The Sorcerer's House

by Gene Wolfe

  "This was at night?"

  I nodded.

  "Was the house well lit?"

  "No. There were a few lights. Not many."

  "Had you ever seen the man who got out of your trunk before? Don't answer straight off. Think."

  "Absolutely not."

  "Nowhere? Never? Describe his face."

  "It was horrible, almost like a skull. Sunken cheeks. Big teeth showing through thin lips. White, as white as bone."

  "Could it have been a mask? It sounds like one."

  I considered. "Yes, it could have been. I don't believe it was."

  "Uh-huh. Nicholas the Butler is a local legend. It sounds to me like somebody got dressed up as him and hid in your trunk after the locksmith opened it, then made noise so you'd let him out. Let's forget about that and worry about finding George. You think he's still in your house?"

  "Yes. I do."

  "Then we'll find him."

  We searched, Millie, but we did not find George. Nor did we find Nicholas the Butler. We found a great many rooms, with and without furniture. There was a studio, a conservatory, a study, a workshop, a sunroom, two dressing rooms, a rather startling laboratory, and many more, most of which we could not identify.

  But no George.

  In the attic, I showed Kate (a Kate who was already stunned) Goldwurm's Spire. She said there was no such tower, and seemed to think the window glass a television or something of the sort. Together we opened the window. (It had been painted shut and took a good deal of effort.) The spire remained.

  "I never saw anything like this," she said, "and I never expected to."

  "There is a young man named Ieuan who used to go around breaking windows in this house," I told her. "He knew the windows would be boarded up, you see, and he didn't want anyone to see what these windows sometimes reveal."

  "I think he was right," Kate told me. "If this gets out, somebody will burn down the house."

  "You know, I hadn't thought of that."

  "I won't tell anybody. Not even if you ask me to."

  "It's bad luck to see the sea serpent," I said.

  "I don't get that. In the river?"

  "No, just a nineteenth-century saying. A captain who noted the sea serpent in his log had a hard time getting another command."

  "Yeah." She nodded. "The old guys tell me every cop sees things he'd better not report. Same deal. Who's Goldwurm?"

  "A warlock. It seems to mean a criminal sorcerer, one whose word cannot be trusted."

  "I don't think I'd trust any of them."

  "Nor would I. Emlyn--he's Ieuan's brother--told me that Goldwurm murdered his old master, a sorcerer called Ambrosius. I seem to have his ring." I showed it to her.

  "That's a nice stone."

  "Thank you. It frightened my mother at first. She had known Ambrosius, and I think she must have liked him. He was a business rival of my father's when she and my father lived in this house. A friendly rival apparently."

  We shut the window and went back downstairs. I showed Kate my car, and we had a look inside the trunk that had held Nicholas the Butler. After that, she called police headquarters.

  "They've got him!" She gave me a broad grin. "Picked him up on the street. How about if I use some of your two hundred to buy you dinner?"

  So you see, Millie, Winker was right to take me to the lion-headed man, and the lion-headed man himself was right when he counseled me to combine forces with Kate. George has been found and is safe in jail.

  Which means that I myself am safe. Or at least safer. For the time being.

  Forever your loving friend,

  Bax

  Number 39

  BE COOL

  Hey, Prof!

  I think you are worrying way too much about this duel thing. It is not coming off. That is my guess. To start with, I do not believe your brother is going to challenge you. In the second place, you can call the cops if he does. I would not do that with my record, but you could get away with it.

  And in the third place, you can tell him to go to hell.

  None of that makes you feel any better if I know you, and if I do not who does? Answer that one.

  So okay. He challenges you, and you figure you had better fight because he's going to off you if you do not. You are doing the right thing by practicing. Here is three things you have got to take seriously in a nice list.

  1. Your gun has got to say bang every time you pull the trigger. You know about that already, but I said it again anyway and what if his does not? Suppose there was a little dirt in the hole? You would not have to kill him, just shoot him in the leg or something. Why not?

