L. Camp: The Exotic Enchanter

Four more men followed the bear, and three of them flung their spears. One glanced off the bear’s shoulder. A second struck the animals side, but the third, badly aimed, landed beside the watchers in the thicket, a little too close to Shea for comfort.

Remembering his lessons as Aeneas’s spear-bearer, Shea seized the six-foot shaft. Muttering:

“Backward, turn backward. O spear, in thy flight,

Speed to thy target and dim the bears light,”

He aimed a yard from a spearless man, and threw.

The spear arcked down just close enough to the hunter for him to snatch at it, then somersaulted on its point before he could grip it and hurled itself butt-first at the bear. It struck a skull-cracking blow to the bear’s head, then dropped to the ground.

Seven of the eight hunters hastily made gestures of aversion, but the eighth, the leader by his elaborate coat and high embroidered cap, thrust his spear through the bear’s eye. They all waited a few minutes, but the bear stayed dead.

The leader glanced around the clearing. “Greetings and thanks to he who has helped us,” he said in a strong. resonant voice. “I am Igor Sviatoslavich, Prince of Seversk. Pray join us. You have my word that you will not be harmed.”

In the thicket Chalmers looked a little dubious.

“They know we’re here, and they can always prod us out with those spears,” Shea reminded him, and rose.

At eye level, the prince was a good six feet tall, with a stem, noble face. Approaching, Shea swept a respectful bow — he’d certainly had enough practice — and Chalmers followed.

“I am honored to have been of service to the noble prince of Seversk,” Shea began, trying to figure out where and when Seversk might be. Seven spears at his back didn’t help. “This is Sir Reed Chalmers, and I am Sir Harold Shea.”

The prince hesitated, then asked in a tone that conveyed more suspicion than courtesy, “Ah, have you no patronymic?”

“Andre-ivich,” Shea said, tacking on the Slavic suffix at the last minute. And my colleague is “Reed, uh —”

“My father’s name was William.” said Chalmers.

“Rurik Vasilyevich! A name of good omen!” the prince said. The thumps behind them told Shea that spears were being grounded. “How do you come to be in the forest?” Igor continued. “You have not the aspect of hunters.”

“We are, um, scholars, from the West,” Chalmers answered. “I fear we, ah, lost our way, and wound up here.”

“What was your destination?”

“We were trying to reach the Silk Empire,” Shea said, taking inspiration from Igor’s cap as Chalmers’s inventiveness wore out.

“Was there trouble along your way, that you did not go south, to Constantinople? Any merchant could have told you that eastbound caravans start from there, not the lands of the Rus.”

“Merchants in the west are very secretive, Your Highness. They tell so many fabulous tales about the lands to the east that our — superiors — have sent us to seek the truth.”

The prince looked dubious. “You carry no books or paper,” he said.

With a sigh for his library in Ohio, Shea began a polite precis of the difficulties of carrying valuable and fragile objects through unsettled lands —

“Therefore, Your Highness, we keep them safely, and pull them out only when necessary.” Gesturing, he recited:

“Who hath a book hath friends at hand,

And gold and gear at his command

And rich estates if he but look,

Are held by him who hath a book,”

A leather-bound, gold-stamped edition of the Almanach de Gotha popped out of thin air. Shea grabbed for it, caught it with one hand just before it hit the ground, and nearly dropped it from the weight. Carefully using both hands, he presented the stout volume to Prince Igor. The prince looked, but did not touch.

“The Rus honor learning, Egorov Andreivich. and I would know more of you, and yours,” the prince said. “You and Rurik Vasilyevich will dine with me tonight.”

“We are honored to be your guests,” Chalmers said.

* * *

Leaving all but two of his men to skin the bear and haul the meat, Prince Igor led the way out of the clearing. Once out there was a suggestion of a path to the south, very easy to miss.

“Do you have any ideas about who these people are?” Shea asked, as they trailed the rest of the party.

“None, except that they are Slavs. I cannot recall any mythology or work of literature with this background,” Chalmers’ frustration was evident. your small magics have worked well, so far.”

“Literally, I should say.”

“What led you to try those in particular?”

Shea considered. “With the spear. it was a little insurance for something I was pretty sure I could do. The book — well, I had to do something. Prince Igor sounded pretty suspicious. We don’t want to get locked up for spies, or something.”

“At least we know we shall have to be careful in our phrasing here. Even a wish might produce something inappropriate”

“That’s nothing new, Doc. But I’ll keep ’em small and precise for the time being.” He looked ahead; the forest was thinning out. “Maybe dinner will tell us something about this place.” Then he looked at the Almanach de Gotha , which he didn’t know how to return. “We need some sort of reference spell, Doc, for places like this.”

“I’ll think about it,” Chalmers said.

On the edge of the forest they passed a rough two wheeled cart to which a shaggy pony was hitched. A peasant lounged nearby. Igor sent them back up the forest trail.

After leaving the trees, Igor led the party along a small river through a logged off stretch, then up a steepish incline to a walled compound set against another stand of forest. Inside were about six one-story log huts, with thatched or shingled roofs.

Prince Igor entered the largest of these, He came back to the doorway just as the psychologists, beginning to pant from the hike and the climb, reached it. The prince offered a flat basket to Chalmers. It contained two small loaves on a coarse linen napkin, and some large gray nuggets on another.

“Bread and salt, Doc,” Shea muttered. “Can’t refuse.”

Dr. Chalmers looked annoyed, but bowed, took a loaf, dipped it in the salt, and chewed — carefully. To judge from his reaction it was dry but edible. Shea followed suit.

“Enter my house,” Igor said with a slight bow, moving back from the threshold. “Although perhaps you would care to visit the bathhouse first,” he added.

The psychologists accepted this evidence of civilization with exclamations of gratitude. A servant appeared in the doorway, and led them to one of the smaller buildings in the compound.

At the doorway he asked for their clothes, saying that clean ones would be provided. Stripped to the skin, the two entered.

Inside the steam was so thick they could scarcely see each other, and so hot that Shea’s sinuses, which had behaved well in other universes, gave him a painful reminder of their existence. An imprecation from Chalmers clued Shea to his partners whereabouts.

“The Russian bath has a long way to go,” the younger man agreed.

Groping about, they found benches, and wooden trays holding a greasy soap and bundles of reeds. These primitive substitutes for Ivory and washcloths actually got rid of blood and dirt.

They also got rid of aches and pains, and produced a wonderful feeling of lassitude. Shea found himself drowsing on a bench, unsure how long he’d been sitting there.

Eventually they heard the servant ask if they were to come out. When they answered yes, the other door of the bathhouse opened. They exited onto an open porch, where two large and well-aimed buckets of cold water were splashed over each of them.