My Son, the Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “Magic, Mama.”

  “Mateo, I have told you not to be superstitious!” Mama scolded.

  “No, really—magic works here!” Matt opened his mouth to explain further, but Mama rushed on. “Why are those men dressed as knights, Mateo?”

  “Because they are knights, Mama.” That was as much as Matt got out before the first of the guardsmen reached them. “Lord Wizard!” he panted, bowing. “Is anything amiss?”

  His parents turned to him, eyes wide. “Lord Wizard?”

  “That’s the government job I was telling you about,” Matt said lamely.

  “Government job?” Papa fixed him with a gimlet stare. “Which government?”

  “You have been wasting your time with those Renaissance Fair people again,” Mama accused.

  The knights came panting up. “Sir Matthew! Is all well?”

  “ ‘Sir’?” Papa asked.

  Mama clucked her tongue in criticism.

  “Just fine, Sir Norton, thank you—now that we’re back,” Matt said. “Uh, could you detail a few men to guard this heap of luggage? I’d like to take my parents to meet their hostess.”

  “Parents!” Sir Norton bowed, and Sir Cran followed suit. “We are honored to meet the illustrious parents of Her Majesty’s Wizard!”

  “How gracious of you,” Mama said, with a warm smile. “We are honored to meet such gallant knights—are we not, Ramón?”

  “Indeed we are.” Papa bowed, then said to Matt out of the corner of his mouth, “Definitely too much time on Renaissance festivals.”

  Sir Cran said, “It will be our honor to guard your belongings.” He gestured to the footmen, who formed a circle around the boxes.

  “Thank you all,” Mama said, and gave them such a radiant look that half of them caught their breaths. The other half were on the other side of the box-pile and didn’t see.

  “Yes, thanks,” Matt said quickly, before Papa could begin to get jealous. “The mistress of the castle is this way, Mama, Papa.”

  They went in through the doors at the base of the keep. The guards at the inner door gave them cold stares until they recognized the Lord Wizard. Then they leaped to open the panel.

  As they climbed the broad winding stairs set against the outer wall, Matt said softly to his father, “You know, I’d never realized it before, but Mama really is a beautiful woman, isn’t she?”

  Papa grinned, looking very smug. “She is indeed, my son, and she grows more beautiful every day.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “I was,” Papa admitted, “though there was quite a bit of hard work in winning her.”

  Matt didn’t doubt that Mama had made him sweat. He also didn’t doubt that she’d been in love with him from the moment she saw him. He might never have realized his mother was beautiful, but he had always known he would never be as handsome as his father.

  They came out into the broad, carpeted upper hall, the grimness of its stone walls softened by glowing tapestries. Mama stared, but Matt didn’t give her time to think—he went straight to the solar. The guards looked up, then smiled as they saw him. One reached for the door, but Matt was there before him. He opened it and stepped in, ushering his parents with him.

  Mama cried out in delight. “How lovely!”

  “She certainly is,” Papa said.

  Alisande looked up at them from a table strewn with parchment rolls. The sunlight through the tall windows turned her hair to gold, and the maroon gown set off her complexion perfectly. The simple golden band about her temples could have been a mere decoration.

  Mama gave Papa a sharp elbow in the ribs. “I spoke of the room, husband!”

  Papa looked around at the beamed ceiling, paneled walls, and tapestries. “You’re right, Jimena. It’s a lovely room!”

  “And what a lovely girl!” Mama said, fairly beaming at Alisande. “Mateo—who is this woman?”

  “Uh—Mama, Papa...” Matt took a deep breath. “There’s something else I haven’t told you.”

  Mama recognized the tone and turned to him, frowning. “You’ve been a bad boy.”

  “Very bad,” Matt admitted. “I didn’t invite you to my wedding.”

  Both parents cried out in protest.

  “I didn’t know how,” Matt explained. “I’ll make it clear later, but for now, believe me—this really is a different world, and I didn’t know how to call home.”

  Mama looked up at Alisande with dawning realization. “Why do you tell us this now?”

