The Warlock in Spite of Himself

Tom straightened, grinning. "Now let them wonder at our coming. To work, masters."

He turned away. Rod followed, looking quickly about him.

They were in a large stone room that had once been paneled. The panels were crumbled and fallen away for the most part. The room held only cobwebs, rusty iron utensils, and long trestle tables, spongy now with rot.

" 'Twas a kitchen, once," Tom murmured. "They cook at the hearth in the common room, now. None ha' used this place for threescore years or more."

Rod shuddered. "What's a good kid like you doing in a place like this, Tom?"

Big Tom snorted.

"No, I mean it," said Rod urgently. "You can judge a god, an ideal, by the people who worship it, Tom."

"Be still!" Tom snapped.

"It's true, though, isn't it? The councillors are all rotten, we know that. And the Mocker and his buddies are lice. You're the only good man in the bunch. Why don't you—"

"Be still!" Tom snarled, swinging about so suddenly that Rod blundered into him. Rod felt the huge, hamlike hand grabbing a fistful of his doublet, right at the throat, and smelled the beery, garlic reek of Tom's breath as the man thrust his face close to Rod's.

"And what of the Queen?" Tom hissed.' "What says she for her gods, eh?"

He let Rod go, with a shove that threw him back against the wall, and turned away.

Rod collected himself and followed, but not before he had caught a glimpse of Tuan's eyes, narrowed and chill with hate, in the beam of the torch.

"We approach a corner," Tom muttered. "Dampen the light."

The torch winked out; a few moments later, Rod felt the stone wall fall away under his left hand. He turned, and saw a faint glow at the end of the blackened, short hallway ahead.

Big Tom stopped, " 'Tis a corner again, and a sentry beyond. Walk wary, lads."

He moved away again, stepping very carefully. Rod followed, feeling Tuan's breath hot on the back of his neck.

As they neared the corner, they heard a rhythm of faint snores to their right, from the new hallway.

Big Tom flattened himself against the wall with a wolfish grin. Rod followed suit… and drew away with a gasp and a convulsive shudder.

Tom scowled at him, motioning for silence.

Rod looked at the wall and saw a thick blob of grayish-white stuff fastened to the wall. It had brushed the back of his neck, and he could say with authority that the texture was flaccid, the touch cold and moist.

He looked at the obscene glop and shuddered gain.

" Tis but witch-moss, Rod Gallowglass," Tuan whispered in his ear.

Rod frowned. "Witch-moss?"

Tuan stared, incredulous. "Thou'rt a warlock, and knowest not witch-moss?"

Rod was saved from an answer by the cessation of the snores from around the corner.

The trio caught their collective breath and flattened themselves against the wall, Rod carefully avoiding the witch-moss. Tom glared at his sidekicks.

The moment of silence stretched out as thin as the content of a congressman's speech.

"Hold!" shouted a voice from around the corner.

Their muscles snapped tight in a spasm.

"Where do you go at this hour?" the sentry's voice snarled.

Dread clambered its way up Rod's spine.

A quaking, nasal voice answered the sentry. "Nay, I do but seek the jakes!"

The three men let their breath out in a long, silent sigh.

" Sir , when yer speak to a soldier!

"Sir," the whining voice echoed, surly.

"What was your reason for walking past curfew?" the sentry threatened in ominous tones.

"I do but seek the jakes, sir ," the nasal voice whined.

The sentry chuckled, mollified. "And the jakes are near to the women's hall? Nay, I think not! Back to your pallet, scum! Your doxie's not for you this night!"

"But I—"

"Nay!" the guard snapped. "You do know the rule, fellow. Do you ask of the Mocker first." The voice became almost confidential. " 'Tain't so much as all that, chum. Like as not he'll give yer the paper says yer can do't, an' set yer a fit place an' time. He's free 'nough about it."

The nasal one hawked and spat.

"Come on, now," the guard growled. "Yer've but to ask of him."

"Aye," sneered the nasal voice, "and ask again every night that I'm wishin' to see her! Hell, 'twas the one thing in this world that came cheap!"

The guard's voice hardened again. "The Mocker's word is the law in this House, and my club'll remind you of it, if my word's not enough!"

There was a pause, then an angry, despairing snarl, and feet padded away.

There was silence again; after a while, the guard began to snore again.

Rod glanced at Tuan. The boy's face was dead white, lips pressed so tight the color'd gone out of them.

"I take it you didn't know anything about this?" Rod whispered.

"Nay," Tuan whispered back. "Once they'd set me by, they wasted no time. A guard at each hall, a writ ere two may share a bed—this is worse than the lords of the South!"

Tom's head jerked up. "Nay!" he snarled. " 'Tis but inconvenience. The gains to be got from it are well worth the price."

For his part, Rod agreed with Tuan. Police state, control over every facet of the people's lives—yes, the Mocker's Marxism was showing.

"What gains are worth that price?" Tuari snorted, raising his whisper a trifle.

"Why," growled Big Tom, at minimum bullfrog volume, "more food for all, more and better clothing, none poor and none starving."

"And all thanks to planned parenthood," Rod murmured, with an apprehensive glance at the corner.

"And how may this come?" asked Tuan, hiking his voice another notch and ignoring Rod's frantic signals. "From a writ of consent for a lovemaking? I cannot see how!"

Tom's lip twisted in scorn, and the bullfrog croaked louder. "Nay, you cannot! But the Mocker can!"

Tuan stared; then his jaw tightened, and his hand slipped to his dagger. "Do you place yourself and your kind above a nobleman, churl?"

"Uh, gentlemen," Rod whispered.

Big Tom tensed, grinning; his eyes danced mockery. "Blood will tell," he said, full voice.

Tuan's dagger leaped out as he sprang.

Tom lugged out his minor sword.

Rod threw out his hands, stiff-arming both of them at the collarbone. "Gentlemen, gentlemen] I realize you both feel very strongly about the issues at hand; but it is my bounden duty to remind you that a sentry fully capable of bringing the wrath of the House down on our heads is dozing, and not too heavily either, just around the corner!"

"This is not to be borne, Rod Gallowglass!"

"Aye," chuckled Big Tom, "the truth was ever hard to bear."

Tuan lunged, trying to stab at Tom over Rod's head. Rod shoved back on the boy's collarbone and ducked as the knife arced past his head.

Tom chuckled softly. "There is a nobleman for you! A fool could see the reach is too great! Ever will he overreach himself, when he knows he must fail."

Rod eyed Tom sideways. "You're slipping, Big Tom. That was almost a compliment."

"Nay!" Tom hissed, his eyes fire. "To attempt the impossible is the act of a fool! The nobles are fools, and the roads to their Utopias are paved with the bones of the peasants!"

Tuan spat. "And what else are they—"

"Be still!" Rod gave them both a shake. "Could I possibly persuade you to overlook your obvious differences in favor of the common good for a moment?"

Tom straightened to his full height and looked down his nose at Tuan. " Little man," he crooned.

Rod let go of Tuan and swung on Big Tom, grabbing the big man's collar with both hands. Tom grinned and brought up a hamlike fist. "Aye, master ?"

"What's the Utopia right now, Big Tom?" Rod breathed.

Tom's grin faded to a frown. "Why, that the people of Gramarye should rule their land for themselves."