The Inadequate Adept

by Simon Hawke

  "Aye," said Mac. "But I have decided to retire and start a school in Brigand's Roost."

  "Ah," said Brewster. "I see. Well, teaching is a noble profession. But what exactly did you mean when you said that you might know where my machine... my, uh, magic chariot might be?"

  "I was hired to find these three," said Mac, indicating Silent Fred, Long Bill, and Fifer Bob, "because they brought some sort of magical apparatus to Blackrune 4, whose apprentice then brought it to my client. My client wished to find these three, so that they might tell him where they got it, and who made it. I take it then 'twas you?"

  "Yes!" said Brewster excitedly. "Then it's still here? Your client has it?"

  "Aye, 'twould seem so," replied MacGregor. "Tell me, this magic chariot of yours, can it make people disappear?"

  "Well... yes, I suppose you could put it that way," Brewster said. "But if someone were to activate it, it would disappear along with them, to another place and tune."

  "Indeed?" MacGregor said. "And is there no way to work the spell so that 'twould make people disappear, but not disappear along with them itself?"

  Brewster frowned. "I... I'm not really sure. I shouldn't think so. At least, not if it was operated properly. I can't really see how it would work that way."

  "Supposing the means of operation employed were not the proper means," said Mac with a thoughtful expression, "but that some other spell was found to make it work, perhaps not the correct one that you intended, but one that would somehow make it function just the same. What then?"

  "A spell?" said Brewster, frowning. "A spell...."

  "My client is a mighty sorcerer as well," said Mac. "He is Warrick the White, the Grand Director of the Sorcerers and Adepts Guild, and there have been many rumors about that he has been making people disappear without a trace, though no one knows how or why. He is the most powerful sorcerer in all the twenty-seven kingdoms, but if this magic chariot of yours is the mysterious apparatus he has in his possession, then its magic baffles even him, and 'tis you he's seeking so that he might learn its secret."

  "A spell..." said Brewster. "Is it possible? Using magic to... yes, well, in this universe, perhaps it could be... if the energy field could be activated by... I don't know. Could it? Well, if it could, then ... there would be no way to predict how the field would.... Good Lord!"

  "I fear I do not understand," said Mac with a puzzled frown as the others all listened, fascinated.

  "This is terrible!" said Brewster. "If my machine is being used to transport people, and it somehow does so without being transported itself, then there's no way for those poor people to get back, and there's no way of telling where they've gone!"

  "Then 'tis possible that it could work that way?" asked Mac.

  "I don't know," said Brewster. "I suppose it could be possible, but it was never designed to be operated by... there's no telling what could.... Good God, if that's what's happening, we've got to get it back at once!"

  "Hold on, now," said MacGregor. "If Warrick has your magic chariot, then rest assured that he shall not simply give it up. Nor will he sell it. This apparatus is clearly a source of some great power, and Warrick will not rest until he has deciphered the mystery behind it. He has offered a prize bounty for these three, so that he might find out where it came from, and track down its creator. He took great pains to impress me with the importance of this task."

  "I see," said Brewster. "So then you've come for me, is that it?"

  " Twas these three brigands that I was hired to find," MacGregor said, "but undoubtedly 'tis you that Warrick seeks."

  Shannon quickly stepped between them. "Stop!" she said. "I see well where this is headed, and 'twill bode ill for everyone. Mac, none here would question your skill or reputation, but if you tried to pit your skills against a sorcerer like Doc, you would not last an instant. 'Twould be sheer folly."

  "Aye," said Bloody Bob, "and Doc here is a friend of ours, as are Silent Fred, Long Bill, and Fifer Bob, for all their devious ways. We would not stand by idle if anyone made an attempt to apprehend them."

  There was a strong chorus of "ayes," for which Brewster felt extremely grateful, for he'd been eyeing all of Sean MacGregor's blades uneasily and he had no illusions as to just how well his "powers" would stack up against MacGregor's. Silent Fred, Long Bill, and Fifer Bob also looked enormously relieved, for it seemed that the situation had now escalated and they were no longer the central objects of everyone's concern. It was just possible, they thought, that they might skate on this one.

