Лайон Спрэг Де Камп Array - The Incomplete Enchanter

«Silence, hag!» The deep voice seemed to fill that desolate place with thunder. «Blow, son of mine, then. Rouse our bands, for it is Time .»

«Aieeee!» screeched the figure again. «Begone, accursed ones, to whatever place from whence ye came!» A hand shot out, and Shea noticed with a prickling of the scalp that it was fleshless. The hand seized a sprinkle of snow and threw it at Odinn. He laughed.

«Begone!» shrieked the spae-wife, throwing another handful of snow, this time at Heimdall. His only reply was to set the great horn to his lips and take a deep breath.

«Begone, I say!» she screamed again. Shea had a bloodcurdling glimpse of a skull under the hood as she scooped up the third handful of snow. «To whatever misbegotten place ye came from!» The first notes of the roaring trumpet sang and swelled and filled all space in a tremendous peal of martial, triumphant music. The rocks shook, and the icicles cracked, and Harold Shea saw the third handful of snow, a harmless little damp clot, flying at him from Grua’s bony fingers.

* * *

«Well,» said the detective, «I’m sorry you can’t help me out no more than that, Dr. Chalmers. We gotta notify his folks in St. Louis. We get these missing-person cases now and then, but we usually find ’em. You’ll get his things together, will you?»

«Certainly, certainly,» said Reed Chalmers. «I thought I’d go over the papers now.»

«Okay. Thanks. Miss Mugler, I’ll send you a report with my bill.»

«But,» said Gertrude Mugler, «I don’t want a report! I want Mr. Shea!»

The detective grinned. «You paid for a report, whether you want it or not. You can throw it away. So long. ’By, Dr. Chalmers. ’By, Mr. Bayard. Be seein’ you.» The door of the room closed.

Walter Bayard, lounging in Harold Shea’s one good armchair asked: «Why didn’t you tell him what you think really happened?»

Chalmers replied: «Because it would be — shall I say — somewhat difficult to prove. I do not propose to make myself a subject of public ridicule.»

Gertrude said: «That wasn’t honest of you, Doctor. Even if you won’t tell me, you might at least —»

Bayard wiggled an eyebrow at the worried girl. «Heh, heh. Who was indignantly denying that Harold might have run away from her maternal envelopment, when the detective asked her just now?»

Gertrude snapped: «In the first place it wasn’t so, and in the second it was none of his damn business, and in the third I think you two might at least cooperate instead of obstructing, especially since I’m paying for Mr. Johnson’s services!»

«My dear Gertrude,» said Chalmers, if I thought it had the slightest chance of doing any good, I should certainly acquaint your Mr. Johnson with my hypothesis. But I assure you that he would decline to credit it, and even if he did, the theory would present no — uh — point of application for his investigatory methods.»

«Something in that, Gert,» said Bayard. «You can prove the thing in one direction, but not the reverse. If Shea can’t get back from where we think he’s gone, it’s a cinch that Johnson couldn’t. So why send Johnson after him?» He sighed. «It’ll be a little queer without Harold, for all his —»

Wham! The outward rush of displaced air bowled Chalmers over, whipped a picture from the wall with a crash of glass, and sent the pile of Shea’s papers flying. There may have been minor damage as well.

If there was, neither Gertrude nor Chalmers nor Bayard noticed it. In the middle of the room stood the subject of their talk, swathed in countless yards of blanket-like woollen garments. His face was tanned and slightly chapped. In his left hand he held a clumsy broom of willow twigs.

«Hiya,» said Shea, grinning at their expressions. «You three had dinner yet? Yeah? Well, you can come along and watch me eat.» He tossed the broom in a corner. «Souvenir to go with my story. Useful while it lasted, but I’m afraid it won’t work here.»

«B — but,» stammered Chalmers, «you aren’t going out to a restaurant in those garments?»

«Hell, yes? I’m hungry.»

«What will people think?»

«What do I care?»

«God bless my soul,» exclaimed Chalmers, and followed Shea out.

«Steak,» said Harold Shea.

«Porterhouse, sirloin —?» asked the waitress.

«Both, so long as they’re big and rare.»

«Harold,» said Gertrude Mugler, «whatever this is all about, please be careful of your diet. A large protein intake for a man who doesn’t do physical labour —»

«Physical labour!» barked Shea. «The last meal I had was twenty-four hours ago, and it was a little dish of oatmeal mush. Sour, too. Since then I’ve fought a duel with a couple of giants, done acrobatics on a magic broomstick, had a ride on a god’s enchanted brewery-horse — Well, anyway, I’ve been roasted and frozen and shaken and nearly scared to death, and by Thor’s hammer I want food!»

«Harold, are you — are you feeling well?»

«Fine, toots. Or I will be when I surround some grub.» He turned to the waitress again: «Steak!»

«Listen, Harold,» persisted Gertrude. «Don’t! You pop out of nowhere in that crazy costume; you talk wildly about things you couldn’t expect anyone to believe —»

«You don’t have to believe I popped out of nowhere, either,» said Shea.

«Then can’t you tell me what’s wrong?»

«Nothing’s wrong, and I’m not going to talk about it until I’ve consulted Dr. Chalmers.»

«Well,» said Gertrude, «if that’s your attitude — come on, Walter, let’s go to a movie.»

«But,» bleated Walter Bayard, «I want to listen —»

«Oh, be a gentleman for once in your life!»

«Oh, all right, Gert.» He leered back at Shea as he went. «Anyway, you didn’t bring back any dream-girls.»

Shea grinned after them. «There goes the guy who used to kid me about how Gert had gotten the psychological jump on me,» he said to Chalmers. «I hope she rides herd on him.»

Reed Chalmers smiled faintly. «You forget — uh — Walter’s infallible defence mechanism.»

«What’s that?»

«When the pressure becomes too great, he can simply go to sleep on her.»

Shea gave a suppressed snort. «You know not what you — ah, food! He attacked his plate, working his mouth around a piece of steak big enough to choke a horse; with effort like a snake engulfing a toad. An expression of pure bliss spread over his face as he chewed. Chalmers noted that his colleague ignored the fact that half the restaurant was staring at the tableaux of a long-faced young man in baggy Norse woollens.»

«A — uh — somewhat less rapid rate of ingestion —» Chalmers began.

Shea shook a finger, gulped down his mouthful, and spoke: «Don’t worry about me.» Between mouthfuls he told his story.

* * *

Reed Chalmers’ mild eyes bugged as he watched and listened to his young friend. «Good gracious! That’s the third of those steaks, somewhat inadequately called small. You’ll — uh — render yourself ill.»

«This is the last one. Hey, waitress! May I please have an apple pie? Not just a segment; I want a whole pie.» He turned back to Chalmers. «So the spook said, ‘Go on back to where you came from,’ and here I am!»

Chalmers mused: «While I have known you, Harold, to commit venial sins of rhetorical exaggeration incompatible with true scientific accuracy, I have never known you to engage in deliberate fabrication. So I believe you. The general alteration in your appearance and bearing furnishes persuasive corroboration.»

«Have I changed?» asked Shea.

«You show the effects of physical hardship, as well as exposure to the sun and wind.»