The Complete Compleat Enchanter (36 page)

Certainly there ought to be somebody around Castle Carena with skill enough to carve passable small figures of fighting men, and he and Chalmers between them should be able to animate them magically enough to enable them to serve as miniature armies. The thought of the perfect paladin ordering battalions of six-inch wooden knights about the courtyard struck him as so delightful that he slapped the edge of the battlement and laughed. At that moment someone plucked his sleeve.

It was one of the castle servants, this time with the head of a bird—a very large bird, with a great round head and a long bill like one of Tenniel’s borogoves.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Shea.

Although the creature seemed to understand, its only answer was to open the beak for a kind of whistling bark. It pulled at his arm insistently until he followed, looking over its shoulder from time to time and whistling encouragingly as it led him down the stairs, along one of the metal corridors, and left him face to face with Polacek.

“Hi, Harold,” said the latter cheerfully, with the air of an inventor about to give birth to the atom-powered spaceship. “Say, you guys need me around places like this. I got hold of one of those hobgoblins that will find all the stuff we want. The only trouble is I can’t find her!”

“What stuff? Whom?”

“The little dark one that did the dance last night. All I got is her name: Sumurrud, or something like that. And what kind of stuff do you think? Tonsil oil, of course.”

“You get around fast, don’t you? Lead on to the liquor, but you’re out of luck on the girlfriend. If Roger hasn’t got her in his room giving her the works just to spite you, Atlantès has probably sent her back where she came from by magic.”

“For the love of St. Wenceslaus! I never thought of that.” The Rubber Czech’s face looked annoyed. “I’ll cook up a spell on that guy that will make him—”

“No!”

“All right, how about this? Suppose I go to Atlantès right off the arm, and ask him can he send that little number back to Ohio. With a build like hers—”

“No! We’re in enough trouble now. You don’t even know her, Votsy.”

“But—”

Shea sighed. “For an educated man you’ve got the most proletarian sexual behavior pattern—”

“ ’Smatter with you; all worn out already?” said Polacek nastily, leading the way down a circular staircase in one of the castle towers. As this point in the argument was reached, so was a scullery, where the goblin, a purple-skinned object with an oversized head and spindly little legs, was at his job of dishwashing. In one corner lay a large gaunt hound with a dish between his forepaws. The goblin held up a dirty plate, repeated a formula, and whistled. Instantly the dog reacted by licking the dish before him. As he did so the detritus disappeared from the plate held by the goblin.

“Guk!” said Polacek. “How do you like your dinner?”

Shea grinned. “Don’t be squeamish. The stuff gets from the outside of the plate to the inside of the dog without touching a thing.”

The goblin waddled over to them with a crablike gait.

“Got it, Odoro?” asked Polacek with a wink. “He wants some too.”

“Can get,” said Odoro. “You got money, uh? Me want.”

They went to Chalmers’ laboratory for the money. At their knock there was a rustling from within, and when they entered, Florimel was some distance from Chalmers with her dress slightly rumpled and both of them looking hangdog. The doctor tendered some odd-looking square coins without comment.

As they made their way back to their own room, Shea laughed. “To see those two, you’d think it was a crime to hold a girl on your lap here.”

“He’s probably never done it before,” remarked Polacek. “Well, he can have that human snowball if he wants her; I’ll take that little Sumurrud. Did you know she was giving me the eye?”

The goblin joined them almost at once, producing from under one arm a small leather bottle wrapped in a ragged piece of discarded turban.

Polacek gave him some of the odd-looking coins, each of which the being tested with fanglike teeth. As he turned to go, Shea said: “Just a minute Odoro.” He had taken hold of the bottle. “Your master is pretty tough about liquor, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes, awful. Law of Prophet.” Odoro touched a hand to his forehead.

“What would happen if he found out you had a supply and were selling it to people?”

The goblin shuddered. “Anathema, second class. Redhot pincers inside.” His grin vanished. “You no tell, no?”

“We’ll see.”

Odoro paled to lavender and made a shifting motion from one foot to the other that turned into a series of hops. “Oh, you no do! I do you boon! So do no knightly!” he squealed. “Here, you no want wine, you give me back!”

