My Son, the Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “Only ones that flew?” Papa frowned.

  “It’s like the barrier dividing Maxwell’s demon-box,” Matt explained.

  “I remember that the hypothetical demon had to decide whether or not to let individual molecules through.”

  Matt nodded. “Maxwell was trying to get around the Laws of Thermodynamics. He imagined a box of lukewarm air with a wall down the middle, and a little door only wide enough to admit one molecule. His doorkeeper was a hypothetical miniature demon, who would only open the door if a slow-moving molecule came by. After a long enough time, all the fast molecules would be on one side of the wall, and all the slow molecules on the other. Fast-moving molecules are hot, so he would be getting more energy out of the box than he put into it.”

  “If he didn’t count the energy of the demon opening the door,” Papa qualified.

  Matt nodded. “And didn’t mind the fact that as a whole, the box still averaged out to the same temperature. So he failed in trying to outsmart the Laws of Thermodynamics, but he did invent a supernatural being that’s stood me in good stead, one time and another.”

  “Even if a neighboring king borrowed an idea from him?”

  “Right. Boncorro’s Wall kept out flying monsters, such as dragons, but anyone moving at a walking pace could get through without even noticing there was a barrier.”

  “I don’t think you should have said that out loud,” Saul said, pointing at the djinn.

  One of them was sinking down to the ground of the talus slope. As he fell, he shrank, and by the time he hit the ground, he was no bigger than an ordinary mortal. He strode up toward the castle—and passed through the Wall of Octroi as though it didn’t exist.

  With a whoop of glee, the other two djinn swooped down to the ground, dwindling.

  As they did, the one who had crossed the Wall stepped up to the drawbridge, raised his arms, and chanted a spell. The drawbridge came crashing down, and the genie waved his hands.

  “What is he doing?” Mama wondered.

  She saw her answer quickly enough. Their tower stood far enough out from the wall so that they could see the portcullis begin to dissolve.

  “How impertinent!” Mama said severely, and held up her hands as she began to chant in Spanish.

  “She has remembered her talent,” Friar Ignatius told Matt in glee.

  “Uh—which one did you have in mind?”

  “She is a spellbinder!”

  Mama snapped her arms down, speaking her last phrase as a command. The portcullis froze half-faded, then slowly gained more and more substance until it was solid again.

  The djinni howled in rage as his spell was canceled.

  Mama pointed at him, snapping out another short Spanish verse, and suddenly they could all understand the genie’s words. “Cursed be the sorcerer who has frustrated my spells! Cursed also be the sorcerer who has brought me here!”

  “Brought him?” Matt stared. “Not sent?”

  “Even so,” Mama said. “That sorcerer must be nearby, then.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Now it was Papa who held up his arms and spoke in tones of command.

  “None can take without exaction.

  For every gift is payment made.

  None can act without reaction.

  Djinn, your masters may be paid!”

  The genie whirled away from the drawbridge and leaped back to the invisible Wall, then stepped through it. As one, all the djinn shot into the air, then dove, roaring, to converge upon a low hill that rose at the edge of the castle’s plain.

  “Have I passed the final examination?” Papa asked.

  “Only the first problem,” Friar Ignatius answered.

  Three multicolored dots appeared on the side of the slope, darting and dashing every which way.

  “Water!” Matt called. “In a bowl!”

  A soldier stepped up, pouring water into a broad goblet. Matt waved his hand over it, muttering a verse, and the fluid darkened. The others gathered around in time to see it clear, and saw the hillside in much closer view.

  Mama and Papa stared in surprise, then relaxed into fond smiles. Papa whispered, “It is good to see him practicing his profession, isn’t it?”

  Mama nodded. “And with such assurance, and others so confident in him!”

  They beamed proudly in unison.

  In the goblet-view, the multicolored dots turned out to be robed and turbaned men, shouting furiously up toward the djinn. One was rubbing a lamp, another a ring, the third a bottle.