  "Doc," continued Shannon, "for your part, no one here doubts the extent of your abilities, but if you were to strike out against Mac, you would be striking out against the man I love, and worse still, you would incur the wrath of Warrick Morgannan, who is not only the most powerful wizard in all the twenty-seven kingdoms, but the Grand Director of his Guild, as well. All the other wizards in the Guild would doubtless stand behind him, and no matter how powerful you are, one mage against a hundred would be stiff odds for anyone to contemplate. There has to be another way to handle this dilemma, and we shall all have to put our heads together to come up with a solution to this problem."

  "That sounds reasonable to me," said Brewster, thinking that going up against a hundred wizards would not only be stiff odds, it would be suicide.

  "Aye," said Mac. "While a part of me would feel poorly at leaving my last contract unfulfilled, a greater part of me would have no wish to end my life in one grand and foolish gesture. Especially now. that I have so much more to live for."

  The look that passed between him and Shannon was not lost on any of the brigands, whose curiosity about how all this could have happened so quickly and without their knowledge was offset only by their anxiety as to how this potentially dangerous situation would be resolved.

  "We shall have to hold a council," Shannon said, "and decide with care how best to proceed."

  "But at least the good news is that I haven't lost my magic chariot," said Brewster. "It's still here."

  "Aye, but 'tis in the hands of Warrick Morgannan," Shannon said, "and retrieving it from him will be no simple task."

  "There's got to be a way," said Brewster. "Maybe we can talk to him. I'm sure he's a reasonable man."

  "Warrick the White?" said Rachel, from upstairs. She gave a derisive snort. "I'd sooner reason with a rabid unicorn."

  CHAPTER TEN

  While Brewster and the others were busy contemplating their current awkward situation, Mick O'Fallon and Robie McMurphy were busy at the cottage, finalizing their business arrangements with Harlan the Peddlar. From the blades already finished during their first production run, they had assembled a dozen more finished knives with grips of polished nickallirium, which meant that some of them would have to wait for the next production run to get their own personal knives, but business was business, after all. This was their first chance to make a profit from all the work they'd done and Harlan the Peddlar would get first crack at their inventory.

  They agreed upon a selling price for the knives, which would be expensive, but still not so costly that they'd be priced out of the market. Harlan wrapped them carefully and said he'd make arrangements to get special wooden cases made up for them when he returned to Pittsburgh, so that it would make a better presentation. He also picked up a supply of magic soap, in bars, which he said he'd sell in little leather bags he'd have made up, in various colors, under the name of Doc's Magic Dirt Remover, since he felt that the name "soap" sounded confusing and lacked a certain flair. They all agreed upon the terms for that, as well.

  Next, Harlan spent some time sampling Jane's herbal teas, all except for the hallucinogenic ones, which Mick and Robie advised him to take on consignment, but refrain from sampling until he was safely home.

  "Trust me," Mick told Harlan, "you'll not want to be on the road alone when this devilish stuff kicks in. There's no telling what you're liable to be seeing."

  "Will it be bad?" asked Harlan with a frown.

  "Di
fficult to tell for certain," Mick replied. "A great deal depends upon how much you drink, and upon your state of mind. Most of us have seen pleasant and euphoric visions, but a few have seen flocks of miniature dragons with great big bloody fangs and such. Swarms of little fairies with the heads of spiders, carnivorous strawberries-"

  "Carnivorous strawberries?" Harlan said.

  "Aye, well that was Saucy Cheryl," Robie said. "She's always been a mite peculiar."

  "Well, I shall take these on consignment then, and sell them as a mystical, visionary potion to be imbibed at one's own risk," said Harlan. " Twould be best if we could come up with a name for all these teas, though."

  "But each brew has its own name," Robie said.

  "Aye, but I meant for all the brews together," Harlan said. "So that the buyers will know to ask for different brews, but under the same trade name."

  "How about Calamity Jane's Visionary Teas?" asked Mick.

  "Nay, it lacks a certain something," replied the peddlar. He thought about it for a moment. "Ah! I have it! Celestial Steepings!"

