Matt frowned. “Never?”
“Never,” Papa said firmly, then relented. “From what other men tell me, though, I am exceedingly fortunate in that, and exceedingly rare in having so all-encompassing a love.”
Matt was still, reflecting on his relationship with Alisande.
“It does not come fully formed in an instant, my son,” Papa said softly, “not when you first see her, not when the priest pronounces you married, not even when your child is born. It grows and deepens slowly, year after year, not steadily but by highs and lows. However, if you both work at it and care for it as the most valuable treasure you will ever have, your marriage can become both the substance and joy of your life, and your proudest accomplishment.”
“Yes,” Matt said slowly. “I do have to remember that, don’t I? That you two have been working at it for thirty-five years.”
“Twenty-nine,” Papa said. “You forget that time has moved more quickly for you than it has for us, these last few weeks.” He pushed himself to his feet and reached down to pull Matt up. “Come, my son. Where shall we go, now that we are free?”
“Yeah, I do have to figure that out,” Matt muttered. For a few seconds, he gazed down at the Mahdi’s camp. Then, without turning his head, he asked Papa, “How did you know Lakshmi would come?”
“Really, son! I know women well enough to be able to see the signs of fascination. I told you that you had enchanted her in more ways than one. Did you really think she would choose to be far from you?”
“Maybe I underrate myself,” Matt said. “Even so, it wasn’t me she was paying attention to, it was you.”
Papa shrugged. “You had made it clear that you admired her, but would do nothing because your heart was already pledged. I do not doubt that, since you were not available, she thought I would do quite well.”
“Yes,” Matt said, frowning. “It was your call she answered, not mine.”
“Genetically, we are nearly identical,” Papa said mildly.
“Now I know what Mama meant, about you being a charmer!”
Papa shrugged, looking out over the camp. “Women are wonderful creatures. You have only to treat them with gentleness, sympathy, and all possible consideration.”
Well, he had certainly done that. Again, maybe his experiences in developing a relationship with a woman he really loved had given him greater understanding and appreciation of all the other women who had come into his life. He had certainly fielded the djinna’s sex plays with an ease that his son found stunning. Matt glanced at his father covertly, studying the tranquil, smiling face in a new light, realizing for the first time since high school that his father was a very handsome man. He found himself speculating about Papa’s past, and wondering just how spectacular Mama must have been in her youth.
Papa turned to him with a disarming smile. “Tell me, now—what would you have done if that transportation spell really had taken us to Mandalay?”
“What?” Matt stared, thrown by the change of subject. Then he smiled. “Recited another verse to take us back to Merovence, of course! Or maybe King Rinaldo.”
“I should have thought of that,” Papa said judiciously. “But in the second line of that verse, didn’t Kipling say...”
“Not here!” Matt cut him off. “Please, not here! You don’t know what it would do.”
“Hmm.” Papa frowned at the ground, running through the verse in his head. Where there ain’t no Ten Commandments... “Yes, I can see that might be a problem. I shall have to be very careful what I recite.”
Alisande’s army camped in a meadow. As the sun was setting, Queen Alisande told Lord Gautier, “When darkness has fallen, send half our men out in groups of six and have them bid all the peasants pack their most precious goods, then flee after sunset.”
Lord Gautier stared. “Majesty! We have only come a day’s ride back toward Bordestang! Are we not returning to raise the siege?”
“We are not,” Alisande said, with the complete certainty of a monarch who spoke for her whole land and people. “It cuts hard, but we must trust the city to its own defenses. The opportunity to take the Moors at a disadvantage is too great to miss.”
“I have missed it completely, then,” Lord Gautier said, mystified. “Everyone has been talking of our return to Bordestang!”
