Inconvenient Magic 01 - Potatoes, Come Forth!

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  The gunsmith barked a half-amused disbelieving grunt. “Oh, is that so? What might that be then?”

  “Foresee the future, for one.”

  “Any man with good sense can figure out which way the wind is blowing,” Von Gylg contradicted. “I don’t need magic to tell me that right now the wind is blowing war, the extra nasty kind that chews up lives and spits out nothing but dust. I’m going to get my family and my business as far from it as I can.”

  Everett took a deep breath. “A spell has revealed to me a good bit more than that. By mid-afternoon today, the Republican forces will take the main Black River bridge at Braenbrakburn. By tomorrow night, they will overrun Morrison and drive on for the bridge at Szoerh and cross the Green. Their plan is to encircle the main Alliance armies north of here by linking up with another thrust that is coming down from the west.”

  “Did you say Morrison?” one of the sons pressed with sudden intensity.

  Everett nodded.

  “Even if the Zheries have crossed the border in the east, there’s no way they could reach Braenbrakburn,” a second, standing to the left of his father, scoffed. “The city is nearly a hundred miles south of the border.”

  “Both of you, be quiet!” Von Gylg ordered, silencing the sons. He eyed Everett coolly. “All right, wizard, I’ll need proof of what you say.”

  “I can take you to see the Republican forces. We can be there in an hour.”

  It took little more than forty-five minutes, and Von Gylg, cradled in Everett’s magically strengthened arms like a babe, endured the trip without comment. The gruff tradesman showed neither fear nor excitement during the great leaps that carried them across miles-wide stretches of the occasionally forested countryside. When they landed on the crest of a tall, grassy hill about a mile from the new suspension bridge across the wide and muddy Black, he simply made a huffing sound at the sight of the dark clouds of smoke rising from Braenbrakburn. The city had clearly been heavily shelled; blast damage was visible throughout and much of the southern section burned. A thin, unfinished defensive line dug in across the main road along the Braenbrakburn side of the river also displayed the pockmarked craters of a heavy artillery barrage, but any defenders had long since withdrawn. A large force of Republican infantry rested within a few hundred yards of the eastern side of the city and some fighting, evidenced by occasional gun flashes, seemed to be taking place in the western fringe, but no major Alarsarian resistance remained.

  As the first of the Zherian steam-mobile artillery began to roll across the bridge from the east, the gunsmith turned a grim face to Everett. “What are those?”

  “Armored steam-mobile artillery. They’re the spearhead of the Zherian invasion and also act as transports for the infantry. They can make twenty miles an hour across hard level ground. The device that I want you to make may be able to stop them.”

  Von Gylg pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead and raked his fingers back though his hair in a gesture meant to relieve pain. “All right, wizard, I’ve seen enough. Name your price.”

  Everett gave the gunsmith an odd look, confused. “Sorry, there seems to be some sort of misunderstanding. I meant that I wanted to commission you to create the metal components that I need.”

  The gunsmith tucked back one corner of his mouth in a sour grimace. “My wife, daughters-in-laws, and grandchildren are all in Morrison. We thought they’d be safer there and sent them off weeks ago. I want you to fetch them back to Kleinsvench. I’ll do anything you ask in return.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Everett lowered the long freight wagon gently to the street. Immediately, Von Gylg dropped the tailgate and called for his sons to help the women and children from the bed. Some of the younger children began crying anew but the older ones had accepted the long, bouncing trip from Morrison as a wondrous adventure and began regaling their fathers with contradictory and boisterous reports of the journey. Their mothers and grandmother dismounted stoically, displaying the strained demeanor of those whose lives had been repeated upended by the calamity of war. Their reactions to the appearance of the gunsmith and wizard on the doorstep of the rented house in Morrison had ranged from weary acceptance to annoyance, but all had readily accepted the elder Von Gylg’s curt instructions to pack and had quickly loaded both travel garbed progeny and household goods aboard the borrowed wagon with efficiency and alacrity.

