THE WITCH DOCTOR

by

Christopher Stasheff

Chapter One

     What can you say about a friend who leaves town without telling

you?

     I mean, I left Matt sitting there in the coffee shop trying to

translate that gobbledygook parchment of his, and when I came back

after class, he was gone.  I asked if anybody'd seen him go, but nobody

had-just that, when they'd looked up, he'd been gone.

     That was no big deal, of courser didn't own Matt, and he was a big

boy.  If he wanted to go take a hike, that was his business.  But he'd

left that damn parchment behind, and ever since he'd found it, he'd

handled it as if it were the crown jewels-so he sure as hell wouldn't

have just left it on the table in a busy coffee shop.  Somebody could

have thrown it in the wastebasket without looking.  He was just lucky

it was still there when I got back.  So I picked it up and put it in my

notebook.  "Tell him I've got his parchment," I told Alice.

     She nodded without looking up from the coffee she was pouring.

     "Sure thing, Saul.  If you see him first, tell him he forgot to

pay his bill this morning."

     "Saul" is me.  Matt claimed I'd been enlightened, so he called me

"Paul."  I went along-it was okay as an in-joke, and it was funny the

first time.  After that, I suffered through it-from Matt.  Not from

anyone else.  "Saul" is me.  I just keep a wary eye for teenagers with

slingshots who also play harp.

     "Will do," I said, and went out the door-but it nagged at me

     especially since I had never known Matt to forget to pay Alice

before.

     Forget to put on his socks, maybe, but not to pay his tab.

     When I got back to my apartment, I took out his mystical

manuscript and looked at it.  Matt thought it was parchment, but I

didn't think he was any judge of sheepskins.  He certainly hadn't

gotten his.

     Well, okay, he had two of them, but they hadn't given him the

third degree yet-and wouldn't, the way he was hung up on that

untranslatable bit of doggerel.  Oh, sure, maybe he was right, maybe it

was a long-lost document that would establish his reputation as a

scholar and shoot him up to full professor overnight-but maybe the moon

is made of calcified green cheese, too.

     Me, I was working on my second M.A.-anything to justify staying

around campus.  Matt had gone on for his doctorate, but I couldn't stay

interested in any one subject that long.  They all began to seem kind

of silly, the way the professors were so fanatical about the smallest

details.

     By that standard, Matt was a born professor, all right.  He just

spun his wheels, trying to translate a parchment that he thought was

six hundred years old but was written in a language nobody had ever

heard of.  I looked it over, shook my head, and put it back in the

notebook.  He'd show up looking for it sooner or later.

     But he didn't.  He didn't show up at all.

     After a couple of days, I developed a gnawing uncertainty about

his having left town-maybe he had just disappeared.  I know, I know, I

was letting my imagination run away with me, but I couldn't squelch the

thought.

     So what do you do when a friend disappears?

     You have to find out whether or not to worry.

     The first day, I was only a little concerned, especially after I

went back to the coffee shop, and they said he hadn't been in looking

for his damn parchment.  The second day, I started getting worried-it

was midnight and he hadn't shown up at the coffeehouse.  Then I began

to think maybe he'd forgotten to eat again and blacked out-so I went

around to his apartment to tell him off.

     He lived in one of those old one-family houses that had been

converted into five apartments, if you want to call them that-a

nine-bytwelve living room with a kitchenette wall, and a cubbyhole for

a bedroom.  I knocked, but he didn't answer.  I knocked again, Then I

waited a good long time before I knocked a third time.  Still no

answer.  At three A.M when the neighbor came out and yelled at me to

stop knocking so hard, I really got worried-and the next day, when

     nobody answered, I figured, Okay, third time's the charm-so I went

outside, glanced around to make sure nobody was looking, and quietly

crawled in the back window.  Matt really ought to lock up at night;

I've always told him so.

     I had to crawl across the table-Matt liked to eat and write by

natural light-and stepped into a mess.

