The Wizardry Consulted w-4

by Rick Cook

  Wiz looked back and saw Llewllyn had progressed to working his jaws, but not far enough to actually make noise. He also saw they had drawn a crowd.

  "It, it, it… bounced," Llewllyn finally managed. "It just hit you and it split to pieces and it bounced right off the top of your head."

  Looking around, Wiz saw that several councilors and the sheriff had joined the excited group.

  "Think nothing of it," he said over the rising buzz of conversation. "As a great wizard I am protected by a spell that renders me invulnerable to mortal danger." The conversation grew even louder.

  "But you froze. Like a statue," his assistant said.

  Wiz had been hoping no one would notice that. "A side effect," he said with a wave of his hand. "So long as the danger lasts I am immobile and invulnerable. Now come. Let us be on our way."

  Maybe that will stop people from trying to terminate my contract with extreme prejudice, he thought as the crowd parted before them. At least it might if I can find someplace to sit down before I get the shakes.

  Wiz didn’t see the bald little man with the leather sack of mason’s tools lounging at the edge of the crowd and wouldn’t have recognized him if he had. Nor would he have attached any special importance to the thoughtful way he rubbed his chin as Wiz and Llewllyn proceeded on their way.

  Having a piece of rock dumped on his head may not have hurt Wiz physically, but it sure didn’t do anything for his mood. Between Llewllyn’s bragging, the mayor’s insistence on having the new spell before the next executive committee meeting and being sneered at by Pieter Halder on the town hall steps, he was in a foul mood when he got home that evening.

  Anna, however, was still starry-eyed and bubbling. For once Llewllyn wasn’t hanging around, so Wiz was spared that, but the maid’s innocent prattling about the wonders of her true love was just as hard to take.

  "… and someday we’ll be married," the maid finished up her latest, albeit short, line of thought.

  "You hope," Wiz said in an undertone, unable to contain himself further.

  Not enough of an undertone, unfortunately. "Why of course we will," Anna said innocently.

  "Look Anna, I don’t mean to burst your bubble or anything, but are you sure Llewllyn is the marrying kind?"

  "My bubble?" Anna said blankly.

  "A figure of speech. I mean your illusions about Llewllyn." As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say, but by then it was too late.

  "But they’re not illusions. They’re real. As real as Llewllyn’s magic that saved me from the dragon!"

  "Uh, yeah, his magic is another thing. I mean…"

  "Oh, I know what you mean," Anna burst out. "You’re jealous of Llewllyn’s powers and I think you’re awful!" Then she remembered she was talking to her employer and dashed from the room in a flood of tears.

  Wiz watched her go and turned back to his tea. "Women!" he snorted.

  "Men!" Malkin retorted. "Well, that was nicely done. What do you intend for an encore? Pull the wings off flies?"

  "Now wait a minute. You’re the one who brought up the dull butter knife."

  "Aye, and I would too. But that doesn’t excuse being cruel to the child. That was cruel and all it’s likely to accomplish is driving them closer together."

  "Little trollop’s right," Widder Hackett chimed in. "All you did was hurt her feelings."

  "But I was trying to let her down easy. To help her."

  "By making her miserable?" Malkin replied.

  "Help her my left foot," Widder Hackett grated. "Of all the shoddy, ill-done…" There was a lot more.

  Wiz looked to either side at the women, one visible and now silent, one invisible and just working up a good head of steam.

  "All right have it your way," he snapped. "I’m a miserable failure as a human being. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some air." With that he stormed out of the kitchen with Widder Hackett still railing in his ear.

  Wiz stood on the stoop for an instant, looking out along the dark street. There were no street lights and the moon was only half-full. There wasn’t so much as a candle showing in a window, which made the street gloomy and forbidding. It was as if the houses were bombed out and abandoned, he thought. Somewhere several streets over a dog howled, adding to the effect.

  He turned and started away from the square, head down and lost in thought.

