Simon Hawke - The Wizard of Camelot.htmTHE WIZARD OF CAMELOT 
Copyright © 1993 by Simon Hawke All rights reserved.
e-book ver. 1.0 
for Natasha

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Thomas Malory was born and educated in London, served as a decorated career 
soldier in the army, participating in most of the Internal Pacification 
Campaigns during the Collapse, and retired with the rank of sergeant-major. Upon 
retirement, he joined New Scotland Yard's elite London Urban Assault Division, 
since disbanded. He left the police force to work with Merlin Ambrosius in 
founding the International Center for Thaumaturgical Studies, which eventually 
grew into the International Thaumaturgical Commission, and he still holds an 
honorary seat on its board.

Though he never became an adept himself, he is widely regarded as the co-founder 
of the Second Thaumaturgic Age, and played a key role in developing the 
administrative programs of the I.T.C., chairing its first regulatory committee 
and presiding over its first adept certification programs. Best known as 
Merlin's closest friend and trusted advisor, Malory is regarded as the leading 
authority on Professor Ambrosius, and is currently engaged in writing the 
definitive work on his life, Merlin, The Man Behind The Myth. He lives with his 
wife, Jenny, and his thaumagene familiar, Victor, in Geneva, Switzerland.

CHAPTER 1

My name is Thomas Malory, and I was there when magic came back into the world. I 
was there right from the very start, when the Second Thaumaturgic Age began. It 
began with one, single, desperate act born of fury and frustration. It began 
with one blow of an axe. And that axe was mine.

For most of my adult life up to that time, I had served in the armed forces of 
His Majesty, and I had retired with the rank of sergeant-major in the infantry. 
I had lived the simple life of a soldier. It was often a hard life, but these 
days I find myself wishing I could return, if not to the type of life I led 
then, at least to the obscurity that I enjoyed. I've gained the status of 
celebrity in my advanced years, however reluctantly, and fame is truly something 
I could easily have done without.

There was once another Malory, Sir Thomas Malory, who wrote Le Morte d'Arthur. 
However, he was no relation and, in those days, I was unaware of the fateful 
irony involved in my bearing the same name as his. I was unaware of a great many 
things back in those days, those dark, terrible days. I was unaware of the 
influence fate wields in people's lives. I never really thought about such 
things back then. There were more immediate, far more pressing matters to occupy 
all my attention, matters pertaining to survival.

In the army, I had served with the L.U.A.D., which stood for London Urban 
Assault Division. It was a rather dramatic name, but quite appropriate, all 
things considered. I saw a great deal of action in my time with the Loo, as we 
called it, during the International Pacification Campaigns. The word "loo" is 
British slang for toilet or, as the Americans might say, the "crapper." And 
that, too, was appropriate, in its own way.

I'd put in over twenty years with the service and I was approaching my fortieth 
birthday. I had a wife, Jenny, and two small children; Christine, aged eleven, 
and Michelle, aged nine, and I wanted nothing quite so much as to find a safe 
and reasonably peaceful haven for them. In those dark days of the Collapse, 
"reasonably peaceful" was about as much as anyone could hope for. And, for many 
people, it was a hope never to be realized.

London was a war zone that erupted into full-scale mass street riots on the 
average of several times a year The army was frequently called in to quell them. 
These domestic police actions, taking place in various large British cities, 
became known as the Internal Pacification Campaigns. They occurred with such 
frequency that the major ones were simply referred to by number, in a rather 
Yank-like military shorthand, such as In-Pac 9, which erupted in London, In-Pac 
10, which broke out in Coventry, and so forth. The minor campaigns occurred so 
often that no one even bothered counting them.

I had seen a good number of my mates go down in those campaigns and I'd had 
about enough.

I wanted out.

I moved my family to Loughborough, in the Midlands, approximately one hundred 
miles north of London, near Nottingham. It was not exactly a small town, but it 
was a fair distance from London, which was the point of the whole thing. The 
level of crime and violence in London had become intolerable and I feared for my 
family's safety.

I purchased a house, a small cottage, really, on the outskirts of the town, but 
nevertheless, it came quite dearly and wiped out all my savings. There was, of 
course, no possibility of financing the purchase with a mortgage. No one was 
taking any flyers on such things back then. Businesses were failing left and 
right, banks and underwriting firms among them, and credit was a nonexistent 
thing. One paid with cash or one simply didn't buy at all, and with the economy 
collapsing, prices fluctuated wildly, not only from day to day, but from hour to 
hour

Things grew worse with each passing week, nor was the madness confined to 
British soil. The Collapse was a worldwide phenomenon, as everyone knows now, 
though few people living today have any firsthand knowledge of what it was 
really like. That period has since been greatly romanticized in films, novels, 
and on television, but it's one thing to see the Collapse fancifully depicted in 
a film or television series and quite another to have actually lived through it. 
Modern generations seem to have a great feeling of nostalgia for the past, 
somehow perceiving that period as a time of great adventure and derring-do, but 
at the risk of sounding like an old curmudgeon, I must say frankly that young 
people today have absolutely no idea what those days were really like. They 
simply haven't got a clue.

The Collapse was a bloody nightmare. The most densely populated urban areas were 
hit the hardest, and those were the places where the violence was the most 
pronounced. I had wanted to remove my family from the environs of the city at 
all costs, and so I bought the house in Loughborough, spending all the money I 
had carefully saved over the years. In retrospect, I still don't think it was a 
bad decision, considering the circumstances. Cash was at a premium and everyone 
was liquidating everything they owned in the way of long-term investments, 
fighting for the short-term gain.

The Collapse had changed people's ways of thinking. Money was steadily losing 
value, and so such things as homes, savings, and investments were losing their 
value, as well. Sellers were anxious to get as much as they possibly could, but 
with no one offering any financing, cash had to be the bottom line, and so 
prices fell dramatically. Unfortunately, the value of what I'd saved had fallen 
dramatically, as well. With financial institutions failing left and right, I was 
lucky to have pulled out my money when I had and to have spent it while it was 
still worth something. At least we had a home. We had precious little else.

The problem, once I had my family settled in our new home, was how to afford its 
upkeep. On the plus side of the ledger, we owned it, free and clear, and we 
didn't have to worry about such things as taxes and insurance. No one was 
writing any policies, because the insurance industry had collapsed, and no one 
was paying any taxes, because the beleaguered government had lost practically 
all ability to enforce collection, save for such built-in revenues as sales 
taxes, which had risen alarmingly as a consequence. In short, the government was 
quickly going broke. In the meantime, what budget there was went to support 
essential services such as hospitals and fire departments, the military and the 
police, and so forth. Since the most densely populated urban centers were the 
greatest drain on these limited resources, the outlying areas had to go begging 
and were largely left to fend for themselves.

This meant that if our house burned down, or was vandalized or burgled, neither 
it nor our few possessions could be replaced. Food was becoming more and more 
expensive, and with constant power outages, rapidly diminishing supplies of 
heating oil, and the scarcity of gas, we were forced to rely on wood or coal for 
fuel. The price of coal had skyrocketed, and the price of cord wood was rising 
rapidly, as well. The petroleum reserves had been almost entirely depleted, and 
what petrol was available was rationed among essential government, medical, 
police, and military personnel.

It seemed pointless to bemoan the policies that had brought about such a 
disastrous state of affairs, because environmentalists and scientists had been 
predicting it for years and we had no one but ourselves to blame. Toward the 
end, people had started to wake up at last, and serious attempts were made to 
practice conservation and responsible resource management, but it was simply too 
little, too late. The time had come to pay the piper Everything was going to 
hell in a handbasket in a hurry.

I had managed to remove my family from London, but to support them, I had to 
return to the city myself. There were damn few jobs around for anyone, and what 
work was available paid very little and was often done for barter. Thanks to my 
military background, I was fortunate to find employment with the Metropolitan 
Police Department or, as it was and is more commonly known, New Scotland Yard. 
They were woefully understaffed considering the job they had to do, and the pay 
wasn't much, but it was still a great deal more than what most other people had.

Given the distance between Loughborough and London, as well as the price and 
rationing of what little petrol reserves were left, there was no possibility of 
commuting every day. While the rail lines still ran somewhat sporadically, half 
the time the trains were stalled, or else the tracks were torn up by angry 
citizens, wanting to strike back at the government in any way they could, all of 
which meant I couldn't spend much time with Jenny and the girls. During the 
week, I lived in London, in a grimy, bug-infested, little flat, the cheapest I 
could find, and weekends, as often as I could, I went to see my family. The 
strain of separation was severe on all of us, but there was simply nothing else 
to do. Somehow, I told them, I would eventually find a way to work it out. 
Surely, things couldn't keep on growing worse. Yet, day by day, they did.

Most people never realize how fragile a thing a city truly was in those days, 
how little it took to disrupt its equilibrium. A sanitation strike would have 
the refuse piling up in mountains within only a few days, bringing out the rats 
and giving them a place to breed, and creating an eye-watering miasma of decay 
that hung over the city like a poison cloud. A power blackout would bring a city 
to a standstill, turning people into feral, looting beasts that preyed on one 
another in the darkness. A labor action disrupting the delivery of food and 
supplies would cause shortages and price gouging, and an oil crisis, whether 
genuine or artificially induced by profiteers, would result in a shortage of 
petrol at the pumps, traffic tied up by cars waiting in long lines, and tempers 
flaring dangerously. All these things and more had happened in the past, and yet 
each time such an event occurred, people had simply settled back into their 
usual routines as soon as it had passed and continued to take everything for 
granted, as before. And that was how we got into the mess now known as the 
Collapse.

It wasn't something that happened overnight, of course. Like a snowball rolling 
down a mountain slope, it had started slowly, growing and gathering momentum as 
it went, until it turned into an avalanche that swept over everything in its 
path. The warning signs had been present for years, only they had been largely 
ignored. Even when things began to fall apart, people chose not to believe it. 
One is tempted to lay the blame on governments and multinational corporations, 
but the fact, is that the people, all the people, ultimately shared 
responsibility, because we should have been the ones to stop it.

There were those who saw it coming, to be sure, who had seen it coming for 
decades, and their numbers had grown considerably in the years immediately prior 
to the Collapse, but unfortunately, they were still not numerous enough to make 
a difference. They had tried to do something and had failed, and their failure 
had led to anger and frustration, which in turn had led to desperation, which 
had led to eco-terrorism. That had been merely the first hint of the violence 
that would come. My generation had grown up with it, and by the time I'd reached 
my teens, the avalanche was well and truly underway and no one could do anything 
to stop it.

It is with some amusement that I regard the London bobbies these days, with 
their return to the traditions of the pre-Collapse period, and their rather 
quaint, nostalgically styled uniforms, for in my days with New Scotland Yard, we 
looked less like policemen than like SAS commandos in full battle dress. We 
carried not billy clubs and whistles, but fully automatic weapons, and our 
uniforms were not blue serge, but molded gray fatigues that were known as "urban 
camo." Our riot helmets made us resemble some outlandish cross between 
motorcyclists and astronauts and they were the only way to differentiate us from 
the military troops, aside from the word "POLICE" stenciled across our backs in 
large, black letters.

And, oh, how I despised those bloody helmets! The army knew better man to be 
saddled with such a worthless piece of junk. I longed for the simple metal 
helmet I had worn when I was in the army, but some idiot bureaucrat had 
apparently decided that the riot helmets were not only highly functional, which 
was debatable, but that their polarized visors had some sort of intimidating, 
psychological effect, which was a joke. In any event, only the greenest rookies 
used the visors, and not for very long, at that. Most of us simply tore them 
off, and many of the hardcore, swaggering, old veterans simply dispensed with 
the helmets altogether. Having seen as much, if not more, action as any of the 
veteran police officers, I kept my helmet, hot and sweaty as it was, because I'd 
seen more than my share of head wounds and I had a family to think of. I did 
hack off my visor; however; because I couldn't see well enough to shoot worth a 
damn with the bloody thing in place. And, sad to say, police officers expended a 
great many bullets in those days.

There is a popular program on television presently called Collapse Cops, 
depicting a team of police officers (a male and female, of course) "fighting 
crime during the dark days of the Collapse." There is a great deal of gunplay 
and camaraderie, coupled with sexual innuendo (the beauteous Officer Storm 
somehow contrives to be caught in her bra and panties at least once every 
episode), the villainous perpetrators are all uniformly malevolent, and each 
program ends with our heroes managing to touch the lives of several citizens and 
make their burdens easier to bean I only wish it had been so.

There were, naturally, women on the police force and in the military, but I 
never encountered any who were even remotely like the leggy, pouty-lipped Ms. 
Storm. The women with whom I served were all serious professionals and there was 
not a tube of lipstick or an eyebrow pencil to be found among them. Glamor was 
the very least of their concerns and romance between fellow officers was rare. 
Given the situation in the streets, I did not know of a single officer; either 
male or female, who would risk the complications of a romantic entanglement on 
the job. As to the malevolent perpetrators and the citizens whose lives we 
touched, I only wish that, in reality, the lines had been so clearly drawn. I 
can best illustrate with an example, one that stands out in my mind as vividly 
as if it had happened only yesterday, for it was the proverbial straw that 
finally broke the camel's back.

We were called upon to suppress a sniper. The term "suppress' ' was a euphemism 
for killing the poor bastard, because with the high level of violence in the 
streets, there was neither the time nor the manpower to engage in the luxury of 
negotiation, even if hostages were being held, which was quite often the case. 
Possession of firearms of any sort was strictly illegal, of course, but it was a 
law that had become completely unenforceable. The demand for firearms had become 
so great among the general populace that a thriving black market existed to 
supply them and no sooner would we shut down one basement machine-shop operation 
than a dozen others would spring up. If a citizen were apprehended using a 
firearm in a situation that was clearly self-defense, the usual procedure was 
simply to confiscate the weapon and let the poor devil go and seek to buy 
himself another at a ludicrously inflated price. However; a sniper was something 
else again.

By the time we arrived on the scene, a large number of shots had already been 
fired. Fortunately, no one had been killed or injured yet, which seemed only a 
matter of either dumb luck or lousy marksmanship. In fact, it turned out to be 
superior marksmanship, something of which I have no doubt, for the fire that was 
subsequently directed at us came uncomfortably close, but avoided hitting 
anyone. No one can come so consistently close while still avoiding a direct hit 
without being a very good shot, indeed. However, when we first arrived, we did 
not know that, nor would it have made a difference if we had. Our orders for 
suppression were specific.

The streets in the vicinity were empty Everyone had prudently fled the scene the 
moment the sniper opened up, but we followed procedure and cordoned off the 
area, as well as making announcements over the bullhorn that everyone should 
stay inside and avoid coming near the windows. As per procedure, the sniper was 
given one chance and one chance only to give up his weapon and surrender, and 
when his answer came in a burst of automatic fire, we proceeded to deploy for 
suppression.

It was an old and all too well-practiced drill. The sniper had stationed himself 
in a front fiat on the fourth floor of a building in a residential section of 
the East Side. We stationed marksmen on the rooftops of the opposing buildings, 
and on the ground as well, taking cover behind our vehicles. Our main concern 
was to make certain no innocent lives were lost, but situations of this sort had 
become so commonplace that the building's residents had all evacuated the 
premises within moments after the sniper opened up, exiting at the rear of the 
building through the basement corridors without incident. After checking to make 
certain none of the flats in the immediate vicinity of the sniper were still 
occupied, we proceeded with the drill to take him out.

We moved cautiously, but quickly. Within moments, we had a squad inside the 
building. My partner and I were with that squad. My partner, Sergeant Royceton, 
was a hard-nosed veteran with twenty years experience on the force. A tough old 
bird, Ian Royceton could chew ten-penny nails and spit them out as tacks. We 
moved up the stairwell to the fourth floor and carefully proceeded down the 
corridor, toward the sniper's flat, moving from doorway to doorway and providing 
cover for each other as we went. Outside, our fellow officers were laying down 
some covering fire to occupy the sniper's attention and, hopefully, divert him 
from our approach.

We had fully expected to find that he had barricaded himself inside, and as a 
result, we had brought along a battering ram and some tear gas bombs. To our 
surprise, we discovered the door was not only unlocked, but open. It actually 
stood ajar We stood so close, outside in the corridor, that from within, we 
could hear the sniper firing his weapon and the periodic dropping of empty 
magazines to the floor Royceton and I glanced at one another and no words needed 
to be said. We knew exactly what to do. We would wait until the next empty 
magazine dropped and burst in on him while he was in the process of reloading.

It went off like clockwork. The next time we heard the metallic clatter of. an 
empty magazine falling to the floor, I kicked the door fully open and both 
Royceton and I went in shooting. The poor devil never had a chance. Our bullets 
stitched into him and he jerked convulsively, then fell back through the 
shattered window glass and down four floors into the street, where his broken, 
lifeless body lay bleeding on the sidewalk. A quick and efficient operation, and 
I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over and that we'd escaped unscathed. 
Then I heard Royceton's sharp intake of breath and he said, "Oh, my God." I 
turned quickly, my weapon ready, but it was not a threat he was reacting to.

I followed his gaze and, through the open bedroom doorway, I saw the bodies 
lying on the bed, upon the blood-soaked sheets. On the night-stand beside the 
bed, we found the heartbreaking note that he had left. I have since tried to 
forget that note, and though the years have blurred the memory, so that I can no 
longer recall his exact words, the substance of his last message to the world is 
with me still, and there is no forgetting it.

He was not, apparently, a well-educated man, and that was reflected in the poor 
syntax of his suicide note, for in effect, it was exactly that. His tone was 
simple and despondent, deeply woeful, and in a mad sort of way, it even sounded 
reasonable. He began by addressing us, the police, his executioners. He started 
off with an apology. He stated that it was not his intention to hurt anyone, a 
remark that was diabolically incongruous with the corpses on the bed, and that 
he hoped no policemen or innocent bystanders had been harmed by any of his 
bullets.

"I will try my level best," he wrote—or words to that effect—"to avoid hitting 
anyone," and he went on to say that if, by accident, someone was killed or 
wounded, that he did not mean it and was truly, deeply sorry.

I listened as Royceton read the words out loud to me and I recall how stunned 
and mystified I felt at the crippled logic the sniper's twisted mind displayed. 
Here, he had murdered his entire family, and as he had written the note, 
possibly with their freshly slain bodies on the bed behind him, he stated his 
sincere intention to avoid hurting anyone and apologized profusely in the event 
he had. It seemed, however; that he did not consider what he'd done to them to 
be an act of murder; but an act of mercy, of release from a life that had become 
unbearable.

I stared at their bodies as Royceton continued to read from the note, and even 
tough-as-nails Royceton, hardened, seasoned veteran of two decades of street 
combat, could not stop his voice from breaking. There lay the sniper's wife and 
his two young daughters, about the same age as my own. He gave their names. I 
still recall them. Suzanne, his wife, and daughters Barbara and Irene. He wrote 
about their desperate plight, so similar to that of all too many others. They 
were cold and hungry, and he could find no work that would allow him to provide 
for them.

His wife was ill and bedridden, though the illness was not specified, and his 
eldest daughter; Barbara, had begun to prostitute herself for food. She was 
thirteen. He had been out, searching unsuccessfully for work, having been given 
notice of eviction if he could not come up with the delinquent rent by morning, 
and he had returned to find his wife and children arguing. Irene wanted to do 
her part to help and join her sister on the streets. Irene was nine.

What occurred afterward was something we would never know, for he began to 
relate what happened, then broke off, ending with one more apology, this time to 
God, and then he signed his name, James Whitby, in large and bold, flourishing 
script, as if with his final signature, he had tried to impart some importance 
and dignity to his name.

His actions were not, of course, those of a sane man. The poor devil's mind had 
snapped. It was possible he was unstable to begin with, but there was also the 
haunting possibility that he had been as sane as any one of us and that, in his 
last extremity, his reason simply had fled. The most curious thing was that he 
had told us virtually nothing of himself. He was, and would remain, a cipher

He had signed his name, in big, bold letters, and yet he had said nothing about 
who and what he was. He had made no personal statement. He had died as he had 
lived, merely another average, insignificant little man whom one would never 
notice on the street, a man who, one might infer, held no pretensions, but cared 
about his family and did whatever he was able to get by. And when all his best 
efforts came to nought, and he saw his family suffering in result, his wife 
sick, one daughter degraded and the baby of the family wanting to degrade 
herself as well to make up for Daddy's shortcomings ... Well, he apparently 
broke down and decided death was preferable for all of them, a release from a 
life that was no longer worm living.

I remember Royceton dropped the note down on the bed, not intentionally, he had 
simply let go of it, and it fluttered onto the bloody chest of little Irene. 
Royceton shut his eyes and turned away, then murmured, "You know, I can almost 
understand the poor sod."

It was at that moment that I reached the turning point. Complete and total 
burnout. I went numb. I had absolutely nothing left. My memory won't serve as to 
what, exactly, happened at that point. I seem to recall taking off my helmet and 
dropping it to the floor. I may have given my assault rifle to one of the 
others, I simply don't remember; but I know that I no longer had it several 
hours later; when I was on the train to Loughborough. I recall only one thing 
clearly, and that was a driving urge to get back to my family and be with them. 
I felt an urgency mere words cannot convey I simply wanted to get back and hold 
my wife and daughters in my arms and never let them go.

Hie train broke down a short way out from Loughborough and I got out with the 
rest of the passengers and walked the remainder of the way. I do not recall how 
long it took. It seemed like hours, plodding along the tracks, and it was 
raining. Not a hard, driving rain, but a steady drizzle, yet by the time I 
reached our home, I was soaked through to the skin and shivering. Jenny heard 
the front door open and came running out to greet me. Our daughters were asleep, 
and she had been in bed with them, yet she was all bundled up, as were they, 
tucked beneath the blankets in their warmest clothes. They'd been burning wood 
for heat. It was all we could afford, and Jenny had run out. There was no money 
for getting any more. They had already burned some of the furniture and I, 
simple fool that I was, had left behind what little money I had left in London.

Jenny saw the look on my face and tried to tell me that it didn't matter. She 
was glad to have me home, and wouldn't the girls be happy when they woke up to 
see their daddy had returned, but all I could see as I looked down at their 
sleeping forms, huddled close together, were the bullet-riddled corpses of 
Barbara and Irene. It was as if an ice-cold fist had grabbed my guts and started 
squeezing. I left the bedroom and went out to get my axe.

Jenny grew alarmed when she saw what I intended. Chopping wood without a permit 
was a criminal offense. She tried to stop me, but I ignored her protests and 
went out, determined that come what may, my girls would never share the fate of 
poor James Whitby's daughters.

Not far from where we lived was a protected natural preserve, all that remained 
of Sherwood Forest, once a sprawling woodland, now a fenced-in acreage that was 
mined and patrolled by guards armed with automatic weapons. The surrounding 
countryside had been virtually denuded of trees as cordwood continued to go up 
in price and what was not chopped down by individuals for their own use was 
razed by opportunistic profiteers who sought to gain from other people's 
hardship. There was a thriving market in illegally cut cordwood and the 
authorities had been forced to take up drastic measures to protect the 
few-remaining acres of woodland that were left.

I was not in a reasonable state of mind, but if I knew what I risked, I didn't 
give a damn. I was in such a state that I never gave any consideration to how I 
would manage to carry enough wood back to serve our needs, even assuming I would 
not be caught. One thought, and one thought only, was foremost in my mind. Wood. 
Wood, Goddamn it! At that point, the thinnest, hair's-breadth of a line 
separated me from poor James Whitby. I was on the razor's edge.

The rain was falling much harder as I cut my way through the concertina wire and 
breeched the fence without encountering any of the guards, who doubtless 
believed no one in their right mind would venture out on such a night. And, 
indeed, no one in their right mind had. I used my knife to probe for mines as I 
made my way farther back into the trees, thinking I would need some cover for my 
work, and should probably go some distance in to make certain any noise I made 
would not attract attention. I passed any number of small trees I could have 
chopped down easily, thinking, "Just a little farther better safe than sorry," 
and other such nonsense. I have no idea how far I went, but before long, I 
realized I had lost all sense of direction. And, in that one moment, however 
briefly, my presence of mind returned and I thought, "Dear God, what am I 
doing?" My family had need of me, and there I was, probably catching my death of 
cold, breaking the law and committing a felony, endangering my life and, in 
consequence, theirs by my foolishness. What if I was blown up by a mine? What if 
I was shot in the act of chopping down a tree, or caught and arrested as I was 
bringing out... what? A measly armload of wood?

I felt despair overwhelm me and I put my head down in my arms as I lay upon the 
muddy ground and wept, the rain commingling with my tears. "Fool! Fool!" I cried 
to myself. "You're risking everything! You've walked off the job, left all your 
money behind in London, you've ruined everything!" And then, as I looked up, I 
saw a sight that banished all reason from my mind.

Before me, scarcely twenty yards away, was the largest oak tree I had ever seen, 
the grandfather of all English oaks. Its spreading upper branches were as thick 
as my thigh, its aged, gnarled trunk so wide that several men with their hands 
linked together could not encompass it. There it stood, an ancient leviathan, 
enough wood to keep my family warm for years to come. I stared at it, my gaze 
traveling up its trunk to its lofty canopy of branches, and I went absolutely 
mad.

I stood and gripped my axe in both hands, raising it high overhead, and I 
screamed as I charged the tree like some battle-maddened, Hun barbarian running 
at a Roman phalanx. In that moment of absolute insanity, I had become one with 
the slain James Whitby. The tree became the focal point for all my fury and 
frustration, my grief and helplessness, my anger at the whole damned world. I 
could have chopped away at its gargantuan trunk until the crack of doom and 
never have had a hope of felling it, but that thought never occurred to me. It 
couldn't have occurred to me. I wasn't thinking, I was just reacting, like a 
wounded beast that had been brought to bay.

I struck the tree a blow with all the power I could muster. The force of that 
blow ran up through the axe handle, through my hands, up my arms into my 
shoulders, and in the next instant, I was flying. I landed on my back some 
distance away, momentarily stunned and on the verge of losing consciousness. I 
felt a throbbing, tingling sensation all over my body, not unlike that which I 
had once experienced as a child when I had stuck my finger into an electric 
socket.

At the precise moment that I struck the giant oak tree with my axe, a bolt of 
lightning had come lancing down from the clouds and hit the tree. As least, that 
was my first impression, because it seemed there could have been no other 
explanation. Certainly, it never would have occurred to me that the lightning 
could have come not from the sky, but from within the tree itself.  

As I recovered from my shock, I raised myself up slightly and stared at the 
smoking remnants of the tree. My vision was still somewhat blurred, but I could 
see that as large as it was, the oak had been split completely in two, right 
down the middle, from its uppermost branches straight down to where its trunk 
rose from the ground. Smoke swirled and eddied all around it, and as it slowly 
dissipated, I saw what appeared to be a figure standing in the cleft.

I blinked, and shook my head, and blinked again. My first quick impression was 
that I had been illuminated briefly in that flash of lightning and now some 
guard stood over me, but the man I saw was dressed nothing like a guard, and he 
carried no weapons, save for a long, slender wooden staff.

He wore some sort of robe, emblazoned with curious symbols, and he wore a high, 
conical hat. He had a long white beard and snowy hair that fell well past his 
shoulders. And as I stared at him with disbelief, he looked down at me and said, 
"Greetings, good sir. My name is Merlin." 


CHAPTER 2 


It seems impossible to imagine these days that the name of Merlin would not 
instantly be recognized, even without Ambrosius appended to it, but back then, 
Merlin was, at best, part of an obscure legend, a piece of folklore, a onetime 
curiosity to academics who had occasionally debated whether or not he and King 
Arthur had ever actually existed. And those debates had ceased with the coming 
of the Collapse.

The legend of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table had once fascinated 
schoolchildren all over the world. Scores of books had been written on the 
subject, both novels and scholarly studies, and the story had also been the 
basis for films, television programs, comedies, dramatic plays, and musicals. 
Graduate students had written papers on the subject, and historians had searched 
for the authentic British king on whom Arthur had supposedly been based, as they 
had searched for Merlin, the legendary wizard who had been his mentor and 
advisor. That time had passed, however

Universities had closed during the Collapse, for there had been no one to attend 
them. Schools had become little more than poorly operated day-care centers over 
which a pall of gloom had hung, for teachers had left the profession in droves, 
driven out of it by the sheer necessity for survival, and those who watched over 
the largely empty classrooms, save for a few diehard idealists, were often 
barely more educated than their students. Anyone capable of finding work of any 
kind, regardless of how young or old, was either working, out looking for work, 
or preying upon those who had it. Faced with the disaster of the Collapse, 
people had ceased regarding education as a priority. Mere survival had become 
challenging enough.

I had grown up during the Collapse, and though I'd had some schooling, I had 
joined the service as soon as I was old enough and my real education had been 
shaped by the events I lived through. I had always loved to read, however, and 
in my childhood, I had been exposed to the story of King Arthur, but that had 
been over three decades earlier and a lot of water had flowed under the bridge 
since then. In any event, the memory was hardly foremost in my mind at that 
particular time, which was not surprising, considering the circumstances. I did 
not connect the name of Merlin with King Arthur; and consequently, it meant 
nothing to me.

I had, after all, been suffering from an emotional trauma, and I wasn't even 
thinking clearly The shock had, to some extent, restored me to my senses, but I 
was still not quite myself. I gazed at the strangely garbed old man standing 
there before me in the rain, in the cleft of that bifurcated tree, which had 
been peeled back as if it were a huge banana skin, and all I could do was simply 
stare at him. He looked away, and for a moment, he seemed to have eliminated me 
from his consideration. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, men exhaled 
heavily, stretching and rolling his shoulders, as a man might upon awakening 
from a long and restful sleep. He craned his neck back and looked up at the sky, 
allowing the rain to fall upon his face, and men he sighed, wearily, or perhaps 
contentedly. He looked around, men focused his gaze on me once more.

He stepped down out of the center of the ruined tree, his movements stiff and 
awkward as he labored to walk toward me. He seemed extremely old and frail, but 
when he spoke, the strength and deep resonance of his voice belied appearances.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

I shook my head, still somewhat dazed and unable to think of anything to say.

"Well, then what are you doing stretched out there in the mud? Get up."

He extended his wooden staff toward me. I reached out and took hold of it, and 
he pulled me to my feet with surprising ease for a man of his advanced years.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Tom," I said. "Tom Malory."

His eyes widened slightly with surprise, as if my name sounded familiar to him. 
"Thomas Malory?" he said, as if uncertain he had heard correctly.

"Yes, sir." I do not know if I appended the "sir" out of politeness to a senior 
gentleman, or out of habit born of years of service in the military, but in any 
case, he seemed to warrant it, for there was a firmness and authority about him 
that impressed itself upon me instantly.

Standing close to him, I could now make out his features clearly. His face was 
lined with age beneath the beard, and there were crow's-feet around his eyes, 
which were deeply set and a startling, periwinkle blue. His nose was sharp and 
prominent, with a slight hook to it, giving him something of the aspect of an 
eagle. He had pronounced cheekbones and a high forehead. His eyes, however, were 
his most striking feature. Aside from their startling, bright blue color, they 
were very direct and penetrating in their gaze, and they looked wise. How one 
deduces or infers such a thing I cannot imagine, save perhaps from experience of 
having seen other men possessed of wisdom with such eyes, but the impression was 
quite clear  and forceful. After all these years, I can still remember that 
first meeting with complete and utter clarity, despite the fact that my thinking 
at the time was anything but clear.

"Thomas Malory," he said again, and smiled. "An ironic twist of fate. An omen. 
And, I think, a good one."

I simply stared at him. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

"My name means nothing to you?" he asked, and then he gave it again, this time 
more fully. "Merlin? Merlin Ambrosius?"

I felt as if there were a slight tug at my memory, for there did seem to be a 
vague familiarity about the name, but I couldn't put my finger on it. "No, sir," 
I replied, "I don't think so. Have we met before?"

"No," he said with a slight shake of his head. "No matter. Do you live nearby?"

I stammered something about how I lived not too far away, within walking 
distance. I wanted to ask him for directions, for I'd lost my way. However, I 
couldn't seem to form the words. I could not stop staring at him. It was not so 
much that he looked so damned outlandish, but there was a compelling presence 
about him that commanded my attention. In later years, many writers were to 
remark upon that, and expend considerable verbiage attempting to define exactly 
what it was about him that produced such an effect, but the long and short of it 
was simply that the man exuded power He was of slightly less than average 
height, and he was quite slim then, though he began to put on weight in later 
years, and became rather stout and stocky. However, he was by no means 
physically imposing, though one somehow received the impression that he was.

"I don't suppose I could impose upon you for something to eat?" he said. "It has 
been a long time since I have tasted any food."

It was not the sort of query I hadn't heard at least a thousand times before. 
The streets were teeming with beggars and pathetic, homeless wretches who had 
been reduced to sleeping in the alleys and digging through the refuse for their 
sustenance, and though I did not think of myself as either insensitive or 
heartless, I had, like most people, become inured to them out of necessity. To 
comply with such requests was not only to invite trouble, but even a saint would 
have been forced to learn how to reject them, because they were so numerous. 
Even Christ, deluged with innumerable demands to heal the sick, had responded 
with exasperation. And yet, despite all that, with the shadow of James Whitby 
still upon me, I found that I could not deny him.

"We haven't very much," I said, more by way of an apology than as an excuse, 
"but I'm sure we can come up with something. However, we haven't any wood and 
I..."

My voice trailed off as I recalled why I'd come there in the first place, and 
what a foolish risk I'd taken, and for a moment, I felt at odds with myself. I 
was already there, the risk had already been taken, and it seemed pointless not 
to complete my mission. I bent down to pick up the axe I'd dropped, only to see 
that it was broken. The handle had splintered and the head had snapped clean 
off.

"Never fear," said Merlin. "Do not concern yourself. It is late, the weather is 
beastly, and your family must be worried. Come."

He started walking purposefully in the direction I had come from. I suddenly 
recalled the mines, and shouted out a warning. Then I saw that he was not 
walking in a straight line, but in a serpentine manner, holding his staff out in 
front of him as if it were some sort of metal detector. Astonished, I followed 
in his wake and we reached the fence without incident. I stopped for a moment 
and looked back the way we'd come, scarcely believing that any of this was 
happening. Where had he come from? That lightning bolt must have narrowly missed 
him. What had he been doing there? And why on earth was he dressed in such a 
peculiar fashion?

The rain had slackened considerably. It fell as a fine mist as we headed home 
together I noticed, as we walked, that bit by bit, his frailty and stiffness 
seemed to disappear, and the dampness did not seem to bother his old bones at 
all. In fact, I soon had to quick march to keep up with him. Jenny was frantic 
with worry by the time we came in through the door, though the girls were still 
asleep.

"Oh, thank God!" she said, throwing her arms around me. "Thank God you're safe!"

"It's all right," I said, holding her tightly. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to 
frighten you. But I'm afraid I brought no wood and—"

"There is no need for concern," Merlin said, standing at the rear of the 
kitchen, by the door to the enclosed back entry-way. "You seem to have an 
adequate supply"

Jenny turned toward him, puzzled, and shook her head. "But we have no wood," she 
said. "We'd run out, you see? and we had to break up some of the furniture to—"

"Nonsense," Merlin interrupted her "There is plenty here. See for yourself."

With a confused expression on her face, Jenny went toward him and looked. I 
heard her gasp. "My God! But... how can that be? It's impossible!'' She turned 
toward me with a look of complete mystification. "Tom..."

I frowned and went to look for myself. The entire back entryway was stacked with 
split cordwood right up to the ceiling.

"Tom, there wasn't any wood at all!" said Jenny with disbelief. "I swear to 
you... none of this was here before!"

"Ah, we seem to have all .the makings of a proper feast here," I heard Merlin 
say, and I turned around to see him standing at the open pantry.

"Now, see here, old chap,'' I said, moving toward him, and then I stopped and 
stared with slack-jawed astonishment at the contents of the pantry. There were 
smoked hams and partfridges, sausages, loaves of fresh-baked bread, a turkey, 
salted venison, sacks of flour and salt and sugar, jars of comb honey, dried 
fruits, a veritable cornucopia of food taking up every square inch of space.

"What the devil..." I said.

I heard Jenny gasp behind me and I turned to see her staring over my shoulder at 
the contents of the pantry, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Tom... I... I don't understand..." she said, shaking her head. "None of this 
was here before! I know it seems impossible, but you simply must believe me!"

"I believe you, Jenny," I said slowly, turning to look toward the strange old 
man. He had gone back into the living room and was now seated on the couch, 
removing a pouch from his robe and packing a large, curved briar with tobacco.

"Tom... who is that old man?" asked Jenny.

I stared at him as he puffed his pipe alight. Was it merely my overwrought 
imagination, or had he not struck a match? For a moment, I could have sworn he'd 
simply snapped his fingers and the Same came from his thumb. But, clearly, that 
was absurd.

"I met him in the woods," I replied uncertainly. "He... uh... he said his name 
was... Merlin, I think."

"Merlin?" said Jenny. "Like the wizard in the legend of King Arthur?"

All of a sudden, it came back to me. I remembered the story of how he helped 
Arthur become king, and how he had advised him at his castle, known as Camelot, 
and how in the end, the sorceress Morgan le Fay had tricked him and betrayed 
him, placing him under a spell and immuring his body in the cleft of a giant 
oak... a giant oak!

"No," I said, "it can't be! That's ridiculous. It's more than ridiculous, it's 
insane."

"What's insane?" asked Jenny. "Tom, who is he? Why have you brought him here? 
What's happening?"

"I don't know," I said, entering the living room. Merlin looked up at me and 
smiled, puffing on his pipe contentedly. The burning tobacco gave off the odor 
of vanilla cookies. No, I thought, it smelled more like fresh-baked apples... 
No, not apples, raspberries. No, not raspberries either, but... and then I 
realized that the scent of his tobacco somehow seemed to change with each and 
every puff he took. He sat there, happily blowing perfect smoke rings.

"So.. .when do we eat?'' he asked.



He ate with the appetite of an entire platoon. Jenny had wanted to wake up the 
girls, for they had gone to bed cold and hungry, but I told her to let them 
sleep. There was plenty of food for them to fill their bellies in the morning 
and the house had warmed up nicely with a roaring fire in the hearth. Both Jenny 
and I were famished, but even after we'd filled ourselves to bursting, Merlin 
was still eating, putting food away like a bulimic gone berserk. I had never 
seen anyone eat like that. It was incredible. He ate enough for at least half a 
dozen ravenous lumberjacks.

As if he were reading my mind, he said, "I do not wish to seem a glutton, but 
wizards need to eat a great deal more man most other people do. It has to do 
with the principles that govern the universe, you see. You cannot expend energy 
without having to replenish it. Magic has a cost. It drains your life force of 
energy, and you must recover that energy or risk consuming yourself."

Throughout the meal, he had spoken at length about himself, and we listened with 
fascinated incredulity as he told us his story And what a story it was! I didn't 
believe a word of it, of course, though I had to admit that his delusion, for I 
was convinced it was that, had a remarkable consistency. Yet, there was still 
the matter of the food mysteriously appearing out of nowhere, and the cordwood, 
which had not been there before. If there was any truth to his assertions, which 
clearly seemed impossible, then it was difficult to argue with the apparent fact 
that he had somehow produced it, which also seemed impossible. I was certain 
there had to be another explanation.

"I see," I replied. "But there's one thing I don't quite understand. If it is 
your own energy you are using in, uh... magically creating all the food we're 
eating, and the wood we're burning in-the fireplace, then a certain amount of 
energy must be expended in the act, which means there is that much less energy 
inherent in the product. You cannot keep creating your own energy out of 
nothing. It violates the laws of thermodynamics. There must soon come a point of 
diminishing returns, if you see what I mean."

"Quite correct," said Merlin with a smile. "I thought you were a bright fellow. 
Obviously, I cannot simply create my own sustenance, not only for the reason you 
just mentioned, but because you cannot create matter, you can only alter its 
form, which is a well-known principle of alchemy."

"We call it physics," Jenny said.

"Physics? Physics... interesting. I shall have to remember that. In any event, I 
did not create this fine food we are enjoying, nor the wood that is heating this 
home even as we speak. I merely borrowed it, in a manner of speaking."

"Borrowed it?" I asked with a puzzled frown. "From where!"

"Oh, here and there," he replied with a shrug. "The wood was taken from the very 
tree in which I was confined. I merely altered its form somewhat and transported 
it here. And it certainly does my heart good to see that damnable tree burn 
after being imprisoned within it for so long. As for the food, some of it was 
wild, such as the partridges and the turkey, and some of it had been stored 
elsewhere, such as the hams and sausages and the like."

"You mean you stole it?" I said, caught up in what he was saying and forgetting 
for the moment that I did not believe a word of it.

"Well, I cannot say for certain where it came from, you understand," he said, 
"but I had assumed that there were storehouses of food nearby, so I simply 
directed my spell in such a manner that it would seek out the greatest source of 
supply and divert some of it. Robbing from the rich to give to the poor; as my 
old friend Robin Hood might have put it."

"You knew Robin Hood?" asked Jenny, fascinated. I stared at hen She saw the look 
I gave her and shrugged, as if to say she couldn't help it.

"Oh, most certainly," Merlin replied. "His proper name was Locksley, you 
understand, and he was always something of a scoundrel, even before he was 
forced to turn outlaw. His legend has far eclipsed his true stature, however as 
has been the case with the story of Arthur. In truth, Locksley was as far 
removed from the romantic image of the noble outlaw as can be. He was a coarse 
and stocky fellow, a profane brawler given to drinking himself senseless. If not 
for Marian, those so-called 'Merry Men' of his would have had no effective 
leadership whatever"

"You mean Maid Marian?" asked Jenny. I glanced at her again, but she ignored me.

