“I know, that’s pretty crude—just main force, no magic to it.” Saul picked up a thick piece of rope. “This one’s a bit more subtle.” He began to recite nonsense syllables in a sonorous chant, making sure it had both meter and rhyme, as he slowly and carefully began to tie a series of knots in the length of cable.
Beidizam’s eyes bulged; he knew the spell, or one much like it. He howled frightened protests through his gag, struggling furiously against his bonds.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Saul told him. “This won’t hurt a bit—not me, anyway...”
The door opened, letting sunlight into the chamber, and Mama cried, “Witch Doctor! What do you do? You are a healer, not a destroyer!”
“Well, there’s some truth in that,” Saul allowed, “but nobody knows how to hurt so well as a healer, so...”
“No!” Mama stepped up and snatched the rope from his hands. “This man may have sought to dishonor me, but he is a man, after all, not a beast!”
“You’re entitled to your own opinion,” Saul said stiffly.
“Leave torture to they who seek to advance the cause of evil!”
“Just a little one,” Saul pleaded.
“Let him dwell in dungeons damp!
Let his toes seize up and cramp!”
Beidizam howled as the muscles in all ten toes suddenly knotted.
“That is unworthy of you!” Mama scolded Saul. “We persuade, we do not torture!” She pushed him aside and sat on the hard cot, yanking off Beidizam’s shoes and massaging his toes while she sang in Spanish—a lullaby, a soothing tune. Beidizam groaned with relief and Saul, standing against the wall, glowered with irritation.
“I must apologize for my friend,” Mama said. “He was perhaps even more incensed by your overtures than I was.” After all, Beidizam didn’t know who had knocked him out—let him believe it was Saul. “Do not think that I do not appreciate the compliment.” Mama smiled, projecting the image of the demure maiden blushing with pleasure at flattery. “But I spoke truly in telling you of the loyalty of Frankish women, a loyalty that any Muslim would treasure in his own wives. I must remain true to my marriage vows, after all, as my religion requires—by my hope of Heaven, I must! With that Faith to strengthen me, I will keep faith with my husband through all trials. I would not betray him even if I wanted to.” She smiled, letting Beidizam glimpse all the tenderness and desire that thoughts of Ramón could evoke in her. “But I do not want to, because I do love my husband, am more in love with him than when first we wed.”
Beidizam gazed at her, spellbound—literally. He couldn’t know the Spanish of her universe, couldn’t know that the song she had sung while she massaged his cramps was really a spell that would transmute his lust into awe—not love, but making him look on her as though she were a statue on a pedestal.
“Come, let me free your mouth—you must be parched.” Mama bent forward to untie his gag. Her nearness made him shiver, but as the gag came away, he turned on his side, coughing, working his mouth. All sympathy, Mama held out a goblet. He sipped, then remembered that he was in the house of his enemy and muttered a charm as he gazed into the wine.
“It will not change color,” Mama assured him. “There is no drug in it, no poison. That would be rude treatment indeed for a guest! And our guest you shall be, for I shall see you housed and served according to your station, as soon as you are recovered from Saul’s harshness.” She glanced up at Saul, irritated. “It was most unkind of you, really!”
“I am covered with rue,” Saul said, all repentance.
“He is overly concerned for my safety,” Mama explained, “and was overcome with anger; that is why he acted so rashly.” Then she frowned. “But it must be extremely wearying, coming so far to assault a town that is no threat to you! He must be quite a villain who set you to the task.”
Beidizam stiffened. “Our Mahdi is no villain!”
Mama stared. “Was it the Mahdi who sent you to besiege us, then?”
“It was!” Beidizam exclaimed, then saw her skepticism and relented. “Of course, I was one of those who raised him up to be Mahdi in the first place—but it is nonetheless he who commands!”
“Commands in war,” Mama qualified. “Will not the real sage govern, when the Mahdi is done conquering?”
