Лайон Спрэг Де Камп Array: The Incomplete Enchanter

«That’s right,» said Shea with a heartiness which he hoped didn’t sound too hollow. He got up to join Chalmers.

The elder psychologist was looking pleased with himself. «A trifle harrowing that session, but gratifyingly informative,» he said as they went towards their rooms. «I really feel I’ve learned something about quantitative control. In fact, I’m confident that in a few months’ research I can learn enough not only to transform Florimel and to rejuvenate myself, but also to. uh. revolutionize the entire practice of magic in Faerie, to make its benefits available to all.»

«Yes, but» — Shea looked worried — «did you find out what they intend to do about Belphebe?»

«I gather that that is a matter for the. uh. executive session of tomorrow. But as I understand the outlines of the plan, it is not to direct the enchantments against her in person. She’s protected against them. They intend rather to place spells on the two or three places where she sleeps, with the design of causing her to fall into so deep a slumber that she can be captured.»

They paused on Chalmers’ threshold. He added: «However, I wouldn’t worry about the young woman’s. uh. safety, Harold. As I understand it she is to be brought here, and I am sure that as a member of the Chapter I can persuade them not to harm her. In fact —»

«For the love of Mike, Doc, are you throwing in with these guys, or just plain daffy? Didn’t you hear Duessa talking about pulling Belphebe’s toenails out, come the Revolution, and Dolon mentioning the torture chamber? Wake up! You’re being an old fool!»

«Harold, I must request you not to use such intemperate language. After all, I’m somewhat your senior, and I require the uninterrupted use of all facilities as well as your own cordial cooperation to put this matter on a scientific basis. In a few months I shall be in a position to effect an industrial revolution in magic —»

«Theory! Months! I might have known that’s what you’d be after! Can’t you realize somebody’s in danger?»

«I shall certainly give my most earnest attention to persuading the other members of the Chapter that this young woman to whom you are so attached is innocuous, and —»

«Oh, for Pete’s sake! Forget it! Good night.» Shea stalked out, more angry with Chalmers than he had ever been before. He did not hear the velvety click of the Judas window in Chalmers’ room. Nor could he overhear the two men in the secret passage that led to that window.

Busyrane’s voice was bland. «We were good enough to warn you that the young man was a suspicious character and mingled somehow in the affairs of the court.»

«Can it be that my judgment, usually so keen, was altogether thrown off?» asked Dolon.

«Oh, you were right about the older. He’s a proper magician and devoted to the Chapter. But the younger — he’ll bear more than watching. A friend of Belphebe, forsooth.»

Shea lay in bed, staring at the black ceiling. No use trying to get the Doc to do anything. His heart was in the right place. But between his devotion to Florimel and his devotion to theory he could not be convinced that these enchanters, who talked so glibly of intellectual achievements, were bloody-minded racketeers who intended to put Belphebe, Britomart, and a lot of others to a slow and intricate death.

Shea shuddered as he thought of it. Whatever was done to save them, he would have to do, quickly. Yes, and to keep Chalmers from turning the products of his really fine scientific mind over to these rascals.

The castle was silent. He slipped out of bed, dressed, and buckled the faithful épée over his shoulder. It would not be much use against enchantments. But as long as the enchanters themselves believed it had magical power, it would help.

The door swung open noiselessly. There was no light in the corridor. The stone floor was cold under Shea’s feet. His soft leather boots made soundless progress. If he kept one hand along the wall, he thought he could find the way to the great hall, and so out. Step — step — the hand that had been following the wall touched nothingness. An appalling odour of cockatrice assailed his nostrils. Evidently the door of somebody’s laboratory. He went down to hands and knees and slithered past an inch at a time, hoping the creature would not wake up.

So. Here was the head of the stair. He took one step down, two — and felt something soft touch his ankles. Another step and the something soft was clear to his waist, catching at him. it felt ropy and vaguely slimy, a whole tangle of slime — cobwebs! For a moment Harold Shea felt unreasoning panic, as it seemed that going ahead and turning back would be equally fatal. Then he realized that this would be some of Busyrane’s magic, part of the ordinary castle safeguards, and of no special significance.

Yet what would cut through or destroy cobwebs? Fire. He had no fire. But in his previous adventure in Scandinavian myth, Surt’s giants had made use of flaming swords, and he had the épée. With an incantation to make use of the law of similarity, it might become a flaming sword. On that narrow, stone-walled spiral staircase it was altogether unlikely that anyone would be able to see the light.

With the ghostly fingers of the cobwebs clutching at his legs, Shea stood on the stair and thought as he never had before of a spell:

Sword, sword, sword that is now my salvation,

Make me a light to cut through these cobwebs;

Be like Surt’s sword to cut through this maze.

He could feel the hilt growing warm.

Help my escape to reach consummation;

In the name of Durandal, help me to be free.

It was not outrageously good poetry, but the hilt was so hot that he snatched it out. A smoky red flame ran down the blade and dropped from the point, revealing the whole stairwell from wall to wall and as high as Shea stood, filled with a solid mass of the hideous grey material. A man could smother in it easier than not. Busyrane left nothing to chance.

Shea slashed at the stuff with the flaming épée. It shrivelled left and right before him, back against the wall with hissing, foul-smelling flames running along the strands. He advanced slowly, cutting one step at a time. As he reached the bottom and the last cobwebs, the fire in the blade went out. He was in the great hall; but a few steps carried him through it, across the forecourt and to the gate.

A moon looked down out of a cloudless sky. Shea cursed it softly to himself, wondering whether he ought to take a chance on crossing the open stretch between gate and the shelter of the trees before it set. He decided to try it.

Bending low, he scuttled rapidly across the space, his cloak flapping like a vampire’s wings. He made it without stumbling and looked back. The castle had disappeared. There was nothing visible but stony ground with the hut in the middle.

Once among the trees, he began pacing the circuit of the clearing, whistling very softly to himself the unicorn tune and pausing to listen. A quarter of the way round he was halted by a tense whisper, «Stand, sir!»

«Belphebe!»

«Aye.» She stepped from her place of concealment, arrow drawn to the head. «In good sooth you look like Harold de Shea. But show me how you hold that narrow sword.»

Shea drew the still-warm épée and demonstrated.

«Certes, then you are indeed he. I feared lest the enchanters had sent a phantom forth to beguile me. Right glad I am to see you, Square Harold.»

Shea said: «Say, I’m glad to see you, too. I knew I could depend —»

«Save your fair speeches for another hour. Here is danger. What is toward?»

Shea explained. Belphebe said: «For myself I fear not, though I thank you for the warning. Yet it’s somewhat otherwise with Britomart, who has not the protection of the woods so close as I. And sure it were shame to miss the chance of catching the entire Chapter at once. Let me think. I left Artegall at a woodcutter’s cot on the far flank of Loselwood. His man Talus had gone to fetch Cambina, that she might heal his bruises and calm his mind.»