"Oh, she was no maid, I can tell you that," said Merlin with a chuckle. "She was 
a fine and strapping lass who could bend a bow and swing a broadsword with the 
best of them. Large-framed and rather plain to look upon, she was nothing at all 
like the fine and delicate young maid she is portrayed as in the legend. She was 
the sheriff's wife, you see, but the old sheriff could never quite satisfy her, 
uh, voracious appetites, and she had quite a taste for younger men. It led her 
into trouble, so she ran off to take up with Locksley and his boys, and never 
ceased to bedevil her husband ever after. But then I've gone on long enough. It 
is late and, doubtless, you have grown weary of listening to me. We can discuss 
things further in the morning."

"In the morning?" I said, concerned that he had apparently invited himself to 
spend the night.

"Yes, there will be plenty of time for us to talk, and I am looking forward to 
meeting your fine young daughters."

"Uh... well, I suppose I should clear the table and get the dishes done," Jenny 
said. "Tom... could you help me in the kitchen?"

Before I could reply to Jenny's obvious invitation to a discreet conference in 
the kitchen, Merlin said, "Nonsense, I won't hear of it. You two go off to bed. 
I will take care of everything."

"We wouldn't want you to go to any trouble," Jenny said. "Besides, you're our 
guest and—"

"I insist," said Merlin. "Besides, it won't be any trouble at all. Now go, off 
with you, else your two young girls will run you ragged in the morning. And 
don't concern yourselves about me. I shall manage excellently. Go on now, and 
good night to you."

"Uh... good night," said Jenny, taking me by the arm and pulling me into our 
bedroom. No sooner had she shut the door behind us than she turned to face me 
with an expression of alarm. "Tom..."

"Yes, yes, I know," I said, "I'm a bit concerned about him, too."

' 'A bit concerned?'' she said.

"Well, he's quite mad, obviously, but he seems harmless. He's actually rather 
charming in his own eccentric sort of way. I don't really think there's any 
cause to worry. I still have my pistol, and there's the revolver in the night 
stand, and the shotgun in the closet. Besides, we can't really turn him out, can 
we? He's an old man, and it's beastly out."

"Tom... what if he's truly... I mean, what if he really is who he says he is?" 
she asked.

"Oh, come on, you can't be serious!"

"What about the wood?" she asked, her eyes wide. "And what about all that food? 
Where on earth could it have come from? Unless you believe that I've been hiding 
something from you and—"

I interrupted quickly. "No, no, of course not, darling, don't be silly."

"Tom, you do believe me, don't you, when I say that none of it was there 
before?"

"Of course I believe you," I replied. "There simply must be some other, more 
rational explanation."

"Like what?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

I shook my head, at a complete loss to explain it. "I'll be damned if I know," I 
said. "Perhaps some secret benefactor snuck in somehow and put all that stuff 
there while you and the girls were sleeping. It sounds improbable, perhaps, but 
I can't think of any other logical explanation."

"But why?" she asked. "And how? Tom, it would have taken hours to stack all that 
wood, much less to bring in all that food. And how could anyone possibly have 
done it without waking me? It seems impossible."

"And his being Merlin, the court wizard to King Arthur; seems possible to you?" 
I said.

"What about his pipe?" she asked. "Did you notice that the scent of his tobacco 
kept on changing? And I never saw him use a lighter or a match. Did you notice 
that, as well? "

"Yes, I noticed," I admitted. "But perhaps he really is a magician, you know, a 
stage magician, and he was using sleight of hand. Perhaps his delusion stems 
from that, I don't know, but he cannot possibly be who he says he is. Magic 
simply doesn't exist, for God's sake! There's no such thing. Besides, if he 
really were King Arthur's Merlin, that would make him several thousand years 
old, and frankly, he doesn't look a day over seventy"

' 'Very funny,'' Jenny said wryly ' 'But even if all that is true, it still 
doesn't change the fact that you've brought a crazy old man into our home and 
now it seems we're stuck with him."

"Yes, I know," I said, frowning. "Well, we'll simply have to keep an eye on him. 
For tonight, at least. In the morning, I'm sure he'll be on his way."

Jenny opened the door a crack and peered out, then gasped and shut it again 
quickly. "Tom..." she said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "look!"

I went to the door and opened it. We'd been in the bedroom only a few minutes, 
and yet already the table was clear and set for breakfast in the morning. I 
carefully tiptoed out and, with Jenny right behind me, checked the kitchen. The 
dishes had not only been washed, but they were dry and stacked in their proper 
places in the cupboard, and the food had all been put away.

The old man sat in the darkened living room, illuminated only by the flickering 
firelight, with his back to us. He was watching the telly with rapt fascination, 
smoke curling up from his pipe. Not only had the table been cleared, the dishes 
washed and dried, and the food put away, but the entire house was absolutely 
spotless.

"Wonderful thing, this box," said Merlin, speaking with his back to us, though 
we'd made hardly a sound coming out of the bedroom. "I have quite a bit of 
catching up to do, it seems. This should prove quite helpful."

"Uh... yes," I replied uneasily. "I, uh, see you've tidied up some. Thank you."

"No need to mention it," he said. "It was no trouble at all."

"Yes... well... good night."

"Good night. Sleep well."

We went back into the bedroom and shut the door. For a long moment, we simply 
stared at one another, unable to think of a single thing to say. Jenny moistened 
her lips and finally broke the silence.

"Tom... I think he really is Merlin!"

"Well, there's one way to be certain," I said. "In the morning, you can ask him 
to turn into an owl and if he does, I suppose that'll clinch it. The girls will 
get quite a kick out of that."

"How can you joke at a time like this?" she asked.

"How can you not?" I countered. "This is crazy! I keep thinking there has to be 
some rational explanation for all this, but I can't dismiss the evidence of my 
own senses. Unless I've gone completely mad, as well."

"Then I must be mad, too," said Jenny. "You saw him come out of that tree, 
didn't you?''

"I saw him standing where the lightning struck," I said. "That's not quite the 
same thing."

"Where else could he have come from? And why else does he look the way he does?"

"Jenny, I have absolutely no idea. I was not exactly in a rational state of 
mind. I don't know what's happening! I can't explain it, but there has to be 
some explanation that makes sense!"

"I'd love to hear it,'' she replied.

"God, so would I!"

"I won't be able to sleep a wink," she said.

"Neither will I," I said, and then I yawned, suddenly.

Jenny yawned as well. "How could anyone possibly sleep at a time like this?"

"Damned if I know," I replied, but my eyelids unaccountably felt extremely 
heavy.

"I do feel tired, though," said Jenny wearily. "It's been quite a day. I think 
perhaps I'll just lay down for a little while."

"Yes, good idea," I said, yawning again. "We don't have to sleep. We can talk 
and try to make some sense of all this."

We both lay down on the bed, but we did not do any talking. Intense exhaustion 
seemed to overwhelm us and, within moments, Jenny was fast asleep. As I drifted 
off myself, I seemed to hear the bedroom door open softly, and then someone 
covered us up with a blanket. I thought I heard a voice say, "Problems are best 
solved in the morning," and then I remember nothing more.

In the morning, I awoke to the high-pitched sound of girlish laughter and the 
pleasant smell of coffee brewing. I could also smell eggs and bacon frying.

"Mmmm," Jenny murmured as she stirred beside me. "That smells absolutely 
marvelous!"

''Oh, do it again! Do it again!"

It was little Michelle's voice, and we both came completely awake instantly. For 
a moment, Jenny looked confused, then she remembered our house guest and bolted 
out of bed. Neither of us had undressed the previous night, and we both hurried 
to the kitchen, where the sight that greeted us brought us both up short and 
rendered us absolutely speechless.

Breakfast was cooking itself. Literally, cooking itself. Merlin sat on a chair, 
which he had pulled back from the table, and Michelle was sitting on his knee, 
in a rapture of delight, clapping her hands with glee. Christine stood by the 
stove, staring with a mixture of awe and fascination as the eggs in the frying 
pan obligingly turned themselves over and the bacon rose up as it was done, 
levitating out of the pan on the adjoining burner to float gracefully over onto 
a plate set on the counter top.

A mixing bowl stirred by a wooden spurtle was suspended in midair, then it 
tipped over to pour dollops of pancake batter into a frying pan. The pancakes 
flipped themselves as they became done on one side, and Michelle clapped with 
delight and cried, "Oh, higher! Higher!" Complying with her demands, the 
pancakes flipped once more, describing elaborate parabolas in the air, flying up 
to just below the ceiling before they landed back in the pan again.

"It's a trick," Christine insisted, frowning as she seemed to scan for wires or 
some other hidden agency that might have performed the feat.

"Yes, but you must admit it is a neat trick," Merlin said.

"How is it done?" Christine asked, framing with childish innocence the one 
question that raced through both mine and Jenny's minds, only we could not bring 
ourselves to ask it. We were both absolutely stupefied with disbelief.

"It's magic," Merlin said, glancing at us and acknowledging our presence with a 
smile and a nod.

"There's no such thing as magic!" Christine said.

"There is so!" argued her sister

"Is not!" Christine insisted.

"How do you know?" asked Merlin.

"Because there simply isn't, that's all," replied Christine.

"What makes you so certain?" asked Merlin.

"Magic only happens in fairy tales," said Christine.

"Who told you so?" asked Merlin, raising his bushy eyebrows.

"Everyone knows that," Christine replied with scorn. How could a grownup 
possibly be so stupid? Breakfast, meanwhile, continued to prepare itself during 
the discussion.

"Well, I didn't know it," Merlin said. "And since I am someone, then I suppose 
that means that everyone didn't know it."

"Well, it's true," Christine said.

"But how do you know it's true?" persisted Merlin. "Because someone told you it 
was true?"

"Yes," Christine said confidently.

"Do you believe everything that people tell you?" Merlin asked. "Suppose I said 
that you could fly. Would you believe that?"

"No, that's silly," Christine said. "Everyone knows people can't fly. Only birds 
can fly."

"Well, I suppose you must be a bird then," Merlin said. Christine suddenly 
floated up into the air. She cried out with alarm and I felt Jenny's grip 
tighten on my arm, but I merely looked at her and shook my head.

"Help! Put me down!" Christine cried, making bicycling motions with her legs.

"Put you down?" said Merlin. "Don't be silly. Everyone knows people can't fly."

Michelle was squealing with mirth as she bounced on Merlin's knee. "Don't! Don't 
put her down! Keep her up there! Make her go higher!''

"Yes, you cannot possibly be a person," Merlin said. "You must be a bird. And 
the birds fly by flapping their wings. So... flap your wings."

"Mommy!"

"Flap your wings, I said!"

Christine began to flap her arms, as if she were a bird, and slowly gently, she 
took off, floating gracefully around the room.

"Mommy! Daddy! Look! Christine's flying!" cried Michelle.

"I'm flying!" said Christine as she slowly circled the room, apparently in full 
control of her flight. Her alarm turned to astonishment and joy. "I'm really 
flying!"

She circled the kitchen, then floated out into the living room and made several 
circles around it as we watched, slack-jawed.

"Wheeee! I'm flying! I'm flying!"

" Uncle Merlin, I want to fly, too!" Michelle demanded.

"You do?" said Merlin.

"Yes, please? Please, can't I fly, like Christine?"

"You want to be a bird, as well?"

"Oh, yes, please! I want to be a bird!"

"Then flap your wings," said Merlin.

Michelle began to flap her arms enthusiastically and she, too, rose up into the 
air and floated off to join Christine in flying laps around the living room.

"I'm a bird! I'm a bird!" she cried.

"Tom," said Jenny, "for God's sake, pinch me so I know I I'm not dreaming!"

"If you are, then I'm having the same dream," I said. "Ouch!"

"Now pinch me back!''

I pinched her and she gave out a small cry, for she had pinched me hard and I'd 
been none too gentle myself.

"It's true," she whispered. "My God, Tom, it's all true! He really is Merlin!"

"Did you have any doubt?" asked Merlin, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "All 
right, little birds, time to come home to roost! Breakfast is ready!"

"No, not yet! " Michelle protested.

"Now none of that," said Merlin. "Do what your uncle Merlin tells you."

They both settled gently to the floor, despite Michelle flapping her arms 
furiously in a futile effort to remain airborne. "Oh, no! Please, Uncle Merlin, 
can't we fly a little longer?"

"Yes, please!" Christine said. "Just a few more minutes! Can't we fly a few more 
minutes? "

"Fly?" said Merlin, feigning astonishment. "Don't be silly. Everyone knows 
people can't fly."

They both fell silent and simply stared at him.

"Just as everyone knows there's no such thing as magic," he added. "Magic only 
happens in fairy tales. Everyone knows that. Now sit down and eat your 
breakfast."

"Oh, pooh!" Michelle said, stamping her foot and pouting as she sat down at the 
table.

"One does not say 'pooh' to one's elders," Merlin admonished her. Then, turning 
to Christine, he added, "And one should not believe everything that people say, 
even if a lot of people say it's true. You should always think for yourself. I'm 
certain your father and mother would agree. That does not mean you shouldn't 
listen to them, mind you, but you should always think about the things you hear, 
and not simply accept them because it's what you were told. People who don't 
think for themselves often get into a lot of trouble that way. Remember that."

Christine nodded solemnly, her eyes wide as she hung on his every word. "I 
will," she said.

"Good." Merlin turned toward us and raised his eyebrows. "How do you like your 
eggs?" 


CHAPTER 3 


Under ordinary circumstances, a hearty, robust breakfast such as Merlin had 
provided would have been quite an unaccustomed treat for us in those lean days, 
yet no repast, however sumptuous, could compete with what the girls had just 
experienced. They were so excited, they could hardly eat a bite. I was somewhat 
disappointed that my unexpected return home had passed completely without 
comment from my daughters, but then I could hardly hold a candle to the newly 
adopted "Uncle Merlin." What's a visit from Daddy, after all, when you've just 
been flown around the living room?

I was concerned they would discuss their "Uncle Merlin" with their friends among 
the local children, describing how he had made the kitchen come alive, then 
turned them into birds. Given such assertions, proof would certainly be 
required, and I could not imagine how our neighbors would respond to their 
children being levitated. "Uncle Merlin," on the other hand, did not seem at all 
concerned. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"No, no, let them talk about it, by all means," he insisted, after Jenny had 
dragged our reluctant girls away from him. "I don't see how you could prevent 
them, in any event. Besides, I have no intention of keeping my presence here a 
secret. I want people to know about me. And the sooner; the better We have much 
to do."

"Well," I said. "And what, precisely, is it that 'we' are going to do?"

"Why, announce my presence to the world, of course," he replied, as if it were 
the most natural thing to do. "I suppose that will take some time, though, and 
that is only the beginning. Oh, yes, only the beginning. We have quite a task 
ahead of us, Thomas. Quite a task, indeed."

"Just a moment," I said. "I'm not quite certain what you're getting at, but 
before you start making any plans, I think we need to talk about this. I do have 
a full-time job, you know. I'm a police officer Or at least I was, until 
yesterday. I'll need to report in as soon as possible and make some effort to 
explain my absence, otherwise I'll be left with no means to provide for my 
family."

"You need have no concerns for your family's welfare," Merlin said. "Never fear, 
I shall see to that. As for your job, it is of no consequence. We have far more 
important work to do. I know what must be done, you see, but I'm not certain how 
best to go about it. And that is where I need your help.''

"You need my help?" I said.

' 'Most assuredly. I spent the night watching your television, and listening to 
your radio. What marvelous devices! Highly informative, indeed. They have shown 
me that there is much to do. It seems the world once again has need of me."

"I have no idea what the world will make of you," I replied dubiously. "But what 
is it that you have in mind, exactly?"

"You know, Thomas, during my long sleep within the great oak, I was not entirely 
ignorant of events that took place in the world outside," he said. "I saw the 
years roll by in dreams. And the years turned into decades, and the decades into 
centuries. Thaumaturgy, the discipline of magic, became forgotten as the years 
went by, and as mankind began to seek enlightenment in other ways. I dreamed 
about the wars, the leaps of knowledge resulting in miraculous inventions, the 
growth of industry and what you call technology, humanity's astonishing ventures 
beyond the confines of this world, the promise of peace and prosperity, and now 
this... the Collapse, as you call it."

He sighed and stroked his long, gray beard. There was a troubled expression on 
his face. I merely listened, saying nothing, caught up in his spell. And it was 
a spell, which he cast merely by his presence.

I kept thinking how surreal it all seemed. There we were, sitting at the 
breakfast table, the dishes not yet cleared away, me drinking my tea and Merlin 
smoking his curved pipe with its ever-changing odors, and it seemed for all the 
world as if an elderly, avuncular neighbor had dropped by for a friendly morning 
chat. Old Mr. Ambrosius, from next door. A bit eccentric, perhaps, but a 
pleasant, harmless, and altogether rather charming bloke. One who had stepped 
out of a tree he happened to have slept in for about two thousand years.

"So many things have changed," he said. "And yet, in essence, much has remained 
the same. There is still ambition, greed and lust for power. There is still 
poverty and hunger. There are still those who have much, and those who have 
nothing. In its driven quest for progress, humanity has overreached itself. You 
have achieved progress at the expense of enlightenment. And see what has 
resulted. You have poisoned the very air you breathe, befouled the water that 
you drink, and stripped the Earth of her resources. Humanity has pissed in its 
own well, Thomas. Your miraculous machines are winding down, and your marvelous 
technology is now of little use to you. It shall not replace that which was 
lost... or that which was forgotten."

He sat silent for a moment, pensive, shaking his head as if with paternal 
disapproval.

"Well, I can hardly disagree," I said, "but you still haven't told me what it is 
you plan to do."

"My plan,'' he said, "is to bring back the forgotten knowledge. There is great 
need of it."

"What, you mean magic?" I said.

"Yes. The discipline of thaumaturgy, or magic, if you prefer My greatest 
strength, indeed, my greatest satisfaction, has always been derived from 
teaching. Therefore, I shall instruct others in the Craft, so that the age of 
magic may return."

I could only gape at him. "But... how on Earth do you propose to teach a 
supernatural ability?"

"There is nothing supernatural about it," he replied. "Magic has always been a 
fact of nature, governed by its laws. Granted, it does take a certain talent not 
all people possess in equal measure, but everyone possesses the latent faculty, 
at least to some degree."

"I wouldn't know," I said. "In all my life, I've never met anyone like that. 
That is, not till I met you."

"Haven't you?" he said. "Chances are you have experienced your own latent 
magical potential without even realizing it. Consider, have you ever had a sense 
or an impression for which you had no rational explanation, such as seeing a 
place for the very first time, yet somehow feeling as if you had been there 
before?''

"Well, yes," I admitted, "but that's not at all uncommon. It's known as deja vu, 
and there's a perfectly logical explanation for it."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Is there, indeed? I would very much like to hear 
it."

"Frankly, I'm not really an expert at this sort of thing," I said, "but the 
accepted scientific theory is that it's actually a sort of cerebral short 
circuit. What happens is that you perceive or experience something in the 
instant that it actually occurs, and your mind registers the event as your 
senses supply the information to your brain, only a sort of sensory loop occurs, 
an error in data input, and the perception is registered not once, but twice. As 
a result, you experience the sense of deja vu, of having already seen something 
before, and in a manner of speaking, you have. Your mind has actually perceived 
the same thing twice in the same instant."

"Fascinating," Merlin said. "And you believe this?"

"It seems a logical explanation,'' I replied.

"Ah. I see. And any explanation that does not seem logical is not to be 
considered, I suppose."

"Well, why should it be, if it's illogical?"

"Because it might very well be true," Merlin replied, "as I believe I 
demonstrated to your daughters' satisfaction."

"Well... I certainly can't argue with that," I was forced to admit. "I actually 
saw them floating in midaii; though I can still scarcely believe it. Either it 
was magic, or you're some sort of master hypnotist."

"Hypnotist?" said Merlin, frowning.

"Someone who can put people in a trance and induce them to believe things, or do 
things they otherwise might not do. It's called hypnotism, or the power of 
suggestion."

"Indeed?" said Merlin. "And how is this accomplished?"

I shrugged. "I don't know exactly how it's done, and I've never experienced it 
myself, but there are different methods, depending on the hypnotist. There are 
those who perform it as an entertainment, and have the subject follow some sort 
of bright and shiny object with their eyes while they tell them that their 
eyelids are growing very heavy, and they're feeling very tired and sleepy and so 
on, until the trance state is induced. Then they use the power of suggestion to 
make the subject cluck like a chicken, or something equally amusing. Hypnotism 
has also been used by therapists to help people overcome emotional problems, or 
perhaps bad habits. Sometimes it's used to perform regressions, in which the 
subject is induced to recall some event in the past, such as a traumatic 
experience the subject has blocked out due to inability to cope with it. Some 
people have even remembered so-called 'past lives' under hypnosis, which 
encourages those who believe in reincarnation, but has otherwise been greeted 
with skepticism, the theory being that the relaxed subconscious was merely being 
imaginative during the trance."

"Fascinating. And is that what you believe I did?" asked Merlin. "You think I 
induced you to believe you saw your daughters fly? And that I also induced your 
wife and daughters to believe it happened, when it did not really occur at all?"

I cleared my throat uneasily "Well, no, I didn't say that, exactly... I mean... 
that is..."

Merlin smiled. "Let us look at it another way," he said. "You find it difficult 
to believe you really saw your daughters floating in midair, but you have no 
difficulty believing in this hypnotism?"

"Well.. .no, of course not. But then hypnotism isn't magic."

"Really?" Merlin said. "In my time, it was known as a spell of compulsion.''

"Somehow, I don't think that's quite the same thing," I replied, unable to 
repress a smile.

"I see," he said. "You mean if I were to claim that I could place you under a 
spell and compel you to act in a certain way, you would disbelieve it. Yet, if I 
claimed to be a hypnotist who could use this power of suggestion to accomplish 
the very same thing, you would have no difficulty in believing that?"

I suddenly felt uncertain of my ground.' 'Uh... well, no, if you put it that 
way, I suppose I wouldn't. But then everyone knows that hypnotism isn't magic. 
It's merely a technique, a skill that almost anyone can learn."

"One could say the same thing about magic," Merlin said. "In fact, I just did, 
mere moments ago."

I felt confused. "I don't understand. Are you suggesting that hypnotism is 
magic?''

"Forget about hypnotism," Merlin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The 
word 'magic* is what seems to be troubling you. So tell me, what do you 
understand magic to be?"

I took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Well, I'm not sure I understand magic 
to be anything," I replied. "What I mean is, I'd always believed that there was 
no such thing, except in fairy tales."

"What is it in these fairy tales, then?" asked Merlin.

I shrugged. "As I said before, it's a supernatural ability"

"To do what?"

"To..." I shook my head, searching for the right way to put it. "To, uh, 
influence your environment in some fantastic way To conjure up demons, I 
suppose, or turn people into toadstools or something."

"Stop there,'' said Merlin.' 'Never mind the conjuring of demons and turning 
people into toadstools. Those are fairly difficult spells, only for advanced and 
highly skilled adepts."

"You mean it's actually possible to conjure up a demon? Or turn someone into a 
toadstool?"

"Certainly,'' Merlin replied.' 'But never mind that for now. If I tried to 
explain it, you would only become even more confused. We need to take things 
slowly. What you first said, that magic is a way of influencing one's 
environment, is exactly correct. That is all magic is, in essence. And I have 
already told you that there is nothing supernatural about it. It's a skill that 
may be learned, albeit not easily, just as this hypnotism you described. I'm 
quite certain that, in time, I could teach you to perform a few fairly simple 
and undemanding spells yourself. It's no different from any other form of 
knowledge. Consider your television. I have no idea how it works, exactly, but I 
believe I understand the principle involved. Within it are some sort of devices 
for storing and receiving energy, which is transmitted through the ether and 
then transformed into the sounds and images you see. It is nothing less than 
sorcery, Thomas, only you do not choose to call it sorcery. On the television, I 
heard a number of references to something called BBC, the British Broadcasting 
Company. Interesting word, broadcasting. One may infer that it entails casting a 
spell over a broad area, so that anyone who owns one of these television boxes 
may receive it."

"But broadcasting has nothing to do with casting spells." I protested, 
restraining a silly urge to giggle. "It's merely the science of electronics."

"Electronics, broadcasting, science, magic... call it what you will," replied 
Merlin with a shrug. "Take away the name and what do you have? Knowledge of 
certain natural principles and the application of those principles. That's all 
magic is. Knowledge and application. And a certain degree of skill, of course. 
You understand the television, so it is no great mystery to you. It does not 
seem supernatural. It would only seem so if you didn't understand it. Magic is 
no different. Once you understand the principles involved, you shall accept it 
as easily as you accept the television."

"You make it sound almost simple," I said.

"I did not say it was simple," Merlin replied. "Do you possess the skill to 
craft a television?"

"You mean could I actually build one from scratch? Well, no, but..."

"But if you had the knowledge, and the skill to apply that knowledge, and the 
proper materials and tools, then you could do it, could you not?"

I shrugged. "I suppose so."

"So it is with magic," Merlin said. "To cast a spell, you merely need a 
knowledge of thaumaturgy, the skill to apply that knowledge, and the proper 
materials and tools. There is nothing impossible about magic. Unless, of course, 
you insist that your entire family has experienced a common delusion for which I 
was somehow responsible. I cannot convince you if you refuse to be convinced, 
Thomas. I could easily fly you around the room, as well, but if you chose to 
remain stubborn in your disbelief, you would maintain that I had tricked you 
somehow and that it never really happened. Perhaps if I turned you into a 
toadstool..."

"No need to go that far," I said hastily. "You've convinced me."

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely. I think."

Merlin chuckled. "You remind me a bit of Modred," he said. "He never took 
anything on faith, either. It took Arthur an army to convince him, and he lost 
his life in the process. I hope I won't need to go to such lengths on your 
behalf."

"Well, it's all rather hard to take, you know," I said with classic 
understatement.

"I understand,'' said Merlin sympathetically.' 'A challenge to one's beliefs is 
always difficult to deal with. And if your reaction is typical of what I can 
expect, then I shall have my work cut out for me. You can see why I will need 
your help."

"I still don't understand exactly what it is you want me to do," I said. "I 
mean, why me! I'm no one special. I should think you'd want someone more 
important, more influential... someone in authority."

"Such a person would undoubtedly find me a threat to his authority," Merlin 
replied. "Important and influential individuals have their own vested interests 
at heart. No, you are the man for me, Thomas. You are the first one I saw when I 
awoke, and I believe it was an omen. Fate brought us together. You and I shall 
bring magic back into the world."

"But how!" I asked. "What do you propose to do, start some sort of school where 
people can take classes in Elementary Sorcery? Practice levitation and turn lead 
into gold for their homework assignments?"

"An excellent idea," Merlin said. "A school would enable apprentices to come to 
me, rather than my needing to seek them out. You see, Thomas, you are already 
proving your worth. Yes, a school, like your universities, where I can train 
sorcerers who can then go out and train others. I believe that is just the way 
to do it."

"I was only joking," I said.

"Well, it's an excellent idea, just the same. We shall start a school. We must 
begin at once."

"Hold on," I said. "It isn't quite that simple, you know."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, you would need a place to do it. I don't mean to sound 
inhospitable, but after all, this is my home. I can't have you bringing 
strangers in here to practice spells in my own living room."

"Quite so, quite so," said Merlin, nodding. "That would be an altogether 
unreasonable imposition and I would never think of asking it. I had thought we 
might obtain a building of some sort, something suitable with living quarters 
for the students, and for the serving staff, as well as kitchens, an alchemical 
laboratory, and perhaps a meeting hall..."

I laughed. "What about a swimming pool and a Jacuzzi? You have no idea what 
you're asking. Assuming you'd be lucky enough to find such a building, where 
would you find the money to pay for it? It would cost a fortune merely to pay 
for its upkeep, and you would still need to purchase supplies, and budget for 
the necessary funds to publicize the school, and pass various health and zoning 
inspections for the kitchens and the dormitories, and obtain certification 
and... oh, good Lord, I can't even believe I'm seriously having this 
conversation!"

"You seem somewhat less than enthusiastic about our prospects," Merlin said with 
a frown.

"Oh, it isn't that," I said with a sigh. "Quite the contrary. Half the time I'm 
convinced I'm dreaming all this, and the other half I'm having the most 
thrilling experience of my entire life. But things are nowhere near as simple as 
you seem to think they are. Everything's falling apart, for God's sake. There's 
rioting in the streets. Society is breaking down. The whole bloody world is 
being plunged into a state of anarchy and suddenly you come along to announce 
that you're a two-thousand-year-old wizard who just woke up from a nap inside a 
tree to save the human race by opening a school for sorcerers. People will think 
you're absolutely cracked!"

"You don't seem to think so," he replied.

"I wouldn't be so sure. Perhaps I'm absolutely cracked, as well," I said. "For 
all I know, I've gone completely potty and I'm hallucinating all of this."

"I think you know better than that," said Merlin.

"Well, perhaps I do, but I'm still only one person. You'll have to convince the 
entire world! Even if you do manage to pull it off somehow, we haven't even 
begun to consider the effect it would have!"

"You think it would be helpful to discuss it?" Merlin

I snorted. "I wouldn't even know where to start!"

"I never claimed that it would be an easy task," said Merlin. "Clearly, the 
first thing we have to do is make my presence known, and convince people that I 
am precisely who I claim to be. We shall need to bring our message to as many 
people as we can, and as quickly as we can. Tell me, what do you think of my 
appearing on the television?"

"Television?" I said. "You want to go on television?'"

"Why not?" he asked.

"Why not?" I said.

And then I thought, indeed, why not? It would be perfect. Once convinced that he 
was genuine, the media people would be tripping all over themselves to have a 
crack at him. He would be an absolute sensation. But would he be able to weather 
the resulting storm?

"How is it done?" he asked. "Would it be difficult to arrange?"

"Oh, it could be arranged easily enough, I suppose," I replied, "but you have no 
idea what you'd be letting yourself in for"

"Will it not allow me to bring my message to many people at one time?"

"It'll do that, all right,'' I said.' 'It should be quite a memorable broadcast. 
But aren't you rushing things a bit? I mean, you have been asleep for about two 
thousand years." I shook my head. "Merely saying it sounds fantastic. Things 
have changed a great deal more than you may think. People have changed. You've 
got an awful lot of catching up to do."

"Perhaps," said Merlin, nodding in agreement. "I sensed how the world was 
changing while I remained imprisoned in the oak, and while I marveled at the 
visions that unfolded in my dreams, there is still much about this day and age I 
do not know or understand. However, I shall have you for my guide in that 
regard. Each of us shall teach the other."

"I don't think you have any idea what you're asking me to do," I said. "Lord 
knows, it's hard enough for me to accept who and what you are without trying to 
catch you up about two thousand years! It would be a massive undertaking, and 
one for which I'm hopelessly ill qualified.''

"I am confident that you will do your best," said Merlin. "And you will find me 
a quick and eager student. Besides, as I have said, I do have some idea of what 
the modern world is like. What I require is advice and more detailed 
instruction. As we go out into the world, I shall be your apprentice, Thomas, 
and you shall be mine. It will be a partnership from which we both shall 
benefit."

"But what about my family?" I said. "Who will look after them while we're doing 
all this?"

"I told you, you need have no concern about your family. I shall see to it that 
they are well protected and provided for, I promise you."

"Not that I doubt your word, you understand,'' I said,' 'but would you mind 
telling me how!"

"A perfectly fair and reasonable question," he replied. "First, I shall devise a 
powerful warding spell that will protect this dwelling, and prevent anyone from 
entering with malicious intent. Next, I shall prepare protective charms for 
Jenny and both your daughters, to ward off harm when they venture from this 
dwelling. I shall also create a familiar to watch over them and see to their 
every need. For the present, I think that should suffice."

"A familiar?'' I said, once again feeling a vague tug at some old memory from 
childhood. "What is that?"

Merlin shrugged. "It could be almost anything. Well perhaps not. We should give 
some thought to that. It should be the sort of familiar your family would feel 
comfortable with. Have you a dog?"

"No, we have no pets," I said, having no idea what he meant. Surely, he didn't 
think some sort of guard dog would answer to the need?

"No, dog, eh?" Merlin said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"The girls always wanted one, but we never could afford it," I said. "Even a 
stray dog would need to be fed, and things being as they are... Well, it would 
only be an added burden. Besides a dog would hardly provide adequate protection 
these days."

"Well, put it out of your mind for the present," he replied. "I shall give some 
thought to the matter while I work on the protective charms. As for the warding 
spell, we can see to that at once."

"We?" I said, somewhat hesitantly.

"A warding spell is a relatively simple thing," said Merlin, "and it would make 
as good a point as any to begin your education. Why not call Jenny and the 
girls? They can assist us and lend their energies to the task."

"Is... uh... is it safe?" I asked uncertainly.

"I would never expose your family to any danger," Merlin reassured me. "I think 
they will find the process both fascinating and enjoyable."

I went to fetch Jenny and the girls, who hardly needed any encouragement to drop 
their lessons and play with Uncle Merlin. They came bounding in like kittens, 
anxious to fly around the room once more. However much to their disappointment, 
Merlin refused to oblige them. When their faces fell and they began to whine 
petulantly, he held up an admonishing finger and they fell silent instantly, an 
act of obedience they'd never given quite so readily to either Jenny or myself. 
I had no idea how he did it.

"Now let us understand one thing," their Uncle Merlin told them. "Magic is not 
to be employed for the purposes of play or amusement. It is not something to be 
taken lightly. I know that you enjoyed your brief experience as birds, but 
beyond that enjoyment, what was it you learned?"

Our daughters screwed their faces up in concentration. Then, finally, Christine 
hit upon the answer "To always think for ourselves, and not to think a thing is 
true merely because someone said it was."

"Very good,", said Merlin, patting her on the head. "That was the purpose of the 
lesson. Now in this case, the lesson happened to have been enjoyable. But 
remember that not all lessons are enjoyable. Some are learned with difficulty 
and great hardship. And once a lesson has been learned, there should be no need 
to repeat it. Now, we are about to have our second lesson. Are your prepared to 
learn it?"

They both nodded expectantly while Jenny glanced at me nervously. I merely 
nodded, as if I knew what in bloody hell was going on, though I felt no such 
security.

"Your father and I have a great deal of work to do," said Merlin, "important 
work that may take us from you for some periods of time. Therefore, what we are 
going to do is weave a spell that will protect this home while your father and I 
are away. We shall all do it together. Would you like to help me weave a magic 
spell?"

They responded eagerly, and Merlin proceeded to tell them what to do.

"We shall require certain things to weave the spell," he said. He turned to 
Jenny. "Have you any candles?"

Jenny said we did, and started to get them, but Merlin stopped her and suggested 
that Michelle bring the candles. Each of us would take part in assembling the 
ingredients of the spell and, in this way, we would all bring a part of 
ourselves to the process, thereby imbuing it with our energies, whatever in hell 
that meant. Michelle complied eagerly, pleased to be given the responsibility. 
In this manner, each of us was given a part to play.

Jenny brought a mirror from our bedroom. Christine brought a small saucepan from 
the kitchen, and a cup which would be used to keep some salt in. After fetching 
the candles, Michelle was directed to bring Merlin a goblet. The closest thing 
we possessed to a goblet was a simple drinking glass, but Merlin pronounced that 
it would do. My task was to prepare some herbs, which were readily available 
from our pantry, as Jenny grew and dried them for use in seasoning our food. I 
ground up the herbs and mixed them together under Merlin's direction, preparing 
an incense into which he mixed some of his tobacco, to help it burn.

At his request, Jenny brought him a curved steel knife with a plain, unfinished, 
wooden handle, which she used in the garden, and I was directed to fetch a knife 
with a black handle, preferably a double-edged one. This proved to be an easy 
task, as I had a number of such knives, combat blades I carried either in my 
boot or in a sheath clipped to my belt. I brought Merlin my entire collection, 
and he chose a dagger with an eight-inch blade that tapered to a sharp point. It 
had a knobbed steel pommel, the better to crush skulls with, and a serrated, 
steel crossguard. Altogether it was a rather nasty and serious piece of work, 
and I wondered, with some anxiety, what role it was meant to play in what we 
were about to do. My curiosity did not long go unabated.

With the help of Jenny and the girls, Merlin cleared the table and covered it 
with a fresh cloth, a red one, as it happened, though he claimed the color made 
no difference. Then, he had each of us arrange the items we had brought upon the 
table top, in a certain order. He had us specifically arrange these things so 
that, as he sat facing them, he sat facing to the north. Farthest from him, he 
had Jenny place one candle in a brass holder to his left, and another he had me 
place to his right. Christine was directed to place the saucepan in the cento; 
slightly ahead of the candles. In front of the candle to his left, Merlin had 
Christine place the "goblet," the drinking glass which she had filled with water 
Across from it, to his right, and in front of the second candle, he placed a 
cup, into which he poured some salt.

The center of the table was to remain bare, but before him, where his plate 
would be if he were sitting down to dine, he placed the two knives, points 
facing away from him and angled inward, so that they formed a triangle with no 
base. That done, he nodded, apparently satisfied with the arrangement, and bid 
us all to take our seats around the table.

"Now," he said, "so that no one will feel apprehensive, I will explain what we 
have done, and what we are about to do. And I do mean we, for we are going to do 
it all together First of all, there is no need to feel frightened or 
apprehensive. I know that many tales have been told over the years about how 
magic is derived from unholy rites, and pacts with demons, and all that sort of 
nonsense. However, nonsense is exactly what it is."

He turned to the girls and smiled. "Have you girls ever wished for something 
very hard, and then had it come true?''

They both nodded.

"Well, think of magic the same way. Now, perhaps the thing you wished for came 
true merely because it just happened to turn out that way But perhaps it came 
true because you wished for it so very hard. Who can say for certain? Making 
magic work is just like wishing for something very hard. You may think of a 
wizard as someone who is very good at wishing. But, of course, it is not really 
quite that simple. You have to know just how to wish, and you have to do it in a 
special way, depending on what you are wishing foe That is what we are going to 
do right now. We are going to wish for something in a special way and, by doing 
so, make magic. You understand?"

I realized that his comments, while phrased for the benefit of our young 
daughters, were equally meant for Jenny and myself. Jenny realized it also, for 
we all nodded together We said nothing, because despite Merlin's bantering, 
paternal tone, we were still somehow impressed with the solemnity of the 
occasion. We are going to do magic, I thought, and ridiculously—or perhaps, not 
so ridiculously—I felt an anticipatory thrill not unlike that which I had 
experienced as a child on Christmas morning.

"Now in order to wish for something in a special way, the way we're going to do 
in order to make magic," Merlin continued, "it helps to have certain things that 
will serve to focus our attention and our energies on what we have to do. That 
is what we have done here. What we have constructed here," he indicated the 
table before us, "is called an altar"

"You mean, like in church?" asked Michelle.

"No, not really, this one is different," Merlin said.

"Is it holy?" asked Michelle again.

"That depends on what you mean, Michelle," he said. "It's not the same as the 
altar in a Christian church, you understand, but we will use it in a ritual, 
just as there are rituals in church. You see, long before there was a Christian 
church, some people worshipped in this way, with an altar much like this."

"But this isn't a real altar;" Christine said, emboldened by her little sister's 
questions. "These are just things we had around the house. It's like a play 
altar." She frowned. "Isn't that wrong?"

Jenny glanced at me uneasily, then looked to Merlin. It seemed that we could be 
treading on delicate ground here. However, Merlin took the question in stride.

"It would be wrong if we were making fun of an altar in a Christian church," he 
said, "or perhaps pretending this was an altar in a Christian church, but that 
is not what we are doing. Do you have any friends who are not Christian?"

"Yes," said Michelle, "there's Michael. He's Jewish. And he doesn't go to 
church. He goes to temple."

"Well, a temple is a little like a church, is it not?" said Merlin. "Only it's a 
different faith, a different religion, is that not so?"

The girls both nodded. It was, I think, the first time we had ever discussed 
comparative theology in our home, and I was following the discussion with 
interest, while at the same time feeling somewhat guilty that we had never 
really talked about such things before. The girls had questions, but I'd had 
little in the way of answers. I felt envious of how easily and naturally Merlin 
seemed to be going about it. Not bad for someone who'd slept through most of 
human history, I thought.

"Well, this is like a different religion," Merlin said. "In fact, once it was a 
very important religion."

"What was it called?" asked Michelle.

"It was called many different things," said Merlin. "Some people called it the 
Craft, some people called it Wicca, while others called it witchcraft."

"Witchcraft!" said Christine. "You mean like the witches  in stories who fly 
about on brooms and cast evil spells?"

"No, not at all like that," said Merlin. "Those stories were made up by people 
who thought witches were bad. Sometimes people make up stories about other 
people whom they do not like. Some people respect what others believe and some 
do not. Some people think the way they believe is the only right way, and that 
everyone who does not believe the way they do is wrong. You mentioned your 
friend, who is Jewish."

"Michael," said Michelle.

"Yes, Michael," Merlin said, nodding. "You don't think Michael is wrong in being 
Jewish, do you? It is as right for him to be Jewish as it is for you to be 
Christian, is it not? We could say that you are all right, only in different 
ways. What is right for each person is what matters."

"What were witches really like?" Christine asked. "What was right for them?''

"Probably much the same things that are right for you," said Merlin, "only they 
went about the way they did things in slightly different ways. You see, the word 
'witch' comes from the word 'Wicca,' which is a very old word that means 'to 
bend.' And witches were said to have the ability to bend the ways of nature, 
though that wasn't quite correct. The truth is they were wise in the ways of 
nature, and able to bend with it. They loved nature, and respected it. They knew 
how to make medicines from plants, and how to foretell what the weather was 
going to be from watching how animals behaved, and how to help babies be born. 
People often came to them for advice."

