BOOK TWO — THE MATHEMATICS OF MAGIC
ONE
«Steak,» said Harold Shea.
«Porterhouse, sirloin —?» asked the waitress.
«Both, so long as they’re big and rare.»
«Harold,» said Gertrude Mugler, «whatever this is all about, please be careful of your diet. A large protein intake for a man who doesn’t do physical labour —»
«Physical labour!» barked Shea. «The last meal I had was twenty-four hours ago, and it was a little dish of oatmeal mush. Sour, too. Since then I’ve fought a duel with a couple of giants, done acrobatics on a magic broomstick, had a ride on a god’s enchanted brewery-horse — Well, anyway, I’ve been roasted and frozen and shaken and nearly scared to death, and by Thor’s hammer I want food!»
«Harold, are you — are you feeling well?»
«Fine, toots. Or I will be when I surround some grub.» He turned to the waitress again: «Steak!»
«Listen, Harold,» persisted Gertrude. «Don’t! You pop out of nowhere in that crazy costume; you talk wildly about things you couldn’t expect anyone to believe —»
«You don’t have to believe I popped out of nowhere, either,» said Shea.
«Then can’t you tell me what’s wrong?»
«Nothing’s wrong, and I’m not going to talk about it until I’ve consulted Dr. Chalmers.»
«Well,» said Gertrude, «if that’s your attitude — come on, Walter, let’s go to a movie.»
«But,» bleated Walter Bayard, «I want to listen —»
«Oh, be a gentleman for once in your life!»
«Oh, all right, Gert.» He leered back at Shea as he went. «Anyway, you didn’t bring back any dream-girls.»
Shea grinned after them. «There goes the guy who used to kid me about how Gert had gotten the psychological jump on me,» he said to Chalmers. «I hope she rides herd on him.»
Reed Chalmers smiled faintly. «You forget — uh — Walter’s infallible defence mechanism.»
«What’s that?»
«When the pressure becomes too great, he can simply go to sleep on her.»
Shea gave a suppressed snort. «You know not what you — ah, food! He attacked his plate, working his mouth around a piece of steak big enough to choke a horse; with effort like a snake engulfing a toad. An expression of pure bliss spread over his face as he chewed. Chalmers noted that his colleague ignored the fact that half the restaurant was staring at the tableaux of a long-faced young man in baggy Norse woollens.»
«A — uh — somewhat less rapid rate of ingestion —» Chalmers began.
Shea shook a finger, gulped down his mouthful, and spoke: «Don’t worry about me.» Between mouthfuls he told his story.
* * *
Reed Chalmers’ mild eyes bugged as he watched and listened to his young friend. «Good gracious! That’s the third of those steaks, somewhat inadequately called small. You’ll — uh — render yourself ill.»
«This is the last one. Hey, waitress! May I please have an apple pie? Not just a segment; I want a whole pie.» He turned back to Chalmers. «So the spook said, ‘Go on back to where you came from,’ and here I am!»
Chalmers mused: «While I have known you, Harold, to commit venial sins of rhetorical exaggeration incompatible with true scientific accuracy, I have never known you to engage in deliberate fabrication. So I believe you. The general alteration in your appearance and bearing furnishes persuasive corroboration.»
«Have I changed?» asked Shea.
«You show the effects of physical hardship, as well as exposure to the sun and wind.»
«That all?»
Chalmers pondered: «You would like me to say, would you not, that your air of self-conscious brashness has been replaced by one of legitimate self-confidence?»
«Well — uh.»
Chalmers continued: «Those conscious of shortcomings are always eager to be informed of radical improvement. Actually such improvements, when they occur at all in an adult, take place slowly. No miraculous change is to be expected in a couple of weeks.» He twinkled at Shea’s discomfort and added: «I will admit that you seem to show some alteration of personality, and I think in the right direction.»
Shea laughed. «At least I learned to appreciate the value of theory. If you’d been along we’d really have gotten somewhere in applying the screwy laws of the world of Scandinavian myth.»
«I —» Chalmers stopped.
«What?»
«Nothing.»
«Of course,» said Shea, «you’d never have stood the physical end of it.»
Chalmers sighed. «I suppose not.»
Shea went on: «It checked your theory of paraphysics all right. In that universe the laws of similarity and contagion held good — at least, the magic spells I figured out with their help worked.»
Chalmers brushed his grey mop out of his eyes. «Amazing! I asserted that the transfer of the physical body, to another spacetime frame by symbolic logic — what did you call it? A syllogismobile! was possible. But it is a shock to have so — uh — far-fetched a deduction confirmed by experimental proof.»
Shea said: «Sure, we’ve got something all right. But what are we going to do with it?»
Chalmers frowned. «It is rather obscure. Presents a whole new world-picture, unlike anything but some of the Oriental religions. An infinity of universes, moving along parallel but distinct space-time vectors. But, as you put it, what can be done with it? If I publish the results of your experiment they’ll simply say poor old Chalmers has. uh. a tile loose, and in any case an experimental psychologist has no business venturing into physics. Think of Oliver Lodge!» He shuddered. «The only satisfactory proof would be to send some of the doubters to another universe. Unfortunately, we could hardly count on their encountering Grua with a handful of enchanted snow. They would be unable to return, and the doubters left behind would be doubters still. You perceive the difficulty.»
«Huh-uh. Wonder how the fight came out? It might be worth while going back to see.»
«It would be inadvisable. The Ragnarök was only beginning when you left. You might return to find the giants had won and were in charge. If you wish adventure, there are plenty of other and less —» The voice trailed off.
«Other what?»
«Well, perhaps nothing of importance. I was about to say — systematic attainable universes. Since you left I have been engaged in the development of the structural theory of a multiple-universe cosmology, and —»
Shea interrupted. «Listen, Dr. Chalmers. We both know too much psychology to kid each other. Something’s eating you besides paraphysical mathematics.»
«Harold» — Chalmers gave a sigh — «I’ve always maintained that you’d make a better. uh. salesman or politician than psychologist. You’re weak on theory, but in offhand, rule-of-thumb diagnosis of behaviour patterns, you are incomparable.»
«Don’t evade, Doctor.»
«Very well. Were you perhaps thinking of making another journey soon?»
«Why, I just got back and haven’t had time to think. Say! You aren’t suggesting you’d like to go along, are you?»
Reed Chalmers rolled a fragment of bread into a precise grey pill. «As a matter of fact that’s what I was suggesting, Harold. Here I am, fifty-six years old, without family or intimate friends — except you young men of the Garaden Institute. I have made — or believe I have — the greatest cosmological discovery since Copernicus, yet its nature is such that it cannot be proved, and no one will credit it without the most exhaustive proof.» He shrugged slightly. «My work is done, but to a result that will afford me no appreciation in this world. May I not. uh. be permitted the foible of seeking a fuller life elsewhere?»
* * *
Back in Shea’s room and seated in the best armchair, Chalmers stretched his legs and meditatively sipped a highball. «I’m afraid your suggestion of Cuchulainn’s Ireland does not meet with my approval. An adventurous life, no doubt — but culturally a barbarism, with an elaborate system of taboos, violations of which are punished by the removal of heads,»
«But the girls —» protested Shea. «Those piano-legged Scowegian blondes — they all reminded me of Gertrude —»
«For a person of my age amorous adventure has few attractions. And as my partner in this enterprise I must ask you to remember that while you have. uh. certain physical skills that would be useful anywhere, I am limited to fields where intellectual attainments would be of more value than in ancient Ireland. The only non-warriors who got anywhere in those days were minstrels — and I can neither compose lays nor play the harp.»
Shea grinned maliciously. «All right, you leave the girls to me, then. But I guess you’re right; we’ll have to drop Queen Maev and Ossian.» He peered around the bookshelves. «How about this?»
Chalmers examined the volume he handed down. «Spenser’s Faerie Queene. Mm-m-m —» vision unrolled after vision to the sound of varying music, «as Dr. Johnson said. Certainly a brilliant and interesting world, and one in which I personally might have some place. But I am afraid we should find it uncomfortable if we landed in the latter half of the story, where Queen Gloriana’s knights are having a harder time, as though Spenser were growing discouraged, or the narrative for some reason were escaping from his hands, taking on a life of its own. I’m not sure we could exercise the degree of selectivity needed to get into the story at the right point. After all, in your last experience, you attempted Ireland and arrived in Scandinavian myth.»
«But,» protested Shea, «if you’re going adventuring you can’t avoid —» and then stopped, his mouth open.
«You were about to say ‘danger’, were you not?» said Chalmers, with a smile. «I confess —»
Shea got to his feet. «Doctor. Doc —» he burst out. «Listen: why shouldn’t we jump right into that last part of the Faerie Queene and help Gloriana’s knights straighten things out? You said you had worked out some new angles. We ought to be better than anyone else in the place. Look what I was able to do in the Ragnarök with the little I know!»
«You are immodest, Harold,» replied Chalmers, but he was leaning forward. «Still, it is an. uh. attractive plan; to look in another world for the achievement denied in this. Suppose you fill my glass again while we consider details.»
«Well, the first detail I’d like to know something about is what new wrinkles in theory you have in mind.»
Chalmers settled himself and took on his lecture-room manner. «As I see it, our universes have a relation analogous to that of a pencil of parallel vectors,» said he. «The vectors themselves represent time, of course. That gives us a six-dimensional cosmos — three in space, one in time, and two which define the relationships of one universe of the cosmos to another.»
«You know enough mathematics to be aware that the ‘fourth dimension’, so called, is only a dimension in the sense of a measurable quality, like colour or density. The same applies for the interuniversal dimensions. I maintain —»
«Whoa!» said Shea. «Is there an infinite number of universes?»
«Ahem — I wish you would learn to avoid interruptions, Harold. I used to believe so. But now I consider the number finite, though very large.»
«Let me continue. I maintain that what we call ‘magic’ is merely. the physics of some of these other universes. This physics is capable of operating along the interuniversal dimensions —»
«I see,» Shea interrupted again. «Just as light can operate through interplanetary space, but sound requires some such conducting medium as air or water.»
«The analogy is not perfect. Let me continue. You know how the theme of conjuring things up and making them disappear constantly recurs in fairy tales. These phenomena become plausible if we assume the enchanter is snatching things from another universe or banishing them to one.»
Shea said: «I see an objection. If the laws of magic don’t operate in the conducting medium of our universe, how’s it possible to learn about them? I mean, how did they get into fairy stories?»
«The question is somewhat obvious. You remember my remarking that dements suffered hallucinations because their personalities were split between this universe and another? The same applies to the composers of fairy stories, though to a lesser degree. Naturally, it would apply to any writer of fantasy, such as Dunsany or Hubbard. When he describes some strange world, he is offering a somewhat garbled version of a real one, having its own set of dimensions quite independent of ours.»
Shea sipped his highball in silence. Then he asked: «Why can’t we conjure things into and out of this universe?»
«We can. You successfully conjured yourself out of this one. But it is probable that certain of these parallel universes are easier of access than others. Ours —»
«Would be one of the hard kind?»
«Ahem. Don’t interrupt, please. Yes. Now as to the time dimension, I’m inclined to think we can travel among universes only at right angles to the pencil of space-time vectors, if you follow my use of a. a somewhat misleading analogy.»
«However, it appears likely that our vectors are curved. A lapse of time, along the inner side of the curve would correspond to a greater lapse of time along the outer. You know the theme in certain fairy tales — the hero comes to fairyland, spends three days, and returns to find he has been gone three minutes or three years.»
«The same feature would account for the possibility of landing in someone’s imagined idea of the future. This is clearly a case where a mind has been running along one of the outer curved vectors at a speed which has outstripped the passage of time along our own inner side of the curve. The result — Harold, are you following me?»
Shea’s highball glass had rolled onto the rug with a gentle plunk, and the suspicion of a snore came from his chair. Fatigue had caught up with him at last.
* * *
Next week-end, Harold Shea went up to Cleveland. He was approaching this second time-journey with some misgivings. Chalmers was an astute old bird — no doubt about that, A good theorist. But it was the pursuit of the theory rather than its result that interested the old boy. How would he work out as a companion in a life of arduous adventure — a man of fifty-six, who had always led a sedentary life, and for that matter, who always seemed to prefer discussion to experience —
Well, too late to pull out now, Shea told himself, as he entered the shop of the Montrose Costume Co. He asked to see medieval stuff. A clerk, who seemed to think that the word «medieval» had something to do with pirates, finally produced an assortment of doublets and hose, feathered hats, and floppy boots of thin yellow leather. Shea selected a costume that had once been worn by the leading man in De Koven’s Robin Hood. It had no pockets, but a tailor could be found to remedy that. For Chalmers, he bought a similar but plainer outfit, with a monkish robe and attached hood. Chalmers was to go as a palmer, or pilgrim, a character which both felt would give him some standing.
The costume company’s assortment of arms and armour proved not only phony but impractical. The chain mail was knitted woollens dipped in aluminium paint. The plate was sheets of tin-can thinness. The swords had neither edge, balance, nor temper. The antique shops had nothing better; their antique weapons were mostly civil War cavalry sabres. Shea decided to use his own fencing épée. It had a rather stiff blade, and if he unscrewed the point d’arrкt, ground the end down to a sharp point, and contrived some kind of sheath, the weapon would do till he got something better.
The most serious question, as he explained to Chalmers on his return, was concern with the formulas of the magic they intended to use on their arrival. «How do you expect to read English in the land of Faerie when I couldn’t in Scandinavia?» he demanded.
«I’ve allowed for that,» Chalmers replied. «You forget that mathematics is a. a universal language, independent of words.»
«All right. But will your mathematical symbols mean the same things?»
«Glance at this sheet, Harold. Knowing the principles of symbolic logic to begin with, I can look over this pictured equation with an apple at the left and a great many apples at the right, and thus realize it means that an apple belongs to the class of apples. From that I shall infer that the horseshoe-shaped symbol in the centre means ‘is a member of the class of’.»
«You think that’ll work, honest? But, say, how do we know that you and I will land in the same part of the Faerie world?»
Chalmers shrugged. «For that matter, how do we know we shan’t land in Greek mythology? There are still laws of this method of transference to be worked out. We can only hold on to each other, read the formulas in chorus, and hope for the best.»
Shea grinned. «And if it doesn’t work, what the hell? Well, I guess we’re ready.» He inhaled deeply. «If P equals not-Q, Q implies not-P. which is equivalent to saying either P or Q but not both. But if not-P is not implied by not-Q — Come in, Mrs. Ladd.»
Shea’s landlady opened the door, and opened her mouth to say something, But the something failed to come forth. She stared agape at a pair of respectable psychologists, standing side by side in medieval costumes, with rucksacks on their shoulders. They were holding hands and with their free hands holding sheets of paper. Chalmers purpled with embarrassment.
Shea bowed easily. «We’re doing an experiment, Mrs. Ladd. We may be away for some time. If Mr. Bayard asks for us, let him in and tell him he can look at the papers in the top right-hand drawer. And you might mail this letter. Thanks.» He explained to Chalmers: «It’s to Gert; to tell her not to waste her money by setting Johnson after us.»
«But, Mr. Shea —» said the landlady.
«Please, Mrs. Ladd. You can sit down and watch if you like. Let’s go, Doctor — a conclusion can he drawn concerning the relation between two classes even if the evidence refers only to a part of some third class to which both are related. Whatever is predicated affirmatively or negatively of a class may be predicated in like manner of everything asserted to be contained in that class —»
Mrs. Ladd watched, ample bosom heaving. Her eyes bulged from her head: she’d have material for backfence conversation for months to come.
Pfmp! There was a movement of air, muttering the papers on the table and whirling ashes from the ash trays. Mrs. Ladd, pulling herself together, moved a trembling hand through the space where her stangely dressed lodgers had stood.
It met no resistance.
TWO
Chalmers spoke first. «Astounding! I should have thought the passage more difficult.»
«Uh-huh.» Shea looked around, sniffing the air with his head up. «Looks like a plain forest to me. Not as cold as the last one, thank God.»
«I. I suppose so. Though I’m sure I don’t know what type of tree that is.»
«I’d say some kind of eucalyptus,» replied Shea «That would mean a warm, dry climate. But look where the sun is. That means late afternoon, so we better get started.»
«Dear me, I suppose so. Which direction would you suggest?»
«Dunno, but I can find out.» Shea dropped his rucksack and swarmed up the nearest tree. He called down: «Can’t see much. No, wait, there’s a slope off that direction.» He waved an arm, almost lost his footing, and slid down again in a small torrent of bark and leaves.
They started towards the slope in the hope that it represented a river valley, where they could expect to find human habitations. After half a mile a scraping sound halted him wordlessly. They crept forward, peering. A tall, spotted buck was rubbing its horns against a tree. It flung up its head as it heard them, gave a sneezelike snort, and leaped gracefully away.
Shea said: «If he’s just getting rid of his velvet, it ought to be late summer or early fall.»
«I wasn’t aware you were so much of a woodsman, Harold.»
«What the hell, Doc. Doctor, I’ve been having practice. What’s that?»
Something far off had gone «Ow-ooh,» a sort of musical grunt, as though somebody had casually scraped the C string of a cello.
Chalmers fingered his chin. «It sounds remarkably like a lion. I trust we need not expect to encounter lions in this country.»
The noise came again, louder. «Don’t bet on it, Doctor,» said Shea. «If you remember your Spenser, there were plenty of lions around; also camels, bears, wolves, leopards, and aurochs, as well as human fauna like giants and Saracens. Not to mention the Blatant Beast, which had the worst qualities of all and slandered people besides. What worries me is whether lions can climb trees.»
«Merciful Heavens! I don’t know about lions, but I’m afraid I shouldn’t be equal to much climbing. Let’s hurry.»
They strode on through the wood, a wood of open glades with little underbrush and no recognizable paths. A little breeze came up to make the leaves whisper overhead. The coughing roar of the lion came again, and Shea and Chalmers, without realizing, stepped up their pace to a trot. They glanced at each other and slowed down again.
Chalmers puffed: «It’s good for a man of my age to have a little. uh. exercise like this.»
Shea grinned with one side of his mouth. They came out onto the edge of a meadow that stretched a couple of hundred yards downhill. At the bottom of the valley, more trees evidently concealed a stream. Shea scrambled up another tree for a look. Beyond the stream and its wide, shallow vale stood a castle, small in the distance and yellow in the low sun, with pennants writhing lazily from its turrets. He called down the news.
* * *
«Can you make out the devices on any of the pennants?» Chalmers answered. «I was. I am. not altogether inexpert in matters of heraldry. It might be wise to learn something of the character of the institution.»
«Nor a damn thing,» said Shea, and swung himself down. «Air’s too quiet and she’s too far away. Anyhow, I’d rather take a chance on the castle than on being part of a lion’s breakfast. Let’s go.»
* * *
In the tone of an announcer offering the express for East Chicago, Laporte, and South Bend on Track 18, a voice cried at them: «Who would enter Castle Caultrock?»
There was nobody in sight, but the travellers’ eyes caught a flash of metal on one of the projecting balconies where the drawbridge chains entered the wall. Shea shouted back the rehearsed answer: «Travellers, to wit, Harold Shea, gentleman and squire, and Reed Chalmers, palmer!» Wonder what they’d say about the «gentleman,» thought Shea, if they knew my father was head bookkeeper of a meat-packing concern?
The answer floated back: «This is a castle of deeds and ladies. The holy palmer may enter in the name of God, but no gentleman unless he be accompanied by his fair dame, for such is the custom of this place.»
Shea and Chalmers looked at each other. The latter was smiling happily. «Perfect selectivity!» he murmured. «This is exactly right; right at the beginning of Spenser’s fourth book —» his voice trailed off and his face fell. «I don’t quite know what to do about your being left out —»
«Go ahead in. I’ve slept in the open before.»
«But —» Just then a movable section in the bars of the portcullis creaked outward, and a man in armour stumbled through, apparently pushed from behind. There was a shout of derisive laughter. A horse was squeezed through the opening behind. The man took the reins and came towards them. He was a small man with close-cropped hair. A scar intersected one corner of a mouth drawn into a doleful expression. «Hi,» said Shea. «Did they throw you out?»
«I high Hardimour. Aye; it is even the hour of vespers, and being ladyless I am put forth from the fair entertainment within.» He smiled wryly. «And what hight you? Nay, tell me not now; for I see my dinner and bed approach, mounted on the back of a jennet.»
The travellers turned to follow Hardimour’s eyes behind them. Across the even meadow came a pair of horses, bearing an armoured knight and his lady. The latter rode sidesaddle, clad in rich garments of a trailing, impractical kind.
The little knight vaulted to his saddle with a lightness that was surprising, considering the weight of his hardware. He shouted, «Defend yourself, knight, or yield me your lady!» and snapped down his visor with a clang.
The smaller horse, with the woman, swung to one side. Shea gave a low whistle as he got a look at her: a slim, pale girl, with features as perfect as a cameo, and delicately rounded eyebrows. The other rider, without a word, whipped a cloth covering from his shield, revealing a black field on which broken spear points were picked out with silver. He swung a big black lance into position.
Heads appeared along the battlements of the castle. Shea felt Chalmers pluck at his sleeve. «That Sir Hardimour is in for trouble,» said the older psychologist. «Sable, semé of broken spears is the bearing of Britomart.»
Shea was watching the knights, who had spurred their horses to a heavy gallop. Wham! went lances against shields, and there were sparks in the fading light. The head of the little knight from the castle went back, his feet came up, and he turned a somersault through the air. He landed on his head with the sound of thirty feet of chain being dropped on a manhole cover.
The stranger knight reined in and brought his horse back at a walk. Shea, followed by Chalmers, ran to where Sir Hardimour sprawled. The little knight seemed to be out cold. As Shea fumbled with unfamiliar fingers at his helmet fastenings, he sat up groggily and helped get it off. He drew in a long breath.
«By’r Lady,» he remarked with a rueful grin, «I have stood before Blandamour of the Iron Arm, but that was as rude a dint as ever I took.» He looked up as the knight who had overthrown him approached. «It seems I was too ambitious. To whom do I owe the pleasure of a night with the crickets?»
The other pulled up his visor to reveal a fresh young face. «Certes,» he said in a light, high-pitched voice, «you are a very gentle person, young sir, and shall not spend a night with the crickets and bugbears if I can help it. Ho, warder!»
The castle guard’s head came through the gate in the portcullis. «Your worship,» he said.
«Have I fairly gained admittance to Castle Caultrock as the knight of this lady?»
«That is most true.»
The knight of the shivered spears on their field of black put both hands up to his own helmet and lifted it off. A sunburst of golden hair burst forth and flowed down to his — her — waist. Behind him Shea beard Chalmers chuckle, «I told you it was Britomart.» He remembered that Britomart was the warrior girl who could beat most of the men in the Faerie Queene.
She was speaking: «Then I declare I am the lady of this good knight who has been overthrown, and since he has a lady he may enter.»
The warder looked worried and scratched his chin. «The point is certainly very delicate. If you are her knight — and yet his lady — how can she be your lady and he your knight? Marry I warrant me this is a case Sir Artegall himself could not unravel. Enter, all three!»
Shea spoke up: «Beg pardon, miss, but I wonder if I could arrange to go in as your friend’s man?»
«That you may not, sir,» she replied haughtily. «She shall be no man’s lady till I restore her to her husband; for this is that Lady Amoret who was foully stolen from her spouse’s arms by Busyrane, the enchanter. If you wish to be her knight, you must even try Sir Hardimour’s fate against me.»
«Hm-m-m,» said Shea. «But you’re going in as Sir Hardimour’s lady?» They nodded. He turned to the latter. «If I had a horse and all the fixings, Sir Knight, I’d fight you for the privilege of being Miss Britomart’s man. But as it is I’ll challenge you to a round on foot with swords and without armour.»
Hardimour’s scarred face registered an astonishment that changed to something like pleasure. «Now, that is a strange sort of challenge —» he began.
«Yet not unheard of,» interrupted the statuesque Britomart. «I mind me that Sir Artegall fought thus against three brothers at the Ford of Thrack.»
Chalmers was plucking at Shea’s sleeve again. «Harold, I consider it most unwise —»
«Shh! I know what I’m doing. Well, Sir Knight, how about it?»
«Done,» Sir Hardimour unbuckled himself from his chrysalis of steel. He stepped forward, his feet feeling uncertainly on the smooth grass which he was used to crossing in metal shoes.
Hardimour stamped and swung his sword a couple of times in both hands. He shifted it to one and moved towards Shea. Shea waited quietly, balancing the épée. Hardimour made a couple of tentative cuts at Shea, who parried easily. Then, feeling surer of his footing, Hardimour stepped forward nimbly, swinging his sword up for a real clash. Shea straightened his arm and lunged, aiming for Hardimour’s exposed forearm. He missed, and jumped back before the knight’s sword came down, gleaming red in the setting sun.
As the blade descended, Shea flipped it aside with a parry in carte, being careful not to let the heavy blade meet his thin épée squarely. Hardimour tried again, a forehand cut as Shea’s head. Shea ducked under it and pricked Hardimour’s arm before he could recover. Shea heard Chalmers’ quick intake of breath and an encouraging word from Britomart, «Bravely done, oh, bravely!»
Hardimour came on again, swinging. Shea parried, lunged, missed again, but held his lunge and drilled the knight’s arm properly with a remise. The slim steel needle went through the muscles like butter. Britomart clapped her hands.
Shea withdrew his blade and recovered, keeping the épée flickering between them. «Had enough?» he asked.
