by GM Gambrell
Four
The weeks passed and Duncan immersed himself in his garden and his shop. He rarely left them and even moved many of his belongings from his room up in the house down to the shop. It was cramped inside, and he’d had to get rid of many of the more useless projects to make room, but it was worth it not to have to climb the rope ladder every day or slide down the pole. He saw little of his parents, though his mother did blink in on occasion to check on him, always bringing him a pie or cake or some other conjured treat. He got the impression that, after their conversation about the Golems, she wanted less to do with him, and that bothered him. He couldn’t imagine what he’d said that was so wrong that his mother would avoid him. His father was worse, never coming to the garden and only seeing Duncan when he, on occasion, traveled up into the house.
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, he found that he, more and more, missed the Magic School, and even missed the taunting of Timmy Toole. Sure, Marissa came by on a regular basis, but he knew she too had her own life and would soon be graduating and starting down her own path.
He was, in short, bored and lonely.
Duncan worked on the big glider almost constantly, trying to tweak the vegetable juice to get more power from it. He worked at his engines, trying to perfect them to run longer and stronger, and experimented with other fuels as he could work them out. He tested the smaller gliders constantly, trying to perfect their form, and spent the majority of his days dreaming of one day when the Restorers would venture into the Wastes and bring life back to the desolation. He half hoped that they would see him and his (hopefully then perfected) flying machine as a tool and use him as a scout. He fantasized about exploring dead cities and learning the secrets of those, who, like him, were without magic.
Steve rustled through the garden, hauling out the family’s wastes. He’d tried to connect with the Golem after the incident with the tomato, but there had been no response, no life in those eyes. He hoped that he could somehow rescue the man from the Void, but he had no idea how to even go about it, and, from the reaction his mother had given him when he told her of his experience in the Void, he was scared to ask any of the Magicians for help. Seeing Steve always made him sad, knowing that his mind was out there, stuck in the Void, alone. It frustrated him even more that he had no idea how to help him, or any of the other Golems.
There was a stirring outside, a rush of wind, and something that sounded suspiciously like his vegetable juice engine, though much, much stronger. He rushed outside to see a contraption hovering next to the house for a few moments and then setting down under it, in the shade. The machine was large enough to carry one man, and he sat in a glass bubble at the front of it. Large blades jutted out of the top of the smoking engine, much like the blades of a sword. As the blades slowed, he felt the rush of wind slow and then stop. There was a long tail at what Duncan and another blade at the end. The machine, whatever it was, just looked incredibly old. Its black paint was faded and chipped, rust showing in places beneath. Duncan didn’t care how old it was or how it looked. He knew instantly that this was a device, like his gliders, that flew without the aid of magic.
The glass bubble parted and a man stood up, looking around. He wore a long and heavily patched leather coat that stretched down to his knees. Even with the multiple colorful patches, it still looked the color of mud. There was some sort of helmet on his head, fronted by dark lens goggles. He wasn’t an overly large man, but he wasn’t small either. He was thick, though, and wide in the shoulders. He jumped down from the flying machine and took off his helmet and goggles. His face was old and weathered, with streaks of gray running through his closely cropped black beard and short hair. He’d obviously, like Mr. Falcon, forgone magic to make himself appear younger than he really was.
But he’d already forgone magic, hadn’t he, Duncan wondered? The machine was obviously not of the magical variety.
He saw Duncan and strode towards him, hand outstretched to shake. “Well, hello there. This is quite a garden you have here.”
Duncan took the hand without hesitation. The man’s smile was so warm and honest…so unlike the self-absorbed people of the city. “And that’s an interesting device you have there.”
“Device? Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that. Most called it a helicopter, when such things were common. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the last of its kind, though.” He looked at the helicopter appreciatively. “It’s a Bell Smith 2700, last of a legacy. She was one of the finest helicopters ever designed as surviving a thousand years has easily demonstrated. She was built to take it all and keep on ticking. You don’t find many machines like this left in the Wastes, unless they’re in a Magician’s warehouse somewhere.”
“It flies without magic, doesn’t it? It’s ancient human design, from before the Last War, isn’t it?” Duncan’s heart raced with the implications. He stared at the machine, a relic of the past, and wondered if the pilot was like him, without magic. The man had said so much with so few words that it was hard to take in all the meaning of what he was saying.
“Well, of course it does, Duncan. What do you think our kind did before there was magic?”
“You know my name,” Duncan said softly. Who was this man in the helmet who came out of the sky in a machine from the past? How did he know his name?
“Of course I know your name, Duncan. I know a lot about you. For instance, I know that you, like me, are unable to perform magic.”
