L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

Shea and Polacek gazed skyward but could see nothing.

“ ’Tis some sort of creature slowly circling,” she said quietly.

“Damn! That must be Ariel! We’d better find some cover,” said Shea, “before that spirit reports us to Prospero. I don’t think we’d be too welcome here.” They hurried across the field, heading for the nearest trees.

Belphebe stumbled, catching her heel in a clump of grass. “These do me no good in this place.” She took off her heels and was about to toss them away.

“Better keep those, dear,” said Shea, “even if you can’t wear them, they’re still high fashion. Maybe Miranda would like to have them.” Actually, he was remembering just how much he had paid for those shoes only the day before, Belphebe shot him an angry look and continued barefoot, holding the shoes in her hand.

They soon came to a little stream and splashed across to a grove of trees on the far side. As they worked their way upstream, the sparse brush gave way to dense forest.

At length, Shea sat down on a rock. “Well, whatever that was in the sky must not have seen us. Let’s stop a moment and take stock of our situation. Votsy, did you bring anything besides the book?”

The Czech rummaged through his pockets and looked up rather sheepishly. “Sorry! Nothing but a pocket full of change, keys, and my wallet.”

Shea looked at his wife. “Anything useful in your purse?” She frowned and dumped out a small pile of assorted cosmetics. He began to wish he had not tried quite so hard to convert her to twentieth-century fashion.

“Well, that’s just great,” Shea said heavily as he searched through his suit and produced a cigarette lighter and a pocketknife. “As you can see, we’re well equipped for life in the wild.”

Belphebe grabbed the knife. “With this I can fashion a bow and arrows, though ’tis a shame that I left such a fine one at home.” So saying she darted off into the woods.

“Say, Harold,” said Vaclav, “you wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette to go with that lighter, would you?”

Shea pulled a pack out of his breast pocket and tossed it to the Czech. “Here I’m trying to quit.”

Polacek put a cigarette in his mouth and flipped open the top of the lighter.

“You realize,” said Shea, with a cynical smile, “that thing wont work here! Remember how Brodsky’s gun wouldn’t fire in Xanadu?”

Vaclav calmly flipped the wheel. A spark flew onto the wick and produced a flame. Shea stared in amazement, then grabbed the lighter and tried it himself. Again there was fire. Shea remembered with disgust how his matches would not work when he had bled to light a fire for Thor and Loki.

“Looks like some of our physical principles apply to this world,” said Polacek, triumphantly. “At least flint and steel can make oil burn,” He blew a puff of smoke into the air.

“Or maybe were still somewhere in the USA. Hand me that book and I’ll try some magic,” said Shea.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Vaclav said defensively. “I’ve been studying the art, you know, I’ll do the magicking.” He thought for a moment. “How’s about I summon up some chow?”

Shea grimaced in disgust and reluctantly agreed. Two weeks with Reed Chalmers was definitely not enough training for Votsy, but what else could he do?

Harold was put to work gathering small twigs. Meanwhile, the Czech searched the nearby trees until he found a small blue caterpillar. He carefully built a framework of the twigs and placed the insect on top of it. Shea wondered just what kind of meal could be made from a blue caterpillar, then decided that he really did not want to know.

Polacek began waving his hands in the air. Then he recited:

“I’ve never seen a purple cow.

I’ve never hoped to see one.

But I can tell you anyhow!

I’d rather see than be one!”

Shea suddenly realized what was happening and, horrified, yelled: “No! Stop!” but it was too late. A sudden rush of air was followed by a dense cloud of purple smoke rising from the caterpillar. The smoke stung Shea’s eyes — he rubbed them, and when he opened them, Vaclav Polacek was gone.

There, standing before Shea, was an immense, sad-eyed, purple cow. It mooed plaintively and began munching some grass by the edge of the stream.

“Well, Votsy, at least you proved we’re not in Ohio,” said Shea, “And, I might add, I’m not sure that I can change you back.” The cow moaned and rolled its eyes. “It takes time to learn the nuances of the magic in the worlds we enter.” Shea leaned over and picked the book up from under the purple cow.

He still preferred the cards he had made for his last set of adventures, but the book did have certain advantages . . . if it could be read. Shea studied the logic symbols and frowned. He was unable to decipher the notes scribbled in English around the edge of the page, but the pictograms showed how to summon a medium-sized animal. Since he could no longer read English. he wondered just what language they were speaking here; probably a mixture of Italian and Old English.

Suddenly, a sinister laugh seemed to float out of the treetops behind him. Shea turned to look but could see nothing unusual. The laugh came again, this time from a bush across the stream. Once again, he saw nothing.

“Hee, hee, hee,” cackled the mysterious voice without form, this time originating behind the cow, who was now calmly munching the underbrush.

“Who’s there?” cried Shea as he looked around desperately for something he could use as a weapon. He spotted a fallen branch, gabbed it, and began snapping off the twigs. Not much defense, he thought, but better than nothing. The laugh came again, this time from behind the tree nearest him. Shea lifted his makeshift staff.

“Some minister of magicks thou art,” the voice said mockingly. “Wouldst change thyself into such a beast as well? The air in front of Shea began to blur and ripple. In a flash, an enormous birdlike creature appeared before him. Its wings beat noisily back and forth, stirring up leaves. Atop its body was the head of a dark-haired woman. The entire creature was frazzled and dirty.

It rose into the air and hovered above Shea, extending an enormous clawed talon. “I’ll thank thee for that tome,” shrieked the creature. “My mistress would have’t on her shelf.” The purple cow let out a baleful moan and trotted off into the woods. II

Shea threw his club in the general direction of the monster, grabbed the book, and made a dash for the woods. The fleeing cow had cleared a path which Harold followed, hoping the trees would interfere with the flying monster. There was little undergrowth to slow Shea down, but the ground was uneven and littered with fallen trees. He ran clumsily down the rude path and leaped over a dead tree trunk. He turned left abruptly and dodged behind a large bush. The harpy was hot on his trail, beating its wings and hissing loudly. It was having absolutely no trouble negotiating the tree branches.

Shea circled around the bush twice, with the harpy right behind him. Finally the creature wised up, flew over the top of the bush, and landed directly in front of him. Harold turned and ran back the way he had come. He bounded over a log and almost cleared another but his foot caught on a branch and he tumbled to the ground. The creature was directly above him now, hissing malevolently. Twigs and dirt clouded the air, stirred up by the beating of its great wings.

Shea crawled to his knees; escape seemed hopeless. And then, before him, almost in his hands, lay a large dead branch . . . the club he had thrown away. In a flash he grabbed it and stood up to face the monster.

Shea had trouble keeping his eyes open against the buffeting down drafts created by the creature’s beating wings. What he wouldn’t have given for his trusty saber now! He mustered all his strength and swung the club at an outstretched claw. The monster pulled back at the last moment, and Shea whirled around like a baseball player who has just swung at a bad pitch.