«By Gods wounds, no!» gritted Hardimour. The sleeve of his shirt was turning dark red, and he was sweating, but he looked thoroughly grim. He swung the sword up in both hands, wincing slightly The épée flickered out and ripped his now dripping shirt-sleeve. He checked, and held his sword out in front of him, trying to imitate Shea’s fencing position. Shea tapped it ringingly a couple of times, gathered it up in a bind in octave, and lunged. Hardimour saved himself by stumbling backward. Shea followed him. Flick, flick, flick went the thin blade, Hardimour’s eyes following it in fearful fascination. He tried to parry the repeated thrust, but could no longer control his big blade. Shea forced him back zigzag, got him into the position he wanted, feinted, and lunged. He stopped his point just as it touched the smaller man’s chest. Hardimour put a foot back, but found no support. His arms went up, his sword whirling over and over, till it went plunk into the moat. Sir Hardimour followed it with a great splash.
When he came up with a green water plant plastered on his forehead, Shea was kneeling at the edge.
Hardimour cried: «Gulp. pffth. ugh!. help! I can’t swim.»
Shea extended Chalmers’ staff. Hardimour caught it and pulled himself up. As he scrambled to his feet, he found that villainous épée blade flickering in his face.
«Give up?» demanded Shea.
Hardimour blinked, coughed up some more water, and sank to his knees. «I cry craven,» he said grudgingly. Then: «Curse it! In another bout I’ll beat you, Master Harold!»
«But I won this one,» said Shea. «After all, I didn’t want to sleep with the crickets, either.»
«Right glad am I that you shall not,» said Hardimour honestly, feeling of his arm. «What galls me is that twice I’ve been put to shame before all these noble lords and ladies of Castle Caultrock. And after all, I must stay without.»
Chalmers spoke up. «Hasn’t the castle some rule about admitting persons in distress?»
«I bethink me this is even the case. Sick or wounded knights may enter till they are well.»
«Well,» said Shea, «that arm won’t be well for a couple of months.»
«Perhaps you caught a cold from your ducking,» advised Chalmers.
«I thank you, reverend palmer. Perhaps I did.» Hardimour sneezed experimentally.
«Put more feeling into it,» said Shea.
Hardimour did so, adding a racking cough. «Ah me, I burn with ague!» he cried, winking. «Good people of the castle, throw me at least a cloak to wrap myself in, ere I perish! Oooo-ah!» He sank realistically to the ground. They got him up, and supported him, staggering, across the drawbridge. Britomart and Amoret followed, the former leading the three horses. This time the warder made no objection.
THREE
A trumpet blew three notes as they passed through the gate in the portcullis. The last note was sour. As the travellers entered a paved courtyard littered by heaps of dirty straw, they were surrounded by a swarm of little page boys in bright-coloured costumes. All were chattering, but they seemed to know what to do. They attached themselves two by two to each of the new arrivals and led them towards the door of a tall, greystone building that rose from the opposite side of the court.
Shea was taken in tow by a pair of youths who gazed at him admiringly. Each wore medieval hose, with one leg red and the other white. As he mounted a winding stair under their guidance, one of them piped: «Are you only a squire, sir?»
«Shh!» said the other. «Have you no manners, Bevis? The lord hasn’t spoken.»
«Oh, thats all right,» said Shea. «Yes, I’m only a squire. Why?»
«Because you’re such a good swordsman, worshipful sir. Sir Hardimour is a right good knight.» He looked wistful. «Will you show me that trick of catching an enemy’s blade sometime, worshipful sir? I want to slay an enchanter.»
They had arrived at the entrance of a long, high room, with a huge four-poster bed in one corner. One of the pages ran ahead and, kneeling before a cross-legged chair, brushed it off for Shea to sit on. As he did so, the other reached around him and unbuckled his sword belt, while the first ran out of the room. A moment later he was back, carrying a big copper basin of steaming water, a towel over his arm.
Shea gathered he was expected to wash his hands. They needed it.
«In the name of Castle Caultrock,» said the little Bevis, «I crave your lordship’s pardon for not offering him a bath. But the hour of dinner is now so near —»
He was interrupted by a terrific blowing of trumpets, mostly out of tune and all playing different things, that might have heralded the arrival of the new year.
«The trumpets for dinner!» said the page who was wiping Shea’s hands for him, somewhat to his embarrassment. «Come.»
It had fallen dusk outside. The winding stair up which they had come was black as a boot. Shea was glad of the page’s guiding hand. The boy sure-footedly led the way to the bottom, across a little entry hall where a single torch hung in a wall bracket. He threw open a door, announcing in his thin voice, «Master Harold de Shea!»
The room beyond was large — at least fifty feet long and nearly as wide, wretchedly lighted — according to American standards — by alternate torches and tapers along the wall. Shea, who had recently been in the even dimmer illumination of Bonder Sverre’s house, found the light good enough to see that the place was filled with men and ladies, gabbing as they moved through an arch at the far end into the dining hall.
Chalmers was not to be seen. Britomart was visible a few feet away. She was the tallest person in the room with the exception of himself, and fully equal to his own five feet eleven.
He made his way towards her. «Well, Master Squire,» she greeted him unsmilingly, «it seems that since I have become your lady you are to take me to dinner. You may give the kiss of grace, but not liberties, you understand?» She pushed her cheek towards him, and since he was apparently expected to do so, he kissed it. That was easy enough. With a little make-up she might have been drawn by George Petty.
Preceded by the little Bevis they entered into the tall dining hall. They were led to the raised central part of the U-shaped table. Shea was glad to see that Chalmers had already been seated, two places away from him. The intervening space was already occupied by the cameolike Amoret. To the evident discomfort of Chalmers, she was pouring the tale of her woes into his ear with machine-gun speed.
«— and, oh, the tortures that foul fiend Busyrane put me to!» she was saying. «With foul shows and fantastic images on the walls of the cell where I was held. Now he’d declare how my own Scudamour was unfaithful to me; now offer me great price for my virtue —»
«How many times a day did he demand it?» inquired a knight beyond, leaning down the table.
«Never less than six,» said Amoret, «and oft as many as twenty. When I refused — as ever I must — the thing’s past understanding —»
Shea heard Chalmers murmur: «What, never? No never. What, never —»
The knight said: «Sir Scudamour may well take pride in such a wife, gentle lady, who has borne so much for his sake.»
«What else could she do?» asked Britomart coldly.
Shea spoke up: «I could think of one or two things.»
The Petty girl turned on him, blue eyes flashing. «Master Squire, your insinuations are vile, and unworthy the honour of knighthood! Had you made them beyond that gate, I would prove them soon your body, with spear and sword.»
She was, he observed with some astonishment, genuinely angry. «Sorry; I was joking,» he offered.
«Chastity, sir, is no subject for jest!» she snapped.
Before the conversation could be carried further, Shea jumped at another tremendous blast of trumpets. A file of pages pranced in with silver plates. Shea noted, there was only one plate for him and Britomart together. Looking down the table, he saw that each pair, knight and lady, had been similarly served. This was apparently one of the implications of being a knight’s «lady». Shea would have liked to inquire whether there were any others; but in. view of Britomart’s rebuff at his mild joke at Amoret, he didn’t quite dare.
* * *
The trumpets blew again, this time to usher in a file of serving men bearing trays of food. That set before Shea and Britomart was a huge pastry, elaborately made in the form of a potbellied medieval ship, upon which the page Bevis fell with a carving knife. As he worked at it, Chalmers leaned around Amoret’s back, and touching Shea’s sleeve, remarked: «Everything’s going according to plan.»
«How do you mean?»
«The logical equations. I looked at them in my room. They puzzled me a bit, at first, but I checked them against that key I made up, and everything fitted into place.»
«Then you can really work magic?»
«I’m pretty sure. I tried a little enchantment on a cat that was strolling around. Worked a spell on some feathers and gave it wings.» He chuckled. «I daresay there will be some astonishment among the birds in the forest tonight. It flew out the window.»
Shea felt a nudge at his other side, and turned to face Britomart. «Will my lord, as is his right, help himself first?» she said. She indicated the plate. Her expression plainly said she hoped any man who helped himself before her would choke on what he got. Shea surveyed her for a second.
«Not at all,» he answered. «You go first. After all, you’re a better knight than I am. You pitched Hardimour down with a spear. If you hadn’t softened him up, I couldn’t have done a thing.»
Her smile told him he had gauged her psychology correctly. «Grace,» said she. She plunged her hand into the pile of meat that had come our of the pastry ship, put a good-sized lump into her mouth. Shea followed her example. He nearly jumped out of his chair, and snatched for the wine cup in front of him.
The meat tasted like nothing on earth. It was heavily salted, and sweet, and almost all other flavours were drowned in a terrific taste of cloves. Two big tears of agony came into Shea’s eyes as he took a long pull at the wine cup.
The wine reeked of cinnamon. The rears ran down his cheek.
«Ah, good Squire Harold,» came Amoret’s voice, «I don’t wonder that you weep at the tale of the agonies through which I have passed. Was ever faithful lady so foully put upon?»
«For my part,» said the knight farther down the table, «I think this Busyrane is a vile, caitiff rogue, and willingly would I take the adventure of putting an end to him.»
Britomart gave a hard little laugh. «You won’t find that so easy, Sir Erivan. Firstly, you shall know that Busyrane dwells in the woods where the Losels breed, those most hideous creatures that are half-human in form, yet eat of human flesh. They are ill to overcome. Secondly, this Busyrane conceals his castle by arts magical, so it is hard to find. And thirdly, having found it and Busyrane himself, he is a very stout and powerful fighter, whom few can match. In all Faerie, I know of only two that might overthrow him.»
«And who are they?» asked Erivan.
«This one is Sir Cambell, who is a knight of great prowess. Moreover, he has to wife Cambina, who is much skilled in the white magic that might pass both through the Losels and Busyrane’s enchantments. The other is my own dear lord and affianced husband, Sir Artegall, justiciar to our queen.»
«There you see!» cried Amoret. «That’s the kind of person who was after me. Oh, what sufferings! Oh, how I ever —»
«Ssst, Amoret!» interrupted Chalmers. «Your food’s geting cold, child.»
«How true, good palmer.» A tear trickled down Amoret’s lovely pale cheek as she rolled a huge ball of food between her fingers and thrust it into her mouth. As she chewed she managed to exclaim: «Oh, what would I do without the good friends who aid me!» There was certainly nothing weak about the frail-looking lady’s appetite.
* * *
Trumpets sounded the end of the course, and as one set of serving men took away the plates, another emerged with more dishes. Pages came running to each couple with metal bowls of water and towels. Sir Erivan, beyond Chalmers, lifted his wine cup and then set it down again.
«Ho, varlet!» he cried. «My wine cup is empty. Is it the custom of Caultrock to let the guests perish of thirst?»
The servitor signalled another, and a small wizened man in a fur-lined jacket hurried up and bowed to Sir Erivan.
«My very gracious lord,» he said, «I crave your pardon. But a most strange malady has befallen the wine, and it’s turned sour. All the wine in Castle Caultrock. The good Fray Montelus has pronounced an exorcism over it, but to no purpose. There must be a powerful enchantment on it.»
«What?» shouted Sir Erivan. «By the seven thousand demons of Gehenna, do you expect us to drink water? And then, shrugging his shoulders, he turned towards Chalmers.»
«You see how it is reverend sir. Daily we knights of Faerie are compassed closer about by these evil spells till we know not what to do. I misdoubt me they will make trouble at the tournament.»
«What tournament?» asked Shea.
«The tournament of Satyrane, the woodland knight, at his forest castle, three days hence. It will be a most proud and joyous occasion. There’s to be jousting, ending with a mélée, for the prize among knights and also a tourney of beauty for the ladies after. I’ve heard that the prize of beauty is to be that famous girdle of the Lady Florimel, which none but the most chaste may bind on.»
«Oh, how you frighten me!» said Amoret. «I was kidnapped from a tournament, you know. Now I shall hardly dare attend this one, if there will be enchanters present. Just think, one might win the prize of valour and I be awarded to him of right!»
«I shall be in the lists for you,» said Britomart, a trifle haughtily.
Shea asked: «Does the winner of the men’s prize get the winner of the prize of beauty?»
Sir Erivan looked at him in some astonishment. «You are pleased to jest — No. I see you are really a foreigner and don’t know. Well, then, such is the custom of Faerie. But I misdoubt me these enchanters and their spells.» He shook his head gloomily.
Shea said: «Say, my friend Chalmers and I might be able to help you out a little.»
«In what manner?»
Chalmers was making frantic efforts to signal him to silence, but Shea ignored them. «We know a little magic of our own. Pure white magic, like that Lady Cambina you spoke of. For instance — Doc, think you could do something about the wine situation?»
«Why. ahem. that is. I suppose I might, Harold. But don’t you think —»
Shea did not wait for the objection. «If you’ll be patient,» he said, «my friend the palmer will work some of his magic. What’ll you need, Doc?»
Chalmers’ brow furrowed. «A gallon of so of water, yes. Perhaps a few drops of good wine. Some grapes and bay leaves —»
Somebody interrupted: «As well ask for the moon in a basket as grapes at Caultrock. Last week came a swarm of birds and stripped the vines bare. Enchanter’s work, by hap; they do not love us here.»
«Dear me! Would there be a cask?»
«Aye, marry, a mort o’ ’em. Rudiger, an empty cask!»
The cask was rolled down the centre of the tables. The guests buzzed as they saw the preparations. Other articles were asked and refused till there was produced a stock of cubes of crystallized honey, crude and unstandardized in shape «— but they’ll do as sugar cubes, lacking anything better,» Chalmers told Shea.
A piece of charcoal served Chalmers for a pencil. On each of the lumps of crystallized honey he marked a letter, O, C, or H. A little fire was got going on the stone floor in the centre of the tables. Chalmers dissolved some of the honey in some of the water, put the water in the cask and some of straw in the water. The remaining lumps of honey he stirred about the table top with his fingers, as though playing some private game of anagrams, reciting meanwhile:
«So oft as I with state of present time
The image of our. uh. happiness compare,
So oft I find how less we are than prime,
How less our joy than that we once did share:
Thus do I ask those things that once we had
To make an evening run its wonted course,
And banish from this company the sad
Thoughts that in utter abstinence have their source:
Change then! For, being water, you cannot be worse!»
As he spoke, he withdrew a few of the lumps, arranging them thus:
H H
H C O O H
H H
«By the splendour of Heaven!» cried a knight with a short beard, who had risen and was peering into the cask. «The palmer’s done it!»
Chalmers reached over and pulled the straw from the top of the cask, dipped some of the liquid into his goblet and sipped. «God bless my soul!» he murmured.
«What is it, Doc?» asked Shea.
«Try it,» said Chalmers, passing him the goblet. Shea tried it and for the second time that evening almost upset the table.
The liquid was the best Scotch whisky he had ever tasted.
The thirsty Sir Erivan spoke up: «Is aught amiss with your spell-wrought wine?»
«Nothing,» said Chalmers, «except that it’s rather. uh. potent.»
«May one sample it, Sir Palmer?»
«Go easy on it.» said Shea, passing down the goblet. Sir Erivan went easy, but nevertheless exploded into a series of coughs. «Whee! A beverage for the gods on Olympus! None but they would have gullets of the proper temper. Yet methinks I should like more.»
Shea diluted the next slug of whisky with water before giving it to the serving man to pass down the table. The knight with the short beard made a face at the flavour. «This tastes like no wine I wot of,» said he.
«Most true,» said Erivan, «but ’tis proper nectar, and makes one feel wonnnnnnderful! More, I pray you!»
«May I have some, please?» asked Amoret, timidly. Chalmers looked unhappy. Britomart intervened: «Before you sample strange waters I myself will try.» She picked up the goblet she was sharing with Shea, took a long, quick drink.
Her eyes goggled and watered, but she held it well. «Too strong for my little charge,» said she when she got her breath hack
«But, Lady Britomart —»
«Nay. It would not — Nay, I say.»
* * *
The servitors were busy handing out the Scotch which left a trail of louder talk and funnier jokes in its wake. Down the table some of the people were dancing; the kind of dance wherein you spend your time holding up your partner’s hand and bowing. Shea had just enough whisky in him to uncork his natural recklessness. He bowed half-mockingly to Britomart. «Would my lady care to dance?»
«No,» she said solemnly. «I do it not. So many responsibilities have I had that I’ve never learned. Another drink, please.»
«Oh, come on! I don’t, either, the way they do here. But we can try.»
«No,» she said. «Poor Britomart never indulges in the lighter pleasures. Always busy, righting wrongs and setting a good example of chastity. Not that anyone heeds it.»
Shea saw Chalmers slip Amoret a shot of whisky. The perfect beauty coughed it down. Then she began talking very fast about the sacrifices she had made to keep herself pure for her husband. Chalmers began looking around for help. Serves the Doc right, thought Shea. Britomart was pulling his sleeve.
«It’s a shame,» she sighed. «They all say Britomart needs no man’s sympathy. She’s the girl who can take care of herself.»
«Is it as bad as all that?»
«Mush worst. I mean much worse. They all say Britomart has no sense of humour. That’s because I do my duty. Conscientious. That’s the trouble. You think I have a sense of humour, don’t you, Master Harold de Shea?» She looked at him accusingly.
Shea privately thought that «they all» were right. But he answered: «Of course I do.»
«That’s splendid. It gladdens my heart to find someone who understands. I Like you, Master Harold. You’re tall, not like these little pigs of men around here. Tell me, you don’t think I’m too tall, do you? You wouldn’t say I was just a big blond horse?»
«Perish the thought!»
«Would you even say I was good-looking?»
«And how!» Shea wondered how this was going to end.
«Really, truly good-looking, even if I am tall?»
«Sure, you bet, honest.» Shea saw that Briromart was on the verge of tears. Chalmers was busy trying to staunch Amoret’s verbal haemorrhage, and couldn’t help.
«Thass glorious. I’m so glad to find somebody who likes me as a woman. They all admire me, but nobody cares for me as a woman. Have to set a good example. Tell you a secret.» She leaned towards him in such a marked manner that Shea glanced around to see whether they were attracting attention.
They were not. Sir Erivan, with a Harpo Marx expression, was chasing a plump, squeaking lady from pillar to pillar. The dancers were doing a snake dance. From one corner came a roar where knights were betting their shirts at knuckle-bones.
«Tell you shecret,» she went on, raising her voice. «I get tired of being a good example. Like to be really human. Just once. Like this.» She grabbed Shea out of his seat as if he had been a puppy dog, slammed him down on her lap, and kissed him with all the gentleness of an affectionate tornado.
Then she heaved him out of her lap with the same amazing strength and pushed him back into his place. «No,» she said gloomily. «No. My responsibilities. Must think on them.» A big tear rolled down her cheek. «Come, Amoret. We must to bed.»
* * *
The early sun had not yet reached the floor of the courtyards when Shea came back, grinning. He told Chalmers: «Say, Doc, silver has all kinds of value here! The horse and ass together only cost $4.60.»
«Capital! I feared some other metal would pass current, or that they might have no money at all. Is the. uh. donkey domesticated?»
«Tamest I ever saw. Hello, there, girls!» This was to Britomart and Amoret, who had just come out. Britomart had her armour on, and a stern, martial face glowered at Shea out of the helmet.
«How are you this morning?» asked that young man, unabashed.
«My head beats with the cruel beat of an anvil, as you must know.» She turned her back. «Come, Amoret, there is no salve like air, and if we start now we shall be at Satyrane’s castle as early as those who ride late and fast with more pain.»
«We’re going that way, too,» said Shea. «Hadn’t we better ride along with you?»
«For protection’s sake, mean you? Hah! Little enough use that overgrown bodkin you bear would be if we came to real combat. Or is it that you wish to ride under the guard of my arm?» She shook it with a clang of metal.
Shea grinned. «After all, you are technically my ladylove —» He ducked as she swung at him, and hopped back out of reach.
Amoret spoke up: «Ah, Britomart, but do me the favour of letting them ride with us! The old magician is so sympathetic.»
Shea saw Chalmers start in dismay. But it was too late to back out now. When the women had mounted they rode through the gate together. Shea rook the lead with grumpily silent Britomart. Behind him, he could hear Amoret prattling cheerfully at Chalmers, who answered in monosyllables.
The road, no more than a bridle path without marks of wheeled traffic, paralleled the stream. The occasional glades that had been visible near Castle Caultrock disappeared. The trees drew in on them and grew taller till they were riding through a perpetual twilight, only here and there touched with a bright fleck of sunlight.
After two hours Britomart drew rein. As Amoret came up, the warrior girl announced: «Time for a bath. Join me, Amorer?»
The girl blushed and simpered. «These gentlemen —»
«Are gentlemen,» said Britomart, with a glare at Shea that implied he had jolly well better be a gentleman or else. «We will halloo.» She led the way down the slope and between a pair of mossy trunks.
The two men strolled off a way and sat. Shea turned to Chalmers, «How’s the magic going?»
«Ahem,» said the professor. «We were right about the general worsening of conditions here. Everyone seems aware of it, but they don’t quite know what causes it or what to do about it.»
«Do you?»
Chalmers pinched his chin. «It would seem — uh — reasonable to suspect the operations of a kind of guild of evil, of which various enchanters, like this Busyrane mentioned last night, form a prominent part. I indicate the souring of the wine and the loss of the grapes as suggestive examples. It would not even surprise me to discover that a well-organized revolutionary conspiracy is afoot. The question of whether such a subversive enterprise is justified is of course a moral one, resting on that complex of sentiments which the German philosophers call by the characteristically formidable name of Weltansicht. It therefore cannot be settled by scientific —»
Shea said: «Yeah. But what can we do about it?»
«I’m not quite certain. The obvious step would be to observe some of these people in operation and learn something of their technique. This tournament — Good gracious, what’s that?»
From the river came a shriek. Shea stared at Chalmers for three seconds. Then he jumped up and ran towards the sound.
As he burst through the screen of brush, he saw the two women up to their necks in a little pool out near the middle of the river. Wading towards them, their backs to Shea, were two wild-looking, half-naked men in tartan kilts. They were shouting with laughter.
Shea did a foolish thing. He drew his épée, slid down the six-foot bank, and ploughed into the water after the men, yelling. They whirled about, whipped out broadswords from rawhide slings, and splashed towards him. He realized his folly: knee-deep in water he would be unable to use his footwork. At best his chances were no more than even against one of these men. Two.
The bell-guard of the épée gave a clear ringing note as he parried the first cut. His riposte missed but the kilted man gave a little. Shea out of the tail of his eye saw the other working around to get behind him. He parried, thrust, parried.
«Wurroo!» yelled the wild man, and swung again. Shea backed a step to bring the other into his field of vision. Cold fear gripped him lest his foot slip on an unseen rock. The other man was upon him, swinging his sword up with both hands for the kill. «Wurroo!» he yelled like the other. Shea knew sickeningly that he couldn’t get his guard around in time.
Thump! A rock bounced off the man’s head. The man sat down. Shea turned back to the first and just parried a cut at his head. The first kiltie was really boring in now. Shea backed another step, slipped, recovered, parried, and backed. The water tugged at his legs. He couldn’t meet the furious swings squarely for fear of snapping his light blade. Another step back, and another, and the water was only inches deep. Now! Disengage, double, one-two, lunge — and the needlepoint slid through skin and lungs and skin again. Shea recovered and watched the man’s knees sag. Down he went.
The other was picking himself our of the water some distance down. When Shea took a few steps towards him, he scrambled up the bank and ran like a deer, his empty swordsling banging against his back.
* * *
Amoret’s voice announced: «You may come now, gentlemen.» Shea and Chalmers went back to the river to find the girls dressed and drying their hair by spreading it to the sun on their hands.
Shea asked Briromart: «You threw that rock, didn’t you?»
«Aye. Thanks and more than thanks, Squire Harold. I cry your grace for having thought that slaughtering blade of yours a toy.»
«Don’t mention it. That second bird would have nailed me if you hadn’t beaned him with a rock. But say, why did you just sit there in the pool? A couple of steps would have taken you to the deep water. Or can’t you swim?»
«We can swim,» she replied. «But it would not be meet to expose our modesty by leaving the pool, least of all to the wild Da Derga.»
Shea forebore to argue about the folly of modesty that exposed one to death or to a fate that Britomart would undoubtedly consider worse. The blonde beauty was showing a much friendlier disposition towards him, and he did not wish to jeopardize it by argument over undebatable questions.
When they rode on, Britomart left Amoret to inflict her endless tale of woe on Chalmers, while she rode with Shea. Shea asked leading questions, trying not to reveal his own ignorance too much.
Britomart was, it transpired, one of Queen Gloriana’s «Companions» or officers — a «count» in the old Frankish sense of the term. There were twelve of them, each charged with the righting of wrongs in some special field of the land of Faerie.
Ye olde tyme policewoman, thought Shea. He asked whether there were grades of authority among the Companions.
Britomart told him: «That hangs by what matter is under consideration. In questions involving the relations of man to man, I am less than those gallant knights, Sir Cambell and Sir Triamond. Again, should it be a point of justice, the last authority rests with Sir Artegall.»
Her voice changed a trifle on the last word. Shea remembered how she had mentioned Artegall the evening before. «What’s he like?»
«Oh, a most gallant princely rogue, I warrant you!» She touched her horse with the spurs so that he pranced, and she had to soothe him with: «Quiet, Beltran!»
«Yes?» Shea encouraged.
«Well, for the physical side of him, somewhat dark of hair and countenance; tall, and so strong with lance that not Redcross or Prince Arthur himself can bear the shock of his charge. That was how I came to know him. We fought; I was the better with the spear, but at swords he overthrew me and was like to have killed me before he found I was a woman. I fell in love with him forthwith,» she finished simply.
Singular sort of courtship, thought Shea, but even in the world I came from there are girls who fall for that kind of treatment. Aloud he said: «I hope he fell for you, too.»
