The Inadequate Adept

by Simon Hawke

  MacGregor smiled. "I want you for what you are, Shannon," he said, "not for what I think you might become. If I need to have my doublet mended, I shall seek out a tailor or a seamstress, and if I want someone to stay at home and prepare my favorite meals, why, I shall hire a cook. Tis what I have always done. I need no wife for that. But a friend and lover who can not only share my bed, but watch my back and stand shoulder to shoulder with me against adversity, the skill of her blade matched with mine, now there's a wife! As for children," he added with a shrug, " 'tis no great matter. If a child should come along, then think of what a bold and handsome son or daughter 'twould be. And if not, then I can lavish my fatherly affections on those three louts apprenticed to me, and on all those who will follow when I start my school. Those awful urchins running wild through the streets would make fine pupils. 'Twould give them an outlet and direction for all their youthful energies. And 'twould give me a sense of purpose to pass on what I have learned. So, once again, what say you, Shannon?"

  Her eyes began to mist up. "If you truly want me, Sean MacGregor, then I am yours, body and soul."

  He reached for her, but she quickly turned away.

  He frowned. "Shannon, what is it?"

  "Nothing," she mumbled through her tears.

  He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. "You're crying?" he said.

  "I am not!" she said, the tears running freely down her cheeks. "Damn you, Sean MacGregor, if you ever tell a soul you've seen me cry, I'll cut your tongue out!"

  He threw back his head and laughed. "Such sweet endearments from my wife-to-be!"

  She drew back her fist to strike him, but he caught her arm and pressed her to him, kissing her. She struggled for a moment, and then her arms went around his shoulders and she kissed him back with equal fervor. .

  Ahem... now, I realize that there are some narrators out there who would, at this point, spend pages and pages of colorful, descriptive, lurid prose detailing what went on from there, but your faithful narrator believes that true romance lies not in graphic description of intimate relationships, but in gentle hints and subtle character development and the imagination of the reader. If that makes me a prude, so be it. If you want throbbing, quivering loins and heaving bosoms and heavy breathing, then go read Jackie Collins. This is not that kind of story. What we're going to do at this point is employ a narrative technique we've already encountered several times before. It's called a space break, and it's normally used for either cutting to another scene or indicating that some time has passed. After all, if you were Mac or Shannon, you wouldn't want an audience, would you? Well, all right, maybe some of you would, but I don't want to know about it. Okay, you ready? Here we go....

  Later that afternoon (never mind how much later), Mac and Shannon sat downstairs in the tavern, enjoying a late and hearty brunch and making plans. Shannon wanted a big wedding and a feast, with all the brigands and all the residents of Brigand's Roost and the surrounding farms in attendance, and with Dirty Mary and her fancy girls acting as bridesmaids. Mac decided that he would break with tradition and have three best men, Hugh, Dugh, and Lugh, assuming they came to in time for the ceremony. It was all happening so fast, and they were so caught up in their enthusiasm, that it was a while before Mac finally remembered that he still had a job that he had left unfinished.

  "There is but one thing, my love," he said, "merely one small matter that I still have to attend to before we can proceed with our new life together. I hope that you will understand, but I do have a client for whom I have a job to do, and I have never left a task unfinished."

  "I understand, of course," Shannon replied. "How long do you think this task will take?"

  "Not long," said Mac. "The trail is getting very warm. I should have it all wrapped up in a matter of a few days, at the very most."

  "You are stalking someone, then," she said.

  "Aye, three men," he said. "Their trail has led me here, to Brigand's Roost."

  "Here?" said Shannon. "Who are these three men?"

  "I do not know their names," said Mac, "but I do know that one is tall, with a long face and dark hair; one is of medium height, a bit stout and balding, with a fringe of light-brown hair; and one is slim, with dark-red hair and a beard, and it seems he only rarely speaks. I also know that they play chess, for one of them has lost a game piece." He reached into his pouch. "This little wooden knight."

  Shannon's eyes narrowed as she saw the chesspiece. "Why does your client want these men assassinated?"

  "He doesn't," replied Mac. "He wishes them captured and brought to him, so that he might question them about some sort of mysterious, magical apparatus."

