Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

“Not a glimmer,” replied Sylvester. “The vision lasted only a second. Sorry, Jack.”

“No need to apologize,” said Jack. “Combining your information with what I already surmised gives us a pretty clear picture of what’s taking place. And when.”

“It does?” said Cassandra. “I must have missed something somewhere. Would you care to explain?”

“Yeah,” said Hugo. “Add me to the list of lost souls. It seems awfully likely that the postcard’s a trap. Or a phony lead designed to lure you away from the real action.”

“I doubt it,” replied Jack. “Especially in view of the clues Megan passed on to me last night over the phone. During the famous scene in Casablanca where Bogart discussed the water, the characters directly referred to the city being located in the desert. Just like Las Vegas. And when Cagney died at the end of White Heat, he screamed, ‘Top of the world. Ma.’ ”

Jack held up the mysterious postcard. “Notice the name of the hotel on the front of our letter. The Seven Wonders of the World Hotel and Casino. I’m willing to bet a fistful of silver dollars that the Old Man of the Mountain has his headquarters in the penthouse on the top of that resort.”

“But who sent the card?” asked Cassandra.

“I’m not positive but I’m willing to venture a guess,” said Jack. “Remember, the ancient demigod behind all of these schemes didn’t return to our world on its own. Someone had to call it back. Perhaps that individual did it entirely by accident. Who knows the actual circumstances? In any case, this card seems to indicate we have a friend in the enemy camp.”

“Maybe,” said Hugo. “But I wouldn’t trust my feathers to anyone fooling around with spells dealing with the Ancients. Summoning a demigod to the real world ain’t the same thing as making pudding. Nobody with a noble heart tries something like that in the first place. Not without a reason. Get my drift? This character ain’t lily white.”

“Agreed,” said Jack, “but we can’t ignore the facts. Hasan is holding Megan prisoner in Las Vegas. He’s doing it to prevent us from interfering with an auction he’s holding within the next week. I’m not sure how the demigod fits into this whole scenario. It might be working behind the scenes. Or it could merely be a participant in the bidding. In any case, I can’t see any way to avoid the obvious. We have to attend the event as well. Megan’s fate, and possibly that of civilization, depends on it.”

“It sounds like the plot of a horror novel,” said Hugo. “I remember the cover blurb of one published a few years ago. ‘Gavel-to-gavel terror where the bidding is for your soul and all sales are final.’ It was called The Devil’s Auction, but I’ll be damned if I can remember the author’s name.”

“Who cares?” said Jack. “These horror authors write a book or two, then disappear. They never amount to much. We need to make plans, not talk about old books.”

“I’m going,” said Cassandra, in a voice that brooked no discussion. “I have a score to pay back to that Afreet and his boss. Besides, you’ll need someone to guard your back against the assassins. And I’m the best one to do it.”

“My beak and talons are yours to command,” said Mongo.

“Mine too,” said Hugo. “Blood’s good for the digestion. Plus, your mom would never forgive us if we let you get hurt.”

“If you need the services of a dwarven mechanic,” said Fritz Grondark, “I’m willing and available.”

“To save my daughter’s life,” declared Merlin solemnly, “I will do whatever is necessary,” He paused. “Defeating an Afreet will require powerful sorcery.”

“You can say that again,” cawed Hugo. “I ransacked the mythology section at the Chicago Public Library downtown for information about genies. It’s a nice place. Too bad they spent so much money on the building they couldn’t afford to buy any new books. Volumes I beaked through were at least twenty years old. Fortunately, legends don’t change over the centuries.”

“Would you care to share with the rest of us what you discovered?” Jack asked sarcastically. There were no short remarks or replies with supernaturals. Saying yes or no took five to ten minutes.

“Be glad to,” said Hugo, completely unaware of Jack’s impatience. “The facts ain’t particularly comforting. Afreets are the meanest and most powerful genies of Arabian mythology. Creations of fire and air, they exercise control over both mediums. They can fly, call up storms, and set objects ablaze. Though Afreets normally appear slightly larger than a man, because of their gaseous nature, they can assume nearly any size. They can swell up as big as an elephant or shrink down to the dimensions of a bug. Fortunately, as with most extremely powerful elemental spirits, they have the brainpower of a dinosaur.”

“Any other weaknesses?” asked Jack.

“That’s the really bad news,” said Hugo. “Damned genies don’t have many. They’re nearly indestructible. Glass frightens them. They refer to it as ‘frozen fire.’ According to most legends, Afreets can’t escape from a properly sealed glass bottle.”

“Logical,” said Jack. “Glass incorporates fire, air, and sand, all major factors of their existence.”

“Properly sealed is the problem, Johnnie,” continued Hugo. “King Solomon imprisoned most of the genies in bottles, then buried the receptacles in the desert sand. He trapped them in the vessels by impressing his magic signet ring into the wax covering the container’s mouth. Nothing less will work. You need King Sol’s ring to cage this baby, and that ring disappeared two thousand years ago.”

“Terrific,” said Jack, gloomily. Closing his eyes, he drew in several deep breaths. Mentally, he recited the fundamental theorem of calculus to steady his nerves. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked around at his companions.

“I refuse to give up before we start. Things look grim, but they looked pretty bad when we fought Dietrich von Bern and the Border Redcaps. Yet we defeated him and a Great Beast as well.”

“Couldn’t we use the same modern devices that defeated those fiends against the Old Man of the Mountain?” asked Cassandra. “Hasan sounds equal in evil to the Wild Huntsman.”

“Unfortunately, different cultures perceive certain behavior in entirely different manners,” said Jack. The same idea had flitted through his mind earlier and he had dismissed it after a few minutes’ thought. “The Old Man of the Mountain is not thought to be a villain in Middle Eastern mythology. Like death, he’s neutral. The Assassins kill for religious beliefs or profit. In either case, that’s not considered a sin. Hasan and his servants are immune to our original weapons. We need other devices to overcome them.”

“Sounds pretty challenging to me,” said Hugo. “Considering that the Old Man of the Mountain is supposed to be immortal. Genies can’t be killed, only imprisoned. And there’s always the question of how to disbelieve out of existence a demigod nobody believes exists in the first place.”

“Mere details,” said Jack. “The one thing to remember is that if supernatural beings evolve with the times, then the methods of dealing with them have to change as well. We’re going to use modern logic to win this war.”

Feeling slightly more confident, Jack rose from his chair. A dozen ideas crowded into his head. Several he rejected immediately as taking too much time or being too risky with Megan’s safety at stake. But a number of others offered real promise. Everything depended on the situation in Las Vegas.

“This mission is going to require use of everyone’s particular talents,” he declared. “I’m going to Las Vegas as soon as possible. Cassandra will accompany me for protection. The ravens will come along to act as our spies. The rest of you are going to stay here.”