“Yes, and the Mahdi’s spies have surely heard, and taken word to him,” Alisande said. “He will curse because we have turned away from his trap; he will ride after us, with all his men marching through the mountain passes and double-quick along this road, to catch us. He shall find half our army camped a mile farther on, and shall draw up his troops to do battle. Have the other half of our force evacuate the people of the countryside by night, Lord Gautier, then have them dress in peasants’ clothing and busy themselves tilling the fields. It should not be difficult for them; most of them began as plowboys, after all.”
Lord Gautier began to understand. “So they shall till the fields, but keep their weapons near?”
“Near indeed, hidden in furrows and under hedgerows,” Alisande confirmed.
“Then when the Moors attack our army, half our men shall boil out of the fields all about them!” Lord Gautier slapped his saddlebow, grinning.
Alisande nodded. “We shall take them in both flanks and in the rear, Lord Gautier, and even if they outnumber us, they shall fall to our spears—if the Mahdi knows not of our ruse.” She turned to her left, to one of Matt’s assistant wizards. “That shall be your task, apprentice—to confound the spells of the Moorish sorcerers, that they not espy our true positions.”
“That should not be difficult,” the wizard said, grinning, “for those sorcerers are not likely to scry us clearly by night, and when dawn comes, they shall see only our army encamped, and if they notice how much smaller it is, they shall put it down to men deserting because they believe they cannot win against the Mahdi.”
“There is much to be said for conceit,” Lord Gautier said, “at least, for an enemy’s conceit.”
“It is a most excellent scheme,” the junior wizard agreed, his eyes glowing, then frowned. “But what of Bordestang?”
“It is a hard choice,” Alisande admitted, “but the good of the whole country requires that I trust the safety of the city to its walls—and to Sir Gilbert, the Witch Doctor, and Lady Mantrell.”
Privately, of course, she knew Matt’s mother couldn’t do much. She was too new to wizardry. But her main concern was for her infant son, and if anyone could protect him, it would be his grandmother.
Mama cried, “What are these loathsome creatures!”
Two guards, Saul, and Sir Guy came running to her on the southern side of the castle. Sir Gilbert stayed resolutely on watch on the northern side, commanding his men sternly to hold their posts, though he was aching to see what had happened. He reminded himself that his men were dying of curiosity, too. “It may be a ruse,” he cried, “to draw us all away from our posts!”
The sentries held their places, renewed in resolve.
The rest of the commanders looked out over the castle wall and down on the houses and shops. The river flowed under the city wall, snaked through the town, then back out under the wall—and all along its length, great shimmering half spheres were crawling out of the water onto the banks. Citizens howled and ran from them. The creatures flailed about with tentacles. Two managed to touch people; they went rigid and fell, paralyzed too quickly to scream.
But the monsters didn’t stop to eat—they crawled very purposefully through streets and alleys toward the outer wall, still streaming with water. Where they passed, the streets glistened.
“They seek to take the town wall from within!” Sir Guy cried. “What can these creatures be?”
“I don’t know,” Saul answered. “They look sort of like jellyfish, scaled up about a hundred times. They shouldn’t be able to support their own weight on land, though—they should collapse!”
“Magic can do amazing things,” Mama reminded him.
&nbs
p; “Yonder! A citizen fights back!” Sir Guy pointed.
They all looked, and saw a spear falling from a third-floor window. It struck a jellyfish squarely in the back—and bounced off.
“The Moorish sorcerers would not send creatures that could be slain so easily,” Sir Guy said grimly.
“But how did they come in?” Mama asked. “Are not the watergates barred?”
“Sure,” Saul told her, “but these things are very flexible. All they had to do was stretch out thin and squeeze through—assuming they didn’t tear out the iron grilles instead.”
“We shall have to be sure of that, as soon as we have dealt with them,” Sir Guy said grimly.
The monster oozed on up the street. A mongrel burst from hiding behind a rain barrel. A tentacle lashed out; the dog froze in midstride, then fell. The monster crawled on over the dog. Where it had passed, only a stream of water trickled. There was no sign of the mutt.