  "What kind of apparatus?" Shannon asked.

  "In truth, I do not know," said Mac. "I have never seen it. But it must be mysterious and powerful indeed if it baffles even Warrick the White."

  "Warrick Morgannan is your client?"

  "Aye. He keeps me on retainer, for certain special tasks. He has been a good patron, and 'twould be wrong of me to leave this last job for him unfinished."

  "I do not quite understand," said Shannon. "If this magical apparatus is so mysterious that even Warrick cannot comprehend it, then what makes him think these three men can explain it to him?"

  "Ah, well, chances are that they cannot," said Mac, "because my guess is that they stole it. They had sold it to a sorcerer named Blackrune 4, who lives not far from these parts, and who disappeared mysteriously after this apparatus came into his possession. His apprentice then brought the device to Warrick, and Warrick believes these three men who sold it to Blackrune 4 can tell him where it came from."

  "They sold it, eh?" said Shannon with an edge to her voice.

  "Aye," said Mac. "Ill-gotten gains, no doubt. And 'twill bring them more trouble than they bargained for." - "You can be sure of that," said Shannon tersely. "Come on!"

  She pushed her bench back so hard that it crashed to the floor.

  "Where are we going?" Mac asked.

  "To have a little talk with those three men you're seeking," she replied.

  "You know them?"

  "Aye, I know them. They are three of my own men! And 'tis not you nor Warrick Morgannan they'll need to fear, but me!"

  Mac hurried to catch up with her as she went outside and vaulted up into Big Nasty's hand-tooled, silver-trimmed, black leather saddle. He mounted his own horse and took off at a gallop after her as she thundered off down the road leading out of town, toward Brewster's keep.

  It was all that he could do to keep her in sight as he rode, for his own steed could barely keep pace with the big black stallion, much less catch him, and Shannon rode with a determined fury, using her quirt to urge the stallion on.

  They left the town behind and followed the trail as it wound through the forest, their horses' hooves digging up large divots from the ground.

  "Shannon! Wait!" MacGregor called, but there was no stopping her.

  Within a short while, they turned a bend in the trail and came out into a large clearing, and MacGregor saw the tower of the keep looming up ahead. He also noticed what appeared to be a busy campsite within the crumbling remnants of the outer walls. There were several fires burning, and large cauldrons boiling, and people working at a variety of tasks.

  Shannon went thundering across the clearing, heedless of anyone who stood in her way. People scattered at her approach as she galloped through the camp, and Mac saw her head turning quickly from side to side, as if she were searching for someone. And then the quarry was apparently spotted, because Mac saw her yank hard on the reins and turn the stallion, and one man, of medium height, a little stout and balding, carrying a couple of buckets on a yoke, froze in his tracks as he saw her riding down upon him. Then a look of utter terror crossed his face as he dropped the yoke and took to his heels, running like a man possessed.

  Fifer Bob ran panic-stricken around one of the fires, where a large spam-fat rendering cauldron was boiling, and headed for the keep. Shannon
's stallion leaped right over the cauldron and the pot, scattering the brigands who were tending it, and she pursued the running brigand, apparently intent on running him down. Fifer Bob barely made it to the doors. He flung them open and plunged through, but Shannon didn't even slow down as she rode in right after him.

  As Bob ran screaming through the great hall of the keep, Shannon leaned down from her saddle and snagged the back of his collar, forcing his legs to pump insanely as she ran him at an even greater speed straight toward one of the support pillars. Mac had reined in just outside and dismounted, and he came running in just in time to hear Bob's scream as Shannon ran him full tilt right into the stone pillar. The sound made as Bob connected was not unlike that of a hammer striking meat, and he collapsed senseless and bloody to the floor.

  Shannon reined in and wheeled her horse around, the stallion's hooves slipping on the stone floor, and as the crowd from outside came running in to see what was going on, she rode toward them, her eyes flashing.

  "Long Bill!" she shouted. "Silent Fred! Where the devil are you two? Step forward!"

  She spotted Silent Fred, who realized the threat too late and tried to lose himself back in the crowd.

  "Oh, no, you don't!" she said, dismounting and covering the distance between them in a few quick strides. As he turned to run, she grabbed him by his hair and yanked him back. "I'll have a word or two with you, my bucko, and I'll not sit still for any of your silence! Where is Long Bill?"