He danced up to Shea, reaching. Shea held the bottle high over his head and did a snap-pass to Polacek, who caught it like a downfield end. “Easy, easy,” said Shea. “Remember I’m a magician too, and I can turn you into a red ant if I want to. This is evidence. All I want is a little information, and if you give it to us you needn’t worry about our telling anything.”

“No got information,” said Odoro sullenly. His eyes ran round and round the room from a swiveling head.

“No? Votsy, you go find Atlantès and tell him we’ve got a bootlegger here, while I keep an eye on—Oh, you don’t want him to go? Maybe you do know a thing or two? I thought likely. Now then, is there a prophecy about Roger?”

“Yes—yes. Nasty prophecy. If he go out before full moon he join infidels, fight true believers. Inshallah!”

“Now, isn’t that nice! All right, why doesn’t Atlantès let Roger out just a little way? He’s a wizard and would know how to keep him from going too far.”

“Afraid Duke Astolph. He magician too; stole hippogriff.”

“That clears up one point anyway. But look here, if Roger’s so anxious to get out, why doesn’t he just make it hot for Atlantès? Cut off his head or something?”

“Not know. Swear beard of Prophet, no know. Think Atlantès do something with—you know—mind—” Odoro pointed to his head—“drive Roger like horse. But Roger not got much mind, so hard to—uh—drive.”

Shea laughed. “That’s about what I thought. Give him another nickel, Votsy. You see, Odoro, you stick with us and you’ll be all right. Now, what’s Atlantès up to with Florimel?”

“Prophecy. Find in magic book.”

“I daresay. What prophecy?”

“He lose Roger by woman knight, come on hippogriff.”

Belphebe was out there somewhere in the hills, and so was the hippogriff. “But what does Florimel have to do with that?”

“Not know. Think maybe he change her shape with woman knight, burn her up, poof!”

“A fine kettle of fish. What kind of spell will he use?”

“Not know.”

“You know about magic, don’t you?”

“Not know that. Atlantès, he very good magician.”

“Okay. Votsy, suppose you ask the very good magician to come—”

“Not know! Not know! Me ignorant!” wailed Odoro, beginning to hop again.

“Maybe he really doesn’t know,” suggested Polacek.

“Maybe. And maybe he gets a break for that crack about Roger. Run along, Odoro. You say nothing and we’ll say nothing.”

“Whew!” whistled Polacek when the door had closed behind the purple shape. “You certainly have got a nerve, Harold. With your luck and my brains—we get a drink.”

Shea rummaged a couple of pewter cups from a low cabinet in the corner, uncorked the bottle, sniffed, and poured some of its contents into each cup. The wine was sweet and dark, nearly black, with something the flavor of port, though he judged the proof would be lower.

Shea sipped his, remarking with the air of an experienced conspirator: “You don’t want to ask questions among the hired help without getting a hold on them somehow first. They may lie to you, or they may be souped up to report anything you ask to the boss. I think we’ve got this bozo playing on our team for the time being—but I don’t like what he said about the deal Atlantès is cooking up.”

“He means Belphebe, doesn’t he?” said Polacek, holding out his cup for another drink.

“I’m afraid so. No, Votsy, we’ve got to hang onto some of this to keep Odoro in line. Besides, Atlantès would smell it on your breath a block away and know something wasn’t kosher. We have to watch our step.”

Six

It was plain that Roger was not enjoying the party, although the seven virgins of Sericane were giving him most of their attention. Harold Shea didn’t know that he altogether blamed the big bruiser. It was good second-rate cabaret stuff, which might have been fairly enjoyable had there been a comfortable place to sit, something to smoke, and something to drink. Reed Chalmers had excused himself early and gone off to enjoy the company of Florimel.

The dance went on. In the middle of a figure Roger suddenly stood up. “In the name of Allah! Oh, Uncle, this is not less than the vilest of your entertainments. My liver is constricted, and I would broaden it by hunting bears among the mountains.”

Atlantès broke off his conversation with one of the lords and began fluttering his hands, not aimlessly, but in the passes of a magical formula. However, it had no visible effect upon Roger, who trod firmly toward the door.

From beside Shea, Polacek said: “Say, I got an idea!” and wriggled to his feet and followed. Nobody but the seven girls seemed to mind the departure very much, even Atlantès going on with his whispered conversation. But as the number grew to a close, Shea felt uneasy; Polacek had too great a capacity for trouble to be left wandering around the castle for very long with an idea in his head. He too got up and strolled out into the corridor.