Britomart surprised him by heaving a sigh. «Alas, fair squire, that I must confess I do not know. ’Tis true he plighted himself to marry me, but he’s ever off to some tournament, or riding to some quest that I know not the end or hour of. We’ll be married when he gets back, quotha, but when he does return, it’s to praise my courage or strength, and never a word to show he thinks of me as a woman. He’ll clap me on the back and say; ‘Good old Britomart, I knew I could depend on you. And now I have another task for you; a dragon this time.’»
«Hm-m-m,» said Shea. «Don’t suppose you ever beard of psychology?»
«Nay, not I.»
«Do you ever dress up? I mean, like some of those Ladies at Castle Caultrock.»
«Of what use to me such foibles? Could I pursue my tasks as Companion in such garb?»
«Do you ever roll your eyes up at Artegall and tell him how wonderful he is?»
«Nay, marry beshrew me! What would he think of so unmaidenly conduct?»
«That’s just the point; just what he’s waiting for! Look here, in my country the girls are pretty good at that sort of thing, and I’ve learned most of the tricks. I’ll show you a few, and you can practise on me. I don’t mind.»
* * *
They dined rather thinly that night, on coarse brown bread and cheese which Britomart produced from a pack at the back of her saddle. They slept in cushiony beds of fern, three inches deep. The next day they rode in the same arrangement. Chalmers rather surprisingly consented. He explained: «The young lady is certainly very. uh. verbose, but she has a good deal of information to offer with regard to the methods of this Busyrane. I should prefer to continue the conversation.»
As soon as they were on the road Britomart pulled up her visor and, leaning cowards Shea, rolled her eyes. «You must be weary, my most dear lord,» she said, «after your struggle with those giants. Come sit and talk. I love to hear —»
Shea grinned. «Overdoing it a little, old girl. Better start again.»
«You must be weary — Hola, what have we here?»
The track had turned and mounted to a plateau-like meadow. As they emerged into the bright sun, a trumpet sounded two sharp notes. There was a gleam of metal from the other side. Shea saw a knight with a shield marked in wavy stripes of green drop his lance into place and start towards him.
«Sir Paridell, as I live!» snapped Britomart, in her policewoman’s voice. «Oft an ildoer and always a lecher. Ha! Well met! Gloriana!» The last shouted word was muffled in her helmet as the visor snapped shut. Her big black horse bounded towards this sudden opponent, the ebony lance sticking out past his head. They met with a crash. Paridell held the saddle, but his horse’s legs flew out from under. Man and animal came down together in a whirlwind of dust — Shea and Chalmers reached him together and managed to pull the horse clear. When they got Paridell’s helmet off he was breathing, but there was a thin trickle of blood at his lips. He was unconscious.
Shea gazed at him a moment, then had an inspiration. «Say, Britomart,» he asked, «what are the rules about taking the arms of a guy like that?»
Britomart looked at her late opponent without pity. «Since the false knave attacked us, I suppose they belong to me.»
«He must have heard I was travelling in your company,» piped Amoret. «Oh, the perils I go through!»
Shea was not to be put off. «I was wondering if maybe I couldn’t use that outfit.»
Paridell’s squire, a youth with a thin fuzz of beard on his chin and the trumpet over his shoulder, had joined them. He was bending over his master, trying to revive him by forcing the contents of a little flask between his lips. Now he looked up. «Nay, good sir,» he said to Britomart, «punish him not so. He did but catch a glimpse of you as you rode up, and mistook this dame for the Lady Florimel.»
* * *
A flush of anger went up Britomart’s face. «In very truth!» she cried. «Now if I had no thought before of penalties, this would be more than I needed. Sir, I am Britomart of the Companions, and this Paridell of yours is a most foul scoundrel. Strip him of his arms!»
«What about me?» asked Shea insistently. «That tournament —»
«You could not ride in the tournament in a knight’s arms without being yourself knight, fair squire.»
«Ahem!» said Chalmers. «I think my young friend would make a very good addition to the knights of your Queen Gloriana’s court.»
«True, reverend sir,» said Britomart, «but the obligation of knighthood is not lightly undertaken. He must either watch by his arms in a chapel all night, and have two proved knights to vouch him; or he must perform some great deed on the battlefield. Here we have neither the one nor the other.»
«I remember how my Scudamaur —» began Amoret.
But Chalmers broke in, «Couldn’t you swear him in as a kind of deputy?»
«There is no —» began Britomart, and then checked herself. «’Tis true, I have no squire at present. If you, Master Harold, will take the oaths and ride as my squire, that is, without a crest to your helmet, it might be managed.»
The oath was simple enough, about allegiance to Queen Gloriana and Britomart in her name, a promise to suppress malefactors, protect the weak, and so on.
Shea and Chalmers pulled off Sir Paridell’s armour together. His squire clucked distractedly through the process. Paridell came to in the middle of it, and Chalmers had to sit on his head until it was finished.
Shea learned that a suit of armour was heavier than it looked. It was also a trifle small in the breastplate. Fortunately Paridell — a plump young man with bags under his eyes — had a large head. So there was no trouble with the well-padded helmet, from which Britomart knocked off the crest with the handle of her sword.
She also lent Shea her own shield cover. She explained that Paridell’s engrailed green bars would cause any of half a dozen knights to challenge him to a death duel on sight.
They had eaten the last of their provisions at lunch. Shea had remarked to Chalmers on the difficulty of getting a bellyful of adventure and one of food on the same day. So the sight of Satyrane’s castle, all rough and craggy and set amid trees, held a welcome promise of food and entertainment. Unlike that of Caultrock, it had portcullis and gate open onto the immense courtyard. Here workmen were hammering at temporary stands at one side.
The place was filled with knights and ladies, most of them familiar to Britoniart and Amoret. Shea quite lost track of the number he was introduced to. In the hall before the dinner trumpet he met one he’d remember: Satyrane himself, a thick bear of a man, with a spade beard and huge voice. «All Britomart’s friends are mine!» he shouted. «Take a good place at the table, folks. Hungry, not so? We’re all hungry here; like to starve.» He chuckled, «Eat well, good squire; you’ll need strength tomorrow. There will be champions. Blandamour of the Iron Arm has come, and so have Cambell and Triamond.»
FOUR
At ten the next morning, Shea came out of the vaultlike castle and blinked into the morning sun. Armour pressed his body in unfamiliar places. The big broadsword at the side was heavier than any he had ever handled.
The stands were finished and occupied by a vocal swarm of gentlemen and ladies in bright clothes. At their centre was a raised booth under a canopy. In it sat an old man with frosty-white hair and beard. He held a bundle of little yellow sticks.
«Who’s he?» asked Shea of Britomart, walking just a step ahead of him across the wide courtyard to a row of tents at the opposite side.
«Sssh! The honourable judge of the lists. Each time one of the knights scores a brave point he shall notch the stick of that knight, and thus the winner will be chosen.»
They had reached the row of tents, behind which grooms held horses. A trumpet blew three clear notes and a mounted herald rode right past them. Behind him came Satyrane on a big white horse. He had his helmet off, and was grinning and bobbing his head like a clumsy, amiable bear. He held a richly carved gold casket. As he reached the front of the stands, he opened it up and took from it a long girdle, intricately worked and flashing with jewels. The trumpeter blew another series of notes, and shouted in a high voice:
«This is that girdle of Florimel which none but the chaste may wear. It shall be the prize of the lady judged most beautiful of all at this tourney; and she shall be lady to that knight who gains the prize of valour and skill. These are the rules.»
«Some piece of rubbish, eh, folks?» shouted Satyrane and grinned. Shea heard Britomart, next to him, mutter something about «No manners.» The woodland knight completed his circuit and came to a stand near them. A squire passed up his helmet. From the opposite end of the lists a knight came forward, carrying a long slim lance, with which he lightly tapped Satyrane’s shield. Then he rode back to his place.
«Do you know him?» asked Shea to make conversation.
«Nay. I ken him not,» replied Britomart. «Some Saracen: see how his helmet ends in a spike and crescent peak and his shoulder plates flare outward.»
The trumpet sounded again, two warning notes. The antagonists charged. There was a clang like a dozen dropped kettles. Bright splinters of wood flew as both spears broke. Neither man went down, but the Saracen’s horse was staggering as he reached Shea’s end of the lists and he himself reeling drunkenly in the saddle, clutching for support.
Satyrane was judged winner amid a patter of applause. Shea caught sight of Chalmers in the stands, shouting with the rest. Beside him was a heavily veiled woman, whose slender-bodiced figure in the tight gown implied good looks.
Another knight had taken his place at the opposite end of the lists. The crowd murmured.
«Blandamour of the Iron Arm,» remarked Britomart. as the trumpet blew. Again came the rush and the whang of metal. This time Saryrane had aimed mole shrewdly. Blandamour popped out of his saddle, lit on the horse’s rump, and slid to the ground amid a shout of applause. Before he could be pulled aside another knight had taken his place. Satyrane rode him down, too, but came back from the encounter with his visor up, calling «Givors!» and shaking his head as though to clear it.
A squire hurried past with a cup of wine. Britomart called at him: «Am I needed yet?»
«No, my lady,» he replied. «Ferramont is to ride the next run.» Shea saw a little dark man with a black triangle on gold across his shield climb aboard his horse and take Satyrane’s place. The pace of the jousting began to quicken. After Ferramont’s second trip down the lists, two knights appeared at the opposite end. A page pushed past Shea calling for someone whose name sounded like «Sir Partybore» to join Ferramont for the defenders.
This time there was a double crash from the lists, which were getting dusty. Sir Partybore, or whatever his name was, went down. But he got up, clanked over to his horse, and pulled a big broadsword from the saddle bow. He waved it at the knight who had overthrown him, shouting something muffled in his helmet. The other turned back and dropped his broken lance. He drew a sword of his own, and aimed from the stirrups a blow that would have decapitated an elephant. The defender turned it easily with upraised shield. The man on foot and man on horseback circled each other, banging away with a frightful racket. Ferramont had downed another opponent in a cloud of dust, and new knights from either side were preparing to ride.
Shea turned to Britomart. «Aren’t you going to get in?»
She smiled and shook her head. «Those are the Lesser knights of either side,» she said. «You must know, good squire, that it is the custom of these tourneys for one or two knights of good report to ride at the beginning, as Satyrane has done for us and Blandamour for them. After that, those younger men have their opportunity to gain reputation, while such as we the Companions remain aside until needed.»
Shea was about to ask who chose the sides. But Britomart gripped his arm. «Ha! Look! With the gyronny of black and silver.»
At the other end of the lists Shea saw a big blond man ducking into a helmet. His shield bore a design of alternating black and silver triangles all running to the same point, which must be «gyronny». «That is Sir Cambell and none other,» continued Britomart impressively.
* * *
As Britomart spoke, the big man came storming into the press. One of the lesser knights on foot, attempting to stop him, was knocked down like a nine-pin, rolling over and over under the horses hoofs. Shea hoped his skull had not been cracked.
Ferramont, who had secured another lance, was charging to meet Cambell. Just before black-and-gold and black-and-silver came together, Cambell dropped his own lance. With a single clean, flowing motion he ducked under the point of Ferramont’s Lance, snatched a mace from his side and dealt Ferramont’s a terrific backhand blow on the back of the head. Ferramont clanged heavily from his saddle, out cold. The stands were in a bedlam, Britomart shouting, «Well struck! Oh, well!» and shifting from foot to foot.
Near by Shea saw Satyrane’s face go grim and heard his visor clang shut as Cambell turned back into the mкlée, laying furiously about him with his mace and upsetting a knight at every stroke. Shouts warned him of Satyrane’s approach. He turned to meet the chief defender and swerved his horse quickly, striking with his mace at the lance head. But Satyrane knew the answer to that. As the arm went up, he changed aim from Cambell’s shield to his right shoulder. The long spear took him right at the joint and burst in a hundred shivering fragments. Down went Cambell with the point sticking in his shoulder.
With a yell of delight the defenders threw themselves on Cambell to make him prisoner. The challengers, more numerous, ringed the fallen knight round and began to get him back. Those still mounted tilted against each other around the edges of the mкlée.
A trumpet blew sharply over the uproar. Shea saw a new contestant entering the arena on the side of the challengers. He was a big, burly man who had fantastically decked every joint of his armour with brassoak leaves and had a curled metal oak leaf for a crest. Without any other notice, he dropped a big lance into position and charged at Satyrane, who had just received a fresh weapon on his side of the lists. Whang! Satyrane’s spear shivered, but the stranger’s held. The chief defender was carried six feet beyond his horse’s tail. He landed completely out. The stranger withdrew and then charged again. Down went another defender.
Britomart turned to Shea. «This is surely a man of much worship,» she said, «and now I may enter. Do you watch me, good squire, and if I am unhorsed, you are to draw me from the press.»
She was gone. The wounded Cambell, forgotten amid the tumult around this new champion, had been dragged to the security of the tents at the challengers’ end of the lists. The press was now around Satyrane, who was trying groggily to get up.
A trumpet sounded behind Shea. He turned to see Britomart ready. Oakleaves heard it, too, He wheeled to meet her. His lance shattered, but Britomart’s held. Though he slipped part of its force by twisting so it skidded over his shoulder, his horse staggered. Oakleaves swayed in the saddle. Unable to regain his co-ordination, he came down with a clatter.
The warrior girl turned at the end of the lists and came back, lifting a hand to acknowledge the hurricane of cheers. Another of the challengers had taken the place of the oakleaf knight. Britomart Laid her lance in rest to meet him.
Then a knight — Shea recognized Blandamour by the three crossed arrows on his shield and surcoat — detached himself from the mob around Satyrane. In two bounds his horse carried him to Britomart’s side, partly behind her. Too late she heard the warning shout from the stands as he swung his sword in a quick arc. The blow caught her at the base of the helmet, Down she went. Blandamour leaped down after her, sword in hand. Somebody shrieked: «Foully done!» Shea found himself running toward the spot, dragging at the big sword.
Blandamour had swung up his sword for another blow at Britomart. He turned at Shea’s approach and swung at his new adversary. Shea parried awkwardly with the big, clumsy blade, noticing out the corner of his eye that Britomart had reached a knee and was yanking a mace from her belt.
Blandamour started another swing. Can’t do much with this crowbar, thought Shea. He was trying to get it round, when he got a violent blow on the side of the head He reeled, eyes watering with pain. More to gain balance than to hit anything, he swung his sword round like a hammer thrower about to let go.
It caught Blandamour on the shoulder.
Shea felt the armour give before the impact. The man toppled with a red spurt of blood. The world was filled with a terrific blast of trumpets. Men-at-arms with halberds were separating the contestants. Britomart snapped up her visor and pointed to the man in armour at her feet, jerking like a headless chicken.
«A favour for a favour,» she remarked. «This faitour knave struck you from behind and was about to repeat the blow when my mace caught him.» She noticed that the grovelling man’s surcoat bore the green bars of Sir Paridell. «Yet still I owe you thanks, good squire. Without your aid I might have been sped by that foul cowardly blow that Blandamour struck.»
«Don’t mention it,» said Shea. «Are we taking time out for lunch?»
«Nay, the tournament is ended.»
Shea looked up and was dumfounded to see how much of the day had gone. The herald who had opened the proceedings had ridden across to the booth where the judge of the tournament sat. Now he blew a couple of toots, and cried in his high voice:
«It is judged that the most honour of this tournament has been gained by that noble and puissant lady, the Princess Britomart.» There was a shout of approval. «But it is also judged that the knight of the oak leaves has shown himself a very worthy lord and he also shall receive a chaplet of laurel.»
But when Britomart stepped up to the judge’s stand the knight of the oak leaves was nowhere to be found.
* * *
The stands emptied slowly, like those at a football game. Some spectators hooted after Blandamour and Paridell as they were helped out. Shea caught a glimpse of Chalmers, hurrying after the veiled girl who had been his neighbour in the stands.
She moved slowly, with long, graceful strides, and he caught up to her at the entrance to the castle. Someone, hurrying past, bumped them into each other. A pair of intense eyes regarded Chalmers over the low face veil.
«It is the good palmer. Hail, reverend sir,» she said in a toneless voice.
«Ahem,» said Chalmers, struggling to find something to say. «Isn’t it. uh. unusual for a woman to. uh. win a tournament?»
«Ywis, that it is.» The voice was toneless still. Chalmers feared he had managed things badly. But she walked by his side down the great hall till a blast of warmth came from a fireplace where a serving man had just started a blaze.
«The heat!» she gasped. «Bear it I cannot! Get me to air, holy sir!»
She reeled against the psychologist’s arm. He supported her to a casemented window, where she leaned back among the cushions, drawing in deep breaths. The features outlined against the thin veil were regular and fine; the eyes almost closed.
Twice Chalmers opened his mouth to speak to this singularly-abstracted girl. Twice he closed it again. He could think of nothing to say but: «Nice weather, isn’t it?» or «What’s your name?» Both remarks struck him as not only inadequate, hut absurd. He looked at his knobby knuckles with the feeling of being attached to a set of hands and feet seven times too big for him. He felt an utter fool in his drab gown and phony air of piety.
Dr. Reed Chalmers, though he did not recognize the sensations, was falling in love.
The girl’s eyelids fluttered. She turned her head and gave him along, slow look. He squirmed again. Then his professional sense awoke under that intent gaze. Something was the matter with her.
Certainly she was not feebleminded. She must be acting under some sort of compulsion — posthypnotic suggestion, perhaps — Magic!
He leaned forward, and was nearly knocked from his seat by a violent clap on the back.
«Good fortune, palmer!» cried a raucous voice. The dark Blandamour stepped past him, one arm bound tightly to his side. «Gramercy for your care of my little rosebud!» With the undamaged arm, he swung the girl expertly from her place in the casement and kissed her with a vigour that left, a damp spot on her veil.
Chalmers shuddered internally. The girl submitted with the same air of preoccupation. She sank back into the casement. Chalmers meditated on a suitably horrible end for this jolly roughneck. Something humorous and lingering, with either boiling oil or melted lead.
«Hi, Doc, how are we doing?» It was Shea. «Hi, Sir Blandamour. No hard feelings, I hope?»
The knight’s black eyebrows came down like awnings. «Against you, you kern?» he roared. «Nay, I’ll give you a meeting beyond the castle gate and spank you with the flat o’ my blade.»
Shea looked down his long nose and pointed towards Bbndamour’s bandaged shoulder. «Be careful that iron arm of yours doesn’t get rusty before you go that far,» he remarked. He turned to Chalmers. «Come on, Doc, we got some reserved seats for the beauty parade. They’re starting now.»
* * *
As they left, Chalmers said: «Harold, I wish I could talk to that girl. uh. in private. I believe she’s the. uh. key to what we’re looking for.»
Shea said: «Honest? She’s Blandamour’s lady, isn’t she? I suppose if I fought him for her and beat him, she’d be mine.»
«No, no, Harold, I implore you not to start any more fights. Our superiority over these people should be based on. uh. intellectual considerations.»
«Okay. It’s funny, though, the way they pass women around like bottles of liquor. And the women don’t seem to mind.»
«Custom,» remarked Chalmers. «Beyond that, deep-rooted psychology. The rules are different from those we’re accustomed to, but they’re strict enough. A knight’s lady is evidently expected to be faithful to him until he loses her.»
«Still,» Shea persisted, «if I had a lady, I’m not sure I’d want to enter her in this beauty contest, knowing she’d be turned over to the winner of the tournament.»
* * *
«Custom again. It’s not considered sporting to hold out on the other knights by refusing to risk an attractive lady.»
They had been bowed into a kind of throne room with a raised dais at one end. At one side of the dais the bearish Satyrane sprawled in a comfortable chair. Six musicians with tootle-pipes and things like long-stemmed ukeleles were setting up a racket unlike any music Shea and Chalmers had ever heard. The knights and ladies appeared to find it charming, however. They listened with expressions of ecstasy till it squeaked and plunked to a close.
Satyrane stood up, the famous girdle dangling from his hand. «All ye folks know,» he said, «that this is a tournament of Love and beauty as well as a garboil. This here girdle goes to the winning lady. It used to be Florimel’s, but she lost it and nobody knows where she is, so it’s finders keepers.»
He paused and looked around. «Now, what I want to say is that this here is a very useful little collop of jewellery, both for the lady and her knight. It has a double enchantment on it. For the lady, it makes her ten times fairer the minute she puts it on, and it hides her from anyone who would do her wrong. But also, it won’t stay around the waist of any wench who’s not perfectly chaste and pure. That’s for the benefit of the knight. The minute this lady can’t keep her belt on he knows she’s been up to tricks.» He ended with a bellowing laugh. A few echoed it. Others murmured at his uncouthness.
Satyrane waved for quiet and went on. «Now, as to who wins, the honourable judges have eliminated the contestants down to four, but among the claims of these four they say they can’t decide nohow. So they ask, lords and ladies, that you yourselves choose.» Satyrane turned to the opposite side of the dais where four women sat, with veils over their heads, and called: «Duessa! Lady to Sir Paridell.»
* * *
One of the girls rose and advanced to the front of the dais. Satyrane removed her veil. Her hair was red almost as bright as her heavily rouged lips. Eyebrows slanted low at the centre. She looked a queenly, disdainful scorn at the audience. The company murmured its appreciation. Satyrane stepped back a pace and called: «Cambina! Lady and wife to Sir Cambell.»
She came forward slowly — blonde, almost as tall as Cambell himself, and of the mature, Junoesque beauty she dwarfed without outshining the fiery little redhead.
Shea whispered to Chalmers: «A little bit too well upholstered for me.»
Just then there was a clang as an iron glove was thrown on the floor. Cambell’s deep voice boomed, «My challenge to any one who tries to take her from me!»
There was no acceptance. Satyrane never turned a hair. He whipped off the next veil crying: «The Lady Amoret!» She stepped forward bravely, turning her head to show the perfect profile, but as Satyrane announced, «Lady and wife of Sir Scudamour,» the delicate nostrils twitched. They gave an audible sniffle. Then, abandoning all efforts at self-control, the burst into a torrent of tears for the absent Scudamour. The Lady Duessa looked angry contempt. Cambina tried to comfort her as the sobs became louder and louder, mixed with words about, «— when I think of all I’ve been through for him —» Satyrane threw up his hands despairingly and stepped back to the fourth contestant. Shea saw one of the judges whisper to Satyrane. «What?» said the woodland knight in an incredulous stage-whisper. He shrugged and turned to the company.
«Sir Blandamour’s lady, Florimel!» he announced, and drew the veil from the woman with whom Chalmers had been talking. Shea heard Chalmers gasp. The girl who advanced to the front of the dais with a sleep-walker’s step and wide eyes was the most beautiful thing Shea had every seen. Clapping and murmurs foretold who would win.
But there was a buzz of talk as well. Shea’s ear caught Britomart’s remark to Chalmers: «Good palmer! You who are skilled in magic and supersticerie, mark her well!»
«Why. why, Miss Britomart?»
«Because there’s something here very strange. She’s as like that Florimel of the sea to whom the girdle really belongs as one pea to another. Yet I will swear it is not the same woman, and see! — all here are of the same mind.»
In truth the hall was shouting for Florimel as the winner, but they were shouting for «Blandamour’s Florimel,» as though to distinguish her from the true owner of the girdle. Satyrane bowed and extended the jewelled trinket towards her.
With a word of thanks she took the belt. She clasped it around her middle. There seemed to be some difficulty about buckling it. She fumbled, worked at it a second, snapped it tight, lifted her hands — and the enchanted belt, still buckled, slid down her hips and thumped to the floor.
* * *
A low murmur of laughter ran around the room. Everyone looked at Blandamour who turned beet-colour. Florimel stepped out of the circle of the belt and picked it up, a frown of puzzlement on her perfect features.
«Here, let me put it on,» said the red-haired Duessa, and snatching it, suited the action to the word. As soon as she clasped it, the girdle popped open and slid down. She caught it and tried again. Same result. Shea noticed her lips were moving as though pronouncing a charm.
«At least, I can do it,» said Cambina, and Duessa threw the belt at her angrily. But Cambina could not make the belt stay either. No more could the others, as they tried one after another. With each effort the knights’ jokes grew louder and more barbed. Satyrane looked worried. Shea sympathized with him. This backwoods knight had tried so hard to give a polite tournament and party. Blandamour had ruined one with his back blow at Britomart, while the girdle was ruining the other.
But Satyrane was not done yet. «Ladies!» he shouted. «Cease, I pray you! The rules of the contest only provide that this girdle should go to the winner with nothing about her trying it on. That’s Florimel, and she is now the lady of the winner of the tournament, who is — by the seven thousand virgins of Cologne, it’s the Princess Britomart!»
The tall blonde stepped forward and said something to Satyrane, then turned to the company. «I do refuse this gift,» she said, «since I am sworn to accompany Amoret till she finds her Scudamour.»
Chalmers whispered: «Harold, I’ve simply got to talk to that girl. For.. uh. scientific reasons. Couldn’t you persuade Britomart to accept her for —»
«I say to me!» Blandamour’s shout drowned, every other sound. «If the winner won’t have her, then she’s mine again by right of reversion!» Satyrane, scratching his head-was the middle of a knot of knights.
«Assotishness!» shouted Sir Cambell. «If the winner won’t have her, then she reverts to the champion of the other side and, marry, that am I!»
«I overthrew more knights than you today,» cried sir Ferramont. «If it comes to a question of the second best —»
Britomart cut in icily: «Good knights and gentles, I have changed my mind and will accept the charge of this lady.»
«By my halidome, no!» bellowed Blandamour. «You refused her once, and she’s mine!»
«Hey,» Shea put in. «Didn’t I knock you for a loop this morning? Then doesn’t that —»
Blandamour spat. «That for you, springald! Pox on these legal points! I’m on my way!» He strode across the room, grabbed Florimel’s wrist, and dragged her after him, snarling something inaudible through his moustache. Florimel whimpered with pain.
Shea bounded after them, spun Blandamour round and slapped his face. He jumped back and got the épée out just in time.