  There was the sound of running footsteps as Long Bill tried to make good his escape outside.

  "Bill, you cur! Get back here!" Shannon shouted as the crowd parted hastily.

  "Allow me, my love," said Mac, stepping up beside her, and if the brigands were surprised at the familiarity of his address, they were even more surprised when the handsome stranger reached up and drew one of his many knives from his crossed leather bandoliers, deftly flicked it around to hold it by the point, then stepped up to the doorway and threw it at the rapidly retreating back of Long Bill.

  The knife spun end over end through the air on its unerring path and struck Long Bill hilt-first, squarely in the back of his head. He took two more running steps and fell to the ground, stunned.

  "I assume you did not want him injured," Mac said, turning deferentially to Shannon.

  "Not yet, I don't," she said through clenched teeth, still holding on to Silent Fred by a fistful of his hair. "Bloody Bob, go fetch him."

  "Aye, Shannon," Bloody Bob said, and he trotted out to where Long Bill was lying, groaning, on the ground. He picked him up with one hand and slung him over his shoulder, as if he didn't weigh a thing, then carried him back inside the keep and deposited him none too gently on the floor at Shannon's feet.

  "Right," said Shannon. "Help him up and bring him."

  Two of the brigands supported Long Bill with his arms across their shoulders, following as Shannon dragged Silent Fred along to one of the wooden tables in the hall. She glanced down at the senseless form of Fifer Bob as she passed him and snapped, "Revive that worthless baggage!"

  Red Jack and Juicy Jill went to fetch a pail of water and when they brought it back, they poured it over Fifer Bob, whose crown was not quite broken, though it was bashed up pretty badly.

  "Sit them down," said Shannon, shoving Silent Fred toward one of the wooden benches. Long Bill was deposited on the bench beside him, and Fifer Bob, still stunned, was propped up against Long Bill. The other brigands gathered round.

  Shannon stood back, her hands on her hips, looking down at them with a steely gaze. Mac came up to stand beside her. The other brigands still did not know who he was, and they were almost as curious about him as they were about what their three friends had done to bring down Shannon's wrath.

  "Our articles state that we share all plundered booty equally," said Shannon. "We all agreed to that, did we not?"

  Silence.

  "Well?"

  There was a hasty chorus of agreement from the others. Fifer Bob groaned and held his head. Long Bill made a quiet, moaning sound, and Silent Fred turned pale.

  "Share and share alike, we said," Shannon went on. "What profits one shall profit all. A brotherhood of brigands, supporting one another, with no one holding out in greed, for 'twould be no greed among us. Was that not what was agreed?"

  This time, the chorus of agreement came more quickly.

  "And what punishment did we decide upon for anyone who broke with the articles we all agreed on?" she asked.

  No one spoke.

  "Well?" she snapped.

  Lonesome John softly cleared his throat. "Uh... begging your pardon, Shannon, but I do not believe that a specific penalty was ever mentioned."

  "Aye," said Pikestaff Pat. " 'A punishment most vile,' was what I think you said."

  "Aye, 'a punishment most vile,'" several of the others echoed, and Fifer Bob began to whimper.

  "Oh," said Shannon, remembering. " Tis right, I meant to keep my options open. Well, we shall have to decide upon a vile punishment, for these three good comrades of ours have broken with our articles and held back profits for themselves!"

  "What?"

  "No!"

  "They didn't!"

  "Aye, they did, indeed," said Shannon. "They conspired to engage in selling stolen goods and kept the profits all to themselves, cheating the rest of us of our fair share!"

  "Flog 'em!"

  "String 'em up!"

  "Boil 'em in oil!"

  "Off with their heads!"

  "Give 'em a right nasty scolding!"

  Shannon turned around, "Who said that?" she demanded, but the culprit who spoke last wisely refrained from identifying himself.

  " 'Twasn't what you think," said Silent Fred, moved to speech by the imminent danger of his situation. " 'Twasn't really plunder, 'twas something that we found!"

