A Calculated Magic

40

“You’re making a big mistake,” shouted Jack at the Old Man of the Mountain, as the ghuls filled the chamber. He counted nearly thirty of the monsters. Cassandra was a one-woman army, but not even Hercules could defeat a supernatural army of this size. “I’m not joking. Remember Dietrich von Bern. He underestimated me, too. Mess with the Logical Magician and you’ll be sorry.”

“Will I?” laughed Hasan al-Sabbah. “Somehow I doubt that. You deprived me of my Afreet, Mr. Collins. I think it only fair I take your life in exchange.”

A flutter of wings, a gust of wind, and Hugo landed on Jack’s left shoulder. “Sorry I skipped out after the chase,” said the bird, “but I decided to check on Mongo’s progress. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“This and that,” said Jack. “We trapped the Afreet in the Klein bottle. Nergal guessed our true identities. And Hasan al-Sabbah decided to accept the demigod’s offer of a hundred ten million bucks to flatten me, Cassandra, and Boris Bronsky into pancakes. That covers the high points.”

On the Amazon’s advice, they had retreated, taking the bottle and Jack’s airline bag, to the far wall. It prevented them from being surrounded. Unfortunately, there were now enough ghuls present in the chamber to crush them to death by sheer force of numbers.

Twenty feet distant, the Old Man of the Mountain stood upright on the arms of his obsidian throne, exhorting his army of ghuls to mash the three unbelievers to putty. At his side, the Crouching One nodded his head in approval. Loki, flanked by his befuddled frost giants, lurked far to the rear of the chamber, near the elevator.

“I burned Karsnov’s notes,” added Boris Bronsky, proudly. He shook a huge fist at the horde of monsters shakily advancing on their position. Cassandra and her knives made them cautious. “Now, I die a hero. Pretty busy day.”

“Cheer up,” said Hugo. “Help is coming.”

“Kill them!” screamed Hasan al-Sabbah. “Tear the infidels to pieces!”

“Five Mississippi, four Mississippi…,” Hugo counted.

A ghul, braver than the rest, detached itself from the horde and grabbed for Cassandra. Her two knives flashed and the creature howled in unexpected pain. The other monsters hesitated for an instant, then continued forward.

“Three Mississippi, two Mississippi…”

“Better hurry,” said Jack as a dozen ghuls reached for him.

“One Mississippi,” said Hugo, his voice rising. “Zero!”

The cavalry arrived in spectacular fashion. The throne room exploded with a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning. A wild wind swept through the room. And six mighty figures came hurtling out of the night sky.

It took Jack a moment to realize the thunder was the sound of the glass dome in the ceiling cracking. The lightning was the room lighting reflecting off the thousands of tiny fragments of glass falling to the floor. The wind and the riders were not as easy to explain.

Like frightened children, the ghuls huddled around Hasan al-Sabbah’s throne. The Old Man of the Mountain stood transfixed on his chair, an unreadable expression on his upturned face. Beside him, the Crouching One stared at the descending riders with a mixture of curiosity and hatred. Neither immortal seemed to recognize the new players in the game. But Loki did.

“The Valkyrior,” he cried in a mixture of shock and amazement. “The Choosers of the Slain.”

Jack swallowed. Hard. He always wanted to meet his mother’s relatives, but he had no idea it would be in such dramatic fashion. Or that their apparel would be so remarkably flamboyant.

There were six Valkyries, each riding a snow white horse the size of a Clydesdale stallion. The animals’ eyes blazed with red fire. Strangely enough, they looked very familiar to Jack. His mother’s horse, Flying Feet, obviously belonged to the same magical herd. That these immense beasts could fly, Jack concluded, had to he one of magic’s greatest triumphs. The warrior maidens on their backs rode them with the utter confidence born from hundreds of years of experience.

His aunts, for the facial resemblance to his mother was quite apparent, were all blonde, buxom, and of Rubenesque proportions. The ancient Scandinavians obviously preferred their women in heroic dimensions. Their golden hair was braided in pigtails, their skin was white as newly fallen snow, and their eyes shone with a bright blue luster. However, their outfits reflected none of their northern heritage. Unless it was northern Texas. For the six Valkyries wore Las Vegas-style cowgirl outfits.

Suede, denim, and fringe dominated. The women were dressed in very short tie-dye buckskin skirts, beaded fringe suede halter tops, and mid-length embossed black leather boots. On their heads they wore fancy cowboy hats, decorated with turquoise and feathers. Looped around each of their saddles were lassos, and buckled to their belts were two old-fashioned six-guns. But, the guns were there just for decoration. These Valkyrie cowgirls were armed for an old-fashioned Viking showdown.