  The truth was, he did feel bad about making Anna cry. But dammit! The girl was his responsibility and he couldn’t let her get too mixed up with someone like Llewllyn.

  The other truth was he didn’t want the responsibility, he admitted as he picked his way along the dark, deserted way. In fact he didn’t want any of the responsibilities he had acquired since he got here. Yet he was stuck with them and he was juggling like a madman trying to meet them. That was one of the reasons he’d been so hard on Anna.

  Ever since he got here he had been writing checks furiously. Sooner or later some of them were going to come due and he was way overdrawn at the luck bank.

  It wasn’t just that, this wasn’t fun any more. In the beginning this had all been a big game, but now the joke was old and not particularly funny.

  He couldn’t even take pride in his job, like he could writing a good tight module of code in something like COBOL. At heart he just wasn’t a con man and playing the role was taking its toll on him. He sucked a breath of the cold night air and sighed gustily. This wasn’t working out at all the way he had anticipated.

  He was cold and tired and frustrated and a little scared and more than anything else he just wanted to go home.

  Wiz never even saw the shadow that separated itself from the wall as he passed. And he never heard the hiss of the blade through the air. The edge landed squarely across his shoulders and as he froze into immobility a sharp whistle rang out from the darkness from whence the shadow had come.

  "Ow!" said the shadow. "My wrist."

  "I told you not to hit him, didn’t I?" retorted a second cloaked man as he emerged from the darkness. He was shorter and for an instant a moonbeam gleamed off his dark pate. "Just tickle him in the ribs, I said. But no, you have to take a mucking great whack at him."

  There was a rattling on the cobblestones just around the corner.

  "Here comes the cart," said the first one. "Let’s get this business over with."

  Heaving and straining the three men loaded Wiz’s immobile form into the cart. The spell didn’t increase Wiz’s weight, but it did do funny things to his inertia. The footpads found they could only move him slowly and that made him seem even heavier. It didn’t help that one of them had to keep his sword pressed against Wiz at all times lest the spell break. That left two of them to do most of the work, including burying the frozen wizard under the turnips that made up two-thirds of the cart’s load.

  It was not a quiet business, especially since all three men had a tendency to curse and mutter at every little bit of work. But not a shutter banged open nor even a light showed at a window, as if these kinds of goings-on were commonplace here.

  Finally, with Wiz stowed and covered, the pair mounted the cart and rattled off in the night, leaving the occasional turnip behind to mark their passage.

  A few minutes jolting over cobblestones brought them to the city’s west gate. It was lit by flaming torches on either side and before it stood a representative of the city’s guard. He was tall, gangly, wearing a steel cap and leather-covered jack. In the crook of his bony arm he carried a halberd that had definitely seen better days.

  "And where do you think you’re going?"

  "Out to my granny’s," said the tall one. The medium-sized one next to him nodded vigorously and the short one sat twisted on the seat to keep his knife on Wiz’s throat under the pile of turnips.

  "At this time of night?"

  "We had to finish work," the tall one said. "Then we had to eat dinner and harness the cart and load it, and…"

  The guard peered past the driver. "What have you got in ther
e?"

  "Uh, turnips."

  "Why are you taking turnips out of the city?" he demanded.

  "Granny lost her entire turnip crop," the tall man said smoothly. "Weevils got them, they did."

  "Turnip weevils," added the driver helpfully. "Terrible things, turnip weevils." His companion, who recognized lily-gilding when he heard it, poked him in the ribs to shut up.

  The guard had never heard of turnip weevils, but then he was a city boy. More importantly perhaps, in this city the best and brightest did not become city guardsmen and out of that lot, the best and brightest of the not-so-good and not-so-smart weren’t assigned to gate duty after curfew. Still, this was irregular and he had the reputation of the city guard to uphold.

  "What’s the rest of that stuff?"

  "Building supplies. We’re going to make some repairs on her cottage while we’re about it."

  "Fixing the fireplace," the man in the back added helpfully.