«Stop, fair sirs!» wailed Satyrane. The clash of steel answered him. His guests scattered, pushing furniture back. To them, stopping a good fight would be wicked waste of entertainment.
Shea remembered that in dealing with these broadsword men, you had to rely on footwork. If they got close enough for a good swing, you might get your blade snapped on a parry. He felt rather than saw the approach of a corner, and drove in a stop-thrust to keep from being backed into it. He heard a voice: «Nay, bid them cease. Blandamour uses but one arm.»
«So does the other,» came the answer, «and he has the lighter blade. Let them go.»
Back and forth they went, Swish, clang, tzing! Shea caught a ferocious backhand cut with a parry sixte, but his light blade was borne back by the force of the blow. The edge chopped through the sleeve of his jacket and barely nicked the skin. Blandamour laughed. Shea, thinking fast, grunted as if with pain, jumped back and dropped his épée. But he caught it with his left hand, and as Blandamour came hurling in, nailed him just above the knee. The knight’s blade whistled round and clipped the tip off Shea’s hat feather before Blandamour crashed to the floor on the stabbed leg.
«Enough!» shouted Satyrane, jumping between them. «Let there be an end of manslaying! Now I rule that Sir Blandarnour has his just deserts for unknightly behaviour, both here and at the tourney. Let any who challenge this prove it on me! Squire Harold, ye have won Florimel for your lawful paramour — Why, pest take it, where is she?»
Florimel, the fair bone of this knightly contention, had disappeared.
FIVE
Shea said: «I get sick of the flatness of this country. And doesn’t it ever rain?» He sat on the white gelding he had purchased at Castle Caultrock, the armour that had been Sir Paridell’s bundled up behind him. He had tried wearing it, but the heat made it unbearable.
Chalmers was just taking his bearings with a crude jack-stave he and Shea had managed to patch together. He remarked: «Harold, you’re an incorrigible varietist. If we had cliffs and a downpour you’d doubtless complain about that.»
Shea grinned. «Touché, Doc. Only I get bored. I’d even welcome a lion for the sake of excitement.»
Chalmers climbed back onto the ass. «Giddap, Gustavus,» he said, and then: «I daresay you’ll have plenty of excitement if this wood harbours as many enchanters as they say. I rather wish you wouldn’t challenge all the. uh. hard characters we encounter on the strength of your ability to fence.»
«Well, what the hell, I’ve gotten away with it so far.»
«Undoubtedly. At the same time it is just as well not to carry matters too far. I should hate to he left alone.»
«A nasty, selfish point of view. Say, Doc, it’s too bad the girls wouldn’t come with us. That ebony spear of Britomart’s gave me a feeling of solid comfort.»
«You’re not acquiring a. uh. sentimental fondness for that brawny lady?»
«Good Lord, no! She reminds me of Gert. I was just giving her practice in the theory and practice of feminine charm, for snaring her own boy friend. But, say if anybody’s loopy over a girl it’s you! I saw the look on your face when Satyrane suggested Florimel had been carried off by enchantment.»
«Why. ahem. nothing of the sort. that is, very well.» Chalmers looked worried. «The trouble with travelling with a fellow psychologist is that concealments are impossible. However, I will say that Florimel’s manner gave me to pause. When the girdle refused to stay on anyone, I became certain of the opration of magic. The laws of probability should have produced at least one faithful lady among so many.» Chalmers gave a sigh. «I suppose Florimel was just an illusion. It was fortunate in a way. It gave us a good excuse to ask how to find an enchanter. Otherwise they might have suspected us of trying. uh. to make common cause with their enemies. The Faerie knights seem convinced that all enchanters are working against them. Perhaps they are right.»
They rode in silence for a while. Then Shea said: «Looks like the woods begin about here.» A little stream crossed the track in front of them, and beyond it the sparse timber gave place to dense forest. They dismounted, tying up Gustavus and the horse, which had been christened Adolphus, and produced their lunch.
Both munched in silence for a moment. Then Chalmers said: «Harold, I wish you’d promise not to get into any more fights if —»
«Hey!» said Shea, and leaped to his feet.
Out from among the trees loped a pair of naked, hairy seven-foot ape men. They had huge ears with tufts of hair sprouting from them, and throat pouches like orangutans. In their hands were clubs. For a moment they stood at gaze, then came splashing through the stream at a gallop.
Chalmers ran to untie the animals, but they were leaping about, crazy with fear. In a glance Shea decided he could never reach Sir Paridell’s sword. He would have to use the épée, feeble as that toothpick was against those huge clubs.
The first of the ape men ran at him, bellowing. Shea never knew whether he had gained his senses or lost his nerve, but he next instant he and Chalmers were running round and round the tethered animals, with the ape-men foaming through their tusks behind.
One of the creatures boomed something to the other. On the next circuit the fugitives were surprised to run head-on into one ape-man who had stopped and waited for them. Shea was in front. He saw the club swing up in two hairy hands and did the only thing possible — extend the épée and fling himself foward in a terrific flиche.
His face was buried in fur and he was clutching at it for support. The hilt was wrenched from his hand, and the animal-man went screaming off, with the weapon sticking through him.
Shea himself was running; over his shoulder, he saw Chalmers was running, with the other ape-man gaining, twirling up his club for the blow. Shea had an instant of horror and revulsion — the poor old Doc, to pass out this way, when he couldn’t help —
Twunk!
The feathered butt of an arrow appeared in the thing’s side, as though it had just sprouted there. The club missed Chalmers as the creature staggered and turned. Twunk! The second arrow took it in the throat, and it collapsed in a clump of bracken, screeching and thrashing. Shea tried to stop; Chalmers careened into him and they went down together.
Shea sat up and wiped leaf mould from his face. Footsteps preceded a tallish, slim girl in a short-skirted tunic and soft leather boots. She had a bow in one hand and a light boar spear in the other, and she moved towards them at a springy trot as though it were her normal gait. A feathered hat like Shea’s sat on her red-gold hair, which was trimmed in a long bob.
Shea got up. «Thanks, young lady. We owe you a life or two. I think the thing’s about dead.»
«I’ll make certain. Those Losels are hard to kill,» said the girl. She stepped to the bracken and jabbed. She seemed satisfied as she pulled the spear out, wiping its point on some moss. «Is the old man hurt?»
Chalmers gained breath enough to sit up. «Just. puff winded. I am. uh. merely middle-aged. To whom do we owe our rescue?»
The girls eyebrows went up, Shea noticing they were a delightful colour. «You know me not? I hight Belphebe.»
«Well,» said Shea, «I. ah. hight Harod Shea, esquire, and my friend hight Reed Chalmers, the palmer, if that’s how you say it.»
«That would be your blade sticking in the other Losel?»
«Yes. What happened to it.»
«I will even show you. The creature died when erst I saw it.»
Losels. Shea recalled the table at Castle Caultrock, with Britomart telling Sir Erivan he would not find it easy to come to grips with Busyrane the enchanter, because Busyrane’s castle was in «the wood where the Losels breed».
«We’re on the right track, Doc,» he said to Chalmers as he helped the latter up and followed Belphebe.
Chalmers merely gave him a sidelong glance and sang softly:
«But when away his regiment ran,
His place was at the fore, oh,
That celebrated, cultivated, underrated nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!»
Shea grinned. «Meaning me, I suppose? I was just setting a good pace for you. Here’s our other Losel.» He pulled the épée from the repellent corpse.
Belphebe gazed at the instrument with interest. «Marry, a strange weapon. May I try its balance?»
Shea showed her how to hold the épée and made a few lunges, enjoying to the full his first recent chance to show off before an attractive girl.
Belphebe tried. «Ouch! These poses of yours are as awkward as a Mussulman at Mass, Squire Harold.» She laughed and tossed the épée back to him. «Will you show me more another day?»
«Glad to,» replied Shea. He turned to Chalmers. «Say, Doc, it seems to me we were eating lunch when the fracas started. Maybe the young lady would like to help us finish it.»
Chalmers gulped. «I had — this harrowing experience had quite driven the thought of food out of my mind, Harold. But if Miss Belphebe would like to — by all means —»
«If I may give that I may get,» she said. «Hola, attend!» She pulled out an arrow and tiptoed slowly away from them, peering intently into the greenery. Shea tried to follow her gaze, but could see nothing but foliage.
Then Belphebe brought up the bow; aimed, drew, and released all in one movement. To Shea it looked as though she had loosed at random. He heard the arrow strike. Down from the trees fell a large green macaw-like bird. It struck the leaf mould with a thump, and a couple of green feathers gyrated down after.
Gustavus and Adolphus still trembled and tugged at their reins when the three approached them. Shea soothed them and took them down to the stream to drink while Chalmers started a fire and Belphebe stripped the feathers from the parrot. Presently she was toasting the bird on the end of a stick. She was so deft in rustling a meal in the open that Shea felt no desire to compete with her in scoutcraft.
Chalmers, he was surprised to observe, was holding his right forefinger against his left wrist. He asked: «What are you doing, Doc? Taking your pulse?»
«Yes,» said Chalmers gloomily. «My heart seems to be — uh — holding up all right. But I’m afraid I wasn’t cut out for this type of life, Harold. If it were not for pure scientific interest in the problems —»
«Aw, cheer up. Say, how’s your magic coming along? A few good spells would help more than all the hardware put together.»
Chalmers brightened. «Well, now — ahem — I think I may claim some progress. There was that business of the cat that flew away. I find I can levitate small objects without difficulty, and have had much success in conjuring up mice. In fact, I fear I left quite a plague of them at Satyrane’s castle. But I took care to conjure up a similar number of cats, so perhaps conditions will not be too bad.»
«Yeah, but what about the general principles?»
«Well, the laws of similarity and contagion hold. They appear to be the fundamantal Newtonian principles, in the field of magic. Obviously the next step is to discover a system of mathematics arising from these fundamentals. I was afraid I should have to invent my own, as Einstein was forced to adapt tensor analysis to handle his relativity equations. But I think I have discovered such a system ready made, in the calculus of classes, which is a branch of symbolic logic. Here, I’ll show you.»
Chalmers fished through his garments for writing materials. «As you know, one of the fundamental equations of class calculus which a naive academic acquaintance of mine once thought had something to do with Marxism — is this;»
«That is, the class alpha plus the class non-alpha equals the universe. But in magic the analogous equation appears to be:»
The class alpha plus the class non-alpha includes the universe. But it may or may not be limited thereto. The reason seems to be that in magic one deals with a plurality of universes. Magic thus does not violate the law of conservation of energy. It operates along the interuniversal vectors perpendicular, in a sense, to the spatial and temporal dimension. It can draw on the energy of another universe for its effects.
«Evidently, one may readily have the case of two magicians, each summoning energy from some universe external to the given one, for diametrically opposite purposes. Thus it must have been obvious to you that the charming Lady Duessa — somewhat of a vixen, I fear — was attempting to operate an enchantment of her own to overcome that of the girdle. That she was unable to do so —»
«The fowl is ready, gentlemen,» said Belphebe.
«Want me to carve?» asked Shea.
«Certes, if you will, Master Harold.»
Shea pulled some big leaves off a catalpa-like tree, spread them out, laid the parrot on them, and attacked the bird with his knife. As he hacked at the carcass he became more and more dubious of the wisdom of psittacophagy. He gave Belephe most of the breast. Chalmers and he each took a leg.
Belphebe said: «What’s this I hear anent the subject of magic? Are you practitioners of the art?»
Chalmers replied: «Well — uh — I would not go so far as to say —»
«We know a couple of little tricks,» put in Shea.
«White or black?» said Belphebe sharply.
«White as the driven snow,» said Shea.
Belphebe looked hard at them. She took a bite of parrot, and seemed to have no difficulty with it. Shea had found his piece of the consistency of a mouthful of bedsprings.
Belphebe said: «Few are the white magicians of Faerie, and all are entered. Had there been additions to the roster, my lord Artegall had so acquainted me when last I saw him.»
«Good lord,» said Shea with sinking heart, «are you a policewoman too?»
«A — what?»
«One of the Companions.»
«Nay, not a jot I. I rove where I will. But virtue is a good master. I am — but stay, you meet not my query by half.»
«Which query?» asked Chalmers.
«How it is that you be unknown to me, though you claim to be sorcerers white?»
«Oh,» said Shea modestly, «I guess we aren’t good enough yet to he worth noticing.»
«That may be,» said Belphebe. «I, too, have what you call ‘a couple of tricks’, yet ’twere immodesty in me to place myself beside Cambina.»
Chalmers said: «Anyhow, my dear young lady, I — uh — am convinced, from my own studies of the subject, that the distinction between ‘black’ and ‘white’ magic is purely verbal; a spurious distinction that does not reflect any actual division in the fundamental laws that govern magic.»
«Good palmer!» cried Belphebe. «What say you, no differcnce between ‘black’ and ‘white’? ’Tis plainly heresy.»
«Not at all,» persisted Chalmers, unaware that Shea was trying to shush him. «The people of the country have agreed to call magic ‘white’ when practised for lawful ends by duly authorized agents of the governing authority, and ‘black’ when practised by unauthorized persons for criminal ends. That is not to say that the principles of the science — or art — are not the same in either event. You should confine such terms as ‘black’ and ‘white’ to the objects for which the magic is performed, and not apply it to the science itself, which like all branches of knowledge is morally neutral —»
«But,» protested Belphebe, «is’t not that the spell used to, let us say, kidnap a worthy citizen be different from that used to trap a malefactor?»
«Verbally but not structurally,» Chalmers went on. After some minutes of wrangling, Chalmers held up the bone of his drumstick. «I think I can, for instance, conjure the parrot back on this bone — or at least fetch another parrot in place of the one we ate. Will you concede, young lady, that that is a harmless manifestation of the art?»
«Aye, for the now,» said the girl. «Though I know you schoolmen; say ‘I admit this; I concede that,’ are ere long one finds oneself conceded into a noose.»
«Therefore it would be ‘white’ magic. But suppose I desired the parrot for some — uh — illegal purpose —»
«What manner of crime for ensample, good sir?» asked Belphebe.
«I — uh — can’t think just now. Assume that I did. The spell would be the same in either case —»
«Ah, but would it?» cried Belphebe. «Let me see you conjure a brace of parrots, one fair, one foul; then truly I’ll concede.»
Chalmers frowned. «Harold, what would be a legal purpose for which to conjure a parrot?»
Shea shrugged. «If you really want an answer, no purpose would be as legal as any, unless there’s something in gamelaws. Personally I think it’s the silliest damned argument —»
«No purpose it shall be,» said Chalmers. He got together a few props — the parrot’s remains, some ferns, a pair of scissors from his kit, one of Belphebe’s arrows. He stoked the fire, put grass on it to make it smoke, and began to walk back and forth pigeon-toed, holding his arms out and chanting:
«Oh bird that speaks
With the words of men
Mocking their wisdom
Of tongue and pen —»
Crash! A monster burst out of the forest and was upon them before they could get to their feet. With a frightful roar it knocked Chalmers down with one scaly forepaw. Shea got to his knees and pulled his épée halfway out of the scabbard before a paw knocked him down too.
The pressure on Shea’s back let up. He rolled over and sat up. Chalmers and Belphebe were doing the same. They were close to the monster’s chest. Around them the thing’s forelegs ran like a wall. It was sitting down with its prey between it’s paws like a cat. Shea stared up into a pair of huge slit-pupilled eyes. The creature arched its neck like a swan to get a better look at them.
«The Blatant Beast!» cried Belphebe. «Now surely are we lost!»
«What mean you?» roared the monster. «You called me, did you not? Then wherefore such surprise when I do you miserable mortals the boon of answering?»
Chalmers gibbered: «Really — I had no idea — I thought I asked for a bird —»
«Well?» bellowed the monster.
«B-but you’re a reptile —»
«What is a bird but a reptile with feathers? Nay, you scaleless tadpole, reach not for your sorry sword!» it shouted at Shea. «Else I’ll mortify you thus!» The monster spat, whock, ptoo! The green saliva sprayed over a weed, which turned black and shrivelled rapidly. «Now then, an you ransom yourselves not, I’ll do you die ere you can say ‘William of Occam’!»
«What sort of ransom, fair monster?» asked Belphebe, her face white.
«Why, words! The only valuable thing your vile kind produces.»
Belphebe turned to her companions. «Know, good sirs, that this monster, proud of his gift of speech, does collect all manner of literary expressions, both prose and verse. I fear me unless we can satisfy his craving, he will truly slay us.»
Shea said hesitantly: «I know a couple of jokes about Hitler —»
«Nay!» snarled the monster. «All jests are stale. I would an epic poem.»
«An — epic poem?» quavered Chalmers.
«Aye,» roared the Blatant Beast. «Ye know, like
Herkeneth to me, gode men
Wives, maydnes, and alle men,
Of a tale ich you wil telle,
Hwo-so-it wile here, and there-to dwelle.
The tale of Havelok is i-maked;
Hwil he was litel, he yede ful naked.»
Shea asked Chalmers: «Can you do it. Doc? How about Beowulf?»
«Dear me,» replied Chalmers. «I’m sure I couldn’t repeat it from memory.»
The monster sneered: «And ’twould do you no good; I know that one:»
Hwaet! we Gar-Thena in gear-dagum
theod cyninga thrym gefrunon,
hu tha aethelingas ellen fremedon.
«Twill have to be something else. Come now; an epic or shrive yourselves!»
Shea said: «Give him some of your Gilbert and Sullivan, Doc.»
«I — uh — I hardly think he —»
«Give it to him!»
Chalmers cleared his throat, and readily quavered:
«Oh! My name is John Wellington Wells.
I’m a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses
And ever-filled purses,
And ever-filled —»
«I can’t! I can’t remember a thing! Can’t you recite something, Harold?»
«I don’t know anything either.»
«You must! How about Barbara Frietchie?»
«Don’t know it.»
«Or Chesterton’s Lepanto?»
«I don’t — hey, I do know one long poem. But —»
«Then say it!» cried Chalmers.
Shea looked at Belphebe. «Well, it’s hardly suitable for mixed company. Monster, if you’ll let the young lady go —»
«Nay!» roared the Blatant Beast. «To your verses, tadpole!»
Shea turned a stricken face to Chalmers. «It’s The Ballad of Eskimo Nell. What’ll I do?»
«Recite it, by all means.»
«Oh, Lord!» Chalmers was right, of course. But Shea had begun to feel an affinity for the red-haired huntress. He drew a deep breath and began:
«When Deadeye Dick and Mexican Pete
Set forth in search of fun,
’Twas Deadeye Dick who.»
He wished he knew a bowdlerized version; he didn’t dare to try to change the working extempore.
«They hit the strand of the Rio Grande
At the top of a burning moon,
And to slake their thirst and do their worst
They sought Black Mike’s saloon.»
On he went, getting redder and redder.
«Soon Deadeye Dick was breathing quick
With lecherous snorts and grunts.»
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belphebe’s face. It registered puzzlement.
«Then entered into that hall of sin,
Into that Harlot’s Hell,
A lusty maid who was never afraid:
Her name was Eskimo Nell.»
Shea went faster and faster to get to the end of the awful epos. He finished with a sigh of relief, and looked up to see how the Blatant Beast was taking it.
The monster got slowly to its feet. Without a word to its late captives, it lumbered off into the woods, shaking its reptilian head.
Shea looked at Belphebe. She said, «A life for a life. Truly we should be friends henceforth, and fain would I be such, did I but understand your craft of magic. That magic is white that draws such a monster nigh, you’ll hardly assert. That poem — half the words I understood not, though meseems ’twas about a battle betwixt a warrior maid and a recreant knight.»
«You might put it that way,» said Shea.
«Riddle me those words, Squire Harold. For ensample —»
Shea interrupted hastily: «Some other time, Miss Belphebe, if you don’t mind. Right now we want to get our bearings. Is this what they call ‘the wood where the Losels breed’?»
«Aye. Some say the enchanters created that gruesome race of monsters to be their cattle.»
Shea asked innocently: «Why, is the place infested with enchanters too?»
«Marry, a mort of ’em. Take care lest you fall into their snares.»
Chalmers broke in; «Ahem. could you tell us where there are any — uh — magicians to be found?»
Shea scowled at his partner. Belphebe’s face changed. «Now wherefore would you know such things?»
«We’re trying to rescue somebody we think they have, and we thought if we could — uh — gain the confidence of one —»
«Meseems that is a strange and not well-thought-on plan,» said the girl coolly. «Yet, since you wish, straight on, and I warrant me you’ll find enough of the naughty rogues.» She waved her hand. «And now, good gentles, if you will even pardon me, I must trim the ears from the Losel I slew —»
«You must what?» demanded Shea.
«Trim the ears from the Losel. For trophies. Already I have pairs an hundred and twenty and two. Good morrow, gentles.»
* * *
«That,» said Shea when they were on their way, «is my idea of a real girl. And you had to put her off us by that crack about magicians!»
«Very fine girl, provided she doesn’t put an arrow through you and cut off your ears for trophies. I confess my taste runs to a somewhat more sedentary type of female. I doubt whether I can stand much more excitement of this sort.»
Shea said: «I know how you feel. Travelling through Faerie is just one damned encounter after another.» His two narrow escapes in one day had left Shea feeling like a damp washcloth.
Chalmers mused: «It is logical that it should be so. The Faerie Queene indicates that this is a world wherein an endless and largely planless concatenation of encounters are a part of the normal pattern of events — Merciful Heavens, another one! What’s that?»
«That» was a big black leopard which leaped out suddenly into their path. It snarled with the sound of tearing sheet iron. The mounts bucked and started to whirl against the bits.
«Stop, Doc,» yelled Shea, manhandling Adolphus around and reaching behind him for the broadsword. «If you run, it’ll jump you sure!»
He tumbled off, snubbed his reins around a convenient stump, and faced the leopard with the broadsword in one hand and the épée in the other. This was getting to be a worse bore than the Garaden Institute. If I stand my ground, he thought, it probably won’t attack, but if it does — There was a book he had read once — what was its name? — about a Lithuanian who hunted jaguars with a spear. If it springs, impale it with the épée; if it stands off and claws, chop with the broadsword —
The leopard snarled again. It seemed uncertain. Then, to Shea’s astonishment, it swelled and changed into a huge lion. He felt a prick of fear. A man might handle a 150-pound leopard, but a 600-pound Lion — not even a mortal stab wound would keep it from ripping him up, once it got to close quarters. He was in for it —
«Harold!» Chalmers’ voice was not too near. «It’s all right.»
«The hell it’s all right!» thought Shea, holding his ground for want of anything better to do.
The lion did not spring. Instead it grimaced. The fanged mouth became a beak, wings sprouted from its shoulders, and it was a griffin. That, Shea realized, was not kosher; griffins did not —
Chalmers called, closer. «It’s the man we’re looking for.»
Shea relaxed. «Take off the false whiskers, Mr. Magician; we know you,» he said. The griffin began to dwindle and dissolve. Shea turned to Chalmers, who was struggling with a patently balky Gustavus. «Didn’t you say something about when away his regiment ran, his place was in the fore, oh —»
«I couldn’t control this confounded beast. And it’s at the fore oh, not in. How do you do, sir?» This was to the ex-griffin, which had become a stout, dark, bald man, who stood glowering at them, fists on hips.
«I do right well,» said the man. «What do you two here? Eh? Seek trouble? You’ve come to the right market.»
Shea grinned. «In a way I suppose we are, if you call yourself trouble.»
«Ho, you seek my professional service! I warn you I handle no minor matters, like turning cows sour or the manufacture of love philters. That’s witch-wife work. I’m a master magician.»
«Then we’re delighted —»
«Ahem,» said Chalmers. «Excuse me, Harold. I should like to explain to the gentleman that our interest is professional, looking to an exchange of information that might he mutually profitable.»
«Ho!» cried the enchanter. «You two claim to be magicians? How do I know you speak sooth? Tell me that, eh?»
«Well. uh —»
«Work a spell for him, Doc,» said Shea.
«Oh, dear me. I don’t suppose he’d be satisfied with more mice — or cats. All I can think of now is one I prepared for conjuring up a dragon.»
«What the hell, that’s fine! Go ahead with your dragon!» The magician’s ears caught the last word. «Dragon? D’you think you can really produce a dragon? Let’s See you do it!»
«But won’t it be. uh. dangerous?» This was Chalmers.
«Have no fear. I’ll get a counterspell ready. Dolon protects you. The Dolon.» He strutted.
«Show him, Doc.»
Chalmers, with a look of baffled and apprehensive resignation, began to make a list of the properties needed. A small red salamander was discovered under a stone. Most of the other things they had already, but a snapdragon plant was called for, and there was none in sight. «Conjure one up,» said Shea, coolly. The harassed psychologist looked annoyed. But, with the aid of a roadside weed, he produced a snapdragon plant the size of a tree. The Dolon snorted.
Chalmers laid out his properties, lit a fire with flint and steel, and began an incantation:
«By Fafnir and Hydra,
Apophis and Yang:
With the length of Nidhöggr,
Tiбmat’s sharp fang,
The shape of the lizard,
The strength of the bear,
Thou, scaled like the serpent.
Emerge from your lair!
Steed of Triptolemus.
Beowulf’s bane.
Symbol of Uther.
And bringer of rain —»
Shea prudently hitched the animals’ reins around a tree. If the dragon turned out to be winged and hungry — He wished that his damned reckless impulsiveness had not made him force Chalmers’ hand. If the Dolon’s counterspell didn’t work — The oyster-coloured smoke of the fire thickened and darkened. Chalmers bit off his chant in mid-stanza and scrambled back. A reptilian head a yard long was poking towards them out of the smoke.
The head had a scaly neck behind it. Then came a foreleg and another. The dragon seemed to be crawling from nothingness through an orifice somewhere in the smoke, ballooning our as it came. There it was, complete to stinger-tipped tail, gazing at them with yellow cat’s eyes.