     Look, I've got a pretty strong stomach, and Matt was never big on

housekeeping.  A high stack of dishes with mold on them, I could have

understood-but wall-to-wall spiderwebs?  No way.  How could he live

like that?  I mean, it wasn't just spiderwebs in the corners-it was

spiderwebs choking the furniture!  I couldn't have sat down without

getting caught in dusty silk!  And the proprietors were still there,

too-little brown ones, medium-sized gray ones, and a huge malecater

with a body the size of a quarter and red markings like a big wide grin

on the underside of its abdomen, sitting in the middle of a web six

feet wide that was stretched across the archway to the bed nook.

     Then the sun came out from behind a , loud, its light struck

through the window for about half a minute-and I stood spellbound.

     Lit from the back and side like that, the huge web seemed to glow,

every tendril bright.  It was beautiful.

     Then the sun went in, the light went away, and it was just a dusty

piece of vermin-laden debris.

     Speaking of vermin, what had attracted all these eight-legged

wonders?  It must have been a bumper year for flies.  Or maybe, just

maybe, they'd decided to declare war on the army of cockroaches that

infested the place.  If so, more power to them.  I decided not to go

spider hunting, after all.  Besides, I didn't have time-I had to find

Matt.

     The strange thing was, I'd been in that apartment just three days

before, and there hadn't been a single strand of spider silk in sight.

     Okay, so they're hard to see-but three days just isn't time enough

for that much decoration.

     I stepped up to the archway, nerving myself to sweep that web

aside and swat its builder-but the sun came out again, and the golden

cartwheel was so damned beautiful I just couldn't bring myself to do

it.  Besides, I didn't really need to-I could look through it, and the

bedroom sure didn't have any place that was out of sight.

     Room enough for a bed, a dresser, a tin wardrobe, and scarcely an

inch more.  The bed was rumpled, but Matt wasn't in it.

     I turned around, frowning, and scanned the place again.  I

wouldn't

say there was no sign of Matt-as I told you, he wasn't big

on house

     keeping, and there were stacks of books everywhere, nicely webbed

at the moment-but the pile of dirty dishes was no higher than it had

been, and he himself sure wasn't there.

     I stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind me, chewing

it over.  No matter how I sliced it, it came out the same-Matt had left

town.

     Why so suddenly?

     Death in the family.  Or close to it.  What else could it be?

     So I went back to my apartment and started research.  One of the

handy things about having some training in scholarship, is that you

know how to find information.  I knew what town Matt came fromSepar

City, New Jersey-and I knew how to call long-distance information.

     "Mantrell," I told the operator.

     "There are three, Sir.  Which one did you want?"

     I racked my brains.  Had Matt ever said anything about his

parents' names?  Then I remembered, once, that there had been a

"junior" attached to him.  "Matthew."

     "We have a Mateo."

     "Yeah, that's it."  It was a good guess, anyway.

     "One moment, please."

     The vocodered voice gave me the number.  I wrote it down, hung UP,

picked up, and punched in.  Six rings, and I found myself hoping nobody

would answer.

     "'Alio?  I1

     I hadn't known his parents were immigrants.  His mother sounded

nice.

     "I'm calling for Matthew Mantrell," I said.  "Junior."

     Mateo?  Ees not 'ere."

     "Just went out for a minute?"  I was surprised at the surge of

relief I felt.

     "No, no!  Ees away-college!"

     My spirits took the express elevator down.  "Okay.  I'll try him

there.  Thanks, Mrs.  Mantrell."

     "Ees okay.  You tell him call home, si?"

     "Si," I agreed.  "Good-bye."  I hung up, hoping I would see him

indeed.

     So.  He hadn't gone home.

     Then where?

     I know I should have forgotten about it, shoved it to the back

of

     my mind, and just contented myself with being really mad at him.

     What was the big deal, anyway?

