Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Reign of the Brown Magician

The Emperor nodded. “We could, Bucky,” he said, “but hoping for the best generally isn’t the best way to get it.”

* * * *

“You think I can talk sense into him?” Amy said, a hand to her chest.

“We think you have a better chance than anyone else,” the Imperial envoy said. “If you’re willing, I have a space suit in my pack that we think will fit you.”

“What about his…”

Amy stopped.

She had never met Pel’s mother or sisters, but she had heard him talk about them. His mother was not a well woman, and Amy couldn’t imagine how she would cope with finding out that not only were other universes real, but her son was now the absolute ruler of one.

And besides, that would take so long-locating them, and explaining everything, and talking them into it.

And she was curious-what had happened, all these weeks since she had returned to Earth? Miletti’s reports had given her a vague idea, but she didn’t really know, and she was curious. Why was Pel behaving so unpleasantly? What horrible things had the Empire done to him? What had really happened to Nancy and Rachel-had Pel been able to resurrect them?

And there was another point.

“Will you pay me?” she asked. “In gold?”

Johnston shifted his weight uneasily. The Imperial blinked in surprise.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he said.

“Good,” Amy replied. She started to say, “Let’s go,” and then remembered something.

Prossie was watching from the house.

“Can you get an Imperial pardon for Proserpine Thorpe?” Amy asked.

The Imperial frowned. “That’s the rogue telepath?”

Amy nodded, waiting.

“I don’t know,” the Imperial said. “I wasn’t authorized to say anything about that.” He looked unhappy. “Will you wait while I report in and ask?”

Amy looked at him, then at Prossie’s face in the kitchen window, then at Johnston and the lieutenant.

“No,” she said. “Let’s go. Major, would you please see that Prossie’s all right till I get back?”

Then she stepped forward, reaching for the Imperial’s pack.

* * * *

Pel was sprawled across his throne, staring up at the still-unrepaired hole in the ceiling, when he felt the space-warp in the Low Forest reopen.

Another spy, he supposed. He wondered idly what the spies were finding out that was worth reporting back.

Maybe he should go see for himself. Back before he had resurrected Rachel and the second Nancy, he had been thinking about touring Faerie; maybe he should do that. Nancy and Rachel weren’t interested, but who cared what they thought?

Maybe he should just kill everybody. Reduce the Nancys and Susan and Rachel to ash, and then go flying about frying anyone he came across.

There was the spy, coming through the warp. He could feel it.

He thought about going back to Earth, but if he didn’t bring Nancy and Rachel he would have to explain what had happened to them, and he might well wind up either in the loony bin or on trial for murder.

And if he did bring them, he would have to explain why they were so…so…so dead.

And he would have to live with them, and that house in Germantown was a lot smaller than Shadow’s fortress.

And his business must have collapsed into utter ruin long ago. If any of his clients still remembered him, it was probably as someone who had skipped out on a breach-of-contract suit.

Poor Silly Cat must surely be dead.

What was there to go back to? Here he was immortal and all-powerful…

A second person had come through the warp; that was a trifle out of the ordinary. The Empire had mostly sent singles, not pairs.

If he went back, and took Nancy and Rachel, and no one noticed how their personalities had changed, there were other differences that someone would notice eventually. It had taken Pel some time to realize, himself.

As far as he could see, their hair and fingernails no longer grew. Nancy hadn’t had her period since she died-Pel suspected that neither had Susan, but he hadn’t yet asked her outright.

He suspected that Rachel wasn’t growing, that she would remain six, physiologically, for the rest of her life.

Or maybe all of that had something to do with the magic here in Faerie, and would reverse itself back on Earth-but if it didn’t, how could he explain it?

A third person through the warp-how odd!

And if it did reverse…did that mean that they were immortal here in Faerie, but mortal on Earth? Could he ask them to give up eternal life?

He didn’t know what he could ask. They owed him their lives, after all.

And he didn’t know what would happen back on Earth.

And they wouldn’t give any opinion on the subject, they both insisted they didn’t care.

A fourth?

Pel blinked and sat up.

Maybe this wasn’t just another spy mission. He waited.

A fifth. Then a sixth. Then a seventh.

Then nothing; he waited, but no more emerged.

Still, seven people-that was really a bit much.

He decided to go see what they wanted.

* * * *

The Empire had obviously learned a few tricks, Amy thought as she looked at her escort.

Five of them still wore their gaudy purple uniforms and blond crew cuts, but there wasn’t a blaster in sight; instead, they carried swords. Very practical-looking swords. And they wore daggers on their belts. Two of them had crossbows slung on their backs, with bandoliers of quarrels.

The sixth man had the appearance of a native guide; he wore a gray woolen tunic with a purple armband on each sleeve. He had a dagger, as well, but no sword; he had been introduced back at Base One as Samuel Best, and although no one had mentioned a rank, and there was no sign that he was an officer, he was clearly in charge of the expedition.

One of the uniformed troopers was Ronnie Wilkins; it was a relief to know he had somehow survived and made it back to the Empire.

The other four she didn’t recognize; she had been given their names, but hadn’t remembered them.

Amy herself was wearing a sort of modified hiking outfit that the Empire had provided-purple T-shirt, leather walking shorts, black army boots. They’d offered her weapons, but she had declined.

Best and three of the others were sorting supplies in the clearing beside the mummified remains of Shadow’s bat monster, while Wilkins and the last stood guard, blades drawn, at either side. The space suits were all safely stowed in the wreck of I.S.S. Christopher, and stocks of food and clothing were being distributed and bundled for carrying.

“Too bad we couldn’t get horses,” one of the men muttered as he hoisted an immense pack.

“They’re working on it,” Best replied. “They’ve got a carrier now, they just don’t have anywhere to stable them at Base One. You need a lot of fodder.”

“Well, if they’d just brought them straight through, they wouldn’t need to feed them,” the other argued.

“Oh, yes, they would,” Best said. “You see any grass around here? We’re in the middle of a forest.”

“You could get out to the Downs before the horses’d starve.”

“Well, they didn’t do it,” Best said. “So we’ll just have to walk-assuming that Brown doesn’t come to us.” He turned and motioned to Amy. “Come on, Mrs. Jewell,” he said. “I’ve got the lead, then Howard, then you.”

“Which pack is mine?” she asked.

“None of them,” Best replied. “Orders-you travel light, in case you have to run for it. We take care of you.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Best shrugged. “It’s our job,” he said. He trudged toward the trail to the west; a trooper fell in behind him.

The others waited, and Amy reluctantly followed.