The Compleat Enchanter: The Magical Misadventures of Harold Shea

by L Sprague De Camp; Fletcher Pratt

  Roger thrust his scimitar back into its scabbard and handed it to one of the servitors. “O Frank, this is but the tenth or the hundredth part of what would be seen if I stood in battle before a worthy antagonist. Not that you, son of an unfortunate, would be such; for you do but dance and foin like one of my uncle’s entertainers.”

  While Shea and Polacek were giving themselves sketchy baths by standing in their washbowls and emptying the ewers over each other’s heads, the latter asked: “What’s the program for the rest of the day?”

  “For most of them it’ll be loafing all afternoon, I expect, and then Atlantès’ floor show in the evening.”

  “I should think those guys would get too bored to live!”

  “Roger does. He wants to bash somebody, and I don’t quite figure why Atlantès won’t let him loose to do it. There’s something funny going on besides just the business of the old guy making passes at Florimel. Wish I’d read the Furioso; I’d know better what we were up against. We have a date with Doc now, you know; some of that new theoretical stuff he’s been working up. Ready?”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  When they reached Chalmers’ apartment there was more than a suspicion of the olive oil smell that had awakened them. Chalmers was frowning.

  “I am inclined to believe that the failure to renew the spell on the oil was not altogether an accident,” he replied to Shea’s question. “You will note that the odor persists here to a certain extent. Atlantès is extremely astute, and I have no doubt that he has become fully aware of Florimel’s—uh—sensitivity. It really made the young lady quite ill.”

  Shea said: “Wonder why? Maybe the guy’s a sadist. According to all the correlations, abnormal sex patterns should be common in this Moslem society where they keep all respectable women locked up. Besides his personality reminds me of that sadist we used as a case study—you know the one I mean—that real-estate fellow the SPCA got after.”

  “You mean Van Gilder?” Chalmers shook his head. “In the first place those correlations you speak of are mostly guesswork. Besides, it would be unprecedented for any genuine sadist to seek his satisfactions by such indirect methods.”

  “You mean,” said Polacek, “that a real sadist has gotta turn the thumbscrews himself?”

  Chalmers nodded. “Or at least be present directing the operating. No, there are various explanations for elaborate bits of malevolent plotting of this type, but—uh—sadism is the last one to look for. An ulterior motive is inherently more probable.”

  “Such as?” said Shea.

  “Such as—ah—if Atlantès hoped to force me to use a counter-spell, which he would then watch and adapt to lifting the death-doom which he says overhangs this castle. Harold, please for that reason do not commit yourself to indulging Roger’s penchant for mortal combat. One never knows when this conflict will materialize.”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” said Shea, but without lightness.

  “Looks to me like an awful lot of guys around here are anxious to get somebody bumped off,” said Polacek. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

  “It is merely a matter of conducting oneself with ordinary prudence,” said Chalmers firmly. “In an unexpressed contention of the type wherein we are engaged with the—uh—gentlemen, the winner will undoubtedly be the party who longest restrains himself from ill-judged or impulsive action. Now, gentlemen, shall we begin?”

  Half an hour later: “… the elementary principles of similarity and contagion,” he was saying, “we shall proceed to the more practical applications of magic. First, the composition of spells. The normal spell consists of two components, which may be termed the verbal and the somatic. In the verbal section the consideration is whether the spell is to be based upon command of the materials at hand, or upon the invocation of a higher authority.”

  “That’s a little different from the way you had it worked out before,” said Shea.

  “This is a somewhat different space-time continuum. I am trying to relate matters to our current problems, so pray do not interrupt. Now—uh—prosody is of the utmost importance if the first is the case. The verse should conform to the poetic conventions of the environment, to which the materials in question have become responsive. For instance in—uh—Asgard the verse, for maximum effectiveness, should be alliterative, whereas in Faerie it should be metrical and rhyming. In the world of Japanese mythology, on the other hand, the verse should comprise a fixed number of syllables in a certain—”

  “But wouldn’t any verse we made for the purpose naturally have the proper form?” asked Shea.

