The Warlock in Spite of Himself

"Right!" Rod let go of Tom's collar, patting the man's cheek. "Bright boy! You get the silver star this week! And what do you have to do first?"

"Kill the councillors and noblemen!" Tom grinned.

" Very good! A gold star for the boy! You'll make valedictorian yet, Big Tom! Now, if you really want to be a good boy, tell teacher what you have to do before that!"

Tom sobered. "Jail the Mocker."

"A-plus! And what comes before that?"

Big Tom knit his brown, confused. "What?"

" Be quiet !" Rod roared in his face, in a stage whisper. He spun on Tuan. "Now! What do we do about that sentry?" And to himself, he mumbled, "Sheesh! I should maybe have brought a political convention in here!"

Tuan's chin jutted out stubbornly. "Ere we go further, this fellow must acknowledge me lord!"

Tom took a breath for a fresh blast.

"Down, boy!" Rod said hurriedly. "High blood pressure's bad for you! Is Tuan Loguire a nobleman born, Tom?"

"Aye," Tom grudged, "but that does not—"

"Is Loguire one of the greatest of the noble houses?"

"It is, but—"

"And your mother and father were peasants?"

"Yes, but that's not to say that—"

"And you have absolutely no wish to have been born a nobleman!"

"Never!" Tom hissed, eyes glowing. "May I be hanged from the highest gallows in Gramarye if ever I had wished that!"

"And you wouldn't want to be a nobleman if you could?"

"Master!" Big Tom pleaded, wounded to the core. "Hast so little regard for me that thou couldst think such of me?"

"No, I trust you, Big Tom," said Rod, patting his shoulder, "but Tuan has to be shown." He turned to the young nobleman. "You satisfied? He knows his place, doesn't he?"

"Aye." Tuan smiled like a fond father. "Fool I was to doubt him."

Understanding came into Tom's eyes as his mouth dropped open. His heavy hand closed on Rod's neck. "Why, thou lump of… !"

Rod reached up and squeezed Tom's elbow just at the funny bone. Tom let go, eyes starting from their sockets, mouth sagging in a cry of agony that he dared not voice.

"Now," said Rod briskly, "how do we get rid of that sentry?"

"Oh, thou scum!" Tom breathed. "Thou slimy patch of river-moss, thou mongrel son-of-a-democrat, thou!"

"Precisely," Rod agreed.

"Nay, but tell me," Tuan breathed in Rod's ear, eyes glowing. "What didst thou do to him? Thou didst but touch him and—"

"Uh… warlock trick," said Rod, falling back on the easiest, though most distasteful, excuse. He caught the back iof Tuan's neck and jerked the youth's head down into the huddle with himself and Big Tom. "Now, how do we knock out that sentry?"

"There is but one way," murmured Tuan. "Wake him and fight him."

"And let him give the alarm?" Tom stared, horrified. "Nay, nay! Come catpaw behind him, and give him a blow o' the head!"

"That," said Tuan grimly, "lacks honor!"

Tom spat.

"Big Tom's plan is okay," said Rod, "except what happens if he wakes while we're sneaking up? And there's a very good chance of it; that lecherous beggar proved it for us!"

Tom shrugged. "Then a quick rush, and a hope. If we die, then we die."

"And the Queen dies with us," Rod growled. "No good."

Tom pulled out his short sword and balanced it on a finger. "I'll strike him in the throat with this blade at full fifty paces."

Tuan stared, appalled. "A man of your own men, sirrah!"

"One for the good of the cause." Tom shrugged. "What of it?"

Tuan's eyes froze. "That is worse than a stab in the back! We must needs give him lief to defend himself."

"Oh, aye!" Tom snorted. "Lief to defend himself, and to raise the whole House with his cries! Lief to…"

Rod clapped a hand over each mouth, glad that he hadn't brought three men with him. He hissed at Big Tom, "Be patient, will you? He's new to commando work!"

