Questor

by Alastair J. Archibald

  "You hate the Administrator and seek to overthrow his rule,” Thribble replied, “and he is planning to enslave my friends; I have no reason to betray you. Armitage's downfall will be to the advantage of us both."

  "I may loathe the ground that pig, Armitage, walks on, but I'm not stupid,” Deeks hissed. “If he and Terrence find out I've defied them openly, they'll have one of their little boxes inside my head before I can blink."

  The demon came closer to the red-faced, sweaty man. “There is no reason why anybody should ever know that you helped me, human: I will not tell anybody.

  "On the other hand, if you refuse, I will provide Armitage with prolific and convincing evidence that you were plotting his downfall."

  The last sentence was spoken in a perfect imitation of Deeks’ voice

  The Technician's eyes narrowed, and his tone became cautious. “What do you want from me?"

  Thribble cogitated for a few moments; he still had no concept of how to proceed. “What are you doing to Questor Grimm and his companions?” he asked.

  Deeks waved a hand at the glowing, clicking equipment. “We're relaying a subliminal message to them while they sleep. It's Armitage's voice, telling them over and over again to trust him and obey him; him and his lieutenants, that is. Come the morning, they'll cut their own throats with a blunt knife if he tells them to."

  "Can you stop it?"

  "Not without Terrence knowing. He has systems status monitors in his room, and all sorts of alarms'll go off if I break the circuit."

  The demon thrashed his tiny tail in agitation. While he hesitated, Grimm and his companions were undergoing an insidious process of enslavement. If he failed, he would be stranded in the dangerous, confusing mortal realm for the remaining millennia of his life. He must do something to help them.

  "I can produce a perfect imitation of any human voice I have ever heard,” said Thribble. “Could you introduce my voice into the system, telling them to ignore the messages?"

  Deeks pondered Thribble's question. “I don't think so. That would mean hooking up an external voice input, and Terrence'd know if I did that, too. Also, the equipment monitors brain wave rhythms and neurotransmitter levels. If they get out of resonance with the message, it'll generate a sync fault."

  The details of the Technician's reply meant nothing to the imp, but he did not doubt the sincerity of Deeks’ conclusion.

  What to do?

  "How is Armitage's voice sent to the system?” Thribble demanded. “Is he sitting in his room, repeating the same messages over and over?” The demon fought to keep desperation from his voice.

  Deeks snorted. “Of course not; it's a pre-recorded message, processed to produce the maximum subliminal effect, and looped."

  "Could I say something to my friends in Armitage's voice so that they will obey me, rather than him?” asked the demon.

  The Technician shook his head in an emphatic gesture of denial. “I heard you mimic me earlier. You've got an impressive talent there, sure enough, but it won't be enough. It's not just the voice, you see; the post-processing plays an important part, too. Armitage wears an electronic vocal processor that adds subsonic modulation to enhance the effect of his commands."

  Thribble could see his options disappearing. “Why do you not just kill Armitage while he sleeps?"

  "I've thought of doing just that, many times, but the only guns here are in the hands of the guards. All of the guards have implants, and I can't see myself grabbing a gun off one of them; they're fanatically loyal to our beloved Administrator, and they've got enhanced reflexes. Even if I could get hold of a weapon, Armitage's door's coded to his retinal pattern; I'd never get in."

  Thribble groaned in frustration. He could tell how much the Technician hated Haven's leader, but Deeks seemed to be a man of little imagination or initiative. With every moment that passed, Grimm and his companions were being placed ever deeper under the insidious, Technological spell.

  "Come on, human; there must be some way in which Armitage's methods can be used against him. Think!"

  Deeks’ eyes closed, as if he were hammering the wet, grey lump in his skull for inspiration. Long minutes passed, and Thribble could almost hear the portly human's brain creaking and complaining at the unaccustomed demands being placed upon it.

  The demon had begun to lose all hope that the resentful, stupid mortal would hit upon a solution, when Deeks finally spoke.

