by Rick Cook
Wiz went back up the stairs. A moment later she heard the front door open and close.
Well, she thought to herself, that's that. It was possible Wiz would beat the dragon, of course. But in Malkin's world winning a fight with a dragon was a near-impossibility. Besides, the wizard hadn't sounded nearly as confident as he had when he'd been tackling human foes.
She sighed and drained the last of the wine. She still wasn't sleepy so she poured the rest of it into her cup and headed back upstairs with it. She still had packing to do.
Wiz had left the workroom door ajar and his workstation on. The colored light from the screen saver pattern streamed onto the floor in rainbow patterns of cold fire. Malkin paused at the door, intrigued. A combination of thief's caution and a certain sense of honor had kept her away from Wiz's work table so far, but now Wiz was gone and she was going as well. She no longer felt bound and the thing had always intrigued her.
A glance out the window showed the sky just turning pink, so she had a while. She spoke the word that turned off the guardian demon. Then she slipped into the chair, set the wine cup on the desk and started to experiment.
Unlike most of the non-magicians in her world, Malkin could read. Literacy is a handy skill for a thief who wants to know what she is stealing. Thus the keyboard on Wiz's workstation wasn't completely alien to her. Further, burglary is as much a matter of attitude as technical skills. Malkin knew nothing about computers and security, but she had seen Wiz type his log-on sequence repeatedly and she had memorized it.
Unfortunately her memory wasn't that good. The keys were small and fairly close together. What's more, Wiz's program didn't echo the password on the screen and to top it off, Malkin's typing technique was primitive. Twice she blew the password and she was hesitating with her index finger hovering over the keyboard when Widder Hackett took a hand.
"Not that one dummy!" the Widow Hackett screamed in her ear. Malkin didn't hear of course, but Bobo jumped up on the desk and walked across the keyboard, placing his paws very deliberately.
Malkin sneezed as the cat's tail brushed under her nose and when she opened her eyes she was in.
The fiery letters above the desk formed a list of items, each with a number after them. At the top of the list, blinking in and out of existence, was a tiny black demon with a spindly tail and long nose wearing red shorts with two big white buttons in front. When she moved the steel mouse on the table the demon moved. Obviously it was what Wiz called a "mouse," although it looked like no mouse she had ever encountered.
She moved the mouse and the on-screen mouse skittered over the first item on the list. As she had seen Wiz do so often, she pressed the steel mouse twice. The screen changed and she saw a series of messages. Another push on the mouse and the mouse demon on the screen flipped the first message down to reveal the next one. Malkin started going through them and puzzled out the messages as they came up.
What she got was extremely confusing. The first group of messages seemed to be jokes, except they were about pieces of knotted string—frayed knotted string—and mouse testicles. Malkin couldn't understand why that was supposed to be funny and most of the stories didn't make any sense anyway. There was another series which consisted mostly of a four-way argument with the participants hurling vituperative abuse at each other. The subject was obscure and she didn't recognize all the words but she guessed that a complete translation would have made a fishwife blush.
The next batch of messages consisted of a host of extremely creative ways to kill off a being who was apparently some kind of demon—at least it was described as large and purple and the only things Malkin could think of that matched that description were demons. Judging from the hatred in the messages it must be an exceptionally evil demon. It also seemed to have a fondness for children. Perhaps it ate them, she couldn't be sure.
Several of the messages mentioned a being called "Kibo" who seemed to be an extremely powerful demon. At least these people seemed to believe that mentioning the name brought them luck.
There were even some messages that seemed to bear upon magic. But they were obscure and often couched in strange combinations of runes which made her eyes water just to look at them.
Finally, unknowingly, she clicked out of the stored messages and into the next item on the menu, which happened to be chat mode.
Jerry was working late. Which meant it was dawn and he was still at his desk. He was deep in a piece of code when a slate-blue demon wearing a dress and sporting a telephone headset in her 1940s hairdo popped up at his elbow. "Wun-ringy-dingy," the creature pronounced in a nasal voice, "teew-ringy-dingy."