     The big deal was that Matt was the only real friend I had, at the

moment-maybe the only one I'd ever had, really.  I mean, I hadn't known

Matt all that long; but four years seems like a long time, to me.  Four

years, going on five-but who's counting?

     It's not as if I'd ever had all that many friends.  Let me see,

there was jory in first grade, and Luke, and Ray-and all the rest of

the boys in the class, I suppose.  Then it was down to Luke and Ray in

second grade, 'cause jory moved away-but the rest of the kids began to

cool off.  My wild stories, I guess.  Then Ray moved, too, so it was

just Luke and me in third grade-and Luke eased up, 'cause he wanted to

play with the other kids.  Me, I didn't want to play, I was clumsy-I

just wanted to tell stories, but the other kids didn't want to hear

about brave knights rescuing fair damsels.  So from fourth grade on, I

was on decent terms with the rest of the kids, but nothing more.  Then,

along about junior high, nobody wanted to be caught talking to me,

because the "in" crowd decided I was weird.

     What can I say?  I was.  I mean, a thirteen-year-old boy who

doesn't like baseball and loves reading poetry-what can you say?  By

local standards, anyway.  And in junior high, local standards are

everything.

     Made me miserable, but what could I do?

     Find out what they thought made a good man, of course.  I watched

and found out real quick that the popular guys weren't afraid to fight,

and they won more fights than they lost.  That seemed to go with being

good at sports.  So I figured that if I could learn how to fight, I

could be good at sports, too.  A karate school had just opened up in

town, so I heckled Mom until she finally took me, just to shut me up. 

I had to get a paper route to pay for it, though.

     It only took six months before I stopped losing fights.  When

school started again in the fall, and the boys started working out

their ranking system by the usual round of bouts, I started winning a

few-and all of a sudden, the other guys got chummy.  I warmed to it for

a little while, but it revolted me, too.  I knew them for what they

were now, and I stopped caring about them.

     It felt good.  Besides, I'd connected with karate-and from it, I

got interested in the Far East.

     One of the teachers told me I should try not to sound so hostile

and sarcastic all the time.

     Sarcastic?  Who, me?

     So I learned to paste on the smile and sound cheerful.

     Didn't work.  The other kids could tell.  All I succeeded in doing

was acting phony.

     Why bother?

     Of course, things picked up a little in high school, because there

was a literary magazine, and a drama club, so I got back onto civil

terms with some of the other kids.  Not the "in" crowd, of course, but

they bored me, so I didn't care.  Much.

     So all in all, I wasn't really prepared for college. 

Academically, sure-but socially?  I mean, I hadn't had a real friend in

ten yearsand all of a sudden, I had a dozen.  Not close friends, of

course, but people who smiled and sat down in my booth at the coffee

shop.

     Who can blame me if I didn't do any homework?

     My profs, that's who.  And the registrar, who sent me the little

pink slip with the word probation worked in there.  And my academic

counselor, who pointed out that I was earning a quick exit visa from

the Land of Friendship.  So I declared an English major, where at least

half of the homework was reading the books I'd already read for

recreation-Twain, and Dickens, and Melville.  I discovered Fielding,

and Chaucer, and Joyce, and had more fun.  Of course ' I had to take a

grammar course and write term papers, so I learned how to sneak in a

few hours at the library.  I didn't take any honors, but I stayed in.

     Then I discovered philosophy, and found out that I actually wanted

to go to the library.  I started studying without realizing it-it was

so much fun, such a colossal, idiotic, senseless puzzle.  Nobody had

any good answers to the big questions, but at least they were asking.

     My answers?  I was looking for them.  That was enough.

     So I studied for fun, and almost learned how to party.  Never got

very good at it, but I tried-and by my senior year, I even had a couple

of friends who trusted me enough to tell me their troubles.