  “It is possible. What I was about to say was that a certain—uh—minimum skill in versification is inseparable from the optimum results. That is why you, Harold, who have what might be called the literary or inspiritional type of mind, often attain quite extraordinary effects—”

  “Listen,” said Polacek, “one of the troubles with this joint is that they’re prohibitionists. You mean to say that if I made some passes and sang out:

  “Beer, beer, beautiful beer,

  Fill me right up with it,

  Clear up to here!

  I’d get a couple of seidels?”

  “Vaclav!” said Chalmers sharply. “Pray give your attention to the matter in hand. If you were to perform so rash an act, you would almost certainly find yourself filled with the beverage in question, but I doubt whether your organs would retain it. The utmost precision of expression is necessary. Kindly observe that the doggerel you quoted demanded that you be filled with the liquid instead of having it to drink. Now, where was I? Ah—magic will thus, I fear, always remain to large extent an art, just as in my opinion psychiatry will as well. However, there is also the somatic element of the spell, subject to more precise regulation. There is some point in connection with this element that eludes me, and on which I shall be glad to have any light that observation of Atlantès by either of you, gentlemen, can throw. I refer to the very adroit manner in which he is able to employ spells as an instrumentality for teleportation of human beings or even those only quasi-human—”

  Shea’s mind wandered as Chalmers droned along. They had worked out most of this stuff in Faerie, with Belphebe—Belphebe! She must be the same as the Belphegor the doctor had mentioned. With the springy step and the freckles under her tan. The question of getting her back concerned the somatic element, of finding out how Atlantès …

  An eruption from Polacek jerked Shea out of his daydream. The Rubber Czech was on his feet, exclaiming: “Sure, I get it, Doc. Let’s take time out to do some lab work. Watch that cushion while I turn it into—”

  “No!” shouted Shea and Chalmers together.

  “Aw listen; can’t you ever believe a guy can learn anything?”

  “I remember,” said Shea, “when you blew up the lab and almost killed yourself in sophomore chem, trying to make cacodyl. You stick around for some more lectures before you try enchanting even a mouse.”

  “Yeah, I know, but you can check me on each step, and I’m—”

  The argument was squelched by the arrival of Florimel with: “I am somewhat more myself, my lord.” But so, it turned out, was the lecture on magic. Shea wandered off to orient himself, while Chalmers undertook the difficult task of restraining Polacek.

  Five

  It was clear and bright upon the battlements, and the air had the fine tang of a mountain climate. Around a corner where a turret gave both shelter from the breeze and exposure to the sun, Shea came upon Atlantès, busy with a scroll among long cushions. The little enchanter scrambled to his feet.

  “O knight of the age, you are welcome. Will the friend of my friend have sherbets?”

  “No thanks, noble host. I was just looking around, trying to find where things were in this place. You certainly have a fine layout.”

  “Alas, my lord, that it is no better. All things shall be done for him who eases the heart and broadens the bosom of Lord Roger.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I�
�d done anything remarkable in that line. Will you have something special for him tonight?”

  Atlantès snapped his fingers and shrugged. “Truly, I have nothing to set before you but seven virgins of Sericane, with feces like moons. All can play at the lute and sing, or hold converse in the law of the Prophet equal to Kasis, and the dealer who sold them to me declares they are sisters of a single birth, which is a very strange thing. Yet you, O auspicious one, will have seen wonders that are to this as the sun to the crescent moon.”

  He had tipped his head to one side and was watching out of the corner of one eye. What was he fishing for this time? Shea said: “I, O doubly auspicious one, have never seen anything like it. But tell me—” he let his voice fall “—your nephew, Lord Roger, will he like it as well as I? He seems restless.”

  The little man lifted his face toward the clear blue sky. “I testily that there is no god but God and I testify that Mohammed is the Messenger of God! Of a truth Roger is no less than restless, and longs for battle as a strong horse for the race-course.”