"What about magic?" asked Michelle.

"Yes, they knew about magic, too," said Merlin, "and what we are about to do is 
just the sort of thing that witches did once, many years ago. Now, each of these 
things before us has a purpose. Think of this candle to my left as being a 
symbol of all in nature that is female, and think of this candle on my right as 
being a symbol of all in nature that is male. In this way, we achieve an 
harmonious balance, you see, and balance is everything in magic."

"What's the saucepan for?" Christine asked.

"The saucepan is our cauldron," Merlin said. "Granted, it does not look much 
like a cauldron, but for our purposes, it will serve. In it, we will burn our 
incense, which shall symbolize the sweetness of the air we breathe."

"What about the cup with the salt in it?" Michelle asked.

"The salt shall symbolize the earth," said Merlin, "and the drinking glass, our 
goblet, contains the water, which, of course, shall represent the life-giving 
element of water in the lakes and oceans of the world, and in the rain that 
falls to make things grow. Therefore, as you can see, we have the four elements 
of nature, earth, aii; fire, and water"

"What are the knives for?" asked Christine.

"Ah, the knives are most important," Merlin said. "They are our tools, you see. 
This knife, with the plain wood handle, is our bolline, which is used for the 
cutting of herbs, and inscribing symbols, and so forth. A purely practical tool, 
in other words, used for the same sort of things that any ordinary knife is used 
for. This black-handled knife, however; is our athame, and it is very different. 
From the moment we consecrate it to its purpose, it shall be used only for that 
purpose, and never again for any other thing."

"What is its purpose?" asked Michelle

"I was just about to tell you," Merlin said. "Be patient. All shall be made 
clear. This knife shall be our magic wand. Sometimes an actual wand is used, cut 
from willow, oak, or cherry wood, and sometimes wizards have made very fancy 
wands indeed, but a plain one will do just as well. You will notice that I carry 
a plain, knotty, wooden staff, which I use as both my wand and as my walking 
stick. Sometimes, instead of a wand, a sword is used, because a blade has always 
been considered an object of great power, and it looks impressive, too. However; 
a knife is much more convenient to hold than a sword, and it will serve as 
well."

"Why must the handle be black?" Jenny asked.

"An excellent question,'' Merlin said. "It is because white is a color that 
reflects, while black is a color that absorbs, and the athame is meant to absorb 
and store the power of whomever wields it. We shall use it to absorb our power; 
men release it as we direct. Now, it is best for us to work our spell in 
darkness, or dim light, so that our thoughts and energies may be better focused. 
So, Thomas, if you will be so kind as to pull the drapes, we shall begin." 


CHAPTER 4 


You mean that's all there is to it?" asked Christine.  "Yes," said Merlin. "Why, 
you did not think it was sufficient?"

"Well, no, but... I just thought there would be something more," she said, 
sounding a little disappointed.

To be honest, I was a bit disappointed myself, though at the same time, I felt 
somewhat relieved. I hadn't really known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't 
the simple sort of ceremony we'd just taken part in.

After I had pulled the drapes, Merlin asked Jenny to light the candles, men he 
himself ignited the incense. As we all stood around the table, Merlin picked up 
the saucepan containing the incense and walked around us, in a clockwise circle 
around the table, explaining that this was done to purify the space where we had 
garnered in our circle. That done, he returned to his place, put down the 
saucepan with the burning incense, and picked up the black-handled knife, or the 
athame, as he called it. As he explained what he was doing, he asked us all to 
think about it, to concentrate our thoughts upon the task that was being 
performed, and to think of that task as being accomplished when it was done. He 
consecrated the knife by simply placing it in the center of the table and 
sprinkling it first with a pinch of salt, and then with a few drops of water 
from the "goblet."

He then passed the blade through the smoke rising from the incense and held it 
up ceremoniously, resting across both his palms. This accomplished, he then used 
the knife to consecrate the other objects on our altar; touching each item 
lightly with its blade, and asking us to think of the object touched as being 
purified. When this was done, he took the mirror Jenny had brought from our 
bedroom and placed it in the center of the table.

He then picked up the athame in his right hand and held it before him, blade 
pointing upwards, asking us to concentrate upon the blade, and think about 
sending our energies into it. Then he' 'drew'' the circle with the blade, 
walking around the table with it, once again in a clockwise direction, pointing 
the blade at the floor and drawing an imaginary circle all around us. While be 
did so, he asked us to think about the circle being drawn, and to visualize it 
in our minds as if we could actually see it. Inside the circle, he explained, we 
were now protected, and in a place of peace.

Taking his place once more, he said that we would now invoke the energies of 
earth, air, fire, and water; and in order to do so, all that was necessary was 
to invite their symbolic spirits to attend us in our circle. He faced to the 
north, and said, "Spirit of the North, Spirit of Earth, we ask that you attend 
our circle." Then he had Christine face to the east and invoke the Spirit of 
Air; and when she had done so, he asked Michelle to face to the south and invoke 
the Spirit of Fire. Jenny was then requested to face the west and invoke the 
Spirit of Water; which she did, quite solemnly, getting into the spirit of the 
thing, no pun intended.

Merlin then pronounced that the circle was complete, and we all joined hands and 
closed our eyes as he asked us to think about our energies flowing from one to 
the other of us, going around in a clockwise circle.

"As you feel the energy enter into you," he said, "send it on, giving it a 
little nudge of your own, and imagine it going round and round, growing stronger 
and stronger as it continues to flow around the circle."

Under any other circumstances, I suppose I would have felt a little foolish 
engaged in such an exercise, which seemed like no more than a child's game, but 
I had seen my daughters levitated, the kitchen come to life, and the pantry 
miraculously stocked with enough supplies to last us for weeks. Had Merlin 
claimed we could invoke the shade of Father Christmas by singing, "Ring Around 
the Roses," I would have been tempted to believe him. However nothing quite so 
terribly dramatic occurred.

As we stood there with our hands joined, and I visualized our energies flowing 
around us, it did seem to me as if I felt something passing through me, 
something warm and pleasant and indefinable, though of course that could be 
rationalized away as wishful thinking. But then, according to Merlin, that's 
just what magic was—wishful thinking. After a few moments of this silent energy 
transference, Merlin pronounced that we were ready to proceed.

He took the mirror and held it before him at about chest level, with the mirror 
facing away from him, toward the candle flames. As he slowly walked around the 
circle, he asked us to watch the mirror and see the candle flames reflected 
there, and to imagine that as the mirror reflected the light of the candle 
flames, so all evil would be reflected from our home. And he had us chant 
together

"Candle flames in mirror bright,
 banish evil from our sight.
 Earth and Water; Fire and Air;
 Free this dwelling of despair.
 Let not evil's slightest trace
 enter on this peaceful place.
 Grant the wish that we desire,
 Air and Water, Earth and Fire."

As we chanted, we made several circuits of the circle with our hands joined, 
except for Merlin, of course, who was holding the mirror, and thus had to hook 
elbows with us. It was exactly like "Ring Around The Roses," in fact. We moved 
faster and faster, and I lost count of how many times we went around, but when 
we were through, Merlin replaced the mirror in the center of the table, then had 
us all join hands once more and imagine a feeling of warmth, security, and 
happiness flowing through us and throughout every corner of our home.

The spirits of the four quarters were then thanked for their presence in our 
circle and bid to depart in peace, then Merlin took the athame and cleared the 
circle, "cutting" it with the knife as he walked around the table once again, 
and the simple ritual was done. There had been no pyrotechnics, or levitations, 
or disembodied voices, nothing, in fact, that seemed very magical at all. . .

"You expected something more spectacular, is that it?" Merlin asked Christine. 
"Something wondrous?"

"Well... I suppose so," she replied, trying unsuccessfully to hide her 
disappointment.

"You know what is the most wondrous thing in all the universe, Christine?" he 
asked.

"No, what?"

"Your life. The power that makes you live and breathe, the power that makes you 
wonder, and ask questions, and think for yourself. That is the greatest power in 
all the universe, Christine, and it is within you. And you have just used that 
power to help weave a spell that will keep this home and all within it safe from 
harm. It is now a secure and peaceful place, and all who enter it shall feel 
warm, happy, and contented. And, with a little help from your mother, your 
father, and your sister, and of course, with a little help from me, you have 
done it. Now what could be more wondrous than that?"

"I thought it was wondrous," said Michelle. "And it was fun, too! Especially the 
chanting part. Could we do it again?"

"No, once was sufficient," Merlin said. "And now that we are finished, you can 
help put everything away in its proper place, then run along and play so that 
your parents and I may discuss some matters of importance."

After we had settled down in the living room and Merlin had his pipe going once 
again, I ventured a reaction to our little ceremony. "I must admit feeling 
somewhat like Christine," I said. "It wasn't quite what I expected."

"Umm. You would have felt better if I'd conjured up a demon, or flashed a few 
lightning bolts about?"

"No, I don't think I would have cared for that particularly, but... well, it's 
rather hard to believe that what we just did will actually accomplish anything. 
Not that I'm questioning your word, you understand," I added hastily, "but... 
well, no offense, but it did seem a bit childish."

"I thought it was rather poignant," Jenny said, "simple and touching, and quite 
spiritual in its own way."

"Very nicely put," said Merlin. "You see, Thomas, you are missing the point. The 
point of the whole thing was to perform a ritual that your entire family could 
become involved in, thereby imbuing the spell with their personal energies. I 
could certainly have done something much more dramatic, such as making the 
energy aura visible or having the circle glow or burn with flame. However I did 
not think the girls would have responded well to that, and the simple truth is 
that magic does not need to be visibly dramatic. It only needs to be effective."

"Perhaps," I said, "but if you expect to convince a television audience, then 
I'd suggest you consider something more dramatic than a simple pagan ritual. 
People have seen that sort of thing before, you know. Some years ago, there was 
quite a revival in pagan spirituality, and though it's not quite as common 
today, we still have so-called 'witches' who gather in covens, take off all 
their clothes and prance about while chanting various bits of doggerel. Of 
course, it's all a load of nonsense and no one takes it very seriously."

"In every load of nonsense, there is always at least one grain of truth," said 
Merlin. "And who are you to say what is nonsense? Magic does not require 
nakedness, but if some people find it helps them, then I see no harm in it. As 
for the chanting, the chants themselves are not important. They are merely a 
means of helping focus one's energy, which is the purpose of the ritual, as 
well. In itself, a ritual accomplishes nothing, and if one merely goes through 
the motions, it is absolutely useless. An advanced adept can easily do without 
rituals or chants, though such things can be comforting. Morganna was quite fond 
of chants, for instance, but she had no need of them. She was powerful enough to 
cast a spell with a mere glance or gesture."

"Morganna?" I said. "You mean Morgan le Fay?" It still seemed fantastic that 
these legendary characters had actually-existed, and that two thousand some odd 
years after they had lived, I was speaking with a man who'd known them all.

Merlin grunted. "Yes, Morgan le Fay, as she so styled herself, the ungrateful, 
manipulative, little vixen. Lacked the spine to confront me herself, so she 
employed guile, deceit, and trickery, the traditional weapons of a woman."

"I think you may find that women have changed a great deal, along with the 
times," Jenny said.

"Have they? For the better or for the worse?"

"I suppose that depends on your perspective,'' she replied.

"A most feminine reply," Merlin said, "which is to say, an elusive one. Might I 
ask you to elaborate upon it?"

"Well, if you believe that women are secondary in status and importance to men," 
said Jenny, "and that their proper place is in subservience to males, then you 
will find that things have changed considerably for the worse."

"I see," said Merlin. "Well, in truth, I have never believed that a woman's 
place was merely to serve man, else I would never have taken on Morganna as a 
pupil. And anyone who believes that women of my time were subservient should 
have met Guinevere. Nevertheless, I must apologize for my remark, for I did not 
mean to give offense. I confess to a certain bitterness in that regard."

"Apology accepted," my wife said with a smile.

Merlin grunted. "Most gracious of you. Now what was I speaking of?"

"The purposes of chants and rituals," I said.

"Ah, yes, quite so. They might seem foolish or nonsensical, or even childish, 
and yet that is their very virtue. Children follow rituals in their play, and 
they often employ some form of chanting. It is often spontaneous, and what 
arises from it is a sort of power, which can either result in heightened 
feelings of joy or, as in the case where chanting is employed to tease someone, 
an energy directed against the object of their scorn.''

"Well, no one likes being teased," I said. "I don't know that I'd consider that 
a projection of power"

"No?" said Merlin. "Then consider what would make you feel worse, if one person 
heaped scorn upon you, or if a dozen people did it all at once?"

''Having a dozen people do it would be worse, of course,'' I said, "but that's 
merely a matter of degree."

"Precisely," Merlin said. "A dozen people together can project more energy than 
one person by himself. Unless, of course, that one person is a powerful adept."

I shrugged. "It sounds like a mere matter of semantics to me."

"Semantics?"

"Playing with words."

"You fool," said Merlin.

He said it simply, in a perfectly calm and ordinary tone of voice, and yet 
suddenly I felt as stung as if he'd slapped me. My initial response was shock 
that he should say that, and then I felt myself flush deeply, and a profound 
feeling of pain and humiliation overwhelmed me such as I hadn't felt since I was 
scolded by my father as a child. I heard Jenny draw her breath in sharply, and I 
found I could not look at her, nor look Merlin in the face. I did not feel 
anger, I just felt extremely hurt.

"Forgive me, Thomas," Merlin said soothingly. "I did not really mean that. You 
are not a fool, of course, but you were being obstinate again and I thought a 
small demonstration might be instructive. I do not play with words, for I know 
that words can be powerful things, especially when used by an adept."

I simply stared at him, "You mean..."

"Consider the words I used," said Merlin. "Two very simple words. 'You fool.' By 
themselves, they may produce differing results. They might induce anger; or mere 
irritation, or embarrassment... it depends on who says them and how they are 
said, of course, but also on the directed energy behind them. I made a point of 
saying them in a very calm and offhand manner, but I directed enough energy 
behind them to produce the effect that you experienced. Forgive me, I know it 
was unpleasant, but I needed to make my point."

"You made it, all right," I said. "A policeman, of necessity, learns to be 
thick-skinned, yet for a moment, I felt on the verge of tears." I shook my head. 
"I wouldn't have thought mere words could do that to me."

"Mere words did not," said Merlin. "You are still missing the point. Why is it 
that one person may say something to another and produce little or no reaction, 
while another person might say the very same thing and reduce someone to tears? 
Why is it that one person giving a speech might fail to move a crowd, while 
another giving the same speech can incite that same crowd to riot? Is it simply 
that the second person is a better speaker, or is it that there is a force of 
personality behind the speech? And, if so, what is the nature of that force if 
not directed energy?"

"I concede your point," I said, still smarting from his demonstrative rebuke, 
even though I knew he didn't really mean it. The effect had been unsettling, to 
say the least.

"The Wiccan ritual, or faith, or philosophy, call it what you will," said 
Merlin, "bears the same relationship to magic as learning how to crawl does to 
walking and then running, which is not to say that it possesses no validity, 
merely that it is only a beginning. The many cultures of the world have all had 
their different systems of belief, but in essence, they might all be considered 
as paths leading to a common destination.''

"Who would have guessed that Merlin the Magician was a Unitarian?" I said with a 
grin.

"Unitarian?" said Merlin.

"Never mind," I said. "It was just a joke."

"How would you define that common destination?" Jenny asked, with a sour glance 
at me.

"As the ultimate realization of the Craft,'' he said, "a union of the rationally 
developed mind with the full capacity latent in the spirit."

"It sounds as if you're speaking of Zen," said Jenny.

"Ah, yes, indeed," Merlin said, nodding.

"You know about Zen Buddhism?" I asked, with some surprise.

"I am aware of the teachings of Gautama Buddha," Merlin said, "though perhaps, 
in this case, I should say those of his disciple, Bodhidharma, who founded the 
Zen philosophy. They came before my time, after all, and I have always sought to 
study the ideas of prophets and philosophers. Knowledge of other lands was 
difficult to come by in my day, but there were ways to seek it out if you took 
the trouble. In the teachings of the Buddha, I found much of value, yet I 
disagreed with the principle of rejecting the material world as a place of pain 
and suffering, meant only to be transcended for some higher realm. It is not the 
material world that must be transcended, but our own material limitations. Most 
of the religious prophets of the world have taught that the ultimate realization 
of the soul's potential is to be found in some other world that exists on a 
spiritual plane, when in fact, it can be found in this one, if we but learn to 
tap the undeveloped powers of our minds."

"I take it back," I said to Jenny. "He's not a Unitarian, he's a 
parapsychologist."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Explain, please."

"The study of what is called the paranormal," she replied, giving me a dirty 
look. "Mind over matter, telepathy... that is, communication by thought.. 
.telekinesis, which is the power to move objects with one's mind, extrasensory 
perception, which includes things such as the ability to see into the future, 
and having prophetic dreams, and deducing things about a person you've never met 
from an object that had been in that person's possession.... Parapsychology is 
the study of such phenomena."

"Indeed?'' said Merlin with surprise. "And these things are seriously studied in 
this day and age?"

"Well, to say that they are studied seriously might be somewhat misleading," I 
said. "That is, they've been studied in the past, but given the present state of 
things, I doubt much research is going on today. As to how seriously they were 
studied, it would be difficult to say. There were supposedly some serious 
scientific studies, but I don't believe any of them produced anything 
conclusive. And there were all sorts of groups devoted to such research, only 
I'm not sure how seriously they were regarded. They were not generally regarded 
very seriously by the scientific establishment, which dismissed such things as 
being either fraudulent or the results of coincidence."

"Still, a lot of people believe in the paranormal," said Jenny. "And not, it 
would appear, without some justification," she added, with a significant glance 
at me. I knew that I was misbehaving, but I couldn't seem to help myself. The 
situation was so bizarre and fantastic, it was almost comical. How often does 
one sit down to discuss such things as Zen and ESP with an honest-to-God 
sorcerer?

"So then the interest exists," said Merlin. "I find that highly encouraging."

"You may find it less encouraging after you've had contact with some of those 
people," I said, "as you undoubtedly will, if you go on television. They'll come 
crawling out of the woodwork by the dozens."

"And this is not a thing to be desired?" Merlin asked.

"I'll leave you to judge that for yourself," I said. "But the main thing I think 
you need to realize is that what you'll be saying will fly in the face of 
everything that is commonly accepted as reality. The very fact that you are who 
you are will be difficult enough for most people to accept, without your 
contradicting the entire scientific establishment and most of the world's 
faiths. People will probably sit still for your telling them that scientists 
haven't got a clue as to how the world really works, because most people neither 
like nor understand scientists to begin with, but when you go contradicting 
their religion, they'll want to burn you at the stake."

"They still do such things?" asked Merlin with concern.

"Not literally," said Jenny.

"No, they simply ostracize you, or dismiss you as a crackpot, or perhaps, in an 
extreme case, they shoot you," I said. "I don't suppose you're impervious to 
bullets?"

"Ah, yes, these projectile weapons I saw in my dreams," said Merlin. He 
shrugged. "Merely a more efficient way of throwing rocks."

"You can dodge a rock," I pointed out, "but I doubt even you are fast enough to 
dodge a bullet." I hesitated. "I assume you can be killed?"

"Of course," said Merlin. "I am a wizard, Thomas, not a god. I am flesh and 
blood; just as you are. And I realize there may be those who would consider me a 
threat and would wish to eliminate that threat. It was so in the past, and I 
expect it will be so in the present."

"Well, just remember that bullets aren't broadswords," I said.

"I shall remember that," he said. "However while I may indeed contradict the 
teachings of your scientists, I have no intention of attacking anyone's faith. 
It is not salvation in the next world that I am seeking, but a more practical 
salvation in this one."

"I don't think I'd put it quite that way, if I were you," I said. "That's liable 
to be misconstrued."

"Perhaps," said Merlin. "I shall choose my words mote carefully, and try them 
out on you before I say them on the television. Then you can advise me if you 
see any flaw in them."

I sighed and glanced at Jenny. "He really thinks it's that simple," I said, 
shaking my head.

"Is there some flaw in my reasoning?" he asked.

"It isn't that," I said. "It's just that... well, how shall I put it? Media 
people, that is to say, television interviewers and reporters, are quite good at 
making people say things they don't really mean to say, and making them look 
foolish. They thrive on controversy and sensationalism. They'll say something 
like, 'Is it true you cheated on your wife?' No matter how you answer that, they 
can make you look bad. If you say no, then they'll report that you've denied 
cheating on your wife, which is factually true, but still creates an impression 
of guilt, if you see what I mean."

"I see," said Merlin. "We had such people in my day, as well. They usually 
became royal ministers. Never fear, Thomas, I shall not allow them to put words 
into my mouth. I will trust the people to judge the truth of my assertions for 
themselves."

There was simply no dissuading him. He was determined to appear on television, 
which had absolutely fascinated him, and nothing I could say would convince him 
he should put it off until he'd had more time to acclimate himself to the 
tumultuous world of the late twenty-second century. It would remain for that 
world to acclimate itself to him.

Arranging a television booking for a two-thousand-year-old sorcerer turned out 
to be a bit more difficult than I had thought. Naturally, I called the BBC 
first, but didn't get very far before they hung up on me. I then tried several 
of the news programs directly, including CNN, and they all hung up on me, as 
well. Obviously, they thought I was some sort of crackpot or someone trying to 
play a silly joke. That left me with my court of last resort, the chat shows.

I should probably explain that television programming was very different during 
the time of the Collapse then it is now. Today, there is a great deal of 
programming to choose from, both from the government-supported and the 
independent stations, as well as the various cable networks. There are variety 
shows, and situation comedies, musical programs, anthology shows, drama, cop 
shows, daytime serials, films, and sports, you name it. There's something for 
every taste. Not so during the Collapse.

Novelists and screenwriters these days are fond of portraying the period as 
something similar to a post-holocaust scenario, and while there is some truth in 
these fanciful depictions, the fact is that everything did not come abruptly 
grinding to a halt, leaving a world of perpetual darkness in which street gangs 
and commando forces battled, and everyone walked about in rags, or castoff bits 
of clothing assembled to appear like some sort of piratical ensemble. True, 
there were many homeless, often living in rusted and abandoned vehicles, and 
there was much rioting and looting. Street gangs and police did frequently 
battle in the streets, and the crime rate was higher than at any other time in 
living memory. However, there was electrical power available, although with 
frequent blackouts, and newspapers struggled to put out if not daily, then at 
least weekly editions, and the radio and television stations continued their 
broadcasts, though much of the time they were either blacked out due to power 
failures or the broadcast consisted of the legend "Technical Difficulties" 
appearing on the screen.

Society was breaking down, yet like a punch-drunk heavyweight, it continued 
stumbling along, often held up by nothing more than diminishing inertia. Life 
during that time was much like tending to some vast and ancient machine, held 
together by little more than spit and baling wire. Something would let go, and 
there would be a rush to mend it, and while one breakdown was being tended to, a 
dozen other malfunctions would occur. Yet, despite the seeming hopelessness of 
it all, the tenders of this aging and broken-down machine kept to their task 
like relentless worker ants, for there was simply nothing else to do. The 
pressure was too great for many of them. The suicide rate had risen 
exponentially and breakdowns, such as that suffered by poor James Whitby, were 
endemic. And for all too many people, there was little or no hope at all.

For a large segment of the population, those who still had homes or were not 
reduced to living in burned-out or abandoned buildings without power, television 
became a vital lifeline to whatever fragile fabric of reality they still 
possessed. It was like a drug, both a painkiller and an aphrodisiac, a cheap 
hallucinogen that granted blissful, merciful escape from the dreary hopelessness 
of their lives. People became very stressed during the frequent blackouts, 
terrified the set wouldn't come back on, and they would part with almost 
anything before they gave up their precious telly. Even those who had no power 
in their homes, and did without such luxuries as telephones and heat and working 
plumbing, often went hungry to purchase batteries for their small, portable TV's 
at incredibly inflated prices. And the programming they had to choose from was 
dictated by the times.

Gone were the elaborate productions, save for reruns of old programs and films. 
Only those shows cheapest to produce were aired, and this meant newscasts, the 
ubiquitous game shows, which had gained more allure than ever in such trying 
times, and, of course, the chat shows. They had become the dominant form of 
programming, from "electronic ministries" featuring fire and brimstone preachers 
to various interview programs. The basest of these were sensationalistic, 
prurient, muck-raking purveyors of sleaze, and they were, of course, the most 
popular And among the hosts of these so-called "issue-oriented" programs, no one 
was more popular than Billy Martens.

The program was always opened with stimulating, staccato music and a flashing 
video montage of Martens, sartorially elegant, darkly handsome and whipcord 
slim, interviewing guests, alternately showcasing his many moods. Here he was, 
being charming, now here's a shot of him being confrontational, followed by one 
of Martens expressing outrage, then mirth, then a salacious leer, then anger; 
and finally a pose reminiscent of an old American recruiting poster, with 
Martens looking stem and pointing at the camera with his forefinger. Over this, 
a stentorian announcer would intone, "It's the Billy Martens Show! And now, 
ladies and gentlemen, it's time once again to meet the host of our program..." 
(cue applause from the studio audience) "Billy Martens!"

Martens would saunter out from backstage, nodding to the crew and shaking hands 
with members of the audience, one of whom, sitting in the front row, would hand 
him his microphone, and the camera would zoom in for a tight close-up of Martens 
looking earnest as he announced what the theme of that day's program would be. 
Child prostitutes. Vigilante squads. Housewives who traded illicit sex for food 
and clothing. Apocalyptic prophets who proclaimed that the Collapse was merely 
the first stage of the Second Coming. Some hapless, lower-echelon, government 
bureaucrat delivered up as a scapegoat for whatever new disaster had befallen 
the city. Satan worshippers... and a two-thousand-year-old sorcerer who had once 
been the court wizard to King Arthur

Oh, yes, the Martens show would be only too happy to have Merlin on. What was 
his last name, you say? Ambrosia? Well, whatever And he claims to be what? 
Marvelous! And you say he levitates things? Casts spells? Really? Stupendous! 
When can he come in for a pre-interview with our staff? Will he be able to 
levitate something in the office? Does he wear a robe and a pointy hat and all? 
Oh, good, wonderful, wonderful! How soon can he come in?

I made the appointment and hung up the phone with a weary sigh of resignation. 
Merlin seemed quite pleased.

"Excellent," he said. "We seem to be making progress."

"I wouldn't exactly call the Billy Martens Show progress," I replied.

"You think we could have made a better choice? " he said,

"There was no other choice. No one else was even remotely interested. Not that I 
can blame them. When I listened to myself trying to tell them about you, I 
realized I sounded like a complete lunatic. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as 
the case may be, that doesn't seem to bother Mr. Martens."

"It is but a beginning, Thomas," Merlin said. "We must start somewhere."

"Have you ever seen the Billy Martens Shaw!"

"No, it was not one of those I watched," he said. "When is it on?"

I glanced at my watch. "In about two hours, assuming there's no blackout.''

"Then I shall make a point of watching it," he said.

"Good idea. There's still time to back out."

"I have no intention of backing out, Thomas," he said. "You say that many people 
watch this Billy Martens?"

"Thousands," I replied. "Hundreds of thousands. Millions. There's no accounting 
for taste."

"Well, then it is the very thing we need," he said.

Somehow, I wasn't getting through to him. I liked the old chap, and I had come 
to believe in him, and in what he was trying to accomplish. I had been skeptical 
at first, but my skepticism had disappeared completely. I had seen him do 
astonishing things, miraculous things, and my natural, human tendency to 
rationalize these things away had never really manifested itself, except in the 
most superficial way. Perhaps I was prepared to believe because I'd been through 
an emotional wringer and was ready to grasp at straws, to accept anything that 
seemed to offer the hope of a better world. However, I think it was more than 
that. My wife was an intelligent, sophisticated woman, and she believed in him, 
as well. That same effect would later be experienced by everyone who was exposed 
to him for any length of time. However, I was yet to discover this phenomenon. 
It was all so new, and it had all happened so quickly, that I hadn't much time 
to question my own responses.

I saw his determination to go through with it, and I felt the need to warn him 
about what was almost certainly going to happen. Billy Martens would try to make 
a fool of him for the amusement of his audience, and I was concerned about what 
the consequences might be.

"Look," I said, "I don't think you fully comprehend what it is I'm trying to 
say. You've never seen the Billy Martens Show. We're going to watch it in a 
little while, and perhaps then you'll understand. He's not a very pleasant man. 
In fact, he's slime. His only concern is entertaining the audience, most of whom 
are not much better, and he'll do it at your expense.''

"I see," said Merlin. "Much like a court jester"

"Not a bad analogy," I said, "except he's probably far worse. What I mean is, 
he's almost certainly going to make fun of you, and you'll be on his home 
ground. Now, I don't really know how you react to such things, but... well, how 
shall I put it?"

"You are concerned that I may lose my temper?" Merlin said.

"Uh... well... yes, frankly. I mean, if you were to harm him in any way, it 
would be, uh... counterproductive."

He smiled. "You may rest easy, Thomas. I can promise you that I shall not lose 
my temper, and I shall not cause him any harm. I appreciate your concern on my 
behalf. We will watch the Billy Martens Show together, and I will form my own 
assessment of him, keeping your remarks in mind, and then I shall listen to any 
suggestions you may have as to how we should proceed."

I still did not feel very reassured, but there was not much else to say. We 
watched the show together when it came on, and though I no longer remember what 
his "theme" was that day, I do recall Merlin's reaction to the program. He sat 
through the whole thing silently, merely pursing his lips and nodding every now 
and then, and when it was over, he cleared his throat, turned to me, and said, 
"I now see what you meant. He is an obnoxious, loathsome person. Utterly vile. 
He deserves to be strung up by his thumbs."

"Now remember, you promised..." I said.

"And I shall keep my word," Merlin replied. "Never fear, Thomas. Billy Martens 
is not nearly as formidable as you imagine. I know just how to handle him."

"Yes," I said. "That's just what I'm afraid of." 


CHAPTER 5 


Billy Martens was much too shrewd to air his programs live. The shows were all 
taped in advance, which gave him the control of editing and allowed him to 
rebroadcast programs later if there was a blackout. If Martens had his way, the 
tape of Merlin's appearance on his program would probably have been burned. 
However, Martens was dealing with a sorcerer, and Merlin was not someone to be 
bullied.

In later years, after he had become a well-known and influential broadcasting 
executive, Martens told a very different version of the story, in which he took 
credit for bringing Merlin out of obscurity and breaking "the hottest news story 
of the millennium." He told this story so often and so earnestly that it 
eventually came to be accepted as the truth, and he went to great lengths to 
make certain all existing copies of the original, unedited tape were destroyed. 
Having accomplished what he had set out to do, Merlin never bothered to contest 
his version of events, but I still possess an unedited copy of that tape, and I 
can prove what really happened.

The pre-interview, as they called it, took place in the offices of the Billy 
Martens Show, though we did not meet the man  himself, and would not until the 
actual show was being taped. I wasn't sure what to expect from this meeting, but 
Merlin seemed to know exactly what he was about, and as events proceeded to 
follow their course, he demonstrated an uncommon degree of media savvy. He had, 
apparently, learned much more from watching television than I had assumed.

He arrived for the interview dressed in his dark blue robe, emblazoned with its 
multitude of mystical symbols, and wearing his tall, conical hat and carrying 
his staff. Jenny had washed the robe for him, and he'd washed and combed his 
long hair and beard, so that he looked the very image of the legendary wizard, 
which in fact, he was. In other words, he looked like someone Martens could have 
a field day with.

During the pre-interview, which was conducted by an attractive and very 
personable young woman, he sat calmly in his chair and told the story of who he 
was, and what he was, and how he had returned. The young woman smiled and 
nodded, asked a question here and there, and took notes.

When asked to "demonstrate his powers,'' Merlin levitated a coffee cup and then 
a stapler on the young woman's desk. She clapped her hands and beamed and said 
that it was "wonderful," and seemed generally quite amazed, though it was 
perfectly clear to me she thought it was merely a stage magician's trick. She 
then booked Merlin for a taping the following week and we stayed long enough for 
her to explain how everything would work. The entire pre-interview lasted no 
longer than twenty minutes or so and, after we had left, I could no longer 
contain myself.

"I can't believe it," I said. "I said you'd need to do something dramatic to 
impress them, so what do you do? You levitate a stapler!"

"You don't think that was sufficiently dramatic?" he replied with a perfectly 
straight face.

"She thought it was a simple trick," I said, "something any amateur magician can 
do!"

"Amateur?" said Merlin, raising his bushy eyebrows.

"Oh, you know what I mean," I said, feeling exasperated. "An illusion, stage 
magic."

He smiled. "Yes, I knew what you meant. You are disappointed that I did not 
overwhelm that young woman with my magical abilities. However; it was never my 
intent to overwhelm her; merely to arrange an appearance on the show. That has 
now been done. They expected a foolish old man, dressed in robes and with a long 
white beard, and that is precisely what they got.''

"Ah, I see," I said. "So now you're going to get a haircut and some new clothes, 
perhaps a sport coat, a nice shirt and necktie and some flannel trousers, so 
that you'll appear quite normal, and—-"

He stopped me. "No, I do not think so, Thomas. I had given that some thought, 
and have decided to remain exactly as I am, at least for the present. If people 
expect a wizard to look a certain way, then perhaps I shouldn't disappoint them. 
I have become a legendary figure, so why not take advantage of it? Appearance 
seems to play an important role on television, and if people see me as I am now, 
as outlandish as my garb may seem in this day and age, they will remember it. I 
must create a significant impression. If I appear no different from anyone else, 
then the effect will be diminished."

I had to concede his point, but I still felt uneasy about the whole thing. 
Personally, I thought it would be better if he were to get a haircut and trim 
his beard, at least, and wear a nice tweed jacket, so that he would appear more 
dignified, more professional, which only goes to show how little I knew. In any 
event, the program was still a week away, and I imagined that in that week, we 
could at least enjoy a little peace and quiet. I would have an opportunity to 
spend more time with him, and at least begin to give him some idea of what the 
modern world was like. However, that was not to be.

The first crisis came the day after the pre-interview while we were sitting down 
to supper: Earlier in the day, our daughters had brought home some of their 
friends to meet their "Uncle Merlin," and of course, it was obligatory for them 
to have a demonstration. I sat, biting my lip, as I watched children float 
around my living room like giant hummingbirds, flapping their arms and squealing 
with delight, knocking over lamps and bumping into walls, and later, in the 
evening, the other shoe dropped.

A delegation of concerned parents came to visit, several of them with their 
children in tow, presumably so they could confront our' 'Uncle Merlin'' with the 
wild stories they'd been telling and recant before them. Imagine their reaction 
when "Uncle Merlin" cheerfully corroborated what the kids had said.

"Now see, here, Mr. ... uh..."

"Ambrosius," said Merlin, helpfully.

"Yes, well, Me Ambrosius, I can certainly appreciate your sense of fun," one of 
the fathers, Allan Stewart, said, "but in these difficult times, we try to raise 
our children to know the difference between reality and games of pretend."

"Who said we were pretending?" Merlin asked.

Stewart cleared his throat in irritation. "I'm afraid I do not have a sense of 
humor about this sort of thing, sir."

"How unfortunate," said Merlin. "Life must be very trying when you do not have a 
sense of humor''

"You may joke, Mr. Ambrosius, but we are not amused," said Stewart, sounding 
very monarchial. He had apparently been appointed spokesman for the group. "Now 
my son insists you made him fly, and he would not change his tune even after I 
warmed his bottom for him, for which he has you to thank."

"I beg to disagree," said Merlin. "He has only his father to thank for that, and 
it is a sad thing when a child is punished for telling the truth. Even if it 
were not the truth, there is little to be gained in beating children. It only 
produces resentment and rebellion, and teaches them that violence is the answer 
to the slightest problem. I think you should apologize to your son, Mr. Stewart, 
for you punished him unjustly."

Stewart's face flushed beet red and he turned on me angrily. "See here, Malory, 
this is all your fault. I will not presume to tell you whom you can or cannot 
take into your own home, but I think my neighbors here will all agree that we do 
not wish to have our children exposed to your addlepated relatives. Lord knows, 
it's hard enough to raise children these days without having some senile, old 
fool go filling their heads with all sorts of nonsense!"

"Addlepated? Senile, old fool?'' said Merlin.

I closed my eyes. I was afraid to see what was going to happen next.

"If you want to have your uncle making your own daughters neurotic, unable to 
distinguish fact from fantasy, well, I can't say I approve, but that's entirely 
your business," Stewart said. "However, the rest of us are not going to have our 
children—"

At this point, Stewart was interrupted by a screech from his wife, and startled 
gasps from their other neighbors, and to his surprise, Stewart abruptly realized 
that he was delivering his diatribe from about one foot off the floor.

"What the devil!"

He broke off suddenly, staring down with astonishment, then began sputtering 
incoherently as he kicked his legs, trying to regain a footing on the floor 
beneath him.

"Why, whatever is the matter, Mr. Stewart?" Merlin asked.

Elizabeth Stewart's eyes were wide as saucers and her hand went to her mouth. 
The others all backed away a step or two, an involuntary, shocked reaction. 
There were expressions of "Oh, my God!" and "I don't believe it!" and other such 
things, while Stewart vainly tried to get his feet back on the flooc

"What... how... Great Heavens, it's impossible! Put me down! Put me down, I tell 
you!''

"Put you down, Mr. Stewart?" Merlin said, with feigned surprise. "Why, whatever 
do you mean? What seems to be the trouble?"

"I'm floating a foot above the bloody ground, damn you! You know perfectly well 
what the trouble is! Now put me down!"

"Floating a foot above the ground?" said Merlin. He frowned. "Dear me. Perhaps 
it is you who cannot distinguish fact from fantasy, Mr. Stewart. I clearly heard 
you say it was impossible."

"It's a trick!" said Stewart to the others. "It's a bloody, cheap, stage 
magician's trick! Now put me down this instant!''

"A cheap, stage magician's trick?'' said Merlin.' 'Oh, now, really, Mr. Stewart, 
I fear that you have gone too far. You shall have to be taught a lesson."

As we all watched, Stewart rose another foot above the floor, and then another, 
until his head finally bumped the ceiling. And he still continued to rise, so 
that he had to hunch over, and finally was pressed up against the ceiling, 
suspended over our heads on his hands and knees, like a fly crawling upside 
down.

Mrs. Stewart's neck was craned way back as she stared up at her husband with the 
others, open-mouthed, unable to speak.

"Get me down from here!" yelled Stewart, panicking. "Get me down off this bloody 
ceiling!"

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Merlin. "We do seem to have a problem here. The man 
claims he's on the ceiling, when everyone knows such a thing is quite 
impossible. People cannot crawl upon the ceiling, every idiot knows that. See, 
here, Stewart, if you do not cease this nonsense immediately, you are going to 
be punished."

"Malory! Malory, for God's sake, tell him to put me down!"

Merlin shook his head. "Well, I see he insists on being stubborn. We shall have 
to warm his bottom for him. After all, it's the sort of discipline he apparently 
believes in."

And with a gesture from Merlin, the flat iron spade rose up from the rack of 
fireplace tools. It floated across the room toward Stewart, and proceeded to 
administer a sound spanking.

"Helllp!" cried Stewart.

Elizabeth Stewart's eyes rolled back and she fainted dead away. Unfortunately, 
everyone else was so raptly watching her husband being spanked by a floating 
fireplace spade that no one moved to catch her.

"Look out!" I cried, leaping from my chair, but Merlin was quicker than I and, 
with a gesture, he stopped her fall, so that she was left heeled over at a 
forty-five degree angle, unconsciously defying gravity. Jenny could not restrain 
herself from giggling.

"I, uh.. .think you've made your point," I said to Merlin.

The fireplace spade ceased to belabor Stewart's buttocks and returned to its 
place. As gently as a feather, Stewart floated down from the ceiling and was set 
down on his feet once more, with both his pride and his bum smarting. He stared 
at Merlin with white showing all around his irises, too stunned to speak.

"See to your wife, Mr. Stewart," Merlin said.

Stewart approached his wife, who was leaning over like the Tower of Pisa, and 
gingerly reached out for her, but then hesitated, pulling his hands back.

"What's... holding her there?" he asked.

"I am," Merlin said. "And if you will be so kind as to steady her, I shall let 
go. I believe she's only swooned."

Stewart took hold of his wife and, released, she slumped into his arms. Her 
eyelids flickered as she came to. "Allan," she said, "I... must have fainted. 
I've had the strangest dream...."

Then she became fully aware of her surroundings and gave a little gasp, 
realizing that it hadn't been a dream, after all.

"Allan..."

"It's all right, darling," he said, though he didn't sound at all sure of 
himself. The others merely stood there, gaping, too shocked to say anything. 
"How..." Stewart's voice cracked and he cleared his throat, then swallowed hard. 
"How on Earth did you do that? Malory... who is he? What is he? And don't tell 
me he's your bloody uncle!"

"I think we'd all better sit down," I said. "This may take awhile..."



Stewart did apologize to his son for spanking him, and he later became one of 
Merlin's most ardent friends and supporters. He was an unemployed solicitor, 
reduced to working occasional odd jobs, as were many of his neighbors. His legal 
skills, however, turned out to be quite useful as things progressed, not only 
for Merlin and myself, but for Stewart himself, for he prospered as a result and 
founded what is now one of the most respected and prestigious firms in London. 
His wife, Elizabeth, retained the curious ability to lean over at an improbable 
angle while still remaining on her feet, which tickled her no end. It was a 
stunt she often pulled at parties.

