Rick Cook: The Wizardry Cursed

"Hey! You’re hurting her."

Mikey squeezed harder, bearing down on each word. "Where. Are. Your. Notes?"

"Home," Judith gasped. "Desk." She was thrashing from side to side and breathing hard now.

Mikey released her hand. "That’s fine, Judith," he said gently. "You did real good."

He turned to Craig. "You heard her. She’s got stuff back at her apartment. Can you get in?"

"Well, yeah but…"

"Then come on." He stood up and headed for the door without another look at Judith. Craig followed more slowly. At the doorway he looked back. Judith was still moving restlessly, panting with hard, regular gasps.

It was almost like she was sobbing.

Judith’s apartment was on the ground floor of a two-story complex in a quiet residential neighborhood. There were maybe fifty apartments grouped around a big central terrace and pool. They had obviously been built in the ’60s, before San Jose land values went crazy, but they were well-maintained. Probably not a bargain, Craig thought as he led Mikey through the wrought iron gate into the court, but still the sort of place that was passed down from friend to friend.

The apartment was dark and the drapes were drawn. One of the nearby apartments had a television game show on, but no one was in the courtyard.

"There’s a key in the planter by the door, under one of those phony rocks," Craig said. "She showed it to me when I stayed here."

Mikey gave him a knowing smile.

"Not like that! I just crashed on her couch a couple of nights." He didn’t add that it had been while his mother had been in the hospital and he couldn’t face going back to the house alone. Somehow that wasn’t the sort of thing you told Mikey.

He groped around, picking up rocks from the planter.

"Shit. It’s not here."

"May I help you?" a voice demanded sharply.

Craig jerked erect and whirled. A middle-aged woman was glaring at them from perhaps twenty feet away. She had a sweater thrown over her shoulders and a cordless telephone in one hand. Her thumb was ostentatiously posed over one of the phone’s quick-dial buttons.

Before Craig could do more than flush, Mikey stepped forward smiling-far enough to establish contact but not close enough to be threatening. "Yes ma’am," he said as if he was genuinely glad to see her. "My name is Ralph Simmons. I’m Judith Conally’s supervisor. This is Craig Scott, a friend of Judith’s. We’ve just come from the hospital and Judith asked us to bring her a few things."

Some of the venom left the woman’s stare. "I thought she was in a coma."

Mikey positively beamed. "Oh, she’s come out of it. She’ll be in the hospital a while, but she’s already talking about going back to work. I don’t mind telling you that’s a relief to me-I mean aside from being happy she’s going to be all right. Judith is the only one who really understands that code. Just between you and me, we’ve been hurting without her."

The woman shifted her stance and her finger moved away from the call button. "Hadn’t she quit to write or something?"

"We’d brought her back on a consulting contract. You know, just for a few hours a week. You don’t just let someone like Judith walk out the door."

The woman nodded reluctantly. "She always seemed like a real dedicated person."

"Very dedicated," Mikey agreed. "And a very good worker." Then he frowned ever so slightly. "But we seem to have a little trouble here. Judith told us she left a spare key under a rock in the planter, but we can’t seem to find it."

"Oh, I took that in after the accident. Didn’t seem safe."

"That was very thoughtful of you, ma’am. I wonder if you could see your way clear to let us use it for a few minutes. You see, Judith wanted to look over some of the listings and the doctor thought it would be good for her. Kind of therapy, you know."

"Well…"

Mikey turned up the wattage on the smile. "Oh, I know it’s a lot to ask, but they never did find Judith’s keys after the accident. Naturally if you’d like to call the hospital…" again the trace of a frown, "only Judith’s not supposed to have phone calls and they’d probably have to track the doctor down."

"Just some papers, you say?"

"Yes, ma’am. She won’t be needing clothes or anything for a while."

"I don’t suppose it would hurt. I’m Mrs. Mapelthorpe, the manager. I can let you in on my pass key."

"Yes, ma’am. If you’d like to come in with us, just to make sure…"

Mrs. Mapelthorpe smiled. "Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary." She fished in the pocket of her sweater and brought out a key ring. "Just stop by 102 and check with me before you leave. Oh, and if you could, remind her that her lease is up next month. She needs to decide what she’s going to do about the apartment then."

Mike flashed that winning smile, again. "We will. Thank you."

The place smelled of dust and cool, stale air. Someone had obviously tidied up after the accident, but apparently no one had been here since. The place had the feel of being not quite lived in.

"This is weird," Craig said, looking around the apartment. Mikey made a beeline for the desk.

"If we’re going to see the old bitch on the way out I don’t guess we’d better take anything except the papers-unless she kept that gold here?"

"No, that’s in a safety deposit box."

"Bingo!" Mike said, holding up a thick notebook triumphantly. "Right on top of the pile." He looked at the papers stacked beneath it. "And here’s some more." He started scooping up the papers and stacking them on top of the notebook. "And some disks too. Find me a box to carry this shit, will you?"

They couldn’t wait to get back to Mikey’s apartment, so they took a corner booth in a coffee shop and set their box of plunder on the seat while they spread the papers out to study them.

"Boy, I didn’t think that would work," Craig said. "When the old lady showed up I was sure we were dead."

Mike looked at him contemptuously. "All you have to do is act sincere and be polite. Then people will believe any bullshit you feed them. Especially the old farts."

Neither of them said anything as they studied the papers and notebook. Their coffee arrived and Craig hardly looked up to add extra sugar and nearly a whole pitcher of creamer. Mikey sipped his black, apparently oblivious to the heat.

"It looks like the whole damn language is here," Craig said finally. "Weird-looking stuff, though."

"You expected maybe ANSI C? Of course this shit’s weird. Look at what it does."

Craig put his hand down on the stack of papers and leaned across the table to Mikey, eyes glowing. "You know what this is? I mean really? It’s the road to your heart’s desire. Anything you want."

"So, what do you want?"

Craig hesitated. "I guess a better world. Where people really care about people, you know?"

Mikey looked amused. "No, I don’t know. Tell me."

Craig fidgeted. "I dunno. But we went wrong here. I mean with all the pollution and shit. We’ve just squeezed the beauty out of the way we live. There’s no magic in the world."

He toyed with the spoon in his coffee. "Maybe with magic we can build something better. Something that uses magic and technology both in the way they were supposed to be used."

Outside the traffic rushed by.