Galactic Mage 4: Alien Arrivals (9 page)

Progress was slow, but at length they chanced upon something glowing dimly in the distance, a pale purplish radiance coming up from the floor.

“Look,” Orli shouted, seeing it first. “Look, there!” She laughed aloud. “I just knew it. There. He’s still alive. He’s still alive!” She started running toward it before Altin had even spotted it.

“Wait,” he called after her, but she was already well on her way.

They ran up to the edge of what seemed a small crater, small enough that Orli could have jumped across, but deep enough that climbing down into it would make it awkward getting back out. Peering into it, they saw the source of the purple glow, a round patch of crystals barely an arm’s length across.

They stood side by side, staring down at it for a time, Orli barely daring to hope that it might really still be alive. “Do you think it’s possible this is really going to work?” she said.

His head rotated in the fishbowl of his helmet to look at her. “It was your idea. Of course it will work.” He flashed his beautiful smile at her and then started climbing down inside.

“Altin,” she began, reaching out to touch his arm.

“What?”

She looked into his eyes, so steady, so perfectly committed to this plan, so wholly given to the passionate entreaty she had made that brought him here despite his own misgivings at the start. She drew in a long breath and smiled. “Nothing. I love you.”

He smiled again, his teeth tinged with a touch of blue by the reflected lights of his helmet controls. “I love you too. Now let’s see about getting Blue Fire someone to love as well.” With that, he climbed down into the hole.

Chapter 8

C
alico Castle’s tall central spire settled into its proper place with a great rush of air. Its sudden arrival out of the teleport spell blew dust up from between the cracks of the uneven flagstones in the central courtyard and blew the skirts and apron strings of the kitchen keeper, Kettle, all about. She squinted and looked up to the window high above, then back to the Earth man standing next to her. She pointed at the tower, her stout arm raised, as she said, “There ya be. That’s the master what finally come home. Ya can keep yer questions ta him, ’cause I hanna got time fer em, and weren’t likely ta have a proper answer anyway.”

As if he’d heard it, Altin stuck his head out through the window, and from the perspective of poor Kettle down below, he might easily have been some form of alien monster looking down at her. She knew quite well that Altin had taken Miss Pewter to some distant world, and for a moment upon seeing that helmeted head, she was right sure they’d both been killed and this bulbous-headed freak had returned to eat the rest of them.

The engineer standing beside her, however, was entirely familiar with the spacesuit design, and he waved an eager hello. “Sir Altin,” he called up. “We need your input on a few things before we can continue down here.”

Altin’s gloved hands came up, and they could see him pawing at the helmet for a time until a pair of smaller hands, a woman’s and without gloves, came into view and deftly unlatched Altin’s glassy lid. He lifted the helmet off and, looking slightly exasperated, called out, “I’ll be right down.”

“Well, and there ya have it,” said Kettle, sounding put out by the entire affair. Without another word she set straight off for the kitchens and her culinary demesne.

A few minutes later found Altin and Orli emerging from the large central doors of Calico Castle’s main hall, both out of their spacesuits and in more comfortable Prosperion attire. Altin’s gray-and-brown robes fluttered in the breeze of his long strides as he eagerly approached the engineer, several steps ahead of Orli, who was hopping after him as best she could while still pulling on the second of her tall black riding boots. He reached out and shook the man’s hand enthusiastically. “Master Sambua, I’m glad you are back. Orli and I were just talking about our great need for you.”

The engineer’s eyebrows frowned, but his brown eyes were bright and his smile wide. “I’m happy to know I might be of some use to you both,” he said. “And, as I said, I do need some input from you now.” He turned back and directed both of their gazes to the work being done on Calico Castle’s eastern tower.

Shorter and less robust than the one that had just arrived, the eastern tower was the one that had been Altin’s for much of his youth. It would still be the one he used were it not for its destruction in a terrible and nearly fatal teleporting accident several months ago. However, the rebuilding was well under way, and Altin would have use for it again.