No sign of Roger or his friend. Shea ambled along the hall and around a bend without seeing anything significant. He was about to go back when his eye lighted on a side passage with a door at its end where a smoky light showed the interlocked pentacles that protect magicians who deal with devils. Atlantès’ own laboratory!

In a moment the direction of his attention changed. The wizard was certainly well occupied, and if he did come looking for anybody it would be Roger. Shea stepped up to the marked door. No handle; and it did not move when he pushed it. Barred with a spell beyond doubt; but by this time he knew enough magic to deal with the situation. Reaching to his turban, he plucked from the brush that adorned its front a couple of stiff bristles, detached a thread from the hem of his aba, and tied the bristles together in the form of a cross. Holding this up to the door he whispered:

“Pentacles far and pentacles near,

I forthwith command you disappear!

Shemhamphorash!”

He paused, hoping there was no basilisk on guard.

There was not. The room was long and lower than it seemed from the outside. A row of alembics and other magical apparatus lay ranged on a long table at one side, faintly reflecting the blue-white phosphorescent light thrown from the eyes of an owl and a crocodile, which stood on a pair of shelves. The animals were quite immobile; evidently Atlantès’ private system of lighting, though not one that would ever be popular with interior decorators. Along the shelf beneath them was a row of books, terminating in little compartments, each of which had a title on its attached tag.

The books had characters on their backs which Shea tried in vain to puzzle out until he realized that in this space-time continuum he would be unable to read English or any other language in which books were printed without special instructions. With the tags on the scrolls he fared better:

Ye Principalls of Magick with ye Conjuration of Daemons Superadded; Poisons Naturall; The Lawful Names of Allah; One Thousand Useful Curses; The Carpets of the Lesser Djann; Al Qa’sib’s Manner of Magickal Transformations . . .

Ah! This one might have what he was looking for. Shea pulled out the scroll and glanced at it in the eyelight of the animals. It seemed to be almost as strong on general theory as Chalmers himself, but little or nothing as to practical details. A glance snowed him that, as might be expected, the scroll had neither table of contents nor index, and its style was so rambling that getting anything out of it would need a week’s work.

Shea slipped the scroll back into its pigeonhole and turned to the rest of the room. If the enchanter were really trying to exchange Florimel’s body for that of the menacing “woman knight,” there ought to be traces of his labors about. However, the apparatus held no trace of filters, and the big scarred oak table beyond their bench lay bare. Atlantès was a neat sorcerer. Where would he keep his notebooks? Beyond the table was a stool and beyond that a low cabinet built into the wall. Like the outer door it had no handle, and as Shea bent closer he could see that its front was inscribed with pentacles. But at a touch it swung open, and Shea realized that his counterspell must have let down barriers all over the castle. The thought that if there were any ifrits or demons abroad tonight they could get in and have themselves a hell of a fine time made him giggle under his breath.

The cabinet was deep, its shelves set back in, and in front of them a long straight sword hung in its scabbard from a hook. Probably an enchanted weapon, but the counterspell would have taken care of that. Shea was about to reach past it toward the contents of the shelves when his ear caught the faint sound of a voice ordering the outer door to open.

In a flash Shea had snatched loose the sword and was on hands and knees beside the big table, which luckily had a decoration of carved wood reaching nearly to the floor.

The door opened. Shea could not see through the screening, but light from the corridor momentarily threw the shadow of a baboon’s head across the wall on the side away from the door. The newcomer was one of Atlantès’ servants, and a specially unappetizing member of the gang.

It stood in the doorway a moment, hesitant, as Shea himself had done. Then with the door swinging behind it, it stepped confidently toward the bookshelves. But then it fell quiet—too quiet. Shea heard it sniff; sniff again, like the puffing of a toy engine. Of course it would possess a keener sense of smell than a man. The servant worked its way over to the table that held the alembics, tracing Shea’s movements, just audible as its feet pressed the carpet. Shea could imagine the snouted head turning this way and that . . . He gathered his muscles and shifted weight to bring his left hand free for the scabbarded weapon, planning in his mind how to snatch it out with the least lost motion.