     Not that I ever told them mine, of course.  I tried once or twice,

but stopped when I saw the eyes glaze.  I figured out that most people

want to talk, but they don't want to listen.  It followed from that,

logically, that what they liked about me was that I listened, but

didn't talk.  So I didn't.  I got a reputation for being the strong and

silent type, just by keeping my mouth shut.  I also found out, by

overhearing at a party, that they thought I was the Angry Young Man.

     I thought that one over and decided they were right.  I was angry

about people.  Even the ones I liked, mostly.  They wanted to take, but

they didn't want to give.  They cared about fighting, but they didn't

     care about brains.  They spent their time trying to get from one

another, and they didn't care about why they were here.

     Oh, don't get me wrong-they were good people.  But they didn't

care about me, really.  I was a convenience.

     Except for Matt.

     Matt was already working on his M.A. when I met him, and by the

time I graduated, he was making good progress on his PhD.

     So what was I going to do when I got my degree?  Leave town, and

the one good friend I had?  Not to mention the only three girls who'd

ever thought I was human.

     No way.

     So I started work on my master's.  Physics, of course.

     How come?  From literature and philosophy?

     Because I took "Intro to Asia" for a freshman distribution

requirement, and found out about zen-and learned about Shredinger's Cat

in "History of Science."  Put the two together, and it made a lot of

sense.

     Don't ask.  You had to be there.

     Then Matt ran into a snag on his doctoral dissertation.  Do you

know what it's like to see a real friend deteriorating in front of your

eyes?  He found that scrap of parchment, the-i got hung up trying to

translate it.  Wasn't in any known language, so it had to be a prank.

     I mean, that's obvious, right?  Not even logic-just common sense.

     Matt didn't have any.

     Now, don't get me wrong.  Matt's my friend, and I think the world

of the guy, but I'm realistic about him, too.  He was something of a

compulsive, and something of an idealist, as well-to the point of ...

     Well, you know the difference between fantasy and reality?  Matt

didn't.  Not always, anyway.

     No, he was convinced that parchment was a real, authentic,

historical document, and he wasted half his last year trying to

decipher it.

     I was getting real worried about him-losing weight, bags under his

eyes, drawn and pale ... Matt, not me.  I didn't have any spare weight

to lose.  Him, he was the credulous type-one of the kind that's born

every minute.  I'm one of the other kind, two born for every one of

him.  I mean, I wouldn't believe it was April if I didn't see the

calendar.  Forget about that robin pecking at the window, and the buds

on the trees.  If I don't see it in black and white, it's Nature

pulling a fast one.  Maybe a thaw.

     So he had disappeared.

     I thought about calling the police, but I remembered they

couldn't

     do anything-Matt was a grown man, and there hadn't been any

bloodstains in his apartment.  Besides, I hadn't been on terribly good

terms with the local constables ever since that year I was

experimenting with recreational chemicals.

     Still, I gave it a try.  I actually went into the police

station-me, with my long hair and beard.  Nobody gave me more than a

casual glance, but my back still prickled-probably from an early

memory, a very early memory, of my father saying something about "the

pigs" loving to beat on anybody who didn't have a crew cut.  Of course,

that was long ago, in 1968, and I was so little that all I remember of

him was a big, tall pair of blue jeans with a tie-dyed T-shirt and a

lot of hair at the top.  I hated that memory for ten years, because it

was all I knew of him until Mom decided to get in touch with him again,

and I found out he wasn't really the ogre I figured he must have been,

to have left Mom and me that way.  Found out it wasn't all his idea,

either.  And I had a basis for understanding him-by that time, I had

begun to know what it was like to have all the other kids put you down.

     "I'm sorry, kid," he told me once.  "I didn't know alienation was

hereditary.  " Of course, it wasn't-just the personality traits that

led to it.  I wouldn't say I ever loved him, but at least I warmed to

him some.  He had shaved and gotten a haircut, even a three-piece suit,

by then, but it didn't fool anybody for very long.  Especially me. 

Maybe that's why I wear chambray and blue jeans.  And long hair, and a

beard-like my early memories of him.