  “Why not let him go fight one, then?”

  Atlantès tapped himself once or twice on the sternum in a manner which Shea supposed was to entitle him to credit for having beaten his breast. “To you I will tell no less than the truth. Know, then, that there is a prophecy of which I have learned by my arts, that unless the wonder of the age and the son of my brother goes forth directly to battle and by the light of the full moon, he will be lost to Islam if he depart ten miles from Carena. Yet at present there is no war, nor is the moon full, and I must answer before Allah the just, the omnipotent, if he be condemned to Jehannum.”

  “Yeah, I see. You’re in a tough spot all right.”

  The magician clawed at Shea’s arm. “Yet it is well said: There is no door but a key may unlock it.’ Verily, I have not seen my brother’s son so content with his lot for many months as when he looked upon your exercises this morning. Doubtless you have a spell to preserve you from death by arms?”

  It occurred to Shea that he had never in his life been more politely invited to let himself be killed. But he said: “What keeps Lord Roger here? If he’s so keen on getting out and breaking somebody’s head, why doesn’t he just walk through the door?”

  “In truth, that is a question asked with the answer already known, for it is not hidden from me that you are aware of the pentacles of opposition.”

  “I get it. This is a kind of gilded hoosegow. You don’t think you can keep Sir Reed and me in that way, do you?”

  This time Atlantès went through the formula of wringing his hands. “May dogs eat my flesh if I ever held such a thought! Nay, auspicious sir, should you wish to hunt in those mountains, where often I myself have had good sport when the sap of youth was in me, it would give pleasure to your slave to provide a hunter for company. And should you wish to sport with the light of Islam, the pentacles can be let down.”

  He certainly was persistent. “No thanks, not right now,” said Shea.

  The graybeard nudged him and chuckled lecherously. “Think well on it, my lord. It has reached my ears that there be maidens among the villages more dainty than gazelles, and not all hunting is done with the bow.”

  “No thanks, O fount of wisdom,” said Shea again, wondering how much of his statement of the prophecy was true. “Right now I’m much more interested in Florimel’s and Doc’s—that is, Sir Reed’s—project for her. Business before pleasure, you know. How are you coming along on that, by the way?”

  Atlantès went through his breast-beating routine again. “There is no god but God! It has not been revealed to me how this knot may be unloosed, though I have summoned up legions of the Jann.”

  “Maybe I could help a little,” said Shea. “I know a fair amount of magic, and once in a while I can do things that even Sir Reed doesn’t pull off.”

  “In sooth, it were a greater wonder than burning water were matters otherwise, O master of magic. With joy and goodwill will I summon you when the hour comes that you can aid me. Yet for the present there is no aid that can be given so great as that of the contentment of my brother’s son.”

  Again! Would this little schemer ever let up trying to get Shea shortened by a head? Shea chose to ignore the last part of the remark. “Along what lines are you working? We might check results against each other.”

  “If it could be so, it were the delight of my heart and the expansion of my bosom. But it is unlawful for one of our religion to initiate other than true Muslims in the magical rites; were I to do so, you would instantly be torn in pieces by an ifrit stronger than a lion and with tusks three feet in length.” The little man seemed to have had enough. He started for the stairs, the motion of his feet beneath the long robe making him look oddly like a centipede.

  At the head of the stairs he turned to bow another farewell. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, for he held up a hand. “O auspicious sir,” he called, “take warning. These peaks be ominous; very pillars of mischance. Let the hand of friendship avert the stroke of calamity, and in the name of Allah, I pray you, do not let down the pentacles nor go forth without help from me and mine.”