Duncan gasped. He’d thought he’d been the only one for so long now.
“Also, like me, you have a burning desire to understand how things work and what drives this world we live on. You want to know about history, specifically the history of what happened to our people.”
“How do you know all this?”
The sudden blinking in of his parents interrupted the conversation, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them so upset. His father was so angry he was shaking, and his mother had tears in her eyes.
“You,” Albert Cade spat! “How dare you come here?”
“I came as soon as I heard, Albert. It’s time. You knew this day would come. I’m actually surprised it took so long. It’s a testament to the boy’s ingenuity and drive.”
“No, it isn’t,” his mother cried, tears forming. “It’s never time.”
“Duncan, go to your shed.”
“But, Dad,” Duncan pleaded, “I want to see his machine.”
“Go,” both his parents ordered in unison, and before he could argue anymore, he found himself instantly transported to his old bedroom in the house. He rushed out, avoided the angry rosebush, and leapt onto the brass pole leading to the ground.
His father stood in front of the mysterious man, balls of flame in both hands. The man’s coat was open and two bands of small red objects crisscrossed his chest. He held a black thing in each hand pointed at his father, and though Duncan didn’t know what they were, he knew they looked deadly. His mother stood to the side, crying.
“I don’t want to do this, Jim. I want you to leave.”
“This isn’t what we agreed to, Albert, and you know it. We all knew that one day this would happen, and, when it did, it would be best if the boy went with me. He will be safe with me, safe to grow and learn and prosper, something this infernal magic world of yours will never allow.”
“Of course I know it, and you are correct,” his father began. “Duncan will never thrive in New Dallas. He will never thrive in any Magician city. But he’s Helen’s son, Jim, and I will protect her interests until the day I die.” Duncan half wondered why his father had said he was Helen’s son, and not his, but the tension in the air kept him from thinking about it too much. He didn’t know what the weapons in this Jim person’s hands were, but he didn’t want to see a fight between his father and the man. They were talking about him. What had they agreed to and where did the man want to take him? His father looked ready to launch the fireballs and Duncan screamed out, not on
ly afraid he’d hurt the mystery man but the helicopter behind him.
Albert Cade turned around, distracted by Duncan’s presence, and the fireballs flared, his father launching one at him. He ducked to the side and felt the burning ball of magic gas race by him. His mother instantly shielded him, and he wasn’t hurt as his father turned back to Jim, who was breaking for the helicopter. He prepared to launch the second fireball and his mother stepped in, creating a thick sheet of ice between the two. Jim looked at him and grinned mischievously as the helicopter’s engine sprang to life and the ancient device began floating into the air.
“Stop it, Albert,” his mother told his father sternly. “Stop this at once.”
“He was going to take him. He was going to take your boy.”
Duncan noticed his father calling him your boy and not our boy, but said nothing as he watched the helicopter streak into the night.
“Who was that?” he demanded of his parents. “What did he want? He’s like me, isn’t he? He doesn’t use magic?” He had so many questions, not the first of which was why his parents had reacted the way they had. Why had the appearance of the man caused them such sudden anger? And how had he known his name?
“He’s no one you need concern yourself with, Duncan,” Albert Cade told him softly, watching as the small lights on the helicopter faded into the night. “He’s no one.”
“He knew my name,” Duncan insisted, not wanting to be shut out again. “He knew my name and he said it was time. What is it time for?”
“Duncan, please,” his mother began. “That man is evil incarnate. He’s…he’s a terrorist that wants to destroy our way of life. He wasn’t always like that, but he’s changed, changed for the worse. He’s not to be trusted, ever, Duncan. You can’t imagine the sort of thing he’s done in order to destroy magic.”
“He knew me and he knows you. How is that possible?”
“There are things we can’t tell you, Duncan, for your own good. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. There is nothing more to be said here.”
“At least tell me why he wants to destroy the magic?” Duncan pleaded. “I have a right to know.”
His mother looked at him and said, “He’s like you. He has no magic and is insanely jealous of those who do. It’s just that simple.” She then blinked away.
“You will speak no more of this, Duncan,” his father insisted. “And you will most certainly not speak of it to anyone outside this house. You can’t imagine the amount of
Duncan looked around in confusion, not sure what to make of any of the events, of the man in the helicopter, of what his parents had said. He didn’t understand anything, but as he looked around his garden, he saw a small silver tube lying where the helicopter had landed. He picked it up and found the end screwed off. Inside was a simple note.
It read Don’t worry, I’ll be back for you.
It was signed Diamond Jim.