“Sage?” Beidizam grinned, confidence restored—he knew something she didn’t know after all. “Say rather, the schemer! Yes, Nirobus seeks to conquer all the world, and will use the religion of Allah to that end as easily as any other. All he cares is that all be unified under one rule.”
“His?” Mama asked.
“Why not? He can be sure of his own motives, at least, and can trust himself!”
“Can you?” Mama asked.
“As long as I do his bidding, yes.” Beidizam shrugged. “And why should I not? He will give me power over a fifth of the world; I will govern with only Nirobus himself above me! Why should I not do as he bids me?”
Mama frowned. “And what will you do with this fifth of the world?”
“Be sure that there is justice for all men, no matter their rank,” Beidizam told her. “Be sure that there is peace—that no man raises his hand against another, or steals his wife or goods; that every merchant can go safely from Ibile to Latruria, or even Allustria, with no fear of bandits.”
“Is that all?” Mama smiled as though at a shared secret. “Will there be no wealth, no luxury, no harem?”
“Well, of course.” Beidizam grinned. “The ruling of a fifth of the world is a heavy burden. Will I not deserve some comforts to console me?”
Saul snorted. Mama frowned at him, but he only said, “Rank has its privileges, huh?”
“But of course.” Beidizam returned the gloating grin that Saul had given him so shortly before.
“What is he like, this Nirobus?” Mama asked.
“Fair in his judgments, mild in his speech and manners, and courteous to all,” Beidizam told her. “He is a sage in his way, but is far more practical than that.”
“Young or old?”
“Mature,” Beidizam said judiciously. “His hair and beard are gray, as are his eyes. To speak truly, he looks more like a Frank than a Moor.”
“Does he indeed.” Mama turned thoughtful.
“Be sure he is no traitor, though!” Beidizam said quickly. “He could not be a Frank—his Arabic is too perfect, his Berber too homely!”
But Mama had considerable experience in the learning and teaching of other languages, and knew that educated foreigners frequently spoke a language better than those born to it. She didn’t say so, of course, only smiled and changed the subject. “I must go now, Lord Beidizam, but I shall send men to conduct you to chambers far more pleasant than this.”
Beidizam frowned. “Must I remain your prisoner, then?”
“I would prefer to think of you as a guest,” Mama said, “but yes, you must remain with us—and I must ask you to speak to no one, most especially not to recite a spell.”
Beidizam gave her a sly grin. “I will not promise you that—nor should you trust me if I did!”
“As you say,” Mama sighed, and sang a little song. Saul frowned, recognizing the language for Latin, but understood only one word, repeated several times.
“A pleasant ditty,” Beidizam told her. “Is it your farewell for me?”
“Only until noon tomorrow.” Mama rose from the cot. “I shall visit you once every day—we shall eat the midday meal together, unless I am called away. My servants shall make you comfortable. I trust your stay with us shall be a pleasant one.”
“As pleasant as it can be, when I cannot be about the work for which I burn,” Beidizam said sourly. “Nevertheless, it is better than the company of your bloodthirsty friend there. May I hope that you will take him with you when you leave?”
“Of course. Saul, please come with me.” Mama went to the door and passed out. Saul paused for one last murderous shark-smile at Beidizam, then went after Mama.
As he closed the do
or, he said, “Nice work. You did a great job of charming him—literally.”
“Why, thank you, Saul,” Mama said, with a polite flutter of the eyelashes. “But I should take no credit for it—it is more a matter of talent than of accomplishment, you know.”
“Well, yes, but you certainly had the skill to use that talent.”
Behind them inside the cell, Beidizam grinned in the ruddy light of the brazier. The foolish Franks had left him bound, yes, but with his lips free! There was no gag, and did a sorcerer ever need more than words to escape a prison? Softly, he began to chant an ancient Arabic verse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Outside the cell, climbing the stairs up from the dungeon, Mama said, “You did your part very well, Saul. He was quite frightened when I came in.”
“Why, thank you, Lady Mantrell,” Saul said, with an “aw, shucks” sort of grin. “I used to watch horror movies when I was a kid.”
