Rick Cook - The Wizardry Consulted

A message formed itself in fire at the level of Malkin’s eyes.

"How you doing?" it said.

Malkin had seen this happen with Wiz before but it was still a little surprising.

"All right," she picked out on the keyboard.

In chat mode a person’s method of typing is almost as distinct as a telegrapher’s "fist," especially when you’re expecting a very fast typist and you get someone whose method is obviously more hunt than peck.

"You’re not Wiz," Danny typed.

"Shut up," Jerry hissed. "Keep him on the line until we’ve got the location." Beside him the tracing demon was scribbling furiously as it unraveled link after link.

"Right about that," came the laborious reply. "I’m Malkin."

"Where’s Wiz?"

"In over his head is where," Malkin typed. "He’s out fighting a dragon."

Moira gasped, Danny paled and Jerry craned his neck to read the message from Danny’s workstation.

"Is he all right?" Danny typed.

Moira snorted when she read the question. "I told you he’s fighting a dragon," she picked out. "In these parts that ain’t healthy. Who are you?"

"I’m Jerry," Danny lied, "Wiz’s best friend. It sounds like he can use all the help he can get."

"You got that right," came the reply.

"Look, he’s under a spell cast by a dragon to keep him from telling us where he is. Can you tell us where he is?"

Malkin hesitated, then her thief’s caution won out.

"Look, I don’t know why but for some reason Wiz didn’t want you to know where he is. I don’t think I should tell you either."

"Shit," Danny muttered as he read the message. Behind him Moira said something considerably stronger.

"But he’s under a spell," he typed.

"So you say," was the answer. "Maybe you’re telling the truth and maybe you’re not. But it’s not for me to give away his secrets."

Danny looked over his shoulder and tried to gauge the progress of the tracking demon. "All right," he typed. "I guess we have to respect that."

Back in Wiz’s workroom Malkin had a sudden flash of insight. "You can find me through this, can’t you?"

"How could we do that?" came the hasty response. "We just want to talk is all."

"No," Malkin typed, "I’ve talked too long as it is. Goodbye." With that she moved to sign off.

"NO YOU IDIOT!!!" shrieked Widder Hackett but no one could hear her.

It was Bobo who rose to the occasion-literally. Before Malkin could complete the logoff sequence, he uncoiled from his spot on the windowsill, levitated across the room in a single bound and skidded to a four-point landing on the table next to the "computer." A quick lash of his powerful tail sent the cup of hot mulled wine splashing into Malkin’s lap.

With a curse Malkin jumped to her feet. Bobo hopped off the table, clawed her solidly on the ankle and ran out yowling. Malkin grabbed the fireplace poker and chased the cat down the hall. She didn’t realize she had forgotten to log off.

Back at the castle the programmers realized it immediately.

"Line’s still live!" Danny shouted. "Quick, get the trace going."

"That will take hours!" Jerry didn’t exactly shove Danny out of the chair but he squeezed in so quickly the smaller programmer almost landed butt-first on the floor.

His fingers blurred as he rattled through a sequence and the fiery letters flew from the demon’s pen.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Danny demanded as the message began to take shape.

Jerry stopped typing and backspaced over a mistake. "I’ve turned off the routine that splits spells into pieces on the screen so you don’t activate them just by entering them."

"I can see that."

"As soon as this spell appears on Wiz’s terminal it will activate. Just printing it out is the equivalent to reciting it." Another pause and more frantic backspacing. "It’ll produce a big flare of magic to show us where Wiz is."

"It is also gonna produce a big flare of magic here," the younger programmer pointed out. "That’s likely to raise all kinds of hell with the spells around here."

Jerry didn’t take his eyes off the screen. "I know."

"Bal-Simba is not gonna like this."

Jerry hit the last key and completed the spell at the Wizard’s Keep, and sent it on its way.

The magical lights in the workroom dimmed and then came back with an unhealthy greenish pallor. There were various poppings and cracklings, unearthly wails and one or two outright explosions from other parts of the Wizard’s Keep, accompanied here and there by yells from wizards who had been working late or were at work early.

At the abandoned terminal in Wiz’s office Jerry’s typing poured out of the screen. There was no one there to read it, but since it was a spell and not a message that didn’t matter. Unknown to the inhabitants of the house, magical forces gathered and twisted around them as an invisible tornado of magical energy rose toward the heavens. The emac reached the last line of the spell and sent the requested acknowledgment.

"It worked!" Jerry yelled triumphantly. He spun to face Moira. "Quick, tell the searchers to scan the World for a flare of magic. Big magic." Moira nodded and dashed from the room.

"And tell Bal-Simba too," Jerry called after her. He raised his voice to follow her down the hall. "And apologize to him for the mess, will you?" Then he turned to Danny. "Get your staff. I think we’re going to fight a dragon."

When a dragon says dawn, does he mean daybreak or sunrise? Wiz wondered.

It was past first light and already the sun was peeking over the eastern hills. There was still no sign of the dragon. Wiz didn’t know if that was because the duel wasn’t supposed to start until sunrise or if it was a psychological move on Ralfnir’s part. If it was psychology, Wiz thought, it was sure effective.

The dawn air was heavy with dew and still as death. Not so much as a zephyr ruffled the tall green grass or the yellow meadow flowers. A few puffy clouds hung high in the summer sky and here and there a butterfly or bumblebee went about its business among the patches of buttercups and field mallow.

Wiz licked his lips, took a tighter grip on his staff and nearly died in an eyeblink.

With a pop of displaced air Jerry, Danny, Moira and Bal-Simba flashed into existence in Wiz’s workroom. A quick glance showed them the room was empty but the sound of cursing downstairs told them there were people about. As one they dashed for the door.

Malkin was standing at the sink, sponging the wine out of her dress and describing in lurid detail all the things she was going to do to Bobo, when Bal-Simba and the others came pounding down the stairs with Jerry in the lead.

"You’re Malkin, aren’t you? Where’s Wiz?" he got out in a single breath.

Malkin’s mouth fell open.

"My Lady, please," Moira said as she pushed around Jerry. "Where is Wiz?"

"Where, Lady?" Bal-Simba demanded over Jerry’s shoulder.

No one argued with Bal-Simba. Not only did he have the presence and voice of a mighty wizard, he was nearly seven feet tall with bulk to match his height. For the first time in her adult life Malkin found herself dwarfed and intimidated by another person.

"Tell them, girl!" shrieked Widder Hackett.

Over in the corner Anna gaped at what had invaded the kitchen.