  The djinn swooped back up, howling in frustration, then turned to dive again. The sorcerers chanted, still rubbing, and the djinn seemed to be pushed aside. They swooped up high in the air again, darted together, and hovered.

  “War conference,” Saul interpreted.

  But in the goblet, one sorcerer suddenly looked up, then pointed straight at Matt, calling to his colleagues in excitement and anger.

  Matt dashed the water to the ground and held the goblet upside down. Even so, the miniature bolt of lightning lanced out of it and struck the stones of the battlements, leaving a smoking charred spot.

  “I think they’re onto us,” Saul said.

  “Then we must fight them on their own ground!” Papa dashed for the stairwell.

  “Ramón, no!” Mama cried, but too late—her husband was already out of sight.

  Matt shot off after him.

  “No!” Alisande cried in frustration. “Dame Mantrell, can you do nothing?”

  “With such headstrong mules as these? No,” Mama said, exasperated. “But I can protect them.” She turned back to the battlements and began to gesture, chanting.

  A dot of light sprang from the sorcerers’ hill, swelling into a fireball—but Mama finished her verse, snapping her hands out as though she were tightening a cord, and the fireball’s flames dwindled, then vanished, leaving only a charred and smoking lump that bounced off the Wall of Octroi and plummeted to earth.

  All three enemy sorcerers bunched together, just as the three djinn dove toward them, welding themselves into a single mass, a giant spear aimed at the sorcerous target. But the sorcerers chanted so loudly and in such perfect unison that their voices came faintly even to the battlements, and the spear burst apart into the three djinn, who fell to the ground around the trio, kneeling and salaaming to them.

  Then one of the sorcerers whirled and pointed toward the castle.

  Saul shouted with pain, shaking his hands as though he’d touched something hot. “The Wall!” he cried. “He tore down my Wall of Octroi—don’t ask me how!”

  The djinn rose into the air, ballooning into giants again, arms windmilling to gather the missiles that began to materialize in their hands.

  Mama intoned a Spanish verse, fingers outspread like antennae to direct her spell toward the djinn. The vague gray forms in their palms stayed dim and misty, then began to fade.

  “You have canceled their spell!” Alisande cried, amazed. “They cannot make boulders anymore! Well done, Dame Mantrell!”

  “At least I have given some return for your hospitality,” Mama said, pleased. Then she turned her antenna-fingers toward the sorcerers and began to chant again.

  Sharp reports sounded, and cracks began to appear in the stone of the battlements.

  Mama intensified her chanting.

  The cracks healed and disappeared.

  Alisande stared at Mama.

  But Mama’s voice shifted rhythm and emotion, becoming even more stern, more compelling—and the sorcerers began to run erratically around their hillside. Above, the djinn gave a shout of triumph and dove toward their masters again.

  One of the sorcerers stopped. A few seconds later, one genie sheered off with a cry of anger.

  “The sorcerers have lost their lamps and rings!” Alisande cried. “One has found his talisman, though, and has regained command over his genie!”

  Again Mama chanted, and again the third genie stooped with a cry of vindication.

  “Once more
you have hidden his lamp!” Alisande cried in delight.

  The other two sorcerers stopped their frantic scurrying, and their djinn sheered off with howls of rage. The third sorcerer dashed madly about the hillside, searching. He stopped, snatching something up; his genie swerved to the side and plowed into the hill. Well, not “plowed,” really—he disappeared into the dirt and grass.

  Then the father-and-son team reached the foot of the hill with a squadron of knights right behind them. They all charged up the hillside, chanting in unison.

  “What poem are they reciting?” Saul asked.

  Mama shook her head. “They are too distant to say with any certainty, but I think I hear something about San Juan Hill.”

  The two remaining djinn stopped dead in the air, a yard short of their masters. The third genie shot out of the hillside straight toward the charging squadron. The other two veered aside and arrowed after him.

  The three sorcerers turned and ran.

  Suddenly there were two charging squadrons, one a mirror image of the other. Then each of them doubled, and four identical bunches of horsemen charged after the sorcerers.