Three of them carried huge broadswords, which they swung around in the air like candy canes. The other three brandished doubled-edged steel battle-axes. All of them wore a massive leather shield on their other arm. The Choosers of the Slain were prepared for war.

Circling the chamber as they descended, the Valkyries guided their steeds in a loose ring around Hasan al-Sabbah and his ghoulish servants. Precisely at the same instant, all six horses touched the floor. As promised by Hugo, the cavalry had arrived in grand fashion.

“Hi, Jack,” said Mongo, alighting on his free shoulder. “Sorry we were late, but the girls had a ten-thirty show at the Blue Lotus Hotel on Glitter Gulch. We rushed over the minute it concluded. Glad we made it before the fun started. The Valkyrior would have hated to miss the fireworks.”

“You arrived in the proverbial nick of time,” said Jack. “Another minute and we would have been ghul chow.”

“You think the monsters will try and make troubles?” asked Boris Bronsky, a glazed expression on his face. Jack didn’t blame him. He felt sort of dazed himself. “There’s a lot more of them than the flying ladies.”

“They’ll stay exactly where they are and act as meek as kittens,” declared one of the blonde warrior maidens, guiding her mount close to Jack. She swung her battle-ax in a circle over her head three times, tossed the weapon up toward the smashed skylight, and then caught it with her other hand as it descended. “No supernatural fiend picks a fight with the Choosers of the Slain, whatever the odds. We don’t start battles—we finish them.”

Grinning, the Valkyrie leaned over and patted Jack on the cheek. “Glad to finally meet you, nephew. I’m your aunt Gretta. Hugo and Mongo think the world of you. It’s nice to hear someone in the family is making a name for himself.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” said Jack, blushing. “Mom never talked much about you.”

“We gave her a hard time for leaving,” admitted Gretta. “She was the best trick-shot artist among us. We believed her departure would hurt the act. But that was years ago.

“Since then, we’ve managed fine on our own. Been touring the country for the past few years as the Six-Gun Sweethearts. Finally landed this contract at the Blue Lotus, runs for the summer. It’s tons of fun and a change of pace, though the costumes are kinda dumb. Still, we like it better than the rodeo circuit.”

Two huge gray wolves with unusually expressive features jogged over. Jack had no idea how the animals had gotten into the chamber, but he was beyond wondering.

“Johnnie,” said Mongo, “these are our friends, Geri and Freki. They live with the girls.”

“Odin’s wolves,” said Jack, remembering an earlier conversation. “Or should I say, his big, big dogs with immense teeth?”

“Yeah, that’s us,” growled one of the wolves. “Pleased to meetcha. Any friend of the birds is a friend of ours,” The dog paused and looked up at the Valkyrie. “Hey, Gretta, we gonna rip these ghuls to shreds? The girls are anxious to spill some blood and me and Freki haven’t torn anybody to bits in years. Whatd’ya say?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a battle, I’m afraid,” said Jack’s aunt, sighing, “These desert types fold under pressure. We’d have to tie one hand behind our backs to make it a fair fight. That would take too much time. Remember, we’ve got a performance scheduled at midnight.”

Gretta turned to Jack. “Nephew, what’s your pleasure? After all, you were the one threatened by these thugs. You decide. What should we do with them?”

“Let them go,” said Jack, without hesitation. “The ghuls at least. I’ll deal with Hasan and the Crouching One later.”

“Let them go?” repeated his aunt. “Even though they tried to murder you and your friends?”

“They’re merely the hired hands,” said Jack. “Why punish them for obeying the Old Man of the Mountain’s commands?”

“Whatever you wish,” said Gretta. His aunt had the same disappointed look he’d often seen on Cassandra’s face. She would have preferred a battle to the death. “I’ll go over and inform the snake of your generosity.”

“Is goodt decision,” said Boris Bronsky when the Valkyrie left to speak with the Old Man of the Mountain. “Enough fighting for one night. We won, no?”

“No,” answered Cassandra, before Jack could reply. “Hasan al-Sabbah’s immortal and close to invulnerable. The Old Man of the Mountain is a deadly foe and he won’t forget this defeat. Nor will the Crouching One. You’ve foiled its plans twice now. Until we eliminate those two fiends, your life will be in constant danger.”

Jack merely smiled. “Don’t fret,” he said to Cassandra. “The evening’s not over. Why not say hello to the Valkyries? I’m sure they’d be happy to see you. Help them supervise the ghuls’ evacuation. And listen for a phone call.”

“A phone call?” repeated Boris Bronsky, as a perplexed Cassandra wandered off. “You’re expecting an important message?”

“A friend I never met,” said Jack, “is going to solve one of my problems in a most unexpected manner.”