Shea breathed, not daring to attract its attention by a movement: «If it starts for us, Doc, you get on Gustavus and I’ll let go the reins.»
Dolon’s face was twisting as though he had swallowed too big a mouthful. The dragon lurched a few steps, not towards them but off at right angles, opened its terrible mouth, gave a whistling «beeep!» and began to crop the grass contentedly.
«God bless my soul!» said Chalmers.
«He’d better,» replied Shea, «Look!»
* * *
A second draconian head was pushed through the smoke. This one was squirted out in a few seconds. It looked at the three men, then wandered over to a clump of bright-coloured flowers, sniffed, and began to eat them. Now a third and a fourth head were already in sight. As fast as the dragons were extruded, more followed them. The field down to the very confines of the trees was crowded with them, new arrivals butting the others to make room or scratching their sides on trees. Shea was counting: «Thirty-three, thirty-four — We better untie the animals and move or we’ll get stepped on. Thirty-six, thirty-seven —»
«Dear me,» remarked Chalmers, fingering his chin, as they backed among the trees. «I rather feared this. The same thing happened with the mice.»
«Fifty-two, fifty-three —» Shea continued. «My God, the country will be overrun with them!»
Dragons had overflowed the field and were lurching through the trees with their ungainly gait, munching everything green in sight, and mooing at each other with the same plaintive beeping sound. «Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. Oh, boy!»
The fire suddenly died, and the cascade of vegetarian dragons ceased. «My God!» said Shea in an awe-struck voice. «One hundred reptilian Ferdinands!»
Dolon’s voice was that of a man shaken to the core. «Forsooth, you do things not by halves. Though I mind me I once succeeded with a bushel measure full of pearls.» Dolon snapped his fingers. «By Ahriman’s toe nails, are you not those who even now bested the Blatant Beast?»
«That’s us,» said Shea. «How did you hear about it?»
«The Beast passed me a few hours ago, and warned me of a prow company. He said he demanded a trifle of poesy, as is his custom, and you gave him a lay full of such — ah — spice that even he durst not repeat it for shame. The like had never before happened to him, and he seemed much downcast thereby. But was there not another of you? The Beast mentioned three.»
Chalmers cleared his throat, but Shea quickly answered: «No; he’s got us mixed up with another bunch.»
«’Tis a thing conceivable; the Beast is in sooth of the lower orders, and cannot count beyond two.» Dolon shook a finger and said with a slight leer: «Now about these dragons: Tell me, fellow magicians, was’t not by error you got eaters of grass? Eh? No secrets in the trade!»
«Ahem. No use taking unnecessary risks,» said Chalmers, still looking a trifle wall-eyed.
«Doubtless,» remarked Dolon with a glance that Shea just barely saw, «you can exorcise them as rapidly.»
«We could,» said Shea, before his companion had a chance to answer. «For the dragon-disappearing spell, though, we need an aneroid comptometer, and we lost ours. Do you have one with you?»
«An. ah, certes, an ameroid combompeter. Nay, I fear me not so. Last spring came a black frost that killed all the plants on which ameroid combompeters grow.» He spread his hands regretfully. «However, meseems these dragons will in the long run be a benefit, making rare good sport and food for our friends and servants, the Losels. And now, Sir Magicians whom I have not seen, explain your purpose in Loselwood.»
Chalmers spoke. «Uh. we’re looking for a lady named Florimel, and were advised we might find her here. Do you know the young person?»
Dolon chuckled. «The real Florimel or the false?»
«The real or — The one who was at Satyrane’s tournament recently.»
«That would be the false one, made by the Witch of Riphira. A fair piece of work — though I will say I care nor much for these witches. Duessa is the only one who has any standing in the Chapter — And that brings me to remark, magical sirs, are you members of one of the outland Chapters? My memory is practically infallible, and I do not recall having seen you at our meetings.»
Chalmers stammered: «We. uh. that is. can you tell me a little more about this Florimel? The. uh. false one.»
Dolon waved his hand. «A mere witch’s thing — a creature made of snow, or no special value. You must let me show you the really fine chess player I made sometime, or the imps I conjured up to handle my torture work. Really an achievement. Busyrane, our archmagician, doubtless called this false Florimel in for inspection.» He accented the last word and snickered. «But you haven’t answered my question, magical sirs.»
Shea spoke up boldly. «The point is, we’d like to join up with you.»
«You mean you have been working independently and we know it not?» Dolon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. «Aye; Busyrane opened the Chapter but a twelvemonth ago and you may well have slipped his attention. I trust you have not refused his invitation. Our archimage is not soft or slow with unlicensed magicians He has a spell that turns ’em into spiders. Witty, is he not, eh?»
«Good gracious!» said Chalmers. «But how does one acquire a licence?»
«That falls somewhat upon the applicant. Our charter calls for a round twenty-one master magicians, the magic number. Naturally, you behold in me one of the leading masters, whether by ability or seniority. There is also a class of journeymen, who handle the ordinary work, and one of apprentices. Perhaps you have talent enough to be elected to mastership. There are three or four places unfilled, I believe. The next meeting comes in five days, and with my backing your election would be certain.»
SIX
Dolon, in the form of a handsome stallion, trotted in front. Shea leaned back in his saddle, and, watching the stallion’s ears carefully, murmured: «Doing all right, aren’t we, Doc?»
«I suppose so, but I admit to being somewhat apprehensive as to what will happen if both the Companions and the Chapter of Magicians learn we’ve been cooperating with the other party. This. ah. playing both ends against the middle may get us in trouble.»
«Maybe,» said Shea. They rode on in silence.
Once a tiger glided out from between the trunks ahead. Gustavus and Adolphus, both rapidly approaching nervous breakdowns, tried to bolt from the trail. Dolon turned himself from a stallion into an immense buffalo. The tiger slunk off, snarling.
The sun was already low when the trail made a right-angled bend and dipped under a bank. A huge oak door was set into the earth. Dolon, again in his natural form, waved a hand, and the door flew open. «Fear not for the safety of your mounts,» he said. «An invisible wall, which none may penenate without my warrant, surrounds this place.»
Shea, dismounting, said: «That ought to be nice for keeping the mosquitoes out.»
Dolon laughed dutifully, then shook his head. «Ah, good ’prentice, how true! Is it not sad that a man of genius must concern himself with petty moils and worries?»
The air was stuffy inside. The first thing Shea saw was a huge pile of dirty dishes. Dolon was evidently not the neat type of bachelor. Beyond was an object that made his scalp prickle. It was the life-sized nude statue of a young man, stiff, at one side of the room, emitting a faint bluish glow. It held aloft a torch, which Dolon set alight.
The enchanter noticed Shea’s glance of inquiry. «A former ’prentice of mine,» he remarked. «I found he was a spy from Queen Gloriana’s court, where a few of those high-born grandees practise a kind of magic they call ‘white’. So there he stands, with all his sensations alive and the rest of him dead. Eh, Roger?» He pinched the statue playfully and laughed. «I’m really the best humorist in the Chapter when I’m in the mood. Let me show you my collection of Mallamies.»
«What’s a Mallamy?» inquired Chalmers.
Dolon looked at him hard, then decided it was a kind of joke and laughed. He began taking bottles off a shelf and holding them up to the light. Each contained a human figure about an inch tall. «Homunculi from the hand of great master, Mallamy himself,» he explained. «He specialized in this art, and none other has been able to shrink folk to so small size. Even I, Dolon, cannot equal his art. This is the finest collection of his figures in existence. It wants only a blond Saracen. Busyrane has one, but he will not yield it, though I have offered him a water fay, which his own collection tacks. He insists that water fays arc not permanent, since any accident will bring water in contact with the bottle and they can work a spell of their own and so escape.»
He sighed. «You see how things fall sort of perfection even for the greatest of us. But come in, good sirs, and seat yourselves in my cabinet. Only ’ware the cockatrice as you go down this passage.»
«A cockatrice?» said Shea.
«Aye. A rare, priceless idea of Busyrane’s. All masters of the Chapter are supplied with them. They are just outside our inner cabinets and under an enchantment, so they may not look on any member of the Chapter — or his friends. But should any of Gloriana’s people essay to enter, the cockatrice looks on them and they turn to stone.»
* * *
Dolon threw open a door and led the way down a dimly lighted passage. Behind bars at one side the beast stalked to and fro with a clatter of its scaly tail. It turned its head this way and that. The stench made Shea want to vomit. Over his shoulder he saw Chalmers’ lips moving. He hoped it was with a protective counterspell, not prayer. Dolon’s voice floated back: «— had to get them after Cambina, one of those ‘white magic’ practitioners, got into Mallamy’s cabinet and drowned him in a pool of alkahest. Thank Lucifer, she married that oaf, Sir Cambell, and marriage cost her some of her powers —»
The door banged behind them. Shea gasped for air as though he had swum up from the bottom of the ocean.
The table was ready and the food — thank Heaven, thought Shea — not too highly spiced. Whittling at a steak, he asked:
«What’s this meat? It’s good!»
«Fried Losel,» said the magician calmly.
Shea saw Chalmers halt a mouthful in midair. He felt himself gag momentarily; it was, after all, on the borderline of cannibalism, and after the cockatrice — He forced himself to go on eating. Squeamishness right now was a luxury.
Dolon poured out some wine, sat back and, rather to the travellers’ astonishment, produced and lit a clay pipe.
«Aye,» he pronounced, «competition is the curse of our business. One playing against another, and those curst companions of Gloriana making sad work of us all — that’s how matters stood till Busyrane organized our Chapter. Why, I mind me, I had a very good thing once, very good. Found a man of property who wanted a love philter. I made it for him, and he refused to pay. As he was more ass than human, I promised him his ears should grow an inch a day, with the price doubled for each inch they grew till he got me to take the spell off.» Dolon laughed and puffed. «I told you I was a good deal of a humorist.»
«Well, what does he do but go to Malingo, who gives him a counterspelt at half price! No more of that now.»
Shea had a question: «Look here! If you magicians all cooperate so well, what went wrong at Satyrane’s tournament? That girdle wouldn’t stay on the false Florimel, or on Duessa either for that matter. I should’ve thought Busyrane would see to that.»
Dolon chuckled. «Briskly questioned, springald! The trick with the girdle was doubtless Duessa’s doing. It’s in her style. She tried to remove the enchantment already on it, but when she found she couldn’t do that, clapped another atop, so ’twould fit nobody. But Florimel’s case was an error, I fear me much.» He shook his head. «Especially if in good sooth Busyrane has sent for her. Nothing would gall those high knights and ladies of the court half so much as having one of their queens of beauty, approved chaste by the test of the girdle, to live with an enchanter. But now, alack, there’s a doubt.»
Shea saw Chalmers start and run his tongue around his lips at the mention of the connection between Busyrane and Florimel. He pressed questions about the Chapter to give Chalmers a chance to recover. But now Dolon shut up like a clam, with suspicious glances. Shea had uneasy memories of the cockatrice and the spy in the outer room.
The magician finally rose. «’Tis time we retired, eh, magical sirs? ’Twere wise to set out for Busyrane’s tomorrow. If we arrive ere the meeting be called, I’m sure that my connections and the skill in intrigue for which I’m known will enable me to secure your election.»
* * *
A whisper: «Hey, Doc, you asleep?»
Another: «Merciful Heavens, no. Not in this place. Is he?»
«If he isn’t, that’s a damned good magical snore. Say, can’t we do something about that poor guy he made into a statue?»
«It would be injudicious to attempt it, Harold. Moreover, I’m not certain I know how. It would jeopardize our whole plan of campaign.»
«Didn’t know we had one. Are we stringing along with him?»
«I suppose we must if we really intend to help Queen Gloriana and the Companions. I may also mention Florimel. Dolon remarked that she was made of snow — created. I find it difficult to credit and rather awful. I fear we must join this Chapter and. uh. bore from within, as if it were.»
«I suppose,» said Shea thoughtfully, «that the Chapter explains why the Land of Faerie is sort of running down.»
«Yes. The enchanters had just discovered the —»
«Say, Doc,» Shea’s whisper was almost loud. «If the Chapter was formed a year ago, Faerie Queene time, and it had already been started when Spenser wrote, which was four centuries ago, Earth time — Faerie time must be much slower than ours. If we go back, we’ll land somewhere in the twenty-fifth century — along with Buck Rogers.»
«If we go back. And also if the curvature of the spacetime vectors is uniform. There might be sine curves in the vectors, you know.»
«Never thought of it. Say, how come your dragon spell was so extremely successful?»
Chalmers permitted himself an under-the-breath chuckle. «A property of the mathematics of magic. Since it’s based on the calculus of classes, it is primarily qualitative, not quantitative. Hence the quantitative effects are indeterminate. You can’t — at least, with my present skill I can’t — locate the decimal point. Here the decimal point was too far rightward, and I got a hundred dragons instead of one. It might have been a thousand.»
Shea lay still a moment digesting that thought. Then: «Can’t you do something about that?»
«I don’t know. Apparently the professionals learn by experience just how much force to put into their incantations. It’s an art rather than a science. If I could solve the quantitative problem I could put magic on a scientific basis. I wish, Harold, that tomorrow you could. uh. manage to distract Dolon for long enough to allow me to possess myself of one of his testbooks. His place is such a hurrah’s nest that he’s certain not to miss it.»
* * *
The three riders — Dolon had conjured up a horse because, he said, taking the form of one for a long journey would be fatiguing — had been going for miles through Loselwood. They saw deer, but no other living creatures. Conversation was scarce till they came out on a road, once wide and well graded, now much overgrown. Shea reasoned that this was one more sign of how the enchanters were getting the best of the Faerie knights.
He pushed his mount alongside the magician. «With your superlative powers, Dolon, I wonder they didn’t elect you head of the Chapter instead of Busyrane.»
Dolon shrugged. «I could have had the post at good cheap, ho-ho! But I would not strive and moil for it. I’m really a very good judge of human nature, so I arranged Busyrane’s election, knowing he would do it well.»
«You must be just about perfect,» said Shea.
«‘Just about’, my ’prentice friend, is a weak phrase. I am perfect. I’ve no doubt that people in ages to come will date the history of true wizardry from my entry into the field.»
«Modest, too,» remarked Shea, drawing a quick glare from Chalmers.
Dolon dropped his eyes. «Too modest, I sometimes think. Yet do I guard against such affectation — hola! Here’s an encounter!» An armoured horseman had appeared at the far end of the defile through which they were riding. His lance came down and he trotted towards them.
Dolon cried: «Ten thousand devils, ’tis Artegall himself! Flee, or we are undone!» Looking a bit undone himself, the magician whirled his horse sharp round on its hind legs.
A woman’s voice behind them called, «Stand, all of you!» Belphebe was perched on a rock at the side of the defile, covering them with bow bent full.
«To the air!» screeched Dolon, the last word going beyond human pitch as he changed to hawk and flapped slanting upward. There was the flat snap of the bow, the whistle of the arrow and there was a puff of feathers. Down hurtled the hawk, changing to Dolon with an arrow through his arm as he fell. He landed, plop, in a soft spot. Shea observed that these people really knew something about swearing in the minute or two before Artegall’s lance jabbed him.
«Dismount, runagates!» roared the knight. It seemed the best thing to do. The man was as big as Cambell, cased in steel, yet moved quickly. Besides, Belphebe had another arrow already nocked.
Artegall pushed up his visor to show a stem, swarthy face with a broken nose. He produced a couple of looped chains, which he slipped over the victims’ heads, tightened, and locked. «You’re in arrest,» quoth he.
«What for?» asked Shea.
«For judgment by the high justice of the court of her majesty, Queen Gloriana.»
Chalmers groaned. «The high justice,» he explained in a low voice, «means the death penalty if we’re found guilty.»
«Then I’ll take low,» said Shea.
«You had better not ask it. He probably has the privilege of low justice himself, which means he can sentence you to about five years in prison right here. He probably would.»
Belphebe had come down from her rock. «Dolon, by the splendour of Heaven!» she cried. «I bear witness, Sir Artegall, that when I met this pair in Loselwood but yesterday, they were asking after magicians. Guard the young one well; he bears a blade of much power, which I doubt not has some enchantment on it.»
«Say you so!» observed Artegall, with an unpleasant expression. «By my halidome, we are well met, then. A pretty gift for the queen’s justice! Let’s see that little sword.» He yanked Shea’s baldric up over his head, nearly taking off an ear.
He climbed back on his horse, holding the end of the chains. The prisoners had no choice but to trot along behind him.
Chalmers managed to whisper: «Don’t try to tell them we’re on the right side. Britomart will clear us if necessary. We must. uh. retain Dolon’s confidence.»
They plodded on. The more Chalmers thought about it the less he liked the idea of being dragged off to the Faerie court for judgment. If they were released with Britomart’s help, any enchanters they met afterward might reasonably ask them how they came to escape when Dolon was condemned. Of the master magician’s condemnation there could be little doubt. Artegall looked at him with pure detestation. Belphebe, trotting along beside them, was amusing herself by catching the enchanter’s eye, putting one hand around her neck, and making strangling sounds. The great Dolon did not seem to be enjoying it.
Shea? Shea was admiring Belphebe’s springy stride. Anything Chalmers did would have to be on his own. Fortunately, Chalmers had succeeded in purloining and sneaking a look into one of Dolon’s textbooks that morning. There was a simple weakness spell in it; not much of a spell, lasting only a few hours and easily guarded against if one knew it were coming. But it required no apparatus beyond twelve blades of grass, a small piece of paper, and some water.
Chalmers stooped and pulled up the grass blades as he stumbled along, holding them in his mouth as though he merely warned something to chew on. He slipped a hand inside his robe, ostensibly to scratch, really to tear a page corner from Dolon’s book. This also went into his mouth; saliva ought to be a fairish substitute for water. He mumbled the incantation. If it worked, Artegall and Belphebe ought to be weakened enough to let the prisoners escape.
Shea decided that he liked the little spray of freckles across Belphebe’s nose, but that it was difficult to admire a girl who had a bead drawn on one’s right kidney with a longbow. He would like to see more of Belphebe. She had about everything, including an adventurous spirit not unlike his own — Why the devil was he so tired? He could barely drag one foot after the other. He should be hardened to strenuous living by now. Belphebe was drooping, too; the spring had left her walk. Even the horse’s head hung.
Artegall swayed in his saddle. He made one monstrous effort to balance himself, overcompensated, and slowly fell into the road with the dignity of a toppling factory chimney. The crash halted the procession. The horse sat down jerkily and sprawled beside its rider, its tongue lolling out. Chalmers and Dolon followed suit, their chains jangling.
Artegall heaved himself up on one elbow. «Sorcery!» he drawled languidly. «The rascals have tricked us! Skewer them, Belphebe!»
The girl fumbled with her bow. Chalmers rolled over and reached hands and knees. «Come on, Harold! Rouse Dolon!» he said. He smothered a yawn and started to crawl. «Dear me, I wish I could learn to keep these spells within bounds.»
Shea tried to leap over Dolon; lost his balance and fell across the magician. Dolon grunted as Shea’s knees dug into him, but he, also, made his hands and knees. The three prisoners set off down the road in that fashion.
Shea looked back. Belphebe was still on her feet, trying to draw the bow, but lacking strength to pull it more than a few inches. She aimed up and let fly at random. The recoil knocked her over backward. The arrow soared in a whispering parabola and thwunked into the seat of Dolon’s pants with just enough force to stick. The magician yelped and increased his speed to almost a mile an hour.
«Hurry,» said Shea. «They’re coming after us.» Belphebe was crawling along at a fair rate, regardless of the abrasion of her bare knees. Behind her, Artegall brought up the rear of the bizarre parade like some monstrous tailless lizard. In his armour he could barely move.
«Belphebe’s gaining,» remarked Shea, after a minute.
«That sorrows me not,» said Dolon, with a nasty expression. He fished a knife from his boot.
«Hey,» said Shea, «not that!»
«And wherefore not?»
While Shea was trying to think of a reasonable answer, a man in a kilt appeared at the side of the road. For a moment he stared in astonishment at the singular procession, then put a willow whistle in his mouth and blew.
«The Da Derga!» gasped Dolon. «Ah, woe are we, to be caught thus!»
A swarm of the wild men came trotting through the trunks. All wore tartan kilts. With them were a number of lean, rough-coated dogs. The five crawlers were efficiently bowled over and frisked for weapons. Shea found himself looking into the ugly, bearded face of a gigantic redhead, who moved a nasty broadsword back and forth an inch from the prisoner’s throat as though he were sawing. The redhead seemed to think it very funny.
«Sure and is it not a strange thing to find them so?» remarked a benign-looking greybeard. «The folk would be taking poison to make them so weak.»
«Do we be takin’ them back entire,» asked another, «or just their heads to put in the hall, now?»
«Shame on you, Shawn! ’Tis a month now since the gods have had a proper sacrifice. ’Tis a lack of proper reverence you show, I’m thinking.»
Shea could have thought of one or two terms more appropriate than lack of reverence. But he was not consulted. He was tied up and suspended from a pole. For the next hour or so, as the carriers of the pole jounced along, the pain in his wrists and ankles was too exquisite for him to think coherently.
They followed deer trails, ultimately emerging into a clearing with tents around it. The Da Derga were evidently on a raiding expedition; there were no women or children to be seen. The captives were dumped in a row near a rough-hewn wooden altar with ominously dark stains down its sides.
Shea whispered: «Can’t you work a spell, Dolon?»
«Aye, as soon as I recover from this curst weakness. Malediction on the bungling knave who clipped us in it!»
«I’m afraid I was. uh. responsible,» said Chalmers humbly.
«May Beelzebub fly away with you then! After this, stick to your dragon-juggling tricks, and leave true magic to the great Dolon. Was it not the grass-and-paper spell?»
«Yes.»
«I trow I recognized the symptoms. Haro! ’Twill not wear off for hours, and by that time we shall be dead as Judas Iscariot. Ah, ’tis foul that the greatest master of magic the world has seen should come to an end thus, like a netted herring! The tragedy of it makes me weep.»
He lapsed into gloomy silence. Shea thought desperately — what could they do? If neither the wily Dolon nor the powerful Artegall could help, the case appeared hopeless. Another last-minute rescue from outside would be too much of a coincidence to hope for.
Three men in long white robes, absurdly garlanded with leaves, came out of a tent. One of them thoughtfully whetted a long knife. The sound it made on the stone was hard to bear.
The one with the knife came over and looked down at the captives. The amiable-looking chieftain remarked: «Sure, ’tis a likely lot they are, isn’t it?»
«They’ll do,» replied the Druid. «For a chance-met lot, they’ll do. The two younger are the handsomest. We take them first. But if it’s so weak they are, how shall we ever get them to walk to the altar?»
«A couple of the lads will support them, Oh, Murrahu! Would you be getting your pipes?»
The Da Derga had formed a circle around the clearing. One of the Druids stood with his arms out and face to the sky, chanting, while another gestured symbolically over the altar. A third marched round the clearing, followed by the bagpiper. The piper cut loose with a sound like a thousand angry beehives. It seemed to Shea that a procession of ghostly figures was following the two marchers, floating in some medium of faint iridescence that made their forms and even their existence uncertain. The Da Derga bowed low as priest and piper passed, and stayed bent over till that trail of misty things had gone by.
It was extremely interesting. Shea wished he were in a position to appreciate it without being dominated by the thought that these were probably his last sense impressions. He wondered if the gods of the Da Derga had something in common with the ancient Celtic deities — By the great horn spoon, he had an idea!
A barbarian was cutting his bonds. Two others heaved him and Belphebe to their feet and supported them by the arms. Their expressions were of rapt ecstasy. Shea muttered out of the.sideofhis mouth: «Hey, Belphebe, if I get you out of this, will you call a truce till we can explain?»
The girl nodded. The Druid with the knife took his place at the altar. Another came over to the captives, faced about, and started to lead them. Summoning all his strength, Shea barked: «Hey, Mr. Priest!»
The Druid turned. He had a kindly expression. «Now, laddie,» he said, «its no good shouting! Sure, ’tis an honour to be the first to go to the gods.»
«I know it. But you don’t think the gods will be satisfied with a bunch of weak fish like us, do you?»
«True enough for you. But the gods do he giving credit when a man offers the best he has, and faith, you are that.»
«You could make us better, though. We’re under a spell. You’re a pretty good magician; why not take this weakness off us?»
The Druid’s expression showed cunning. «I’m thinking you’re saying that for your own benefit and not for ours, but ’tis rare good sense you speak, my boy.» He looked at Shea, then at Belphebe and waved his hands towards them, mumbling. Shea felt the force flow back into his body. The old priest addressed the two with him; «Hold them tight, now, lads. It wouldn’t do at all, at all, if they used their strength to get away.»
* * *
The rough hands of the Da Derga clamped down on Shea’s arms till he winced. He saw that Belphebe wasn’t enjoying their grip either. He held himself relaxed, as though putty in their hands.
The procession approached the altar. The piper was red-faced, but seemed to be maintaining himself by that unique power all pipers have of keeping going long after ordinary people would collapse for lack of breath. Shea’s feet dragged. The Druid with the knife awaited him with the supremely peaceful expression of a man who is rendering his own happiness sure by a great and noble act. The altar was only four paces away. He glanced towards Belphebe. Three. She was looking anxiously at him as though awaiting a signal. Two. He felt what he was waiting for — the relaxation of the tired, sweaty hands of the huskies. One. It was now or never.
Shea snapped his left heel up and back. It hit a hairy kneecap, and the barbarian went down with a yell of pain. He let go. Shea spun around on the other heel, driving his left knee into the other guard and at the same time punching him in the Adam’s apple. The second guard, not expecting this demoniac burst of energy, let go and dropped, strangling in the agony of the throat punch.