  2. Just about every gunfight is ten yards or under. So that is what you need to practice. Can you shoot fast and hit one of those targets with some guy's picture on it? That is what you need to do. Hold your gun tight, lay that front sight on him, and squeeze the trigger fast. If your trigger pull is pulling your sight off him, you are doing it wrong. Straight back, Bax, and a fast squeeze not a jerk. There is already a jerk on the other end. Two is too many.

  3. Bad light. You go out to the range, and usually it is bright sunlight. Nobody can do it with no light at all. If it is pitch dark you got to have a flash, but he will shoot at it, so do not hold it in front of you. Mostly you can see but not very good. Practice like that. If the front sight does not show up, use the end of the barrel.

  So fine. Now here is more. Cheat.

  Hell, I cheat at Ping-Pong every chance I get. This is your life. He gets his gun and you get yours? He's going to shoot you, so shoot back first.

  Only I do not think any of it will really come off. Take it easy. Be cool.

  Sheldon Hawes

  Number 40

  DEAR JOHN

  Dear Bax,

  This is very hard to write. I like you and I hope we will always be friends.

  There was a time when I thought you might be my new partner for life, and yes, I wanted the money. Who would not?

  Yes, I was hoping you would propose. It must have showed.

  You were not particularly good in bed, but you were getting better but all this is just too crazy. You are crazy, your house is crazy, and when I am with you I am crazy too. I have the feeling that I am going to end up like poor Kiki, a crazy old woman living in a shack in the woods.

  Besides, you were in prison.

  So this is good-bye. I have quit my job at Country Hill. My brother lives in Minneapolis, and I am moving there. He will help me get settled.

  Good-bye,

  Doris

  PS: Please keep Ted's ring until I send you my new address. Then you can mail it to me.

  Number 41

  THE RIVERMAN

  Dear George:

  I have remarkable news. You may not consider it good news, although it is in fact wonderful news; but you are bound to agree that it is remarkable.

  It began with a telephone call from our mother. Come to think of it, I do not believe I have told you that Martha Murrey is our (biological) mother, but she is. The name "Mother," with the capital M, is one I will always reserve for Mama, our adoptive mother. I have always loved her and when I was released I would have starved if she had not accorded me an allowance.

  Before going further, perhaps I should explain that Martha's last name was originally Murray. When she returned from faerie she wished to resume her maiden name, but changed one letter in order that her original family would not inquire about her background; she was, both in appearance and physiologically, much younger than her twin.

  She telephoned me, as I said, and asked whether I had read the Sentinel that morning. I had not, and I said so. She then read an article to me. I do not have a copy, and I certainly do not remember the article word for word. I believe the headline was HELL-HOUND STRIKES AGAIN. The gist of it was that four high-school boys had been attacked by what they described as a huge wolf. They had fought it off and escaped in a van, but not before two had been badly bitten.

  "That," Martha said, "was Eml
yn's girlfriend. Emlyn is my son and your brother. We've got to do something."

  "I agree," I said, "but what can we do?"

  "Find him, find her, or find them both. If we find him, we'll take him to the hospital to see those kids. If we find her, kill her."

  "And if we find them both? What if they're together?"

  Martha sighed. "We'll have to play it by ear. Are you good at that?"

  "Not particularly."

  "I would've said you were. Now listen. This one's on page three."

  The headline was AN OLD PROBLEM RESURFACES. Two poor families who shared a single house two miles down the river had complained that a tall man dressed in black was sucking their children's blood. I believe I can quote one of the closing paragraphs exactly.

  After interviewing adults (as well as two victims) of both families and studying the police report, your reporter inquired as to thefts of clotheslines and wash. There have been two such reports. All this is strongly reminiscent of stories concerning our local boogeyman, Nicholas the Butler, of forty years ago.

  "What do you think, Bax? Is this the man George chased?"