  "Like I told you, demon, it's all about post-processing,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I can sample and process a voice message from you offline, without Terrence knowing. I'll be in here tomorrow, monitoring the data when Armitage starts his experiments with your mage friends, and I could easily pipe your message into the test chamber when he's putting the mages through their paces. If you're as good a mimic as you say, it should be just like a command from Armitage himself."

  Thribble saw the first glimmerings of a faint ray of hope. “What must I do? I do not understand anything you have said."

  With an enthusiasm he had not displayed when carrying out Terrence's commands, Deeks grabbed a grey metallic cylinder attached to a long cable and pressed a tile on a small silver box. “Speak into this, demon. I'll get it processed and ready in a few moments."

  As he had been bidden, Thribble spoke into the tube, using a perfect imitation of Armitage's voice.

  After a long period of tinkering with his machines, Deeks declared that the 'recorded and processed message' would have an equivalent effect to Armitage's Technologically-enhanced voice.

  "It's all cued and ready to go, demon,” Deeks said after a few minutes’ tapping. “Just remember Terrence will be watching over me tomorrow, and I'll have to pick a moment when he hasn't got his eye on me. I hate Armitage, for sure, but I'm not about to have my brains scrambled to get at him. I've trusted you; now you'll have to trust me."

  Thribble felt unhappy to entrust his plan to the dull-witted, envious mortal, but he saw few alternative options.

  "Very well, Deeks,” he said at last. “I will trust you to pass this message to Grimm and Xylox tomorrow. I can do little else."

  Deeks cast furtive glances around him, as if checking for hidden eavesdroppers. “All right, demon, now get lost. I'll do what I can when Armitage gets to work with the mages tomorrow, as long as Terrence keeps his nose out of here. I hope those Questor guys blow him and Armitage to pieces."

  "If you are as good as your word, you need have no fear on that score, Deeks,” Thribble said. “Once they are freed from his influence, I would not like to be the one to try to stop them."

  Chapter 6

  The Battle

  Grimm awoke refreshed, full of energy to face the new day and feeling more cheerful than he had for some time. He remembered the events of the night before, although they seemed somehow distant and unimportant, unconnected with his present good humour.

  He washed and groomed himself with his customary fastidiousness. When he emerged from the marvellous bathroom, he saw a cold collation on a small table, laid out for his regalement, and he consumed it with gusto.

  The large, square window in his room illuminated, and Armitage's face appeared on it by some marvel of Technology.

  "Good morning, Questor Xylox, Questor Grimm,” the Administrator's voice called from the glowing square. “Would you be so good as to join me in Test Lab Six? You'll find it at Section Brown Nine, room 115."

  To Grimm, this seemed a reasonable and fair request. “I will be there shortly,” he said to Armitage's avatar, which nodded.

  "Redeemer, come to me!” he said. The black staff flew to his waiting hand, and he checked his reflection in the mirror. Since everything appeared in order, he left the room, to see Xylox exiting his own chamber.

  "Good morning, Questor Xylox,” Grimm said in a respectful tone.

  "The same to you, Questor Grimm,” the older mage replied, with a customary lack of warmth and companionship. Xylox seemed his usual, unfriendly self. “I believe that Brown
sector is four corridors away from this one in an anticlockwise direction; we should not keep Armitage waiting."

  "I suppose you are right.” Grimm sighed.

  He knew Xylox intended to put in a bad report about him on their eventual return to Arnor House, but he refused to let it spoil his good mood.

  "What about the others?” he asked.

  "Armitage did not invite them,” the senior Questor intoned. “We will allow them to sleep on."

  * * * *

  The door opened at Xylox's touch, and Grimm felt a broad smile spreading across his face at the sight of Administrator Armitage. Looking at his colleague, he saw Xylox's face wearing a similar but uncharacteristic smile, but this did not seem strange to Grimm; he knew he, too, felt overjoyed to be in the presence of this good-hearted humanitarian.

  Behind Armitage towered a rack of boxes with black cables cascading over the floor. In the centre of the room stood a metal chair, with what looked like seaweed hanging over its back.

  "Greetings, my dear friends; do come in,” Armitage said, with a happy smile. As they entered the chamber, the door closed behind them with a soft hiss.