  "Aye," said Long Bill. "We found it in the road, whilst we were lurking in the hedgerows. It fell out of the sky! We didn't steal it, so we thought it didn't count. We merely found it!"

  "Finders keepers," mumbled Fifer Bob.

  "I'll bloody well give you finders keepers!" Shannon said, drawing back her fist.

  Fifer Bob hastily covered his head with his arms and whined, "Don't hit! Don't hit!"

  "What's going on?" said Brewster, coming down the stairs from his bedroom on the upper floor, where he had spent most of the day in deep depression.

  "Unless I miss my guess," said Shannon, "these three curs found your missing magic chariot, then sold it, and kept quiet about it all this time."

  "Oh," said Brewster. "Yes, I know. I've been meaning to talk to them about it."

  Shannon's eyes widened in astonishment. "You knew?"

  "Well, actually, I only just found out about it. Rachel told me, and then Rory's fairies filled in the rest of the details."

  "Rachel?" Shannon said with a puzzled frown. "And who is Rachel?"

  In answer, there came a rapid tattoo on a pair of bongo drums and everyone looked up to see Rachel Drum sitting on the railing up above them, watching the proceedings from the gallery on the second floor.

  "Hey," she said, and gave them all a jaunty wave.

  "An elf!" said Bloody Bob.

  "Give that man a prize," said Rachel.

  "What is that elf doing there?" asked Shannon.

  "Sitting," Rachel said. "Do go on. Don't stop on my account. It was beginning to get interesting."

  "Rachel heard that there was a reward for information about my missing magic chariot," Brewster explained, "and she came to bring me news of it. If seems some of the fairies saw Fred, Bill, and Bob loading it up into a cart and taking it to Blackrune 4. But they really shouldn't be blamed. They had no way of knowing what it was. They hadn't even met me yet, so how could they have known that it was mine?"

  "Aye, we didn't know!" said Long Bill, seeing a ray of hope for a reprieve.

  " 'Tis not the point," said Shannon. "Whether you found booty or you stole it makes no difference. You sold it and th
en you kept all the profits for yourselves, in violation of our articles!"

  "But there were no profits!" Silent Fred said. "We were cheated!"

  "Aye," said Long Bill. "The wizard was a trickster and paid us off in changeling money! We would have shared it with the rest of you, only it turned to acorns by the time that we returned, and we said nothing for fear of being mocked for being so taken in."

  Shannon looked dubious. "Perhaps you may be telling the truth," she said. "Yet even so, you knew that Doc was searching for his missing magic chariot, yet you said nothing of it. Why?"

  "Because we were afraid," said Long Bill. "We knew Doc was a mighty sorcerer and we feared his wrath if he discovered what we'd done, even though 'twas done in innocence. I swear it, Doc, we didn't know 'twas your magic chariot, honest!"

  "Aye," said Silent Fred. "We had no idea! We took it to Blackrune 4 because we thought that he might know!"

  "How do I know you're telling us the truth?" asked Shannon. "You'd all three lie to save your skins!"

  "It really makes no difference, Shannon," Brewster said. "The fairies say that Blackrune 4 has disappeared without a trace. He must have managed to activate the machine somehow, and now both he and it are gone. I'll never find it, and now I'll never get back home."

  "Perhaps not," said Mac. " Tis true that Blackrune 4 has disappeared without a trace, but this magic chariot of yours, whatever it may be, may not have vanished along with him. 'Tis possible that I might know where it would be."

  "Who are you?" said Brewster, noticing his unfamiliar presence for the first time.

  "The name is Sean MacGregor."

  "Mac the Knife!" said someone, and the name was repeated in hushed tones among the crowd.

  "Forgive me," said Shannon. "In my anger at these three louts, I had forgotten my manners. Mac, meet Brewster Doc, a mighty wizard from the Land of Ing. Brewster Doc, meet Sean MacGregor, the Bladesman, also known as Mac the Knife, the number-one-ranked assassin in the Footpads and Assassins Guild, and the man who is to be my husband."

  In the stunned silence brought on by this announcement, Brewster stepped forward to shake Mac's hand and say, "Congratulations. I hope you'll both be very happy. But.... excuse me, I'm not really certain if I heard correctly. Did Shannon say that you were an... assassin?"