  "Yes." I sighed. "Absolutely. I just wish George had caught him. George is back in jail. Did you know?"

  "I had no idea."

  "He is, though I doubt that they'll keep him long. Have I told you I don't believe that our biological father meant for the two of us to duel? I know you think that."

  "You're right, I do. You don't know him, Bax."

  "Know Zwart? You're right, I don't. I'd like to."

  "He has this thing about twins. I didn't leave him until Emlyn and Ieuan were old enough to run and argue, and he always wanted me to let them settle things between themselves."

  I said (mildly, I hope), "He goes away and leaves them alone in my house--absents himself for protracted periods, I mean. Emlyn told me."

  "That sounds like him. Why do you say he didn't want you and George to fight?"

  "Because he put silver bullets in the bullet box. They couldn't have been easy to make; I think he must have gotten a jeweler to turn them on a lathe. You must shoot werewolves with silver bullets. Isn't that correct?"

  "There are other ways to kill them, but silver bullets are one of the most practical."

  "Lead bullets would be ineffective?"

  "That's what I've been told."

  "George isn't a werewolf, and neither am I. Possibly I ought to say here that I've fired each of those pistols several times for practice, but I didn't waste the silver bullets. Jim Hardaway gave me lead ones."

  "I know him. Watch out."

  "I will. I tried my best to search this house when I was looking for George."

  "I believe you."

  "Despite all my effort, I never even glimpsed him. I never saw Emlyn or Ieuan, either. I think they're probably here, but I never saw either of them."

  "I think that's very likely."

  "You told me once that you'd never been inside. That had to be a lie."

  "It was. I--May I explain?"

  "You don't have to, and I should have said falsehood or something of that sort."

  "I didn't want you to know who I was. That I was your mother. You've been much kinder, much more forgiving, than I expected. Anyway, I lied. About that, and about other things. But I always tried to help you. I gave you the house, and hoped--hoped . . ."

  "That I would learn about faerie and come to suspect the truth?"

  "Yes."

  "You lived in this house."

  "Yes, when I was Zwart's wife. It was--it is--his castle. His tower. Whatever he wants it to be. It grows when people live in it, and shrinks when they don't."

  "Very convenient."

  "Very confusing, really, and we always needed more furniture. What are you getting at, Bax?"

  "Could you have found George? Would you have been a better searcher than I was?"

  "Probably not. What are you getting at?"

  "Do you want to come here and search for Emlyn?"

  Martha sighed so heavily that I could hear her even over the telephone. "Yes. That's why I called. It--it's probably hopeless, Bax, and I won't ask you to help. But yes, I do. It's why I called."

  "I have a better idea, and I'd like you to help me with it. If it fails--and it may--I'll help you search the house for Emlyn. Doris Griffin and I went out to the Skotos Strip once. Do you know Doris?"

  "Vaguely. She works for Jim Hardaway."

  "She quit, but she was working for him at the time. We went there, and I found Lupine there. Lupine is the werewolf, the one--"

  "I know."

  "I want to go back there. Frankly, I doubt that we can achieve anything by talking to Emlyn. I've done that, and I failed. Talking to Lupine might work."

  "Threatening her if necessary. Threats backed by silver bullets."

  "Correct."

  To my utter astonishment, Martha laughed. "You may be right, and it's certainly worth trying. I'm no witch, but you're a sorcerer--"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Yes, you are. You just don't know it. A sorcerer who doesn't know much magic, but a sorcerer just the same. Your father is a sorcerer, Bax, and talents are like twins. They run in families. Shall we take my car?"

  I said I thought we'd have a better chance if we took mine.

  After that, I put on the clothes I had bought before I went there with Doris. The pistols presented a problem--they were too big for any of my pockets. I loaded them and put them back in their case for the time being, called in the old man, and told him where I was going and why. "I'll leave my cell phone on this time," I promised, "so you can call me if anything comes up. Try to stay close to our own telephone, so I can call you if I need to."