  "Celestial Steepings Visionary Teas," Robie said.

  "I like it," Harlan said. "We are agreed, then. I'll take two dozen boxes of each."

  "Excellent," said Mick. "Well, that gives us a good sampling of commodities to deal in, and they are all unique commodities, that no one else will have to offer, which is just what you were searching for."

  "Aye," said Harlan. "My friends, I think that this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

  "A highly profitable one, let's hope," McMurphy said.

  "I have little doubt of that," said Harlan. "In fact, I am so enthused about these products that I am anxious to load up and hit the road, so that I might start developing our market with all speed."

  They helped him load up the products in his cart, and Harlan gracefully declined to have one for the road, so they toasted the success of their new venture with herbal tea, instead.

  "I shall return for more as soon as I have sold this lot," said Harlan. "And I do not think 'twill take long, so best not be idle while I'm gone. I have no doubt but that I shall return with many orders."

  "Good," said Mick. "Then we shall begin our production at full pace. Good luck to you, Harlan."

  "To all of us," said Harlan, "though with commodities as rare as these, I do not think that we shall need it. You mark my words, my friends, for we shall all be rich before too long!"

  And with that, he whipped up his horse and set off back down the road to Brigand's Roost, and from there, toward Pittsburgh. On the way, he whistled happily, and sang songs to himself, for he was certain that his fortunes were about to undergo a quite dramatic turn. Just how dramatic, he had no way of knowing, but that's getting way ahead of the story.

  He passed through Brigand's Roost without bothering to stop, and in fact, he whipped up his horse and galloped through, for he was pursued all the way through town by the Awful Urchin Gang, who jeered and pelted him with dirt clods. Among them, he saw three youngsters who appeared to be quite large for their age, and whose aim with their dirt clods was uncomfortably accurate.

  "Rotten little troglodytes!" he shouted. "Egg-sucking little weasels! Miserable spams!"

  He managed to elude the Awful Urchin Gang and made it safely out of town, but he did not slow down until he was quite certain there was no chance of pursuit. And now all he had to worry about were highwaymen and brigands, but with Morey's Elixir of Stench at his side, he felt reasonably safe.

  "If Morey could find a way to bottle up the stench of those rotten little children, then he'd really have something," Harlan mumbled to himself.

  He traveled easily, not wishing to tire out his horse, and at the end of the first day, he made camp in a little clearing not far off the trail, where he built a fire and made sure to burn plenty of the garlic herb, to keep the coffee-drinking, beatnik, vampire elves at bay.

  "A man can't be too careful," he mumbled to himself. "After all, I've got a lot to lose now. Can't take any risks with my new inventory."

  The next day, he set off bright and early and made good time, and encountered no one on the road. But by the sixth day of his journey, he began to encounter people on the road, all traveling in the opposite direction, and all riding in carts loaded up with all of their possessions, or pulling wagons or carrying overburdened knapsacks on their backs. Their numbers kept increasing, men, women, and children, and finally his curiosity got the better of him and he stopped to ask a few of them where they were going.

  "Anywhere away from Pittsburgh," one of them replied.

  "And you'd be wise to turn around yourself and head the other way," another said.

  "Why?" Harlan asked. "What's wrong with Pittsburgh?"

  "Perhaps you haven't heard," another traveler said, "but things have changed in Pittsburgh. People have been disappearing, vanishing without a trace."

  "Aye," said another, "there have been many new, repressive edicts passed by Bloody King Billy, and implemented by his brother, Sheriff Waylon. The taxes have been raised and raised again, and now a man could be arrested merely for spitting in the road, or scratching himself in public, or breaking wind, or just about any little normal thing a body wouldn't think twice about."

  "Nor is that the worst of it," another traveler said.

  "Once taken to the royal dungeons, one is never seen again."

  "The prisoners in the royal dungeons are all brought to Warrick's tower," said another, "and rumor has it they're all turned into dwarves so they may work the mines."

  "Nay, that's an old rumor," said another. "He crushes them up in a big press to make an immortality elixir."