“Educational media, no doubt—you must have learned well from them. What did you do to him?”
“To him, nothing. I just imitated the sadists I’ve met one place and another, especially since I came to this world. Of course, Beidizam couldn’t know that...”
“You must be quite talented,” Mama said, “a natural mimic.”
“Why, thank you.” Saul told himself he shouldn’t be so pleased. “You realize, of course, that the second we walked out that door, Beidizam started chanting a verse to transport him out of that cell and back to his own tent.”
“Of course, but he will not succeed,” Mama said with certainty. “I have made sure of that.”
“Yes, that was an odd little spell you sang him. What was it? All I could pick out was the word ‘aphasia.’ ”
“You know of it, then?”
“Of course—it’s the ultimate speech defect, usually caused by damage to the brain. Someone who suffers from it can make all the speech sounds—his tongue, vocal folds, and lips are just fine. But they’re disconnected from his brain; the link between mind and mouth has been broken.”
“An interesting way to put it,” Mama said, frowning.
“Sure. The person with aphasia thinks she’s saying, ‘I’m speaking perfectly clearly,’ but all that’s coming out is gibberish. She can’t encode her thoughts as language; no matter what she tries to say, all that comes out of her mouth is babbling non...” Saul stared. “You didn’t!”
“I most certainly did,” Mama said with asperity. “He shall have aphasia indeed, unless he talks to me—and I trust you shall always be near, to counter any spell he tries to cast at such times.”
“Well, I will, of course,” Saul said, frowning, “but why would you need me? You’re the spellbinder!”
“Because sooner or later he will try to knock me out or gag me, to prevent my blocking his enchantments,” Mama said with complete assurance. “He may not be the tiger he thinks himself, but he is most certainly a wolf. You will not let me go alone into his den, will you, Saul?”
“Not a chance,” Saul said fervently, thinking of the prophet Daniel.
So no matter how hard he tried, Beidizam remained their permanent guest, and none of his underlings wanted to take the responsibility for attacking the city without magical backup. Without their sorcerer there to command, no one did anything, and the siege ground to a sit-down halt.
Matt went over and nudged Luco with his foot. The boy’s head rolled, a silly grin on his face. “He’s out, but good and proper. What’re we going to do with him, Papa? Can’t just leave him lying around cluttering up the place.”
Papa shrugged. “What did I always do when I found him out too late? Send him home.”
“Sure, why not?” Matt turned thoughtful. “It could be that every time somebody makes that trip, the channel becomes a little more solidly established, couldn’t it?”
“Making it easier for you to go back to New Jersey? Yes, quite,” Papa said, “but more importantly, making it easier for you to return.”
“Good point.” Matt frowned. “I don’t want to close that channel until after I’m back here, do I? But for the meantime, to help keep it open...”
“Take him back to Lackawanna,
Where the Plaza was going under,
Till they changed the old train station to a mall!
Back to Bus Route Thirty-Four,
And the radon sites galore,
Where the sunrise did surprise us one and all!”
Luco’s form blurred, seemed to stretch and condense, then faded from sight.
“He was a good boy,” Papa said sadly, “and would have stayed that way, if his father had paid him any attention.”
“Oh, he paid attention, all right—whenever he wanted somebody to listen to him brag about him being the big hero in the Battle of the Bulge.”
A squall of surprise and fear made them both whirl toward Callio. The thief was staring at a section of ground in front of him that had sunk a few inches, leaving an oblong platter-shape in the dirt. Matt frowned, stepping over. “What happened, Callio?”
“My loot!” the thief cried. “I buried it, even as you said I should—and it has sunk deeper than I dug!”
“Oh.” Matt nodded sympathetically. “It didn’t sink, Callio, it disappeared. That rifle is out of this world, now. Literally. Luco brought it from another land, and I just sent him back where he came from—so I guess the weapon went with him.”
Callio leaped up, fists clenched, glaring up at Matt. “So this is your reason for burying things—so that you may steal them from me by your magic!”
