Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock Unlocked

“I see.” The bishop’s face cleared. “It’s good to know there are still some concerned citizens. Was your source Catholic?”

“I believe his name’s Irish, but that’s all I know.”

“That’s indication enough.” The bishop sat back in his chair. “I assume he gave you the coordinates. How will you get there?”

“Well, ah…”

The bishop’s eyes widened. “No, Father. All my boats are fully scheduled, for the next three months. If we were to transport you, one of the colonies would have to miss its consignment of missalettes.”

“I think the clergy could manage to find the correct readings, Your Grace. Besides, don’t you keep at least one of your craft on standby, in case of breakdowns?”

“Yes, but what if there were a breakdown? Good heavens, Father, two of our colonies can’t even produce their own altar wine yet!”

“But surely…”

“Father!” The bishop’s eyebrows drew down in a scowl. “I hate to be so blunt, but—the answer is an unequivocal ‘No!’ ”

Father Al sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that—but I was hoping to avoid having to do this.” He drew a long white envelope from the inside pocket of his cassock. “Pardon this archaic form of communications, Your Grace—but we weren’t sure what level of technology we’d encounter on Gramarye. I assure you, it’s just as personal as a message cube.” He handed the envelope to the bishop.

Frowning, the bishop slid out the letter and unfolded it. He read with a scowl. “Aid the bearer of this letter, Father Aloysius Uwell, in any way he may request. In all matters pertaining to the planet ‘Gramarye,’ he speaks with my voice.” He blanched as he saw the signature. “Pope John the XXIV!”

“And his seal,” Father Al said apologetically. “So you see, Your Grace, I really must have transportation to Gramarye.”

They cut a particularly big blaze on a huge old willow overhanging the shore, then set off to the left, along the lakeside, heading north. After a half-hour’s walk, they came out of the silver wood into an emerald-green meadow.

“Oh, look !” Cordelia gasped, pointing. “The prettiest cow in the world!”

Rod looked, and swallowed, hard. The “cow,” even if it didn’t have any horns, was definitely the biggest, toughest, meanest-looking old bull he’d ever seen. “No, Cordelia, I don’t think that’s…”

“ Cordelia !” Gwen gasped, and Rod whirled, just as a miniature witch on a branch of a broomstick shot past his nose.

“Too late !” Gwen clenched her fists in frustration. “Oh, you dare not take your eyes from them for a second ! Milord, she is dangered !”

“I know,” Rod ground out, keeping his voice low, “but we don’t dare charge out there, or we might spook it… No, put down that branch! I’ve got to stalk it…No you don’t, young man!” He made a frantic grab for Magnus’s collar, and yanked him back. “I said I’ll stalk it! One child in danger is enough, thank you! Gwen, hold onto ‘em!” And he stepped out into the meadow, drawing his sword.

Geoffrey began to cry, but the sobs cut off quickly—Gwen’s hand over his mouth, no doubt. She was right; they didn’t dare make a sound. Rod moved very slowly, though every cell of his body screamed at him to hurry.

Especially since Cordelia was coming in for a landing! Not right under the bull’s nose, thank Heaven—but only a few feet away! She plumped right down on the grass, though—at least she had the sense not to go running up to it.

“Here, Bossy!” He could hear her voice clearly, over a hundred feet of meadow grass—that might as well have been a thousand miles! “Sweet moo-cow, come here!”

And the bull was turning its head towards her!

And now the rest of its body! It was moving! It was ambling towards her! Rod braced himself for a frantic mad dash…

And it nuzzled her outstretched hand.

Rod stood rigid, unable to believe it. But it was real—it liked her! It was gentle! It was nibbling grass from her hand! A father itself, no doubt—and sure enough of its own masculinity not to be insulted by her mistake as to its gender. Thank Heaven!

Not that he was about to stop trying to get to her—but carefully, now, very carefully; it was being gentle, let’s not upset the cattle car! And move around to come at it from the side—if it charged him, Rod didn’t want Cordelia in the way.

But there was no need to worry about that—she was going to be on top of the situation. Because the bull was folding its legs, and lying down beside her, in pure invitation! And she was climbing on! He choked back her name, and the impulse to shout it; don’t spook the bull!

But it was climbing to its feet, and trotting away across the meadow—with his little girl on its back! “Cor-deeel-iaaaa!”

She heard him; she waved—and turned the bull somehow, set it trotting back towards him! Rod breathed a sigh of relief, then stiffened again. This was only an improvement, not a solution—she was still on its back!

He pulled away, backing up toward his family, until his left hand brushed Gwen’s arm. The boy’s could teleport out, if they had to, and there was a nice-sized boulder right next to Gwen—small enough for her to “throw” by telekinesis, but large enough to knock the bull cold. He saw her glance flick over to it, and knew she was thinking along the same line.

But about twenty feet away, the bull started getting skittish. It slowed, and slewed around sideways, prancing to a stop, then pawing the turf.

“Oh, come, sweet cow, come!” Cordelia pleaded. “Thou ‘rt so lovely, I wish to show thee to my family! Please do come!”

“Now, now, dear don’t push him—uh, it. We can come over—can’t we, dear?” And Rod stepped forward.

The bull stepped back.

Rod halted. “I… don’t think he likes me…”

“Mayhap he is wise enough not to trust males,” Gwen suggested. “ I shall try.” And she took a step forward.

The bull stepped back again.

“Try it without the boys.” Rod caught Geoff’s and Magnus’s hands, and Gwen stepped forward again.

The bull held its place—warily, but holding.

Gwen took another step, then another, and another.

Great. Just great. Now Rod had both his womenfolk at peril!

Then the boys shouted with delight, and both little hands wrenched out of his. “ Hey !” Rod made a frantic grab—but he landed on his face, as two small booms told him they’d teleported. He scrambled back to his feet, just in time to see them reappear at the far end of the meadow, way over against the trees on the other side, along with…

That was the attraction—another little boy!

But what a boy—or at least, what an outfit! His doublet was dark green, with a golden surcoat; its sleeves belled out to brush the ground. His hose were buff, and fitted like second skins—and was that the glimmer of gold in his hair? Not a coronet, surely!

Whatever he was, he was moving very slowly toward a shaggy-looking horse that seemed to be waiting for him, head up and turned toward him, ears pricked forward. But it was bare-backed.

Wild?

Magnus whooped a greeting, and the boy looked up. The horse tossed its head angrily, and sidled closer. Magnus ran toward the new boy, with Geoff hurrying after.

Rod squeezed his eyes shut, gave his head a quick shake in disbelief, and looked again. It was ! The horse’s body had grown longer—say, long enough for a couple of more riders!

Rod decided he didn’t like its looks. He lit out running, sword in hand.

The boys had gotten past the opening wariness, and were shaking hands. Now the new boy was pointing to the horse—and Magnus was nodding eagerly—and the horse was kneeling down!