The news of what had happened, and who "Uncle Merlin'' really was, spread 
throughout the neighborhood like wildfire and during the next week, we were 
inundated with visitors, all wanting to float around the room or crawl upon the 
ceiling. Yet, it was nothing compared to what happened after Merlin appeared on 
the Billy Martens Show.

Martens, not surprisingly, had stacked the deck. Merlin was to be part of a 
panel, which Martens had filled out with a bunch of looney eccentrics, all of 
whom had one thing in common—a dramatic solution that would lift the world out 
of the Collapse. The theme of the show was "Saving the Human Race."

One panel member was a doddering old codger who spoke in brief little gasps and 
wheezes, and claimed, rather charmingly, to have "invented a brand-new fossil 
fuel." This miraculous substance turned out to be human excrement, which he 
subjected to a process he claimed would produce enough methane gas to power not 
only vehicles, but entire cities. Apparently, all we had to do was defecate with 
a vengeance and, well, it seems unnecessary to expound further on the idea.

Another panelist was a middle-aged matron from Luton who claimed to have been 
visited by beings from outer space. In exchange for her sexual favors, they 
promised to deliver up a powerful crystal from their home world, an energy 
crystal that emitted "stellar rays." These rays were apparently the solution to 
all our problems. When asked if she could produce this wondrous crystal, she 
replied that she'd be happy to, only she hadn't quite finished paying for it 
yet. Martens gave the audience a broad wink and a leer and thanked her for the 
sacrifice she was making on behalf of humankind, then followed up with pointed 
questions about the exact nature of this "payment" and the manner in which it 
was rendered. The audience enjoyed it mightily, and I sat backstage in the green 
room, watching the monitor and groaning.

Next up was Princess Isis, a.k.a. Mary Margaret Atherton, though she bristled at 
the use of her birthname and claimed it was no longer valid, as that was 
"another incarnation." The present incarnation was a child of the old Egyptian 
gods, who had given the secrets of "pyramid power" to the ancient high priests 
of the Pharaohs, and who might be induced to part with them again if we all 
converted to her cult and worshipped them by constructing an entire city of 
pyramids. Martens declared it a splendid idea and had her lead the audience in a 
chant to the old gods, which raised a lot of mirth, even if it did fail to raise 
the ancient spirits.

Then there was Lucretia, no last name given, who was there apparently to provide 
relief from all the comedy and give the audience something at which to vent 
their spleens. An avowed Satanist, she took great umbrage at all this levity, 
and excoriated the audience and Martens. She condemned them all for not taking 
seriously what was happening in the world, which was clearly signaling the 
coming of the Antichrist. She was a shapely ash-blonde and very lovely, and wore 
a sheer, clinging black gown that left scarcely anything to the imagination. 
Every statement she made was roundly jeered, and those members of the audience 
who were not shouting her down were busy undressing her with their eyes. Martens 
played the Grand Inquisitor to her witch, and after a while, I could watch no 
more. I simply put my head down in my hands and mumbled, "God, I told him so, I 
told him so."

Merlin sat through all this in silence till his turn came, and Martens was 
saving him for last, so that having mocked, censured, and chastised, he could go 
out on a note of ridicule.

"And, finally," he said, "we go from Satan to black magic, which seems only 
logical, I suppose. Our last guest, as you might well guess from his attire, is 
none other than Mr. Merlin, Ambrosius, or as he is better known to the world at 
large, Merlin the Magician, legendary court wizard to King Arthur and his 
Knights of the Round Table!"

After all that had already happened, I had been certain that Merlin would look 
totally ridiculous, sitting there in his robes and conical hat, holding his 
staff propped up beside him, yet somehow, despite it all, he managed to look 
positively regal. There were one or two titters in the audience, but most of 
them fell silent, uncommonly so, especially after the fever pitch they'd been 
whipped up to by Satan's sexy messenger

"How, exactly, does one address a wizard?" Martens asked, tongue-in-cheek.

"By name, usually," Merlin replied.

"Well, then, Merlin, if I might be so familiar, I must say you're looking very 
spry for a man your age, which must be, what, about two thousand?"

"Thank you," Merlin said.

"You're quite welcome," said Martens with a chuckle.

"Now, your own solution to the problems of the Collapse, as I understand it, is 
to bring back magic to the world. You've heard the comments of our other 
guests," said Martens. "What is your reaction?"

"I think that you have been insufferably rude and boorish to them," Merlin said. 
"We certainly did not treat guests in such a manner in my time."

"Oh, dear me," said Martens with feigned contriteness. "It seems I've been put 
in my place."

"When the Prince of Darkness comes, you'll find your place, all right," Lucretia 
said, and the audience at once responded with jeers and catcalls.

"Now, now, let's try to keep some semblance of control here," Martens said. "We 
haven't yet heard from the greatest wizard of them all, and we may yet learn a 
thing or two."

"Perhaps the audience might," said Merlin, "but I have my doubts about you."

The audience appreciated this riposte, and Martens affected a wounded 
expression.

"Ohhh," said Martens, "low blow, low blow. Let's play fair now, shall we? I 
haven't said anything rude or boorish to you... yet. Now then, tell us, Merlin, 
how is it that you managed to survive for all this time? Do you possess the 
secret of eternal life?"

"No," said Merlin. "I was tricked by the enchantress, Morgan le Fay, a pupil of 
mine, and placed under a spell that kept me asleep within an oak for all these 
years. I was only recently set free."

"Ah, cherchez la femme," said Martens, with a knowing look. "So then I gather 
you've got quite a lot of catching up to do."

"I would agree with that," said Merlin. "Fortunately, I require little sleep, 
and have been watching television and reading a great deal."

"Yes, well, you've already had quite a nap, haven't you?" said Martens, with a 
grin at the tittering audience. "In any case, it's good to have you back, old 
chap. Lord knows, we need all the help we can get. So then, magic is the answer 
What are you going to do? Say abracadabra and wave your wizard's staff and make 
all our problems disappear?"

"No, regrettably, I do not possess such power," Merlin said. "Nor would I 
presume to exercise it if I did. People must all work together to solve the 
problems of the Collapse. Magic is merely a useful tool that will help bring 
that about."

"Ah, I see," said Martens with an expression of mock seriousness. "There's just 
one problem, though. Most of us aren't great wizards, like yourself. We're all 
just simple people, who don't know how to work magic. How do you propose to 
remedy that situation?"

"I intend to start a school," said Merlin, "and teach the thaumaturgic arts."

"The thaumaturgic arts!" said Martens. "That's incredible! You mean we can all 
actually learn how to do magic?"

"The ability is inherent in most people," Merlin said, "although to varying 
degrees, of course."

"Of course," said Martens. "And, one assumes, if people come to this school of 
yours, and pony up the appropriate tuition, you will be only too happy to assess 
the degree of their abilities and enroll them in your course. That's the bottom 
line here, isn't it, Merlin, or whatever your name really is? You're really just 
another con artist, and not a very clever one, at that. Surely, you don't expect 
anyone to swallow this nonsense? Do you take us all for fools?"

"No, not all of you, merely some of you," said Merlin.

"Why don't you show us some of this 'magic' you propose to teach?" said Martens. 
"My staff tells me you can levitate a coffee cup. Why don't you levitate that 
one there, on the table behind you?"

''Very well,'' said Merlin. He made a simple pass and the drinking cup provided 
for him obligingly rose up into the air.

"Amazing! Astonishing! Stupendous]" Martens said sarcastically. "Why with a 
little sleight-of-hand and stage illusion, we can change the world! We can all 
learn to do card tricks and produce pigeons from our sleeves and presto-chango, 
the world will be a better place! You call that magic? You must take me for an 
ass!"

"Indeed, I do," said Merlin, allowing the cup to settle back down onto the table 
behind his chair.  "And I do not think that I shall be the only one."

Martens snapped back at once, launching into a tirade against thieves and con 
artists who sought to profit from other people's misery and gullibility, yet 
even as he did so, Merlin made a slight gesture with his hand and Martens's ears 
began to grow.

For a few moments, the audience didn't notice, and Martens himself apparently 
felt nothing. He was in full rave, pointing at Merlin and calling him a fraud 
and demanding that he confess his real name, suggesting that if he refused, it 
was probably because he had a police record. Meanwhile, his ears continued to 
grow steadily.

"Perfect!" I said as I watched the monitor in the green room. "Absolutely 
perfect!''

The audience inevitably noticed and there were gasps and exclamations of 
astonishment. Martens's ears were growing more and more rapidly, becoming longer 
and more pointed, reaching up above his head, turning gray and sprouting fur He 
was condemned out of his own mouth. Merlin took him for an ass, indeed, and now 
he was turning into one.

He stopped, abruptly, momentarily disoriented, perhaps beginning to feel 
something strange. Then, still holding the microphone, he raised his hands up to 
his ears. "What the.. my ears!"

He resembled the transformation of Pinnochio, with gray, tufted donkey ears 
sticking up almost a full foot above his head. He dropped the mike and spun 
around, facing the audience, but looking up toward the central booth, where the 
director, whatever reactions were taking place up there, instinctively kept on 
calling the shots. The monitor screen before me showed a close-up of Martens, 
his face white as a sheet, with sweat breaking out on his forehead as his eyes 
registered first complete incomprehension, and then panic.

"My ears! What the hell's happening to my ears?"

The audience was confused. Some, certain that this was some sort of special 
effect, broke into laughter Others simply stared in disbelief, while others 
still cried out and recoiled in horror. And then Martens's nose began to grow.

"What is this?" he shouted. And then, forgetting himself completely, he 
screamed, "What the fuck is this?"

His teeth looked larger now, his jaw was elongating, and his hands, still 
clapped up to the sides of his head, were growing dark and misshapen, turning 
into hooves.

"Jesus Christ!" yelled Martens. "What's happening to me? Help me! Somebody help 
me!"

There was now no mistaking what was going on and pandemonium broke out in the 
audience. People jumped to their feet, some screaming, some running for the 
exits, others simply trying to get a better view. Merlin merely sat there, 
calmly, saying nothing, while the matron from Luton fled from the stage, 
presumably to seek security in the embraces of her alien benefactors, and the 
man with the miracle organic fuel merely chuckled with amusement. The Princess 
Isis stood on her feet, her arms raised to the heavens, chanting to the ancient 
gods, and Lucretia simply stared at Merlin with awe, then got out of her chair 
and dropped to her knees before him, grasping his hand and kissing it fervently.

Merlin gently took his hand away and leaned down to say something to her. She 
responded with some sort of reply, but their exchange was inaudible. He told me 
later that he asked her to stop it and get up, and her response was that his 
slightest wish was her command, and that she was his, body and soul, to do with 
as he pleased.

He did, in fact, take her up on that offer; though not quite in the way one 
might suppose. He recruited her to help out with the school, and in the process, 
helped her to deal with her severe psychological problems, stemming from 
horrendous abuse she'd suffered as a child at the hands of her parents, who were 
psychotic Satan worshippers. She is now a university administrator at one of the 
many Colleges of Sorcery that Merlin founded (for which reason her name has been 
altered in this narrative). However I digress.

The spectacle of Billy Martens turning into an ass was truly the sort of 
dramatic demonstration that I'd had in mind. I watched, delighted beyond words, 
as he screamed, "Help me! Help me! Hellllp meeee, hawwww, heee-hawww! Hee-haw!"

His expensive suit had burst apart at the seams and he had stepped out of his 
shoes, his socks still on his hind legs, and he was trotting about, knocking 
things over as he kicked out with alarm and brayed hysterically. I couldn't 
resist. I had to see what was happening in the control room. I hurried up there 
and everyone was in such a state that no one prevented me from going in.

"Stay on him!" the director was shouting into his headset mike. "Stay on him. 
Goddamn it! Jesus, this is unbelievable! Camera Three... Steve! What the hell 
are you doing? Focus, for God's sake! Give me a wide shot! Take Three! Wait a 
minute, what's he doing? Merlin's getting up! He's going to do something, Two, 
get on him! Take Two!"

"Silence!" Merlin said, and he must have used that same power behind his words 
he'd earlier demonstrated on me, because the audience fell silent instantly, as 
one, and stared at him. "Take your seats," said Merlin.

"Give me a wide shot, Three!" said the director, his gaze glued to the monitors. 
"Take Three! Stand by on close-up, Two. Take Two!"

"Come here, Billy," Merlin said. "Be not afraid."

The ass obediently trotted over to him and gave him a pathetic little whinny.

"Medium shot, Camera One! Take One! Damn it, his mike's come off. Get the boom 
on him!"

Merlin put his hand on the donkey's head and said something inaudible, and 
slowly, Billy began to change back into his normal form. In a matter of moments, 
he was restored, except he still possessed the donkey ears. And he was 
completely naked.

"Oh, Jesus, pan up, One, pan up! Get off his bum, for God's sake! Take Two!"

Merlin's face appeared in close-up on the screen. "Let that be a lesson in 
humility to you, Mr. Martens," he said. Then, turning directly to the camera, he 
continued, "And let what happened here stand as proof of my assertions. I am 
Merlin Ambrosius, and I have come to bring back magic to the world. I have come 
to offer aid, and urge a return to the old knowledge, and the old ways of 
respect for the Earth and her resources. Let those who sincerely seek to help, 
and who wish to learn the thaumaturgic arts, seek me out. I shall determine if 
they possess the ability and the purity of heart and spirit to be accepted as my 
students. Fear not, the future holds a bright new world in store. I have 
spoken."

And, with that, he left the stage.

"Where is he going?" the director shouted. "Bloody hell, we've still got four 
minutes! One, get off Billy, for God's sake, he looks like an idiot! Take Three! 
Zoom in, I want to see the faces in the audience! Right, take Two! Ready One, 
take One! Stand by to roll credits... I know we're short, Goddamn it, but 
Billy's in shock or something, what the hell do you expect me to do?"

I quietly left the booth. No one had even noticed my presence. As for Billy 
Martens, he was left with his donkey's ears, as a guarantee against his failing 
to air the tape. When the program aired, unedited, Merlin promised him that he 
would restore his ears. Martens blanched, but he was too unnerved to protest. 
His assinine condition, Merlin reminded him, might easily return, and be 
rendered permanent. So the program aired, unedited. And then all hell broke 
loose. 


CHAPTER 6 


I had underestimated Merlin. I had thought that despite his uncanny powers, he 
would be out of his depth when it came to dealing with the media and the uproar 
that would result when he announced his presence to the world. In fact, it was / 
who was out of my depth. Merlin seemed to take it all comfortably in stride. I 
had also underestimated how people would react to him, and I had underestimated 
television's power to make people believe.

It had seemed to me, as I look back on it now, that our biggest obstacle would 
be overcoming people's disbelief. Today, when magic is commonly accepted as an 
everyday part of the world, and no more remarkable than the sun's rising in the 
morning, that might seem like an odd statement to make, and yet in those days, 
no one believed in magic, at least no one who was considered rational. If that 
seems strange, then it must be recalled that there was a time in history when 
people thought the world was flat, and a time when a man named Giordano Bruno 
was burned at the stake for having the temerity to suggest that there were other 
worlds than this.

Today, everyone knows a talent for precognition or some other psychic faculty is 
merely evidence of a strong latent magical ability, or as it's more commonly 
referred to, thaumaturgic potential. There is now even a scale for measuring T.R 
and the ability is so highly respected and so much in demand that children are 
routinely tested in elementary school for their potential to become adepts. So 
much has changed. Yet, I can still remember, as if it were only yesterday, how 
different things were then.

Had I been asked to predict what would happen after Merlin first appeared on 
television, I would have predicted widespread disbelief. I was convinced people 
would think the whole thing was a hoax, that special effects and trickery had 
been employed, and that we would have an uphill battle to convince the world 
Merlin was genuine. We did, in fact, have an uphill battle ahead of us, but it 
was not quite what I would have predicted.

People believed they saw Billy Martens turn into an ass, even before members of 
the studio audience testified they saw it happen and that no video trickery had 
been involved. People believed it even before the press got on the bandwagon and 
Merlin became the story of the century, and they believed it before Merlin 
performed any other demonstrations. They believed it, amazingly enough, simply 
because they had seen it on TV.

Perhaps I should not have been surprised. A great many people have always 
believed the most unlikely and questionable things, merely because they'd seen 
it on television or read about it in a newspaper or a magazine. Even during the 
Collapse, there was widespread belief in the existence of UFO's, space ships 
from some other world that came to our planet to kidnap people and conduct 
experiments upon them, mutilate cattle, and make large, mysterious circles in 
wheat fields. They were either causing the Collapse by sucking the world dry of 
its resources, or they were going to save us all with "stellar rays." Stories 
reporting strange disappearances-in the Bermuda Triangle, people spontaneously 
bursting into flame, dead celebrities being sighted in the supermarket, and 
tribes of natives the size of Mexican chihuahuas discovered in the Amazon were 
all taken as gospel by an amazing number of seemingly rational human beings. 
Such was the power of the printed word, and it was a power that was magnified 
significantly through the medium of television.

Even today, unlikely as it seems, there are people who believe that actors 
appearing on their favorite programs are actually the characters they portray. 
Television is reality for many people, perhaps because what it purveys appeals 
directly to the senses. (Save for that sense in all too rare supply, common 
sense.) All of which is not to say that there weren't skeptics. There were, and 
plenty of them. But in the days immediately following the broadcast of the show, 
it seemed to me that they were hopelessly outnumbered.

In brief, what occurred after the taping of the show was this: Merlin and I 
quickly left the studio, as he judged the moment was not right for further 
demonstrations or discussions.

"This is not the time,'' he said. "We have whet their appetites. Now let that 
anticipation mount."

It did, and quickly. I learned later that Martens had fled the studio following 
the taping, wearing nothing but his overcoat, and with his head covered by a 
towel. There followed frantic phone calls from his home to his executive 
producer, demanding that no one else be given access to the tape. By that time, 
however, the news programs had already heard about what happened, and what they 
heard sounded so incredible, and at the same time so delightful, that they were 
all demanding to see copies of the tape. One of these copies eventually found 
its way into my possession, in much the same manner as the food found its way 
into my pantry. We had great fun viewing it at home.

There was apparently some friction between Martens and his executive producer, 
the latter feeling that since the program would be broadcast anyway, there was 
little point in withholding copies of the tape from the news media, who could 
provide a great deal of advance publicity and thereby boost the ratings of the 
show. However; on threat of losing his job, the producer relented and copies of 
the tape were never made available. There seemed to be some question as to 
exactly how many copies were made, which made Martens absolutely frantic, but 
with the exception of the one copy that strayed into my possession, he 
apparently managed to get his hands on all the others.

Members of the studio audience were customarily prohibited from bringing cameras 
and taking photographs during the taping of the program, but there were 
professional still photographers present, on the payroll of the show, and one of 
these enterprising individuals "leaked" a photograph of Martens with his donkey 
ears, which wound up appearing on the newscasts and in all the newspapers. Most 
treated the whole thing as a joke, believing it was some sort of publicity 
stunt, while others simply reported what they'd heard and showed the photo, 
without making any judgements or conclusions.

Martens himself said nothing and, despite a siege by reporters outside his 
London townhouse, never left his home until after the broadcast of the show, 
when his ears had returned to normal. By the time he finally emerged, he'd 
developed his own spin on the story and cheerfully admitted "allowing" himself 
to be turned into an ass, to display his sense of humor about himself, as well 
as help announce Merlin's arrival and demonstrate his powers in a visually 
dramatic way

The whole thing had been a setup, in other words, choreographed by Martens. At 
least, that was his version. In reply to questions about the other members of 
the panel, and how he'd treated them, Martens simply stated that he wished to 
have them on as a contrast, comparing various pretenders to "the real thing." 
Thereafter, those other panelists were totally forgotten. By the time Martens 
made his statement to the press, however, there had already been considerable 
attention given to the story... and to us. 

It began with our neighbors in the town of Loughborough, before the Billy 
Martens Show was aired and even before the advance publicity had spread. We 
arrived home to find a mob waiting for us, and I immediately became concerned 
about Jenny and the girls.

"There they are!" I heard several people shout as we approached, and I half 
expected to be rushed, but curiously, no one moved. They waited as we came up 
the street and men, like the Red Sea parting for Moses, made way for us as we 
came up to the house. They all became utterly still, and no one tried to stop us 
or ask questions. They merely stood aside as we went up the steps to the front 
door, where Merlin paused and turned to address them.

"I know why you've come," he said. "You have all heard incredible things about 
the strange old man staying with the Malorys, and you came to see if they were 
true. Indeed, they are."

He spoke to them for the better part of an hour, explaining who he was and how 
he came to be there, then answering their questions patiently, concluding with a 
request for their help in the great task that lay ahead. I did not stay to hear 
his entire speech, for I more or less knew what he was going to say and was 
anxious to get inside and see how Jenny and the girls were holding up. They were 
all perfectly fine, as it turned out, except that Jenny had grown weary from 
answering the phone all day.

There had been a flood of calls, jamming the local switchboard, resulting from 
word of mouth spread by our neighbors. I found Stewart there, with his sleeves 
rolled up, as well as several other neighbors of ours, giving yeoman service by 
answering the phone and keeping order among the waiting throng outside. The 
task, apparently, had not proved difficult at all.

"It's the strangest thing," said Stewart. "Jenny said they began arriving 
shortly after you and Merlin left this morning.

As the crowd grew, she became concerned and called me, but there have been no 
incidents whatsoever They've all been very polite and orderly, conversing 
quietly among themselves, and they've bothered no one. They've been simply 
waiting, patiently. And they all seemed somehow happy and content."

"It works," said Jenny with a smile.

"What works?" I asked.

"The warding spell," she said. "They must have felt it, even outside the house."

"I've felt it, too," said Stewart. "When I arrived the other day, I was frothing 
mad, you know, convinced some dotty, old relative of yours was getting the kids 
all worked up over a bunch of nonsense. Yet, from the moment I came into the 
house, I found it difficult to maintain my anger and was able to do so only with 
a concerted effort. This morning, the effect seemed to be much stronger. The 
moment I came in the door, I felt absolutely marvelous. It was like that sense 
of contentment you feel on a morning after it's just rained, and the air is 
clear and brisk, and the sun is shining, and you step outside, breathe deeply, 
and all feels right with the world."

Stewart almost seemed to glow. I felt nothing different, myself, save for the 
contentment I've always felt being at home with my family. Jenny said that she 
felt nothing different, either, but Stewart and our other neighbors who'd come 
by to give Jenny some support were all brimming with the enthusiasm of newly 
enlightened converts. None of us had ever been particularly close before. In 
fact, having been away from home so often, I barely even knew most of them. Yet, 
they all suddenly seemed like members of the family.

"It's the most wonderful thing, Tom," Stewart said. "I feel positively imbued 
with hope! Everything's going to be different now, isn't it? The Collapse is 
going to end and the world will never be the same. And to think that in some 
small way, we're all going to be a part of it!"

Listening to Stew art's almost evangelical enthusiasm, I felt a peculiar sense 
of foreboding, despite the warding spell. Perhaps, because my own energies had 
been involved in casting it, I was not as affected by it as the others, but I 
felt an odd disquiet, a brief pang of anxiety that seemed to flare for a moment 
and was gone as quickly as it came. I had no idea what it was then, and I soon 
forgot about it, but the feeling was to return before too long.

I had already become accustomed to Merlin's charisma, what he would call his 
"aura," and I had observed the effect it had on others. Not all people were 
affected by it the same way, or to the same degree. I suppose, to some extent, 
it had to do with their own personalities and their degree of sensitivity. I 
discovered later it was something Merlin could project at will, though it was 
always there to be perceived by those disposed to notice it. He was capable of 
volitionally increasing its effect, though not without a cost to him in terms of 
energy, and I was to learn that, despite his enormous vitality, Merlin could 
grow tired. However, at the same time, it was all still very new to me, and I 
was not yet familiar with the ways of magic.

Knowing what lay ahead, Merlin conserved his energies as much as possible. He 
performed no demonstrations of his powers for the crowd gathered outside our 
home. He merely spoke to them, and they all went away convinced, full of the 
same sort of spirit Stewart and the others felt. Clearly, he had been projecting 
as he addressed them. As the crowd outside dispersed, he came in and sat down on 
the couch to fill his pipe.

"Ah, Stewart," he said. "I perceive that you've been making yourself useful."

"I'm only too happy to help in any way I can," said Stewart. "How did the taping 
go?"

As they spoke, I put my arm around my wife and whatever strange concern I'd felt 
earlier vanished. I was home, we were surrounded by friends, and a strange and 
wonderful new chapter had opened in our lives. Everything was going to be all 
right.

In the days ahead, our home became a hotbed of activity, especially after the 
Martens broadcast aired. Jenny and I enjoyed no privacy, save for late at night, 
after we'd retired to our bedroom, both exhausted. It was as if our home had 
been turned into the center of a political campaign. Word spread quickly, and we 
were soon getting calls from all the people who'd so rudely dismissed me before, 
as well as many others. Merlin was interviewed extensively, both on television 
and for the newspapers, and he performed more demonstrations of his powers, 
though nothing quite so dramatic as turning Billy Martens into what he really 
was, despite an astonishing number of requests for him to do precisely that. Not 
necessarily to Billy Martens, though there were a few of those, but to the 
interviewers themselves.

It was surprising how many people wanted to experience being an animal. And the 
choice of animals was quite surprising, too. One newspaper reporter wanted to 
become an eagle, briefly, so he could experience the joy of flight among the 
clouds. That was not so surprising, perhaps, but others were, to the point of 
being downright bizarre. One man wanted to become a pig, Lord only knows why. 
Another reporter wanted to be a giraffe. Still another wished to become a 
gorilla. And a very attractive young woman anchoring a popular late-night 
newscast wanted to become a python, with the special provision that the 
metamorphosis would not take place until morning. Merlin declined her request 
politely, though she was quite insistent.

In the broadcast for the BBC, for which the well-known interviewer Robin Winters 
brought a camera crew to our home and conducted over six hours of taping, Merlin 
demonstrated the possible applications of thaumaturgy by levitating Winters's 
car and taking him for a ride in it, with a camera unit along to record the 
event. He explained that a levitation spell, coupled with a spell of impulsion, 
was not a very difficult spell to execute for a trained adept, and with enough 
adepts trained to at least that level, the problems of public transportation 
resulting from the scarcity of petrol could be solved.

"Amazing!" Winters had exclaimed as the car floated around the block at 
approximately twenty-five miles per hour or so, with the cameraman and myself in 
the rear seat, and Merlin and Winters in the front. The exact speed was 
impossible to determine since, of course, with the wheels about two feet off the 
ground, the speedometer was useless. "What about buses and lorries? Would this 
work for them as well?"

"Certainly,'' Merlin replied.' 'It would merely require a bit more effort, as a 
greater mass would be involved. In principle, the same method could also apply 
to trains, though a more efficient method might be to have a team of adepts 
working together to generate the power for the trains to operate normally. Even 
aircraft could be operated in this manner though levitating a passenger aircraft 
to the necessary altitude and maintaining it at that height would be extremely 
taxing on the adept, and the speeds would necessarily be significantly slower. 
Even with an advanced level of skill in thaumaturgy, it would be best for there 
to be at least two or three advanced adepts on board to pilot the aircraft, so 
they could relieve one another to prevent exhaustion. And they would, of course, 
require time to recuperate before another such flight could be performed."

"But this is absolutely astonishing!" exclaimed the normally reserved Winters, 
practically bouncing in his seat. "Here we are, moving along at a speed of 
approximately thirty miles an hour, floating smoothly two feet or so above the 
surface of the roadway, yet you are able to converse with me, and your hands are 
not even on the wheel!"

"What would be the point?" asked Merlin. "The wheels are not controlling the 
direction of this vehicle, my will is."

"Yes, precisely," Winters said. "One would think that such a feat would require 
an amazing amount of concentration, but you seem to be doing it with no apparent 
effort, as automatically as I would drive this car myself in the normal manner."

"To say that it requires no concentration would be quite misleading," Merlin 
said. "I imagine that when you first learned to operate this vehicle, you needed 
to think about it very consciously, is that not so?"

"Well, yes, of course," said Winters.

"It is much the same with thaumaturgy,'' Merlin said. "For the beginning student 
of the art, the least demanding of all thaumaturgic exercises seem as formidable 
as driving this car would be to a child. Even if the child were quite 
intelligent and capable of learning some of the rote tasks by observation, that 
child would still not have the proper knowledge or, more importantly, would not 
possess the proper skills or development to be a good driven His legs would not 
be long enough to reach the pedals, for example, and he would not be tall enough 
to see above the wheel. He would not possess the necessary physical reactions to 
accomplish the task safely. So it is with thaumaturgy."

"In essence, men," said Winters, "what you're saying is that practice makes 
perfect."

"Not quite," Merlin replied. "That would be an oversimplification. True, with 
practice, one becomes more proficient. That is as true in thaumaturgy as in 
anything else. However, there is much more to it than that. To use an example 
from my day, a squire might serve a knight and practice diligently with his 
wooden sword and lance, but no matter how skilled he became with these 
implements, he would still be unable to enter a tournament until such time as 
his physical strength and dexterity had developed to the point where he could 
wield a real sword and lance, and at the same time control a horse, all while 
wearing heavy armor."

"So then you're saying it requires more than mere study, but a process of 
development," said Winters, "strengthening the powers of concentration and 
developing... what? One's will?"

"Yes, that is an excellent way of putting it," said Merlin. ' 'Except that along 
with will, one other faculty must be developed, one which is normally atrophied 
or stunted in most people, and that is intuition."

"Intuition?" Winters said, frowning. "I'm not sure I follow."

"I will try to put it another way," said Merlin. "I have been doing much reading 
since I awoke in this time, and I have found, to my great interest, that some of 
your scholars have been stumbling toward a discovery of the very principle of 
which we speak. This interests me, and I have learned much of value in then: 
writings, things I knew before on what we might call the intuitive level, but 
that I now understand on a more rational, logical level. They speak, for 
example, of right-brain consciousness and left-brain consciousness."

"You mean the theory of the bicameral mind?" said Winters, not to be left 
behind.

"It is much more than a theory," Merlin said. "It is a fact. The universe is 
composed of opposites, what some may call the masculine and feminine principles, 
or the yin and the yang, as the Oriental scholars say. When these two principles 
are complementary, the universe can be said to be in harmony. Yet, when they are 
not complementary, then what we have is discord. We may regard the human mind as 
a model of these principles. The mind is of two aspects. There is the logical, 
reasoning faculty, what we may call the masculine, or the left brain, and the 
intuitive faculty, the feminine, or the right brain. Each has its purpose, and 
they are meant to be complementary. In fact, they are. However, in most people, 
it is the left brain that is dominant, that which reasons logically and 
rationally, while the right brain, that which is intuitive and receptive, is 
largely passive, to the extent that it may be regarded as stunted in its 
development.

"Your technological society has encouraged the development of the mind's 
masculine, controlling, logical faculty," he continued, "while the feminine, 
receptive or intuitive side has fallen into disuse. I have heard the expression, 
'It's a man's world,' and there is truth to that, only not in the literal sense 
most people mean. People have become crowded together in large cities, with 
dense populations, surrounded by the emanations of your technological 
achievements, cut off from the pastoral world. London is such a large and noisy 
city, with so many things constantly impinging on the senses, that the intuitive 
faculty becomes deafened. I find it disquieting to be in such surroundings, and 
while I do not allow myself to become intuitively deafened by them, I must take 
care to pay greater attention."

"You mean you have to concentrate more?" said Winters.

"No, I mean that I must pay attention," Merlin said. "Most people these days 
seem to be very inattentive. Undoubtedly, this is because there is so much to 
pay attention to. It becomes difficult to pay attention to everything, and 
remain in a constant state of alertness and receptivity. People learn to become 
logically receptive, rather than intuitively receptive, which is to say, they 
choose those things to which they will respond."

"How?" asked Winters.

"Well, say you are walking down a city street," said Merlin. "It's the middle of 
the day, and many people are about, walking in both directions all around you. 
You are aware of their presence, and yet, you do not really see them. You select 
those to whom you pay attention. You become aware that among the crowd, someone 
is walking toward you, and perhaps their attention is distracted, and you 
perceive that if you both continue in the same direction, you will collide. So 
you alter your course to avoid this collision. In a similar manner, you may 
notice objects in the street that are in your path, and make conscious choices 
to avoid them. But if there were any objects in the street not directly in your 
path, while you might notice them, you would choose not to pay particular 
attention to them, and in the same way, people walking around you might impinge 
on your awareness, but if I asked you later to describe some of them to me, you 
probably would not be able to.

"However," he went on, "imagine that same city street, only now it is late at 
night, and the street appears deserted. You are aware of how much crime there is 
in the city, and how dangerous the streets are at night, and now you suddenly 
notice everything around you in much greater detail. You have made a different 
choice about your level of awareness. You are paying more attention. At such 
times, your normally dormant intuitive faculty is stronger Perhaps, as you are 
walking along, you experience a peculiar feeling that you are being followed. 
You turn to glance over your shoulder; and in fact, there is someone walking 
along behind you. We shall assume that this person has no threatening 
intentions, but the fact is that in your state of increased attention, you 
became receptive to his presence in an unconscious, intuitive way that you may 
not be able to explain."

"I see," said Winters. "That makes sense."

Merlin smiled. "Yes, it may not sound logical, but it makes sense."

"So in order to learn thaumaturgy," Winters said, "it becomes necessary to pay 
more attention and develop intuition."

"Exactly," Merlin said.

"But if you're constantly paying attention to everything that's happening around 
you, won't your mind tend to become overloaded?" Winters asked. "Must we all 
live in pastoral surroundings in order to develop our full, latent potential?"

"No," said Merlin, "we merely need to stop distracting ourselves and learn how 
to become less preoccupied with our own concerns. We need to learn how to relax 
into an attentive state, rather than drive ourselves purely with directed logic. 
You will observe that small children are infinitely more attentive than adults. 
I've heard it said that children have a 'limited attention span,' when in fact, 
quite the opposite is true. They are simply paying attention to a great many 
more things than adults are, and it would be more correct to say that they do 
not limit their attention span to any one thing at a time, as adults are 
accustomed to doing."

"Accustomed to doing," Winters repeated, seizing on the word. "You mean we learn 
how to filter things out and, in fact, it is we who have the limited attention 
span."

"Precisely," Merlin said. "It is not necessary for the mind to become overloaded 
with trivial information, as you put it. It is possible to pay more attention on 
a continual basis, without feeling the necessity to store that information and 
constantly make logical decisions based upon it. You ask a child to walk down 
that same crowded street with you, and the child will later be able to give a 
much more detailed description of the experience than you could, simply because 
the child was in a more attentive state, without feeling the pressing need to 
make logical decisions about everything he saw. The intuitive faculty does not 
respond well to conscious, logical commands. It responds to relaxed attention 
and a receptive state."

"It sounds as if you're saying that all we need do to study magic is learn how 
to relax," said Winters.

"Regrettably, it is not quite that simple," Merlin said with a smile, "but it is 
one of the first things a prospective adept must learn to do. It is necessary to 
learn how to see with the eyes of a child, and exercise the will of an adult. 
However, that is the first step on the path to mastering the Craft."

After we had settled down in the living room and Winters resumed taping, he 
asked me a few questions, which he would later edit together with some footage 
he had taken in the woods where I had first met Merlin. To his disappointment, 
nothing remained of the tree Merlin had been confined in except a stump. What 
Merlin had not magically "chopped up'' and transported to my home as firewood 
had been cleared by loggers working under permit. Nevertheless, Winters stood 
dramatically in the center of the tree stump and taped the introduction to the 
program, speaking about how Merlin had "allegedly emerged." Hedging his bets, he 
was not committing himself on that score.

"Who is this man who calls himself Merlin Ambrosius, and has so captured the 
imaginations of people everywhere?" he asked rhetorically as he taped his 
opening remarks. "And what, precisely, is the nature of the mysterious powers he 
claims to possess? And who is Thomas Malory, the former soldier and London 
police officer who acts as his intermediary and advisor? Is it possible that we 
are actually witnessing a legend come to life, or have we, perhaps, been taken 
in by two charismatic charlatans? Is there, in fact, any substance to their 
story, which, if true, promises to change the world, or is this thing some sort 
of elaborate hoax? During the course of this program, we shall attempt to 
discover the answers to those and other tantalizing questions, in what bodes to 
be one of the most unusual and fascinating interviews ever broadcast. Join us 
tonight as we begin the first in a series of in-depth interviews with 'The 
Wizard of Camelot'... the man known as Merlin, the Magician."

That "Wizard of Camelot" tag was to stick like glue, and though Merlin 
eventually succeeded in getting people to refer to him as Professor Ambrosius, 
rather than "Merlin the Magician," he remained "The Wizard of Camelot" to the 
news media, who became so enamored of the title (he simply couldn't let it go. 
The other thing that was extremely difficult for him to shake were the negative 
religious associations with sorcery, and he never entirely succeeded in doing 
that. To this day, there persists a belief among some people that magic is "the 
Devil's work,'' an expression of subservience to Satan, and it was to this 
subject that Winters turned next after he finished questioning me and resumed 
his interview with Merlin.

"Having established the mind-boggling veracity of your claims concerning magic," 
he began, "we come now to what is possibly the most controversial aspect of this 
interview, and that is the negative, dare we say evil, connotations of sorcery 
and witchcraft throughout history."

Merlin merely nodded, knowing what Winters was getting at, but waiting for him 
to frame the question.

Winters paused a moment, then continued. "What do you say to people who will 
regard necromancy as a sin, as an evil tool of Satan, the use of which may 
jeopardize the soul?"

"First, I wish to correct a misapprehension on your part," said Merlin. "If 
people remember nothing else about this interview, they should remember that 
thaumaturgy is not the same thing as necromancy."

"Oh? How does it differ?" Winters asked.

"In one vitally important respect. In the practice of necromancy, there is death 
involved. Thaumaturgy utilizes the forces of Nature and the energies of the 
adept. Necromancy utilizes the life force of another living being, which brings 
us to the question of Satanism. Let me be very clear on this point. I do not 
believe in Satan. I am not a Christian, and though I have no quarrel with 
Christians, a belief in Satan requires an underlying structure of Christian 
belief. The Christian tradition tells us that God represents all that is good, 
and that there is no evil in God. Yet, just as light would be meaningless 
without darkness as a contrast, so the concept of good would be meaningless 
without the concept of evil. Therefore, in the Christian tradition, Satan is the 
adversary of God, representing all that is evil."

"And you do not agree with that?" asked Winters.

"I agree that in the Christian tradition, God represents good and Satan 
represents evil," Merlin replied. "However, I am not an adherent of the 
Christian tradition, though I have studied it and found much in it to admire. 
Not being an adherent of the Christian tradition, I do not believe in Satan, for 
the concept of Satan did not exist until Christianity created it. This is not to 
say that evil did not exist prior to Christianity, of course, merely that it was 
the Christian tradition that gave birth to the concept of Satan as the 
embodiment of all that is evil.

"Now if you wish to say that the concepts of ultimate evil and Satan are 
essentially the same," he continued, "I shall not argue with you, for I think we 
can agree that evil, however you choose to think of it, is not to be desired. 
However in order to be a Satanist, one must believe in and worship Satan, and to 
worship Satan, one must worship evil as opposed to good. It must be understood 
that Satanism is a perversion of Christianity, and it could not exist without 
Christianity, for it is a direct reaction to it. It is a willful rejection of 
the Christian God and a worship of His adversary It is for this reason that 
Satanists invert the symbol of the Christian faith, the cross, as if to say, we 
are doing the opposite of you, we are turning your religion upside down. Nor do 
they confine themselves only to inverting Christian symbols. They also invert 
the pentacle, which is the symbol of the old, pre-Christian religion known as 
Wicca. For Satanists, it is a way of showing contempt for all beliefs except 
their own."

"Getting back to the subject of necromancy," Winters prompted him.

"I was just getting to it," Merlin said. "One of the gravest injustices of 
history was the association of the witch with something evil, with worship of 
the Devil. A witch does not worship death, a witch worships life. A witch does 
not destroy Nature, a witch reveres it. A witch does not worship evil, a witch 
shuns it, because those who pursue the Craft believe in following the threefold 
path, which is to say that whatever energy you direct outward, you receive the 
same in return, threefold. This would mean that if a witch were to cast some 
sort of evil spell, she would receive three times the evil in return, and this 
would obviously be self-destructive. "

"It sounds rather like the Golden Rule," said Winters. "Do unto others as you 
would have others do unto you."

"Precisely," Merlin said. "A witch would never make a sacrifice of another 
living being, for that would violate everything the witch believes. Necromancy 
means, literally, the sorcery of death, and it is as much a perversion of 
thaumaturgy, the art practiced by the witch and by the wizard, as Satanism is a 
perversion of Christianity. One of the chief tenets of the Christian faith is 
that life is to be revered, and the witch believes that, also. To practice 
thaumaturgy is to seek power within oneself, in accordance with the principles 
of Nature. To practice necromancy is to steal power from another living being, 
and in the course of doing so, to rob that being of its life force. To practice 
necromancy, in other words, is to practice murder. I do not practice murder, nor 
do I condone it, nor shall I allow it to occur, if it is within my power to 
prevent it. "

These words, spoken with sincerity, were to return to haunt him, though at the 
time, I could never have suspected it. Whether Merlin suspected it or not, I 
cannot say, but I can assert that to the best of my knowledge, those words 
embodied his beliefs, and no one knew Merlin better than I.

"So then you repudiate any association between sorcery, or thaumaturgy, and 
Devil worship, or black magic," Winters said, ' 'but there does seem to be a 
connection between the two, though you draw the distinction that in thaumaturgy, 
it is the energy of the sorcerer in conjunction with natural forces that is 
employed, while in necromancy it is the energy of another living being that is 
used, with the results being fatal."