What followed took seconds. The other two guards got their signals crossed, and instead of one of them holding Belphebe, both let her go to run at Shea. The woods girl pounced on the Druid with the knife and sank her teeth into his hand.
The guards were good rough-and-tumble fighters, but under the handicap of having to take their captives unharmed. Shea was under no such inhibition. He jabbed one in the eyes with his fingers and kicked the other in the belly. Somebody screeched. Belphebe ran past with a bloody knife in her hand, yanking Shea after her.
The other Da Derga were too dumbfounded by the sacrilege to interfere. Shea and Belphebe raced through a hole in their circle just as the barbarians began reaching for their broadswords.
Then they were among trees, running madly. Belphebe glided ahead of Shea without even breathing hard. He guessed she could leave him behind if she wished. She seemed to know the woods by instinct. She swerved right, squeezed between a pair of trunks, down to a brook, splashed along its bed for fifty yards, then off into the woods again.
«Up!» cried Belphebe suddenly, and climbed a trunk with the agility of a small boy, lending a hand to help Shea. They crouched together in a crotch and listened.
Scattered sounds of pursuit came, now here, now there. The Da Derga had spread and were beating the woods. Shea and Belphebe held themselves still, almost breathless. There was a rustle of snapped twigs and a pair of the barbarians walked past a few yards from their tree, leading one of the huge dogs. «Sure, ’tis a terrible thing,» said one of them. «Three men cut up, and one of them a holy man.»
«A wicked, cruel thing. And poor Fion, with his lovely neck all broke in. It’s inhuman monsters they are, those two.»
The sounds died. They waited, and Shea explained his and Chalmers’ plan to her in a whisper.
Belphebe gave Shea a level glance. Apparently satisfied with his sincerity, she asked: «Why said you not so sooner, good squire?»
«I couldn’t in front of Dolon without giving the whole show away. If you don’t believe me, Britomart will give us good characters. Honest.»
«You mean you plan still to go on with this witless scheme?»
«Of course, if we can rescue our people.»
«You think Artegall would let Dolon go?»
Shea hesitated. «I don’t know Artegall. But you’re right; he’s the kind that, once he gets an idea, he won’t change it for hell or high water.»
Belphebe gave a gurgling little laugh. «You should be a court jester, Squire Harold. But your wit is well taken; that describes Artegall exactly.»
«Well, we’ll have to see to it that Artegall can’t interfere till we’ve left.»
«Nay. In honour I cannot take the side of that foul enchanter —»
«Look, Belphebe. Use your head. The knights of Faerie have been trying for years to catch up with these enchanters, haven’t they?»
«That is good sooth.»
«And they haven’t made out very well, have they?»
«Gentle Squire, you argue like a doctor. But I fear me you are right.»
«All right. This riding around in an iron shirt and knocking off an occasional enchanter isn’t going to get you anywhere, either. Now, my boss and I have a plan for getting into their organization and rounding up the whole batch at once. Why not let us try?»
«But how shall I —»
«Oh, tell Artegall we made a private truce to escape the Da Derga, and one of the conditions was that we get a head start before —» He stopped, listening.
Faintly, the drone of bagpipes wafted to them.
Belphebe cried: «The ceremony has begun again. Haste, or our friends are sped!» She began to climb down, but as they went Shea asked: «What can we do?»
«I’m not without some knowledge of things in the woods and their secret ways.» She dropped to the ground and started to whistle a strange little tune. When the whistle reached an ear-piercing pitch a unicorn came trotting forward. It nuzzled up to her, pawing the ground, and she vaulted onto its back.
«How about me?» asked Shea.
Belphebe frowned. «Right glad would I be to have you ride with me, but I misdoubt this steed will bear the weight. And they are ever jealous beasts, not liking to go two and two. You could hold the tail.»
That seemed unsatisfactory. But Shea thought, after all, I know some magic and ought to be able to conjure one up, and a conjured unicorn probably won’t object to this one. «If you’ll show me that brook, I’ll see what I can do,» he said.
He composed his incantation on the way to the stream. At its bank, he made a model, as well as he could, of the animal’s head in wet sand, and stuck a stick in it for a horn. Then he recited:
Oh, steed that feeds on the lightning
And drinks of the whirlwind’s surge,
In the name of the horse of Heimdall,
I conjure you now, emerge!
«Strong and docile and valiant,
Decked with the single horn,
In the name of the horse of Mohammed,
I conjure you now to be born!»
The brook exploded outward with a whoosh of spray. Shea jumped up and rubbed the water from his eyes — then rubbed them again to make sure. Once more, the travellers’ magic had been almost successful.
Standing in the creek was a fine big bull Indian rhinoceros.
SEVEN
Shea had a moment of panic. Then he remembered that the bad reputation of the rhinoceros tribe is based on the cantankerousness of the two-horned black rhino of Africa. Anyway, he couldn’t fool around conjuring up more animals. As he had asked for a docile one, this was presumably it. He landed astride the rhino’s back.
The rhinoceros might he docile, but it was unaccustomed to riders. When it recovered from the shock of its arrival in an unfamiliar section of spacetime, it scrambled out of the creek and galloped off through the trees in the wrong direction. Shea dug his fingers into the folds of its armour and hung on, veiling at Belphebe: «Hey! See if. ugh. you can. ugh. herd this thing!»
The rhino, seeing the unicorn on its right, charged snorting and baring its incisor tusks. The unicorn whirled aside. and poked the rhinoceros in the ribs as it lumbered past. The rhinoceros, now thoroughly upset, tried to flee. Belphebe skilfully herded it towards the camp of the Da Derga.
The bagpipes were louder. The rhinoceros, now more afraid of the unicorn than of this noise, headed straight for the sound. Shea clung to its hack, hoping it wouldn’t ram a tree. The trees sprang apart in front, and there was the camp of the Da Derga. A couple of guards held Chalmers across the altar. The Druids had found another knife.
Shea yelled: «Yeeeeeow!»
Heads turned towards him. The upraised knife hung suspended. Shea had a blurred picture of the camp streaming past, and everywhere the backs of the Da Derga departing in a swirl of tartan. They screamed most gratifyingly.
Beyond the altar Shea tumbled off his mount and walked back. Belphebe had already cut the bonds from the others; but, stiff and weak as they were, they could not move.
«I trust,» said Chalmers feebly, «that you are. uh. convinced of the inadvisability of visiting the world of Irish myth, Harold.»
Shea grinned, «Well, yes, since you mention it.» He turned to Dolon. «I can take this weakness off you. But I’m sure master like you would have a much better method than anything I could use. If you’ll give the spell to me, I’ll use it instead of my own.»
«Marry, that will I. Few youngsters are so polite as to appreciate the powers of the masters these days. Bend down —»
Artegall raised a feeble hand to Belphebe. «What ails you, girl? Fall on these caitiffs! Slay them.»
«The squire and I have a truce.»
«A truce!» he growled. «Make a truce with the devil, or the Da Derga, but not with these enemies, of human kind. The queen’s majesty shall hear of this.»
Shea was working the spell on Chalmers. As he got up he grunted: «Thank you, Harold. Really, do we have to go on —»
«Shut up, Doc,» snapped Shea. He didn’t intend to have his delicate bit of finagling gummed up at this stage. Then he turned to Dolon and worked the spell again.
The magician seemed annoyed that Chalmers should have preceded him, but it turned out to be a good idea. The moment Dolon was on his feet, he snatched up one of the discarded sacrificial knives and flung himself towards the helpless Artegall. Belphebe tripped him as he tried to go past. Before he could get up, Shea was on his back with one hand on his neck and the other on his wrist. «Drop that!» he yelled.
The magician’s bulbous body heaved convulsively. Shea found himself gripping the neck of an enormous snake of the python type. With horror he felt the immense rubbery strength of the thing as ii writhed a section from under him and tried to throw a coil around his body.
But, as the snakes have no hands, Dolon had perforce dropped the knife. Shea put the edge of it against the scaly throat. «Change back,» he gritted, «or I’ll saw your head right off!»
Dolon changed back. «Are you clean daft?» he sputtered. «There’s a stinking fool ’prentice for you — ruining our chance to get rid of our greatest enemy.»
«Not at all, master,» said Shea, relaxing his grip a trifle.
«You forget there’s a truce on. Belphebe and I agreed not to have any scrapping until we’ve separated.»
«You mean to keep your word with them? ’Tis against nature and therefore void.»
Shea clamped down his grip again and turned to Artegall. «If I release you from the weakness spell, will you give me your word of honour to let us have a two-hour start?»
«Fool! Doltard!» shouted Dolon. But Artegall settled the question. «Covenant with an enchanter? Not I! Slay me if you will; you shall nor rid yourselves of all Gloriana’s knights so easily!»
Shea sighed at the unreasonableness of men. «Doc, watch Dolon for a minute, will you?» He got up and said to Belphebe; «Take care of him after we go.» Then, more softly: «Say, how can I get in touch with you again?»
She thought. «If you go not beyond the confines of this great wood and know but how to call my unicorn of the forest — not that ungainly great beast of yours —»
«Can you whistle the tune for me — softly?» She did so, and he followed till he could do it. But she finished with a smile. «I misdoubt you could entice her close enough. These unicorns fear not maidens, but men they are greatly wary of.»
Shea pondered, then drew Chalmers aside leaving Belphebe to guard Artegall against Dolon. «Doc, can you conure up sugar?»
«Harold, you are a continual source of astonishment to me. I really feel quite wont out, though. I’m incapable of coherent effort —»
Shea shook him by the shoulders. «Listen, Doc!» he said fiercely. «I’m pretty close to the edge of collapse myself, but if you ever want to see Florimel again, you can’t let me down! This is just a little applied psychology; to wit, setting up an androphiliac fixation in the libido of one female unicorn. Now, go to it!»
Water, charcoal from the remains of one of the Da Derga’s cooking fires, and a spell produced a double handful of neat patty-shaped moulds of maple sugar, which Shea rather dubiously guessed would do. The unicorn sniffed suspiciously from a distance, then under Belphebe’s coaxing teetered close enough to taste. It munched meditatively, wiggling its ears, then reached out its muzzle for more. Shea fed it another piece, then ostentatiously put the remainder in his pocket.
«All right,» he said, «we’re off. Say, Belphebe, maybe you better hitch J. Edgar Hoover’s feet to the unicorn and haul him off before the Da Derga come back to see what happened.» He glanced at the glowering Dolon. «Two hours truce now, and you can thank Heaven they took her bow away.»
The dark was beginning to close in. As they reached the road, Dolon worked a spell and produced a horse. He mounted.
«Hey!» said Shea. «What about us?»
«I say a pox on you, ’prentice, for a rebellious rogue. Wend afoot and learn what it is to flout the great Dolon.»
Shea put on a sly grin. «You don’t understand, master. Don’t you think it pays for the Chapter to have someone that the opposition thinks is a real man of honour? I’m just building myself up for the job. When we get ready to put something really good over on that bunch and catch a lot of them at once, instead of just these two, I’ll come in handy.»
Dolon considered a moment, then a smile ran round his red, full lips. «Oho! Sits the wind so? You want that red-polled baggage, eh? Well, when we capture her, you shall have her before she goes to the torture chamber — if the Chapter chooses to admit you. For I tell you fairly I doubt you are skilled enough in the more practical forms of magic.»
Chalmers spoke up. «Ahem. You confessed, Doton, that you of the Chapter occasionally. uh. work at cross-purposes.»
«Aye. ’Tis the nature of things. For look you, magic is an art disorderly.»
«But it isn’t! We can show you how to change all that.»
«Here’s strange doctrine! Do you jest?»
«Not at all. Didn’t you notice the Druids’ methods of doing magic?»
«Those priests of the Da Derga? Magic they have, aye, but so meagre a sort any lout can outdo them.»
«That’s not the point. It’s not what they do, but how they do it. One man invokes their gods; another changes the altar from wood to stone, and so on. One man per function, and all timed to work together. That’s real organization. Now, if. uh. your Chapter were organized like that —»
Shea cut in: «You’ve been trying to break down Queen Gloriana’s government, and set up a council of magic to rule in its place, haven’t you?» Nobody had told him that, but it seemed a reasonable guess.
«That we have; but the others worked singly, without any such leaders as myself to guide them.»
«But even you, master, you’re only one, and can’t be everywhere at once. As it stands, your Chapter is a professional guild. It keeps you from cutting each other’s throats by competition, but that’s all. You won’t get anywhere just bopping off an occasional knight. We can show you how to make a real organization out of it with all the parts working together as smoothly as the Faerie knights work together. The beauty of such an organization is that when it gets such a man of genius as yourself to guide it, everyone in the organization becomes a kind of extension of the leader’s personality. It’s just as though your Chapter were made into twenty-one Dolons. Gloriana’s government could never stand against that.»
«Ho-ho!» cried Dolon. «Now this proves once more that I am, as some are good enough to say, the great Dolon, and practically infallible in my judgment of men. I knew from the beginning that your minds held some noble and worthy plan for the advancement of the Chapter and the cause of magic. But I was forced to test you to bring it out. So — we are friends again, and I’ll seal the bond by bringing forth your beasts and belongings.»
He wheeled his own horse behind a tree. He worked a spell that sent a pillar of smoke towering through the branches to catch the last rays of the sun. From beneath it Adolphus and Gustavus trotted out to stand in the twilight beside their masters, the former with Shea’s épée at the saddle. Dolon came back, grinning as though at some private joke.
«I shall present you to the Chapter as specialists in strange beasts,» he remarked amiably. «That monster you rode to our rescue was as fearsome a hobgoblin as ever I saw, friend Harold. You see, I have the custom, not common among great men, of being affable to my juniors.»
It was growing very dark under the trees, and the horses began to stumble on the ruinous road. Another hour of riding brought them to an opening. Midway along it and fairly close to the road, a thatched hut stood in the inadequate moonlight. One window was lighted.
«The castle of Busyrane,» remarked Dolon.
«It seems somewhat. uh. exiguous,» offered Chalmers timidly.
«Ho-ho! You know not our Archimage, who is a master of show and illusion, and sets such gulls to catch the unwary. Do but watch.»
As Dolon spoke the moon was blotted out. Shea heard a flutter of wings. Something brushed past his face. There was a sensation of insectlike crawling on his left hand that made him snatch it from the bridle. A long, low ululating shriek rose from out of the dark. The horse quivered uncertainly beneath him. Its hoofs clacked on stone in the velvet black. Down at stirrup level a face appeared. It had huge, drooping ears and ragged teeth fixed in a permanent grin above the pendulous lower lip. There was no source of light for it to be seen by, nothing but that face floating by itself.
«The master makes you welcome and bids you dismount,» mouthed the face indistinctly.
A clawlike hand reached up to help Shea from his mount. Though by now well inured to shocks, he could not help a shiver at the clammy cold touch. Dolon chuckled behind him. He shook off the horrors and followed the guidance of the corpselike fingers down a corridor of utter dark. Something rustled, and he caught the sickening odour of cockatrice. A door closed. He was standing in a big room, blinking in a flood of light, with the other two beside him.
An elderly man, wearing a palmer’s robe like Chalmers’, came forward to greet them. He smiled graciously. «Welcome, good Dolon! To what fortunate chance owe we your presence here before the meeting?»
«To the same chance that brings me here with these two stout fellows, whom I rescued but today from Artegall’s curst clutches.» This version was a trifle startling, but Shea had the sense to lay low as Dolon described his thrilling rescue of Shea and Chalmers. He went on: «Most noble Archimage, a plan has occurred to me. As you know, people are good enough to say that I have a talent for plans amounting almost to genius.»
«Surely, noble Archimage, you are sib to the fact that you are but one and cannot be all places at once. As it stands, you head the Chapter well; but it is a professional guild. It prevents our cutting each other’s throats by competition, but no more. What we need is an organization that will work together as the Faerie knights work together. It would be as though our mastership were composed of twenty-one Busyranes. Gloriana’s government would have ill hap against it, eh?»
«By the favour of fortune, I fell in with these two, desirous of admission to the Chapter. With that skill at judging character for which I am well known, I saw at once that they were experts in exactly the form of organization we need, I present you, therefore, Reed de Chalmers, magician, and Harold de Shea, apprentice, as worthy members of our society. In magic, their art is the conjuration of singular and unheard of beasts. The Blatant One himself has fled before their spells.»
«Enchanted magical sirs,» said Busyrane, with a polite bow. «Your application shall receive the most earnest attention. We presume, good Dolon, you have heard the sad news?»
«That I have I not.»
«Poor Malvigen is slain — spitted with an arrow by that she-devil Belphebe.»
«The curst vile tripping wench!» Dolon turned to Shea and Chalmers. «Magical sirs I ask you, is this not a hard thing? Here’s a man who spent a lifetime in the study and practice of magic; Malvigen. Made himself a great specialist in erotic dreams, excelling even the great Dolon in that one art. Now he’s snuffed out in a second, like a wild boar, and for why? Because his attainments violate what those at the court choose to call morality.»
* * *
Shea woke from a dream of being shrunk to a statue of one inch and swallowed by a snake. His clothes lay over a chair. They had evidently been given a magical laundering and mending, since they looked as good as new, in contrast to their worn and dirty state of the previous evening.
Chalmers came in. His clothes also were clean, and he looked younger than Shea remembered having seen him. He burst out: «I’ve found Florimel!»
«Shh! For Pete’s sake not so loud. Tell me about it.»
«She was walking on the battlements. Really, this place is quite large when seen by daylight. Busyrane was most affable. It appears he intends to use her for the object — perfectly legitimate from his point of view — of causing dissension —»
«Okay, Doc. Okay! I get it. You’re all excited. What did you really find out? Who is this Florimel, anyhow?»
«She was. uh. manufactured out of snow by a person called the Witch of Riphoea, as a duplicate or double of the genuine Florimel, who seems to have disappeared. Busyrane tells me it is at least theoretically possible to find a magical spell that will endow her with a genuine human body. He was most kind, most kind. I am afraid we may have misjudged —»
«Yeah. He promised he’d help you fix her up, I suppose.»
Chalmers was suddenly dignified. «As a matter of fact, he did. But I cannot see how this affects —»
Shea jumped up. «Oh, my God! Next thing you’ll be selling out to the magicians and letting Gloriana’s crowd go chase themselves — as long as you can make this snow girl.»
«That’s not fair, Harold! After all, you were the one who insisted that we go ahead with our campaign, when I was willing to —»
«Yeah? Who had the bright idea of getting pally with the magicians in the first place? Who got up this marvellous plan —»
«Young man, let me tell you that you’re grossly unreasonable as well as grossly reckless. You’ve placed us in one predicament after another by getting into fights for no good reason. You force my hand by making me use spells before I’ve tried them out. Now, when I wish to embark on a really important scientific experiment —»
«I suppose it never occurred to you that Busyrane might be trying to suck you in to work for him by means of this girl. He controls her, and —»
«Shh! You needn’t shout!»
«I’m not shouting!» roared Shea.
A knock on the door made them both go silent. «Uh. ahem. come in!» said Chalmers.
Busyrane stood on the threshold, rubbing his hands.
«Good morrow, magical sirs. We heard your conversation and bethought us there might be something our humble household might supply or our feeble powers obtain for your use.»
Chalmers made a good recovery. «We were wondering — You know, the job of providing organization requires a special. uh. methodology. The science of combinational magic. uh. uh —»
Shea took over. «What we mean is, could we have the loan of some laboratory facilities?»
«Oh, certes, that lies within our gift. We have a disused chamber that would admirably serve. A few prisoners, even, on which you may experiment. We shall be happy, also, to furnish you with a cockatrice. If your honours will have the goodness to follow our poor person —»
* * *
«When the head enchanter had left them, Shea and Chalmers drew deep breaths. They had watched him for the least sign of suspicion, but he had displayed none — so far.»
Chalmers said: «Let me offer my apologies for. uh. my hastiness.»
«That’s all right, Doc. I shouldn’t have flown off the handle. And I’m sorry for running you ragged by being reckless.»
They shook hands like a pair of shame-faced small boys. «What’s the programme now?» asked Shea.
«Well. ahem. I’d like to restore Florimel — that is, to give her a human body. Also, she might not find a person of my years peculiarly congenial. I observe Busyrane is able to assume almost any age he wishes.»
«Ha —» Shea had started to laugh, but stopped, as Chalmers gave him a hurt look. «After all, Harold, what’s so heinous about wishing to be young?»
«It isn’t that, Doc. I just remembered something you said — about amorous adventure having few attractions for a person of your age.»
Chalmers smiled in mild triumph. «You forget that if I succeed in the rejuvenating process, I shall no longer be a person of my age!»
EIGHT
«Good gracious,» said Chalmers. «That’s the second time you’ve wandered off the incantation! Whatever is on your mind, Harold?» Shea stared absently at the big steel cage filling half the laboratory. Into it, with the aid of a pot containing a small fire, they were trying to conjure a dragon — one dragon. «Nothing much,» he replied, «except I’m wondering about This flock of bogeymen that’s due to show up for the meeting tomorrow.»
It was only half the truth. Shea had not given up his idea of a grand assault on the place and the capture of all the enchanters at once. The previous evening, without telling Chalmers, he had been out to look over the ground.
At the precise point where the gate began to fade from view, with rocks and trees on the other side of the building showing through it, he stopped and took careful bearings on the nearby landmarks. He chuckled internally over the thought that these invisible castles wouldn’t be practical if the people of Faerie knew a little elementary surveying. Then he wedged the gate open with a small stone and slipped off among the trees.
There he cautiously whistled the tune Belphebe had taught him. No result. He went through it a second time and a third, wondering how long it would be before his absence were noticed. He was just about to give up when he saw a unicorn, apparently the same one Belphebe had ridden, peering from behind a tree. It sniffed suspiciously before coming forward to mouth one of the maple-sugar lumps.
Shea wrote:
DEAREST BELPHEBE: We are at Busyrane’s castle. It lies about two hours’ ride along the road from the place where we got away from he Da Derga. Looks like a hut till you turn off the road east and follow a track till you get to a big oak tree, the biggest in the neighbourhood, in line with a hill that has a round top. Then you can see the castle. Could you arrange to be in the neighbourhood in about forty-eight hours? I’ll call the unicorn at that time and if you’re riding it, will see you. Be careful about the magicians, will you?
H.S.
He impaled the note on the unicorn’s horn and shooed the animal away. Now, he thought, if I make a break from the castle. I’ll have a guide. If I don’t, at least I’ll see her again — That was last night. During the morning, he was more and more nervous and preoccupied, and now for the second time he had wandered from the incantation he and Chalmers were trying to work. «Nothing much,» he had answered Chalmers’ inquiry. Chalmers glanced at him shrewdly and hummed:
«Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a layde!»
Shea looked at his partner sharply, but Chalmers expression was bland. How much did he suspect?
But Chalmers was wrapped up in the task. «Now,» he said, «let’s try again. ‘By Fafnir and Python, Midgardsormr and yang —’» the incantation rolled out. The smoke from the fire in the cage thickened, and the amateur enchanters went on, ready to yell the counterspell Chalmers had worked out if the thing got out of hand.
It was a variant on the original dragon spell, with wording and preparations slightly changed. There was a shrill metallic hiss and a minor convulsion in the smoke. The incantation stopped. The incantators stood gauping.
They had produced a dragon all right. One dragon, not a hundred. But this dragon was ten inches long, with bat wings and a prominent sting on the end of its tail, it breathed fire.
The bars of the cage had been made strong enough to hold a dragon of conventional size. But this little horror fluttered up to them, squeezed through, and flew straight at the experimenters.
«Yeow!» yelled Shea, as a blast of flame from its jaws singed the hair off the back of his hand. «Awk!» shrieked Chalmers as the sting got him in the ankle. They tumbled over each other and dashed around the laboratory, Shea brandishing his épée and Chalmers swinging a pestle. The dragonlet dodged past them and flew through the door into the corridor. There was a rustle and a heavy clank.
Shea went down the corridor. He came back with his face a trifle white.
«The cockatrice looked at it,» he said, and held out a perfect stone dragon, ten inches long.
«Put it down,» said Chalmers gloomily. He hobbled around, looking for something to put on his stung ankle. «Damnation, Harold, if there were only some way to control these things quantitatively —»
«I thought that was it,» replied Shea. «What went wrong to give us that animated blowtorch?»
«I don’t know. The only. uh. certitude is that we got our decimal point off again. We got point oh oh oh one dragon instead of a hundred dragons. I confess, the solution eludes me. The calculus of classes contains no aspect of quantitative accuracy —»
The rest of the day gave them a sea horse three feet long and, after some effort, a cask to put it in; six stuffed owls with blue glass eyes: and finally a large and amiable Tomcat with nine tails. The last experiment found a moon looking in the castle window, so they gave up and went to bed. Chalmers murmured sadly that if he tried to give Florimel a human body in the present state of his knowledge, he’d probably make her into a set of lovely but embarrassing Siamese triplets.
There were noises during the night. Neither slept well till towards morning. When they rose, someone was tapping at their door.
It proved to be along-eared, potbellied imp, who handed them a sheet of parchment, grinned, and sped off down the corridor. Shea and Chalmers read:
Ye Encaunters’Chapter
will meete in Council this daye
in ye great Hall of Castle Busyrane
Arcimage
Maistre Magitian Busyraine
Viceregente
M. M. Dolon
Arciviste
M. M. Courromont
Keeper of ye Moneys
M. M. Voulandour
Ye Fyrst Daye
Addresse of ye Arcimage
M. M. Busyraine
Reading of ye minutes
M. M. Courromont
Report on ye treasurie
M. M. Voulandour
Here will new members be Thought on
Now cometh ye professional meeting
I. M. M. Dolon — «Ye powers magical of six selected Water Fae-Human hybrids.»
II. M. M. Surnoy — «A new use for ye Blood of unbaptized infants.»
III. M. M. Nuisane — «Of ye comparitive efficacie of ye Essence of ye Spotted Frogge & ye Common Green Frogge in sleeping Enchauntments.»