“Only this item,” Matt assured him, “and it’s not the kind of thing you would have wanted to have around anyway, believe me.”
Callio opened his mouth for an angry retort, then suddenly went pale with fear. “Do you say it is magical?”
“In terms of this universe,” Matt said, “yes—and bad magic, too, the kind that can kill a lot of people.”
Callio turned away with a shudder. “Thank you for stealing it from me, wizard!”
“But I didn’t...” Matt broke off, too frustrated to explain.
Papa laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Don’t bother to try, Matthew. Our Callio is a pleasant enough rascal, but he is also one of those who will only hear what he wants.”
“Or what he understands?” Matt asked, with a sardonic smile. “I’m not sure I’m all that much better.”
“Of course you are!” Papa said with a grin. “Look how much you guessed about our enemy Nirobus without any evidence!”
“Sheer hunch alone, huh?” Matt shook his head. “Hard to think of the old guy as an enemy—he seemed so nice, so gentle and sympathetic.”
“Yes, but I can appear so, too, when I wish,” Papa told him.
“You are nice and gentle and sympathetic!”
“Many people who are, try not to let it show, Matthew. Besides, I can be quite unpleasant, even hard, if there is need.”
Matt remembered a few run-ins with other parents when he’d been a child, not to mention the exploits he’d been watching in the last few weeks. “True enough, Papa. So we have to figure Nirobus is the man behind all this trouble, no matter what his reasons are.”
“ ‘There can surely be no greater treason...’ ” Papa began.
“Hey, be careful, okay?” Matt interrupted. “You don’t want to go slinging rhymes around here just to make a point.”
“True enough,” Papa agreed, abashed, then brightened. “But since I have said other things since, it will no longer be a rhyme. ‘...To do the right thing for the wrong reason.’ ”
“I definitely do not agree,” Matt said. “What’s important is to do the right thing, period. Even so, I’d say our Nirobus may be doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”
“At best,” Papa agreed. “More likely, he is doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason, but is skilled at making himself appear to be good.”
“At least in the past, my enemies have all looked like villains,” Matt si
ghed. “I suppose I was due for a bad guy who looked good. Let’s just hope his deputy the drug baron doesn’t look so respectable.”
“Be sure that he will,” Papa said grimly, “but the appearance of respectability is another matter entirely from the appearance of goodness. Surely when he talked me into leaving teaching for small business, he looked both respectable and good.”
“Yes, and after you’d bought the store, he left it up to Groldor to ruin you.”
Papa shrugged. “We were in his way; he killed two birds with one gang.”
“Well, between them, they certainly did a good job of drawing me away from Merovence,” Matt said, “and I don’t doubt they would have done an even better job of keeping me from getting back, if I hadn’t had the Spider King and St. Moncaire both working on my side.”
Papa nodded. “But their leaching may have been their own downfall in that, for to use their drug to steal energy from our young people, they had to keep the link between the universes open.”
“Good point.” Matt looked up, a gleam in his eye. “In fact, that’s the kind of side effect I really like—using the enemy’s own schemes against him.”
“You mean to find an effect that can be used as a weapon?” Papa grinned. “The justice in it appeals to my poetic soul.”
“I knew there was a reason you were a good magician here.”
“The soul reason?” Papa asked.
Matt winced. “That’s another one, your fondness for words.”
Papa shrugged. “They taste good.”
“The wizard as sensualist,” Matt mused. “Interesting paradox. But I hope we can find some of those side effects to use against Groldor, because no matter what else happens, I have to go back and knock him out.”
“Well, I think I am ready for that fight.” Papa stood up, grinning. “Shall we walk, or ride?”
Matt looked up, turning somber. “I said I have to go, Papa.”
Papa frowned. “But he is more my enemy than yours! I cannot let you fight my battles!”
“Groldor is just a side theater of operations in my own major war,” Matt reminded him, “Alisande versus Nirobus—which means Nirobus versus me.”
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