  "I shall, sir. May I send Toby with you?"

  I hesitated.

  "You go to hunt a wolf, sir. A good dog can be most helpful in hunting wolves."

  "All right. Thank you."

  "Will you take your sword, sir?"

  "I hadn't intended to."

  "I advise it, sir. I am, um, unfamiliar with swords. Even so, I know that when gentlemen used such pistols as you have, pistols that could be fired but once, they wore swords as well. It was thought prudent."

  "You're right, of course. I'll do it."

  "I wish you the best of luck, sir. I hope to see you return triumphant."

  I put the cased pistols under the seat, and put the Fox Sword in the compartment intended for golf clubs. By the time I had closed and latched it, Toby arrived to perch on the seat next to mine, a dog notably small and scruffy.

  The engine sprang to life at the first touch of the starter button, which seemed a good omen; we were about to pull out of the drive when he was joined by Winkle. "Do you know where we're going?" I asked her.

  "Thee Martha."

  "To pick her up. After that, we'll be looking for Lupine. Lupine chased you once."

  "Yeth."

  "You don't have to come."

  "Neither do you, Bakth."

  We found Lupine near the river, as I had anticipated--or rather, Toby did. ("We" meaning my middle-aged mother, a sharp-eyed little footman, a very pretty Japanese girl in a silk kimono and high, wooden getas, and your long-suffering twin with a remarkably heavy sword in his belt and a pistol in each hand.) She laughed at us.

  "Those guns," Martha told her, "are loaded with silver bullets. If he were to shoot me with them, I might live. For you they will be certain death."

  "They will not be," Lupine told her, "because he will not shoot me. Look upon me, Bax. Am I not young? And beautiful?"

  I nodded.

  "You could not shoot such a one. You have dreamed of one like me far too often."

  "Try me," I said.

  "As you wish." She rose from the log upon which she had been lying, and let the shaggy hide she wore slip until one breast was bare. "Here I am!" She spread her arms. "Shoot! Prove your manhood."

  I did not.

  "You see? Let us have no more threats."

  "This i
s not a threat," I told her. "It is a remark. I spent three years in the penitentiary. I don't think you know what you're dealing with."

  Martha said, "My son is telling the truth. As for me, I spent about forty years here as a sorcerer's wife. You are underestimating me as well."

  "There's the facefox, too." Lupine grinned. "And a cute little doggy. I could not underestimate the four of you. No estimate could be low enough."

  I made a mistake then, George, and a bad one. I gave my pistols to Martha and my sword to Winker before I rushed Lupine, and she was ready. Ready, and much stronger than I had supposed. She broke my grip and knocked me down, then sprang at Winker.

  No doubt her intention was to close with Winker before she had time to draw the Fox Sword, but Winker only dropped it and met her with her bare hands. A moment later, Lupine was flying over Winker's hip to land heavily and head down in the underbrush.

  I landed there, too--intentionally, and on top of Lupine. I got her by the hair and pulled her head back. With my right knee between her shoulders, she could not rise.

  "The skin!" Martha shrieked. "Get the skin, Bax! Pull it off!"

  I was much too busy holding Lupine down to do that, but Toby and Winker got it. They got it; and when they did, Lupine howled. It froze my blood; but I jerked her head again back, then shoved it forward as hard as I could to make her stop.

  Martha shouted, "We have to burn this!"

  She shouted it, I believe; but I scarcely heard her. I was drawing my big camp knife.

  "Wolf lady," Winkle whispered. "Will it work?"

  "I don't know," I told her. "Let's see." I tried its edge on Lupine's hair, and Lupine screamed.

  "It cuts lovely!"

  The edge was still quite sharp, and it did cut with a little muscle behind it, sawing through black hairs that seemed as hard as wires. Leather and fur reek when burned almost as much as feathers. A whiff of their smoke reached me and I began to cough.