Robert Weinberg - A Logical Magician

For the dozenth time, he wished he had been able to contact Megan in the dream world. But, as had been the case two nights ago, he had been unable to locate her in his sleep. Only Hazel’s reassurances had kept him from assuming the worst. The dead obviously didn’t dream. The witch swore that the presence of the Great Beast so near made psychic communication impossible, and that Megan was still safe. Jack could only hope Hazel was right. He would find out the truth soon enough.

The light on Lake Shore Drive turned red, halting traffic. “Come on,” declared Jack, pushing away all thoughts of despair. “We’re off to save the world.”

“About time,” grumbled Grondark. “Damn humans and faeries talk too much. Dwarfs know better.”

“Don’t worry, Simon,” Jack said to his changeling friend. “We’ll be back.”

Waving goodbye to the despondent faerie, they ran across the street. The CD boom box Jack insisted they bring with them clattered noisily against Cassandra’s walking stick. None of his companions had questioned his odd selection of weapons, though Cassandra had balked a little at his choice in music.

They found the entrance to the tunnel network without much trouble. It resembled a giant raised manhole cover some eight feet across. A massive rusted metal grate covered the opening.

Reaching into a backpack, Jack pulled out three miniature flashlights. After giving one to each of his companions, he shone his into the darkness. After a second, he spotted a ladder leading downward. It started two feet below the grate.

“Out of the way,” commanded Fritz Grondark, removing the pack from his shoulders. He pulled the monkey wrench from his belt. “This is dwarf work.”

Six bolts fastened the cover to the cement. Six times Fritz raised his wrench and slammed it into the concrete. By the time he finished, it looked like someone had used sticks of dynamite on the opening.

Tucking the tool back into his belt, Grondark bent over and grasped the grate with both hands. His fingers tightened on the rusted metal. Muscles like steel bands rippled in his gigantic shoulders. Groaning, the dwarf slowly straightened up, pulling the immense cap with him. Balancing it like a giant steel waffle, he turned and walked to an open section of the glade. Carefully, he laid the grate to rest on the grass.

“I don’t like damaging city property,” he explained, brushing flakes of rust off his palms. “I’ll put it back where it belongs when we return.”

“We’ll probably use another exit,” said Jack, still not sure he believed his eyes. “The Park District can take care of the grate. Assuming they have a crane handy.”

Cassandra leaned over the edge of the pit and shone her flashlight into the depths. “The ladder descends about thirty feet to the floor. There’s a big block of wood there. And a tunnel leading towards the city.”

“It’s the end of one of the rail lines,” said Jack. He drew in a deep breath. “According to the maps, this passage should take us on a direct route to von Bern’s headquarters. It’s several miles away, but we have plenty of time before nightfall. Let’s go.”

Descending the ladder into the blackness of the pit, Jack gazed up at the bright blue sky. Silently, he prayed it wasn’t going to be the last time he saw the sunshine.

“Order over chaos,” he whispered softly. “Good over evil.”

Smiling faintly, he patted the odd weapon that bounced against his chest. “Logic over superstition.” He drew in a deep breath as he recited the final line of his mantra. “Light over darkness.”

Using his pocket flash, Jack peered into the concrete passage. It was nine feet high, six feet wide, oval-shaped with a flat floor. A railway track stretched out into the darkness. The air, while stale and somewhat musky, was cool and breathable.

“Anyone claustrophobic other than yours truly?” he asked his two companions nervously.

“My folk lived in tunnels like these for hundreds of years,” said Grondark. “They don’t scare dwarfs.”

“Nothing frightens me,” said Cassandra unnecessarily.

Jack shook his head in disgust. At least Simon provided a little comic relief. Shrugging his shoulders, he reached into one of the two backpacks.

“Take these,” he said to Cassandra, handing her two plastic containers, each filled with ten thin, black plastic, rectangular discs. “Hopefully, you can use these like throwing stars.”

“Of course,” said Cassandra, balancing one of the rectangles in her hand. “I’ve used toothpicks as darts when necessary. But these things don’t have sharp edges. They won’t cause any damage.”

“Yes, they will,” said Jack. “I’m not sure exactly how they’ll affect the Border Redcaps, but I think the results should be spectacular. When we’re attacked, use these first before resorting to your staff.”

Rummaging through the bag, he pulled out nearly a dozen small plastic boxes. “Stuff these into your pockets,” he told Fritz. “Keep them handy. We’ll need them if we encounter the Gabble Ratchets.”

“These things?” asked the dwarf, doing as he was told. “You can buy them in any electronics store in the country. Even some supermarkets handle them.”

“It’s not how rare they are that makes them powerful,” said Jack, grinning. “It’s what they symbolize. Trust me. I know what I’m saying.”

“You’re acting very mysterious, Jack,” said Cassandra.

“My privilege,” replied Jack. “I’m the hero. Besides, who knows what powers von Bern controls in these tunnels? He could be eavesdropping on our every conversation. The one thing I’ve learned the past few days is that anything’s possible. The less I tell you, the less he knows. And the more he worries.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Fritz. “If you’re finished handing out surprises, I’ll lead. Dwarfs have perfect underground vision. We don’t need flashlights to see in the dark. You two keep your lights focused on the ground. That way, we won’t warn anyone we’re coming.”

They started off at a brisk clip. Fritz was first, with Jack second, and Cassandra third. The tunnel sloped gently downward, making walking easy. Within minutes, they had left the dim light of the opening to the surface far behind. While occasional vents dotted the walls and ceiling, providing a steady flow of air, none of them offered a hint of light. Except for their two flashlights, the passage was oppressively and totally dark.

Jack had been joking about claustrophobia, but within a few minutes he was painfully aware of the tons of earth over his head. That the concrete tunnels had lasted nearly a hundred years without collapse seemed relatively unimportant. The one-in-a-million chance that the passage might suddenly buckle beneath the pressure had Jack walking very gingerly.

After twenty minutes, the tunnel leveled out. “We’re beneath the city streets,” whispered Jack. His voice echoed and re-echoed through the silent passage. “No sign that anyone’s used this branch in years. Hopefully, we’ll catch von Bern by surprise. So far, so good.”

“Maybe,” rumbled Fritz Grondark. “Maybe not.” He waved a massive hand in the direction they were going. “Something’s up ahead blocking our way. I can’t make out what it is. Shine your flashlights on it.”

Jack and Cassandra both raised their beams. Fifty feet away, a railroad handcar rested on the track. Filling it nearly to the ceiling were a dozen big wooden crates.

“I thought you said they removed the handcarts from the tunnels fifty years ago,” said Cassandra as they slowly walked forward.

“They did,” said Jack. “Unfortunately, they stored them in the roundhouse station von Bern is using as his base. Much as I hate to say it, I’m willing to bet those boxes are filled with finishing bricks kept there as well. The German probably blocked all the direct routes to his hideout with obstacles like this. Not that we have the time to find out otherwise. Somehow we’ve got to unload enough of those boxes off that damned thing so that we can pass through, or we’re finished.”