My Son, the Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “I remember reading of it—the ‘pills’ contained tapeworm eggs.” Papa shuddered. “It seems incredible that people really will do such things. Can magic manufacture some sort of parasite that will do what you have explained?”

  “I don’t know why not. I’ve certainly seen enough magically produced monsters here—chimeras, manticores, trolls, even a few that seem very original, like Narlh the dracogriff.”

  Papa shook his head, almost in despair. “So by not letting the neighborhood boys use my store to spread this drug, I marked myself as an enemy of this Nirobus?”

  Matt nodded. “Unless he’d already pegged you because you were related to me.”

  Papa looked up, staring. “I thought your description sounded familiar! It fits the man who talked me into going into business for myself!”

  “So he did have you marked right from the beginning,” Matt said grimly. “Sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

  “This is the sort of trouble I wish to be in,” Papa said grimly, “the defense of the innocent and young, even if I die in the fight. No, my son, I only regret my failure to protect them, not my defeat.” He bit his lip. “Except for the anxiety it has caused my Jimena.”

  “If I know Mama, she would have raced you for the boxing gloves if she’d known about all this,” Matt told him. “Anyway, it’s working out okay for her.”

  “And for me also!” Papa clapped him on the shoulder. “I thank you, Matthew, for another chance to fight!”

  “Any time, Papa,” Matt said, grinning.

  Papa’s brow furrowed. “But if the whole campaign is so well planned, why has the Mahdi besieged Bordestang when he should have consolidated Ibile first?”

  “Nice question.” Matt frowned in thought, then said, “The logical reason is that Alisande is a greater threat to Nirobus’ plans than King Rinaldo is.” He tensed with anger. “If they can bump her off, Rinaldo will be isolated, and be easy meat.”

  “Then her best protection is for this King Rinaldo to be anything but an easy victim.” Papa gazed off into the distance. “There must be some way in which he can become more of a threat—able to attack the Mahdi, harry his forces, distract him from Merovence.”

  “Some way like teaching him modern guerrilla techniques?” Matt felt a surge of elation. “Maybe we oughta check up on my old pal Rinaldo and see if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  “Certainly! Perhaps in helping him, we can help your wife.” Papa began throwing dirt on the campfire. “I think it is time to march, Matthew.”

  A shadow loomed huge in the night. “Surely you will not depart without me,” Stegoman rumbled.

  “Only if we couldn’t find you, Scale Runner!” Matt grinned. “Feel like a trip to the North Shore?”

  The men hooked their packs over huge triangular plates, then climbed up among them. “Night flyers are harder to spot, right, Stegoman?” Matt asked.

  “Assuredly—but I shall stay low in any case.” Stegoman spread his wings, leather booming open in the quiet of the night. But he only flapped them twice before a shooting star plunged down at them and exploded.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The ball of light exploded outward to reveal a genie who expanded even as his star had, shooting up to become twenty feet tall, brandishing a battle-ax that was three feet across, booming, “Are you the Wizard Mantrell?”

  “Uh—no!” Matt stated with all the assurance he could muster. “Can’t stand the man! Never even heard of him!”

  Papa got the idea. “We weren’t there,” he protested, “and even if we were, we didn’t do it!”

  “You lie!” He was a very perceptive genie. He swung the battle-ax up over his head two-handed.

  “Run, Stegoman!... Papa, no! Wait!”

  But Papa had already jumped down, calling, “We must not drag your friend into our own dangers, Matthew! Besides, two smaller targets are harder to hit than one big one!”

  Matt cursed and jumped down, then started broken-field running.

  “Matthew, no!” Stegoman roared. “I can carry us all to safety!” He started chasing after Matt.

  Papa caught on. He started running in zigzags, each zag taking him farther and farther away from the ax.

  “Stand still, blast you!” the genie roared. “Or at least stay together!” The huge ax roared down out of the night, but Matt swerved at the last second, and it bit into dirt—way into dirt, which was just as well, because Matt collided with Stegoman. The dragon screeched to a halt, but Matt bounced ten feet.