"Gotta get a new chat demon," he muttered. Then he saw who was asking to chat and hit the call button for Danny and Moira.
Danny had been in the kitchen getting a snack before he went to bed. He showed up with a slab of gingerbread liberally smeared with butter in his hand, a mouth so full he could barely breathe and a generous trail of crumbs leading down the hall.
Moira was right on his heels. Her face was puffy, her red hair a tangled mess and a green silk robe had been wrapped hurriedly around her.
"He's on IRC," Jerry said over his shoulder. "But so far he hasn't said anything."
"Here," Danny said around the gingerbread, "let me take it."
"But . . ."
"Get the search demon started," Danny hissed. "Use my workstation." Somewhat reluctantly Jerry gave up his seat and Danny set down his snack and began to type.
A message formed itself in fire at the level of Malkin's eyes.
"How you doing?" it said.
Malkin had seen this happen with Wiz before but it was still a little surprising.
"All right," she picked out on the keyboard.
In chat mode a person's method of typing is almost as distinct as a telegrapher's "fist," especially when you're expecting a very fast typist and you get someone whose method is obviously more hunt than peck.
"You're not Wiz," Danny typed.
"Shut up," Jerry hissed. "Keep him on the line until we've got the location." Beside him the tracing demon was scribbling furiously as it unraveled link after link.
"Right about that," came the laborious reply. "I'm Malkin."
"Where's Wiz?"
"In over his head is where," Malkin typed. "He's out fighting a dragon."
Moira gasped, Danny paled and Jerry craned his neck to read the message from Danny's workstation.
"Is he all right?" Danny typed.
Moira snorted when she read the question. "I told you he's fighting a dragon," she picked out. "In these parts that ain't healthy. Who are you?"
"I'm Jerry," Danny lied, "Wiz's best friend. It sounds like he can use all the help he can get."
"You got that right," came the reply.
"Look, he's under a spell cast by a dragon to keep him from telling us where he is. Can you tell us where he is?"
Malkin hesitated, then her thief's caution won out.
"Look, I don't know why but for some reason Wiz didn't want you to know where he is. I don't think I should tell you either."
"Shit," Danny muttered as he read the message. Behind him Moira said something considerably stronger.
"But he's under a spell," he typed.
"So you say," was the answer. "Maybe you're telling the truth and maybe you're not. But it's not for me to give away his secrets."
Danny looked over his shoulder and tried to gauge the progress of the tracking demon. "All right," he typed. "I guess we have to respect that."
Back in Wiz's workroom Malkin had a sudden flash of insight. "You can find me through this, can't you?"
"How could we do that?" came the hasty response. "We just want to talk is all."
"No," Malkin typed, "I've talked too long as it is. Goodbye." With that she moved to sign off.
"NO YOU IDIOT!!!" shrieked Widder Hackett but no one could hear her.
It was Bobo who rose to the occasion—literally. Before Malkin could complete the logoff sequen
ce, he uncoiled from his spot on the windowsill, levitated across the room in a single bound and skidded to a four-point landing on the table next to the "computer." A quick lash of his powerful tail sent the cup of hot mulled wine splashing into Malkin's lap.
With a curse Malkin jumped to her feet. Bobo hopped off the table, clawed her solidly on the ankle and ran out yowling. Malkin grabbed the fireplace poker and chased the cat down the hall. She didn't realize she had forgotten to log off.
Back at the castle the programmers realized it immediately.
"Line's still live!" Danny shouted. "Quick, get the trace going."
"That will take hours!" Jerry didn't exactly shove Danny out of the chair but he squeezed in so quickly the smaller programmer almost landed butt-first on the floor.
His fingers blurred as he rattled through a sequence and the fiery letters flew from the demon's pen.
"What do you think you're doing?" Danny demanded as the message began to take shape.
Jerry stopped typing and backspaced over a mistake. "I've turned off the routine that splits spells into pieces on the screen so you don't activate them just by entering them."
"I can see that."