  The djinn roared confusion, darting from one squadron to another, unsure which to strike. Half a dozen horsemen veered off with Papa at their head, swinging wide around the djinn to follow the sorcerers.

  The djinn decided on a process of elimination, and started eliminating. They faced the four squadrons, shooting lightning bolts from their fingertips.

  Mama shouted an infuriated verse.

  Bolts struck two of the squadrons; they disappeared. The lightning froze in midair over the third, then hovered sparking and flashing.

  One of the sorcerers fell.

  His genie swooped toward him with a shout, but Papa was faster and closer; he leaped down beside the fallen man, caught something up from the ground, then swung an uppercut into the sorcerer’s chin. The genie slowed, dropped to earth, and salaamed to Papa.

  Mama clapped her hands. “Ramón has found the sorcerer’s lamp! He commands the genie now!”

  Matt was gesturing at the two other djinn. They started gesturing too, but didn’t see the huge sheet, like a blown-away ship’s sail, that swung down upon them out of the sky. They didn’t even notice it until it struck. Then they whirled, howling, to jerk free of it—and couldn’t. Every gyration made it cling more tightly to one portion of their anatomies or another. Finally, in frustration, they disappeared.

  “Flypaper,” Mama said with satisfaction. “A giant sheet of flypaper. And to think I was worried that my son might forget the practicalities of life.”

  “It will not work again,” Alisande told her. “They will be watching for it now.” Then she smiled at a happy thought. “But that will keep one of them from attacking while he watches.”

  “Or handicap all three, by distracting them continually.” Mama nodded. “Well thought, Your Majesty.”

  Alisande stared at her, startled, then bit her lip.

  Mama gave her a warm smile, stepping close enough to speak in an undertone. “When we are alone with family, we shall use family names—but in public, I should address you formally, no?”

  “Of course.” Alisande smiled with relief.

  Mama looked out over the field. “They are riding back now, and I think they have taken a prisoner. Saul, have you tried conjuring up modern gadgets?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Saul said, startled at the thought. “I assumed they wouldn’t work, so I cobbled up magical equivalents.”

  “It would not hurt to be sure.” Mama held her hands in front of her eyes, cupping fingers and thumbs and looking through the closer hand to the farther, chanting in Spanish. A spyglass appeared in her hands.

  Saul stared.

  But Mama shook her head and lowered the telescope. “No, you were right. It does not make things look bigger. We shall have to employ magic after all. How did you craft your enchanted gadgets, Saul?”

  Saul shrugged. “I made them look like the real thing from our universe, then told them what to do.”

  “Told objects what to do?” Mama raised her eyebrows. “Well, well!” She turned and spoke a stern verse to the spyglass, then held it up to her eye again. “Yes, now it works indeed.”

  Alisande glanced at Saul in surprise. He shrugged and spread his hands.

  “The prisoner is one of the sorcerers.” Mama collapsed the telescope with a snap and pointed at the war party, intoning a verse in dire tones. Then she lowered her arm with a nod of satisfaction. “That should hold him.”

  “What did you do?” Alisande asked, wide-eyed.

  “Bound his spells, of course. If that sorcerer attempts any magic, he will find it recoils upon him.” She held up the spyglass again, then smiled. “I do not know what he tried, but he jerked most unpleasantly in his saddle.” A minute later, she said, “He tried again.”

  “I would like something left of him to question,” Alisande said.

  “Then let us hope he is not too trying,” Mama told her.

  Alisande eyed her warily. “Do you not mean, ‘Does not try too hard’?”

  “Is that how you say it in your language?” Mama asked, all innocence. “Well, I shall remember.”

  Alisande was sure she would. Somehow she was very glad the older woman was on her side—and likely to stay so, because of family ties. The queen resolved to treat her husband more kindly.

  The horses trotted into the courtyard, and Matt dismounted, grinning up at Alisande. Her eyes glowed as she smiled down at him, and Mama, watching, smiled, too, behind her hand.