  “Prepare to die!” the genie roared, managing to wrestle his ax free.

  “I forbid!” cried a contralto.

  Matt scrambled up, staring toward the sky. Sure enough, Lakshmi towered over them, just as tall as the genie.

  “I must do as the Master of the Lamp has bidden me, Princess!” the genie protested. “You cannot command me in defiance of its power!” He wrenched his eyes away from her and aimed another blow at Matt.

  Matt scurried around to hide behind Lakshmi’s kneecap.

  “Son! I taught you never to hide behind a woman!” Papa called.

  “You didn’t mean it literally, did you?” Matt called back. “At least, not when she’s this big!”

  “Stand aside, Princess.” But the genie lowered his ax. “You must not come between a genie and his appointed task.”

  Suddenly, Lakshmi seemed to blaze with feminine allure. “Come, Kamar! Are you a slave, or a free djinni?”

  “I have been bonded to a lamp, as you know, Princess.” Kamar swallowed hard, and Matt thought that if his eyes bulged any further, they’d hatch. “I must do as I have been commanded.”

  “Perhaps.” Lakshmi took two steps toward him, rolling her hips—and other portions of her anatomy. “Surely, though, you can tarry a little on your way.”

  Matt goggled, too—he’d never known a woman could have voluntary muscular control in quite those sites.

  Then he remembered himself and his predicament. He waved to Papa, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and began to inch away from the confrontation.

  Kamar was panting now. “I am a slave! I dare not do as a free djinni would!”

  “If you are a slave, it is scarcely your fault,” Lakshmi told him, “and the dalliance need not be great.” She brushed up against him, head tilted, eyes half-closed, lips half-open. “Or is your lust for blood so great as to dull all other appetites?”

  “You try me unfairly,” Kamar protested, but he must have realized this was his one and only chance at a princess of his own kind, because he lowered the ax to the ground, slid one arm around Lakshmi, and buried her lips in his beard.

  Matt turned and ran as lightly as possible, glancing back at Papa, who was running flat-out—and the poor princess, who was making so great a sacrifice for him, never mind that Kamar really was fairly handsome, as genies went...

  Conscience pricked like a loaded hypodermic, and Matt skidded to a halt. Papa hissed “Run!” as he passed, then circled back. “Don’t waste this one opportunity!”

  “I can’t leave the poor thing to make such a huge sacrifice,” Matt said, “and I can’t leave an enemy behind me.” He threw his arms up, gesturing the unwinding of a mummy’s bonds, and recited,

  “With no throbs of fiery pain

  Nor cold gradations of decay,

  I break at once the unseen chain

  And free Kamar the nearest way

  From antique lamp and magic’s might.

  Do as you will, but will what’s right!”

  He lowered his arms. Then he spun on his heel and ran. Behind him, he heard a sucking like a huge suction cup pulled off a wall, then Kamar’s voice shouting in jubilation, “I am free! The lamp no longer commands me! Princess, I worship at your feet! What magic there is in your kiss!”

  “Not that sort, certainly,” Lakshmi answered in surprise. “Will you befriend whoever freed you, no matter what your former master commanded?” She emphasized the “former” nicely. />
  “I will! Oh, thrice blessed be she who has freed me from the shame of that bondage!” cried Kamar.

  “Not she but he. Come back, Lord Wizard of Merovence.”

  Suddenly, there was no ground beneath Matt’s running feet. Pedaling air frantically, he nonetheless found himself turning and plunging back toward the djinna and her new friend.

  “Kamar,” said Lakshmi, “meet your liberator. Wizard, did you not free him even as you did me?”

  “Well, not quite the same way.” Matt had carefully left out the part about fanatical loyalty to himself. “But basically, yes.”

  “A thousand thanks!” Kamar plucked Matt out of the air and held him in his cupped hands. “I am your friend for life! Whatever you wish, only ask, and it is yours!”

  “Thanks.” Matt swallowed, then grinned, trying to put a brave face on it. “I’ll save that favor, if you don’t mind, until I really need it.”