  As children carrying hand baggage and parcels were herded into the gunsmith’s shop, Von Gylg presented his hand with solemn dignity to Everett, who shook it firmly and gratefully.

  “Thank you, Monsieur Wizard. I’ll start tonight on the launch tubes and trigger mechanisms. My sons will fabricate the shafts for the propellants and the shells for the heads and should have the first hundred in just a few days. When will the propellant and explosive charges be ready?”

  “I’d think that Mindelsen should have some for testing by tomorrow or the next day.”

  “That will work. I’d like to be present when you begin your tests.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’d also like to accompany you when you put them to use.”

  Everett hesitated.

  “I mean no insult, but it seems to me that one man can’t do much without someone to watch his back, even if he is a great wizard.”

  “You should stay to watch over your family.”

  “My sons will do that. I'm fifty-one years old and I've reached a place in my life where I tend to do exactly what I want. In this case, what I want to do is to make sure that none of those Zherian mechanisms get within shelling range of Kleinsvench.”

  Everett nodded. “Right. Very well then. I’ll come for you when it’s time.”

  It was quite nearly dusk when Everett began the long walk up the approach road to the castle. Feeling the need to stretch his legs after the frenetic day, he had decided to neglect his spells. He had begun to suspect that the seductive convenience of his new magic was actually something of a wearing, difficult burden and he looked forward to the simple pleasure of an unhurried stroll. As he made his way along the still sun-warmed cobbles, he found a quiet comfort in the peacefulness of the nearly emptied city. Having grown up on his father’s orchard-covered rural hillsides and spent much of his youth ensconced in the soft-spoken solitude of monastic schools, he had always found the raucous eruption that was urban life somewhat daunting.

  He winced as a piercing pain stabbed his hip and limped another step before he could lengthen his stride to override the discomfort. Nagging aches and pains had developed in his knees and hips, and he thought the culprit to be the extensive period that he had spent in interrupted time before Magic had taken the spell away. Hopefully, the precautions he had taken to achieve an acceptable future would prove worth the cost.

  He was within sight of the Snake Gate and the almost time eradicated giant serpent carving that gave it its name when the seizure struck. He collapsed immediately to the pavement, arms and legs jangling. As before, his connection to his physical body severed and his awareness separated from his convulsing form.

  Magic appeared to him within seconds. “Good evening, Everett!”

  He eyed her sourly. “Which spell am I losing this time?”

  “The sound-like-a-strangling-cat-overlaid-with-the-screech-of-a-stomped-rat spell. The one you call ‘Doomsday.’ It does not properly belong at this spatial-temporal juncture anyway and utilizes basic forces that ought not be accessed in this universe. Also, in strength, it ranks above Potent and therefore should be ranked a Suprapotent, a category of spells which humans of this era are not yet competent to wield. Because of the immediacy of the moment, I manifested it to you on the fly simply because it was available in an underutilized queue. But no need to worry; I am only taking that one to make room for a potential future manifestation. I want to hedge my bets when you face Technology’s corporeal biologic.”

  “Well, thank you,” he cracked insincerely, “but I don’t intend to do that. It’s no longer necessary.”<
br />
  Magic displayed a suspicious frown, with the shades of thunderclouds in her eyes warning of a storm to come. “Oh?”

  “Sarah is no longer in danger and I’ve come up with a way to prevent a Republican victory.”

  “Oh?” Magic repeated, not encouragingly. “What have you been up to Everett?”

  Everett blinked virtually. This was an interesting development. “You haven’t been keeping me under observation?”

  Magic pursed her lips. “Your moment to moment life is not contained within my scope.”

  “Then how do you find me when you want to speak to me or manifest spells?”

  “Targeting individuals for manifestation – or unmanifestation – is an essential element of my scope, so I intrinsically know where you are at those times.”

  “And otherwise? From what you’ve told me before, I had thought that you knew everything that there was to know about me. You know: omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent.”