  “Because I’d like you to meet my bride.” Matt took a deep breath. “Mama, Papa—may I introduce you to my wife, Alisande?”

  “His mother?” Alisande rose, eyes huge.

  “Oh, my dear!” With her arms wide, Mama stepped up. Surprised, Alisande reached out—and the two women embraced.

  “I think you got away with it this time,” Papa muttered to Matt, “but don’t let it happen again, okay?”

  “Uh, there’s more,” Matt admitted.

  “More?” Papa stared, then frowned, and the storm clouds gathered. “How long have you been wedded to this woman, anyway?”

  “Three years,” Matt admitted.

  “Three years?” Papa squawked, and Mama broke from Alisande to stare at Matt. “But we saw you last Easter, only a few weeks ago, and you said no word of having met her!”

  “I hadn’t,” Matt told her. “It was only a few weeks for you, but it was...” He winced. “...four years for me.”

  “Four years?” Papa yelped. “How can that be?”

  Mama turned, frowning. “And in all that time, you never thought to write to us?”

  Matt chose the easier question. “I haven’t figured it out for sure, but I think time runs at different rates in our two universes—an hour in your neighborhood is a week or so here. Or it could be that whoever moves us between universes is plugging us in at whatever time he or it chooses.”

  Mama let go of Alisande, frowning at her son. “You mean you didn’t know you could go home?”

  “Didn’t know I could go, write, or call,” Matt said. “I just figured that out a little while ago—in fact, only two days, for me.”

  “You have been gone from me for two weeks now, husband,” Alisande said.

  Mama turned to stare at her, then said to Matt, “You have a very understanding wife.” To Alisande, she said, “You should scold him at least a little, my dear.”

  Alisande gave her a smile, brightening, then turned to Matt, hands on her hips, and said, “How dare you be so long gone from me, Matthew!”

  “Sorry, dear,” Matt said contritely. “Couldn’t be helped.”

  “He had told me he needed to go to bring you to us,” Alisande explained.

  “Our house!” Mama spun to the men, then reached out for Papa’s hand. “Our furniture, the neighbors, the closing!”

  “We were going to walk away from it all anyway, my love,” Papa said gently. He turned to Matt. “We can send the lawyer a power of attorney, can’t we?”

  “And some good-bye letters to the neighbors.” Matt nodded. “I set up a system yesterday.”

  “We should do that right away,” Mama said.

  “No rush.” Matt smiled. “A week here is an hour there.” Mama looked startled, then relaxed and turned back to Alisande with a smile. “Well, we will find a place to stay, but it is early. We can talk for at least a few minutes.”

  “You will stay with us,” Alisande said firmly. “I have already ordered a suite to be prepared for you.”

  “We could not impose,” Papa began.

  “Indeed you could not,” Alisande agreed, “even if you stayed here for the rest of your lives, as I hope you will. You are my parents too, now, and it will be my privilege to guest you.”

  Mama stared. “Do you own this castle, dear?”

  “In some measure,” Alisande allowed. “I have the use of it for my lifetime, at least.”

  Matt was glad she didn’t mention the other half-dozen royal castles around the land.
r />   A thin sound of crying came through the open door, growing louder.

  Mama and Papa stared at Matt.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Matt tried to look shamefaced, but only managed to look sickeningly proud.

  A plump rosy-cheeked matron in a long dress and white cap came to the door, holding a blanket-wrapped, squalling bundle. “Majesty, do you wish...”

  “Yes, I have leisure.” Alisande smiled and crossed to the door, taking the baby from her arms. “Attend us, nurse.”

  The nurse stepped into the room and stood by the door, hands folded. Alisande turned back toward the window, smiling down at the little puckered face in the crook of her arm.

  “A child!” Mama lit up with delight.

  “You have been a naughty boy,” Papa said.

  “Oh, he has been a very good boy indeed,” Alisande contradicted, giving Matt a wicked glance. “If I do half as well raising my son as you have with yours, I will be proud.”

  Papa looked up with surprise, then smiled with a little bow. “I thank you.”

  “You flatter me.” Mama reached for the baby. “I know he’s hungry—but may I?”

