beast. Mr. Collins has been a persistent nuisance, but after tonight, he will be a dead nuisance.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Roger, not hoping that at all.

  Unlike the Crouching One, he possessed a healthy respect for the miracles of modern technology. After all, it was his own scientific expertise that had gotten him in this mess. From what the wire service reported, Collins only stole a few items from the laboratories. Evidently, the mathematics student had some very specific ideas how to deal with von Bern. Without thinking, he spoke aloud the question that had troubled him for weeks. “Why him? What makes him so special?”

  “Nothing,” declared the Crouching One, with a sneer. But there was a bare trace of doubt in its voice. “The magician you named Merlin made a mistake. This pesky student is not the champion I feared.”

  Behind them, the lions roared in approval of their patron’s words. Roger kept silent. He felt sure Merlin had not erred; that Jack Collins was the right choice. But he had no idea why.

  36

  “What do you mean, I’m not going?” demanded Simon angrily. The changeling’s face was a brilliant shade of purple, and he appeared ready to explode. “Why not?”

  “I just finished explaining that, Simon,” said Jack apologetically.

  He had put off this confrontation as long as possible, but now he had run out of time and destinations. It was time for the final confrontation between good and evil, between Jack and his friends and Dietrich von Bern and the forces of darkness. But Simon could not participate.

  “Though you’re oriented towards the light, you are still partially a creation of chaos,” said Jack. “All faeries are. It’s the mischievous, trickster part of you. There’s no changing that. As you’ve said many times, it’s built into your basic character. YOU can’t alter it. And, like it or not, that’s the reason you can’t come with us.”

  “You mean you don’t trust me?” asked Simon, the purple changing to blue. “Just because I’m chaos-born.”

  “Of course not,” said Jack, feeling exasperated. Arguing logic with supernaturals was like trying to build sand castles with a thimble. It was possible, but barely so. “Trust has nothing to do with it.

  “I selected my weapons very carefully. I dared not use anything that might harm Megan or her father. Everything in the backpacks I’ve prepared should cause maximum damage against the servants of the dark, the followers of chaos. But, that’s the problem. There’s no way I can protect you from their effect. If you accompany us into the tunnels, the inventions I use to destroy the Border Redcaps will have the same effect on you.”

  Jack put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I value you too much, Simon, to be the one who murders you.” He grinned, breaking the solemnity of the moment. “Even if sometimes you deserve it.”

  “All right,” grumbled the changeling, resuming his normal shading. Several people in the Field Museum who had been watching his color changes from a safe distance shook their heads in disappointment and wandered off. Jack suspected the onlookers thought that his party consisted of visiting aliens from space. Which, considering Simon’s various facial hues and Fritz Grondark’s size, didn’t seem far off the mark.

  “Besides,” said Jack, “if we don’t succeed, at least you and Witch Hazel can continue the fight. I left a notebook filled with my deductions back at the trailer camp. If you take it to a major science fiction convention, I’m sure you can recruit a new champion. Several of them, probably, if Hazel performs a bit of real magic as a convincer. Just don’t show the papers to any editor there. They’re much too practical to believe in faeries and trolls and ancient gods returned to life.”

  “Enough chattering,” said Cassandra impatiently. “It’s time we got started. Nighttime isn’t that far off. I’ll bet von Bern is practicing lighting bonfires with his Zippo while we speak.”

  “The tunnel entrance is located in that small glade of trees by the bandshell,” said Jack, pointing across Lake Shore Drive. “According to the book describing the system that I found at the library, there’s a metal grating covering the passage leading down. We’ll have to move it before we can descend to the underground railway.”

  Grunting, Fritz Grondark effortlessly hauled two backpacks filled with supplies onto his massive shoulders. He patted the handle of his monkey wrench with one huge hand. “I’m ready. No more talking. Let’s do some serious troll-busting.”

  “Agreed,” said Cassandra. She twirled her wooden staff about in a semicircle. “I’m itching for a nice squabble.”

  Jack shook his head. He was the only sane one of the bunch. Though, considering he was about to challenge a hundred or more supernatural villains with a hodgepodge of scientific knick-knacks, he didn’t feel particularly stable himself.

  Around his waist he wore the battery power pack stolen from the photo lab. It was connected by wires to the black rectangular tube from the chemistry department. Along with the items he had purchased that morning from a local electronics shop and now packed in the bags on Fritz’s back, it was all he had to stop the human sacrifice scheduled to take place in a few hours. Hard, cold logic told him that he had made the right choices. Quite illogically, he prayed that he was correct.

  For the dozenth time, he wished he had been able to contact Megan in the dream world. But, as had been the case two nights ago, he had been unable to locate her in his sleep. Only Hazel’s reassurances had kept him from assuming the worst. The dead obviously didn’t dream. The witch swore that the presence of the Great Beast so near made psychic communication impossible, and that Megan was still safe. Jack could only hope Hazel was right. He would find out the truth soon enough.

  The light on Lake Shore Drive turned red, halting traffic. “Come on,” declared Jack, pushing away all thoughts of despair. “We’re off to save the world.”

  “About time,” grumbled Grondark. “Damn humans and faeries talk too much. Dwarfs know better.”

  “Don’t worry, Simon,” Jack said to his changeling friend. “We’ll be back.”

  Waving goodbye to the despondent faerie, they ran across the street. The CD boom box Jack insisted they bring with them clattered noisi
ly against Cassandra’s walking stick. None of his companions had questioned his odd selection of weapons, though Cassandra had balked a little at his choice in music.

  They found the entrance to the tunnel network without much trouble. It resembled a giant raised manhole cover some eight feet across. A massive rusted metal grate covered the opening.

  Reaching into a backpack, Jack pulled out three miniature flashlights. After giving one to each of his companions, he shone his into the darkness. After a second, he spotted a ladder leading downward. It started two feet below the grate.

  “Out of the way,” commanded Fritz Grondark, removing the pack from his shoulders. He pulled the monkey wrench from his belt. “This is dwarf work.”

  Six bolts fastened the cover to the cement. Six times Fritz raised his wrench and slammed it into the concrete. By the time he finished, it looked like someone had used sticks of dynamite on the opening.

  Tucking the tool back into his belt, Grondark bent over and grasped the grate with both hands. His fingers tightened on the rusted metal. Muscles like steel bands rippled in his gigantic shoulders. Groaning, the dwarf slowly straightened up, pulling the immense cap with him. Balancing it like a giant steel waffle, he turned and walked to an open section of the glade. Carefully, he laid the grate to rest on the grass.

  “I don’t like damaging city property,” he explained, brushing flakes of rust off his palms. “I’ll put it back where it belongs when we return.”

  “We’ll probably use another exit,” said Jack, still not sure he believed his eyes. “The Park District can take care of the grate. Assuming they have a crane handy.”

  Cassandra leaned over the edge of the pit and shone her flashlight into the depths. “The ladder descends about thirty feet to the floor. There’s a big block of wood there. And a tunnel leading towards the city.”