  “Only call for Kamar of the Djinn.” But the genie was staring in disbelief. He looked up at Lakshmi. “What manner of man is this, Princess? Any other would have taken the offer of a wish on the instant, and called for wealth or luxury!”

  “He is a most exceptional example of his kind.” Lakshmi didn’t sound completely happy about it. “But since you are freed and no longer a threat to him, Kamar, fare you well.”

  “Farewell?” Kamar dropped Matt like a hot potato, eyes showing the misery of learning he’d guessed right the first time. “Do you not still wish me to dally, O Pearl?”

  “With you? Be not absurd!” Lakshmi turned away, scooping Matt up, and called back over her shoulder, “Earn greater fame among the djinn if you would seek to speak to me again!” But she rolled her hips as she went, just to rub it in.

  Behind her, Kamar groaned.

  “Well, you sure know how to motivate men,” Matt called up to her.

  “Aye, except for the one I wish to move, or the other who would do in his place,” Lakshmi said with a sardonic smile. She leaned down to set Matt on the ground next to Stegoman.

  Matt felt sheepish. “I can’t thank you enough, O Princess...”

  “You can,” she said, shrinking down to human size, blazing with every erg of allure she possessed. Matt staggered back, gasping, and Lakshmi’s smile turned bitter. “You can thank me as I wish, but you will not.”

  “Well, you know the rules about interspecies dating...”

  “I know quite well that it has been done,” she answered tartly, “though rarely, and even more rarely to both partners’ satisfaction. To be plain, your kind lacks endurance, Lord Wizard.”

  Matt fought down the urge to prove her wrong. “Well, we intellectuals are apt to be a bit absentminded...”

  “Not at all,” Lakshmi countered. “Your mind is entirely too present. Were it absent, your body would do as it wished—and as I wished.” Her smile turned sardonic again. “But since your mind is present, and you will not act upon my desires, then find me some mate worthy of me, mortal man—one who will make me forget you quite. Now, farewell.”

  She disappeared suddenly and completely, and reaction made Matt sick and weak inside. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. “Papa... maybe we could find some way to break a love spell...”

  “Better men than we have sought that cancellation, my son,” Papa sighed, “and have learned that an obsession is far more easily begun than ended. Come now, let us ride.” He clasped Matt’s forearm and braced him as he stood up, then turned away to climb aboard Stegoman.

  “They’re okay, Lady Mantrell!” Saul assured her. “Believe me, Matt has done this kind of thing before—four times before, and he’s still in one piece!”

  “Yes, but with how much pain?” Mama countered. She looked around the royal library, at a loss. Bookshelves climbed to the ceiling, filled with huge leather-bound parchment volumes. “Certainly there must be something here that can tell us how to protect him!”

  “Believe me, milady, the only things that can hurt your son are so thoroughly evil that only a saint or an angel can help him any.” Saul spoke from personal experience. “And he rides under the protection of St. Moncaire, at least. I suspect, being in Ibile, that he also has St. Iago looking out for him.”

  “Oh, I have asked the good saint to intercede for him, every night!” Mama said fervently. “If only I could know he is safe!”

  “All right, we’ll look again,” Saul said, exasperated. He leaned down over the writing desk and pulled the inkpot over. It was heavy-duty, four inches wide and three high. Saul took off the cover and passed his hand over it three times, muttering,

  “By phosphor, pixel, line, and screen,

  Let Wizard Matthew here be seen!

  Ferhensehen, video, television,

  Distantly we watch his mission!

  He went, he came, he saw—we think.

  Let his image show in ink!”

  Slowly, a picture appeared in the small pool.

  Mama stared. “That spell works most amazingly, Saul!”

  “You mean it’s amazing that it works,” Saul said with a grimace. “I think it’s only because the magic associates pixels with pixies.”

  They saw a dragon gliding low under the morning sun with Matt and Papa on his back. Around them stretched a flat and dusty plain with rows of small trees marking watercourses.