These all with Diverse experiments and shews by ye Maistres aforesaid.
Daye ye Second
Ye Maistres will meete in Executive Council
in ye D.M.
Banquet
At Vespers
Maistre of ye Toasts
M. M. Nuisane
Ye Black Masse will be Celebrated after, followed by a Grand Ball, with various Comeley Witches, Sprites and Succubi.
«Sounds like a big occasion,» observed Shea. «Let’s go down to the great hall and see whom can we find.»
They found their way to a huge room whose stained-glass windows bore pictures of mystical signs grouped round centrepieces of knights in magical torment. Already five people were gathered at one end, talking earnestly. Shea recognized Busyrane, Dolon, and Duessa. He caught a fragment of a story Dolon was telling: — «and I say he was no more than a bungling poursuivant, journeyman though he ranked. Imagine summoning up a devil, but leaving one corner of the pentagon open! He deserved no better than he got — ho-ho! — which was to have his head torn off by the demon’s red-hot pincers! Ha, here come my pair! Busyrane, do ’em the honours!»
The Archimage bowed, first to Duessa and then to the new arrivals. «We are highly favoured,» he said, «to present Master Reed de Chalmers, who has applied for elevation to the honourable state of mastership of our Chapter. He is most expert in the production of singular monsters, also a man full of ideas for the benefit of our order. Also his apprentice, Harold de Shea.»
* * *
Was there a slight change in the voice on that last sentence? Shea could not be sure, and Duessa was curtsying, pronouncing in a fine contralto: «Enchanted, good magical sirs.» With that red hair she was certainly a beauty when she wanted to be gracious. If only — Plop! A bare-necked vulture flopped through the window and lit beside them, then changed into a hook-nosed man in a long monk’s outfit, «The good Fripon!» exclaimed Dolon. «How wags the world with you?»
«By your leave, not well,» croaked the good Fripon, sadly. «I had all but trapped that wretch Belphebe, when what does she do but get a counterspell from Cambina, then shoot an arrow through one of the best sprites I ever had. Curse her! She’s killing off the Losels, too.»
«I live for the day when I can tear her toenails out,» said Duessa venomously. Shea’s scalp tingled. A dust whirlwind that puffed in the window set everyone coughing, and dissolved into a short, fat man, who mopped his brow.
«Whew!» he said. «Fatiguing! Still it’s better than walking for a man of my figure. Hope you have an ample lunch, Busyrane. Always thinking of my belly, that’s me, Voulandoure, at your service. Ah, fair Duessa! And the good Fripon! Still cheating the grave-digger, my gloomy friend?» He poked Fripon’s ribs.
Now magicians began to pour into the hall, by window and door, so many of them Shea could not keep up with their names. The trumpet for the midday meat found him vainly trying to catch up — and also separated him from Chalmers, who was taken in tow to sit at the masters’ table.
Shea found himself next to a fuzzy-haired youth who said shyly; «Pray, generous sir, may I see your enchanted blade?»
«Huh?» said Shea. «But it —» before it occurred to him that no useful purpose would be served by disillusioning these people about the épée. He produced it and handed it over. The fuzzy young man waved it over the table, making noises of approval.
«I feel no sudden access of strength,» he remarked. «The spell must be very subtle. Or perhaps it is one you use on yourself — no, that could not be, for Cambina’s magic prevented the use of such spells at the tournament. Hey, Grimbald!» He reached across and touched the blue-cowled man on Shea’s other side. «He beat two of the most renowned knights of Faerie with this toothpick!»
«Aye,» replied the other, looking up from his plate, «including one of ours.» He addressed Shea directly. «Knew you not that Blandamour and Paridell, though they wear the Faerie livery, are in the service of this Chapter? Nay, you’re not a member — how could you? But ’ware both in the future.»
That explained a lot, thought Shea: the actions of the two knights, for one thing; and for another, why the magicians were so polite to him, though his rating was no more than that of an apprentice. There would be something practically supernatural about modern fencing technique to these people.
* * *
Busyrane had arranged his hair so that the light failing through the stained-glass window touched it to a halo. He might have been some kindly saint as he began:
«Magical sirs and ladies: Many are the pleasures that have fallen to our lot, but none equal to that of beholding you here assembled beneath our humble roof to carry on the good name and high purpose of magic. Ah, how much better and brighter a world it were if all in it could but know you all — could but see you all. My friends —»
The afternoon was warm, the lunch had been ample, and Shea had a feeling of having heard something like this before. His eyelids began to weigh on him. The smooth voice rolled on:
«— in the days of King Huon of glorious and blessed memory, my friends, when we lived a more abundant life —»
Shea felt himself itching, now here, now there, now all over. He made one more effort to keep awake, then lapsed into an unashamed doze.
He was aroused by a mild patter of applause. Busyrane’s place was taken by the keeper of ye archives, Courromont, a thin-lipped, bloodless-looking man, who hardly moved his mouth as he read:
«At the council of the Enchanters’ Chapter on August 1st following the address of our beloved archimage six members were advanced in grade from apprentice to journeyman and one journeyman member to wit the esteemed Sournoy was advanced to the full rank of master magician it was furthermore decided to raise the annual dues from seven and a half to ten elfars papers were read at the professional session by Master Magicians Malvigen and Denfero with various works of magical prowess in illustration it was furthermore resolved in the executive session to empower a special committee for drastic action against certain representatives of the Old Order whose activities have become threatening to wit the knight Sir Cambell and Belphebe of the Woods and the Princess Britomart the knights of the Chapter Blandamour and Paridell were accordingly —»
Shea came wide awake, but there were no details. Busyrane merely asked if it were moved and seconded that the minutes be accepted. They were.
Voulandoure’s fat face shone greasily in the heat as he droned off figures and urged members to pay their dues on time. What could those plans for drastic action have been? Presumably the late Malvigen had tried one of them when he got Belphebe’s arrow through him, but what else?
His attention was snapped back by Busyrane’s use of his name: «— proposed that the magicians Reed de Chalmers and Harold de Shea be admitted with the ranks of master magician and apprentice. If these gentlemen will kindly leave the room —»
Outside, Shea said softly; «Did you hear what they said about Belphebe?»
«Dear me, yes. Duessa seems quite determined on that point. She used a most vulgar term in speaking of her — one normally employed in the. uh. propagation of dogs. When —»
«What are they going to do? Specifically?» Shea’s voice was urgent.
«I —» The door opened and a voice called: «Master Reed de Chalmers.»
* * *
Shea was left to fidget for five minutes before being summoned. Busyrane grasped him by the hand at the door and led him to the front of the hall. «We present to you the apprentice Harold de Shea as a member of this Chapter,» he said. «A very worthy magical person, adept in the production of strange monsters, adroit in enchantments connected with the profession of arms. Apprentice Harold de Shea» — he turned towards the new member — «as members of a high intellectual calling we despise the silly ceremonies of admission such as the court uses for its orders of knighthood. Therefore, we will merely bid you welcome; but doubtless the other apprentices will have something to say to you tomorrow night after the Black Mass.»
Voulandoure came over and squeezed Shea’s hand in his own thick, moist ones. «My ’gratulations, also, magical sirs!» He lowered his voice. «May I point out the initiation fee —»
«Ahem,» said Chalmers, who had joined the group. «How much?»
«Fifty elfars for yourself, Master Magician Reed, and twenty-five for ’Prentice Harold.»
Chalmers looked slightly stricken. He fished out the money bag. His face showed some relief, but not much, when its contents proved adequate «I should think,» he remarked, «that with so many fine magicians about, you’d have no difficulty in conjuring up. uh. all necessary funds.»
A shadow crossed the face of ye keeper of ye moneys. «Alas, magical sir, our great problem! ’Tis a department involving the use of the philosophers’ stone and the blood of infants, this much we know. But our research in the question had been interrupted by the activities of that curst court and the Companions, and I fear me we shall never succeed till we rid ourselves of them.»
«Aye,» said Dolon. «The one who came nearest the solution was the enchantress Acrasia. She did make a conjured gold that was all but permanent; met every test, and would only turn to ashes when one pronounced a Pater Noster. But where’s Acrasia now? Eh? Dead, down and drownded by one of Gloriana’s Companions, a murrain on them all!»
«Good Master Dolon!» It was Busyrane. «The professional meeting is called, and I doubt not the other masters are as eager as we ourselves to hear your paper.»
Shea found the fuzzy-haired youth at his elbow. «D’you play at checks? We ’prentices are left much to our own devisings when the masters gabble.»
«Checks?»
«Aye, you know, king, queen, knight, fool, pawn, check and you’re mate. I’m hand in glove with one of Busyrane’s imps, who’ll furnish us a mug or two of musty ale to pass the time while we play.»
It sounded an attractive programme. But Shea remembered that chess game afterward. The fuzz-haired apprentice was not naturally a good player. Shea beat him in the first two games easily, winning the small bets the youth insisted on «to make the sport more interesting». Then the musty ale or the youth’s magic too late Shea remembered what profession he was an apprentice in, rose up and bit him. The fuzzy one’s pieces turned up in the most unexpected places, executing the most astonishing gambits and combinations. With every new defeat Shea grew more annoyed. Whether through annoyance or the musty ale, he began offering to double the bets for the next one.
When the doors at the end of the hall were flung open and the master magicians emerged, the fuzzy youth was remarking gaily: «That makes eighty-six elfars, sixteen you stand in my debt. Ha-ha, that reminds me. Did I ever tell you about the journeyman Sligon, who owed my master, Voulandoure, sixty elfars over a box of dice? He refused to pay — said he couldn’t — even when Vouldandoure sent him a plague of boils. Well, wasn’t it funny, when Sligon was playing with his own cat one day, that he should turn into a fish? I say a good magician should never lack for money, when there are people who can be kidnapped and ransomed. Don’t you agree?»
«That’s right,» said Shea with a heartiness which he hoped didn’t sound too hollow. He got up to join Chalmers.
The elder psychologist was looking pleased with himself. «A trifle harrowing that session, but gratifyingly informative,» he said as they went towards their rooms. «I really feel I’ve learned something about quantitative control. In fact, I’m confident that in a few months’ research I can learn enough not only to transform Florimel and to rejuvenate myself, but also to. uh. revolutionize the entire practice of magic in Faerie, to make its benefits available to all.»
«Yes, but» — Shea looked worried — «did you find out what they intend to do about Belphebe?»
«I gather that that is a matter for the. uh. executive session of tomorrow. But as I understand the outlines of the plan, it is not to direct the enchantments against her in person. She’s protected against them. They intend rather to place spells on the two or three places where she sleeps, with the design of causing her to fall into so deep a slumber that she can be captured.»
They paused on Chalmers’ threshold. He added: «However, I wouldn’t worry about the young woman’s. uh. safety, Harold. As I understand it she is to be brought here, and I am sure that as a member of the Chapter I can persuade them not to harm her. In fact —»
«For the love of Mike, Doc, are you throwing in with these guys, or just plain daffy? Didn’t you hear Duessa talking about pulling Belphebe’s toenails out, come the Revolution, and Dolon mentioning the torture chamber? Wake up! You’re being an old fool!»
«Harold, I must request you not to use such intemperate language. After all, I’m somewhat your senior, and I require the uninterrupted use of all facilities as well as your own cordial cooperation to put this matter on a scientific basis. In a few months I shall be in a position to effect an industrial revolution in magic —»
«Theory! Months! I might have known that’s what you’d be after! Can’t you realize somebody’s in danger?»
«I shall certainly give my most earnest attention to persuading the other members of the Chapter that this young woman to whom you are so attached is innocuous, and —»
«Oh, for Pete’s sake! Forget it! Good night.» Shea stalked out, more angry with Chalmers than he had ever been before. He did not hear the velvety click of the Judas window in Chalmers’ room. Nor could he overhear the two men in the secret passage that led to that window.
Busyrane’s voice was bland. «We were good enough to warn you that the young man was a suspicious character and mingled somehow in the affairs of the court.»
«Can it be that my judgment, usually so keen, was altogether thrown off?» asked Dolon.
«Oh, you were right about the older. He’s a proper magician and devoted to the Chapter. But the younger — he’ll bear more than watching. A friend of Belphebe, forsooth.»
NINE
Shea lay in bed, staring at the black ceiling. No use trying to get the Doc to do anything. His heart was in the right place. But between his devotion to Florimel and his devotion to theory he could not be convinced that these enchanters, who talked so glibly of intellectual achievements, were bloody-minded racketeers who intended to put Belphebe, Britomart, and a lot of others to a slow and intricate death.
Shea shuddered as he thought of it. Whatever was done to save them, he would have to do, quickly. Yes, and to keep Chalmers from turning the products of his really fine scientific mind over to these rascals.
The castle was silent. He slipped out of bed, dressed, and buckled the faithful épée over his shoulder. It would not be much use against enchantments. But as long as the enchanters themselves believed it had magical power, it would help.
The door swung open noiselessly. There was no light in the corridor. The stone floor was cold under Shea’s feet. His soft leather boots made soundless progress. If he kept one hand along the wall, he thought he could find the way to the great hall, and so out. Step — step — the hand that had been following the wall touched nothingness. An appalling odour of cockatrice assailed his nostrils. Evidently the door of somebody’s laboratory. He went down to hands and knees and slithered past an inch at a time, hoping the creature would not wake up.
So. Here was the head of the stair. He took one step down, two — and felt something soft touch his ankles. Another step and the something soft was clear to his waist, catching at him. it felt ropy and vaguely slimy, a whole tangle of slime — cobwebs! For a moment Harold Shea felt unreasoning panic, as it seemed that going ahead and turning back would be equally fatal. Then he realized that this would be some of Busyrane’s magic, part of the ordinary castle safeguards, and of no special significance.
Yet what would cut through or destroy cobwebs? Fire. He had no fire. But in his previous adventure in Scandinavian myth, Surt’s giants had made use of flaming swords, and he had the épée. With an incantation to make use of the law of similarity, it might become a flaming sword. On that narrow, stone-walled spiral staircase it was altogether unlikely that anyone would be able to see the light.
With the ghostly fingers of the cobwebs clutching at his legs, Shea stood on the stair and thought as he never had before of a spell:
Sword, sword, sword that is now my salvation,
Make me a light to cut through these cobwebs;
Be like Surt’s sword to cut through this maze.
He could feel the hilt growing warm.
Help my escape to reach consummation;
In the name of Durandal, help me to be free.
It was not outrageously good poetry, but the hilt was so hot that he snatched it out. A smoky red flame ran down the blade and dropped from the point, revealing the whole stairwell from wall to wall and as high as Shea stood, filled with a solid mass of the hideous grey material. A man could smother in it easier than not. Busyrane left nothing to chance.
Shea slashed at the stuff with the flaming épée. It shrivelled left and right before him, back against the wall with hissing, foul-smelling flames running along the strands. He advanced slowly, cutting one step at a time. As he reached the bottom and the last cobwebs, the fire in the blade went out. He was in the great hall; but a few steps carried him through it, across the forecourt and to the gate.
A moon looked down out of a cloudless sky. Shea cursed it softly to himself, wondering whether he ought to take a chance on crossing the open stretch between gate and the shelter of the trees before it set. He decided to try it.
Bending low, he scuttled rapidly across the space, his cloak flapping like a vampire’s wings. He made it without stumbling and looked back. The castle had disappeared. There was nothing visible but stony ground with the hut in the middle.
Once among the trees, he began pacing the circuit of the clearing, whistling very softly to himself the unicorn tune and pausing to listen. A quarter of the way round he was halted by a tense whisper, «Stand, sir!»
«Belphebe!»
«Aye.» She stepped from her place of concealment, arrow drawn to the head. «In good sooth you look like Harold de Shea. But show me how you hold that narrow sword.»
Shea drew the still-warm épée and demonstrated.
«Certes, then you are indeed he. I feared lest the enchanters had sent a phantom forth to beguile me. Right glad I am to see you, Square Harold.»
Shea said: «Say, I’m glad to see you, too. I knew I could depend —»
«Save your fair speeches for another hour. Here is danger. What is toward?»
Shea explained. Belphebe said: «For myself I fear not, though I thank you for the warning. Yet it’s somewhat otherwise with Britomart, who has not the protection of the woods so close as I. And sure it were shame to miss the chance of catching the entire Chapter at once. Let me think. I left Artegall at a woodcutter’s cot on the far flank of Loselwood. His man Talus had gone to fetch Cambina, that she might heal his bruises and calm his mind.»
«So Cambina’s a psychologist too! Why does he need his mind calmed?»
«Why, sir, he’s the chief justiciar of all Faerie. Without a calm mind, how shall he hold the balance even? Let us go thither and lay this matter before him. Certes, we two cannot lay so many rogues by the heels alone.»
Two hours of walking brought Shea to the yawning stage. The moon had set. Under the black trees, even the surefooted Belphebe found the going hard. She was ready to listen to suggestions for a nap.
«Sleep is still far from me now,» she said. «If you wish, I will keep watch for the first hour — which should be till the stars of the Bear sink to the top of that tree.» She pointed. Shea, too drowsy to notice, composed himself to rest.
The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake in a brightening world.
«Hey, young lady,» he said through his first yawn, «I thought you were going to wake me up after the first hour?»
«And so thought I. But you were so in comfort that I wanted the heart to rouse you. I need but little sleep.»
«Naughty. What about my masculine pride?»
She made a face at him. «I forgot that. Men are such foolish carls about it. But come.» She danced a step or two. «Tirra-lirra, a brave day! Let’s forth and seek our breakfast.»
As they walked along, Belphebe peering towards thickets for an edible target, and Shea a bit woozy from lack of sleep, he asked: «D’you suppose Cambina will have calmed Artegall down so he’ll listen to my explanations before he starts carving?»
«A thing to think on! Will you hide whilst I speak him fair?»
«Guess I’ll take a chance on his temper.» Shea wasn’t going to have his dream-girl suspect him of timidity at this stage. He was sure he could outrun the bulky justiciar if necessary.
«Marry, I would not have you answer otherwise!» She smiled at him, and he felt rewarded. She went on, scrutinizing him: «Many knights, squires, and yeomen have I kenned, Master Harold, but never a wight like you. You speak fair, yet half the time with words I wot not of. You promised to explain the meanings of those wherewith you put the Blatant Beast to rout.»
Shea replied: «Curiosity killed a cat.»
«Miauw! Yet of this cat’s allotted nine, I have several left to draw upon.»
«I really can’t, Belphebe. Magical reasons.»
«Oh. Well then, tell me the meaning of the strange thing you called the Lady Cambina even now.»
«Psychologist?»
«Aye.»
Shea gave an account in words of one syllable of the science of psychology, and of his own experiences in its practice. Under the girl’s admiring curiosity he expanded. Before he knew it he was practically telling her the story of his life. As soon as he realized this, he cut his autobiography off short, not wanting to leave her with nothing to be curious about.
Belphebe said: «A strange tale, Squire. Gin you speak truth, this homeland of yours were worth the seeing.» She sighed a little. «The wilds of Faerie I know like my own palm. And since I will not tarry at Gloriana’s tedious court, there’s nothing left for me but to hunt the Losels and such vile — Sst!» She broke off, moved slowly a couple of steps, and loosed an arrow. It knocked over a rabbit.
While they dressed and cooked their breakfast, Shea thought. He finally ventured: «Look here, kid, someday Doc and I will be going back, I suppose. Why don’t you plan to come with us?»
Belphebe raised her eyebrows. «’Tis a thought audacious. But stay — could I live among the woods-paths as I do here?»
«Unh.» Shea imagined the horrible complications that would ensue if Belphebe tried to lead her present life in Ohio’s close-fenced farmland. «I’m afraid that wouldn’t be practical. But there’s plenty else to do.»
«What then? How should I live in one of your great towns?»
That problem had not occurred to Shea. He revised his estimate of Belphebe. The girl might look like something out of a medieval romance, but she had a core of hard common sense. The only job he could think of for her was giving bow-and-arrow lessons, and he hardly supposed the demand for professional archers to be large.
He said vaguely: «Oh, we’ll figure something out. Doc and I would see to it that you were — uh — uh.»
«Harold!» she said sharply, «What are you proposing? Think not that because I lead a free roving life, I —»
«No, no, I didn’t mean — uh.»
«What then?»
He thought again. One obvious solution was staring him in the face; yet to bring it up so early might spoil everything. Still, nothing ventured
He drew a deep breath and plunged: «You could marry me.»
Belphebe’s mouth fell open. It was some seconds before she answered: «You jest, good Squire!»
«Not at all. People do it in my country, you know, just like here.»
«But — knew you not that lam affianced to Squire Timias?»
It was Shea’s turn to stare blankly
Belphebe said: «Nay, good friend, take it not so to heart. I had thought it known to the world, else I should have told you. The fault was mine.»
«No I mean. it wasn’t let’s skip it.»
«Skip it?» said Belphebe wonderingly. Shea bent over his rabbit-haunch, muttering something about the meat’s being good.
Belphebe said: «Be not angry, Harold. Not willingly would I hurt you, for I like you well. And had I know you sooner. But my word is given.»
«I suppose so,» said Shea sombrely. «What sort of man is your friend Timias?» He wondered whether the question had a useful purpose, or whether he was showing a slight touch of masochism in keeping the painful subject alive.
Belphebe’s face softened. «A most sweet boy; shrinking and sensitive, not like these brawling knightly ruffians.»
«What are his positive qualities?» asked Shea.
«Why — ah — he can sing a madrigal better than most.»
«Is that all?» said Shea with a touch of sarcasm.
Belphebe bridled. «I know not what you mean. ’Tis even the core of the matter that he’s no bold confident venturer like yourself.»
«Doesn’t sound to me like much of a reason for marrying anybody. I came across a lot of cases like that in my psych work; usually the woman lived to regret it.»
Belphebe jumped up angrily. «So, Squire, you inquire of my privy affairs that you may sting me with your adder’s tongue? Fie on you! It regards not you whom I marry, or why.»
Shea grinned offensively. «I was just making general remarks. If you want to take them personally, that’s your lookout. I still say a woman is taking a lousy chance to marry a human rabbit in the hope of making a lion out of him.»
«A murrain on your general remarks!» cried Belphebe passionately. «An you would company me, I’ll thank you to keep your long tongue in its proper groove! Better rabbit than fox with pretence of marriage —»
«What do you mean, pretence?» barked Shea. «I meant that when I said it! Though now I see that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea —»
«Oh, you do? You change your mind quickly! I’ll warrant me you’d have done so in any case!»
Shea got himself under control, and said: «Let’s not go any farther with this, Belphebe. I’m sorry I made those cracks about your boy-friend. I won’t mention him again. Let’s be friends.»
Belphebe’s anger wilted. «And right sorry am I that I threw your proposal in your face, Squire Harold; ’twas a sad discourtesy.» Shea was surprised to see a trace of moisture in her eye. She blinked rapidly and smiled. «So, we are friends, and our breakfast done. Let us be on.»
The new sun was a patch of flecks of orange fire through the foliage. They found a sluggish little stream and had to squeeze through the thickets on its banks.
They reached a stretch of drier ground where the glades expanded to continuous meadow and the forest shrank to clumps of trees. They left one of these clumps and were swishing through the long grass, when a leathery rustle made them look up.
Overhead swooped a nightmarish reptile the size of an observation plane. It had two legs and a pair of huge bat-wings. On its back rode Busyrane, all clad in armour, but his face, which was smiling benignly. «Well met, dear friends!» he called down. «What a pleasing thought! Both at once!»
Twunk! went Belphebe’s bow. The arrow soared through one wing membrane. The beast hissed a little and banked for a turn.
«Into the woods!» cried Belphebe and set the example. «The wivern cannot fly among the trees.»
«What did you call it? Looks like some kind of a long-trailed pterodactyl to me.» Shea craned his neck as the sinister shadow wove to and fro above the leaves.
Belphebe led the way to the opposite side of the grove. When Busyrane circled above the segment away from them, they dashed across the open space and into the next clump. A shrill hiss behind and above warned them that they had been spotted.
They worked their way through this grove. From under the trees they could see Busyrane silhouetted against the sky, while he couldn’t see them.
«Now!» said Belphebe, and ran like an antelope through the long grass. Shea pounded after. This was a longer run than the first, a hundred yards or more. Halfway across he heard the hiss of cloven air behind and drove himself for all his strained lungs were worth. The shadow of the monster unblurred in front of him. It was too far, too far — and then he was under the friendly trees. He caught a glimpse of the reptile, horribly close, pulling up in a stall to avoid the branches.
Shea leaned against a trunk, puffing. «How much more of this is there?»
Belphebe’s face had a frown. «Woe’s me; I fear this forest thins ere it thickens. But let’s see.»
They worked round the edges of the grove, but it was small, and the distance to all others, but the one they had come from, prohibitively great.
«Looks like we have to go back,» said Shea.
«Aye. I like not that. Assuredly he will not have pursued us alone.»
«True for you. I think I see something there.» He pointed to a group of distant figures, pink in the rising sun.
Belphebe gave a little squeak of dismay. «Alack, now we are undone, for they are a numerous company. If we stay, they surround us. If we flee, Busyrane follows on that grim mount — What are you doing?»
Shea had gotten out his knife and was whittling the base of a tall sapling. He replied: «You’ll see. This worked once and ought to again. You’re good at tree climbing; see if you can find a bird’s nest. I need a fistful of feathers.»
She went, puzzled but obedient. When she returned with the feathers, Shea was rigging up a contraption of sapling trunk and twigs, tied together with ivy vine. He hoped it wasn’t poison ivy. It bore some resemblance to an enormous broom. As Shea lashed a couple of crosspieces to the stick he explained: «The other one I made a single-seater. This’ll have to carry tandem. Let’s see the feathers, kid.»
