Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock Unlocked

Magnus frowned. “But why us, Papa?”

“Because you’re a very powerful young warlock, mine offspring, as anyone on Gramarye knows. And, if they’re going to all this trouble just to foist off a war between the Church and the State, you can darn well bet they don’t intend to have the State win! So the smart thing to do is to remove the State’s strongest weapons—me, and your mother, and you. Don’t forget, they lost one because of you, already, when you were only two. And Geoffrey’s three already, and Cordelia’s all of five! They’ve got no way of telling what any of you might be able to do.” Nor do I, for that matter . “So, as long as you’re setting the trap, why not catch all five of the birds-of-trouble while you’re at it?”

“But Gregory, Papa?”

Rod shrugged. “I’m sure they’d’ve preferred it if your mother’d carried him in here, too—but since she didn’t I don’t expect they’re going to lose much sleep over it. He’s not even a year old, after all. Even if he had every power in the book, what could he do with them? No, I don’t think they were about to keep the gate open just to try and get Gregory, too—especially if it meant that the five of us might escape! Speaking of Gregory, by the way—who’s with him?”

“Puck, and an elf-wife,” Gwen answered. “And, aye, fear not—she knows the crafting of a nursing-glove.”

Rod nodded. “And anything else she needs to know about him, I’m sure Brom will be glad to supply.”

“He takes so great an interest in our children,” Gwen sighed.

“Ah—yes.” Rod remembered his promise not to tell Gwen that Brom was her father. “Comes in handy, at a time like this. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he flits in from Beastland, just to take charge of Greg personally—and Baby couldn’t be safer inside a granite castle guarded by a phalanx of knights and three battlewagons. No, I think he’ll be safe till we get back.”

“ ‘Until?’ ” Magnus perked up. “Then thou’tt certain we can return, Papa?”

Well, Rod had been, until Magnus mentioned it—but he wasn’t about to say so. There were times when it came in handy, being telepathically invisible, even to members of his own family.

Damn few, though. And there were so many times when it was a curse, almost made him feel excluded…

He shrugged it off. “Of course we can get back! It’s just a problem—and problems are made to be solved, right?”

“Right,” all three children shouted, and Rod grinned in spite of himself. They were handy to have around, sometimes. Most times.

“Tell us the manner of it!” Magnus demanded.

“Oh… I dunno…” Rod let his gaze wander. “We don’t exactly have enough information to start building theories. We don’t even know where we are, in a manner of speaking, or what materials and tools are available—which might be handy to know, ‘cause it might come down to building our own time-machine. For that matter, we don’t even know if there’re even any people!”

“Then let us go discover it!” Magnus said stoutly.

Rod felt the grin spreading over his face again. “Yeah, let’s go!” He whipped out his dagger. “Blaze trees as we go, kids—we might want to be able to find our way back here. Forward march !”

I trust you had a pleasant journey, Father Uwell.”

“As usual, Your Grace.” Father Al dug gratefully into a pile of asparagus that appeared to be fresh. “Aboard ship, it was very pleasant—ample time for meditation. It was getting to the ship that was the problem.”

Bishop Fomalo smiled thinly. “Isn’t it always? I believe my secretary said you were from the Vatican.” The Bishop knew that full well; that’s why he’d invited Father Al to dinner. Not to impress him, but because that was the only half-hour open in the Bishop’s schedule.

Father Al nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “But I have no official standing, Your Grace. An informal trouble-shooter, you might say.”

The Bishop frowned. “But we have no troubles in my diocese—at least, none that would merit the Vatican’s attention.”

“None that you know of.” Father Al tried a sympathetic smile. “And it’s debatable whether or not it’s in your diocese.”

Bishop Fomalo seemed to relax a little. “Come, now, Father! Certainly the Vatican knows which solar systems my diocese includes.”

“Lundres, Seredin, and Ventreles—I believe those are the colonists’ names for the stars. I’m afraid I don’t know the catalog numbers.”

“I’d have to look them up, myself,” the bishop said, with a thin smile. “There are colonies on the third and fourth planets of Lundres, one on the fourth planet of Seredin, and one on the second planet of Ventreles.”

“But they haven’t begun to branch out to the moons and asteroids yet?”

“No, the planets are enough for us, for the time being. After all, Father, we scarcely total a million souls.”

“So little as that? My, my. I trust that doesn’t indicate a disaster?”

“Scarcely.” The bishop tried to repress a smile. “But when you begin with a colony of a few thousand, Father, it does take a while to build up a sizable population, even with sperm and ova banks to keep the genetics stable.”

“Yes, of course. I hope you’ll pardon my ignorance, Your Grace—I’ve never been so far from Terra before. And distance is the factor—with so few people spread over so many light-years, it must be an Herculean task to stay in touch with them.”

“It is difficult,” the bishop admitted, “especially with so few vocations. But we do have hyperadio now, and of course we’ve had a dozen pinnaces with FTL drives all along.”

“Of course.” But Father Al’s eyes suddenly gleamed.

The bishop shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “About this trouble you mentioned, Father—on which colony is it?”

“A Lost Colony, Your Grace, about two-thirds of the way between Seredin and Ventreles, and thirteen light-years away.”

The Bishop relaxed again. “Well, that is out of my diocese. What colony is this?”

“Its people call it ‘Gramarye,’ Your Grace.”

“Troubling.” The bishop frowned. “The word refers to sorcery, does it not?”

“Well, magic, certainly, and it does have occult connotations. The term’s also used to refer to a book of magical spells.”

“I can see why the Vatican would be concerned. But how is it I’ve never heard of this Lost Colony, Father?”

“Why, they wished to stay lost,” Father Al said, lips puckering in a smile. “As far as I’ve been able to make out, they deliberately set about cutting themselves off from the rest of humanity.”

“An ominous symptom.” The bishop’s frown deepened. “All manner of heresies could break out in such a situation. And they’ve been there for several centuries?”

Father Al nodded. “The colony was founded just before the Interstellar Dominion Electorates fell to the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra’s coup.”

“At least they were founded under a democratic interstellar federation. I take it they saw the totalitarian rule of PEST coming, and went off to try to keep democracy alive?”

“Not really; they established a monarchy.”

“Why, I wonder?” The bishop rubbed his chin. “How did the Vatican learn of them?”

Father Al heard the indignant echo under the words; what business did he, an outsider, have coming in here, telling the bishop there was a nearby trouble spot he hadn’t known about? “You might say the information was leaked to us, by an agency associated with the interstellar government.” Which was true; but the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal didn’t know about the association.