Fergus looked glum and disgruntled. “So you knew the topper,” he said. “Yes, Bill’s a normal man again. This time the machine wasn’t turned off. Gandolphus just left. He’d found out what he needed. And like a good scout, he’s gone back with his report on our symbiotic potential.
“Care to make a small bet as to what that report is?”
Sriberdegibit
“May I be eternally cursed!” Gilbert Iles gasped.
The little man with the sketchy fringe of beard made further passes, reached out into the air again, and plunked a second twenty-dollar gold piece down on the bar beside the first.
“It’s beautiful,” lies announced solemnly. Hot buttered rum always made him solemn. “I’ve never seen such prestidigitation in my life. See: I can say prestidigitation.’ That’s what comes of having trained articulation. That’s beautiful, too.”
The little man smiled. “You’re an actor, colleague?” he asked.
“Not officially. I’m a lawyer. I won the Shalgreen will case today; that’s why I’m celebrating. Did I tell you about that case?”
“No. Was it interesting?”
“Most interesting. You see, the presumptive heirs— But the hell with that,” Gilbert Iles decided with solemn capriciousness. “Show me some more prestidigitation.
The water lapped peacefully at the piles under the bar. The sailor in the corner switched off the table light and let the clear moonshine bathe the blonde opposite him. The radio was turned so low that it was only a murmur. The man with the fringe beard made a peculiarly elaborate pass and ended up with a gold piece balanced on the tip of each of his five outspread fingers.
“May I be eternally cursed!” lies repeated. Linda objected to strong language; for some reason she permitted cursedwhile damning damned. “But gold,” he added. “How does that work? Does the government let you keep all that gold because it’s a professional tool? Or are they phonies?”
“I know,” said the little man sadly. “Laws never make any allowance for magic. And They never make any allowance for laws. I never can convince them that Their gold isn’t any earthly use to me. Oh well—” He made another pass and said a word that seemed to have no vowels. The seven coins on the bar vanished.
“Beautiful,” said Gilbert Iles. “I’d like to have you around when the prosecution brings in some unexpected exhibits. How’s about another drink on that?”
“No, thank you.”
“Come on. I’m celebrating, I am. I can still say ‘prestidigitation’ because I’ve got trained articulation, but I’m soaring up and up and up and I want company. Just because Linda stayed home with a headache, do I have to drink alone? No!” he burst forth in thunderous oratorical tones. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, how can you sit there unmoved and behold this rank injustice practiced before your very eyes? Hearts of the hardest stone would melt, thaw and resolve themselves into a dew before—”
His rounded periods drowned out the radio and the lapping of the waves. The sailor looked around, puzzled and belligerent.
“I’m sorry,” said the little man. “But I shouldn’t ever take more than one. I take two, and things begin to happen. I remember that night in Darjeeling—”
“So—” Gilbert Iles’s voice took on the tone of a hectoring cross-examiner. “You remember that? And what else do you remember? Do you remember the pitiful state of this defendant here, parched, insatiate, and driven by your cruelty to take refuge in the vice of solitary drinking? Do you remember—”
The sailor was getting up from his table. The bartender sidled up to the fringe-bearded man. “Look, Mac, if he wants to buy you a drink, O.K., so let him buy it.”
“But, colleague, if things happen—”
The bartender glanced apprehensively at the sailor. “Things are going to happen right now if you don’t shut him up. Well, gents,” he added in louder tones, “what’ll it be?”
“Gin and tonic,” said the little man resignedly.
“Hot ruttered bum,” Gilbert Iles announced. He heard his own words in the air. “I did that on purpose,” he added hastily.
The other nodded agreeably.
“What’s your name?” lies asked.
“Ozymandias the Great,” the prestidigitator said.
“Aha! Show business, huh? You’re a magician?”
“I was.
“Mm-m-m. I see. Death of vaudeville and stuff?”
“Not just that. The trouble was mostly the theater managers. They kept getting worried.”
“Why?”
“They get scared when it’s real. They don’t like magic unless they know just where the mirrors are. When you tell them there aren’t any mirrors—well, half of them don’t believe you. The other half tear up the contract.”
The drinks came. Gilbert Iles paid for them and sipped his rum while he did an exceedingly slow take. Then, “Real!” he echoed. “No mirrors— May I be—”
“Of course there was some foundation for their worry,” Ozymandias went on calmly. “The Darjeeling episode got around. And then there was the time the seal trainer talked me into a second gin and tonic and I decided to try that old spell for calling up a salamander. We wanted to see could we train it to play ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’; it would have been a socko finale. The fire department got there in time and there was only about a thousand dollars’ damage, but after that people kept worrying about me.”
“You mean, you are a magician?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“But a magician— When you said you were a magician, I thought you just meant you were a magician. I didn’t dream you meant you were a magician.”
“Only a white one,” said Ozymandias deprecatingly.
“Then those coins— They came from—”
“I don’t know just where they come from. You reach out with the proper technique and They give them to you.”
“And who are They?”
“Oh—things—you know, colleague.”