"As soon as this spell appears on Wiz's terminal it will activate. Just printing it out is the equivalent to reciting it." Another pause and more frantic backspacing. "It'll produce a big flare of magic to show us where Wiz is."
"It is also gonna produce a big flare of magic here," the younger programmer pointed out. "That's likely to raise all kinds of hell with the spells around here."
Jerry didn't take his eyes off the screen. "I know."
"Bal-Simba is not gonna like this."
Jerry hit the last key and completed the spell at the Wizard's Keep, and sent it on its way.
The magical lights in the workroom dimmed and then came back with an unhealthy greenish pallor. There were various poppings and cracklings, unearthly wails and one or two outright explosions from other parts of the Wizard's Keep, accompanied here and there by yells from wizards who had been working late or were at work early.
At the abandoned terminal in Wiz's office Jerry's typing poured out of the screen. There was no one there to read it, but since it was a spell and not a message that didn't matter. Unknown to the inhabitants of the house, magical forces gathered and twisted around them as an invisible tornado of magical energy rose toward the heavens. The emac reached the last line of the spell and sent the requested acknowledgment.
"It worked!" Jerry yelled triumphantly. He spun to face Moira. "Quick, tell the searchers to scan the World for a flare of magic. Big magic." Moira nodded and dashed from the room.
"And tell Bal-Simba too," Jerry called after her. He raised his voice to follow her down the hall. "And apologize to him for the mess, will you?" Then he turned to Danny. "Get your staff. I think we're going to fight a dragon."
When a dragon says dawn, does he mean daybreak or sunrise? Wiz wondered.
It was past first light and already the sun was peeking over the eastern hills. There was still no sign of the dragon. Wiz didn't know if that was because the duel wasn't supposed to start until sunrise or if it was a psychological move on Ralfnir's part. If it was psychology, Wiz thought, it was sure effective.
The dawn air was heavy with dew and still as death. Not so much as a zephyr ruffled the tall green grass or the yellow meadow flowers. A few puffy clouds hung high in the summer sky and here and there a butterfly or bumblebee went about its business among the patches of buttercups and field mallow.
Wiz licked his lips, took a tighter grip on his staff and nearly died in an eyeblink.
With a pop of displaced air Jerry, Danny, Moira and Bal-Simba flashed into existence in Wiz's workroom. A quick glance showed them the room was empty but the sound of cursing downstairs told them there were people about. As one they dashed for the door.
Malkin was standing at the sink, sponging the wine out of her dress and describing in lurid detail all the things she was going to do to Bobo, when Bal-Simba and the others came pounding down the stairs with Jerry in the lead.
"You're Malkin, aren't you? Where's Wiz?" he got out in a single breath.
Malkin's mouth fell open.
"My Lady, please," Moira said as she pushed around Jerry. "Where is Wiz?"
"Where, Lady?" Bal-Simba demanded over Jerry's shoulder.
No one argued with Bal-Simba. Not only did he have the presence and voice of a mighty wizard, he was nearly seven feet tall with bulk to match his height. For the first time in her adult life Malkin found herself dwarfed and intimidated by another person.
"Tell them, girl!" shrieked Widder Hackett.
Over in the corner Anna gaped at what had invaded the kitchen.
"At the dueling field," Malkin stammered. "You take the west road . . ."
"No," Bal-Simba commanded. "No time for words, just think of the place. Think clearly."
"Got it!" Danny shouted. "Let's go." The four gestured as one and vanished.
There was a pop of inrushing air and the kitchen was empty again save for its normal inhabitants.
"Fortuna!" muttered Malkin. The stains on her dress forgotten, she reached for an empty wine cup, eyed it, tossed it back on the drainboard and took a beer tankard down from its peg. She filled it to the brim from the wine keg and downed nearly half of it without taking the tankard from her lips.
"Excuse me, My Lady," Anna quavered when Malkin came up for air, "but who were they?"
"Friends of the master's."
"How did they get here?"
Malkin shrugged.
Bobo sauntered into the kitchen looking pleased with himself. But since Bobo always looked pleased with himself neither woman noticed.
