L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

“You can say that for me, too,” Shea turned to watch Belphebe and Florimel, chatting as merrily as though they had seen each other only last week. “So Florimel didn’t get herself lost by trying to work a syllogismobile spell on her own?”

“It would seem not. Certainly Malambroso appeared in my house for the purpose of kidnapping her, but before he did, he no doubt took advantage of the opportunity to update himself on our researches. Thank Heaven he is so untidy that he did not bother to clean up the evidence, or we should never have been able to track him!”

“But we did, and we won Florimel back, and we’re home. Just to be on the safe side, though, Doc — maybe you’d better give her the full syllogismobile course, so that if somebody kidnaps her again, she has a fair chance of escaping?”

“An excellent thought.” Chalmers gazed at his wife, but his face was grim. “I assure you, Harold, I intend to guard her very closely from now on! She shall never be stolen from me again!”

Shea glanced uneasily from husband to wife, and hoped Chalmers was right.

Part III:

Sir Harold Of Zodanga

L. Sprague De Camp I

“So, Doctor Malambroso,” said Professor Doctor Sir Harold Shea to the man who faced him across his desk at the Garaden Institute, “what do you want of me?”

The man facing Shea was a tall, lean person with a close-cut graying beard. His graying hair hung to his collar. He wore a cheap suit with a loud checked pattern and an eye-blinding cravat, tied in a way suggesting that Malambroso had never learned to tie a necktie. The last time Shea had seen Malambroso, in the universe of Hindu myth, he had worn white pyjamas embroidered with gold thread. Malambroso had, Shea thought, made a not altogether successful effort to adopt local coloration on the mundane plane.

“I want the Lady Florimel back!” said Malambroso in a rasping, growling voice, as if he hated asking any favor of anybody.

“Gods, what crust!” exclaimed Shea.

Malambroso frowned. “You puzzle me, Sir Harold. Methought ‘crust’ meant the hard covering or integument of something softer, such as the outer surface of a loaf of bread or a pie.”

Colloquially, ‘crust’ is also used for . . .” Shea paused to think. “ ‘Obtuse aggressiveness’ is close to the colloquial meaning. That you should ask my help to regain possession of the Lady Florimel, who seems quite happy to be back with her husband, my colleague Reed Chalmers! . . . If that be not a case of obtuse aggressiveness I don’t know what is.”

“I can explain,” growled Malambroso.

“Then pray do so, and I hope concisely. I need to get back to these term papers.”

“The fact, Sir Harold, is that, for the first time in a long and active life, I am in love. Methought I was far beyond such petty, juvenile mortal sentiments; but in that, lo, I erred. I would never admit this, save that I know you for a man of exceptional abilities, at least for a native of this stupid, brutish mundane plane.”

“Thanks. But I always thought you hated everybody?”

“So I did, before the tender passion awakened a side of my nature that I did not know I possessed. Anyhow, the gist is that I must have the lady for mine own paramour. I must and shall have her!” Malambroso smote the desk with a bony fist.

“Don’t be silly, Malambroso,” said Shea. “For one thing, you’re too old for her.”

“No older than Doctor Chalmers. What reason have you to think that he can perform his connubial duties to the satisfaction of all concerned?”

“He’s been giving himself magical rejuvenating treatments.”

“How can he, when magic does not work in this continuum?”

“I didn’t say he performed the treatments here , and it’s none of your business anyway. What makes you think that, after he and I went to so much trouble and risk, surviving dangers both natural and supernatural, to reunite the lady with her lawful husband, that I would help you to snatch her again?”

“Because if you do not, I will turn you into an insect of an especially loathsome kind!”

“You can’t. Spells don’t work here.”

“Think ye so?” Malambroso pointed bony fingers at Shea and muttered an incantation, ending with a shout of: “. . . be thou a lowly Geophilus! ”

Nothing happened. Malambroso’s face took on expression of petulant frustration, muttering: “The Incantation of Sorax has always worked for me before! You should be a little crawler, on a hundred-odd legs.”

Shea laughed. “Told you. Wrong universe. I seem to have only the two legs I started out with. Besides, if I had a hundred-odd. I couldn’t be an insect. They all have exactly six.”

“Oh, curse your silly pedantry!” snarled Malambroso.

“By the way,” said Shea, “how did you get here from the world of Hindu myth?”

“By the Spell of the Tipulidae, which worked perfectly well in that universe. But think not that I failed to consider means of exit from this miserable, magicless world of yours. I read your publications in the Institute library anent the manipulation of symbolic logic. ’Twas right shrewd of you to have worked out your system. The papers revealed what a formidable fellow you could be, whether as foe or ally. I shall convince you that it were better for you to be mine ally rather than mine enemy. I know of universes where you could be a great man — belike an arch-wizard or an emperor. I could furnish you with mighty assistance towards those goals, Sir Harold.”

“You may skip the Sir, Malambroso. American citizens are not allowed titles of nobility, so it doesn’t apply in this world. Anyway, I have no desire to be an emperor or even an archimage. I am quite satisfied to he a well-established academician, a fond husband, and a doting father. I’ve adventured enough on other planes to do me for the rest of my life.”

Malambroso argued further, but Shea remained firm in his refusal, until Malambroso said: “Is this your final word? You refuse to discuss practical arrangements between us?”

“Yes and yes. Good afternoon, Doctor Malambroso.”

The wizard rose. “You shall regret your contumacy, good my sir!”

“We shall see,” said Shea.

Malambroso took a topcoat from the rack, picked up a cheap suitcase, gave Shea a stiff nod, and stalked out.

* * *

Some hours later, Shea looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly time to go home. Then the intercom said: “Doctor Shea? Call your wife, right away!”

“Darling?” said Belphebe, breathlessly. “That wizard Malambroso has kidnapped Voglinda!”

“Good God!” said Shea. “Have you called the cops?”

“First thing I did. Sergeant Brodsky’s here now.”

“I’ll come right home.”

“Fine, but drive carefully!”

* * *

“Pretty little thing!” said Pete Brodsky, passing back the photographs. “About three, isn’t she? Now, Belle, suppose you tell Harold what you told me, about how this Doctor Malefactor got away.”

“Malambroso,” Belphebe corrected. “He came to call, he said, ever so politely. When we sat down in the living room, he gave me a sales pitch, trying to get me to persuade you to throw in with him in an attempt to win Florimel away from Reed for his own — ‘paramour,’ I think he said. When I said no, he tried to sway me with tales of the wonders of other universes he could take us to and make us big shots in, where I could have all the fancy clothes and jewels any girl could want. He didn’t realize that my taste runs to simple, outdoorish garb. suitable for running through the greenwood.

“When I persisted in saying no, he seemed to give up. He said he wanted another look at Voglina, who was having her nap. He stole up to her bedroom door and slithered in as quietly as a cockroach. I was right behind him; but he shut the door, in my face and shot that little bolt we put in high up. I beard him reciting a sorites and called the emergency number. I couldn’t break down the door myself, but Pete drove up and gave the door a good push with his shoulder, and away went the bolt. You’ll have to do some carpentry, dear, to mend it.