  Papa was more open about it. He raced up the stairs to catch Mama in his arms, whirling her about and laughing. “See the trophy I have brought you, mi corazón! But what did you do to him?”

  “Only made his own spells rebound upon him,” Mama said, laughing. “Put me down, Ramón! The children are watching!”

  Alisande and Matt were watching indeed, then shared a glance as Papa put Mama down.

  She tucked her hair back into place, smiling and saying, “If your sorcerer had tried to do anything to favor himself, he might have managed it—but since he only sought to hurt you, he hurt himself instead.”

  Papa looked up in surprise, then called down to Matt, “Block his magic!”

  Matt turned to find the sorcerer had become transparent. He sang,

  “Will ye no’ come back again?

  Will ye no’ come back again?

  Nay, ye will come back again,

  Whether ye wish or no!”

  The sorcerer grew more opaque, then cursed. “What foul magic made you able to keep me here?”

  Matt lifted his head slowly. “So. You speak our language.”

  The sorcerer’s eyes became hooded, wary. “And a most barbarous dialect it is, that flows like water and seeps through the understanding!”

  “Yes, not a single guttural to recommend it,” Matt said with irony. “But if you can converse, Master Sorcerer, you can answer questions.”

  Fear showed in the sorcerer’s eyes, but he blustered, “I shall never answer one single demand!”

  “I can’t go on calling you ‘sorcerer’ or ‘prisoner,’ ” Matt said. “What’s your name, anyway?” Then, as the shadow of dread passed over the Muslim’s face, “Your public name, not your secret one.”

  “Achmed,” the sorcerer said warily.

  “See? You answered one of my questions already.”

  Achmed went red with anger. “I shall answer not one single other, pork-fattened unbeliever!”

  “Hey, pork isn’t bad if it’s cooked hot enough,” Matt objected. He called to a soldier, “Guard! Run to the kitchens and bring a slice of that ham we had for supper last night, will you?”

  “At once, my lord,” the soldier said, grinning. He turned and ran.

  Sweat sprang out on the sorcerer’s brow. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Why not?” Matt said. “We must be hospitable, after all—couldn’t see a guest go hungry.”

  “You
swine!”

  “Careful, there,” Matt cautioned. “You might be advocating cannibalism.”

  “I shall never touch a morsel of that foul meat!”

  “No,” Matt said softly, “it will touch you.”

  Papa frowned. “My son, I had never thought to see such ruthlessness in you.”

  “I’m a knight now, Papa,” Matt said simply. “I can do what I have to do.”

  “But such disrespect for another man’s religion!”

  “It’s kinder than torture, isn’t it?”

  “You could visit no worse pain on me than forcing me to sin!” the sorcerer accused.

  “Don’t be so sure.” Matt turned back to his father. “What do you suppose would happen if you rubbed your lamp and told the genie he could do whatever he wanted to his former master?”

  “You could not be so barbarous!” the sorcerer gasped.

  “No, you could not,” Papa said, and it was a command.

  “See?” Matt asked the sorcerer. “Sinning is much less painful—but it’s even kinder to let you decide to commit the sin of your own free will.”

  “I could never so oppose my own conscience!”

  “I suppose your conscience doesn’t trouble you when it comes to enslaving djinn and conquering Christians?”

  “What is done for the Faith is no sin!”

  Matt looked up at his father. “Seems to me that every time I’ve heard a religious man say that, he’s coming up with an excuse for breaking the most fundamental doctrines of his own faith.”

  Papa nodded grimly. “Murder and looting. I trust you will not try to tell me that the ends justify the means?”

  “Sometimes they do.” But Matt winked with the eye the sorcerer couldn’t see.

  The soldier came pounding up with a ham bone that had quite a bit of meat left on it. “I thought you might wish to threaten him with this club, my lord.”

  “Not a bad thought.” Matt took the ham bone and held it out to the sorcerer. “Have a bite.”