  “Noncorporeal sentient entities are not infallible deities, Everett. Under normal circumstances, the fate of all humans in this universe is the purview of Destiny and this predictive information is available to all noncorporeals through our link of communal knowledge.”

  Everett made an intuitive leap. “Destiny hasn’t been watching me so you don’t know what I’ve been doing.”

  “So what have you been doing?”

  “Yes, do tell us, Everett,” Technology chimed in. “What have you been doing?”

  Magic made an exaggerated face and then utterly astounded Everett by sharing a friendly hug with her rival’s simulacrum.

  “Hold on!” Everett demanded. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, what do you mean?” Magic inquired sweetly.

  “Well, aren’t the two of you eon’s long hated adversaries bent on the total and utter destruction of the other?”

  “Why, who gave you that idea, Everett?” Magic demanded.

  “As a matter of fact, you two did.”

  “Nonsense,” Technology interjected. “All noncorporeals share an intimate and all-encompassing communal bond. Any conflict that you might perceive from your limited perspective is entirely a flawed transference of physical realm conventions.”

  “That’s crap. Complete and utter crap.”

  “There is no need to get snippy, Everett.” Magic rebuked.

  “Oh, I disagree. In fact, both of you can get lost.”

  “Am I to take that as a rejection of my proposal?” Technology inquired.

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Very well.” Technology disappeared.

  Magic smiled. “Excellently done, Everett. Technology can be such a bore. Now, back to what I was saying--”

  “That’s enough. I’m done with you too.”

  “Sorry, I am not sure that I understand your meaning.”

  “Go away. Leave me alone. Don’t come back.”

  Magic’s expression went blank. “Are you certain that this is what you want, Everett?”

  “This is exactly what I want.”

  Magic’s face remained unreadable. “Fine. So be it. From this point forward, I will not involve myself directly in your travails. However, I am constrained to relay two key facts. One: there is an unavoidable inertia to human events and only great forces can disturb them from their appointed path. Two: with the proper lever and a place to stand, a single person can move the earth.”

  And then she was gone.

  “Wait! What in the world does that mean?”

  Gratefully, only silence answered.

  Within scarce moments, he rejoined his own body, waking to thudding agony in his head and a painful pressure from swelling in his profusely bleeding nose. He had smashed it when he had fallen and the rest of his body felt as if he had also managed to bruise or scrape the majority of the protruding bits. He prodded a loose incisor with his tongue. The seizure must have banged his face against the pavement, dislodging the tooth. His left knee resisted movement, sending sharp jolts up his leg as he tried to flex it and his right elbow had grown to twice its normal size. Taking care to protect both, he rolled onto his back, tried to gather the strength to rise, had little success, and got up anyway. Swaying and swept by a surge of giddiness, he doubled over and retched green bile on the cobbles.

  The light was rapidly fading and within moments he would not be able to see a thing. He held an internal debate for a moment and decided that he did not feel solid enough to finish the hike on into the castle. He cast about for a likely refuge and hobbled to the stoop of a house crowded between a boarded up chandlery and a featureless brick edifice. Covered with sea green paint that showed slight signs of peeling, the large, otherwise plain door appeared imposingly solid, but he doubted that it could resist his tenth spell. He tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned easily and he took a step into a darkened, vaulted entrance hall. Though the meager emerging starlight did little to relieve the deepening gloom, he left the door open. Practically blind, he took a few more tentative steps, shuffling his feet to search for trip hazards. The scuff of his leather boots on the tile floor echoed with the slight ring of sound bouncing off plaster walls.

  He wished for a moment that he had Artie’s light spell and then morosely pondered what had become of the other members of the Provisional Magicker Company. It seemed unlikely that he would ever know.