  "It’s after curfew. You won’t be able to get back in until morning."

  "That’s all right. We’ll stay at my granny’s."

  The guard still thought the whole thing was extremely fishy, but his orders were more about people and things coming into the city than people and things going out.

  "All right. Pass on then. But I’m going to remember the lot of you."

  "Well?" said the tall one at last.

  "Well what?" the guard replied.

  "Aren’t you going to open the gate?"

  "If you want the gate opened do it yourself. There’s three of you."

  The driver started to protest, thought better of it and nudged his companion to get down off the seat.

  "Takes two to manage. Can you at least help him?"

  The guard jerked his chin at the man in the back of the cart. "What’s wrong with him? And why’s he sitting funny like that?"

  "Hurt meself loading the cart," the little one said. "Set off me lumbago, it did, and sitting any other way hurts." The guard snorted and turned to help the third man open the gate. The cart creaked through and off into the night with Wiz still magically frozen under a load of turnips.

  "Hurry up with that cement, will you? My arm’s getting tired."

  A fire provided light and kept off the chill. A couple of hundred feet away the horse, still hitched to the cart, munched grass placidly. Wiz was standing in a tub half-full of cement, gesturing to empty air. One of the thugs was holding a sword to his throat and the other two were bent over another tub stirring the contents with wooden hoes.

  "You want another turn at it?"

  "All this work. I think we’re underpaid, charging for this like a simple kidnapping. Between the hauling, the mixing and the rest I swear stone cutting’s an easier living."

  "Where is he anyways?" the third one put in. "I want to count me money and see the back of this job."

  "We’re supposed to meet him at Bottomless Gorge, and we’re still a good half mile from Bottomless Gorge."

  "And who was it who decided we’d stop and do it here, eh?"

  "I didn’t decide. Here’s where the cart broke down."

  "I knew it would," the third one said gloomily. "Overloaded it was, and as soon as we got off the main road…"

  "It will ride lighter with nothing but him in it," the tall one told them. "Just get that stuff mixed up good and we’ll have plenty of time to fix the cart while it sets hard. Meanwhile our client will just have to wait."

  "I dunno. Not good business practices to keep a client waiting. How’s that cement coming?"

  "Still more like soup than cement."

  "You put too much water in," the tall one said from where he held the sword on Wiz.

  "I did not!" the shorter man retorted.

  The third one stuck his hoe blade in the trough and watched the milky concoction run off the end. "This lot’s got chalk mixed in with it. Adulterated, that’s what it is."

  "Came right out the city warehouse, it did," the short man said morosely. "Councilman Hanwassel’s best. You can’t trust no one nowadays. The decline in honesty in our society is shocking. Positively shocking. Me, I lay it all to the parents."

  "Me, I lay it all to you," the tall one said acidly. "Last time I let you get the supplies for a job!"

  "And who was it who was too busy nattering over his ale in the Blind Goat to go out and get the necessaries?"

  "That was planning," he answered loftily. "Something like this takes planning-and delegation. It’s up to the subordinates to fulfill the tasks delegated to them."

  "You can delegate all you want," the short man answered sullenly. "But next time you steal the flipping cement."

  The other one started to reply, but the third man gestured them to silence.

  "Hsst. Here he comes."

  Pieter strode into the firelight.

  "Where have you been?" he demanded. "And what are you doing here?"

  "Cart broke down," the tall one told him. "We figured we’d set him up here and then take him the rest of the way." But Pieter had quit listening as soon as he caught sight of Wiz.

  He stood in front of Wiz, arms akimbo. "So Wizard, not so high and mighty now, are you?" He followed it up with a stinging slap to the face.

  At least Pieter’s hand stung. It was like slapping a rock and the young man winced in pain.

  "He can’t hear you," one of the footpads said.

  "Can’t feel what you do to him either," another one added.

  "Well, wake him up then. I want him to know the author of his fate."

  "Wake him up?" the shortest one quavered. "He’s a wizard."