Malkin took another long pull on the wine. "Best prepare the spare bedrooms, girl. We're going to have company this night." Either that or dragon fire ere sundown, she thought as she turned away. But no sense in saying that. Nothing they could do about it and the poor child was already frightened near out of what little wit she had.
Twenty-five: We Who Are About To . . .
The essential difference between a consultant and an owner is that it's not the consultant's butt on the line.
—The Consultants' Handbook
And if it is your butt on the line you've screwed up big time.
—Marginalia in a copy of
The Consultants' Handbook
Wiz sensed rather than heard the movement behind him and flung his staff out in an instinctive warding gesture. A wall of flame washed over him, charring the grass and scorching the earth beneath. The sky darkened for an instant and then the shock wave nearly knocked Wiz off his feet.
Shaking his head to clear it, Wiz realized Ralfnir had come in behind him right at ground level and very fast. His instinctive guard was the only thing that had saved him. Looking the way the shadow had gone he sought Ralfnir. At last he saw the dragon, so far away it was only a speck in the blue. The dragon hauled around in a tight turn, mighty wings beating the air. Then he seemed to drop down on Wiz like a stooping hawk. Again Wiz raised his staff and this time he didn't let the dragon close.
Bolt after bolt of lightning struck Ralfnir square on and splattered harmlessly off his armored chest. The dragon replied in kind and Wiz's anti-fire spell glowed dull red around the edges. Wiz turned his head away from the blast of heat radiating off the shield and countered with a rainmaking spell. The dragon steamed and sizzled in the sudden downpour, but shook off the water like a dog and kept coming.
Wiz raised his staff and gestured again. Four things like old-fashioned beehives made out of steel appeared at the cardinal points around Ralfnir. As soon as they winked in they exploded, releasing a horde of steel bees aimed straight for the dragon. Ralfnir shot a great gout of flame, slewing it back and forth to play over the oncoming metal insects. Most of them glowed red, then yellow, then fell from the sky like a rain of molten steel. The few that penetrated Ralfnir's defenses bounced harmlessly off the beast's armored hi
de.
Now he swooped close and reached out with gaping jaws. Wiz dropped flat on the ground and heard the dragon's jaws close above him like a rifle shot. The pressure from the wingbeats made Wiz's eardrums ring and then the dragon was gone again with a lashing of lightning bolts to speed him on his way.
Ralfnir winged over and dived behind the hill. For an instant Wiz thought he had gotten him, but the dragon popped up seconds later, spraying Wiz with fire from close range and jinking down again before the human could get a spell off.
backslash spindizzy exe! Wiz muttered. A blue haze enveloped him and he rose, a hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet straight into the air. The ground fell away from him and the hilltop where he had stood became a black smear on the rolling green meadow.
It was a calculated insult. Dragons hate other flying things near them, especially flying humans. Ralfnir swelled his neck and hissed like a runaway steam whistle. Then he dove for Wiz with all his strength.
* * *
Jaws agape and talons spread, Ralfnir dived for Wiz Zumwalt. With a mighty roar he struck the flying wizard square on with the full force of his two-hundred-foot-long armored body.
Wiz bounced. Bounced and skittered away from the dragon, light as a windblown leaf. Ralfnir clutched at him with his talons but Wiz popped out of his grasp like a watermelon seed.
The dragon roared in frustration and fury and unleashed a column of fire straight at his would-be prey. The incandescent blast curled around the blue haze and Wiz was simply borne away like a feather on a puff of breath. Again and again Ralfnir spewed mighty gouts of flame at his victim. Each time Wiz was borne lightly away by the force and unharmed by the flame.
Hot damn! It's working. When he had developed the spell it had seemed just too tricky, but it was not only protecting him, it was obviously puzzling the hell out of the dragon. The bubble-of-force component kept the searing heat of the dragon's fire away from him and the repulsion spell kept the dragon from grabbing him, but the real secret was the inertia-canceling spell. Without inertia the dragon couldn't hurt him no matter how hard he hit. Even the force of Ralfnir's fiery breath simply blew him gently away.