  “Indeed.” Alisande handed the baby to her, then stepped to a chair by the window, hidden from outside by a curtain, and began to loosen the laces of her bodice.

  Papa crowded in next to Mama, beaming down at the child. “A real grandson! How blessed I am!”

  “Oh, what a handsome little boy!” Mama exclaimed. “And how strong already!”

  “At least in his lungs.” Papa slipped an arm around her shoulders, and she nestled against him for a moment.

  Matt smiled down into the little, bawling face. The feeling of the miraculous had worn off in the last three months, but the look in his parents’ eyes brought it back.

  “Come, Ramón, he is hungry!” Mama said, and took the baby over to Alisande. Matt allowed himself one long look at his wife nursing, smiling tenderly down at the little face. Desire stirred, so he turned away to Papa, leaving the mothers to discuss such burning topics as diapers, colic, and feeding schedules.

  Papa clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled. “And to think that only last June, you thought you would be a failure!”

  Matt stared, surprised, then grinned sheepishly. “Marrying a wife with a castle doesn’t make me a success, Papa.” After all, his father didn’t know he’d helped Alisande get back that castle when it had been stolen from her—and the whole kingdom with it.

  But Papa was shaking his head. “A wedding is only the first step, Mateo. Building a good marriage is a life’s work. From the way she looks at you, you’re succeeding so far—and a baby is a big step in the right direction.”

  Papa’s view was old-fashioned, of course, but the problem was that Matt shared it. Maybe they did belong in the Middle Ages.

  “How about getting rich, Papa? How about power?”

  Papa sighed, shaking his head. “Power and wealth don’t make a man happy, son. Love does—and doing a job you enjoy.”

  “Well, I do enjoy this one.”

  “Yes, that’s why she looks happy—but this time, I wasn’t speaking about marriage. You have to support them, after all. I meant this government job of yours.”

  “Oh, I do enjoy it, Papa, yes. It’s fascinating, and very fulfilling.”

  “Then you are a success,” Papa said, beaming proudly. “Remember, though, that success is like salvation...”

  “I must win it all over again every day.” Matt smiled. “Don’t worry, Papa, I remember what you taught me.”

  Alisande handed Mama the baby and laced up her gown—just in time, for the sentry at the door announced, “Your Majesty, a herald has come with urgent news.”

  Alisande frowned and straightened as the invisible mantle of authority, put aside for a brief rest, now settled its weight on her shoulders again. “Bid him enter.”

  “Your Majesty?” Papa and Mama said together, staring.

  “Uh, yeah, I didn’t finish the introductions,” Matt said, shifting uncomfortably. “Mama, Papa, may I introduce you to Her Majesty Alisande, Queen of Merovence—and of my heart.” He caught Alisande’s hand. She forgot about being royal long enough to give him a dazzling smile.

  Matt’s parents stared. Then, together, they dropped to their knees, heads bowed. “Your Majesty!”

  “Oh, none of that, none of that!” Alisande raised them up hastily and embraced them each in turn. “I am your daughter, and not your sovereign unless you choose it! Even if you do, you must never bow to me unless it is an occasion of state! What, do you think I make your son bow every time he would speak to me?”

  Papa grinned as he rose. “I should hope not.”

  “Do you not think my marriage matters as much to me as my kingdom?” Alisande challenged. “Indeed, it is part and parcel of my reign, though your son must explain that. It somewhat passes my understanding, for I am a monarch and not a wizard. You will be my family, I hope, for you are grandparents to my son—and family do not bow to one another!”

  “But must always speak to one another with respect,” Mama qualified.

  Papa nodded, smile glowing. “You are wise, my daughter.”

  Alisande stared at him for a moment, then threw herself into his arms, holding tight. Papa wrapped his arms about her, feeling her tremble. He looked up over her shoulder at Matt, amazed.

  Matt held up a hand, palm out, and nodded reassurance, watching his wife with sympathy.

  Alisande pushed herself away from Papa, head bowed. “Nay, I forget myself. Forgive me.”

  “No, I thank you,” Papa said softly. “Such an embrace is a treasure, and makes me rejoice that my son chose so well.”