  Mama stared. “What remarkable transportation!”

  “Transportation? That’s a friend, a dragon named Stegoman. You see, Lady Mantrell? He’s alive and well.”

  “Yes, but for how long?” Mama frowned. “There must be some aid I can send them.”

  Saul forced a smile. “You really don’t believe those silly men can take care of themselves without a wise woman to watch over them, do you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Saul.” Mama sniffed. “I know they’re not silly.” She carefully didn’t comment on the rest of his statement.

  Saul frowned. He started to say he could see she was planning something, but caught himself in time—Mama’s gaze was so intent that he felt sure she was either working magic, or thinking some up.

  “That landscape around them,” Mama said. “What does it look like to you?”

  Saul frowned, studying the image for a minute, its flatness, emptiness, the broadness of its reach... “Nebraska.”

  Mama nodded. “I thought so, too. But this is Ibile, not America, so it must be La Mancha.”

  Saul gave her a leery glance.

  She watched Stegoman’s slow glide for a minute more—and on the horizon ahead, a windmill appeared, its sail turning lazily.

  “No doubt of it,” Mama said. “It is La Mancha.”

  Saul caught his breath, then recited, almost without thinking,

  “Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath

  (Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)

  And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,

  Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain,

  And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade...

  (But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)”

  Mama looked up, nodding, pleased. “So you know of him. Yes, Saul. I think that, in this world, that is a name to conjure by.” She turned back to stare into the inkpot, intoning a brief, singsong chant, then sat back, relaxing.

  Saul waved a hand over the inkpot, muttering quickly. It went dark, and he covered it. “Satisfied, Donna Mantrell?”

  “I am not a donna,” she said automatically, then caught herself, wide-eyed. “But I suppose I am—here, am I not? If my son is a lord.”

  “Not officially,” Saul told her, “but I’m sure that’s just an oversight Alisande will get around to fixing as soon as she’s back. Think your men are safe now, Donna?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mama said, with a little smile. “As safe as they can be. I have sent them what aid I can, at least.” She frowned suddenly. “Pray Heaven it is enough!”

  Gliding o
ver the plain, they saw another small town appear ahead of them. Matt pointed. “Down there, Stegoman. It’s bigger than the other towns we’ve come to. Maybe there’ll be somebody left to sell us dinner.”

  “Or perhaps a stray cow,” Stegoman grumbled. “These people seem to have been remarkably efficient in taking their beasts with them, Matthew!”

  “Can’t leave food behind for the enemy, you know. Besides, I think Rinaldo’s planning on making the whole northern coast into one big castle, and they’re going to need every calorie they can find for the siege.”

  “They could have left the swine,” Stegoman grumbled. “The Moors will not eat pork.”

  “Maybe we can find you a real boar.”

  “Thank you, I have met too many of those.” Stegoman banked, coasting around the town, then cupped his wings, braking hard, and touched down on the main street.

  Papa climbed down, looking about him with a shudder. “It is so empty! In the West, they might think it a ghost town!”

  “I have to admit, Rinaldo did a great job getting his people out of here,” Matt agreed. He slid down off Stegoman’s shoulder and strode toward an inn. “Let’s see if anybody’s home—or if they left anything.”

  “Why should they?” Papa asked. “The people in the last three towns didn’t.” He shook his head in amazement. “They were surprisingly efficient, these folk of Ibile. Fleeing an enemy, they would be expected to take only what was vital, or valuable—but we haven’t found a single plate or cup, not a stick of silverware or a spare sandal!”

  “Maybe they have so little that even everyday things like that are very dear to them,” Matt suggested. “Let’s see if these folk had any more in the way of priorities.”

  One minute proved the building was empty of life above the cockroach level, and even the bugs were looking malnourished. Ten minutes’ searching, though, turned up a bonus. Matt came staggering back into the street under a double arm-load. “Hey, Stegoman! What do you think of this?”

  The dragon scowled down. “As firewood, it is excellent. As carving, it lacks something—perhaps skill.”