“We must stop these creatures at once!” Mama declared. “They might slay a child as easily as they have slain that dog, and just as mindlessly absorb it!” She began to gesture, reciting in Spanish.
Sir Guy stiffened. “Their goal is the wall indeed! The Moors attack from without while their monsters attack from within!”
Saul looked up and saw a dozen wooden towers rolling toward the city. The infantry marched behind—well behind. “What’s making them roll? I don’t see any oxen pulling.”
“And no soldiers pushing, either,” Sir Guy told him. “They are self-moving.”
“Auto-mobile, hm?” Saul grinned. “Well, I might know a spell or two about that.”
“While you chant, I shall lead the defense in disabling those towers,” Sir Guy told him. He ran down the stairs, calling, “Ho, men of mine! To horse and away!”
Saul found time to wonder what Mama was chanting. After all, she couldn’t ever have seen monsters like these, could she? Maybe at the aquarium, but...
A jellyfish blew up. That was the only word to describe it; in a single second, its body swelled to a tight and glistening half ball, then popped like bubble gum—except that it dried up as it fell in on itself, and in another second was only a desiccated, rubbery film on the cobbles, a film that evaporated even as Saul watched. He stared, fascinated, listening to the popping sounds all over town.
When they died away, Mama nodded, satisfied. “No town should suffer such vermin.”
Saul gave himself a shake. “Yes. Amazing job, Lady Mantrell.”
“It is nothing.” Mama waved away the compliment. “If you had ever had to clean bubble gum off a child’s face, you would understand it quite quickly.”
Now Saul understood why her chant had seemed familiar; even though he couldn’t understand the language, he’d recognized the tune—from a television commercial.
Mama frowned out over the city. “How are those towers approaching us?”
“By magic, I think,” Saul said. “Either that, or they’ve got people inside walking treadmills.”
“They would not go so smoothly if that were all,” Mama told him. “Let us spike their wheels, yes?”
“Yes,” Saul agreed. He lifted his hands to start miming, then saw Sir Guy running up the steps to the ramparts of the city’s wall. “Hold on—let’s see what the professional is doing.”
Mama turned to watch, frowning. “Why does he not wear full armor?”
“He only does that for infighting,” Saul explained, “when he has to face other knights’ swords and lances. He can’t run around in it. All he’s worried about right now is arrows, so he makes do with a mail shirt and a light helmet.”
Sir Guy paced to and fro along the wall, waving at the towers, shooing archers into position. Flame blossomed on their bows, then leaped in blazing arcs toward the towers. Burning arrows fell on the thatched roofs, bit into the wooden sides—and promptly went out.
“Fireproofed!” Saul cried. “The sorcerers have found some way to make sure those towers won’t burn!”
“If it is a spell, I can stop it.” Mama raised her hands again, face grim, and began to recite. Spanish words ran from her tongue in a stream.
Sir Guy, obviously believing in occasional bad luck, sent another flight of flaming arrows into the siege engines. They struck, guttered—then blazed up again.
Mama lowered her hands, satisfied. “That should suffice.”
The flames suddenly guttered again.
Mama threw up her hands, speaking quite angrily as she commanded the fire to grow. The flames licked up again, and the siege engines began to burn.
“I must stay on guard against their spells,” Mama snapped, “and even burning, those towers could do great damage to our wall. Stop them, Saul!”
Saul fought down irritation; he didn’t like anybody bossing him around. This wasn’t the time to make an issue out of it, though. “Anything you say, Lady Mantrell.” He thought a moment, then took a piece of rope from his pocket and tied a knot as he chanted,
“Under a spreading canopy
Stands the town smith’s lass.
She’s not making horseshoes—
She’s only pumping gas.
For carts not pulled by horses
Cannot run on hay.
Whatever fuel they use to run
Can be cut off any day,
As OPEC cut the flow of oil,
Or fuses cut the juice.
