Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

"I wouldn't know," Clothahump murmured. "1 am

not familiar with that part of the world. What do you

think of all this, Jon-Tom?"

Sorcerer and spellsinger discussed the matter while

Pandro stood and waked quietly. While hardly an

experienced judge of wizardry qualities, if asked, he

would have had to confess that Opiode was whistling

up the wrong trunk if he expected to get any aid

from this bunch. The apprentice who'd ushered him

inside was an obvious drunk, the turtle showed signs

of senility, and the tail human struck the cosmopoli-

tan Pandro as something of a hick.

Still, surely Opiode the Sly knew what he was

doing in sending here for help. And what was it they

were arguing about?

"I'm telling you, this guy's from my own world,

from my home!" Jon-Tom was saying. "He's got to

be. Transported here by accident, just like me."

"There have been no recent disturbances in the

ether as there were when I brought you over,"

Clothahump told him.

"Maybe he crossed over in a different way. Do you

know of every path between the dimensions?"

"No," Clothahump admitted, a mite huffily. "As I

said before, all things are possible. All 1 am saying

now is that there is nothing to suggest that this

Markus the ineluctable came over from your world.

For one thing, according to Opiode, this fellow seems

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to have been practicing his magic for quite a while,

whereas you discovered your spellsinging ability pure-

ly by accident and only after you had been in this

world for some time. Furthermore, all this blather of

coming from another world may merely be typical

wizardly showmanship, an attempt to cow and over-

awe impressionable Quasequans. There are many

humans in this world, as you well know. This Markus

may not be a transdimensional traveler; he may be

nothing more than a slick talker. Remember, my boy,

that your materialization here was an accident."

"Maybe this isn't an accident," Jon-Tom argued.

"Maybe some wizard from another world has found

a way to cross over on his own."

"As I recall, there are no wizards in your own

world."

Jon-Tom slumped. "I know. But maybe he was

something else. Maybe he's an engineer like you

thought I was, and he can make magic here by

reciting engineering theorems, or something. The

point is, Fve got to know. Don't you see, Clothahump?

If he got through on purpose, by design, maybe he

can return home the same way. Maybe with the two

;of us working together we can manage a way home

; for both of us!"

'• Clothahump was nodding. "That is how I thought

you would react to this information, my boy. Well, it's

only natural that you should be excited. 1 certainly

will not stand in the way of your finding out."

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57

IV

Pandro had been silent long enough.

"Look here, I'm not at all sure what you two are

talking about any more than I knew what Opiode \

was talking about. Like I said, I'm just a messenger." 3

He gestured with a wingtip toward the papers ^

Clothahump held- "One thing Opiode did tell me,

though. He said that if this Markus is truly from

another world, then it must be a place of evil and

darkness." He eyed Jon-Tom uneasily.

"And you say you're maybe from the same place?"

"Maybe. We've no reason to believe that yet," .

Clothahump replied. T

"Well, he's sure peculiar-looking, but according to ^

the descriptions I've heard, mighty different from ^

this Markus the Ineluctable."

"What's he supposed to be like?" asked Jon-Tom

eagerly.

"Definitely human. Tall, but much shorter than

you. Fat, and older. Not much fur left on his head."

Jen-Tom was nodding. "He could be an engineer

from my world."

"And it's said he still wears the clothes he was

wearing when he came into our world."

"Tell me about them, describe them! Does he wear

56

jeans—pants of rough blue material? Or maybe a

suit, something with a long V-shaped opening in the

front, with a white shirt underneath, and maybe a

long strip of material tied around his neck?"

"No," said Pandro thoughtfully, "the description

that I heard was somewhat different. I was told he

dresses entirely in black of some slick, finely woven

material, with a black cape to match, and a strange

black tower atop his head, and a spot of petrified

blood he keeps always over his heart."

"That doesn't sound very familiar," Jon-Tom re-

plied slowly. And he'd been so positive!

"From another world, perhaps, but not necessarily

yours," Clothahump told him. "Interesting. Not nec-

essarily dangerous, but interesting."

"Even if he is from your own world, sir," Pandro

told Jon-Tom, "1 wouldn't plan on him helping you

to get back to wherever you're from. From what

Opiode says, this magician helps no one but himself."

"Maybe because he's frightened," Jen-Tom suggested.

"Maybe if by working together, the both of us can

return home, he'll turn out to be much less threaten-

ing."

"If you can get him to leave, regardless of how you

help yourself, sir, all of Quasequa would be grateful"

He hesitated. "Opiode did not say as much, but

there are rumors that this Markus has plans for

• doing away with the Quorum and installing himself

as an emperor or king or something. That would be

a disaster for Quasequa. We have no tradition of

powerful, single rulers. I think what Opiode the Sly

is saying is that now is the time to stop the newcomer

before he can put any evil designs into effect."

"y he has any such intentions. That may be noth-

ing more than your employer's paranoia at work."

'That is something Opiode felt you would sense,

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sir. He said that you were wise and knowledgeable,

brave and bold."

Clothahump removed his glasses, spoke while clean-

ing them. "Even as a student, I recall this Opiode

being somewhat of a stickler for accurate descriptions"

"I wish I could tell you more, sirs, but I am only a

messenger."

"You've done better than could have been expected

of you."

"So you will send help?" asked Pandro hopefully.

"Certainly I will."

"You'll come yourself?"

"I will send help," Clothahump said firmly. "You

may convey that message to Opiode. I'm sure he

expects some sort of reply, and that should cheer

him. As for specifics, I prefer not to divulge my

methodology to the hired help."

"I understand, sir," said Pandro, bowing and

finishing his stiff drink. He set the glass aside and

headed for the front door. "Any other messages,

sir?"

"Sorbl. Sorbl!" Clothahump yelled. "Never mind.

I'll do it myself." The door swung inward at the flick

of his hand. It was a tiny magic, very minor wizardry,

but it impressed Pandro nonetheless. A good impres-

sion the raven would carry with him all the way back

to Quasequa.

"No, no other message. Tell Opiode if he feels the

need to convey additional information to me to send

you back again."

"Oh, no, sir! He may send more information back

to you. but I won't be bringing it. I've had enough of

wizardly goings-on. Humans from other worlds, face-

less demons, no thank you, sirs! I'll inform him

you're sending help down to Quasequa and I'm sure-

he will be heartened by that, but if he wants to thank