'"That is correct," said Merlin.

"But isn't it essentially the same thing?" asked Winters. "No, allow me to 
rephrase that," he added quickly. "What I mean to say is, dramatic as the 
difference may be, from what you say, isn't the essential difference primarily 
one of approach? That is, isn't the power being employed essentially the same, 
only in the case of thaumaturgy, it is being used ethically, while in the case 
of necromancy, it is being used unethically? It sounds, and you must excuse me 
if I misunderstood, as if that is the only real difference."

"I would say it is a very significant difference," Merlin said.

"In terms of the approach and of the outcome, yes, it most certainly is," said 
Winters, pressing his point, "but in terms of the actual process involved, that 
is to say, magic, it's really the same thing, isn't it?"

Merlin nodded. "I see what you are getting at," he said. "You are trying to 
suggest that there is no essential difference between thaumaturgy and 
necromancy, that both are magic, only in one case, it is magic used for good, 
while in the other it is used for evil. However, aside from that, magic is 
magic, is that what you wish me to say?"

"Well... I'm not attempting to put words in your mouth,'' said Winters, "I'm 
merely trying to clarify the matter in my own mind."

"Then allow me to help you," Merlin said. "You are correct in your basic 
assumption that magic is magic, and that considered in that way, and only in 
that way, the essential difference between thaumaturgy and necromancy is the 
intent of the adept. However, it is not as simple as that, though even if it 
were, the difference would still be quite significant. We may just as easily say 
that you have the power to grasp something with your hands with considerable 
strength. Now, you could employ that strength to catch someone about to fall 
from a cliff, for example, and thereby save a life, or you could use that same 
strength to strangle someone, thereby taking a life. The difference would be 
essentially in the way you chose to use your strength, and though the force 
itself would be the same, the difference would be most significant, wouldn't you 
say?"

Winters nodded. "Well, yes, of course, I see your point. Magic is a force, 
neither inherently good, nor inherently evil. It's the will of the adept that 
determines what direction it will take."

"Considered in such simple terms, yes," said Merlin, "but as I've said before, 
it is not that simple. For one thing, the spells one would employ in necromancy 
are very different from the ones employed in thaumaturgy, and you must realize 
that we are not speaking of sacrificing a chicken or a cat in some nonsensical 
and ill-motivated rite. We are speaking of the real thing. There once were 
necromancers, adepts who misused their powers, and they were very powerful 
adepts, indeed, though fortunately for the world, their time has passed."

"Perhaps," said Winters, "but the time for thaumaturgy had passed as well. Yet 
now, here you are, proposing to teach the art of thaumaturgy, and couldn't that 
mean that the time of the necromancer could come again as a result?"

"No, most definitely not," said Merlin. "No one will be able to perform 
necromancy as a result of anything they learn from me. Aside from that, it would 
be far more difficult to perform necromancy man to perform thaumaturgy, not only 
because of laws prohibiting the taking of life, but because the spells 
themselves would be much more complicated and demanding, not to mention 
dangerous. The power that can be obtained from a necromantic spell is 
considerable, but the power required to cast it is also considerable, and would 
prove extremely taxing to the adept. It could easily prove fatal. It is a most 
destructive art, and one which would require a master sorcerer, a mage."

"Someone, say, with the same level of ability as yourself?" asked Winters.

"Yes, I would say so, and it would be dangerous even for me to attempt it," 
Merlin said.

"So, men, speaking purely theoretically, of course, you could do it?"

"For me to even attempt a spell of necromancy, to even consider doing it, would 
be a violation of everything that I believe and hold sacred."

"Granted," Winters said, "but we were not speaking of whether you would do it or 
not, merely if you could, if you had the capability. It was purely a theoretical 
question."

"Then, speaking theoretically, yes, I suppose I could," said Merlin. "But I most 
certainly would not."

"Well, then, if you could, which is not to say you would, of course, then that 
would mean to imply that you knew the necessary spells."

There was nothing I could have done to prevent it. It took a clever interviewer 
such as Robin Winters to accomplish it, but Merlin had finally fallen victim to 
a media ambush. He realized it, of course, and I suppose he could have attempted 
to wriggle out of it, but he'd been taken off guard after hours of friendly chat 
and he was suddenly faced with an unenviable choice. He could deny he knew the 
spells, but then that would leave the lingering question of why he had admitted 
he had the skill and capability to do it. And Merlin, quick study that he was, 
had not yet learned the evasive reply of "No comment," which would have been 
just as damning, under the circumstances. For a moment, he said nothing, and his 
face remained in a completely neutral expression. Finally, he gave an answer.

"Yes," he said, matter-of-factly, "I know the spells."

"So then the time of the necromancer has not passed," Winters said 
significantly.

There were a few more questions, but I had little doubt as to how the actual 
broadcast of the interview would end. It would conclude precisely on that note. 
As the crew was wrapping up, Winters approached Merlin and held out his hand.

"Well, I think that was very good, indeed," he said with satisfaction. 
"Undoubtedly, one of the best interviews I've ever done," he added with classic 
understatement. It would become his most famous interview, and perhaps the most 
celebrated interview of all time.

Merlin looked down at his outstretched hand, then took it. "You are a very 
clever man, Mr. Winters. And a very devious one."

"Well now, look, it was nothing personal..." Winters began, but Merlin shook his 
head.

"No, Mr. Winters, I am certain it was not."

"I trust there won't be any hard feelings?" Winters said uneasily.

"You mean you hope there won't be any personal repercussions," Merlin replied 
wryly. "You may rest easy on that score, Me Winters. I promise to cast no spells 
at you in revenge. Not even a little one. That would be unethical, as you put 
it."

"Well... I'm certainly relieved to hear that,'' said Winters with a nervous 
chuckle. "You understand, questions of that nature simply must be asked. I was 
merely doing my job as a journalist. I'm glad to see you're being a good sport 
about it."

"A good sport," said Merlin. He smiled. "Interesting expression. Good night, Mr. 
Winters. Have a safe journey back to London."

I waited until they all left, then I gave vent to my frustration. "God, I knew 
it!" I said. "I knew they'd be laying for you and, sooner or later, one of them 
would trip you up. I just knew it! Damn it, I should have seen it coming!" I 
went on in that vain for a while, until Merlin finally stopped me.

"Never mind, Thomas," he said placatingly. "It was a good lesson for me. I had 
underestimated our friend, Winters, and allowed my guard to slip. Rest assured, 
it shall not happen again. However, do not be concerned. No harm's been done."

"No harms been done?" I said. "Do you have any idea how many people will see 
that program? Despite everything you said during the interview, he left it on a 
note that had you admitting you could do black magic! The media will have a 
field day with that one! I can see the headlines now, 'Merlin Admits to 
Necromancy!' 'Black Magic Possible, Says Sorcerer' That sly bastard's done us 
irreparable harm!"

"Did he?" Merlin said. "I wonder What was it he said as he was leaving, that I 
was a 'good sport'? Well, perhaps we should enjoy a bit of 'good sport' with Mr. 
Winters."

"Now wait a minute," I said apprehensively. "You said you wouldn't do anything. 
You promised."

"I beg to differ Thomas," he replied. "I never said that I would not do 
anything. I merely promised that I would cast no spells at Mr. Winters. As I 
recall, I said nothing about his tape." 


CHAPTER 7 


The Robin Winters interview is now considered a classic, and is always referred 
to in any book or documentary about Merlin as the single, most important event 
that brought him to the general public. Billy Martens was totally upstaged, 
despite the dramatic transformation he experienced. Though nothing quite so 
spectacular had taken place during the Winters interview, it was the 
demonstration of practical uses for thaumaturgy coupled with the sustained, 
in-depth discussion, broadcast over six successive nights during peak viewing 
hours, that left its mark on people's minds.

Winters timed it perfectly. Up to that point, there had been the spectacular 
appearance on the Martens show, followed by a great deal of news coverage, but 
the opportunity to do the first truly in-depth interview had been seized by 
Winters at a time when the public interest was at its highest. It seemed 
absolutely everyone had watched that program. The audience share was greater 
than at any other time in history, except for one broadcast back in the late 
twentieth century, some sort of popular American serial where someone named 
"J.R." was shot.

The general public has never been aware of it till now, but the fact is that 
Merlin had magically altered the videotape. I never did discover just how it was 
done, and whenever I asked him about it, he always smiled and replied, "With 
mirrors." (I assumed that was a joke. He was absorbing popular culture like a 
sponge, and from time to time, would come out with some surprising bit of 
contemporary humor, but for all I know, he might well have used some sort of 
mirror spell.)

At the conclusion of the interview, the camera had been on Merlin while Winters 
asked the questions, and later on, Winters was taped asking the questions again, 
so these shots could later be edited-in back at the studio. Somehow, Merlin 
altered the tape after all this was done. When the conclusion of the interview 
was broadcast, instead of the camera cutting back to Winters asking the leading 
question about necromancy, it stayed on Merlin and he continued to speak about 
the benefits magic had to offer society, and how, combined with judicious 
policies, it could bring us out of the Collapse.

The lesson was not lost on Robin Winters, nor on any of his colleagues in the 
media. They all knew about what happened, of course, through their own 
grapevine, but no one ever went public with it because, for one thing, they had 
no proof and, for another, I don't think any of them were eager to admit that 
Merlin could so dramatically manipulate the media. It frightened them. They 
handled him with kid gloves from that point on. Winters called the morning after 
the last segment of the program aired and I answered the phone.

"Well, I don't know how the old fox did it," he said, "but he's made a believer 
out of me. You may tell him that from now on, I'll be treading very softly 
around him."

"You want to tell him yourself?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so," he replied uneasily. "I'd rather you pass on the 
message. Frankly, he makes me very nervous. More than nervous. To be honest, he 
scares the hell out of me."

"I don't see why," I said. "He's not an evil man, Mr. Winters. He means well. 
He's only trying to help."

"Perhaps," said Winters. "But strictly between you and me, Malory, hasn't it 
occurred to you how dangerous he could be?"

"Dangerous?" I said.

"Yes. One man with all that power ... He can do just about anything he wants."

"He only wants to start a school," I said.

"For now," said Winters. "Or at least, that's what he says."

"Are you implying that he has some sort of hidden agenda?" I asked defensively.

"I don't know," said Winters. "Frankly, I don't know what to think about him. I 
don't know if he's some sort of incredibly gifted telekinetic, or if he really 
is a sorcerer, or for that matter; an alien from outer space. Whatever in hell 
he is, his powers are unquestionably genuine and quite unsettling. But if his 
intentions are purely philanthropic, as you claim, then why alter the tape? Why 
is he afraid to have the public know that he is capable of necromancy?"

"Oh, come on," I said, "you know very well what that was all about. You tried to 
pull a typical journalistic stunt to stir things up and create some 
controversy."

"All right, perhaps I did," admitted Winters, "but that doesn't alter the truth 
of what I said. The bottom line, Malory, is simply this: whoever he may be, and 
whatever he may be, he doesn't want people to know the true extent of his 
powers. One has to wonder why. So far, things have gone pretty much his way, but 
what happens when he receives some serious opposition?"

That nasty, nagging feeling of uneasiness had returned, and for the first time, 
I understood what it was. I had no idea how to answer Winters, for I had never 
really considered what would happen if someone set out to prevent Merlin from 
doing what he wanted. I had become so enthralled by him, so carried away with my 
own enthusiasm, that I could not imagine why anyone would want to stop him. Yet, 
after that brief conversation with Winters, I was awash in a flood of doubt and 
apprehension.

Merlin was, indeed, unique. He was a fairy tale come to life. But some fairy 
tales, I recalled, had certainly contained their share of violence and horror. 
Winters had been right. Merlin had enough power to do practically anything he 
wanted. Even given the most well-meaning motives, there were bound to be those 
who would regard such power as a threat. Merlin could easily become either a 
messiah or a monster He didn't seem to care for either role, but the question 
was, would the world allow him any other choices?

Already, our lives had been turned completely upside down by Merlin's presence. 
We had no privacy at all. There was a constant flow of visitors, and the 
telephone rang incessantly Fortunately, our home was protected by the warding 
spell, and by our astonishing familiar, who drew as much interest as Merlin did, 
himself.

Perhaps a week or so after the warding spell was cast, our household received a 
curious addition. I had no idea where Merlin found him, but one day he presented 
us with a Great Dane, a black hound unusually large even for that monstrous 
breed.

"His name is Victor," Merlin said to us, "and from now on, he shall be your 
familiar. Say hello, Victor."

I expected a loud bark and was absolutely flabbergasted when the huge beast 
cocked its massive head and said, "Hello. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Oh, my God!" Jenny said, as I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor. "It 
talks!"

"He talks," Merlin corrected her. "And you will find him very well-disciplined, 
and quite good with the children. Victor's breed is very protective, and quite 
intelligent, as well."

He made the formal introductions, and Victor quite politely offered his paw to 
each of us in turn. The girls couldn't have been more delighted, and Victor 
formed an immediate bond with them. He was soon giving them rides on his back, 
and he became very popular with all the local children, who were soon pestering 
their parents for a dog just like him. Needless to say, all our neighbors wanted 
Merlin to give them a familiar of their own, but Merlin politely declined all 
their requests and offers of compensation, by saying that if he were to create 
another one, everybody would want one, and it would only deplete his energy and 
take time away from the work he had to do. He did promise, however, that once 
the school was established, he would see what he could do about creating a few 
more such familiars, and perhaps teach his students to create them, as well. In 
this way, he gave many of the local townspeople an added incentive to help out 
with the school.

Today, thaumagenes can be purchased at any number of shops throughout the world, 
and the thaumagenetic engineer adept has raised the art of making magical beasts 
to new heights. Some are quite sophisticated, indeed, hybrids of various types 
of animals, and some even began as inanimate constructions. However, Victor the 
Great Dane was the first, and my family found not only security, but took great 
joy in his presence. Both my daughters are now grown, but Victor is with me 
still, and we are growing old together. He is no longer as fast or as strong as 
he once was—nor am I, for that matter— but he is an old and loyal friend and 
companion, who always beats me at chess.

With the security of Victor and the warding spell, we were spared the sort of 
lunatic behavior where people might have come tramping through our yard and 
peeking through our windows, or tried to break into our home to meet Merlin, or 
steal some memento, or do Lord knows what. For all I knew, some of our visitors 
had come with precisely such intentions, but the moment they came within the 
ward's sphere of influence— which was strongest in the house itself, but also 
extended across the yard and some distance out into the street—they became very 
peaceful and docile, and were always considerate and polite.

I had a hard time believing that the simple ritual we had participated in had 
been responsible for this invisible, protective aura around our home. Certainly, 
it seemed impossible that I could have had anything to do with it. However; 
while the ward, as the spell was called, was undoubtedly effective and may have 
eliminated any harmful intentions on the part of visitors, it did nothing to cut 
down on their numbers. And after the airing of the Winters interview, the 
situation grew much worse.

It got so that at almost any hour of the day or night, there was a crowd 
gathered in the street outside our home, waiting patiently, expectantly, for 
Merlin to show himself. It was positively eerie. They were always so quiet... 
waiting... watching... and whenever Merlin did come out, and he went out to 
speak with them frequently, they would all surge forward, although quietly, and 
without any attempt to overwhelm the efforts of our local constabulary to keep 
them in order

Not all of our local police were professionals. There wasn't any money to pay 
for a fully staffed police department and the squad was heavily augmented by 
volunteers. There had been a great deal of concern about the large numbers of 
people arriving to see Merlin every day and considerable anxiety about how to 
control them. However, to the immense relief of our constabulary, this did not 
prove to be much of a problem.

"I've never seen anything like it," said Chief Thorpe, looking out at the crowd 
as he sat astride his horse one night. Like me, he had once been a cop serving 
with an urban strike force, and had survived more than his share of street 
riots. He watched as the crowd pressed in to hear Merlin speak, without any 
pushing or shoving or shouting. "I don't know how he does it, but I wish to hell 
I could learn the trick."

"Perhaps you can, Scott," I said. "Maybe you should ask him."

"No, not me," the chief replied. "I'm an old man, Tom, and I'm not up to 
learning any new tricks, no pun intended. I should imagine he'll want young 
people for his school. He'll teach his magic to the new generation. They're 
inheriting this mess, they'll need all the bloody help that they can get. Oh, 
and speaking of help, I had a call from New Scotland Yard this morning, asking 
me to pass a message on to you."

"Really? What's the message?''

"They'd like very much for you to come in and talk with them," said Thorpe.

"About Merlin?"

"Well, they didn't say, specifically, but that would be the obvious inference."

"Who was it who called?" I asked.

"Chief Inspector Carmody.''

"The old man, himself?"

"None other The message was, and I quote, 'Tell Malory I would appreciate seeing 
him as soon as possible. Say, nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Oh, and ask him to 
come alone, will you?' Unquote."

"Alone?" I said.

"Yes, he rather seemed to emphasize that part," said Thorpe. "There anything I 
can do?"

"Yes, thanks. Keep an eye on things for me while I'm gone," I said.

"You know, you don't really have to go," Thorpe said. "You've left the force, 
and I've neither a warrant nor a subpoena for you. I suppose you could refuse."

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," I said.

"No, neither do I," said Thorpe with a smile, "but I did think maybe I should 
mention it. Inform you of your rights and all that."

I grinned. "Thanks, Scott."

"Merely going through the motions," he replied. "I'll keep an eye out while 
you're gone, though with His Nibs around, I shouldn't think you'd have any cause 
to worry."

"Just the same, I'll be glad to know you're looking out for things," I said. 
"Thanks, Scott. I'll see you."

I never saw him alive again. The next morning, as I was visiting New Scotland 
Yard, Scott Thorpe was murdered.



I had met Chief Inspector Carmody before, in the course of my duties with the 
Loo, but we were hardly on a first name basis. He had been my superior though 
not my immediate superior, that had been Captain Blassingame, the commander of 
the L.U.A.D. I fully expected Carmody not to remember me, but in fact, he did—or 
at least he acted as if he did—and he received me very cordially, despite the 
way I'd left the force. I had formally submitted my resignation, but not until 
after I'd walked off the job, which certainly wasn't cricket. If Carmody 
harbored any disapproval over that, he didn't show it.

He was not a young man. At the time, I believe he was in his early sixties, 
though one wouldn't know it to look at him. He did not look a day over fifty, 
and he was quite fit, tall and slender, with only a touch of gray around his 
temples. He was very much of the old school, which is to say, a proper 
gentleman, though every man and woman in the department knew how he could crack 
the whip.

I met him in his private office, but we were not alone. There were three other 
men present, two of whom I did not know, but I immediately recognized the Prime 
Minister, whose presence certainly took me back a bit.

"Come in, Mr. Malory," said the chief inspector. "You know the Prime Minister, 
of course."

"Well, I've never actually had the pleasure," I said. "It's an honor, Prime 
Minister"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Malory," the Prime Minister said, shaking my hand. 
"Please, sit down."

I took the chair across from the chief inspector's desk, and the Prime Minister 
sat down behind the desk, in Carmody's chain Carmody and the other two gentlemen 
remained standing. I felt like a suspect about to be given the third degree.

"This is Mt Chambers," the Prime Minister said, indicating one of them.  Mr. 
Chambers is the director of our Security Service." Otherwise known as MIS, I 
thought. "And Major Fitzroy is our special liaison officer with the American 
intelligence community." This meant he was our ambassador, of sorts, to the CIA. 
It was going to be quite a meeting.

"This is about Merlin, of course," I said.

The Prime Minister smiled. "Consider this a sort of briefing," he said. "You 
happen to be in a unique position to provide us with some information concerning 
a rather unusual situation. Chief Inspector?"

Carmody cleared his throat. "I'll speak plainly, Malory," he said.' 'Cut to the 
chase, as it were. Now, just what in bloody hell is this all about?"

"Well, I'm not quite certain what you mean, sir," I said. "That is, with all due 
respect, I assume you know what it's all about. It's certainly been given quite 
a bit of coverage. Beyond that, I'm really not sure what I can tell you."

"The truth, for one thing," Chambers said. "Who, exactly, is this Merlin person? 
What's his real name and where did he come from? What's he after?"

I cleared my own throat. "Well, sir, your presumption seems to be that there's 
been some sort of deception involved, and I can assure you that is not the case. 
His real name is, in fact, Merlin Ambrosius, and he came from out of an oak tree 
in Sherwood Forest. As to what he's after, he's been very forthcoming about 
that. He wishes to start a school to train adepts in the art of thaumaturgy, and 
thereby bring magic back into the world."

"Do you take us all for fools, Malory?" said Major Fitzroy. "This isn't some 
chat show. We want some straight answers."

"I'm giving them to you to the best of my ability, Major,'' I replied. "And no, 
I most certainly do not take you for fools. I take you for skeptics, which is 
understandable, I suppose, considering the circumstances. However, I assure you 
that I'm telling you the truth. If you don't believe me, ask Billy Martens. Or 
Robin Winters, for that matter Or any of the hundreds of people who have 
encountered Merlin for themselves."

"We've already spoken with both Martens and Winters," Carmody said. "And a 
number of other people have been questioned, as well."

That meant they had conducted an investigation, and I gathered they hadn't been 
very satisfied with its results.

"I will grant you that Martens seems to believe that Merlin is exactly who he 
says he is," said Carmody. "However, Mr. Winters seems to have some reservations 
on that point."

"Really?" I said. "What did he say?"

"He described what sounded like either a very sophisticated series of tricks or 
illusions," Carmody said, "or a dramatic display of a very highly developed 
telekinetic ability. He said he could not speak to the veracity of Merlin 
appearing from out of a tree, or of his being over two thousand years old, and 
you must admit that part, at the very least, is a bit difficult to credit."

I nodded. "I can certainly see where you would feel that way, sir I felt the 
same way myself, at first. Nevertheless, I don't know what else to tell you."

"Do you know for a fact that he's two thousand years old?'' said Chambers wryly. 
"I don't suppose you could prove it. Or can you?" he added with a smirk.

"I suppose that would depend on what you would consider proof, sir," I replied. 
"I haven't seen his birth certificate, if that's what you mean. I don't believe 
they had them in King Arthur's day."

"You find this amusing, Malory?" Fitzroy said.

"In an ironic sort of way, yes, sir I do. I will tell you, frankly, that I 
cannot prove his age. I will also tell you that nothing in British law requires 
me to do so, which I think you know as well as I. If you have some concerns 
about Merlin, why not address them to him directly?"

"Because for the moment, Malory, we are addressing them to you," Carmody said 
curtly. "It is our presumption that you have come here at our request, to 
provide us with some information as a loyal citizen. We do not require lectures 
on the law, thank you very much. No one here is trespassing on your rights, nor 
are you being accused of anything at this point."

"Are you planning to accuse me of something at a later point?" I asked.

Carmody pursed his lips and gave me a disapproving look. No doubt, he was 
considering what he might have done had I not left the department.

"We are simply attempting to determine if some sort of fraud is being 
perpetrated," he replied. "And if not, we would like to determine exactly what 
is being perpetrated."

"To the best of my knowledge, Chief Inspector, nothing is being perpetrated, as 
you put it. Merlin hasn't broken any laws. I suppose, once he starts teaching, 
there may be some question about proper certification or whatever. I'll freely 
admit to ignorance on the requirements for that sort of thing. However, to date, 
he certainly hasn't done anything wrong. Unless, of course, you consider 
changing Billy Martens into an ass a form of assault. Although, he did change 
him back. Whether or not that was for the best, I'll leave you gentlemen to 
decide for yourselves."

The Prime Minister tried, not altogether successfully, to repress a smile. 
Fitzroy and Chambers did not look very happy. I didn't think they had much of a 
sense of humor. Carmody simply regarded me thoughtfully.

"He's not being very cooperative, is he?" Fitzroy said tersely, with a glance at 
Carmody.

"On the contrary, Major," I said. "I'm cooperating to the very best of my 
ability. You find it difficult to believe I'm telling you the truth. I can 
certainly understand that. It is difficult to believe. However, I would venture 
to suggest that if you met Merlin for yourselves, you would most likely have all 
your questions answered."

"Perhaps we should try another tack," the Prime Minister said. "Mr. Malory, you 
apparently believe that Merlin is exactly who he says he is, and that he can, in 
fact, accomplish what he says he can, is that correct?"

"Correct, Prime Minister And, if I might add, I think that you believe that, 
too, at least to some degree. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

The Prime Minister smiled. "Quite so," he said. "Clearly, your friend, Me 
Ambrosius, is possessed of remarkable abilities. Astonishing abilities. The 
question is, precisely what is the nature of those abilities?''

I shrugged. "It's magic, sir."

"Well, so you claim, and you obviously seem to believe it. I am not questioning 
your sincerity. However, I do find a belief in magic difficult to support."

"I understand that, sir. Which is why I've suggested that you meet with Merlin 
yourself. I think then you'd be convinced beyond any shadow of a doubt."

"Quite possibly," the Prime Minister said. "Me Ambrosius certainly seems to 
possess extensive powers of persuasion. Perhaps that is why we are all a bit 
leery of confronting him directly. At least for the present."

"You think he's some sort of hypnotist?" I said. "Well, that thought also 
occurred to me, at first. But if he is, then he's hypnotized not only large 
crowds, but the entire television audience, as well. And somehow, he's managed 
to hypnotize inanimate cameras, too. How would you account for that?"

The Prime Minister nodded. "We don't know how to account for it,'' he said. 
"That's the entire point. However, let us assume that what we are confronted 
with is not some paranormal, psychic talent, but actual sorcery, as it is 
depicted in the tales of the Brothers Grimm and Mr. Tolkien. That would leave us 
with some rather difficult decisions to make. And, frankly, at the moment, I'm 
at a loss to explain just what those decisions might be, and how we would go 
about making them. We thought, perhaps, you might help shed some more light on 
the situation."

"I'd be happy to help in any way I can, Prime Minister." I said. "But I can't 
force you to believe me. However, assume, for the moment, that everything I'm 
telling you is true. Just assume that, for the sake of the discussion."

"All right," the Prime Minister said. "Go on."

"What is there to be concerned about? Merlin is proposing to start a school to 
train adepts. He is not planning to charge any tuition, so there's no question 
of defrauding anyone. The entire venture is to be a nonprofit operation. We have 
already received donations, all voluntary and perfectly aboveboard and properly 
accounted for, and we've been offered the facilities of a public school in 
Loughborough that closed down about five years ago and has been standing vacant 
ever since. Part of the space will be used as dormitories for the students, and 
the local citizens have volunteered their labors to see to it that these 
dormitory rooms are properly refurbished to conform with health regulations and 
all that sort of thing.

"We are in the process of setting up a voluntary organization, and our accounts 
and files will be open for examination by the proper authorities at any time. 
True, we may be cutting through some bureaucratic red tape, but considering the 
circumstances, and that most of these bureaucracies have either collapsed or are 
in a hopeless state of limbo, we're doing the best we can to do everything 
properly. The whole thing is being run on the level of a cooperative. No one is 
taking any salaries, and no one is making any profit. However, society will 
profit as trained adepts provide a thaumaturgical support base for our collapsed 
technological infrastructure and bankrupt economy. So, I ask you, where's the 
harm?"

"That's just what we're attempting to find out," said Chambers.' 'Proceeding on 
the assumption that these paranormal abilities of Merlin's can be taught to 
others successfully, then we need to consider just what these trainees of his, 
for lack of a better term, will do with those abilities. We need to determine if 
this would pose any danger to society. Me Winters claims that Merlin was 
actually able to alter a videotape recording. Now, if this is true, it 
demonstrates a rather alarming and totally unprecedented paranormal talent. If 
he can actually psychically influence an electronic medium, then there's no 
telling what he might be able to do with, say, computer data, for example. That 
would make him a significant risk not only to our security, but to the security 
of any government or private corporation."

"Which would explain the CIA's interest, of course," I said. "I think I'm 
beginning to understand."

"We were hoping you would," said Fitzroy.

"I was going to add," I said,, "that what I understand is that you gentlemen are 
being totally paranoid, no offense intended. Who gives a damn about classified 
computer files anymore, for God's sake? All the bloody computers are down at 
least half the time because there's no power Corporations are going bankrupt 
everywhere and governments are hanging on by little more than their fingernails. 
People are starving and shooting each other in the streets! Everything's going 
to pieces and you're acting as if it's business as usual!"

I shook my head with disbelief. "This isn't about whether or not Merlin is 
genuine, or whether it's magic or some kind of psychic talent, it's about fear. 
You're afraid of him, afraid that he poses some kind of threat to you and to 
whatever remains of your precious power structure. Well, the fact is that 
without Merlin, whatever's left of the power structure is going to collapse 
completely, along with the rest of society. Can't you see that Merlin isn't the 
problem? He's the solution! He's not interested in raiding top secret files or 
taking over the government, what little of it there is left, all he wants to do 
is teach! If you're so concerned about him, then I'm not the one you should be 
talking to. You should be talking to him."

"All in good time, Mr. Malory," the Prime Minister replied. "However, I hope 
you'll understand why we asked you here today. And why we asked you to come 
alone. This is, to say the least, a highly unusual situation, and one which is 
being taken very seriously. Otherwise, as you quite correctly pointed out, I 
would not be here. There was no real reason for me to be present at this 
meeting, other than my own curiosity. I wanted to meet you face to face, and I 
personally wanted to hear what you had to say. These are difficult times, very 
trying times for all of us. We would all like to find some way out of this 
global disaster and, believe me, the finest minds in the world have been 
grappling with the problem. So far, no one has come up with a workable solution. 
We are in a downward spiral, and there seems to be no way to reverse it."

He held up his hand, forestalling my reply. "Please hear me out. This man whom 
you call Merlin suddenly appears out of nowhere, claiming to be a character out 
of mythology, and however incredible his claims may seem, bolstering them are 
some undeniably impressive and seemingly miraculous abilities. Now, I am not 
questioning your sincerity when you say you believe him to be exactly who he 
says he is, but then, as you yourself have said, you can understand our 
skepticism. You asked me, a moment ago, to assume that you were telling the 
truth, and that Merlin was exactly who he claims to be. Now, let me ask you, 
purely for the sake of discussion, as you put it, to assume that is not case. 
Given that assumption, where does that lead us?

"It leads us to suppose that this person, calling himself Merlin, is either the 
cleverest illusionist that anyone has ever seen, or that he possesses 
astonishing paranormal abilities on a scale that no one has ever seen before. 
That, given all the evidence, happens to be the prevailing opinion among the 
experts."

"What experts?" I asked.

"That is not important for the sake of this discussion," the Prime Minister 
replied. "The fact is, we have a man with miraculous abilities and a great deal 
of charisma, as well as a considerable talent for self-promotion, whom no one 
has ever met or heard of before. No record of his existence can be found 
anywhere. He appears fully capable of doing things that are scientifically 
impossible. In a remarkably short time, he has captured the imagination of the 
public all over the world and his self-appointed task, if we are to take him at 
his word, is nothing short of messianic. Surely, you could see where this would 
be cause for some serious concern."

I sighed heavily. "I can't take issue with a single thing you've said, Prime 
Minister I told you, I can fully understand the way you feel. You think there's 
some other explanation man the one I've given you, that Merlin isn't really 
Merlin, that he's some sort of gifted charlatan who happens to possess 
unprecedented psychic powers, such as telekinesis, and that one of those powers 
seems to be a hypnotic ability to charm people and make believers out of them. 
If that is your position, then I don't know what to say to you, because the 
obvious inference would be that he's used that ability on me, and my testimony, 
therefore, is unreliable. If that's what you really think, then inviting me to 
come here was absolutely pointless."

I may have said something else, I no longer remember clearly, because what 
happened next was so vividly shocking. I came to an abrupt halt at about that 
moment, because suddenly I couldn't see them any longer. In a flash, I was no 
longer in Carmody's office, but standing outside my own home.

At least, I think I was standing, but I don't have any memory of that sensation. 
All I know is that I seemed to have been somehow transported back to 
Loughborough, though I knew I wasn't physically there. I was seeing a vision, 
and the hallucination, if it can be called that, was so starkly real that I 
became totally disoriented for a time.

The street outside my home was a scene of pandemonium. I could hear screaming 
and shouting, and I saw people running in all directions, and there was a sudden 
pain in my shoulder that was immediately familiar, because I had been shot 
before.

"Malory? What the devil.... Malory!"

Just as abruptly, the vision faded and I was back in Carmody's office, slumped 
over in the chair

"Malory!" Carmody was bending over me. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

I shook my head and blinked several times, then after a moment, during which 
they stared at me with some concern, I got up and started for the door

"Malory, wait!" Fitzroy grabbed me by the arm. "Where the hell do you think 
you're going?''

"I have to go," I said, shaking him off. "Merlin's just been shot."



I didn't know how I knew that it was Merlin who'd been shot, I simply knew. 
There had been nothing in that brief vision to clue me in. It seemed that it had 
only lasted perhaps a second or two; I had no way of telling what the duration 
of the experience had been. For all I know, it could have lasted several 
minutes, or merely a fraction of a second. However, I can still recall having 
the distinct sensation not of being shot, but of having been shot, and if I 
hadn't been wounded a number of times before, so that the feeling was all too 
unpleasantly familiar, I may well not have known what it was.

There is a great deal more knowledge about this sort of phenomenon today. It is 
known as "projection," and it most often occurs between people who have 
established some sort of bond, though it can also occur between perfect 
strangers. Before it was better understood, it was usually a spontaneous 
occurrence, meaning one that took place without any volitional intent on the 
part either of the projector or the receiver. These days, however, a trained 
adept can do it consciously, selecting not only the receiver and the method of 
projection, but exercising complete control over it, as well.

Most common, of course, is "astral projection," in which the image of the 
projector is manifested to the receiver, appearing quite solid and often capable 
of communicating. This is the method most frequently chosen by the trained adept 
wishing to project to someone. Less common is the sort of projection I received, 
in which there is a period of shared consciousness. This is known as "sensory 
projection," and unless it is being consciously directed by an adept, its 
duration is normally quite brief. Indeed, these days it occurs most frequently 
with warlocks, and most of the time, they are unaware of what they're doing.

As beginners, they are only starting to get their magical "sea legs," and often 
their intuitive abilities start to develop before they've learned how to 
exercise control over them. Consequently, the relatives and intimates of 
warlocks frequently find themselves suddenly plunged into a brief, sensory, 
shared consciousness, sometimes with rather amusing results. For example, I knew 
of one case of involuntary sensory projection involving a young female warlock 
that wound up causing her considerable embarrassment.

The term "warlock," incidentally, now commonly used to refer to adepts in 
training, was once used to describe a male witch. As with many slang 
expressions, its origin as a modern, non-gender-specific term to describe 
students of thaumaturgy is unclear. Merlin himself disliked it, explaining that 
its origins in Old English were with the word "waerloga," which meant 
"oathbreaker," and that the word "witch," derived from the Old English "wicce," 
which meant "to bend", more proper and non-gender-specific to begin with. The 
negative connotations of those words can be directly traced to early 
Christianity, which was intolerant of pagan beliefs and customs. Thus, "wicce" 
became, in time, "wicked."

In any case, so much for linguistics. This young female warlock possessed a 
strong latent talent for projection and, unknown to her, her thaumaturgic 
training had triggered it, so that she became capable of unconsciously 
projecting at moments of peak sensory experience. In other words, she developed 
the subconscious ability to project while she was making love with her fiance. 
Unfortunately for her, the receiver turned out to be her mother with whom she 
had a very close bond, and the poor woman suddenly found herself experiencing 
the physical sensations of her daughter's lovemaking. Eventually, the whole 
thing was sorted out, but not without some awkwardness, and the mother was never 
again able to face her daughter's husband without blushing.

The point of the preceding digression is that while projection is a far more 
common thing today and much better understood, it wasn't so in those days, and I 
had never experienced anything like it before. My initial response was shock, 
then a brief period of disorientation, during which Carmody apparently thought I 
had fallen ill or something, and then resolve was galvanized as the realization 
sank in that Merlin had been shot. It did not even occur to me to question what 
had happened until I was on the train to Loughborough.

I felt riddled with anxiety, and I began to have doubts about my initial 
response. When it happened, it was almost instinctive. Something was wrong at 
home; Merlin had been shot; possibly my wife and daughters were in danger, and 
the knee-jerk reaction was to rush home as quickly as possible. However, on the 
train, I had some time to think, and having never experienced projection before, 
I had no frame of reference for it.

I began to question whether the whole thing had merely been a figment of my 
imagination, some sort of brief, paranoid delusion brought on by the questioning 
I had been subjected to, an emotional response to a perceived threat. I would 
almost get to the point where I had rationalized it all away as some kind of 
temporary aberration, and then I'd swing the other way, as I considered the fact 
that I'd never had such an experience prior to meeting Merlin and that it was 
undoubtedly his way of communicating with me at a moment of great stress. I kept 
vacillating back and forth, not knowing what the hell to think, so that by the 
time the train pulled in to the station (mercifully, without any breakdowns for 
a change), I was worked up into quite a state. I ran all the way home, and as I 
turned down our street, I knew with a sinking feeling that it had not been my 
imagination at all.

There was a paramedic van parked in front of our home, and I saw several members 
of our largely volunteer police force on horseback, keeping back a crowd of 
curious onlookers. Unless what had happened to me back in Carmody's office had 
been a precognitive experience, then a significant amount of time had elapsed. 
Why was the ambulance still there? Was Merlin in there, fighting for his life? 
Or; worse yet, was it one or more members of my family? With a mounting sense of 
dread, I rushed up, out of breath, and pushed my way through the crowd. One of 
the officers interposed his mount between me and my front door.

"Hold on, there... oh, Mr. Malory. It's you."

"What happened?" I managed to get out, between gasps for breath.

"There's been some trouble," he said. "Someone shot at Merlin."

"Is he all right?"

"I think so, but one of the bullets struck Chief Thorpe and killed him."

"Oh, no!" I said. "What about my family?"

"They're all right. They were all safely inside when the gunfire broke out."

"Thank God. Who did it?"

"No idea. We haven't established the gunman's identity yet. But he's dead. Carr 
got him. They've taken the body away."

I thanked him and hurried inside, where I found Merlin sitting on the couch, 
leaning back, his robe cut away from his shoulder. He was arguing with the 
doctor. Several police officers were present, both volunteer auxiliary and a 
couple of our permanent, full-time officers. Jenny came rushing up to me.

"Oh, Tom, it was awful!"

"Thank God you're all right," I said, hugging her to me. "Where are the girls?"

"In their room with Victor. They're quite upset, of course, but they're 
unharmed."

"Thomas! There you are, at last!" said Merlin. "Get this fool away from me!"

"Mr. Ambrosius, please," the doctor said. "If you won't allow me to treat your 
wound, there could be a danger of infection and further complications."

"The only complication I'm concerned about is you," said Merlin irately. He 
turned to me. "Look what this idiot did! He ruined my robe!"

The doctor turned to me in exasperation. "Will you please talk some sense into 
him?" he said. "The bullet's still lodged in there and he won't let me treat 
him."

"I'll give you a treatment," Merlin said, glaring at him.

"Take it easy," I told him. "You've been shot, for God's sake. The man's a 
doctor. He's only trying to help."

"I don't require any help," said Merlin.

"Look, you're being stubborn and unreasonable," the doctor told him. "That's 
bullet's not going to come out by itself."

"Is that so?" said Merlin. "Thomas, if you will kindly restrain this overly 
zealous Samaritan, then perhaps he might learn something." He turned to the 
doctor. "Observe."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed in concentration 
and, a moment later, the skin over the wound began to twitch, as if with a 
muscular spasm.

"Damn," the doctor said, starting forward. "He's started bleeding again."

"Wait," I said, holding him back. Some clotted blood exited the wound, followed 
by a fresh red flow that trickled down his chest, and then, as the area over the 
wound throbbed visibly, we saw the bullet emerge.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed one of the officers. "Will you look at hat!"

"Well, I'll be..." the doctor shook his head in amazement. "I've never seen 
anything like that in all my life!"

As we watched, the blood flow ceased and the wound began to close before our 
very eyes.

"It's incredible!" the doctor said. "Human tissue can't possibly heal that 
fast!"

"Perhaps not through traditional forms of healing," I said. "This is something 
else entirely."

Merlin sighed heavily and opened his eyes. "There. Satisfied?" he said. He 
sounded weary and he looked extremely tired. Not surprising, considering he'd 
been shot, but clearly, expelling the bullet and healing his own wound had taken 
a lot out of him.

"They never covered anything like this in medical school,'' the doctor said. He 
started to bend down toward Merlin, then hesitated. "Please.... May I? Do you 
mind?"

"Go ahead and look," said Merlin with an air of resignation.

The doctor drew closer and peered at the wound, which had closed completely, 
though the skin around it was still bloody and a bit raw. He probed, gently. 
"Does that hurt?"

Merlin winced. "Yes, of course it hurts, you dolt! Are you finished, or do you 
now wish to perform an augury?"

The doctor straightened up and stared at him. "If you can teach me how to do 
that in that school of yours, I'll be first in line to sign up, and the medical 
establishment be damned."

"Indeed?'' said Merlin. "Come see me again, then, and we shall discuss it. For 
the present, there are more pressing matters of concern.'' He turned to me and 
Jenny. "Thomas, I must humbly beg your forgiveness."

"For what?" I said.

"For exposing your family to danger" he replied. "It was inexcusable. I had 
foolishly failed to consider that your modem weapons can reach out from beyond 
the ward's protective influence. It was stupid of me, and I am aghast to think 
that one of them could have been struck down instead of me. Can you forgive me?"

"It wasn't your fault," I said.