  "I called you here because I wanted to ask a little favour from you both,” the white-coated Technologist said. “Although I've met a few mages in the past, I've never encountered a Questor before. Would you be willing to demonstrate your powers for me, so I can study your magic?"

  "Whilst I cannot pretend to be a lover of Technology,” Xylox intoned, “I have no objection to showing proper gratitude to a generous host."

  "I will also give any help that I can,” Grimm said. “What do you want us to do?"

  "Xylox, my friend, may I ask you to sit here?” the Administrator asked, indicating the iron chair.

  "Thank you. Wait while I attach a few electrodes to your scalp. It'll only take a few moments, and I promise it won't hurt."

  Xylox shrugged. “I have no objection."

  Armitage took the ‘seaweed’ and combed it with his fingers into separate, slender tendrils. At the end of each tendril was a round metal pad, onto which the Administrator smeared a substance from a clear sachet before pressing it onto the mage's skull.

  Grimm suppressed a smile as the severe, ascetic Questor began to look like some wild man, his hair standing on end. At any other time, the whole idea of the fanatical, Technology-hating thaumaturge assisting this arch-Technologist would have seemed incongruous in the extreme, but Grimm now saw nothing unusual about the situation.

  When he had finished attaching the fine wires to the patient Xylox's head, Armitage moved behind a thick glass screen and sat at a small table. “When you're ready, Xylox, I'd like you to perform a small magical spell,” he called, staring into a black metal box in front of him which cast an unearthly light on his face.

  "What sort of spell?” the mage asked.

  "I don't know; any sort of spell,” Armitage said, shrugging. “Just don't aim it at me."

  Xylox sat for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought, before uttering the personal spell-word “K'saata". A tiny blue fireball, the size of a marble, shot from the end of his outstretched index finger and impacted the opposite wall; the whole room reverberated with a metallic ringing sound and a round black mark bore testament to the blue sphere's impact.

  "Excellent, excellent,” Armitage crowed. “Those theta waves are off the scale, and the dopamine levels are unbelievable!

  "Do something else, Xylox: something a little more powerful, perhaps. Don't worry too much about the wall. I can always get it replaced."

  "Very well, Armitage,” Xylox said. “Let me try something different this time; matter creation. This is a very powerful spell indeed, although not very useful, and it may take me a little time to prepare for it."

  "Take as long as you want, mage. Just remember, I'm expecting something pretty spectacular."

  Xylox's brows descended, and the air seemed to turn misty and soupy around him, shimmering and turbid. A low moan came from him, and his eyes turned upwards until only the whites were visible. A definite air current began to move around him, and Grimm saw blue motes flickering around his fellow Questor's head.

  The young mage heard an accelerating ticking noise from behind Armitage's glass screen, and the white-coated man's eyes looked as if they would leap from his head as he studied his little box.

  A long, incoherent phrase spewed from Xylox's lips, the metal walls of the room bowed inwards with a sudden clang, and Grimm felt his ears pop with a sudden decrease in pressure. The temperature in the chamber dropped by a noticeable amount, and the young mage saw a subtle dusting of frost gleaming on the distorted walls.

  In Xylox's open right hand rested a tiny piece of what looked like rock. Grimm felt unimpressed: had Xylox really expended all that energy just for a minute portion of worthless stone?

  It was all Grimm could do to hide his contempt. However, Armitage leapt out from behind his screen to inspect the object.

  "Is that really e-over-c-squared mass? Direct energy concentration?” the Haven man breathed.

  "I have no idea what you mean, Armitage,” Xylox replied. “I required rather more energy for the spell than I had within me, and so I needed to take some more from my staff, Nemesis."

  Armitage looked a little concerned. “Does that mean you won't be able to perform any more magic?"

  Xylox shook his head. “Give me a few minutes, Administrator,” he said. “I have a goodly store of energy inside Nemesis. I will soon be ready to cast again."

  Grimm gaped; he had never thought of storing magical energy in his staff, to be called upon when required, although the concept now seemed so obvious. Even so, he still could not see what all the fuss was about over a minute piece of gravel.