  "And he’s tied so tight he can’t wiggle a finger and gagged so tight he can’t utter a word. Release him, I say!"

  Hesitantly the one with the sword removed it from Wiz’s ribs.

  Suddenly Wiz was there again, tied up, gagged, surrounded by three armed thugs and a grinning Pieter, and up to his knees in cement. Not for the first time it occurred to him that the protection spell’s definition of "mortal danger" left a lot to be desired.

  The short, balding one, whom Wiz mentally tagged "Curly," was edging away from the reanimated wizard. The one beside him was holding his sword warily, ready to thrust it between Wiz’s ribs at the first sign of movement. The tall one was looking back and forth between Wiz and Pieter.

  "Throw me out of the house, will you?" Pieter snarled and drew back his hand to slap Wiz again.

  The blow never landed. Wiz was gagged, but that didn’t matter. He could form the words in his throat and that was all it took.

  The spell for "loose knots" worked in part by making things self-repulsive and in part by reducing the coefficient of friction of everything in the neighborhood to something less than teflon on plate glass lubricated by greased owl shit. Which is to say that any friction fastening in the vicinity stopped working instantly.

  Which is to say that everyone’s pants fell down as their belts came untied. Actually it is to say more than that. Sewing can be loosely defined as a form of knotting, so the clothes not only fell off, they fell to pieces.

  That left Wiz, Pieter and his three henchmen standing there stark naked. In this crisis the thugs reverted to their natural behavior: They turned to run like frightened rats. Pieter just stood with his hand stopped in mid-air and his mouth open. Wiz spoke another word and all four of them were frozen in place.

  Wiz took a step forward and nearly tripped over the edge of the tub he was standing in.

  light exe he commanded and a witchfire globe cast an even blue light over everything.

  It made an interesting tableau. The tall man had lost his footing and fallen to his hands and knees. The balding one was trying to scramble over the tall one’s back, which left them poised as if playing a slightly obscene game of nude leapfrog. The middle-sized one was straightening up with arms pumping, like a sprinter coming out of the blocks.

  Wiz shook the wet cement from his legs and considered his next move. A chill evening breeze reminded him that his firs
t priority was finding something to wear if he didn’t want to catch cold. He looked at the piles of fabric littering the ground around them but none of them were large enough to cover much.

  The cart had been outside the range of the spell, so the horse was still placidly cropping grass. Wiz pulled off the horse’s blanket and, ignoring its condition and its odor, draped it over his shoulders toga style.

  Leaving Pieter frozen, he gestured to unfreeze his stooges. The three returned to awareness facing a wizard surrounded by glowing blue light and wearing a tattered horse blanket. Just then Wiz’s sartorial shortcomings meant less to them than his obvious power.

  Their first act was to collapse in a heap as their momentum caught up with them. Curly covered his head with his hands and moaned.

  "Stand where you are!" Wiz commanded in a stern and majestic manner-or as stern and majestic as you can be when the cold night air is nipping at your bare backside. "Go on, stand up, all of you."

  The three thugs pulled themselves erect and sorted themselves out facing Wiz. They were all about the color of the cement in the tub and Wiz didn’t think they were shivering because they were cold.

  "I ought to turn you all into frogs," he said sternly. The tall one blanched and the short one whimpered more loudly.

  One of these days I’ve got to write a spell to do that, he thought. However, just now the threat was enough.

  He pointed at the trough. "What’s this stuff?"

  "Cement, My Lord. It’s a little thin because…"

  Wiz cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Okay, you’re going to take this cement and you’re going to paint a coat of it onto Pieter here. All over, so he’s thoroughly covered. Then, when it’s dry, you’re going to load him into the wagon, take him back to town and set him up in the square in front of the town hall. Got that?"

  "The wagon’s broke," Larry said sullenly.

  "Then carry him," Wiz said and turned away into the night. He took two steps and then turned back to them. "But if he’s not standing in the square by noon, you’re all going to be pigeon roosts by evening."