"Oh, yes, it was," he insisted. "But for my presence here, this would not have 
happened. And that gallant man who was killed...."

"Scott Thorpe," I said, with a guilty feeling, for in the past few moments, I 
had completely forgotten about him.

"Yes, Thorpe," said Merlin. "He bravely interposed himself between the assailant 
and myself, and took the mortal blow that had been meant for me. A most 
chivalrous and gallantly unselfish deed. And it cost him his life. Would that I 
could restore him as I have healed myself, but regrettably, that power is beyond 
me."

"He was a cop,'' I said. "And a damned good one. He knew the risks."

Merlin sighed. "I owe him my life. Did he have a family?"

"A wife," I said. "He had two sons, but they were both grown. One was with the 
army. He was killed in the riots at Coventry several years ago. The other is a 
police officer in London."

Merlin nodded. "Then at least I have not deprived young children of a father. 
But I have deprived a wife of her husband."

"You haven't deprived anyone of anything," Jenny said. "There's no reason for 
you to feel responsible. You weren't the one who pulled the trigger."

"No,'' said Merlin grimly,' 'but if not for me, he would not have been there. I 
shall have to take steps to make certain such a thing does not happen again."

"You'd best leave that to us, sir," Lieutenant William Carr said. With the death 
of Thorpe, he was now in command of the force. "It's the sort of thing we're 
trained to do. I'll take that bullet now, if you don't mind."

"Why? What do you want with it?" asked Merlin.

"We'll send it to the ballistics lab in London, where they have a way of 
examining it that will enable them to match it to the weapon it was fired from."

"What use would that be?" Merlin asked. "The assailant has been slain."

"Well, there'll have to be a full report," said Carr, "especially since you've 
become so well-known. We'd better follow procedure all the way on this one. Go 
by the numbers, match the bullet to the gun, then try to use the gun to trace 
the perpetrator, because he wasn't carrying any identification. We have no idea 
who he was."

Merlin grunted. "It sounds quite pointless to me. I can tell you about the man 
who shot me and murdered Chief Thorpe.''

"You can?" said Carr. "How?"

"I assume that to load this projectile in the weapon it was fired from, it was 
necessary for him to handle it. That means he will have impressed his energies 
upon it."

"What if he wore gloves?" I asked.

"If he wore gloves, that would weaken the impression, but it would still be 
there for me to detect," said Merlin.

"You mean the way psychics can hold an item of a missing person's clothing and 
deduce things from it?" Carr asked.

"The principle is the same," said Merlin. "As I have said before, there has been 
evidence of magic in your society all along. You have simply chosen to call it 
something else. I will be able to tell you something about the killer from the 
impressions on this bullet, but I could also work a divination spell, only that 
would require some time and I would need to be more fully rested. However, let 
us see what we can learn from this bullet for the present."

He picked it up and held it in his hand for a moment.

"Our man was very angry," he said. "More than angry, he was outraged. I appear 
to have been the focus of his outrage, which would explain, of course, why he 
tried to kill me. He was a Christian, but his faith was like a mania. He was 
consumed by it. The impression is extremely strong."

"A religious fanatic," Carr said.

I shushed him.

"This was not a man who attended church," Merlin continued. He frowned. "That 
seems peculiar. Why? Ah, I see. He believed that he had compromised his faith. 
He felt himself to be unworthy, a sinner. He was baptized in the Catholic faith, 
but he had strayed from it. I sense pain, and great feelings of guilt. He had 
killed before. Soldiers. British soldiers. He saw them as oppressors. He killed 
them with devices he constructed, devices that explode."

"Oh, bloody hell," said Care "A Provo."

Merlin opened his eyes. "A what?"

"He means the I.R.A.," I said. "Provisional Army of the Irish Republic. A 
terrorist, in other words, although they see themselves as freedom fighters. 
It's been going on for generations. To them, the Collapse is not a tragedy, it's 
an opportunity. There are fewer of them than there used to be, but they've been 
particularly active here doing the riots. But I don't understand why he'd go 
after you. You have nothing to do with the British government."

Merlin clutched the bullet in his fist.

"This man was torn," he said. "He felt he had to kill as a duty to his country, 
but that in killing, he had offended God. He spent long hours in private anger, 
attempting to atone for his sins. Killing me was to be a part of his atonement. 
He saw me as a servant of the Devil, and in killing me, he believed he was doing 
God's work."

"A madman," Carr said.

"Yes," said Merlin. "He had been driven mad by his inner turmoil over what he 
had done in the past. Some innocent people had died as a result of his actions, 
and among them were small children. He could not justify that to himself. He was 
tormented. He was careless of his health and his appearance. He constantly 
smoked cigarettes and drank to excess. He felt he had been forced to steal to 
meet his needs, and he sought to place the blame for that on others, yet he 
could not escape his feelings of responsibility and guilt. His nose had been 
broken and had not healed properly. He had difficulty breathing through it. His 
teeth were bad, and were causing him considerable pain, but it was nothing to 
the pain his spirit felt. He believed that killing me would be a way of washing 
clean his other sins, and he was desperate to do so."

Merlin opened his hand and dropped the bullet on the coffee table. He sighed 
heavily. "Killing this man was only merciful," he said. "In a way, he was 
already dead."

Carr whistled softly through his teeth. "You could tell all that just from 
holding the bullet?"

"If you come back in the morning, perhaps I shall be able to tell you more,'' 
said Merlin.' 'But I fail to see the point in it." He took a deep breath. "I am 
weary. I shall ask your pardon, but I must rest now." He leaned back against the 
cushions and closed his eyes. A second later, he was fast asleep.

Carr glanced at me, then with a movement of his head, indicated that he would 
like to speak with me in private.

"He's really something, isn't he?'' said Carr as we stood on the steps outside.

I nodded. "That's putting it mildly."

Carr took a deep breath and stared off into the distance for a moment. He shook 
his head. "I have to go see Anne Thorpe and break the news to her, though I 
suspect she's heard by now, poor woman. I can detail some more men to watch your 
place, but frankly, Tom, I'm in over my head. I haven't got enough people to 
deal with this sort of thing." He looked out at the crowd, which his officers 
had failed to disperse.

"I know," I said.

"I'll need to send for help from London."

I nodded again, waiting for him to get to his point. I had a feeling I knew what 
it was going to be.

"Look, Tom, I don't have to tell you how things are. You understand my position. 
I think this sort of thing is just the tip of the iceberg. Merlin's going to be 
a magnet for every lunatic and religious fanatic out there. Our resources are 
strained past the breaking point as it is. And you have your family to consider"

"Are you asking me to get rid of him, Bill?"

Carr sighed. "Look, Tom, I can't tell you how to live your life, and I wouldn't 
presume to do so. But you brought your family out here from London so they could 
be safe from just this sort of thing. And I'll be honest with you, I can't 
guarantee their protection."

"I think Merlin can,'' I said.

"For God's sake, Tom, he's just been shot! He can't even guarantee his own 
protection."

"He's never been exposed to modem firearms before," I said. "He was taken by 
surprise. He'll know what to expect now. He's probably the best thing that's 
happened to this town, Bill, and you know it. He's our one best hope to get out 
of this mess, and you want me to tell him to leave?"

"No, of course not. I couldn't ask you to do that, and I wouldn't. But I do 
think it would be in everyone's best interest not to have him in your home. 
Look, you've been offered the use of the old school out on the main road. It's 
situated on the outskirts of town, well away from any other buildings, and with 
a bit of work, it could be made quite livable. You're going to be converting 
some of the space to dormitories for the students, anyway. Why not simply move 
him in there? You're overburdened as it is. It has to be disrupting your 
family's home life. And, to be quite honest, while your neighbors are 
supportive, some of them are understandably concerned."

I could not deny his logic. Everything he said made sense. He wasn't the only 
one in over his head. Ever since Merlin had started to receive publicity, there 
had been a tremendous influx of people arriving in Loughborough, and most of 
them headed straight for our home, as if on some sort of pilgrimage. Our local 
authorities and resources, such as they were, simply were not up to the task.

Many of our neighbors, as caught up in their enthusiasm over Merlin as was I, 
had volunteered their help and, for many of them, it had become an almost 
full-time job. We needed more organization. We needed an organization, something 
formally defined and structured, to deal with all the problems. Allan Stewart 
had already been pressing me on this matter, but I had kept putting him off, 
largely because I hadn't wanted to think about it. It was all getting to be too 
much for me, and I simply hadn't wanted to deal with it.

I was not being realistic. I had come to have a very proprietary feeling about 
Merlin. / had discovered him, therefore, he was "mine." I had assumed the de 
facto role of his manager and I did not want to relinquish it. That was not only 
impractical, it was absurd. I certainly wasn't doing either of us any favors. 
Merlin had asked me to advise him, not control him, and subconsciously, I 
suppose, that was exactly what I had tried to do. I had even lashed out at the 
Prime Minister like some overprotective mother, and that was hardly productive 
to our cause. Carr's words to me, and what had happened to prompt them, were 
like a dash of cold water in my face.

"You're right, of course," I told him. "The whole thing has gotten out of hand. 
I just hadn't wanted to admit it, I suppose."

"Well, you've been at the center of it all," said Carr sympathetically. "You've 
hardly had a chance to think about it very clearly. But something must be done. 
Merlin's abilities are unquestionably unique, but not even he can handle all 
this by himself. And you certainly can't do it alone, either. You need to get 
the government involved."

A part of me realized that Can was absolutely right, and another part of me 
rebelled at the idea, especially after my less man productive meeting at 
Carmody's office.

These days, with Merlin accepted as a sorcerer, the founding father of the 
Second Thaumaturgic Age, and an honored and respected educator, it may seem 
difficult for readers who have grown up with this reality to understand how he 
was regarded then. Among many people, there was a natural tendency toward 
belief, partly as a result of what they'd seen and heard on television and 
partly out of a basic desire to believe. Historically, at times of great stress, 
uncertainty, and hardship, there has always been a rise in spirituality. People 
need hope. They need to believe in something.

Those who met Merlin always came away from the experience convinced that he was 
genuine, and many other people were convinced as a result of the media coverage 
and their own predispositions. However, a significant number remained not only 
skeptical, but hostile, convinced by their own firmly held beliefs that magic 
could not possibly exist, no matter how it was defined, and Merlin took great 
pains to disassociate magic from its traditional, supernatural and mythological 
portrayals. In fact, he gradually started to avoid using the word "magic," in 
favor of "thaumaturgy," which was an astute and perceptive decision on his part.

"Thaumaturgy" sounded more modern and scientific, much as the words "psychic" 
and "paranormal" sounded more plausible than "medium" and "occult." And one of 
the chief difficulties we had in the beginning was the firm opposition of the 
scientific establishment, whose opinions were understandably given a great deal 
of weight, especially by the government. While I did realize we needed help, the 
last thing I wanted was to have the government involved.

I envisioned us becoming sidetracked as Merlin was co-opted and made the center 
of some sort of massive research effort, first to determine the validity of his 
claims and then, when that validity was demonstrated, to conduct a scientific 
study of them. I could certainly see the need for that, but even greater was the 
need for training adepts and spreading the knowledge of thaumaturgy if we were 
to find our way out of the Collapse. I did not think Merlin would have much 
patience with anyone trying to forestall his efforts in that regard. I couldn't 
see him acquiescing to the role of laboratory guinea pig.

I made a decision which, in retrospect, I still think was a good one, though it 
was to have unfavorable repercussions in the short term. I decided that to the 
extent the government wished to provide help, it would be gratefully accepted, 
but that I would resist any effort on their part in determining what we were to 
do. I would advise Merlin of my feelings, and the final decision would be his, 
but I had little doubt he would agree with me.

Carr's advice about the school, however, was quite sound. It would have to be 
more than just a school; it would have to become a residence for Merlin and a 
headquarters for an organization to support our efforts. If my home was not to 
be constantly besieged, and if my family was to have any peace at all, Merlin 
would have to leave. I hated the thought of telling him that, but as it turned 
out, he anticipated me. After he had rested, his first words to me echoed my own 
thoughts on the subject.

"I can stay no longer, Thomas," he said. "I have imposed upon you and your 
family long enough, and my continued presence here will not only make things 
more difficult for them, it will expose them to danger, as well. It's time I had 
a residence of my own.'' 


CHAPTER  8 


For the next month or so, we were occupied with transforming the old, 
ivy-covered, red brick school building into the International Center for 
Thaumaturgical Studies. The name was decided upon by an ad hoc committee of 
Merlin, Allan and Elizabeth Stew art, Bill Carr, Warren and Linda Masterson, our 
neighbors from across the street, Roger and Roberta Truesdale, who had also been 
part of the parental delegation who came to see us, my wife Jenny and myself, 
and a few others. I no longer recall the names of everyone involved, as it was 
very much an impromptu sort of thing decided over lunch one day. Our group, at 
that point, was still very fluid and informal, with people regularly dropping in 
and out, depending on the demands of their own lives.

I had originally suggested calling it the Ambrosius School of Thaumaturgy, but 
Merlin modestly declined having his name formally associated with it. He pointed 
out that everyone would know he was the founder, anyway, and it would be just as 
well to simply call it the School of Thaumaturgy. Jenny suggested that College 
of Thaumaturgy had a nicer ring to it, and I think it was Stewart who suggested 
International College of Thaumaturgy, as we would hope, eventually, to draw 
students from all over the world. I don't recall exactly how we arrived at 
International Center for Thaumaturgical Studies, but after tossing some ideas 
back and forth, that was the name we finally settled on.

The initials I.C.T.S. sounded properly impressive and rather corporate, and Bill 
Carr jokingly suggested that they would look good on a sweatshirt. We kept the 
same name for our administrative group and, today, what began as a small band of 
friends and neighbors is now the vast organization known as I.T.C., the 
International Thaumaturgical Commission, which administrates the Bureaus of 
Thaumaturgy in every nation, as well as every College of Sorcerers at every 
university throughout the world. I have not been actively involved for many 
years now, and today I would not even come close to meeting the necessary 
qualifications, though I still proudly hold a position as an honorary member of 
the board.

The renovation was a fascinating project, with many members of the community 
pitching in, and as many came to watch the show as came to work. And what a show 
it was! Everywhere, people were bustling about, knocking down walls, installing 
plumbing and kitchen appliances, tiling floors and patching ceilings, rewiring 
electrical circuits and putting in new window glass, hammering and sawing. All 
around them, tools would be working at various tasks all by themselves, with no 
human hands to wield them, often working in conjunction with people who were 
initially quite unsettled by the process, but soon took to it with sheer 
delight.

Here a man would be steadying a board while a circular saw, unconnected to any 
source of power; made the cuts all by itself. And there someone would be holding 
a nail while a hammer floating in midair drove it in with no human hand to guide 
it. Buckets of paint and dry wall compound would come floating in through open 
windows and set themselves down obligingly wherever they were needed. 
Paintbrushes, trowels, putty knives, and spreaders would flit about like 
hummingbirds, doing the work all by themselves. Boards, boxes of nails, tubs of 
pipe joint compound, and spools of insulated cable seemed to develop sentience, 
responding to the spoken commands of the work force. It was like an animated 
cartoon come to life.

All this dramatic and delightful sorcery was directed by a wizard dressed in a 
plaid flannel shirt, lace-up work boots, and blue denim overalls, with a big, 
floppy, leather hat someone had given him. While Merlin did no actual physical 
work himself, the effort required to maintain so many spells at one time took 
its toll and left him exhausted. At the end of each day, he would eat a truly 
prodigious meal, enough to feed at least half a dozen starving lumberjacks, then 
fall into a deep sleep until the next morning, when he would do it all again.

At one such meal, I saw him devour six whole chickens, about ten generous 
servings of vegetables, at least twenty boiled potatoes, and five gallons of 
milk, all without so much as a belch. Then, in the morning, he would have a 
breakfast of about thirty scrambled eggs, several dozen sausages, an entire loaf 
of bread, a heaping mound of hash-browned potatoes, and enough tea and juice to 
float a battleship.

People came early and brought food, and a crowd would gather just to watch him 
eat. He didn't mind a bit. He said he enjoyed having company for breakfast, and 
held court throughout each meal, keeping up a steady stream of entertaining 
conversation, usually with his mouth full, as he regaled the community with 
stories of King Arthur and his knights. The true stories, I should say, which 
were somewhat at variance with the legends and were highly in demand.

"What about Sir Lancelot, Professor?" someone in the crowd would ask.

Even then, we were calling him "Professor," the form of address now most 
commonly associated with him. In later years, he was to receive a number of 
honorary doctorate degrees, and he eventually accepted the post of Dean of the 
College of Sorcerers at Cambridge, Massachusetts, yet hardly anyone ever called 
him Doctor. It was always Professor Ambrosius. In fact, it was a title he chose 
for himself. At one point, soon after we began working on the school, the 
question of his tide came up in conversation over dinner one night. I don't 
recall who brought it up, but the question was should his title be Dean, or 
President, or Chancellor?

"What title is normally used for those who teach?" he'd asked.

And it was I who said, "Well, in universities, it's either Doctor, if they 
possess a doctoral degree, or it's Professor"

"Professor," he had said, as if trying it on for size. "Professor. One who 
professes knowledge. Yes, I like that. It has an honorable sound. Professor 
Ambrosius will suit me just fine."

From that point on, we all started calling him Professor, and everyone else 
simply picked it up. And he was right. It fit him perfectly.

"So you want to know about Lancelot?" he'd say, as he started cutting up his 
fourteenth sausage. "Very well, what is it you wish to know?"

"Is it true he was the best and bravest of all the Knights of the Round Table?"

"Ah. Well, to begin with, there never was any Round Table. It was rectangular, 
and made of oak, very crude and plain, much like an old picnic table, in fact, 
right down to the ants that crawled upon it. Ants on the table top, carrying off 
crumbs; hunting dogs beneath it, wolfing down the scraps that were thrown down 
to them or simply dropped by the inebriated knights. And there was none of this 
romantic nonsense I have seen on television, either"

With all the attention being paid to Merlin by the media, it was only natural, I 
suppose, for every film production ever made of the Arthurian myth to be dusted 
off and broadcast on the telly. He watched them all, and laughed himself silly.

"There was none of this sitting round the table, resplendent in their chain mail 
and baldrics and surcoats emblazoned with their crests, shields hung upon ornate 
chairs, swords placed on the table top before them, pointing inward.... 
Balderdash. It was nothing like that at all. What you had was a bunch of loud 
and unkempt, ill-mannered louts, sitting on benches at a long oak table, eating 
with their fingers, breaking wind and belching and throwing food at one another 
And there was none of this dignified 'My Lord this and My Liege that' business. 
It was more like, 'Arthur, you bleeding old sod, more mead, damn your eyes!' All 
save Lancelot, who never uttered a single word throughout the meal, and meals 
were the only time they ever all sat down together at a table, regardless of its 
shape.

"Lance would sit hunched over his plate like a wild animal protecting its kill. 
Unlike the others, who would hack off a chunk of venison and place it on their 
plates—or somewhere in the general vicinity of their plates—tear at it with 
their fingers, wolf it down and grab some more, Lance would fill his plate but 
once, and he ate slowly, in a placid, bovine manner, his narrow eyes darting to 
the left and right to make certain none of the others took anything from his 
plate. No one ever did, of course, at least not after the first time, when Kay 
speared a chunk of bread off his plate and Lance beat him senseless with a leg 
of mutton.

"As to being the best and bravest,'' Merlin would continue, ' 'I suppose that 
would depend on your perspective. If by being the best, you mean the handsomest 
and courtliest, then no, for Lancelot was neither And if by being the bravest, 
you mean a man who had no fear, then no again, for Lance had fears that reduced 
him to a mewling infant, only not the sort of fears that you might think. He 
feared no man, that much is true, and he dearly loved a fight. None could match 
him for his prowess with a sword or lance, or mace or ax, and he could fell a 
horse with just one blow. I saw him do it once when a new horse nipped him on 
the shoulder as he led it. He turned around and smashed it with his fist so hard 
the animal went down to its knees. But he was terrified of spiders, and he was 
afraid of rats, and he had the most deathly, irrational fear of ducks—"

"Ducks?" said someone in the crowd with disbelief.' 'Why ducks?"

"We never knew," said Merlin with a frown. "But for the other knights, it was 
great sport to sneak up on Lance and start to quack, for he would leap and give 
a yell as if struck from behind with a hot poker. But it was dangerous sport, 
for if he caught the culprit, it was a busted head, for certain."

"You said he wasn't handsome, Professor," a young woman who was writing a piece 
for the Times said. "What did he look like?"

"Short and squat, with coarse, dark hair and dark eyes, the frame of a bull and 
the face of a wild boar. Terrible teeth."

"Well, if that was so, then what did Queen Guinevere see in him? Was it that she 
saw past his looks to his good heart?"

"I think that what she saw in him was located somewhat lower down."

This was received with great amusement all around.

"So then it's true, about their great love affair?"

"That part is true enough," said Merlin, "though it was not as poetic as it is 
frequently portrayed. They loved each other with a simple, pure and hearty, 
peasant sort of lust, and it was hardly the great secret commonly supposed. 
Everyone knew of it, for they were constantly exchanging torrid glances and 
could scarcely keep their hands off one another"

"And Arthur knew?"

"He later claimed he did, but knowing Arthur, I suspect perhaps he truly didn't 
know. At least, not until Modred threw it in his face in a way he could not 
possibly deny. I believe he didn't wish to know, and simply chose not to see 
what everyone around him saw quite clearly. He did, indeed, love Gwen, and he 
loved Lance like a brother, but love can be a very complicated thing. Arthur 
loved Gwen and she loved him. He loved Lance and Lance worshipped the very 
ground he walked on. But Gwen and Lance also loved each other, with a passion 
neither could deny. It was a passion, I think, that Arthur lacked. Not only 
toward Gwen, but toward anyone. His one consuming passion was a land united 
under one king, and there was scarcely room left in him for any other.

"Guinevere was a strong and lusty wench, not at all like the wistful and 
ethereal beauty of the legend. She was very young, and often lonely, and she had 
needs that Arthur apparently could not fulfill. Mind you, I could not tell you 
what went on in the privacy of their bedchamber, for I did not know and had no 
wish to know, but I believe that Arthur could only love a queen, while Lance 
could love a woman. Lance was a simple sort, and could only see and love her as 
she was, and as she wanted to be seen and loved. Arthur was a dreamer and a 
mystic. He saw her as an ideal, and treated her with a sort of worshipful 
reverence. To a woman, I suppose that may sound romantic, but I wonder if any 
woman can truly live with that from day to day and be content."

As he spoke, he seemed to go back to that time, and when he finished, he sat 
pensively, his meal momentarily forgotten as he stared off into the distance. 
The crowd gathered around him had fallen silent, and for a while, no one spoke. 
Then another question broke the spell.

"So then it really was their love that destroyed Camelot?"

Merlin shrugged. "Perhaps. There are many who seem to think so."

"What do you think, Professor?"

"What do I think? Oh, I do not think, I know. It was I who destroyed Camelot."

"You?" I said. "How? I mean, what did you have to do with it?"

"I had everything to do with it," Merlin replied. "It was I who taught Arthur 
and instilled in him the dream that he made into Camelot. And it was I who 
taught Arthur that honor and principle are everything, the only true ideals 
worth living for, and fighting for, and dying for. Those were and are important 
things, and in that I taught him well, but I forgot to teach him something 
equally important.

"I forgot to teach him that honor must be tempered by reason, and that principle 
must be administered with compassion. And there I failed him, for if Arthur had 
understood compassion, he would have felt it for his son, and loved him, instead 
of seeing him as a living reminder of his own human frailty. And if Arthur 
understood the reasoned principle, instead of the inflexible ideal, he would 
have pardoned Lance and Gwen, and been a better king for it. It was I who raised 
Arthur; and it was I who taught him and made him what he was. But I was a poor 
teacher, and I failed him."

He looked up and smiled wanly. "I shall endeavor to do better this time."

The powers that be were still uncertain what to make of Merlin, and so they kept 
their distance. However, they were very much aware of him and keenly interested 
in everything he did. We did, I should say, for they kept tabs on all of us. The 
government was only too happy to provide us with whatever assistance they could, 
despite the strain on their resources. An army unit was detailed to Loughborough 
as a security detachment and we were sent our own special liaison officer, a man 
named Bodkirk, whom Merlin immediately nicknamed "Bodkin," a jest most people 
missed completely, unless they had read their Shakespeare, for a bodkin was a 
dagger (as in Hamlet's famous speech) and with Bodkin around, joked Merlin, we 
all had to watch our backs. The jest turned out to be prophetic.

Stanley Bodkirk looked like a typical overworked bureaucrat, the sort of rumpled 
little man who would never stand out in a crowd. He was in his forties, lean and 
slight of stature, balding and nearsighted. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and had 
an anxious, nervous manner. He came with a staff of two young assistants, Jack 
Rosen and Linda Stern, who were promptly named Rosenkrantz and Guildenstem, and 
their duties seemed largely secretarial. In fact, they were both highly 
competent government agents and Stanley Bodkirk was a wolf in sheep's clothing. 
I never did find out exactly whom he worked for, but it's a safe bet that he was 
MIS. He was obviously sent to keep an eye on us, and he didn't miss a thing.

I don't think the government really regarded Merlin as a threat, but they 
certainly saw in him the potential of a threat. They simply would not accept 
that he was who he said he was, and that his magical powers were genuine. 
Genuinely magical, that is. The prevalent belief among them, at least in the 
beginning, was that he was merely an ordinary man—which is to say, not one who 
was two thousand years old—gifted with remarkable paranormal abilities. 
Telekinesis, which few people had seriously believed in prior to Merlin, became 
a catchall explanation for the things he was able to do. It did not quite cover 
what happened on the Billy Martens Show, of course, and I think that made them 
quite uncomfortable. Or perhaps they simply denied it really happened. 
Nevertheless, their degree of serious interest was certainly indicated by their 
actions.

I've often wondered what sort of discussions went on behind closed doors in 
London. I imagined some very serious and rather nervous people seated around a 
table, trying to account for Merlin in some logical, rational way, one that did 
not include the acceptance of the reality of magic. Doubtless, famous psychics 
of the past were mentioned, people capable of bending keys and whatnot, and 
scholars and writers were probably called in and questioned, as well as 
scientists who had not had any opportunity to examine Merlin's powers under 
laboratory conditions, though that did not prevent them from making conclusions 
about them. Perhaps they discussed the possibility that Merlin was an alien, 01; 
like the eccentric lady from Luton, a human who'd had contact with aliens from 
some other world. It must have been very exasperating for them.

I do know for a fact, however, that there were those among them who believed the 
truth, for some of them later confessed as much to me, only the truth was so 
outlandish that they hesitated to admit what they really thought. It frightened 
them. And the idea of what Merlin might do frightened them, as well. He had 
attracted an enormous number of people to Loughborough, more than enough to 
strain the town's already limited resources, and that in itself could easily 
have caused trouble. Not that we were free from trouble, by any means, as the 
attempt on Merlin's life had clearly demonstrated.

The identity of the man who'd shot Merlin and killed Chief Thorpe had been 
discovered with the aid of Merlin himself,, who performed a divination spell 
after he'd recovered. His name had been Clancy McDermott, and he had operated 
under a number of aliases, as well. He was known to Scotland Yard, and to the 
army. Merlin insisted that he had acted alone, and that the attempted 
assassination was not the result of any plot by the I.R. A. However; both the 
Army and New Scotland Yard were anxious to have Merlin use his powers to 
discover the identities and whereabouts of other members of the I.R.A., only 
Merlin had refused.

His refusal to cooperate had not gone down well. He insisted that he wanted to 
stay out of political matters. He was, he said, neither a soldier nor a 
policeman; he was a teacher. When they tried appealing to his moral character by 
saying that his cooperation would save lives, he wouldn't have any of it.

"I have no responsibility to make decisions concerning who is and who is not a 
criminal,'' he said.' 'That is a matter for the proper authorities. If a man 
commits a crime, then it is for the police to seek him out and bring him before 
your courts. I am not a policeman. I have far more important things to do. On 
one hand, the authorities question my abilities, and on the other, they seek to 
enlist them. You cannot have it both ways. If the government believes that 
thaumaturgy will be helpful to the police and to the military in the execution 
of their duties, then they have greater need of my teaching man my personal 
assistance in such matters."

The logic of this argument was difficult to fault, but people in authority don't 
take kindly to those who won't submit to it. Merlin was determined to avoid any 
political involvement. He'd made that mistake once before and he was not anxious 
to repeat it. However, his refusal was misunderstood in almost every way 
imaginable. He was arrogant; he was unpatriotic; he was contemptuous of the 
government; he was afraid of the I.R.A.'s wrath; he was secretly sympathetic to 
the I.R.A.; he felt his own concerns were more important than those of the 
British people, etc., etc.

Initially the darling of the media, he now became their target, though they were 
cautious snipers. The memory of Billy Martens was still fresh in their minds, 
and they all knew about the mysterious, magical editing of the Robin Winters 
interview. So, rather than make outright accusations, they merely confined 
themselves to posing sly rhetorical questions, meant for their audience to 
answer. What did Merlin really want? Was there any truth to the rumors about a 
hidden agenda? What really went on behind closed doors at his "exclusive 
retreat," and so forth. And when there was apparently no reaction from Merlin to 
these initial, range-finding shots, they became emboldened and started firing 
their first salvos.

It was generally thought that Merlin chose not to respond to these innuendos and 
allegations because he considered them unworthy of response. However, the fact 
is that he was not really aware of them. He had courted the media at first, 
because he needed what the media could provide, but once they had helped him 
start the ball rolling, he had no further use for them. All his energies had 
become directed toward the school.

We were inundated with applications, not only from all around the country, but 
from all over the world, and there was simply no way that we could accept more 
than a mere fraction of those applicants. Merlin had, indeed, reached "many 
people at one time,'' but as I had anticipated, he had vastly underestimated the 
power of the media. Things were threatening to get out of control.

It seemed, sometimes, as if I now saw my family less than when I had lived most 
of the time in London. I would snatch a quick breakfast and leave home early, 
usually before the girls were awake, and ride my bicycle to the school, where a 
daily madhouse of administrative activity awaited me. I would break for a midday 
meal around noon or so, lunching with my fellow staffers, and then back to work, 
often until ten or eleven at night. By the time I got home, the girls were both 
asleep and, I was so exhausted that it was all I could do to enjoy a cup of tea 
with Jenny before we both retired for the night.

In the beginning, when most of the work was done out of our home, Jenny had 
helped out. However; now that things were underway at the school, she needed to 
remain home to take care of the girls. Victor was a great help in that, but no 
dog, however unique, could take a mother's place. I was putting in more hours 
than I had when I'd been a policeman, and I was frequently more tired, though I 
did not resent it, nor did Jenny. There was the feeling that we were doing 
something vitally important, something that would help a lot of people and 
change the entire world. Everyone involved with the school, and even many 
members of the community who had no direct involvement whatsoever shared that 
feeling and it was a source of strength and energy and purpose. Something was 
happening in Loughborough, something very big, and we were all, in some way, a 
part of it.

Yet, at the same time, our sense of purpose and enthusiasm blinded us to all the 
signs of trouble that were cropping up around us. The town could no longer 
support all the people who were arriving daily, and there was simply no room for 
them all. At first, the town was glad to have them, for they filled up the 
boarding houses and apartments and gave a much-needed boost to the economy. Not 
that many of them came with very much money, but times were lean and every 
little bit helped. However, as more people kept arriving, drawn to Merlin like a 
magnet draws iron filings, a certain amount of apprehension began to set in.

The resources of the town, already severely limited, became depleted and many of 
the new arrivals were willing to work for next to nothing in order to support 
themselves, often merely for a roof over their heads or a little food to eat, 
which cut a lot of the locals out of their meager sources of income and barter. 
Predictably, this brought about resentment against the new arrivals, 
particularly those who came with nothing and pitched tents or constructed 
ramshackle shelters wherever they could find free space. The crime rate began to 
rise alarmingly, and with only a handful of full-time, paid police officers and 
a few dozen volunteers, our local authorities were simply unequipped to deal 
with it.

It was a great help when the army arrived, but in time, even they became 
overburdened. Something had to be done. The demands for solutions fell on the 
narrow shoulders of Stanley Bodkirk, as the de facto government representative 
on the scene, and while Bodkirk freed us from the burden of having to worry 
about these things, his failure to keep us properly informed and our own 
ever-increasing involvement at the school kept us from realizing the full extent 
of these problems, until one day we woke up to find that we were totally 
besieged and that Bodkirk had assumed complete control.

By this time, Merlin had started teaching. The classes were full to capacity, so 
much so that it became necessary for us to break down some walls in order to 
create more space and begin construction on additional, separate dormitory 
buildings on the site of the school's old playground and athletic field. While 
the rest of us were still wrestling with the overwhelming organizational and 
management problems of "the College," as we had started to refer to it, Merlin 
was in the process of trying to hammer out a curriculum by trial and error.

We saw very little of him during this period, and a great many people thought he 
was becoming distant. The truth was that Merlin was working literally around the 
clock, cloistered in his chambers, often going for days without any sleep at 
all, performing the most important task of his life, which would also become his 
most significant contribution to society. He was in the process of structuring 
and defining his teaching method, which was to usher in what is now called the 
Second Thaumaturgic Age—the time in which magic would return.

Few people saw him during the times he wasn't teaching, when he retired behind 
the closed doors of his private sanctum, in the east wing of the old school 
building.

In later years, when he went to America and taught in Cambridge, much was made 
of his "wizardry lifestyle" and the outlandish choice of decor in both his 
offices and his mansion on Beacon Hill. Writers loved to describe the antique 
furnishings and the thousands of ancient, leatherbound books, the deep Oriental 
carpets with their cabalistic motifs and the fantastic paintings, the "occult 
paraphernalia" coupled with bizarre, kitsch decorations such as his famous 
cigar-store Indian and stuffed owl, the dark and fantasylike ambience that 
brought to mind a sorcerer's lab- from some fairy tale. However, all that came 
about in part from Merlin's own idosyncratic sense of humor and partly from his 
playful sense of self-indulgence, which he was able to enjoy once he had laid 
the groundwork for the revolution that was only just beginning in the 
Loughborough days.

Most of the so-called "occult paraphernalia'' in evidence at both his office and 
his home consisted of gifts sent by admirers, most of them people who'd had no 
direct contact with him whatsoever save for perhaps attending a lecture or 
having read one of his books or seen him on a television program. The latter 
occurred with less frequency as time went on, because Merlin quickly grew 
disenchanted with the medium and its inability—or unwillingness—to cater to 
anything but the lowest common denominator and the shortest attention span. 
Eventually, he ceased to appear on television altogether but he continued to 
produce books, all of which became huge international bestsellers and made him a 
rich man, though most of the money was donated to his educational foundation. 
These books gained him a new audience among the younger generation, who were 
growing up with the reality of magic, and he received an endless stream of gifts 
such as glass unicorns and bronze dragons, jeweled daggers and fantasy 
paintings, sculptures of himself and various mythological creatures, silver and 
gold goblets in fantasy motifs, rings and amulets, necklaces and charms, tarot 
decks and ceramic figurines and on and on and on.

Rather than being driven to distraction by this cornucopia of whimsical and 
fantastical bric-a-brac, Merlin cherished these gifts as the honest outpourings 
of affection that they were and the Beacon Hill mansion he eventually settled 
into was purchased primarily because it had the necessary space to house this 
peculiar collection.

In the early days at Loughborough, however, Merlin lived in a Spartan manner, in 
a small suite of rooms converted into an office and living quarters on the top 
floor of the College. He had one tiny office, with an outer office for his 
secretary, an amazingly competent and industrious former school teacher named 
Rebecca Wainwright, who at sixty possessed more energy than most people a thud 
her age, and one small study and a bed-sitting room. The quarters were austere 
and plain, with nothing in them to reveal the personality of their occupant. He 
was there to work, and wanted no distractions.

His meals were brought in to him, and though he still ate prodigiously, he had 
cut down somewhat on the sheer quantity of food he consumed, and strange 
preferences began to emerge. One week, he ate nothing but hamburgers, then he 
abruptly switched to brown rice mixed with vegetables and sprinkled with soy 
sauce, then for a period of about two weeks, he ate nothing but deviled eggs and 
toast. The kitchen staff was at a loss to account for these peculiarities, and 
as the person who knew him best, I was pestered to find out the truth behind 
this bizarre diet. Did it have to do with magic? Was it part of some arcane 
ritual? Was it a special method of recharging his energies, or was it some sort 
of meditative process for the digestive system or what?

The answer was none of the above. Merlin simply was not in a frame of mind for 
giving much thought to what he ate. Usually, whenever he was asked what he 
wanted, he absently replied, "The same thing I had last time will be fine." He 
changed his preferences whenever he realized that the same dish was beginning to 
grow monotonous, and he was so preoccupied that this could take anywhere from a 
week to three weeks or so. However; he remained remarkably consistent about at 
least one thing. Somehow, he discovered peanut butter and banana sandwiches. He 
became hooked instantly, pronounced it a great energy food, and it became a 
staple in his diet. However not even Merlin's immense magical demands on his 
body could burn up all those calories and he started gaining weight, so that 
before long he looked less like a wizard than like Father Christmas.

Once things got rolling, his typical day never varied. He would arise, assuming 
he had slept at all the night before, at five A.M. , eat a "small'' breakfast 
about the size of an average person's dinner then begin interviewing prospective 
students at six. In the beginning, before classes formally started, this would 
take the entire day, but once he started teaching, prospective students had to 
make appointments to be interviewed between the hours of six and nine, and there 
was soon a very long waiting list. Promptly at nine-thirty, Merlin would begin 
teaching his first class. This process gradually underwent some change, as well.

At first, there was only one class, a sort of lecture hall-cum-laboratory 
session, which would last most of the day, with breaks for meals, and students 
would be added to it as they were accepted to the program. However, this soon 
proved to be unworkable. Students added to the class wound up behind those who 
had started earlier, and the class simply became too large and unwieldy After 
about several weeks of this approach proved it to be unfeasible, the class was 
broken up among more traditional lines, as in universities, with shorter 
beginning, intermediate, and advanced sessions taking place throughout the day. 
(The terms "intermediate" and "advanced" are actually somewhat misleading in 
this case, for in no way could the intermediate and advanced classes of those 
beginning days compare with those of today, which demand a significantly greater 
level of accomplishment and knowledge on the part of the students.)

Merlin was a natural teacher, as I observed from attending some of his classes, 
though I was never to become an adept myself. Merlin's promise to me that we 
would each learn from the other was certainly fulfilled, but not in the way I 
had expected. I did learn a great deal from him, and he from me, but I never did 
learn much more than merely the rudimentary theories of magic. For one thing, 
almost all my time was spent performing my administrative duties, which were 
considerable, and helping to insulate Merlin from any concerns other than his 
teaching. For another, it turned out that I had no real aptitude for 
thaumaturgy. I made the discovery, or rather, it was revealed to me one night 
when Merlin and I were spending a quiet evening in his study, discussing matters 
pertaining to the College. At one point, I ruefully expressed my frustration 
over the fact that I was so busy with the administrative end of things that I 
had no time to attend the classes myself. All I'd been able to do was sit in on 
a few beginning classes, which were mostly theory and indoctrination. When, I 
asked, was my turn going to come?

"Thomas," Merlin said to me, in a warm and sympathetic tone, "I fear your turn 
may never come."

I blinked with surprise at the unexpectedness of this reply, then asked him why.

"Have you ever wondered how I decide who will be admitted to study at the 
College and who will not?" he asked.

"Well... no, as a matter of fact," I said, a bit surprised to find that I 
actually hadn't wondered about it. I had been extremely busy with my own work 
and if I'd thought about it at all, I must have assumed that Merlin had his own 
methods of selecting his students out of the vast numbers of applicants who came 
to seek admission.

"When they come to see me for their interviews," said Merlin, puffing on his 
ever-present pipe, "I spend some time talking with them, asking them questions 
about why they wish to study thaumaturgy and what they think they can 
contribute, asking some questions about who they are and where they come from, 
referring to their applications and generally making idle conversation designed 
to draw them out and leave them with the impression that their application was 
being given serious consideration. In fact, in most circumstances, I can tell 
within seconds whether or not they are suitable candidates for the program, 
before a single word is even spoken."

"How?" I asked, fascinated.

"By the strength of their aura," Merlin replied. "Those with strong, latent 
thaumaturgical potential have a significantly brighter aura than most people, 
and those whose potential has already been manifested in some manner, psychic 
experiences, for example, possess auras that are stronger still. It's something 
a trained adept can easily discern. If I encounter such an applicant, then the 
interview begins in earnest, but unless the presence of that aura indicates 
otherwise, I merely go through the motions, so that at least the applicant is 
not left with the impression of being summarily dismissed. People can live with 
having their hopes disappointed, but there is no reason to dash them to the 
ground."

"As you are dashing mine right now," I said, rather petulantly, for I felt 
keenly disappointed.

"Thomas," he said, leaning forward in his chair to put his hand on my knee, "you 
are my dearest and most trusted friend. And I would never lie to you, not even 
to spare your feelings, for such lies are often the crudest of all. I have often 
said, in public, that everyone possesses thaumaturgical potential, at least to 
some degree. Unfortunately, that is not the truth."

"You lied?" I said. So high was the esteem in which I held him that it never 
occurred to me he might, for any reason, be duplicitous. I was frankly shocked.

