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

he grabbed Mudge by the tail and the ruff of his

neck. The otter's feet bicycled through the air as he

fought to free himself.

"Hey, take it easy, mate!"

"Get in there and fight alongside your cousins,

damn you!"

Jon-Tom threw the Otter forward, harder than he

intended. He was too mad to judge his strength. To

his horror, Mudge performed a single somersault

and landed neatly on top of Prugg's head. The

otter's impact shoved the bear's helmet down over

his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Seeing this, Quorly

lowered her head and charged underneath a deadly

but badly aimed swing to hit the bodyguard head-

first between pillarlike tegs. Prugg let out a low

grunt, bent over, and tried to find Mudge, who was

frantically retreating down the bear's back. The club

fell to the floor.

Memaw, Knorckle, and Wupp immediately dropped

their own weapons in favor of the club. Turning the

business end toward their opponent, they rushed

forward at full speed, short legs churning, and made

loud contact with the leather helmet Mudge had so

recently abandoned. The impact sent them tum-

bling.

Prugg let out a strange low sigh and sort of keeled

THJB MOMEMT OF TUB UAOICIAM 29B

over, like a falling redwood. He hit the floor with a

muffled brrouummmf, out cold.

Jon-Tom and the others raced past while the club-

wielders tried to collect themselves.

The last door beckoned. Were they in time? Hadf

they moved fast enough? Or was Markus the Ineluc-

table waiting just inside, prepared to strike all of

them dead with whatever new evil he had drawn into

this world?

Jon-Tom pushed on the latch. Somewhat to his

surprise, the door was not locked. The otters crowd-

ed in around him.

At the far end of the Room, Markus the Ineluctable,

nee Markle Kratzmeier, sat waiting on his throne.

He looked different somehow. He'd straightened his

bow tie and his white shirt gleamed. He did not seem

particularly upset by the intrusion.

"Heard what was going on, kid. Didn't think you'd

get this far. Congratulations." He tried to see past

Jon-Tom, out into the hall, searching for his bodyguard.

"Sleeping," Jon-Tom told him wolfishly. "My friends

here took care of that."

"Let me at the bald bastard!" yelled Drortch. Jon-

Tom had to put out an arm to restrain her.

"This looks easy. 1 don't think it's going to be"

"No, it ain't, kid." said Markus quietly as he rose.

Standing there on the dais, silhouetted by torchlight,

he did not look anything like the cheap stage magi-

cian from Perth Amboy that he'd once been. There

was a dark radiance about his person, a palpable

aura of evil. It poured down from the throne to

cascade over the onlookers clustered in the doorway,

and several of the otters reflexively shrank back.

Markus stepped off the dais. He was wearing white

gloves now, Jon-Tom noticed, and his shoes had been

polished to a blinding sheen. Still brown, though.

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296

The speUunger held his ground as the magician

raised his plastic wand.

"Oops." Mudge did his own disappearing act,

retreating back behind the door.

Markus lowered the wand and smiled. "See how

fast your companions desert you."

"They're not deserting me," Jon-Tom told him. He

turned and looked down at his friends. "All of you:

this is between Markus and me- Wait in the hall."

Obediently, they filed out, leaving him with words of

encouragement and a promise to rush in no matter

what the danger should he call out to them.

"That takes care of my friends. Where are yours?"

Markus lost his smile. "Wise-ass. You'll be sorry."

He glanced at the duar. "So that's what you've been

so keen to get your hands on. Weird-lookin' gadget."

jon-lbm let his fingers fall casually across the

duar's strings. An explosive note Filled the room.

"Hey, pretty good trick!" Markus complimented

him. "Here's one of mine"

He aimed the wand at Jon-Tom and mumbled

under his breath.

Jon-Tom prepared to duck or sing, as the attack

demanded. Instead he nearly brokq^out laughing. A

steady stream of brightly colored scarves emerged

from the magician's sleeve. It was exactly the sort of

trick you'd expect to see someone like Markus per-

form at a neighborhood party.

Except that the scarves knotted themselves around

his ankles and began enveloping his legs, winding

steadily upward. Meanwhile the flow from the

magician's sleeve showed no signs of slowing.

If he didn't do something fast, in a couple of

minutes he'd look like a psychedelic mummy. But

what songs did he know about clothing? About scarves,

or ties? Suddenly the flood of silk didn't seem so

THE MOMENT w THE MAOICIAH 297

funny. There was an old cartoon song about"*? Chi-

nese laundry... no, that wouldn't work.

In desperation he tried some lyrics from Carole

Ring's "Tapestry" album. The scarves quivered but

didn't vanish. Instead^they began to unknot themselves*

fold up neatly, and stack in piles according to color

on the nearby table. They unwound from his thighs

and calves, then his ankles, until they were twisting

and folding and stacking themselves as quickly as

they emerged from Markus's sleeve.

Furthermore, each one bore in its upper right-

hand corner the monogram JTM.

Markus frowned, lowered his arm. The silk assault

ceased. "You're fast, kid. Not fast enough to make it

in Atlantic City. but pretty good for here." This time

he raised both hands. "For this one we need an

assistant."

Something began to coalesce in the space between

them. A faint silvery glow that drew shape as well as

substance from his wand-and Fingers. An hourglass

.outline traced in air.

It didn't have fangs or talons. Jon-Tom was enrap-

tured by it.

She was tall, as tall as he was. Blond, alluring, clad

in. next to nothing.. She was walking toward him and

whispering through puckered, inviting lips; cajoling

him, tempting him. pleading with him.

"Please, can 1 have a volunteer from the audience?**

Jon-Tom found himself stumbling forward, a step

at a time. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he

could see Markus through her. A single gold tooth

flashed in the magician's mouth. He was smiling

again. ,

Somehow Jon-Tom retreated, though the effort

of will required to back away from that seductive

' vision was tremendous. And she was still coming

i toward him,, one perfect hand outstretched to lead

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him, lead him up onto the stage. How could he resist

her? She was obviously so beautiful, so innocent, so

badly in need of this job.

He couldn't resist her. But he could sing to her.

Sure, nothing wrong with that. What gentle, reassur-

ing ballad could he dedicate to her?

Hesitantly at first, then with growing strength, he

began to play "Killer Queen,"

The blond houri contorted as the first chords

filled the room. She shimmied and twisted in front

of him, though not the way he wanted her to shim-

my and twist. But as she spun he was able to see the

knife she clutched in her other hand. With a cry she

lunged at him. Maybe he should have raised the

duar to absorb the force of the blow, but he just kept

on singing, trying to match the notes perfectly, trying

to imitate Freddie Mercury as best he could.