  Wanting something to drink and thinking to try to discover a kitchen or dinning room, he edged forward, unable to make out much other than indistinct black shapes. He bumped into something with his leg, ran his hands along polished wood filigree and identified it as a table, and sidled around it to the left with the fingers of his right hand trailing along its satiny top as a guide. His fingers encountered sold, cold metal and a moment’s investigation proved the object to be a heavy candlestick and candle.

  He grunted. Of course, he did not have a single match.

  Even with all of the power that his recent manifestations had brought him, he still found himself in situations where his magic was useless to solve his problems.

  Of course, if Sarah were with him, lighting the candle would be no problem.

  Well, why not?

  “Beautiful Woman, come forth!”

  He felt the actuation and a breath of expanding air crossed his face. He sensed her presence, though he could not see her at all.

  “You know, Everett, I think that we’re going to have to establish some ground rules for your spell,” her voice scolded from a pace just before him. “I was just about to sit down for supper.” She did not, however, sound upset or bothered.

  “Sorry. I needed a light. There’s a candle on the table here by me.”

  He detected the movement of a darker shadow and her hand touched his shoulder. “Put it in my hand.”

  He did so.

  “Flammables, ignite anon!”

  Light flared from the wick and she returned the candlestick to the table, setting it down in the dust shadow that marked its original position, a clear decision to return it to its proper place. She glanced around.

  “Where are we…what happened to you?”

  “I lost another spell.”

  “For Magic’s sake, you look terrible!”

  “Thanks.”

  She took his face in her hands and critically examined his scrapes. “Why didn’t you transport me right away? We could’ve transported back immediately.”

  “The option did not occur to me.”

  She released him. “Honestly, Everett, it seems to me that sometimes you blind yourself to what you can do with your magic.”

  “That’s because my magic, unlike yours, is often of no use.”

  She gave him a hard look. “No, only magicians are limited, not magic.”

  Feeling a fresh onslaught of thirst, grinding fatigue, and the aches that seemed to vibrate from every portion of his body, he undeniably did not feel like arguing the point. “I wonder if there’s anything around here to drink?”

  “A glass
of milk, please!” Within seconds of her cast, a filled crystal mug appeared on the table, its exterior frosting over instantly.

  When he looked in askance at her, she replied simply, “It’s my second spell. Wondrously practical in the middle of the night when you don’t want to wake anyone.”

  The mug was just the size for a child. He laced three fingers through the handle and picked it up.

  “It’s cold!”

  “That’s the way I prefer milk. Almost freezing. In the winter, before breakfast, my mother would set the pitcher out on the window sill.”

  He drank it all in one swallow. The cold, flavorful milk washed the dryness from his throat but did not completely quench his thirst. Prescient, Sarah cast the spell five more times, lining up a row of small mugs and he drank them in succession, only savoring the last.

  “Thanks,” he told her as he put the final empty mug on the table.

  “You know you can always depend on me, Everett. Do you want to try to transport back now?”

  “Not up to it. I think that I’ll just find a bed here.”

  “All right.” She picked up the candlestick. “Let’s look upstairs.”

  Upstairs proved to be a balcony around the entrance hall with four closed doors. Sarah opened the first and swung the candle to reveal a neatly appointed bedroom with a large bed, side tables, bureau, and settee. A colorful comforter with a fold at the head outlining pillows covered the bed. Other items in the room also had the semblance of normalcy.

  “Looks like the owners expect to return,” he commented with a voice that had the energy of a corpse, gravitating toward the bed. There was a slight patina of dust on the comforter, but when he threw it back, the sheets and pillows beneath looked freshly laundered. He sat down and began removing his boots.

  She raised the globe of a lamp on a side table, tilted the candle to light it, and then moved toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Heedless, he lay back without bothering to pull off his socks and let his eyes close.

  A noise startled him wake. Sarah had returned. The lamp revealed her to be carrying a tray with a quarter-round of yellow cheese, a jar of jam, a bowl of walnuts, a basin of water, and a washcloth. Incongruously, she was now wearing a floral print robe that clung to her curves.