“I,” Gilbert Iles announced, “am drunk. What else can you do?”
“Oh, any little odd jobs. Call spirits from the vasty deep, that kind of thing. Work minor spells. Once”—he smiled—“I taught a man how to be a werewolf of good will. And then”—his round face darkened—“there was that time in Darjeeling—”
“What could you do now to help me celebrate? Could you cure Linda’s headache?”
“Not at a distance. Not unless you had something personal of hers—handkerchief, lock of hair? No? The falling off of sentimentality does play the devil with sympathetic magic. You want to celebrate? I could call up a couple of houris I know—nice girls, if a trifle plump—and we—”
lies shook his head. “No Linda, no houris. I, sir, have a monogamous soul. Monogamous body too, practically.”
“Do you like music?”
“Not very.”
“Too bad. There’s a first-rate spirit band that plays the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music. Let’s see; we could—” He snapped his fingers. “Look, you’re Taurus, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were born in May?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. Something about your aura. Well, how would you like to have a wish granted?”
“Which wish?” said Gilbert Iles. It was not an easy phrase even for trained articulation.
“Any wish. But think it over carefully first. Remember the story about the sausages. Or the monkey’s paw. But for the next minute or two you can have any wish granted.”
Ozymandias reached into the air and plucked a lighted cigarette. “Be deciding on your wish, because there isn’t too much time. Wimps are flighty creatures. And while you’re thinking, I’ll give you a rough sketch. You see, there’s a Taurine wimp in the room.”
“A which?”
“A wimp—a wish-imp. You see, if the universe ran strictly according to coherent laws, it would be unchanging. This would be equally dull f
or God and for man. So there has to be chance and intervention. For instance, there are miracles. But those are important and don’t happen every day. So there’s the chance element that every man can, quite unconsciously, perform miracles. Haven’t you sometimes had the most unlikely wish work out, contrary to all expectations?”
“Once in a thousand times.”
“That’s about the odds; more would produce chaos. Well, that was because there was a Taurine wimp around. The wimps aren’t many; but they constantly wander about among men. When one of them overhears a wish made by a man under his sign, he grants it.”
“And it works?”
“It works. If I had only run onto a Sagittarian wimp in Darjeeling—”
Gilbert Iles goggled, and took a long swig of buttered rum. “May I,” he said solemnly, “be eternally cursed!”
Ozymandias gasped. “Good heavens! I certainly never expected you to pick a wish like that!”
That slight joggling of the air was the Taurine wimp giggling. It was always delighted by the astonishing involuntary wishes of people. As Puck was forever saying, “What fools these mortals be!” It giggled again and soared away.
Gilbert Iles gulped the rest of his rum. “You mean that . . . that exclamation counted as a wish?”
“It was phrased as one, wasn’t it, colleague? May I be— That’s the way you make wishes.”
“And I am—” Without the buttered rums, the solid legal mind of lies would have hooted at such a notion; but now it seemed to have an ominous plausibility. “Then I am cursed?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But how? Does it mean that when I die I’ll—”
“Oh no. Cursed, not damned. A curse affects you in this life.”
“But how?” lies insisted.
“Should I know? You didn’t specify. The wimp probably turned you over to the nearest demon. There’s no telling what his specialty is.”
“No telling? But you . . . you said you could call spirits from the vasty deep. Can’t you call demons and find out about curses?”
“Hm-m-m.” Ozymandias hesitated. “I could maybe. But if I made the least mistake and got the wrong kind of demon— Or if— It might even be a curse you’d sooner not know about.”
lies shook his head. “I want to know. A smart lawyer can handle anything. I don’t know why curses and demons shouldn’t be included.”
Ozymandias drained his gin and tonic. “On your own head be it,” he said.
Come on.
A mile up the beach you were in a primitive world. There was no light but the moon and no sound but the waves. You were restored to the condition of your first tailless forefather. There was no sign of civilization, only the awesome vastness of nature and its forces. Also you had sand in your shoes and it worried you.
The fringe-bearded little magician had built a pyre of driftwood and sprinkled on it a couple of powders from a case of phials in his pocket. lies struck a match for him, but it snapped in two. Ozymandias said, “Never mind,” and made a pass. The driftwood caught fire and burned with the flame of seven colors. Ozymandias said an incantation—not in the ringing and dramatic tones that lies had expected, but with the casual mutter of any celebrant going through a familiar ritual. The flame leaped high. And the moon went out.
More precisely, they seemed to be cut off from its rays. They were in a globe of darkness at the core of which glowed the suddenly dying fire. And in that glow sat the demon.
He was of no particular height. It may have been the flicker of the dying flames; it may have been some peculiarity of his own. He kept varying from an apparent height of about two feet to around seven or eight. His shape was not too unlike that of a human being, save of course for the silver-scaled tail. His nails had the sheen of a beetle’s carapace. One tusk seemed loose and he had a nervous habit of twanging it. The sound was plaintive.
“Your name?” Ozymandias demanded politely.
“Sriberdegibit.” The voice was of average human pitch, but it had an unending resonance, like a voice bouncing about in a cave.