Tom sobered.

Tuan straightened, eyes icy.

Rod put his mouth next to Tom's ear and whispered, "Look, if you hadn't known he was an aristocrat, how would you have judged him?"

"A brave man, and a strong fighter," Tom admitted, "though foolish and young, with too many ideals."

Rod shook a finger at him. "Prejudice, Big Tom! Discrimination! I thought you believed in equality!"

"Well said," Tom growled reluctantly; "I'll bear him. But one more of his pious mouthings and…"

"If we get this job done fast, he won't have a chance to. Now, I've got an idea."

"Then why didst thou ask us?" growled Tom.

" 'Cause I didn't get my idea till you two started haggling. What we need is a compromise solution, right? Tuan won't stand for a knife in the back, or a knife while the guy's sleeping, or for killing a loyal retainer who might make good cannon fodder tomorrow. Right?"

"Aye," Tuan agreed.

"And Big Tom won't stand for him giving the alarm—and neither will I, for that matter we're all good fighters, but just the three of us against the whole Houseful of cutthroats is straining the bonds of fantasy just a little bit far. So, Tom! If that sentry should come running around this corner all of a sudden, will you clobber him lightly?"

"Aye!" Tom grinned.

" Lightly , I said. Does that satisfy honor, Tuan?"

"Aye, since he faces us."

"Good! Now, if we could just get him to chase a mouse around this corner, we'd be all set."

"Aye," Tuan agreed, "but where's the mouse that would so nicely oblige us?"

"The master could make one," Tom growled.

"Make one?" Rod stared. "Sure if I had a machine shop and a…"

"Nay, nay!" Tuan grinned. "I know not those spells; but thou hast the witch-moss, and thou'rt a warlock! What more dost thou need?"

"Huh?" Rod swallowed. "Witches make things out of that stuff?"

"Aye, aye! Dost thou not know? Living things, small things—like mice!"

The missing piece in the puzzle of Gramarye clicked into place in Rod's mind. "Uh, say, how do they work that trick?"

"Why, they have but to look at a lump of the stuff, and it becomes what they wish it!"

Rod nodded slowly. "Very neat, ve-ry neat. The only hitch in the plan is, that's not my style of witchcraft."

Tuan sagged. "Thou craftest not witch-moss? Then how are we to… ? Still, 'tis most strange that thou shouldst not know of it."

"Not so," Tom dissented. "A very poor briefing bureau…"

"Oh, shut up!" Rod growled. "There are other ways to get a mouse." He cupped his hands around his mouth and called softly, "Gwen! Oh, Gwe-en!"

A spider dropped down on a thread right in front of his nose.

Rod jumped. "Ye cats! Don't do that, girl!"

"Vermin!" Tom hissed, and swung his hand back for a swat. Rod poked him in the solar plexus. "Careful, there!

Squash a spider, and you get bad luck, you know— namely, me!"

He cupped the spider in his hand and caressed it very gently with a finger. "Well, at least you didn't choose a black widow. Prettiest spider I ever saw, come to think of it."

The spider danced on his hand.

"Listen, sweetheart, I need a mouse to bring me that sentry. Can you handle it?"

The spider shape blurred, fluxed, and grew into a mouse.

It jumped from his hand and dashed for the corner.

"Oh, no you don't!" Rod sprang, cupped a hand over it, then very carefully picked it up. "Sorry, sweetheart, you might get stepped on—and if anything like that happened to you, I'd be totally crushed."

He kissed its nose, and heard Tom gagging behind him. The mouse wriggled in ecstasy.

"No," said Rod, running a fingertip over its back and pinching the tail, "you've got to make me one instead, out of that blob of witch-moss. Think you can handle it, pet?"

The mouse nodded, turned, and stared at the witch-moss.

Slowly, the blob pulled itself in, extruded a tendril into a tail, grew whiskers at the top end, changed color to brown, and a mouse crept down off the wall.