  Armitage returned to his chair and his box, and he pressed a stud on his table. “Did you get all that, Terrence?"

  A distorted, distant, voice issued from the table: "We certainly did, Administrator; fabulous, incredible data!"

  "I'm glad to hear that, Terrence. I'll be doing a few more monitored experiments, and then we'll get onto the one-on-one. You might as well turn off the monitoring for that, but keep the video going, whatever you do."

  "That's understood, Administrator."

  "I am ready once more, Armitage,” Xylox declared.

  "Excellent!” the Administrator replied. “I'll just do a few more tests with you, and then perhaps we can try a few with you, Grimm."

  "I'm glad to be of any assistance I can,” the young mage replied.

  * * * *

  Thribble cowered behind a mass of black cables. They were warm, which was good; otherwise he might have frozen during Xylox's Creation spell.

  He began to think he had been wrong to trust the lecherous, corpulent Technician, Deeks. For three hours, Armitage had been playing Grimm and Xylox for fools, putting them through all kinds of tests and experiments. It sickened the demon to see two such proud and powerful thaumaturges reduced to eager performing animals, and Thribble began to worry that Deeks had succumbed to cowardice.

  He hoped with all his heart he was wrong.

  Now, Grimm sat in the chair, garlanded with the strange, silver tendrils, and a white-coated Technician had just brought in a rabbit in a cage, placing it on the floor in front of the magic-user. “Now, Grimm,” Armitage called from the safety of his screen. “I want you to destroy this animal."

  "Why, Armitage?” the mage asked. “It has done no harm to me."

  Momentary hope surged within the demon at this brief flicker of polite opposition.

  "For no reason other than the fact that I have asked you, mage,” the Administrator replied in a stern voice. “Just do it."

  Grimm's moment of defiance faded, and he shrugged. “Very well; I'm sorry, rabbit.” He sighed.

  The mage took a deep breath, extended his right hand and shrieked “Sh'kat'ya sh'yarai!” The metal cage exploded, sundered fragments bouncing across the floor and off the walls in a tinkling chorus. On the wall behind where
it had stood was a wet, red stain; all that remained of the small, hapless animal it had so recently contained.

  "Thank you, Grimm. That ends this series of tests. I wish to thank you both for your co-operation,” the Administrator said, stripping the metal tendrils from Grimm's head. “I have one last little favour to ask of you, gentlemen. I will be leaving the room in a few moments. I want you to wait a few moments, and then I want you to attack each other."

  Xylox looked shocked, Grimm no less. “This is my brother Guild Mage, Armitage. I have sworn an oath; I cannot in conscience attack him, even for you,” the elder mage said, his face a mask of concern.

  "Indeed, Administrator; Xylox and I are not friends, but we are Guildbrothers,” Grimm gasped. “Don't ask this of us, I beg you. I would hate to have to disappoint you after all you have done for us."

  Come on, Xylox, Grimm, fight! Thribble thought. Your fight is not with each other, but with your true enemy!

  "Is this gratitude?" Armitage screamed.

  The Questors flinched, as if the impact of his voice had driven them back.

  "Very well; I'm not asking you anymore. I order you to fight to the death. Do as you are told!"

  The two mages swayed, and each clutched his temples, his clenched teeth bared, as if his head were being crushed.

  After long moments of inaction, Grimm spoke: “I don't want to, Armitage, but I will do it for you, and only for you."

  "I am also prepared to fight,” Xylox declared. “I will not allow this jejune stripling to attack me unopposed."

  "I'm glad to hear it,” the Haven man said. “I only have one further request; I don't want either of you ending up like that rabbit. There must be enough left of the loser for me to study. Is that clear?"

  Both mages nodded.

  Thribble could see that each man considered himself the stronger Questor, but one of them must be wrong.

  Do it, Deeks! he urged inside his skull, as if the vehemence of the thought alone might rouse the portly Technician to action. Be quick!

  Armitage left the room, and the two mages began to circle each other like a pair of wary tigers, each assessing the other's agility.