  Alisande looked up at him in surprise, then blushed and looked away. She raised her eyes to Matt. “I see where you learned your gallantry, sir.”

  “Has he finally learned it?” Mama exclaimed. “Thank Heaven!”

  Alisande turned to her, startled, then laughed gaily and caught her hands. “I shall thank you, too, for I would not have him if it were not for you. But I must ask you to leave me now, for I must tend to affairs of state.”

  “Oh, of course!” Mama said, and stepped away to stand beside her son.

  “If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I’ll show them to their suite,” Matt said.

  “Of course, Lord Wizard.”

  Mama and Papa both turned to stare at Matt.

  “There’s a herald listening,” Matt muttered out of the corner of his mouth. He bowed and stepped to the door, then out into the hallway. Mama and Papa followed. They passed a very weary-looking herald, still beating the dust from his clothes with his hat. Both parents glanced at him as the sentries ushered him into the solar, then turned to pounce on their son.

  “Is this real?” Papa demanded.

  “Totally,” Matt assured him, but frowned and nodded toward the guards. “Let’s get you to your suite first, though, okay?”

  “It is next to the nursery, Lord Wizard,” the guard told him.

  His parents glared a question. Matt ignored them. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  The nursery—the sleeping part, anyway—was down at the end of the hallway. Matt turned to the door beside it, on the left.

  “How do you know which one it is?” Mama asked.

  “Because Alisande’s bedroom is the door to the right,” Matt explained.

  “Alisande’s bedroom?” Mama exclaimed. “You do not sleep together?”

  Matt gave her a sunny smile. “More often than not, Mama—but I have the bedroom next to hers. It comes in handy for changing clothes.”

  Mama stared, then smiled, reassured.

  Matt opened the door and bowed them in. “Welcome to your new home.”

  “Home!” Mama bustled in. “Well, we certainly can’t stay that long... Oh!”

  The center of the room was filled with a high stack of boxes.

  “I see the chamberlain has been his usual efficient self,” Matt said.

  Papa
stepped in, staring about him. The room was paneled in golden wood, with broad windows that looked out onto the courtyard. Heavy draperies hung to either side, opposite a large tapestry of a maiden and a minstrel.

  “But this is luxury!” Mama protested.

  “Then you’re finally getting what you deserve,” Matt replied.

  “Where do we sleep?”

  Matt pointed. “That door in the west wall.”

  Both parents stepped to the doorway, then stared. “A four-poster!” Mama exclaimed.

  “With feather beds,” Matt told them. “Even so, it’s no inner-spring mattress, and there’s no electricity. I’m afraid the ‘running water’ only runs from that pitcher into the basin, and then only when you tilt it, and the sanitary arrangements are a seat with a chamber pot under it, in that little closet over there, but somebody will empty it every day. Not as nice as the home you gave me to grow up in, in some ways—but these are the Middle Ages, after all.”

  “Luxury indeed, by medieval standards,” Papa assured him. Then he turned and commanded, “Sit down.”

  “Yes, sit.” Mama set the example by going to one of the hourglass chairs and folding herself gracefully into it. She patted the one beside her.

  Matt sat down, feeling the dread of the guilty child, and his father sat beside Mama, looking grim. “Tell,” he commanded, “and make sure it makes sense.”

  “That, I can’t do,” Matt protested. “But it’s real, and I’ll explain as much of it as I can understand.”

  “You can begin with how we came here,” Papa said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Magic,” Matt said, and raised a hand. “No, really! I’m not fibbing! It really is magic, but it took me long enough to figure that out the first time I came here.”

  He launched into an account of his arrival in Merovence, triggered by studying the parchment he’d found between the pages of an old book in the university library, studying it until the alien words began to make sense—and when they did, he’d found himself on the streets of Bordestang.

  He told his parents about his first misadventures, how he’d slowly figured out that magic really worked here, but that physics and chemistry didn’t. Papa interrupted only long enough to say, “Well, quantum mechanics always did seem like magic to me,” and later on Mama cried, “The brute had stolen her throne from her?”