He tossed one aloft, repeating the dimly remembered spell he had used once before, and then shoved it in among the twigs.
«Now,» he said, «I’m the pilot and you’re the gunner. Get astride here. Think you can handle your bow while riding this thing?»
«What will it do?» she asked, looking at Shea with new respect.
«We’re going up to tackle Busyrane in his own element. Say, look at that mob! We better get going!» As the pursuers came nearer, thrashing the brushes of the near-by groves in their hunt, Shea could see that they were a fine collection of monsters: men with animal heads, horrors with three or four arms, bodies and faces rearing from the legless bottoms of snakes.
They straddled the broom. Shea chanted:
«By oak, ash, and yew,
The high air through,
To slay this vile caitiff,
Fly swiftly and true!»
The broom started with a rush, up a long slant. As it shot out of the grove and over the heads of the nearest of the pursuit, they broke into a chorus of shouts, barks, roars, meows, screams, hisses, bellows, chirps, squawks, snarls, brays, growls and whinnies. The effect was astounding.
But Shea’s mind was occupied. He was pleased to observe that this homemade broom seemed fairly steady though slower than the one he had hexed in the land of Scandinavian myth. He remembered vaguely that in aerial dogfighting the first step is to gain an advantage in altitude.
Up they went in a spiral. Busyrane came into view on his wivern, bearing towards them. The enchanter had his sword out, but as the wivern climbed after them Shea was relieved to see that he was gaining.
A couple of hundred feet above the enemy he swung the broom around. Over his shoulder he said; «Get ready; we’re going to dive on them.» Then he noticed that Bephebe was gripping the stick with both hands, her knuckles white.
«Ever been off the ground before?» he asked.
«N-nay. Oh, Squire Harold, this is a new and very fearsome thing. When I look down —» She shuddered and blinked.
«Don’t let a little acrophobia throw you. Look at your target, not the ground.»
«I essay.»
«Good girl!» Shea nosed the broom down. The wivern glared up and opened its fanged jaws He aimed straight for the red-lined maw. At the last minute he swerved aside; heard the jaws clomp vainly and the bowstring snap.
«Missed,» said Belphebe. She was looking positively green under her freckles. Shea, no roller-coaster addict, guessed how she felt.
«Steady,» he said, nosing up and then dodging as the wivern flapped towards them with surprising speed. «We’ll try a little shallower dive.»
She came down again. The wivern turned, too. Shea didn’t bank far enough, and he was almost swept into the jaws by the centrifugal force of his own turn. They went clomp a yard from the tail of the bottom «Whew,» said Shea on the climb. «Hit anything?»
«Busyrane, but it hurt him not. He bears armour of proof and belike some magic garment as well.»
«Try to wing the wivern, then.» They shot past the beast, well beyond reach of the scaly neck. Twunk! An arrow fixed itself among the plates behind the head. But the wivern, appearing unhurt, put on another burst of speed and Shea barely climbed over its rush, with Busyrane yelling beneath him.
Belphebe had her acrophobia under control now. She leaned over and let go three more arrows in rapid succession. One bounced off the reptile’s back plates. One went through a wing membrane. The third stuck in its tail. None of them bothered it.
«I know,» said Shea. «We aren’t penetrating its armour at this range. Hold on; I’m going to try something.»
They climbed. When they had good altitude, Shea dove past the wivern. It snapped at them, missed, and dived in pursuit.
The wind whistled in Shea’s ears and blurred his vision.
Forest and glade opened out below; little dots expanded to the pursuers on foot. Shea glanced back; the wivern hung in space behind, its wings half furled. He levelled out, then jerked the broom’s nose up sharply. The universe did a colossal somersault and they straightened away behind the wivern. In the seconds the loop had taken, the beast had lost sight of them. Shea nosed down and they glided in under the right wing, so close they could feel the air go fuff with the wing beat.
Shea got one glimpse of Busyrane’s astonished face before the wing hid it. The scale skin pulsed over the immense flying muscles for one beat. «Now!» he barked.
Twunk! Twunk! Belphebe had drawn the bow hard home, and the arrows tore into the beast’s brisket.
There was a whistling scream, then catastrophe. The wide wing whammed down on the aviators, almost knocking Shea from his seat. They were no longer flying, but tumbling over and over, downward. The top of a tree slashed at Shea’s face. Dazedly, he heard the wivern crash and tried to right the broom. It nosed up into a loop and hung. A cry from behind him, receding towards the earth, froze him. He saw Belphebe tumble into the grass, twenty feet down, and a wave of the monster men close over her.
* * *
Shea manhandled his broomstick around, fervently wishing he had a lighter one — a pursuit job. By the time he got it aimed at the place where he had last seen Belphebe, there was no sign of her or of Busyrane either. The wivern sprawled bloatedly in the grass with hundreds of the enchanter’s allies swarming round it.
Shea drew his épée and dived at the thick of them. They screeched at him, some of producing clumsy breast bows. He swooped towards a monster with a crocodile head as the strings began snapping. The arrows went far behind, but just as Shea stiffened his arm for the gliding thrust, Crocodile-head thinned to a puff of mist. The épée met no resistance. As Shea held his glide, parallel with the ground, he found the crowding monsters disappearing before him. He pulled up, looking back. They were materializing behind. More arrows buzzed past.
He circled, cutting another swath through them. No sign of Belphebe.
At the third charge an arrow caught in his cloak. The flint head of another drove through his boot and a quarter inch into his calf. The goblins were learning and-aircraft lire. But of Belphebe there was still no sign, and now the ghost men were streaming towards him out of the woods on all sides. In every direction they were hopping, yelling, drawing their crude bows.
He climbed out of bowshot and circled, locking. No luck. It would have to be some other way. He felt slightly sick.
He went up higher, till the vast green expanse of Loselwood spread out before him. The sun was well up. Under it he fancied he could see the region where he had tangled with the Da Derga. Beyond should be the edge of the forest, where he and Chalmers had met their first Losels.
TEN
An hour of cruising showed him a clearing with a little garden, a thatched cottage, and a circular palisade of pointed stakes around the whole. He helixed down slowly.
A man came out of the wood and entered the palisade through a gate. Shea caught a glimpse of red face and black beard as his own shadows whisking across the grass, brought the man’s eyes upward. The man dashed into the cottage as if all the fiends of Hell were after him. In a moment two armoured men came out. The shield of one bore the striking black and silver gyronny of Sir Cambell.
«By oak, ash and yew;
My broomstick true,
Like a dead leaf descending,
So softly fall you!»
That was not quite the right way to put it, as Shea immediately learned. The broom settled slowly, but remorselessly literal, carried the imitation of a dead leaf to the point of a dizzying whirl. Cottage, forest, and waiting knights came to him in a spinning blur.
Shea felt the ground under his feet. He staggered dizzily.
Artegall roared: «By’r Lady, ’tis the enchanter’s varlet!» His sword came out, Wheep!
Shea said: «You’re just the man I’m looking for —»
«That I warrant!» His laugh was a nasty bark. «But you’ll accomplish no more magician’s tricks on me. I have a protection, which is more than you have against this!» He shook the sword and swung it back.
«Wait a minute!» cried Shea. «I can explain, honest —»
«Explain to the devils of Hell, where you soon will be!»
* * *
At that moment Britomart and Cambina came out of the cabin. Shea wondered frantically whether to run towards them, try to start the broom, or — What was that? A set of little patterns was faintly visible on Artegall’s breastplate as he turned in the morning sun. They were the type of pattern that would be left by soldering on brass oak leaves and then prying them off.
«Hey!» he said. «You’re the guy who showed up in the oak leaves at Satyrane’s tournament and won the second prize but didn’t stop to collect it!»
«Huh? How knew you — What mean you, rogue?»
«Just what I say. You fought for the challengers, and Britomart knocked you off your pony, didn’t she?»
«’Tis to be said. ah —» Artegall turned his scowl on Britomart. She glared back.
«Come, good friends,» said Cambina, «no variance. I proclaim it was Sir Artegall, for I penetrated his disguise. Come, Artegall, confess; you cannot hide the sun at the bottom of a bucket.»
«I suppose I must,» growled the knight. «I did but wish to make proof whether I were as strong in the lists as I seemed, or whether certain of the knights would rather fall off their horses than oppose the queens justiciar.» He turned to Britomart. «You have a rude way towards an affianced husband, my lady!»
Shea caught Britomart’s eye and winked violently. She turned on Artegall a look that would have melted granite. «Ah, my dear lord, had I but known! Yet surely you shall feel no shame at that one overthrow, for ’twas the combination of that enchanted ebony spear I bear and your own horse’s stumbling, neither alone sufficient.» She reached for his mailed arm. «When we are wed I shall leave these broils and tournaments to you.»
Campbell and Cambina looked at Britomart, then at each other. The look implied they had never seen her act that way before. Shea repressed a grin. The brawny blonde learned fast.
Artegail smiled shamefacedly. «Why, dearest dame, that were a great sacrifice indeed. I knew not you cared so.» His voice hardened «But we have here a most villainous young rascal.»
«No rascal,» said Britomart, «but a true and loyal squire, whom I have sworn to my service and that of the queen.»
«Then what of his soaring through the sky like a bug or witch? Nay, he’s of the tribe of enchanters —»
«Not so,» interrupted Cambina. «His magic is white, even as my own; and my art tells me that this Harold de Shea will speak the truth if you’ll let him.»
Artegall scowled, but asked: «Then what’s the truth he would speak?»
Shea told his story quickly before a new argument could start. «That is good truth, I guarantee,» said Cambina, when he had finished, «and Belphebe is in deadly danger.»
«Then why stand we here at words?» snapped Artegall. «Ho, woodcutter! We start at once. Food and horses, as soon as they may be had, for all of us.»
Shea disapproved of this cavalier treatment, but didn’t feel called upon to comment. He said: «Going to collect an army?»
«Nay, not I. Time presses us too close. Here we must count on our own good arms and Cambina’s magic. Art afraid?»
«Try me.»
«There’s a stout younker.» The frown in Artegall’s brows cleared a bit. «I will be just and admit I held you wrong.»
* * *
The moon in this world, Shea observed, set only twelve or thirteen minutes later each night, instead of the fifty minutes later of his own earth. He and his four companions were crouched at the edge of the opening that hid Busyrane’s unseen castle. They did not attempt it till the moon had disappeared.
As they crossed the open space Shea whispered: «I’m afraid I can’t find the gate. Too dark to see my landmarks.»
«Small loss,» answered Cambina. Shea saw her dimly, doing things with her wand. Out of nothing grew a faint phosphorescence that resolved itself into a row of bars.
Cambina pointed the wand at it. The instrument elongated, flexing itself like some tame worm. The tip groped with the lock, inserting itself gently. There was a faint click.
The wand withdrew, then poked its end through the bars. Under the night song of the insects there came a faint grate as the bolt slid back. The gate was open.
As they tiptoed through, the infinitesimal jingle of the knight’s armour sounded to Shea’s ears like an earthquake in a kitchenware factory. Cambina pointed. Over their heads on the wall appeared a sentry, visible only as a cloak and hood, glowing with a phosphorescence almost too faint to he visible. The hood swung its black cavity towards them. Cambina pointed her wand, and the sentry froze in that position.
Light and music streamed from the windows of the great hall. Shea, leading because of his knowledge of the place and the fact that his tread was most nearly soundless, was heading for the door, when he tripped over a huge, hairy leg.
With simultaneous grunts a pair of Losels who had been stretched out on the steps rolled to their feet. While the one nearest was fumbling in the dark for his club, Shea drove the épée through the creature’s throat. Behind him he heard the other’s club swish up —
But the club failed to come down. He looked around and saw the Losel, club aloft, frozen to a statue like the sentry. The other Losel was expiring with quiet bubbling noises.
Cambina did things with her wand, and the door of the building swung open. There was light and noise within, but no one to see them. Across the corridor in which they stood was the entrance to the great hall, the door slightly ajar. Within, the revellers were too occupied with their grand ball to be watching the door.
Shea beckoned the four heads close to his and breathed: «This corridor runs around to the serving entrance.»
«Are there other doors beside those two?» asked Artegall, and when Shea shook his head went on: «Then do you, Squire, with Cambell and Cambina, take that entrance. Here Britomart and I will take our stand; for this is the place where they will naturally come and we are, I think, the best men-at-arms.»
Heads nodded. Shea and the other two stole down the corridor. Just before they reached the service entrance, an imp crossed the corridor from the kitchen with a tray in his hands.
He saw them. Cambell bounded forward and cut the imp in two. The bottom half of the imp ran back into the kitchen. There was an instant uproar.
The three ran a few steps to the service entrance and flung open the door.
Shea got one brief static picture of a roomful of magicians and red-lipped women looking at him. Some had their mouths open. Busyrane sat at one end of the horseshoe facing him, and he thought he recognized Chalmers. Before he could be certain, the photograph came to frenzied life.
He turned to face the noise behind. Out of the kitchen boiled a mass of imps and hobgoblins, bearing spits, knives, rolling pins. Shea neatly spitted the first on his épée, dodging the counter. The imp leaped backward off the blade and came on again. Behind him Shea heard the roar of the Chapter, Cambell’s deep war cry, and the whack of swords against his shield.
«I can. handle these,» panted Cambina. Her wand darted to and fro, freezing imp after imp. The rest started to run.
Shea turned back towards the hall, ust in time to thrust through the throat a magician trying to roll under Cambell’s legs with a knife, while others engaged the knight’s attention.
* * *
The noise was ear-splitting. Cambell filled the door, and at the far end Britomart was doing equally well. Artegall had leaped into the hall and was swinging his great sword with both hands. His temper might he bad, but he was certainly a good man to have around in a roughhouse.
The lights dimmed to negligibie red sparks. Cambina cried a spell and waved her wand; the magicians glowed with blue phosphorescence in the dark. The scene became that of a photographic negative — a wild one, with some of the enchanters turning themselves into winged things to flee, other hurling themselves upon the fighters, striking sparks.
A whole press at once bore down on Cambell. Shea saw a glowing head fly from its shoulders, and himself thrust past the knight’s shield arm against something that gave before his blade. Then he was out in the room. A green mist whirled about him, plucking. A pink flash and it was gone.
Right in front of him a magician became a monstrous crab. Shea dodged it, clashed weapons with a still-human enchanter, thrust him through, and then went down as the falling man grabbed him by both ankles. He was stepped on four times before he kicked himself free. Colours, sparks, flashes of light danced about the room.
Just ahead a whole crowd were boiling around Artegall. Shea took one step and found himself confronting Busyrane in person. Busyrane’s eyes were twice their normal size with slit pupils, like a cat’s. For all his venerable appearance the enchanter was swinging a huge sword as though it were a foot-rule.
Shea gave back, almost slipping on a spot of blood. Busyrane came leaping nimbly after, slashing. The big sword, half seen, whirled in a continuous snaky blur. Shea parried, parried, backed, parried, and parried. The wall was against him.
There was no time even for ripostes against this demoniac attack. Shea took the last refuge of an outmatched fencer; leaped into a corps-а-corps and grabbed Busyrane around the waist with his free arm.
The magician seemed made of rubber and piano-wire. One hand clawed at Shea’s face. Shea ducked and buried his face in Busyrane’s cloak, trying to trip him. The magician fumbled for a dagger. Shea reflected that the weapon was probably poisoned.
But just at this moment Busyrane was jerked backward, dragging Shea to his knees after him. Shea threw himself back and up. Then he saw what was the matter with Busyrane. Around the archimage’s neck was clasped a pair of large, knobby hands. Just that and nothing more. Around the room, above, flitted a dozen more pairs of those disembodied hands, swooping at the throats of the enchanters.
Shea lunged. But Busyrane was made of stern stuff. He got the hands loose, his own sword up, and came back with a low cut. Shea lunged again. The magician, groggy from that strangling grip, had strength enough left to beat off Shea’s remises and one-twos. Shea tried a coupé and one-two and felt his point go home. He held his lunge, stabbing and stabbing.
Down went Busyrane. Shea looked around, The windows of the hall were jammed with the bats and owls and things into which the magicians had changed themselves. They were beaten. The knobby hands clustered around them, tearing off wings and wringing necks with fine impartiality. The lights flared up again. It was all over. Dead and dying monsters about the great hall changed back into men. Cambell, Artegall, and Britomart picked themselves up from the floor, slowly and with effort. Cambina drooped against the service door, almost fainting.
Artegall’s deep voice boomed: «Ha! Lives one yet?» Shea turned to see him kick over a table and swing back the big blood-dripping sword. He gave a leap and clutched the arm in time.
«Thank you, Harold,» said Chalmers from the floor where the table had been. Florimel was beside him. He was squeezing the neck of a bottle in both hands. The large joints of those hands were familiar. Shea realized that the disembodied pairs that had wrought such havoc among the enchanters were outsize copies of his partner’s.
«Nice work, Doc,» remarked Shea. To Artegall he said; «Don’t. He’s on our team.»
Chalmers gave a hand to Florimel. «You observe,» he remarked, «the improvement in my technique, although, goodness gracious! I didn’t expect the hands to be quite as efficacious as that!» He looked round the room, where nearly half the corpses showed marks of strangulation.
* * *
Cambell carried his wife to a seat and supported her. He said: «’Twill pass. She is much fordone with the labour of defeating those enchanters’ spells, and ’tis well she did so or we were all dead men.»
Artegall growled: «Master Harold has slain this Busyrane, a good end for as bad a man as drew breath; and Master Reed has slain more than any two of us with his own magic.»
«Said I not they were true and gallant gentlemen?» said Britomart.
«True, my sweet.» He wiped the sword on the skin of an enchanter’s robe. «Kneel, sirs!»
Shea and Chalmers went to their knees, but Cambell plucked at their sleeves. «Nay, on one knee only.»
Artegall tapped each on the shoulder. «I dub you knights. Be brave, honest, and true in the name of our gracious majesty. Rise, Sir Harold; rise, Sir Reed.»
Shea’s irrepressible grin broke out as he stood up. «How does it feel to be named official racket buster, Doc?»
«Quite. uh. normal, I assure you. The really important fact about this evening’s work is that I’ve discovered the secret of quantitative control. Frege’s definition of number solves the problem with relation to the calculus of classes.»
«‘The number of things in a given class is the class of all classes that is similar to the given class’?»
«Precisely. By treating numbers as classes — that is, the number two as the class of all pairs, the number three as the class of all triples, we can —»
«Say!» cried Shea. «Where’s Belphebe?»
«I don’t recall having seen the young woman. As I was saying, once the problem of introducing a quantitative element —»
«But I’ve got to find Belphebe! Busyrane caught her this morning. He must have brought her here.»
Nobody else had seen her. Florimel offered: «There be gruesome great dungeons below. Mayhap —»
«How do you get to them?»
Chalmers said: «Before you go searching, Harold, I have a spell against magicians that you really must learn.»
«To hell with that! She may be down there now!»
«I know. But Duessa and Dolon certainly escaped this. uh. holocaust, and there may be others.»
«Be warned,» rumbled Artegall. «The rash falcon strikes no game, Sir Harold. We shall need all and more than all the protection we can get to prowl those passages.»
Cambell spoke up: «Cambina, I greatly fear, can do no more for the present, gentle sirs.»
«Okay, okay,» groaned Shea. «Why didn’t you use this spell before, Doc?»
«Why,» said Chalmers, innocently, «it would have blown me back into my own universe! And I have too much to live for here.» He exchanged beams with Florimel. «You see, Harold, the casting of a spell produces on both the caster and the. uh. castee an effect analogous to that of an electrostatic charge. Ordinarily this has no particular effect and the charge dissipates in time. But when a person or thing has passed from one space-time vector to another, he or it has broken a path in extradimensional space-time, creating a permanent. uh. line of weakness. Thereafter the path is easier for him — or it — to follow. If I accumulated too much magicostatic charge at one time, it would, since this charge is unbalanced by the fact that I am at one end of this space-time path. uh. it would by reaction propel —»
«Oh, for God’s sake! Let’s have the spell now and the Lecture later.»
«Very well.» Chalmers showed Shea the spell, relatively simple in wording for calling for complex movements of the left hand. «Remember, you’ve been doing spells, so you probably have a considerable charge at present.»
* * *
They left Florimel and Cambina with Cambell and divided into two parties. Artegall went with Shea.
Smooth stone changed to rough ashlar as they went down. Their torches smoked, throwing long shadows.
The passage turned and twisted until Shea had no idea where he was. Now and then they stopped to listen — to their own breathing. Once they thought they beard something, and cautiously crept to peer around a corner.
The sound was made by water dripping down a wall. They went on. Shea could not help glancing over his shoulder now and then. Artegall, his iron shoes echoing, paused to say: «I like this not. For half an hour we have followed this passage into nothing.»
A side passage sprang away. Shea proposed: «Suppose you go a hundred steps ahead, and I’ll go the same distance this way. Then we can both come back and report.»
Artegall growled an assent and set off. Shea, gripping his épée, plunged into the side passage.
At a hundred paces the passage was the same, receding into blackness ahead of him.
He returned to the T. It seemed to him that he reached it in less than half the time it had taken him to leave it. There was no sign of Artegall, just black emptiness inclosed in rough stone.
«Artegall!» he called.
There was no answer.
He yelled: «Sir Artegall!» The tunnels hummed with the echo, then were silent.
Shea found himself sweating. He poked at the stone before him. It seemed solid enough. He was sure, now, that this T had appeared in the passage after he passed it, about halfway to where he had gone.
He set off to the right. If Artegall had gone this way, he should catch up with him. An impulse made him stop to look back. The leg of the T had already disappeared.
He ran back. There was nothing but solid stone on both sides.
His skin crawled as if a thousand spiders were scuttling over it. He ran till he began to puff. The passage bent slightly, one way, then another. There was no end to it.
When he rounded a corner and came on a human being, his nerves seemed to explode all at once.
The person shrieked. Shea recognized Belphebe. «Harold!» she cried.
«Darling!» Shea spread his arms — torch, épée, and all. She threw herself into them.
But almost immediately she pulled loose. «Marry, I’m but a weak woman and forgot my pledged word! Nay, dear Harold, dispute me not. What’s done is done.» She backed away determinedly.
Shea sagged. He felt very tired. «Well,» he said with a forced smile, «the main thing’s getting out of this damned maze. How did you get down here?»
«I sprained my ankle in my fall this morning. And Busyrane’s minions —»
«Hah, hah, hah!» Dolon, large as life, stepped through the side of the wall. «The two mice who would kill cats!»
Shea crouched for a flиche. But Dolon made a pass towards him. Something wrapped around his legs, like an invisible octopus. He slashed with his épée, but met no resistance.
«Nay, there shall be a new Chapter,» continued Dolon, «with my own peerless presence as archimage. First, I shall prove my powers on your bodies — a work worthy of my genius, doubt it not!»
Shea strained at the invisible bonds. They crept up his body. A tentacle brushed his swordarm.
He snatched his arm out of the way, reversed his grip on the hilt and threw the weapon point-first at Dolon, his whole strength in the movement. But the épée slowed up in midair and dropped with a clang to the floor.
His hands were still free. If Belphebe was set on marrying this guy Timias, what did it matter if he got squirted back by the rocket effect of a magicostatic charge?
He dropped the torch and raced through the spell. Dolon, just opening his mouth for another pontifical pronouncement, abruptly looked horrified. He shrieked, a high womanish scream, and dissolved in a mass of tossing yellow flame. Shea caught Belphebe’s wrist with his right hand to snatch her back from the blaze.
Pfmp!
Walter Bayard and Gertrude Mugler jumped a foot. One minute they had been alone in Harold Shea’s room, the former reading Harold Shea’s notes and the latter watching him do it.
Then, with a gust of air, Shea was before them in a battered Robin Hood outfit, and beside him was a red-haired girl with freckles, wearing an equally incongruous costume.
«Wh-where’s Doc?» asked Bayard.
«Stayed behind. He liked it there.»
«And who.»
Shea grinned. «My dream-girl. Belphebe, Dr. Bayard. And Miss Mugler. Oh, damn!» He had happened to glance at his hands, which showed a lot of little blisters. «I’m going to be sick for a few days, I guess.»
Gertrude showed signs of finding her voice. She opened her mouth.
Shea forestalled her with; «No, Gert, I won’t need a nurse. Just a quart of calamine lotion. You see, Belphebe and I are getting married the first chance we get.»
Gertrude’s face ran through a spectrum of expressions, ending with belligerent hostility. She said to Belphebe: «But
— you —»
Belphebe said with a touch of blithe defiance: «He speak no more than truth. Find you aught amiss with that?» When Gertrude did not answer, she turned to Shea. «What said you about sickness, my love and leman?»
Shea drew a long breath of relief. «Nothing serious, darling. You see, it was poison ivy I tied the broom with.»
Belphebe added: «Sweet Harold, now that I am utterly yours, will you do me no more than one service?»
«Anything,» said Shea fondly.
«I lack still the explanation of those strange words in the poem wherewith you bested the Blatant Beast!»
ТЕЛЕГРАМКанал с обзорами, анонсами новинок и книжными подборками
Книжный Вестник
Бот для удобного поиска книг (если не нашлось на сайте)
Поиск книг
Свежие любовные романы в удобных форматах
Любовные романы
О психологии, саморазвитии и личностном росте
Саморазвитие
Детективы и триллеры, все новинки
Детективы
Фантастика и фэнтези, все новинки
Фантастика
Отборные классические книги
Классика
ВКОНТАКТЕБиблиотека с любовными романами, которая наверняка придётся по вкусу женской части аудитории
Любовные романы
Библиотека с фантастикой и фэнтези, а также смежных жанров
Фантастика
Самые популярные книги в формате фб2
Топ фб2
книги