  The afternoon light was already beginning to throw panels of shadow among the higher summits. Shea walked on around the battlements, thinking of where Belphebe might be in this world, and longing for her high spirits. Damn Doc Chalmers anyway for getting them into this jam! It was a jam, too. That farewell of Atlantès, though couched in a tone of appeal, came as close to a veiled threat as he had ever heard. Suppose he did lower the pentacles and walk out, what would the old goat do? Hardly let loose the wonder of the age on him. That would run against the prophecy—if there was a prophecy. Shea thought about the question as he picked his way past a clanging iron shot-tower, and reached the conclusion that the prophecy was probably quite real. Atlantès was clever enough to run a double bluff by mixing a piece of important truth with evasions and half-truths in order to steer an opponent away from the former.

  The only thing he could count on, however, was that the magician was putting the heat on his guests in the matter of finding a cure for Roger’s boredom. Shea considered the question for a moment. The big lug appeared to care for nothing but fighting; couldn’t there be some way of meeting the wish vicariously? Back in Ohio, when children became problems along this line, the matter could be taken care of with books of adventure. That clearly wouldn’t do here; or—and Shea mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner—toy soldiers.

  Certainly there ought to be somebody around Castle Carena with skill enough to carve passable small figures of fighting-men, and he and Chalmers between them should be able to animate them magically enough to enable them to serve as miniature armies. The thought of the perfect paladin ordering battalions of six-inch wooden knights about the courtyard struck him as so delightful that he slapped the edge of the battlement and laughed. At that moment someone plucked his sleeve.

  It was one of the castle servants, this time with the head of a bird—a very large bird, with a great round head and a long bill like one of Tenniel’s borogoves.

  “What’s the trouble?” asked Shea.

  Although the creature seemed to understand, its only answer was to open the beak for a kind of whistling bark. It pulled at his arm insistently until he followed, looking over its shoulder from time to time and whistling encouragingly as it led him down the stairs, along one of the metal corridors, and left him face to face with Polacek.

  “Hi, Harold,” said the latter cheerfully, with the air of an inventor about to give birth to the atom-powered space ship. “Say, you guys need me around places like this. I got hold of one of those hobgoblins that will find all the stuff we want. The only trouble is I can’t find her!”

  “What stuff? Whom?”

  “The little dark one that did the dance last night. All I got is her name: Sumurrud, or something like that. And what kind of stuff do you think? Tonsil-oil, of course.”

  “You get around fast, don�
�t you? Lead on to the liquor, but you’re out of luck on the girl friend. If Roger hasn’t got her in his room giving her the works just to spite you, Atlantès has probably sent her back where she came from by magic.”

  “For the love of St. Wenceslaus! I never thought of that.” The Rubber Czech’s face looked annoyed. “I’ll cook up a spell on that guy that will make him—”

  “NO!”

  “All right, how about this? Suppose I go to Atlantès right off the arm, and ask him can he send that little number back to Ohio. With a build like hers—”

  “No! We’re in enough trouble now. You don’t even know her, Votsy.”

  “But—”

  Shea sighed. “For an educated man you’ve got the most proletarian sexual behavior pattern—”

  “ ’Smarter with you; all worn out already?” said Polacek nastily, leading the way down a circular staircase in one of the castle towers. As this point in the argument was reached, so was a scullery, where the goblin, a purple-skinned object with an oversized head and spindly little legs, was at his job of dishwashing. In one corner lay a large gaunt hound with a dish between his forepaws. The goblin held up a dirty plate, repeated a formula, and whistled. Instantly the dog reacted by licking the dish before him. As he did so the detritus disappeared from the plate held by the goblin.

  “Guk!” said Polacek. “How do you like your dinner?”

  Shea grinned. “Don’t be squeamish. The stuff gets from the outside of the plate to the inside of the dog without touching a thing.”

  The goblin waddled over to them with a crablike gait. “Got it, Odoro?” asked Polacek with a wink. “He wants some too.”

  “Can get,” said Odoro. “You got money, uh? Me want.”

  They went to Chalmers’ laboratory for the money. At their knock there was a rustling from within, and when they entered, Florimel was some distance from Chalmers with her dress slightly rumpled and both of them looking hangdog. The doctor tendered some odd-looking square coins without comment.