"Yes, Thomas. I lied. The truth is that many people possess some degree of 
thaumaturgical potential, but by no means all or even most people. And of those 
who do possess potential, only a small percentage possess enough potential to 
become adepts. The others might be capable of learning a few relatively simple 
spells, but no more than that. For the present, I must select only the most 
naturally gifted of those who seek to study with me, because I must train them 
not only as adepts, but as teachers who can go out and spread the knowledge. And 
you, regrettably, have no thaumaturgical potential to speak of. Your daughters, 
on the other hand, do possess potential, which I suspect they inherited from 
Jenny."

"It's hereditary?" I asked with surprise.

"Oh, yes," said Merlin, nodding. "Someone on Jenny's side of the family 
evidently possessed what you call 'paranormal abilities.' That is usually a good 
indicator of thaumaturgical potential."

"Then... shouldn't Jenny be studying with you?" I asked.

"Perhaps," said Merlin, "but I would not deprive your daughters of their mother 
at so young an age, and I could not spare you here for the sake of Jenny 
enrolling in the College. You are much too valuable to me."

"Well, I'm glad of that, at least. But I still don't understand why you felt you 
had to lie about it."

"Don't you?" he replied. "It was necessary in order to generate interest, and 
attract as many applicants as possible. Also, to give people hope. As it is, of 
all the Students we've enrolled, only a handful possess any truly significant 
potential. As for the others, I fear they will be limited in what they will be 
able to accomplish, but we need them just the same, to help the momentum of our 
plan develop."

What he meant by referring to "our plan," of course, was merely what we had 
discussed from the beginning, the bringing back of magic to the world. Since I 
knew that, and obviously, so did Merlin, there was no need to elaborate. 
However; what we didn't know was that someone else was listening in on our 
conversation, and the innocent reference to "our plan" sounded like something 
entirely different, taken out of context. It must have sounded positively 
clandestine to Stanley Bodkirk, who had placed bugs not only in Merlin's private 
quarters at the College, but in all the offices, and in the homes of everybody 
in our group, as well. 


CHAPTER  9 


The trouble began long before we became aware of it, and it I came on several 
fronts. First, there was the media, which had initially regarded Merlin as a 
fascinating novelty, then as a serious news story, and finally as an object of 
unflattering speculation. To be sure, some of this was no more than natural 
progression, natural for the news media, at any rate. In order to keep the story 
alive and the public interested, they had to keep finding new angles of 
perspective, so they followed the formula approach, which was to build him up 
only so they could proceed to tear him down.

If that sounds cynical, then so be it, for a certain amount of cynicism is 
certainly justified when it concerns the press. However; to say they were 
motivated solely by sensationalism would be painting them with far too broad a 
brush. There were many people who genuinely feared Merlin in those days, and 
among them were influential members of the media. In the space of only a few 
months, Merlin had become, in many ways, a cult figure, and as such, there were 
those who regarded him with great suspicion. Merlin certainly did not help 
matters by magically altering the tape of his interview with Robin Winters.

I've always felt that was a bad mistake, and though Merlin had denied it, I felt 
his motives for doing it were purely vindictive. Winters had gotten cheeky with 
him, and Merlin wanted to pay him back. It was, perhaps, rather immature of him, 
but he did have that quality about him. Though he was a patient man, he was 
always quick to respond to any personal affront, and he often did so in a manner 
designed to embarrass or humiliate the offender Robin Winters had been neither 
embarrassed nor humiliated. He was much too professional for that. However he 
did not forget it. Merlin could have confronted the whole issue of necromancy 
head-on and defused it from the start, but by altering the videotape, he 
succeeded only in arousing the enmity and mistrust of one of the most powerful 
and influential men in broadcasting. Right up to the day he died, Winters 
continued to believe that Merlin was hiding his true colors.

Once things got rolling, Merlin confined his efforts to teaching at the College, 
and turned down all requests for interviews and appearances on television. He 
had given many such interviews in the beginning, and he had developed a rather 
jaundiced view of the media. Once he started teaching, he delegated the task of 
dealing with all such requests to me. Unfortunately, I served him very poorly in 
that capacity. Instead of handling such matters myself, I, in turn, delegated 
the task to Stanley Bodkirk, at his own request.

At the time, I did not suspect his true purpose, and it would never have entered 
my mind that he might have planted bugs and even several small, discreet 
surveillance cameras in the College. The concept was entirely unfamiliar to 
Merlin, of course, and while he might have been able to detect them, it never 
occurred to him to look. Consequently, we regarded our friend, "Bodkin," as 
nothing more than what he seemed—a government bureaucrat assigned as our liaison 
and supply officer. I can still recall the day I made that unfortunate decision, 
and I blame myself for what resulted from it.

Bodkirk maintained an office in a large trailer situated near the entrance to 
the College, and he also ate and slept there most of the time, except during his 
frequent trips to London. Those trips, I had always assumed, were to iron out 
some minor bureaucratic difficulty that may have arisen, or to see his family. 
He kept a framed photograph of them displayed prominently on his desk, and it 
depicted a rather plain-looking, dowdy woman with a small, chubby lad of about 
ten and a rather unattractive young girl of thirteen. However, this turned out 
to be a fiction he maintained as part of his covet Bodkirk was unmarried, and he 
never had a family. Those trips he made to London were made for only one 
purpose, to brief his superiors on our activities.

I walked up the steps of the trailer and knocked on the metal frame door From 
within, a voice asked me to come in. I entered into the outer office, where 
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were housed. The trailer was a mobile home which 
had been modified for its intended purpose. What had been the living room had 
been turned into the outer office, with desks and phones and filing cabinets. 
The kitchen had been left essentially untouched, but the hallway leading from it 
gave access to a bathroom and a bedroom that had been turned into Bodkirk's 
private office, and the bedroom in the back was where he slept. There was 
another trailer set close by, outside the grounds near the prefabricated 
buildings that functioned as barracks for the army detachment, where Rosencrantz 
and Guildenstern were housed.

Linda Stern glanced up from her paperwork as I came in and smiled a mirthless 
smile. If this young woman possessed a personality, I remember thinking, I had 
yet to discover it.

"Good morning, Linda," I said. "Stanley wanted to see me?"

"He's in his office," she said flatly. "Would you care for some tea?"

"No, thanks, don't trouble yourself. I'll just go straight in.''

I went through the kitchen and into Bodkirk's office. The door was open, but I 
knocked politely, just the same.

"Ah, Malory, come in," said Bodkirk, putting down the telephone. He sat behind 
his desk, which had two telephones on it, a computer, stacked trays for papers, 
notepads, pens, and a small pile of manila file folders. Everything was arranged 
very neatly, with anal retentive compulsiveness. There was also a television set 
placed on a shelf. Unknown to me, this television, which was often switched on 
to some news program or chat show when I came to see him, was also a monitor for 
the surveillance cameras he had placed inside the College. And there were 
additional monitors, as well as a listening post, in the other trailer

"You wanted to see me, Stan?" I said.

"Sit down, Malory."

I'd started off calling him Mr. Bodkirk, men it had gradually progressed to 
Stanley, and finally to Stan, but no amount of attempted familiarity on my part 
would succeed in getting him to call me anything but "Malory." He never seemed 
to relax in my presence. Perhaps, he did not know how. I took a chair across the 
desk from him.

"I wanted to discuss a few matters with you," he said, taking off his glasses 
and wiping them with his handkerchief. I'd learned from experience that this 
meant he was going to ask for something he wasn't sure I would grant.

"Go right ahead."

"It's about this press thing," he said. "As you know, there's been a tremendous 
amount of curiosity about what's happening here, and Merlin's teaching methods 
and all that sort of thing."

"I know," I said. "I get calls about it all the time. It's maddening."

"Yes, well, we're constantly having to turn reporters from the gates, and they 
act surly and resentful when we're forced to do that." Bodkirk always used the 
word "we" when he actually meant himself. It wasn't a conceit, merely a little 
conversational trick meant to include the listener, to convey the impression 
that we were all on the same team, all in this together. "I frankly don't think 
that's helping us very much in terms of favorable publicity."

"What would you suggest?"

"Well, I know Merlin's far too busy to trouble with this sort of thing, and Lord 
knows, you're overworked yourself. Aside from that, public relations is not 
really your strong suit. It takes a certain kind of personality, if you know 
what I mean. Someone who's personable and glib, but at the same time someone 
who's something of a shark, always anticipating what the press might do, and 
able to always land on his feet and so on."

"Yes, I know," I said. "You don't really have to tell me I don't possess the 
right temperament for the job, Stan. I know that. My experience is in the 
military and in law enforcement. I have certain organizational skills, but I'm 
not really a publicity man."

"Quite," said Bodkirk, with a tight, humorless smile. "Neither, for that matter, 
am I. What I wanted to suggest was that we find someone who is, someone who'd be 
capable of handling that sort of thing for us. You know, deal with the press on 
a daily basis, coddle them along, provide releases, perhaps conduct an 
occasional tour when they wouldn't be disturbing anything, generally smooth 
things over, if you get my drift."

"What about Allan Stewart?"

"I'd thought of him,'' said Bodkirk, "but with all due respect to Stewart, he's 
not really our man. He's sharp enough, and quite presentable and articulate, but 
he's not really a flack, if you know what I mean. Besides, he's got enough work 
of his own as it is. I was thinking we could bring somebody in, someone who'd 
have no other responsibilities and could deal with the press more or less on a 
full-time basis." 

"That might be ideal," I said, "but you realize we don't have the budget to pay 
someone like that. We're understaffed as it is, and as you know better than 
anyone, we're very dependent on government support right now. You think they'd 
spring for something like this?"

Bodkirk pursed his lips. "I've been thinking about it, and I think I can get 
them to go for it, on the theory it would help free me and my staff from the 
task, and keep down the criticism that we're .all being very clandestine here. 
We could get someone who'd provide regular press releases, which we could write 
and he would punch up, as necessary, and conduct regular press briefings and all 
that sort of thing. You and I have to meet regularly, anyway, discuss 
requisitions and logistical problems and so forth. We could simply have you 
provide me with regular statements for the press, in sketchy outline form, at 
least, and then I could work things out with our press liaison, sort of guide 
him along, and pass on any pertinent questions to you during our regular 
meetings. It would save time, I think, and help us put a better face on things. 
It would also allow us to get on with our work without constant distractions. 
That is, of course, if you approve?"

"I think it's an excellent idea, Stan,'' I said, eager to see the burden lifted 
from my shoulders. "Frankly, I'd just as soon have someone else deal with the 
whole thing. It's been a terrible nuisance."

Bodkirk nodded. "Yes, I know what you mean. I'm sick to death of it, myself. 
We'll get someone who's more experienced at dealing with the press to handle it 
for us. I'll get on it right away."

After discussing a few more inconsequential matters, I left, thinking he was 
doing me a great favor, when in fact, what he'd done was take control of 
everything the press would hear about Merlin and the College. At the same time, 
he put himself in a position to decide which questions we would hear and reply 
to. Little by little, through Merlin's being too busy and my being too naive, 
Bodkirk was insinuating himself into a position of greater control over us.

Nor was that the only problem facing us.

Merlin had incurred the antagonism of organized religion. And thanks to Stanley 
Bodkirk, we did not find out just how far things had gone until it was too late 
to do anything about it. We were not completely cut off from the outside world, 
of course. We had access to the newspapers and to radio and television, though 
the power blackouts were getting more and more frequent, and lasting longer as 
the nation, and the world, continued its inevitable slide. There were times now 
when the power would be out for days on end, and such things as batteries and 
even candles were growing more and more expensive. Radio broadcasting truly came 
into its own during this period, because the television industry was practically 
on its last legs.

The newspapers were coming out with far less frequency now, due to the shortage 
of paper and the constant power outages. The avalanche of the Collapse was 
gaining more momentum every day. There were now only two newspapers still in 
operation, the Times and the Mirror, which had dropped the word "Daily" from its 
banner because, at best, they were able to produce only one edition each week. 
The Times suffered the same problems. Circulation had fallen off drastically. In 
order to stay in operation, they had to keep raising the price, and each time 
they raised the price, sales suffered. They were driving themselves out of 
business, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Everywhere, things kept getting worse. The trains to London hardly ran at all 
and with the reserve supplies of petrol almost totally depleted, bicycles and 
horses were now the chief modes of transportation. The government had first 
claim on any horses, for use by the police and military, and essential personnel 
were driven round in carriages. It was as if we were returning to the Victorian 
times of Sherlock Holmes. Unfortunately, there weren't enough horses to go 
around, so an emergency measure had been passed in Parliament, allowing the 
police and military to impound horses, which caused a great deal of resentment 
in the outlying areas, where people lost not only their sole means of 
transportation, but often their livelihood, as well.

Food deliveries to the cities were becoming scarce, and there were drastic 
shortages of every available commodity. Street riots had increased, and soldiers 
and police were often attacked. There were frequent fires, so many that the fire 
department couldn't keep up with them all, and entire city blocks burned to the 
ground.

As things grew increasingly more desperate, people sought an outlet for their 
anger and frustration. Some took it out on the police, some took it out on 
soldiers, some on members of the government. Three members of parliament were 
assassinated in one month, despite increased security precautions. And before 
long, people found another target for their rage.

Unknown to us, because Bodkirk hadn't said anything about it, a delegation of 
clergy had come to the College asking to see Merlin. I never did find out 
exactly what they wanted, but Bodkirk took it upon himself to refuse them 
admittance. The first I learned of it was when I heard about it on the radio. It 
coincided with the Pope's announcement that practicing sorcery, or thaumaturgy, 
was a sin, and that any Catholic who was found to engage in such practice would 
be excommunicated.

I was stunned when I heard the news. My first reaction was one of shock, and 
then anger. How could the Pope, residing in Rome, take a position on the issue 
when he hadn't even met Merlin, or communicated with him in any way? Then, as a 
follow-up to the story, the newscaster announced that Merlin had refused to meet 
with an interdenominational delegation of clergy, snubbing them at the gates of 
the college by not allowing them to enter Reactions from the man in the street, 
as well as from religious leaders and members of the government, were quite 
predictable. I immediately rushed over to the College to confront Bodkirk.

"Why wasn't I told of this?" I shouted at him. He'd answered the door in his 
pajamas. It was late and I had roused him from bed. I pushed in past him and 
turned on him furiously. "I just heard on the radio about the Pope's position 
concerning thaumaturgy. That's bad enough, but by taking it upon yourself to 
turn away a delegation of the clergy, you only made it worse! What in God's name 
were you thinking of? Why wasn't I told that they were here? What the hell gives 
you the right to make those kind of decisions for us?"

"Are you finished?" he asked calmly.

"I'm waiting for an explanation!"

"Frankly, I don't owe you any," he replied, "but I'll give you one just the 
same, because this entire charade has gone on long enough."

"What charade? What are you talking about?"

"The reason I don't have to account to you for any of my actions is because I'm 
in charge here."

"You're what!"

"My job here was to keep an eye on Merlin, and the rest of you, contain the 
situation as much as possible, and report back to my superiors. I was to make 
every effort to minimize any contact between Merlin and the media, or any other 
outsiders, and observe everything that went on here and make regular reports 
concerning his activities and, in particular, the effectiveness of his 
teaching."

"Good God," I said. "You're a bloody spy!"

"I prefer the term 'intelligence operative,' but have it as you wish. In any 
case, you have little to complain about. There are people starving out there, 
while you've lacked for nothing. Your family has been well taken care of, and 
you have a comfortable roof over your head, and more than enough to eat.

Moreover, there is no reason why any of that should change, so long as you 
remain cooperative."

All the wind had gone out of my sails. I was too shocked to speak. And then it 
sunk in that he was actually threatening me.

"What are you saying?"

"I should think it's simple enough," he replied. "The government is very 
interested in Merlin. They are taking him very seriously, indeed, and to a large 
degree, you have me to thank for that. I was able to convince them that he is, 
indeed, the real thing, though I had my doubts at first. They want to know how 
he is able to do the things he does, and if, indeed, it is a skill that may be 
learned. And apparently it is, though I never would have believed it if I hadn't 
seen it for myself. I've been watching those classes of his with great interest, 
and the tapes of those sessions have caused a sensation back in London."

"Tapes?" I said. "What tapes?" And then it hit me. "My God. You've got the place 
wired for surveillance!" 

"Of course I have," he said. "That's my job, isn't it? I've known everything 
that's gone on in the College from day one, even before I arrived. We had people 
in the work force that renovated the building. It was a simple matter to install 
some small surveillance cameras and bugs without anyone being the wiser."

"You son of a bitch," I said.

He raised his eyebrows and gave me a curious look. "I'm a bit surprised at your 
attitude, Malory," he said. "Put yourself in my shoes and ask yourself if you 
wouldn't have done exactly the same thing. Bloody hell, man, you were a police 
officer, and a soldier before that. I should think you'd understand. We're 
living in a state of anarchy and things have gone from bad to worse, so much so 
that the government's decided to declare martial law, something they've resisted 
doing all this time, but now they simply have no other choice. What Merlin knows 
is of vital importance to national security, and as such, it's not the sort of 
knowledge that one man may be allowed to control all by himself. In a way, it's 
like allowing a private individual access to an atomic bomb. Thaumaturgy is much 
too important, and much too potentially dangerous for one man to control."

"I see," I said. "So the government's stepping in to take over, is that it?"

"That's the way it has to be, Malory. There's no alternative. Surely you can see 
that."

"Yes, I believe I can see the whole thing now," I said. "Why bother going to all 
the trouble of setting up some kind of top-security installation to house Merlin 
when we've already done it for you? All you had to do was infiltrate some agents 
into the work force so they could plant their cameras and bugs and then move in 
some troops to secure the area. Very neat. Very neat, indeed. Now all you have 
to do is drop the pretense and move in, so you can get rid of the rest of us and 
bring in your own people."

"It doesn't necessarily have to be that way," he said, "so long as you're 
willing to cooperate. You're Merlin's friend, and you have his trust. He listens 
to you. You've checked out; you're a capable man, and we can use you. There's no 
reason for anything to change, so far as you're concerned. All you have to do is 
work with me. You'll not only be doing your country a great service, but you'll 
be able to take good care of your family, as well. The nation that controls 
thaumaturgy will control the world, Malory, and anyone involved in this project 
is going to do very well for himself, indeed. Never mind what the Pope says, 
he's long since ceased to have any significant influence. Never mind what 
anybody says. What we've got here, right under our noses, is the most important 
discovery since atomic energy. And we are the ones sitting in the catbird seat, 
Malory You and I."

"It sounds as if you've got everything worked out," I said. "You've neglected 
only one thing. Merlin, himself. He may have some very different ideas about how 
thaumaturgy should be controlled."

"Then you'll explain it to him," Bodkirk said. He opened a cupboard in the 
kitchen and took out two glasses, then poured us each some Scotch whiskey. "As I 
said, he trusts you. All you have to do is make him see reason."

He handed me a glass and I took a sip. "Single malt," I said appreciatively. 
"Very nice. You're not exactly suffering, either, I see."

"Nothing but the best," said Bodkirk, smiling a genuine smile for the first time 
since I'd known him. I found I much preferred his mirthless little grimace, 
instead. "There's no need to worry about Merlin. He'll be well taken care of. 
He's an important asset, Malory, a vital asset. His every need, his slightest 
whim, will all be seen to. It's not as if he's going to be held prisoner, you 
know.''

"No, just confined here at the school, under constant surveillance, with the 
army protecting the gates and the perimeter, and the government dictating his 
every move. Somehow, I don't think he's going to go for that.''

"Then it will be up to you to convince him that it's all for his own good," said 
Bodkirk. "Look, I can understand your feeling a certain amount of resentment 
right now. You feel that you've been dealt with in an underhanded manner. Well, 
all right, perhaps you have, but look at the wider picture. National security is 
at stake. Merlin's knowledge and his ability to teach it is absolutely vital to 
the future of this country. We can't afford to have anything happen to him. 
There's been one attempt on his life already, and what's being done is being 
done primarily for his own protection. No one is going to interfere with him in 
any way, nor prevent him from teaching thaumaturgy. In fact, that's precisely 
what we want him to do, only we're going to make certain he'll be teaching the 
right people."

"The right people? What do you mean?"

"Now that he's demonstrated that thaumaturgy can, in fact, be taught 
successfully, we want to make certain he's not teaching the wrong people, that's 
all. All applicants are going to be carefully screened and investigated, and 
once they've passed that preliminary process, they will be admitted, pending 
Merlin's approval of their qualifications, of course. And the same goes for the 
students currently in the program. After all, we want to make sure that the 
knowledge of thaumaturgy doesn't go falling into the wrong hands, don't we?"

"And by 'wrong hands,' you mean anyone who's not deemed a loyal British subject, 
I presume."

"Well, yes, of course. With knowledge of this sort comes great responsibility. 
And after all, we don't want to go giving it all away, do we?"

"There's only one problem with that," I said. "It isn't yours to give or keep."

Bodkirk's eyes narrowed. "Look here, old chap, the government's gone to 
considerable expense, at a time when we can ill afford it, to support your 
little endeavor here. Is it unreasonable for us to expect a return on our 
investment?"

"You're not talking about a return on your investment," I replied. "You're 
talking about exclusive control. Merlin would never agree to that and, what's 
more, I'm not going to try to convince him. You want thaumaturgy to be 
completely under government control. That was never our plan."

"Ah, yes, the plan," said Bodkirk significantly. "Just what, exactly, is this 
so-called plan?"

"To give magic back to the world," I said. "Make the knowledge available to 
everyone, not just one nation."

"I'm not talking about the rhetoric you feed the media," Bodkirk said wryly.' 
'I'm talking about the hidden agenda, the secret plan you two have been 
discussing in private."

I stared at him. "Hidden agenda? What do you mean? I have no idea what you're 
talking about."

"Come on, Malory, I've got you and Merlin on tape talking about it. There's no 
point in playing the innocent with me. I know better."

"You're crazy," I said. "The only plan we've ever had in mind was this one, 
starting a school to train adepts. I don't know what sort of paranoid fantasy 
you've developed, but there is no 'secret plan.' If you've had us under 
surveillance all this time, you should certainly be aware of that."

Bodkirk gave me a hard stare and pursed his lips. "So then you're not going to 
cooperate?"

"I can't tell you about a hidden agenda that doesn't exist!'' I said. "I don't 
know what you've got on tape, but whatever it is, you've clearly misinterpreted 
it. As for my cooperation, I'm not going to cooperate with any effort to limit 
Merlin's freedom, or place him under government control. This is not a 
totalitarian state, Bodkirk. And if you try to dictate terms to Merlin, I think 
you'll find you've bitten off a great deal more than you can chew."

"I would sincerely advise you to think this over, Malory," he said. "You have a 
family to consider."

"Are you threatening me, Bodkirk?"

"I'm merely telling you that we need Merlin," he replied. "We do not necessarily 
need you."

I met his gaze and he didn't flinch. "I think we understand each other 
perfectly," I said. I got up. "Thanks for the drink."

"Malory... I'd think about this if I were you. Sleep on it. Talk it over with 
your wife. Your decision affects her future as much as yours."

"You really are a bastard, aren't you, Stanley?" I said.

"I'm a realist, Malory."

"You're a fool if you think you can get away with this. Merlin won't stand for 
it."

"He'll have no choice."

I laughed. "Are you serious? Do you really think you can compel Merlin to do 
anything he doesn't wish to do? Do you honestly believe you can fight magic, 
Stanley?"

"I'm not interested in fighting anything," he said. "You've got the wrong idea. 
I want to see Merlin succeed as much as you do. I want to see him protected, and 
I want to see his knowledge protected, as well. Imagine what magic in the wrong 
hands could do. We can't afford to have egalitarian notions about this sort of 
thing, Malory. There's simply too much at stake. If Merlin's too naive to 
understand that, he'll have to be made to understand it, and I was hoping I 
could count on you for that."

"Well, you can count me out."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Not half as sorry as you'll be when Merlin finds out what you're up to."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?"

"You're liable to find the bridge burning beneath you," I said.

I left the trailer and stood outside in the darkness for a moment, seething with 
anger, then I started up the drive toward the main College building. Merlin, as 
usual, was burning the midnight oil. I could see the light on in his room. I 
half expected to be stopped before I reached the building, but I wasn't. Bodkirk 
had to know that I'd go directly to Merlin and report our conversation. 
Apparently, he didn't care. I wasn't certain what to make of that. It worried 
me.

I went inside the building and climbed the stairs to the top floor. Merlin was 
in his study, seated at his desk, when I came in. He looked up, started to 
smile, then saw the expression on my face.

"What is it, Thomas?"

"I've just had a talk with Bodkirk. We've got trouble." I started searching the 
room.

"What sort of trouble? What are you looking for?"

"A bug," I said.

He frowned. "A bug!"

"A listening device," I said. "Bodkirk's bugged this place. He's planted hidden 
cameras and microphones throughout the building. He can hear every word we're 
saying."

"Indeed?" said Merlin, scowling.

I wasn't getting anywhere. I had no idea how many bugs he may have planted, but 
wherever he'd stuck them, they were carefully hidden. Perhaps they were in the 
walls.

"The hell with it," I said. "Let him listen. I don't care. He knows what I'm 
going to tell you, anyway."

"And what is that?"

"The government's taking over Bodkirk's no bureaucrat, he's an intelligence 
agent, sent by the government to spy on us. The reason they've been so helpful 
is that it's given them a chance to observe you and find out if magic really can 
be taught. Now that they're convinced, they're going to take over the operation 
of the school, 'for your protection,' and they're going to make all the 
decisions about whom you're going to teach and how. Whoever controls thaumaturgy 
is going to control the world, as Bodkirk put it, and the government wants to 
make certain magic doesn't go falling into the wrong hands; Anyone's hands but 
theirs, in other words."

"I see," said Merlin. "Sit down, Thomas, please, and stop your pacing about. 
Would you like a cup of tea?"

"A cup of tea?" I said with astonishment. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"I heard every word," said Merlin. "As, I imagine, did our friend Bodkin. 
Listening devices. How very interesting. And cameras as well, you say?"

"That's what he said. All the tapes were forwarded to London. To MI5, I should 
imagine, which is the Security Service."

"It appears that they've gone to a great deal of trouble needlessly," said 
Merlin. "If they had wanted to know what I was doing here, all they had to do 
was ask. I would have been pleased to invite them here to observe my classes, if 
they'd wished."

"You don't understand," I said. "They intend to keep you here, and find out 
everything you know. They've been investigating all the students, and everyone 
they don't consider to be a loyal British subject will be sent packing. Maybe 
all of them, for all I know, now that they've served their purpose. They want 
you to teach only people they approve of, people they can control. We haven't 
built a school here, we've played right into their hands and built a prison for 
you. That's the real reason the army is here, to turn this place into a 
top-security installation. They've already taken charge. I just found out a 
delegation of clergy came to see you, and Bodkirk turned them away You know how 
I found out? I heard it on the radio. It's being reported that you snubbed them, 
probably as a reaction to the Pope's statement."

"The Pope?" said Merlin.

I told him the position that the Roman Catholic church had officially taken 
regarding sorcery, and told him that he could now expect to be denounced from 
every pulpit, which in fact, had already begun, though I hadn't known about it 
at the time. He took this all in calmly, merely nodding as I spoke. At last, I 
ran out of steam and simply sat there, fuming.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Just what I've been doing," he replied. "I shall continue to teach my classes."

"That's it?"

"And I will get rid of these bug listening devices," he added. ' 'And the 
cameras, as well. If they have been recording my classes, then it's possible 
someone may try to learn from the recordings, and that could prove hazardous. 
Thaumaturgy should not be attempted without proper supervision. And it was also 
rather rude of Mr. Bodkirk to place them in my private quarters. I don't care 
for that at all."

"But what about the rest of it?" I asked.

"You mean the government keeping me prisoner here and dictating terms to me?" He 
shrugged. "I'm afraid that won't do at all. You can tell Mr. Bodkirk that."

"I've already told him," I said. "And he's already heard," I added wryly.

"Well, then that's all settled, then."

"Nothing is settled!" I shouted, jumping up out of my chair; no longer able to 
contain myself. "For God's sake, don't you understand what I'm telling you? They 
intend to hold you prisoner here! They're taking control!"

"Thomas, sit down and calm yourself," said Merlin. He continued to gaze at me 
steadily until I acquiesced to his wishes and sat back down, with a helpless, 
frustrated feeling. "That's better," he said. "Now, pray remain silent for a 
moment."

He sat still behind his desk, his hands clasped before him, then his eyes 
suddenly flashed with a searingly bright, blue glow and twin beams of force 
lanced out from them, like lasers, only they were not continuous. It was a brief 
burst, and the beams that left his eyes were no more than two feet long. They 
flew out into the center of the room, where they started to curve and go round 
and round in circles, like two bright, glowing snakes chasing one another, going 
faster and faster until they formed a sphere of glowing blue energy like Saint 
Elmo's fire that hovered and pulsated above the floor, as if with a life of its 
own. I stared, open-mouthed, as the ball expanded and contracted, as if it were 
a heart beating, then suddenly exploded, completely without sound, into dozens 
of tiny lightning bolts of energy that flew about the room like dragonflies.

A number of them zoomed past within inches of my face as I sat there, 
astonished, and they kept darting all around the room, like miniature 
heat-seeking missiles, until one of them flew into the telephone receiver, and 
another penetrated the desk. Several others entered the wall in various places, 
and went behind the bookshelves, while others still zoomed out the door and down 
the hall like a flock of angry hornets.

From the outside, the darkened building must have looked like a mad scientist's 
laboratory as the tiny bolts of energy whizzed through it, illuminating the 
windows with a stroboscopic effect as they sought Bodkirk's hidden surveillance 
cameras and microphones. It must have lasted no mote than a minute, then it was 
over, and every one of Bodkirk's monitors flashed a burst of static, then went 
dark. Each one of his concealed microphones gave off a high-pitched whining 
sound and melted.

"Now then," said Merlin, "we can speak without fear of being overheard."

However, I was too stunned to speak. It was a display of power such as I had 
never seen from him before. And he had done it calmly, effortlessly, and 
instantly.

"I am not surprised at this development," he said. "If anything, I am surprised 
it did not happen sooner."

"You mean you expected something like this?" I said, still overwhelmed from the 
spectacle I had just witnessed.

"Sooner or later, I knew that there would be a conflict between those in power 
and myself," said Merlin. "Magic has a most seductive lure, especially to those 
who would misuse it, which is one of the reasons I have been so careful in my 
selection of my students. I had a feeling it would come to this before too long, 
and I am not completely unprepared." He gestured toward one of his bookshelves. 
"Examine the titles of those volumes there, on the third shelf."

I looked, and saw, with some surprise, that the entire shelf, and part of the 
next one down, was filled with books concerning modem weapons, especially those 
used by the military and the police.

"I realized, when I was shot, that I was woefully ignorant about the weapons of 
this time," said Merlin, "so I took the trouble to obtain some books in town 
that would Mil this gap in my education. I was very much impressed. We have come 
a long, long way from the weapons of my time, indeed. The destructive capability 
of a modem army is really quite astonishing. However, I already knew that. What 
I did not know was how these weapons worked. I am not invulnerable, of course, 
and it would take considerably less than an army to defeat me. One lone assassin 
almost succeeded in taking my life. However, now that I am much better informed, 
I can take certain precautions. Besides, the government doesn't really want me 
dead. At least, not yet. I have something they want, and unless they perceive me 
as a serious threat to their power, they will not seek to kill me."

At that moment, the telephone rang and Merlin punched the call up on the speaker 
"Very clever, Merlin," Bodkirk said.

"Mr. Bodkirk," Merlin replied with a smile. "You're working late tonight."

"Very funny. I saw that fireworks display in there. All my monitors are dead. I 
imagine Malory's given you quite an earful."

"As you knew he would," said Merlin.

"It saved me the trouble of having to confront you personally," Bodkirk said.

"Why, Bodkin, you wouldn't be afraid of me, would you?"

"The name's Bodkirk. And no, I'm not afraid of you, but let's just say I have a 
healthy respect for your capabilities. I was hoping I could persuade Malory to 
be reasonable and convince you of the necessity of what we're doing, but 
unfortunately, it didn't turn out that way. So now it's up to me. You know how 
things stand, though Malory's exaggerated matters somewhat. For one thing, no 
one's keeping your prisoner. We're simply concerned about your safety."

"I'm touched," said Merlin.

"When it comes right down to it," said Bodkirk, "we both really want the same 
thing. You want to teach magic. We want you to teach magic. We have no conflict 
there."

"I'm pleased to hear it."

"All we want to do is make certain that your students pass the necessary 
security clearances," said Bodkirk. "In the wrong hands, magic could be a 
powerful weapon. I'm sure you appreciate that yourself. All we want to do is 
exercise greater responsibility over whom you teach and who has access to you. 
That's purely for your own protection, as well as ours."

"I appreciate your concern," said Merlin. "However, I believe that I am best 
qualified to decide whom I shall teach, and how. And while I am grateful for the 
government's concern for my safety, I am quite capable of protecting myself."

"You mean like the time you were shot?" said Bodkirk.

"I was taken by surprise."

"And it can easily happen again," said Bodkirk. "You're much too valuable to 
lose. We simply can't afford to take that chance. I'm afraid I'll have to insist 
on your cooperation."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then that will place me in a rather awkward position," Bodkirk replied. "If you 
refuse, I shall have to compel you to cooperate. I'm hoping it won't come to 
that, but if it does, rest assured that I have the ability to get the job done. 
It's nothing personal, you understand, but I've got my orders."

"I've never questioned your abilities, Mr. Bodkirk," Merlin said. "You've always 
impressed me as a very capable young man. And rest assured that whatever 
happens, I shall not take it personally. I appreciate your position. In return, 
I hope you can appreciate mine. Good night."

He punched a button on the speakerphone, severing the connection.

"What happens now?" I said.

"That is entirely up to our friend, Bodkin," Merlin said. "A dagger at our 
backs, indeed. I think it's time we summoned the students for a meeting." 


CHAPTER  10 


The showdown between Merlin and the British government, in the person of one 
Stanley Bodkirk, might have become a famous incident were it not vastly 
over-shadowed by an even greater event destined to go down in history as The 
Great London Riot of '82.

It all began the morning following my meeting with Bodkirk and my subsequent 
discussion with Merlin. The previous night, the students all came from their 
dormitory rooms and gathered in the meeting hall, where Merlin told them what 
the situation was. Not surprisingly, they were all angered and dismayed at the 
prospect of being forced to leave the school.

Anyone who has ever studied with a gifted teacher knows how important that 
teacher can become to the student, and what loyalty he can command. Merlin was 
certainly no exception. His students all idolized him, and would have done 
anything for him. Many of them had led very difficult lives up to that point, 
and at the College, they found not only a purpose, but a nurturing home.

Now they realized that they were being used, not by Merlin, of course, but by 
government officials who had regarded them as nothing more than guinea pigs. 
They had been spied on and investigated, and once their hard work had 
demonstrated that thaumaturgy was not a freak ability and could, indeed, be 
taught, their role was at an end. The College would become nothing more than a 
classified research installation with participants handpicked by the government 
and they would get their walking papers. From the oldest, an American man of 
thirty-two who had worked his passage to England aboard ship just on the chance 
that he might be accepted, to the youngest, an Irish girl of seventeen who was 
thought mad because she adamantly claimed she could leave her body and visit 
other places in her dreams, they were outraged and furious. And not one of them 
would even think of complying with the government's demands.

They were a disparate group, most of them British, but some from as far away as 
the United States and Australia, and given the difficulties of travel during the 
Collapse, many of them had gone to a great deal of trouble and taken significant 
risks to come to Loughborough and apply, with no guarantee that they would be 
accepted. Indeed, the vast majority of applicants were disappointed in their 
hopes. All sorts of people came seeking to study with Merlin, from all walks of 
life. Male and female, young and old, rich and poor, rational and irrational. 
Merlin attracted the predictable lunatics and eccentrics, but he also received 
many tempting offers from those who were well off, offers to help subsidize the 
school or build additional wings and such. However, he would not be influenced 
by what he looked upon as nothing more than bribes.

He selected his students based solely on his own criteria, and he didn't care 
where they came from or what sort of lives they'd led. He looked primarily for 
evidence of the natural talent that would enable them to become adepts, and he 
sought people who were honest and sincere, with a desire to help others and to 
believe in something greater than themselves. He had started teaching with an 
initial group of thirty-five, which by the time of our trouble with Bodkirk had 
grown to about two hundred, chosen from thousands of applicants.

Most of them were young and had already demonstrated various paranormal 
abilities. Others, in whom the talent was latent, blossomed into a newfound 
self-awareness through their work with Merlin. All of them, without exception, 
were extremely bright and possessed strong personalities, as one of the main 
requirements of an adept was a strong will. Among that group, a few have not 
survived, but the rest all hold important positions in the thaumaturgic 
hierarchy today. Six are board members of the I.T.C., a dozen or so are 
directors and bureau chiefs of various Bureaus of Thaumaturgy throughout the 
world, and the rest are all high-ranking adepts, five of them having reached the 
level of mage, which means they have attained the same level as their teacher. 
It was a very gifted and a very special group, indeed, and their efforts, guided 
by Merlin, were about to show the world what magic could really do.

Merlin explained that nothing could be done until Bodkirk made the first move, 
because under no circumstances must they initiate any conflict. There was no way 
of knowing how long we'd have to wait, but Bodkirk wasted no time at all. 
Promptly at sunrise, we heard a bullhorn hailing us from outside. We all crowded 
up to the windows and saw the troops surrounding the building, and Bodkirk 
standing there with a bullhorn.

"Attention! Attention! This is Stanley Bodkirk. All personnel must vacate the 
building immediately! I repeat, all personnel must vacate the building 
immediately!"

The only people in the building at the time were Merlin, myself, and the 
resident students. The other members of our group, the administrative and 
support wing, were not due to arrive for several hours yet. It was barely dawn, 
and Bodkirk was obviously hoping to get the job done quickly and efficiently, 
before anyone else in the community knew what was going on.

"This is your last chance! We don't want to see anyone hurt. All personnel must 
vacate the building at once!''

No one moved to comply with Bodkirk's demand, but there was a great deal of 
movement in the meeting hall. The chairs and desks had all been cleared away and 
now the students all gathered into one large circle, with several concentric 
rings, as if they were all preparing to start some sort of folk dance. However, 
this would be a very different sort of dance. A danse macabre.

They all joined hands and began to move around slowly in a clockwise direction, 
chanting to gather their energy. It started slowly, men as their voices found a 
rhythm, it garnered strength. They were able to hear it outside. The words were 
ancient Celtic. Translated into modem English, Merlin told me later, the 
invocation would have sounded simple, like a nursery rhyme chanted by a group of 
children, but in old Celtic, a language no one outside understood, it sounded 
positively ominous, particularly given the dirgelike chanting of the students. 
Almost two hundred of them, circles within circles, all moving together and 
sounding like a chorus of Gregorian monks.

I looked out through the window and saw many of the soldiers exchanging 
apprehensive glances. They held their weapons nervously and fidgeted. It had to 
be unnerving. Hell, I found it unnerving myself!

"Merlin!" It was Bodkirk's amplified voice again. "Don't do anything foolish! 
You don't want any of those people hurt! Send them out! Send them out now! This 
is your last chance!''

The chanting grew louder and louder as the apprentices picked up their pace. I 
soon felt a heat rising in the room, more heat than could possibly be accounted 
for by the movement of all those bodies. The air inside the meeting hall seemed 
thick, and I felt drops of perspiration beading on my forehead.

Suddenly, the windows shattered as a volley of gas and smoke grenades came 
bursting through into the meeting hall. The students did not stop their circling 
and chanting. Through the stinging smoke, I watched as Merlin calmly levitated 
each cannister and floated them all out the window en masse, dropping them on 
the surprised soldiers. It caused a brief disarray among them, but they 
recovered quickly, donning masks, and fired another volley, only this time 
Merlin was ready for them. The smoke and gas cannisters all stopped short of the 
windows and hung motionless in midair for a moment, then curved back toward the 
soldiers and landed among them once again.

I grinned. I could imagine Bodkirk's fury. It served the bastard right. Then I 
saw the soldiers forming for a charge.

"He's going to send them in!" I said.

"Never fear; they won't get far," said Merlin. He glanced back toward his 
circling students. The air above them seemed to shimmer. He smiled.

The soldiers charged. Merlin closed his eyes. From below, I could hear the 
sounds of doors slamming open, followed by the running footsteps of the 
soldiers. 

"Wind," said Merlin.

Above the heads of the circling students, the thickened, misty air took on a 
conelike form, like an inverted funnel, circling with them. I could see blue 
sparks of energy crackling within it. I felt a strong breeze in the room, a 
breeze that did not come through the shattered windows, but from the direction 
of that swirling cone.

"Wind!" said Merlin, raising his arms.

I could hear the soldiers running up the stairs.

There was a crackling discharge of energy and I could now see the funnel glowing 
with a bright blue light as wind blew through the room with rapidly increasing 
force, sounding like a gale on the seacoast. I had to grab onto the windowsill 
to steady myself. Then Merlin brought his arms down, just as I saw the first of 
the soldiers come up out of the stairway and start running toward us down the 
hall.

The funnel cone elongated and curved sharply, then shot out a long and swirling 
tendril toward the door. The soldiers running down the corridor were struck with 
hurricane-force wind that blew several of them right off their feet and sent 
them sliding backwards into those behind them. The sorcerous tornado drove them 
back, pushed them down the stairwells, smashing them into one another and 
forcing them to drop their weapons and shield their faces. They could make no 
headway against it. It forced them back and literally blew them all right out of 
the building.

"It does a teacher's heart good to see his pupils do so well," said Merlin with 
a smile.

"What if they open fire?" I said.

"I don't think he will dare," said Merlin. "He is a small man, drunk with his 
authority, and he does not really understand the power he is dealing with. I 
think he has taken too much upon himself. He is acting foolishly. Still, foolish 
men often make serious mistakes. It would be best to be prepared."

