Robert Weinberg - A Logical Magician

The Amazon twirled her staff in a circle over her head. In seconds, she had it moving so fast that it blurred in the starlight. Her eyes never left the big German. “It’s never over till the fat lady sings, von Bern,” she declared.

To Jack, she whispered urgently, “Get in the car, fast. There’s no way I can beat the Huntsman with a wood stick.”

Jack needed no prompting. He flung Sylvester’s petrified body into the back seat and scrambled in after it. Huddled behind the steering wheel, hands trembling with fear, was Simon.

“Welcome to the Flying Dutchman,” said the changeling, his teeth chattering. “Ready for takeoff.”

For each step forward taken by von Bern, Cassandra paced one back. She was only a few feet from the Buick.

“My master wants Collins eliminated,” declared the Huntsman. “Move out of my path or be destroyed.”

“Over my dead body,” said Cassandra.

“Your choice,” said von Bern, chuckling. In the blink of an eye, he raised his sword over his head and slashed downward. The air screamed with its passage.

Cassandra’s staff barely slowed the weapon’s descent. The massive blow sliced through the wood as if it didn’t exist. It would have sheared through the Amazon’s skull with equal ease if she had remained motionless. But the sword cut only empty space. Moving with superhuman agility, Cassandra was already in the Buick, the door slammed behind her.

“Hit the gas,” she commanded, and Simon obeyed.

Cylinders growling, the car tore out of the shopping mall parking lot and into traffic. Behind them, Jack glimpsed von Bern and Charon scrambling into the black limo. The chase was on.

“They won’t give up this easy,” said Cassandra grimly, echoing Jack’s thoughts. “Slide beneath, Simon, and let me take the wheel. Charon drives a lot better than you. Unfortunately, I’m not much competition for him, either. We’ll head for the country. Maybe we can outrun them.”

Gunning the motor, Cassandra steered the car southwest, onto a seldom traveled country highway. In minutes, they left behind the lights and congestion of the shopping mall. Only the harsh glare of their headlights broke the absolute darkness that threatened to swallow them up.

“Gabblerats,” muttered Sylvester, stretching out on the back seat of the car. “Ware gabblerats.”

“Sounds like the spell is breaking,” declared Simon. “The howling of the Corpse Hounds petrifies any beast that hears it, natural or supernatural. Sylvester will be fine in an hour. Assuming, of course, any of us are alive in an hour.”

“Bandits moving up fast on our side,” said Cassandra, checking the rear view mirror. “And they don’t look friendly.”

Jack stared out the back window. There was no mistaking the black limo creeping closer to them. The giant car cut through the night like a shark circling in on its prey. The rear passenger door was wide open. Balancing there, his drawn sword blazing with blue fire, stood Dietrich von Bern. The twin scars on his cheeks glowed blood red in the moonlight.

“The Sword of Chaos,” muttered Simon. “It feeds on innocent souls.”

“Shades of Michael Moorcock,” said Jack. His brow wrinkled with sudden inspiration. “Chaos? Light versus darkness, order versus chaos. That might be it.”

“Hang on,” advised Cassandra. “I’m putting the pedal to the floor.”

The Buick’s motor roared. The car surged forward, the acceleration knocking them back into the seats. Cassandra fought with the steering wheel, trying to keep the auto from skidding off the highway. Clinging to an armrest, Jack risked a look at their pursuers. He groaned in frustration.

“No use,” he declared. “They’re closing the gap. We can’t outrun them.”

A dozen yards separated the vehicles. Seconds later, it was five. Then, with a burst of power the Buick could not match, the trailing car pulled even. A gap less than six feet wide separated them.

“Now,” bellowed Dietrich von Bern, his triumphant face only a few feet from Jack’s, “this game comes to a proper end!”

Balanced in the limo’s doorway, one foot propped against the window to hold him steady, von Bern swung his huge sword with both hands. Metal shrieked against metal as the Huntsman’s blade bit into the reinforced steel roof of the Buick—and through it. Jack cursed in astonishment as the Chaos Sword passed within inches of his nose.

Twisting the steering wheel with all her strength, Cassandra pulled the two cars apart, trying to wrench the sword from von Bern’s hands. But, reacting with inhuman speed, the German slid the blade free. It took him only a second to regain his balance. Laughing insanely, he raised the Chaos Sword over his head for a second attack.

“There’s no escape,” cried Cassandra. “If he can’t reach you, he’ll change tactics and kill me instead. I can’t steer and avoid his sword. We’re finished.”

“Maybe not,” said Jack, reaching into his coat pocket and grabbing his bag of insurance. “Roll down all the windows.”

Unquestioning, Cassandra used the master control to do as she was told. Surprised, von Bern hesitated. “It’s too late to plead for your miserable life, worm,” he snarled.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting,” answered Jack. He wasn’t concerned with the German.

Through the limo’s open door, Jack could see the back of the driver’s head. “Charon,” he called, emptying the contents of the pouch into one hand. Jack held out a handful of silver coins. “ Oboluses .”

The ancient Greek ferryman’s head jerked around sharply, his red eyes flaring. Reacting to his motion, the limo swerved closer to the Buick. Startled, von Bern tumbled back into his car, the door slamming shut after him.

“Oboluses,” repeated Jack, and with a laugh, tossed them over his shoulders and out the opposite window. The coins hit the pavement and disappeared into the night.

Tires screamed and rubber burned as the Greek jammed on the huge limo’s brakes. Swerving back and forth across the highway, it skidded hundreds of yards before coming to a full stop. In seconds, darkness swallowed the car as if it never existed. The Huntsman’s shrieks of rage followed them a moment longer, then they too were gone.

“I think you can slow up,” said Jack. “By the time Charon finds those coins, it will be daylight.”

“Oboluses?” asked Simon.

“I bought them from the numismatist in the Loop after our first encounter with von Bern. From your description of Charon’s personality, I suspected he couldn’t resist their lure.”

“In my time,” said Cassandra, “the dead paid the ferryman a silver obolus for passage across the Styx.”

“Four thousand years later,” said Jack, “he remained true to his nature. Luckily for us.”

He glanced at the speedometer. They were cruising along at nearly seventy miles an hour. In the blackness, it felt like a hundred.

“The danger’s past,” he said to the Amazon. “There’s no reason to drive this fast.”

Cassandra shrugged, looking embarrassed. “It’s not my doing. The brakes refuse to work, and the car won’t slow down.”

She raised her hands off the steering wheel. It remained fixed. “I’m no longer in control. The automobile is following someone else’s commands. Until we arrive wherever it’s taking us, we’re stuck inside. Unless you feel like jumping.”

“No, thanks,” said Jack, watching the scenery fly by. This latest turn of events left him unmoved. He was starting to expect the unexpected. “I’m willing to wait for the car to run out of gas.”

Folding his elbows behind his head, he stretched out on the back seat. “Besides, long car rides make me sleepy. I want to confer with Megan Ambrose about an idea that occurred to me during our fight with von Bern.”