  "I heard that one last week," another traveler said. "My rumor monger swears he has the latest rumors, and he told me Warrick puts a spell on them and turns them into gruel to feed the soldiers of the king."

  "Ahh, your rumor monger's full of it," another traveler said. "My rumor monger has it directly from the royal jailor's second cousin's nephew's friend that what Warrick really does is-"

  "My friends! My friends!" said Harlan, raising his voice so that he could be heard above them. "There is no need to argue. I would be eager to hear all your tales. Why not take a respite from your journey so that we might break bread around a campfire and discuss these fascinating matters?"

  "Aye, sounds like a good idea to me," one of the travelers said. "I've been walking for a good long while and I could use a break."

  "And I see that you are all tired and dusty from your journey," Harlan said. "In fact, I might have just the thing to remedy that situation. I have recently come into possession of a most wondrous, magical new product that not only removes all dirt and filth, but leaves one feeling invigorated and refreshed,, and smelling like a mountain meadow on a fresh spring day."

  "Indeed?" asked one of the women in the carts. "I have never heard of such a thing. What is it?"

  " 'Tis called Doc's Magic Dirt Remover," Harlan said, "and I have just been taking it to market, but seeing as how you tell me things are not well in Pittsburgh, I am having second thoughts. In fact, I had planned to have this special, magical, new product taken to a leathercrafter, so that I might have special packaging made up, colorful and handy little drawstring pouches to keep the product in, yet since I have not yet had a chance to do so, 'twould be only fair if I were to reduce the price I'd planned on selling the Magic Dirt Remover for, since I do not yet have pouches for it."

  "A pouch is a pouch," the woman said, "but I have never heard of a product that magically leaves one fresh and clean. How does it work?"

  "Ah, that's the magic to it!" Harlan said. " 'Tis hard for a man to describe its miraculous and wondrous properties. 'Tis something that must truly be experienced in order to appreciate its worth."

  "And to experience this product's worth, one would have to buy it first, I suppose," said the woman wryly. "Nay, peddlar, I have heard this sort of pitch before."

  "No pitch, my good woman, but merely the s
imple truth," said Harlan with an elaborate shrug. "I tell you, with a product as excellent as this one, a peddlar needs no pitch. It truly sells itself. In fact, since I am feeling well disposed today, and am enjoying the pleasure of your conversation after a long and lonely journey on the road, I will make you and you alone this one-time offer... I shall give you, my good woman, your very own free sample of Doc's Magic Dirt Remover, and you may be the very first among your friends to try it out with no risk to yourself. I ask you, what could.be more fair than that?"

  The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Free?" she said. "With no cost to me at all?"

  "Nay, I shall charge you but one smile," Harlan said. "Here 'tis, my lady, your very own sample of Doc's Magic Dirt Remover, all for a pleasant look from you."

  "Aye, and then I shall need to purchase the instructions for its use," the woman said warily.

  "Now would I do such a thing?" asked Harlan, looking gravely wounded. "After all the trouble you have gone to, telling me about what's been happening in Pittsburgh, enlightening a poor, itinerant peddlar purely out of the goodness of your heart? Nay, I shall instruct you in its use right here and now, in front of all, so that everyone may see that Harlan the Peddlar deals honestly and fairly with his customers. You see that small creek, yonder? Well, all it takes to make Doc's Magic Dirt Remover work its spell is just a little bit of water. Merely water, which may be found in abundance everywhere, for free, and not one thing more. All you need to do is strip off your clothing in a discreet location-I am sure that several of these fine, strapping fellows here will be glad to stand guard with their backs toward you and make certain no one else approaches, as I see they are all gentlemen-then wet yourself down and rub the Magic Dirt Remover on your skin.

  "As you rub, you will begin to notice how it magically turns to foamy lather, like the whitecaps on a lake during a windy day, but there's no need to be alarmed. 'Tis only the magic doing its work. As it turns to foamy lather on your body, all you need do is scrub a bit, and you will find it feels very pleasant. Then all you need to do is rinse it off with some more water and all the dirt will wash away, leaving you with a feeling of refreshment and invigoration such as you have never felt before! And 'tis all entirely safe, you have my solemn word on that."