The wind kept pushing the soldiers back farther from the building, knocking them 
off their feet as they struggled against it. Some of them simply broke and ran, 
but that didn't make them cowards. They were up against something no soldier had 
ever faced before. It was more than a hurricane-force wind, it was a wind they 
could actually see, a sparking, glowing, directed storm of energy that forced 
them back relentlessly, and many of them panicked.

The wind pushed them back almost to the gates, then streamed back and curved 
around the building, swirling around it faster and faster until it formed a 
pulsating, glowing, blue wall around us. It looked as if the entire building 
were sheathed inside a shimmering cloud of Saint Elmo's fire that sparkled with 
electrical discharges. We were inside a thaumaturgic force field.

"How long can you keep this up?" I asked him.

"Not very long," Merlin replied. He glanced toward his students. "I am shaping 
and directing the spell, but their energy is the source. However, they are 
inexperienced, and they will soon grow tired. If Bodkirk has not become 
sufficiently discouraged by then, I shall have to deal with him personally."

But Bodkirk had apparently had enough. At least, for the present. Either that, 
or he could not induce the soldiers to try again. There was no further attempt 
to rush the building or to force us out, not even after the energy of the spell 
had abated and the students all lay on the floor of the meeting hall, exhausted, 
yet exhilarated, filled with a newfound sense of power and purpose. Even in 
their weary repose, they talked excitedly among themselves, and laughed and 
hugged and rolled on the floor like children.

I looked out the window toward where the remaining troops had gathered just 
beyond the gates. They seemed to be milling around and arguing among themselves. 
There was no semblance of order at all. I could see no sign of Bodkirk.

"What happens now?" I asked. 

"That depends on Bodkirk," Merlin said. "And on what orders he receives from his 
superiors. I doubt he will be anxious to report to them right now, because he's 
made a mess of things."

"He's not the only one," I said. "The fools in London are responsible for this. 
They need this school, and they need you, but they're so paranoid and obsessed 
with having complete control that they can't see things clearly."

Merlin sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall. "I told you this 
would be a difficult task, Thomas. I expected resistance. New ideas or, as in 
this case, an old idea that merely seems new because it was forgotten, are often 
difficult for people to accept. And despite all we've managed to accomplish, we 
have barely even begun. This is only my first school. There shall have to be 
many others, in every country of the world, before the task can truly be 
complete. If I have to go through this sort of thing each time...." He shook his 
head. "I am not a young man anymore."

"That's right, at two thousand, you're not exactly a spring chicken," I said.

Merlin chuckled. Then his expression became serious. "So far; we have been 
fortunate. It could have been much worse. And it may yet become so, before the 
day is out."

"No," I said. "It doesn't have to be that way! Not if we do it right!"

He glanced up at me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we should do what I intended all along. We should use the media 
properly, and give them a really dramatic demonstration of what magic can 
accomplish! If they'd been here to see this...." I stopped short. "God, I'm an 
idiot!"

I ran toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Merlin called out behind me.

"To do what I should have done in the first place!"

I ran upstairs to Merlin's office. Why it hadn't occurred to me to call the 
media about this before, I couldn't fathom, unless it was because I'd developed 
such an aversion for them over the past few months. Once Merlin started 
teaching, I was the one who had to deal with them all the time, until Bodkirk 
conveniently stepped in to take that burden from my shoulders, for his own 
purposes, and I was so glad to be rid of it that I had simply forgotten all 
about them.

I had also forgotten the cardinal rule of dealing with them. You could be used 
by the media, or you could use them.... so long as you gave them what they 
wanted. Merlin had purposely downplayed his powers, because he was concerned 
about frightening people. He had wanted to bring roe public along slowly, play 
the charming old sorcerer; the new-age mystic, giving them demonstrations, but 
nothing too dramatic, nothing that would give any real indication of just how 
powerful his magic could be.

Except for his first television appearance, he'd shied away from giving anything 
but purely practical demonstrations.

That seemed a logical course to take, and I had supported it, but maybe we had 
missed the point. Perhaps frightening people was exactly what Merlin should have 
done. As a famous American president once said, "Speak softly, but carry a big 
stick." It was time, I felt, not only to show them that big stick, but give them 
a hearty whack with it. That conjured wind had sent experienced soldiers 
running. If Merlin were to do something like that before the news cameras....

I burst into his office and lunged for the phone. It was dead. I realized that 
Bodkirk must have cut the lines. I tried the lights. Nothing. He'd cut the 
power, too. I slammed my fist against the wall in frustration and returned to 
tell Merlin what I had discovered. He was not surprised at all. In fact, he 
smiled.

"So," he said, "our friend Bodkin appears to be preparing for a siege."

"A siege?"' I said.' 'You think he intends to starve us out?''

"Or prevent us from communicating with the outside, and cause us enough 
discomfort that we will give in to his demands," said Merlin. "His thinking may 
be sound enough, only not for someone dealing with a mage, as he will soon 
learn."

"I'm worried about Jenny and the others," I said. "He could decide to use them 
to bring pressure against us."

"Jenny and the girls will be safe enough at home," he replied. "The warding 
spell will protect them. And there's Victor, don't forget. If anyone tries to 
harm them, Victor will tear their throats out. But the others will be 
vulnerable. We had best send word to them.''

"How?"

"Raise the window," Merlin said. "I would not want our messenger injured by the 
broken glass."

"Messenger? What messenger?" I said as I lifted the window and some of the 
shattered glass fell tinkling to the floor.

"Be quiet a moment," said Merlin. He stared out the window for a short while, 
and then a large crow came flopping through and landed on his shoulder. Merlin 
glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. "Air mail," he said. "I'll need some 
paper and a pen."

I brought him what he needed and he wrote a short note to Jenny, telling her to 
remain in the house and instructing her to contact the others. Then he folded up 
the paper and held it out to the crow. The bird took it in its beak and flew 
back out the window.

"That's amazing," I said. "Can you do that with all animals?"

"Some are more cooperative than others," he replied. "I have never been able to 
get very far with pigs, for instance. They resent people too much. And eagles 
can be somewhat temperamental. But I've always done well with cats and dogs, and 
bears, and some species of insects. I instructed the crow to wait and bring back 
a reply."

"You did? I didn't hear you say anything.''

He tapped his forehead. "Words are not always necessary. Animals are very 
sensitive."

"You never cease to surprise me. I wish I could learn how to do that," I said.

"It requires a certain gift, more than merely being an adept," said Merlin. "It 
takes many years of patient effort. Aside from the necessary talent, you need to 
observe animals carefully, and learn to understand them. Many people have the 
gift, more than you might think, but they do not trouble to develop it. They 
take satisfaction in the fact that animals seem to respond to them, but they 
never work to form a closer bond. And then, the modern world does not facilitate 
such study. It moves too quickly, and patience and a deep reverence for nature 
and her creatures have ceased to be considered virtues."

"That's really what this is all about, isn't it?" I said as I watched the 
students resting on the floor, exhausted from their efforts. A lot of them were 
fast asleep. The rest were whispering quietly, so as not to disturb the others. 
"It's a battle between the modern world and an older, simpler time."

"I prefer to think that it is not a choice between two such extremes," Merlin 
replied. "We cannot go back to the past, and there is much about the past that 
is best left in the past. However, we can move on into the future with an 
appreciation for the lessons of the past, something humanity has never profited 
from greatly."

"There's an old saying, those who do not remember the mistakes of the past are 
doomed to repeat them,'' I said.

"True,'' said Merlin.' 'Consider our present situation. This school, for 
instance, could just as easily be a castle fortress, with men at arms inside, 
led by a warlord, and outside is a besieging army, led by another warlord."

"It's a bit difficult to picture Bodkirk as a warlord," I said with a grin.

"Nevertheless, in a very real sense, that is his role," said. Merlin. "And the 
root of our conflict is no different than the struggle between Uther Pendragon 
and Gorlois of Cornwall. It is a question of power. I possess it, Bodkirk and 
his superiors wish to seize and control it. And so here we two warlords sit, at 
loggerheads, while the common people starve and suffer. Things have not changed 
so very much, after all."

"It's all so bloody stupid," I said.

Merlin shrugged. "You'll hear no argument from me. If there was some way we 
could compromise, I would, but their position does not allow for it. They would 
isolate me here, and study me, and have me train only those whom they approve 
of." He glanced toward his students. "Now that they have served their purpose, 
they would be discarded and replaced by others of Bodkirk's ilk. No, Thomas, I 
cannot allow that. It was never what I had in mind. And I owe them more than 
that."

"Then fight the bastards," I said. "Power is the only thing they really 
understand. Show them!"

Merlin sighed. "I am sorely tempted to do just that. But don't you see, that 
would only prove them right. If I did that, then all those who have been saying 
I am dangerous, and that magic is dangerous, would have their claims 
vindicated."

"Perhaps," I said, "but then again, maybe that doesn't matter anymore. Perhaps 
there never was a way around that. The point is that a lot of people would 
support you, because they're fed up with the way things are. They're desperate. 
And a lot of them are dying. The old world order has fallen apart. We need a new 
one. And we won't bring it about with halfway measures."

"And if we fail?" said Merlin.

I glanced at him sharply. It was the first time I'd ever seen him exhibit any 
doubt. And it was the last time, as well. After that day, it was a different 
Merlin who emerged, a Merlin who had resolved upon a new, stronger course of 
action, and never once looked back.

"If we fail, then the world fails," I said. "We have everything to gain, and 
nothing left to lose."

"Merlin!" It was Bodkirk on his bullhorn again. "Merlin, can you hear me?"

Merlin took a deep breath, but said nothing. He had a distant look in his eyes. 
I answered for him.

"What do you want, Bodkirk?" I shouted out the window.

"Malory?"

"I said, what do you want?"

"You know damn well what I want! 1 want you and the rest of those people out of 
there! Merlin stays. Tell him if he refuses to cooperate, I'll be forced to take 
drastic measures. I didn't want to see anybody hurt, but he's left me with no 
other choice now. This is a matter of national security. If the building is not 
cleared immediately, the troops will open fire. I will do whatever is necessary 
to shut this place down. You understand me? Whatever is necessary!"

I glanced at Merlin. "You still think there's another way to deal with people 
like that?"

"No," said Merlin softly, "I fear not."

He got to his feet and turned toward his students, who were all awake now and 
watching him to see what he would do. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily.

"We are about to pass the point of no return," he said to them. "If any of you 
have any doubts about following me, come what may, then now is the time to 
speak. I shall not hold it against you. If you choose to remain, then you will 
share in the consequences of my actions. If you leave now, you leave with a 
clear conscience, and I will think none the worse of you for it."

There was a long silence. No one spoke.

"Merlin!" Bodkirk shouted through his bullhorn.

' 'What happened this morning will be nothing compared to what will happen now," 
said Merlin. "If any of you have any reservations, this is your final chance."

"Merlin! Damn you, answer me!''

Not one of them stepped forward. Someone in the group said, "We're all with you, 
Professor! Give 'em hell!"

They started to applaud, but Merlin silenced them at once.

"Cease!" he shouted. "I will not have applause for what I am about to do."

"Merlin! Merlin, I' II have your answer now or we will open fire in ten 
seconds!"

Merlin stepped up to the window. "Here is my answer!" he shouted, and his eyes 
flashed with a bright, blue, incandescent glow as a beam of thaumaturgic force 
lanced out from them and struck Bodkirk where he stood, about fifty yards away. 
He screamed as his body was wreathed in blue flame and an instant later, there 
was nothing left of him but a scorched spot where he had stood and a few rising 
tendrils of smoke.

There was a stunned silence. I swallowed hard and said, "Jesus."

"Was that what you wanted, Thomas?'' Merlin said tersely.

I took a deep breath. "I suppose there was no other choice," I said.

"Oh, yes, there was," said Merlin grimly. "But not quite so effective. Observe."

The soldiers were giving up. They'd had enough. Without Bodkirk there to give 
them their orders, they decided they weren't going up against anything like what 
they had just seen. Silently, they filed out through the gates and retreated to 
their barracks, across the road.

Merlin faced his students. "The responsibility for what I have just done is mine 
and mine alone. If any of you wish to leave, it should be safe now. It has been 
my privilege to instruct you."

He turned and walked out of the hall. Not a single student left.

The crow returned shortly with a note from Jenny. Not finding Merlin present, it 
delivered the note to me. I took it from its beak and, somewhat lamely, thanked 
it. It gave a raucous cry and flew back out the window. I opened the note and 
learned why we had no telephone service and no power. The power was out 
everywhere and all the telephone lines were dead. Jenny was at home, with the 
Stewarts and the others, listening to the radio. I hurried to my office on the 
first floor and switched on the small battery-powered radio I kept there.

"—continue to broadcast so long as our auxiliary generators can keep operating, 
which our chief engineer tells me will be only about another hour or two, at 
best. I repeat, remain indoors if at all humanly possible. Keep away from your 
windows. Lock your doors. Use your emergency supplies sparingly, because there 
is no way of telling how long this may continue. The fighting is apparently 
worst in the East End, but rioting has broken out all over the city, and in many 
of the outlying areas, as well. Looting is rampant. There are fires all over the 
city, most of them apparently burning out of control. The power is out all over 
London, and the telephone switchboards are inoperative. Tony Sanders has just 
arrived in the studio, he's been out there, Tony, are you all right? You look 
terrible!"

"I feel terrible, Brian. It's awful out there, it's an absolute horror! Please, 
ladies and gentlemen, whatever you do, keep off the streets! Stay inside! The 
whole city has gone mad. It began, as near as we can tell, shortly after two 
o'clock this morning, with a skirmish between police and a gang of looters in 
the warehouse district, by the Thames, in what was apparently an organized 
attempt to break in and steal emergency food rations. The looters were well 
armed and a firefight ensued, which was shortly joined by a squad of L.U.A.D. 
commandos called in to assist the officers on the scene, who were both 
outnumbered and outgunned. As near as we can tell, the fighting was 
spontaneously joined by local residents, many of them armed as well, and it 
quickly escalated into a full-scale street riot, at which point the army was 
called in. However, that act proved to be tossing fuel onto the fire, for it 
resulted in people firing on the soldiers from concealment in nearby buildings, 
and the rioting spread from there."

"How intense is the fighting right now, Tony?"

"There's no way to measure it, Brian, but it is very intense, indeed, on the 
East End, and sporadic fighting is taking place throughout the city Looters are 
everywhere. People seem to have gone stark raving mad. I understand there is 
also rioting in Aldershot and Farnham, and we've had reports of fighting in 
Ashford, Brentwood, Watford, St. Albans, Letehworth, no way to substantiate many 
of these reports, I hasten to add, but it seems to be breaking out all oven 
Again, I repeat, we cannot confirm most of these reports, but we can confirm 
that the fighting in Greater London is very bad, indeed. What happened early 
this morning seems to have set off a chain reaction that is now running out of 
control, and there is literally no way of telling how long it may last or what 
the outcome may be. The government has declared martial law, but the authorities 
seem totally unable to deal with the scope of the situation. It's as if 
everywhere, throughout the city and beyond, people have finally reached the 
breaking point and we are in a state of total anarchy. This is a disaster a 
tragedy of unprecedented proportions, ladies and gentlemen, and if you ate 
within the sound of my voice, I urge you to barricade yourselves inside your 
homes and pray"

I picked up the radio and rushed upstairs to Merlin's quarters. It had finally 
happened, what we had feared most in my days with the army and later with the 
police department, a total breakdown of society. We had all been teetering on 
the edge of this for years and we had gone over the brink at last. Compared to 
this, our own crisis was insignificant.

Merlin stood at the window of his office, staring out toward the gate, toward 
the spot where Bodkirk had died. I had not switched off the radio when I rushed 
upstairs, and he turned at the sound. I said nothing, merely stood there, 
holding it. He looked at me, and I set the radio down on his desk. He stared at 
it, listening impassively as the two announcers continued their reports.

"Where are the students?" he asked, after a few moments.

"Still in the meeting hall," I said. "At least, they were when I left them."

He nodded. "Send word to Jenny. We are leaving for London at once."

"How?" I asked.

"Simple," Merlin replied. "We are going to drive."

I can't imagine what the soldiers must have thought when they looked out the 
windows of their barracks and saw the two of us approaching with a flag of 
truce, consisting of my handkerchief tied to the end of a ruler A number of them 
came out, carrying their weapons, but holding them nervously. Their senior 
officer; a major; stepped forward, his sidearm holstered. He gazed at us 
uncertainly.

"I am Major Waters," he said flatly, and volunteered nothing further.

I'd never had any direct dealings with the soldiers before, so I introduced 
myself and Merlin.

"I regret the necessity for what happened earlier" said Merlin, "but there is a 
far more serious situation facing us now. You are aware of what is happening in 
London?"

Waters nodded. "We've been in radio communication," he said. "We have been 
ordered back to the city, to assist in putting down the rioting. The men are 
packing up their gear right now. I have no further orders concerning you and 
your people at present. And I have as yet made no report concerning this 
morning's events. Things are a bit hectic back at headquarters right now." 

Merlin nodded. "We are going with you."

Waters raised his eyebrows. "To London? I'm afraid I can't allow that, sir My 
initial orders concerning your group were—"

"Look, Major," I said, "we can stand here arguing all day while London burns, or 
we can go there and do something about it."

"We are going, in any event," said Merlin. "I would prefer to do it with your 
cooperation, but I do not require it. I could easily compel you."

Waters blinked. "I have little doubt of that," he said. "Very well. However, we 
do not have room for all your people."

"That won't be necessary," Merlin said. "Our party will consist of Thomas and 
myself, and six others. Have you room enough for them?"

"We can manage that," said Waters. "We will be leaving in less than five 
minutes, however"

"We'll be ready, "I said.

"Sir..." said Waters, hesitantly addressing Merlin.

"Yes?"

"Do you think you can really stop it?"

"Yes, Major, I believe I can," said Merlin.

"Right. Let's go, then."

Merlin selected six of his most gifted students to accompany him to London. 
Young and unsure of themselves then, all their names are quite well-known today. 
Andrei Zorin was then an earnest young man of nineteen, from the city of Kiev, 
in the Ukraine. However, even then, his psychic abilities were well-developed 
and he had come to England to apply for the College with assistance from his 
government. Today, he sits on the board of directors of the I.T.C. and holds the 
rank of mage, one of only five people to attain the highest level in the 
discipline of thaumaturgy.

Another was Huang Wu Chen, a quiet and reserved young man of twenty, originally 
from the Himalayan ranges of Tibet, who had been living in Paris when he heard 
about Merlin. Today, he is better known by his magename, Tao Tzu, which means 
"Son of the Way," and he resides once more in his native country, in an isolated 
monastery on a mountaintop where he teaches students of his own. His True Light 
College of Sorcery is one of the most rigorous and demanding schools in 
existence, and has produced some of the finest adepts in the world.

Yoshi Kunitsugu, from Japan, is better known today by the magename of Yohaku, 
which means' 'blank space'' or' 'white space" in his native language, and is a 
reference to the Japanese calligraphic art form known as Sho, in which the space 
that is left blank upon a canvas is just as important as that which is filled 
with ink. Empty space is not nothing in the art of Japan. It represents the 
realm of infinite possibilities. Like Tao Tzu and Zorin, he too attained the 
rank of mage. At the time, he was merely a boy, and he treated Merlin with the 
reverence of a Zen student toward his master

Stefan St. John, of Manchester, was the only other man, except for Al'Hassan 
(who did not study with Merlin until he started teaching in America), who ever 
attained the rank of mage. He chose Gandalf as his magename, taken from a 
classic work of fantasy by Tolkien, and he, too, sat on the board of the I.T.C. 
until his recent death at the age of seventy-one. He was thirty at the time, one 
of the oldest students at the College.

Pierre Chagal, at twenty-eight, was also one of the older students, from 
Cherbourg. He eventually founded the College of Sorcerers at the Sorbonne and is 
currently the chairman of the board of the I.T.C., with the rank of 
twelfth-level adept. And the final member of our party was Ian Duncan, a 
twenty-two-year-old from London, particularly concerned about his family when he 
learned about the rioting. They lived in the East End.

We joined Major Waters in his convoy of army transports, along with a partially 
filled fuel tanker, which was all the reserve Waters and his men possessed. It 
would be enough to get us all to London, and it was placed in the center of the 
convoy, for protection.

I had sent word to Jenny with one of the other students, who would all remain 
behind at the College. All of them had been anxious to go, but Merlin did not 
wish to put any more of them at risk than absolutely necessary, and there was 
not enough room for them, in any case. The thought crossed my mind, as it had in 
my days with the Loo, that I might never see my family again. I'd been involved 
in some bad ones before, but never anything as bad as this. I was filled with 
apprehension.

We passed through Loughborough, and it was still early, but the town was 
strangely silent. I imagined everyone sitting in their homes, glued to their 
portable radios, listening to news of the rioting. Would it spread to 
Loughborough? Many of the transients who had arrived in recent months, attracted 
by Merlin's presence, had since moved on, but there were still crude shanties 
standing on the outskirts of the town, on both sides of the road, and as we 
passed, I was assailed by the smell of unsanitary latrines and rags and other 
refuse burning in iron barrels. What would these people do when they found the 
soldiers gone? I felt a tightness in my stomach. It wouldn't take much to entice 
them to join in a raid on the town. They had practically nothing, save the 
clothes on their backs and a few personal possessions, so there was little left 
for them to lose. Would Carr's largely volunteer police force be enough to stop 
them? Or would they remain peaceful, thinking Merlin was still in town? In the 
covered transports, no one could see us, and so no one had any reason to suspect 
that Merlin was leaving with the soldiers. Perhaps that would be enough to keep 
them all in line. I certainly hoped so.

As we drove along the cracked and buckled pavement of roads that could no longer 
be maintained, past rusting cars that had been pushed off to the sides of the 
road and abandoned because their owners could no longer purchase fuel for them, 
Merlin outlined his plan to the others. It would prove taxing on him, and on 
them, as well. They were gifted, but they were not experienced adepts. They'd 
had only a few months of training, and the days when adepts would become 
board-certified were still a long way off. Hardly any of their training had 
consisted of learning spells. The most difficult part of becoming an adept was 
developing the mental powers of concentration and learning how to tap the 
intuitive, subconscious potential of the mind. However, Merlin had selected 
these individuals because they were already well ahead of all the others in that 
respect. Still, he had to give them a crash course along the way in the spells 
that they would use and there would be no chance for them to practice.

When it came right down to it, they would go in cold, and it would be all or 
nothing. I had wished for the chance to study thaumaturgy myself, but been 
denied it for lack of natural ability Now, I did not envy them one bit. Nor did 
I envy Major Waters, who had taken it upon himself to disregard his orders and 
divide his men, so that each of the students, in addition to Merlin and myself, 
would be accompanied by an armed security detachment. If we failed, Waters would 
face the gravest penalties. But men again, he reasoned, if we failed, being 
charged with mutiny or disobedience to orders Would be the least of his 
concerns. 


CHAPTER 11 


The responsibilities were divided up en route. Zorin, Chen, and Kunitsugu and 
the men who would go with them were given the task of restoring power to the 
city. They would cast the spells Merlin had taught them to get the generating 
plants operative again and make sure work parties were sent out to repair any 
power lines that had been damaged. It was a formidable task, and the most 
advanced students were given that responsibility.

St. John would be dispatched with his party of soldiers to the studios of the 
BBC, to get them on the air and to start broadcasting as soon as possible. 
Chagal would handle the radio end of the broadcasting operation. Duncan's job 
would be to act as liaison with the military and the police. Waters would go 
with him, along with another detachment of men. That left the toughest job to 
Merlin.

It would be up to Merlin to stop the violence in the streets, and I would go 
along with another detachment of soldiers to watch his back, because it would 
take all his concentration and energy to bring such a massive undertaking about. 
The various army detachments would all have officers or noncommissioned officers 
in command, save for the group that went with me, because with Merlin's safety 
at stake, I insisted on being placed in charge. Waters was hesitant about 
placing some of his men under the command of a civilian, until he found out what 
my background was, and then his reservations disappeared. By the time we reached 
the outskirts of the city, everyone knew what he would have to do.

We heard the rioting before we saw it. The sharp, crackling bursts of automatic 
weapons fire filled the air It sounded as if we were driving straight into a war 
zone and, to all intents and purposes, we were. We stopped the convoy and 
reshuffled the passengers quickly, so that each group could take transports and 
depart for its objective. We made sure that all the tanks were full, then 
abandoned the fuel tanker, even though it still contained some precious fuel. It 
would be too cumbersome, and much too risky to bring along.

We had brought my radio, and a small, battery-powered, portable TV. These would 
be vital in helping us to gauge the success or failure of our efforts. I also 
had my old 9-mm semiautomatic, with two spare clips, and I had procured a 
drum-magazine, short-barreled riot shotgun from Waters. I desperately hoped I 
wouldn't have to use them.

We were heading for a roughly central location in the city, Trafalgar Square. As 
we drove quickly through the streets, we had to slow down on a number of 
occasions because of fighting up ahead of us. Several times, groups of people 
came running out toward us as we passed, hurling rocks and bottles, anything 
that came to hand. Our driver simply took to leaning on his horn and plowing 
straight on through.

On Oxford Street, we had to smash through a barricade that had been erected in 
the middle of the road, just a pile of broken furniture and junk that had been 
thrown up. At least a dozen times or more, bullets fired at us penetrated the 
flimsy canvas covering around us and we decided it would be more prudent to lay 
down in the lorry bed and hope that no stray rounds would find a mark.

It was bedlam. Entire city blocks were in flames, bodies lay helter-skelter in 
the street, and there was a noise in the air unlike any I had ever heard before. 
It wasn't the sound of gunfire multiplied many times, like a massive fireworks 
display, or the sound of sirens, or the popping, hissing, crackling, and 
groaning of many buildings burning, it was the sound of people, people driven 
past all limits of endurance, so that they were reduced to beasts. The air 
seemed filled with one long, vast, ululating howl, rising and falling, rising 
and falling, and it was a chilling thing to heat. It made the hairs on the back 
of my neck bristle and my skin feel clammy. The scent of fear was in the air, 
fear and madness. Almost the entire populace of London had turned into a 
mindless mob.

Something struck the side of the transport and a moment later, the canvas 
covering burst into flame. Someone had • tossed a Molotov cocktail at us. The 
soldiers quickly stripped off the burning canvas as we careened through the 
streets, tossing it behind us. One of them was nicked in the scalp by a passing 
bullet and he fell down beside me.

"Are you all right?'' I shouted.

He brought his hand up to his head. "I think it only grazed me, sir I'll be 
okay."

"Stay down, for God's sake."

The sky was black with smoke and the streets were a litter of debris. People 
were running everywhere, some brandishing weapons, others carrying looted items, 
still others fighting among themselves. It was overwhelming.

"How the hell are you going to stop this?" I asked Merlin.

He said nothing. He sat with his eyes closed, withdrawn deep into himself, 
either thinking or summoning up his energy, I couldn't tell. It was as if he 
hadn't heard me.

"It's like the end of the world," the wounded soldier said.

"Or maybe the beginning," I replied.

He looked up at me and moistened his lips nervously. "I hope so," he said. "You 
were a sergeant-major in the army, sir?"

"That's right."

"You must've seen your share of action, then."

"More than my share," I replied.

"Ever anything as bad as this?"

I hesitated before replying, but I owed the lad the truth. "No," I said. "Never 
like this."

We pulled into Trafalgar Square and drove around to the norm side, coming to a 
stop before the National Gallery. The soldiers piled out first, deploying around 
the entrance and covering us, in case someone opened fire, but the square 
appeared deserted. The Nelson Column had been spray-painted with graffiti and 
someone had knocked the head off the statue of Charles I. We ran out and broke 
down the doors of the Gallery. All the monuments were vandalized in one way or 
another In years past, every New Year's Eve, Trafalgar Square was the scene of 
celebration. Now, it was a scene of desolation, of a city in its death throes.

We made our way up to the roof. Some of the men stayed below, to guard the 
entrance. Merlin had remained silent all this time. Now he stood upon the 
rooftop, dressed in his conical hat and robe, which Jenny had repaired for him, 
and carrying his staff. It was a surreal sight. A figure out of the past, a 
storybook wizard, standing on a rooftop looking out over a modern city, a city 
that was in flames, and plunged into a state of total anarchy. Irrationally, I 
suddenly wished that I had brought along a camera, to capture this moment.

The soldier who'd been wounded was one of several who had come up on the roof 
with us. One of the others had bandaged his head with gauze from a first-aid 
kit. The bandage was bloody, but he looked none the worse for wear. "What 
happens now?" he asked me softly, his gaze on Merlin.

"Magic," I replied. "Magic happens."

Merlin raised his staff and started chanting.

"What's he saying?" asked the soldier.

"I don't know. I don't speak ancient Celtic."

"He's casting a spell, isn't he?"

I nodded.

The soldier shook his head. "It's like something out of a movie."

"Quiet," I said. "Just watch. And cross your fingers."

Overhead, dark clouds began to gather They appeared from out of nowhere, 
gradually fading into existence, and drifted in, converging from all directions. 
The wind picked up. It smelted like rain.

Thunder rolled. The wind grew stronger, and stronger still. Sheet lightning 
flashed behind the clouds, lighting up the sky. It grew dark, even though it was 
still the afternoon. The wind was blowing even harder now. Merlin's long hair 
streamed out behind him. His robe billowed in the wind.

He stood, with arms outstretched, his staff held high, crying out his chant into 
the wind. There were dark clouds all over the city now, low clouds, ominous and 
threatening, spreading out in all directions. They were like a vortex, swirling 
around and around, like a whirlpool in the sky, spreading wider and wider until 
it seemed to cover everything. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Then Merlin 
held his staff out in both hands, pointed at the sky, and a jagged beam of force 
burst out from its tip and shot up into the sky, striking the clouds and causing 
bright blue sparks of energy to spread through them, like cracks appearing in a 
sheet of ice.

A devastatingly loud clap of thunder broke out like a sonic boom and a jagged 
bolt of lightning lanced down from the sky and struck the Nelson Column, causing 
it to crumble. Then it began to hail.

At first, the hail came down in small, stinging pellets, falling hard and fast, 
then gradually, the size of the hail grew greater, until chunks of ice the size 
of golf balls were raining down on the city. We retreated from this furious 
onslaught, back into the stairwell, but Merlin remained standing on the edge of 
the roof, apparently unaffected, as the hail fell so fast and thick that it 
obscured almost everything from view. Some of the pieces were the size of a 
man's fist.

"How in hell can anyone stay outside in that?" the young soldier said, staring 
at Merlin with astonishment.

I laughed. "That's just the point!" I said. "They can't!"

It was brilliant. I had no idea what Merlin had intended, but now I saw the 
beauty of it. No one would be able to stand beneath such a relentless, hammering 
hail for long. It would drive everyone to seek shelter I fumbled for the little 
radio and switched it on.

"—all over the city, falling so fast and furiously that everyone has cleared the 
streets," said the announcer. "It's like a miracle, only I'm told that it's no 
miracle, nor even an act of nature, but of magic! Here in the studio with me is 
Pierre Chagal, a student of Merlin Ambrosius, the Wizard of Camelot, and we have 
him to thank for being able to get back on the air again. Mr. Chagal comes to us 
with startling news. I'll turn the microphone over to him. Mr. Chagal...."

"Thank you. This morning, as soon as we heard news of the rioting, a group of 
thaumaturgy students from the International Center for Thaumaturgical Studies 
accompanied Professor Ambrosius to London, along with a military escort. Even as 
I speak, some of those students, acting under the direction of Professor Merlin 
Ambrosius, are in the process of employing their knowledge of thaumaturgy to 
restore power to the city. Radio broadcasting has now been resumed, and 
television broadcasting should resume shortly, if it has not done so already. We 
are also working in cooperation with the military and the police to help restore 
order to the city. The hail presently falling on the city is the result of a 
storm conjured by Professor Ambrosius himself, with an aim to disrupting the 
violence in the streets. There is no cause for alarm. The hail will continue 
until the streets are completely cleared and there are no further reports of 
rioting or looting. It is recommended, however, that people remain indoors, if 
possible, or if not, seek shelter, for the hailstorm will be followed by a 
driving rain that will continue until the fires are all under control.

"This will, in all likelihood, take days of hard, unabated rainfall. However, 
telephone operation should be resuming shortly, and we shall be working in close 
cooperation with the authorities to set up a crisis center. The number will be 
made available as soon as possible, but we urge people not to call unless faced 
with a serious emergency. Professor Ambrosius has requested that all citizens of 
London and the outlying areas work together in a spirit of goodwill and 
cooperation to overcome this crisis. Violence is not the answer. We at the 
International Center for Thaumaturgical Studies pledge our full support to the 
people of London and all of Great Britain in a mutual effort to bring about the 
end of the Collapse, once and for all, and to once more restore the country, and 
hopefully the world, to a more stable footing. If we all pull together, we can 
all make magic."

A similar announcement followed shortly thereafter on the BBC television 
network, with Stefan St. John looking very competent and self-assured on camera, 
and sounding very professional, indeed. The announcements were repeated, and St. 
John and Chagal were both interviewed extensively on the air, and later, crews 
were sent to interview Kunitsugu, Zorin, and the others and show how their use 
of thaumaturgy had restored power to a blacked-out city. It was a media tour de 
force, and by the end of the day, Merlin and his students were all heroes.

After the hail had ceased and the rain began, the spell-gathered storm followed 
its course and Merlin made his first public appearance on TV. His words were 
also broadcast over the radio simultaneously. In a canny move, he appeared with

the Prime Minister, as well as the commissioner of New Scotland Yard and General 
Boyd-Roberts, representing the police and the military respectively. He appeared 
modest, but determined and full of self-confidence. He required no further 
coaching from me when it came to dealing with the media. He had learned his 
lessons well.

No reference was ever made to any government plan to take over the operation of 
the College or to exercise any direct control over Merlin and his pupils. The 
Prime Minister hailed him as a great humanitarian, thanked him for his efforts, 
and pledged the government's full support in furthering "thaumaturgic education 
and establishing a thaumaturgical support base for a new source of energy and a 
new and brighter tomorrow."

Everyone was eager to get on the bandwagon and claim some affiliation with 
Merlin and the College. At some point, someone even proposed Merlin for the 
Nobel peace prize, which was actually awarded to him several years later. No one 
ever mentioned the death of Stanley Bodkirk, and the incident was not even 
reported until several years had passed and some disgruntled, down-on-his-luck 
soldier who had been there sold the story to the tabloids. That was the 
beginning of the rumors and innuendos that spread through the succeeding years 
concerning Merlin's alleged use of "necromancy" to eliminate anyone who stood in 
his way. Nor did Merlin help the situation any by admitting that he had used 
magic to kill Bodkirk.

Those of us who were close to him had tried to isolate him from reporters 
anxious to pursue the story, and we pleaded with him to at least issue a 
statement of "No comment," but Merlin would have none of it. Though we all 
insisted it was self-defense and in defense of the students who were in the 
College building at the time, for Bodkirk had announced, in no uncertain terms, 
that he would order the troops to open fire in ten seconds, Merlin never shied 
from taking full responsibility for Bodkirk's death. He admitted it, and he did 
not apologize for it, which only made things worse. He has always remained, as a 
result, a figure of controversy.

The truth was that Merlin did, indeed, hold life to be sacred, and he did not 
condone the taking of it. Yet he had done so purposely, and in many ways, I 
shared in the responsibility, for it was I who urged him to fight back and do 
something so demonstrative of his power that it would frighten the opposition 
into submission.

I had not actually told him to kill anyone, but that is merely rationalizing. In 
all honesty, I must admit that I would have done the same thing myself. And I 
have done so. I killed people when I was a soldier, and I killed people when I 
was a police commando, as I had killed poor James Whitby, acting as the 
instrument of his suicide. My conscience does not disturb me, for I believed 
that what I had done was necessary, and I continue to believe it. But Merlin was 
always deeply disturbed by Bodkirk's death, which he considered to be murder, as 
he remained disturbed by the part he had played in helping Arthur kill Gorlois, 
over two thousand years ago. Merlin always was a very complicated man, capable 
of gentleness and compassion, yet at the same time, he could be utterly ruthless 
and implacable. But he had a conscience, and Bodkirk's death weighed heavily 
upon it.

The end of The Great London Riot marked a turning point in history. It was the 
beginning of the end of the Collapse. For one day, mass insanity had reigned in 
London, and but for Merlin, it could have marked the day that plunged the nation 
into a Dark Age from which there may have been no recovery There were similar 
incidents in other nations of the world, but they did not have Merlin to bring 
an end to them. At least, not right away. Like a wire drawn tighter and tighter 
until, finally, it snaps, so it is with human nature, and with that curious 
amalgam of flesh and concrete, blood and steel, the modern city. Hardship piles 
upon hardship, and people suffer patiently, until at last all patience is 
exhausted and an entire city undergoes a nervous breakdown. At such times, 
psychosis can be catching. It is a very virulent disease.

When New York city "went critical," as the Americans say, bodies piled up by the 
thousands and the devastation was perhaps as great as might have occurred in the 
blast of an atomic bomb. In Tokyo, when the city reached its breaking point, 
mass suicides resulted. Paris burned, so much so that it took years before the 
City of Light could be fully reconstructed. But what made London different was 
that the end of The Great London Riot brought hope not only to every British 
subject, but to people all throughout the world. The eyes of the entire world 
were on Great Britain, and specifically London, and Merlin and his fledgling 
students worked around the clock to usher in the Second Thaumaturgic Age.

In time, as their education was completed, those students went out to start 
schools of their own. Merlin and I traveled extensively to pave the way for the 
establishment of programs of thaumaturgical studies at every major university 
throughout the world. Within a year of The Great London Riot, the first Bureau 
of Thaumaturgy was formed, with Merlin as its director initially, until Stefan 
St. John took over the post approximately five years later. By the time Bureaus 
of Thaumaturgy had also been established in Washington, D.C., Moscow, Paris, 
Tokyo, Peking, Berlin, Montreal, and Tel Aviv, the International Center for 
Thaumaturgical Studies had become the I.T.C. and moved its headquarters to 
Geneva. The converted public school building in Loughborough, where it all 
began, is now The Ambrosius Museum.

But that day in London, when we finally had a chance to take a break and sleep 
for a few precious hours before we began the long, hard taskof bringing order 
back to the city and dealing with endless logistical problems and bureaucratic 
frustrations, Merlin and I collapsed into the beds provided for us, utterly 
exhausted.

Ahead of us remained an arduous task, and later a reception at Buckingham Palace 
and the awarding of the O.B.E.'s, and more media coverage, and more work, and 
more frustrations, but in the few moments during which we could still keep our 
eyes open, there was a sense of accomplishment that would never quite be matched 
by anything that happened afterward.

"You did it," I said, leaning back against the headboard wearily. It was late 
and we were both spent. Merlin in particular. He looked completely drained. "You 
really did it."

"No, Thomas, we did it," Merlin said.

I shook my head. "It was your magic that pulled it off. Hell, what did I do?"

He looked at me and smiled. "You took a wild and crazy old man you met in the 
forest and brought him home to share what little you had, despite your hardship. 
And magical things began to happen, just like in a fairy tale.''

I smiled and shrugged. "Hell, anyone would have done the same."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," he said. "Most people would have taken one look at 
my long hair and wild beard, the robe with its magical symbols and the staff and 
the conical wizard's cap...."

He glanced toward the chair where he had hung his clothes. There they were, the 
robe emblazoned with its symbols, the conical hat and staff, and there he was, 
stretched out on the bed in a white T-shirt and pair of boxer shorts. On the 
floor beside the chair where he had hung his clothes stood a pair of lace-up 
army boots, with white athletic socks tucked into them.

"I always detested that damned cap," he said. "And I always thought the bloody 
robe was a bit much."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why did you wear them, then?"

"They were a gift from Arthur," he said sourly. "The uniform he had decreed for 
his royal court magician. I protested, but he merely gave me one of his 
imperious looks and said, 'I am king and I have spoken.' I told him, 'I made you 
king, you bloody idiot!' But he folded his arms across his chest, turned away, 
and said, 'I did not hear that.' He was impossible when he got like that and 
there was simply no talking to him. So I said the hell with it and wore the 
stupid costume. But at least now, at last, I shall be free of it."

"Well, now, I don't know about that," I said. "It's become part of your image. 
And as you, yourself, once pointed out to me, image is important. You may be 
stuck with that outfit for a while longer; I'm afraid. People will expect it."

He sighed with resignation. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But promise me one 
thing, Thomas. When all of this is over whenever that may be, you'll take me 
shopping for some normal clothes."

"I'll take you to the best tailor on Savile Row,'' I said with a grin. "And 
he'll probably be delighted to give you an entire wardrobe for nothing, just so 
he can say he's Merlin's tailor You'll be able to have a whole closetful of 
handmade suits."

"I would like a pair of blue jeans," Merlin said. "And some flannel shirts. The 
plaid ones. And perhaps one of those black leather jackets, like the young 
people wear"

"I can see you going to Buckingham Palace dressed like that," I said with a 
chuckle.

"It would not be appropriate?"

"No, I shouldn't think so."

He sighed. "It seems I still have much to learn about the modern world. I shall 
have to depend on you to teach me, Thomas."

I smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "You can count on me, old friend," I 
said, recalling the words he'd said to me shortly after we first met. He said 
that each of us would teach the other. I had thought he meant that he would 
teach me magic. Well, I never did learn any magic, but I learned more from him 
than from anyone that I had ever met. I turned toward him and said, "Good night, 
Professor"

But he was already fast asleep.