“You are a curse-demon?”
“Sure.” The demon espied lies with happy recognition. “Hi!” he said.
“Hi!” said Gilbert Iles feebly. He was very sober now; he felt regretfully sure of that. And he was soberly seeing a curse-demon, which meant that he was soberly cursed. And he did not even know what the curse was. “Ask him quick,” he prodded the magician.
“You have put a curse on my friend here?”
“He asked for it, didn’t he?” He looked bored, and twanged his tusk.
“And what is the nature of that curse?”
“He’ll find out.”
“I command you to tell us.”
“Nuts. That’s not in my duties.”
Ozymandias made a pass. “I command you—”
The demon jumped and rubbed his rump. “That’s a fine thing to do!” he said bitterly.
“Want some more?”
“All right. I’ll tell you.” He paused and twanged. “It was just a plain old curse. Just something we’ve had lying around since the Murgatroyd family got rid of it. I just took the first one I came to; he didn’t seem to care.”
“And it was—”
“The curse the witches used to use on their too virtuous puritan persecutors, remember? It’s a nice one. In poetry, too. It goes like this.” He twanged his tusk again to get the proper pitch, and then chanted:
“Commit an evil deed each day thou must
Or let thy body crumble into dust.
“Of course,” he added, “it doesn’t really crumble. That’s for the rhyme.”
“I’ve heard of that curse,” Ozymandias said thoughtfully. “It’s a tricky one in terminology. How have the Upper Courts adjudicated ‘evil deed’?”
“Synonymous with sin,” said Sriberdegibit.
“Hm-m-m. He must commit a sin each day—‘day’ meaning?”
“Twelve-oh-one A.M. till the next midnight starting tomorrow morning.”
“He must commit a sin each day or else—”
“Or else,” said the demon, with a little more cheerfulness than he had heretofore displayed, “I show up at midnight and strangle him.” He coiled his tail into a garroting noose.
“Then you must be always near him to observe his actions and to carry out your duty if he fails. Very well. I lay this further behest upon you: Whenever he says your name, you must appear to him and answer his questions. Now begone!”
“Hey!” the demon protested. “I don’t have to do that. It’s not in my instructions. I— Yi!” He jumped again and rubbed his rump even more vigorously. “All right. You win.”
“Begone!” Ozymandias repeated.
The moon shone bright and clear on the beach and on the embers of a driftwood fire. “Well,” said the magician, “now you know.”
Gilbert Iles shook himself. Then he pinched himself. Then he said, “I guess I really saw that.”
“Of course. And now you know the nature of the curse. What do you think of it, colleague?”
lies laughed. “I can’t say it worries me. It’s a cinch. A sin a day—I’m no angel. It’ll take care of itself.”
Ozymandias frowned and stared at the embers. “I’m glad you think so,” he said slowly.
Gilbert Iles was always hard to wake up. He was especially so the next morning; but when he did finally open his eyes, he found the sight of Linda in a powder-blue housecoat a quite sufficient reward for the effort.
“My headache’s all gone,” she announced cheerfully. “And how is yours?”
He felt of his head and shook it experimentally. “Not a trace of a hangover. That’s funny—”
“Funny? You really did celebrate then? What did you do?”
“I went down to the beach and rode on things and then I went to a bar and got talking to a”—he paused and blinked incredulously in a rush of memory—“to an old vaudeville magician. He showed me some funny tricks,” he concluded lamely
.
“I’m glad you had a good time. And when you next win such a nice fat fee, I promise I won’t have a headache. I hope. Now come on; even the man that won the Shalgreen case has to get to the office.”
A shower, then coffee and tomato juice made the world perfectly sane and plausible again. Tusked demons and tomato juice could simply not be part of the same world pattern. Neither could daily-sin curses and Linda. All Gilbert Iles’s legalistic rationalism reasserted itself.
Taurine wimps—never phrase an unintended wish; it may be granted—silverscaled tails that garrot at midnight—this was the damnedest drunken fantasy that the mind had ever framed.
Gilbert Iles shrugged blithely and whistled while he shaved. He broke off when he realized that he was whistling that tuneless chant to which the—imaginary, of course—demon had intoned the rhymed curse.
He went through a perfectly normal and unperturbed day, with enough hard work to banish all thought of demons and wimps. An unexpected complication had arisen in the Chasuble murder case. The sweet old lady—such ideal jury bait—who was to appear as a surprise witness to Rolfe’s alibi suddenly announced that she wanted two thousand dollars or she’d tell the truth.
This came as a shock both to lies and to his partner Tom Andrews. They’d taken the witness in good faith and built the whole defense around her. This sudden unmasking meant first a long conference on whether they could possibly get along without her— they couldn’t—then a guarded and difficult conversation with Rolfe in jail, and finally an afternoon of trying to raise the two thousand before her deadline at sunset.
Then Linda met him downtown for dinner and a movie, and they danced a bit afterward to make up for the celebration the headache had marred. They even played the game of remember-before-we-were-married, and parked on a hilltop near home for a half-hour.
The Compleat Boucher Page 17