Except just then, the rebuilding had come to a stop. Both Altin and Orli noticed that none of the workmen were doing anything. The longer they looked, the more obvious it became, especially to Altin, who had delighted in watching the bright violet lights of the welders as they joined the steel beams together with their amazing electric rods. He still fancied that the technology to melt metal so easily had to be magical, despite Orli’s having assured him it was quite commonplace on her world, even an ancient bit of technology by her reckoning.

But none of that was going on; the bright stars of the welders sending down the rainfall of orange sparks were completely missing, as were the calls of the men to one another, and the droning of the machines that hoisted the girders and metal plates into place. All the work had stopped, and most of the workmen were nowhere to be seen.

Still, Altin had to smile, as he did every time he looked at it. His tower, being rebuilt by men from another world. A gift from another people. It was a strange set of coincidences that dated back through time, the rebuilding of Calico Castle’s four corners, the towers all rebuilt or repaired at one point or another in time by people with the need to express their gratitude—at least, those towers that could be rebuilt had been, those that had not been enchanted beyond repair. But unlike the masonry of kings or even elves, Altin’s tower was being rebuilt by, well, by aliens. And in a style so marvelously different than anything ever seen on Kurr before. On Prosperion. He could hardly wait to see it done.

But, for now, nothing was being done. The Earth men sat on their toolboxes, staring at the three of them standing there, Altin, Orli, and the engineer.

“So what is it that I can do for you, Master Sambua?” Altin asked.

“Well, Sir Altin, it seems the boys went into town yesterday and, after a few drinks, found themselves in a conversation with some of the locals, who told them about a curse. It appears the locals believe that anyone who builds a tower here will die by some terrible magic.”

Altin wrinkled up his face at the absurdity of such a claim. He glanced to Orli, who only shrugged in response. “That’s absurd,” Altin said. “Why would they say such a thing?”

“Well, Sir Altin, and I mean no disrespect, but, well, some of the boys came back—you know, on the suggestion of the people in town—and tried to approach that heap of rubble over there.” He pointed with the movement of his head to the remnants of Calico Castle’s northern tower, which, as described, was indeed nothing more than just a heap of rubble. “You see, Sir Altin”—and it could be easily observed that this conversation was very uncomfortable for the engineer—“the guys here, well, they’ve done a lot of work with broken buildings over the years, and while I admit that the stone masonry around here is not the sort of thing we see much of anymore on Earth, well … it’s just that there’s something about that heap of rubble that makes it impossible to approach.” His gaze darted downward for a moment, as if he were almost too embarrassed to say what came out next. “And, being perfectly honest, sir, I recognize that this may all be psychosomatic and all, but being that your people do have magic, after all, well, I tried to show the boys how to have a little backbone, so to speak, and, again being perfectly honest, I couldn’t walk up to it either. Like, there’s some kind of dark force preventing me.”

Altin tipped his head back and laughed, and for a moment Orli looked as if she were going to scold him for being mean, but then he stopped and clapped the man on the shoulder and looked him square in the eye. “It
is
cursed,” he said. “And there is a ‘curse’ of sorts here. But it has nothing to do with the men who built it. Or any of your men, for that matter. It’s the magicians who live in them who die, not the masons and carpenters. Nor, of course, the welders as they come along.”

The engineer looked relieved but still not entirely convinced. He glanced back over his shoulder at his men, who were all still watching, several of them nodding that he should go on. He turned back to Altin. “Well, they were fairly adamant about that last part,” he said. “Those men back at the bar. It was the workers that get cursed, they said. Burst into flames, or turn to zombies and werewolves and such.”

Altin smiled. “I suspect, Master Sambua, that they were having some fun with you and your crew. And, just as likely, more than a few of them believe some of it too. The first thing Tytamon told me when I came here as a boy was that Calico Castle got its name because Sixes always kill themselves. I was quite frightened at the time, being only eleven years old, and being told by everyone I was a Six. But I survived—although perhaps because it turned out I am a Seven. Nonetheless, wizard or not, some people have been afraid to come to Calico Castle over the centuries because of it.