So towers rolling by themselves
Can’t be of any use
If I do crimp the pipeline
Through which pours the flow
Of energy from sorcery!
Cease rolling, towers of foe!”
The burning towers ground to a halt.
“By axle, rod, and bearing,”
Saul added,
“By crankshaft, gear, and brake!
Let turning parts all seize up!
Let wheels fall off and break!”
One tower’s corner suddenly jolted to the ground, then another. Slowly, the burning towers tipped and fell. Moors leaped from them as they tumbled. Saul hoped they were empty when they crashed full-length on the ground, burning merrily.
“Well done,” Mama said, folding her arms with a satisfied smile. She nodded and said again, “Yes, very well done.”
Saul felt an irrational rush of pleasure at her praise, and turned away, scolding himself. He should have been beyond such infantile responses.
Matt and Papa hiked a mile away from the Mahdi’s force, then rolled up in their blankets for a few hours. They woke at sunrise, blew their campfire aflame, and boiled water for herbal tea to wash down journeybread and cheese.
“It was good of the young Mahdi not to take away our packs,” Papa said.
“Yes, and I’ll bet his sorcerers are chewing him out for it right now,” Matt agreed. “They’re probably sure we escaped because we had some magical gadgets.”
Papa smiled. “Then they are as angry at losing our packs as they are at losing us.”
“Sure.” Matt poured the tea, passed a cup to Papa. “Maybe we should have left them. It would hold those sorcerers up for a year, trying to figure out what kind of spells we could work with blankets, wooden bowls, Brie, and crackers.”
“Well, if they have gained no knowledge, neither have we,” Papa sighed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Matt mused. “We know there’s a hidden persuader behind the sorcerers, and that they’re the power behind the Mahdi.”
“We knew that before,” Papa pointed out.
“Yes, but it helps to have it verified. Besides, I like knowing I guessed right about the man behind the men behind the throne.”
“About Nirobus being a sorcerer and not a clergyman?” Papa asked. “But if he is not a holy man, he could be anything.”
“Yes, including a demon in disguise, or a genuine sold-his-soul necromancer.” Matt shuddered. “Met one once. Don’t want to do it again.”
“Which means we know nothing about this Nirobus,” Papa said. “He could be anythi
ng.”
“He could,” Matt said slowly, “but I think he’s human—that, or wearing an awfully good disguise.”
“What makes you think so?” Papa asked, frowning.
“Because when I met him, that first time I went back to New Jersey,” Matt explained, “he acted awfully sympathetic.”
“Acted,” Papa reminded. “Any good con man can seem very sincere.”
“True,” Matt admitted, “but he wasn’t just sincere, he seemed genuinely interested.”
“In discovering an enemy’s plans? Of course!”
“Not just that,” Matt protested. “He was interested in me as a person, in finding out how my mind worked, what I was feeling, what I needed, how to help me figure out how to get it...”
“Like a good teacher,” Papa said softly.
“Yeah.”
Papa stared into the campfire, lips pursed. “A man genuinely interested in people, who can bridge the universes?”
“Why not? We can. All he had to do was follow my backtrail.”
“Why bother?”
“Well, aside from the little factor of stranding me away from Merovence, where I couldn’t do him any harm,” Matt said, “there’s the little matter of a necromancer’s power source.”
“It comes from slaying people, does it not?”
“It can,” Matt said slowly, “and I think he may be killing a lot of New Jersey kids very slowly.”
“With the new drug, yes.”
Matt nodded. “Carefully structured to retain magic, to channel energy from New Jersey to this universe. It bleeds away only a little more energy than its host is producing, so that the kid who takes it goes on providing life energy for sorcery for a few years instead of one blazing instant.” He shivered. “Talk about a designer drug!”
“You speak of it as though it were a living thing.”
“Why not?” Matt shrugged. “Years ago, before the Federal Drug Administration, swindlers used to sell diet pills that would make you skinny no matter how much you ate.”
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