“Tytamon has mentored young mages with six schools of magic over many of those centuries, and, well, Sixes have a habit of destroying not just towers but themselves. Just enough magic to be terribly dangerous, and not quite enough to hold it together. That is why the towers have all been rebuilt so many times and, well, so differently over the years. That is the only ‘curse.’ It’s certainly not anything to do with the castle itself. And it has never ceased to amaze me how so many people were afraid of Tytamon. He was probably the kindest man who ever lived upon Prosperion.”

The thought brought him pause, and with a sigh, he looked up at the tall central tower from which he and Orli had just emerged. He still thought of that structure as belonging to the great old mage. He thought he probably always would. The feeling passed, and he turned back to the engineer. “That’s the truth of it, and you have it on my honor.”

The engineer’s brow furrowed as he took it in. He knew exactly as much about magic as he’d been able to read in the fleet documents provided to him by his company prior to coming here from Earth. Still, vague as all that was, he looked as if he supposed it might make sense. He glanced back to the eastern tower where the work had stopped. “And that one,” he said. “That was yours that got destroyed.”

Altin blanched at that, but nodded. “Yes, that one was mine.”

“So not only the Sixes destroy them, then?”

Altin laughed. “Well, you do have me there. But no, that was an accident of a different sort, although I suppose not so much different as I keep telling myself. But here I am, still alive. So, no, no curse. Just a poor bit of planning, or perhaps just bad luck.”

“Ah,” said the engineer. His tone suggested it was all clear now, but his expression suggested otherwise.

“Needless to say, Master Sambua, there are no curses for workmen here. Nothing magical set upon the stones. Your people are perfectly safe in that regard.”

The engineer nodded then, genuinely looking relieved. “The men will be glad to hear it. Thank you, sir. I know we must look silly to you asking that.”

“Not at all. I understand completely. You should hear the things I am asking Orli almost constantly about your world. If anyone looks silly, it’s likely me most of the time.”

“It’s true,” Orli said, leaning forward and touching the engineer on the shoulder conspiratorially. “But I don’t dare say anything for fear that he’ll turn me into a toad.”

Altin pretended to be angry and threatened her with that very thing, adding after it, “And it won’t be my fault if you end up dinner for some passing heron either, so you ought to watch out.”

They all laughed, and it was with the expression of one who has had a huge burden removed that the Earth man returned them to Altin’s own point of inquiry. “What was it that you and Miss Pewter wanted to ask?”

“Ah yes, I nearly forgot. It appears we’re going to need some considerable amount of Earth machinery, and we were wondering how well things are coming along, as we may be in need of my tower sooner than we thought.”

“Yes,” said Orli. “We’re going to need the basement garage you guys built for us to hold some equipment, stuff we’ll need for something we are working on. There’s just no room in this one.” She pointed with her thumb, jerking it over her shoulder at the tower that had been Tytamon’s.

“Well, that’s got a basement too, as I understand,” said the engineer. “What do you need that will need more room than that?”

“For one thing, that basement is crammed with magic stuff,” she said. “But mainly, it’s just not built to be a suitable cargo hold, and we can’t pressurize it in the absence of Altin’s magic shield. What you guys built down there is what we need.” She directed her eyes toward the ground beneath the gleaming steel structure being built.

“Well, I’m happy that you’re happy with what we’ve got under way, Miss Pewter, but as I said before, it will be at least five more months before she’s done. And Miss Kettle in there”—he looked toward the kitchens as he spoke—“has made it perfectly clear that we are not to tell Sir Altin that it’s done until we’ve placed the last stone in the outer wall around it. She said this place needs to be sealed up tight against orcs before he takes that tower into space, or, well, basically she’s threatened to brain us all with a frying pan. I saw the look in her eyes, and I’m half-convinced she could do it too.”