     And early memories stay with you longest and deepest, so I really

felt as if I were walking into the lion's den.

     The cop at the desk looked up as I approached.  "Can I help you?"

     About then, he could have helped me out of there, and I might have

needed it-but I said, "I hope so.  A friend of mine.  He's disappeared.

     Right away, he looked grave.  "Did he leave any message?"

     I thought of the parchment, but what good is writing you can't

read?  Besides, he wasn't the one who wrote it.  "Not a word."

     He frowned.  "But he was over twenty-one"' "Yeah," I admitted.

     "Any reason to think there might have been foul play?"

     Now, that question sent the icicle skittering down my spine.  Not

that the idea hadn't been there, lurking at the back of my dread, mind

you-but I had worked real hard not to put words to it.  Now that the

     sergeant had, I couldn't ignore it any more.  "Not really," I

admitted.

     "It's just not like him to pick up and pack out like that."

     "It happens," the sergeant sighed.  "People just get fed up with

life and take off.  We'll post his name and watch for him, and let you

know if we find out anything-but that's all we can do."

     I'd been pretty sure of that.  "Thanks," I said.  "He's Matt

Mantrell.

     Matthew.  And I'm-" "Saul Bremener."  He kept his eyes on the form

he was filling in.

     "Three-ten North Thirteenth Street.  We'll let you know if we hear

anything.  " My stomach went hollow, and my skin crawled.  It doesn't

always help your morale, finding out that the cops know you by name. 

"Uh ... thanks," I croaked.

     "Don't mention it."  He looked up.  "Have a good day, Mr.

     Bremener-and don't take any wooden cigarettes, okay?"

     "Wooden," I agreed, and turned numbly about and drifted out of

that den of doom.  So they remembered my little experiments.  It makes

one wonder.

     The sunlight and morning air braced me, in spite of the lack of

sleep.  I decided they were nice guys, after all-they'd left me alone

until they could see if it was a passing fad, or something permanent.

     Passing, in my case.  So it was smart-they'd saved taxpayers'

money and my reputation.  I wondered if there was anything written

about me anywhere.

     Probably.  Somewhere.  I mean, they had to have something to do

during the slow season.  I began to sympathize with Matt-maybe blowing

town suddenly wouldn't be such a bad idea.

     Get real, I told myself sternly.  Where else would I find such

sympathetic cops?

     Back to the search.  Maybe they couldn't do anything officially,

but I wasn't official.

     So I searched high and low, called the last girl Matt had been

seen with-back when I was a junior-and started getting baggy eyes

myself.  Finally, I took a few slugs of Pepto-Bismol as a preventative,

screwed my disgust to the nausea point, and went back into his

apartment.

     I scolded myself for not having moved that table; just lucky Matt

hadn't left anything on it.  I laid my notebook down on the desk next

to the phone and gave a quick look at the table, the kitchenette

counter, and the miniature sofa.  Nothing there but dust and spider

silk.

     Then I went through that apartment inch by inch, clearing webs and

squashing spiders.  Or trying to, anyway-I must have been dealing with

a new and mutant breed.  Those little bug-eaters were fast!

     Especially the big fat one-I took my eyes off it for a second to

glance at the arachnid next door, and when I glanced back, it wasn't

there any more.

     it wasn't the only thing that wasn't there-neither was any sign of

where Matt might be.  I mean, nothing-until I turned and looked at the

kitchenette table and saw the parchment.

     I stared.  Then I closed my eyes, shook my head, and stared again.

     it was still there.  I could have sworn I'd put it back in my

notebook-so I picked up the notebook and checked.  Yep, the piece of

sheepskin was still in it, all right.

     That gave me pause.  Practically a freeze, really, while I thought

unprintable thoughts.  Finally, slowly, I looked up and checked again.

     it was on the table.

     I looked down at the notebook, real fast, but not fast enough-it

was back between the lined sheets.  I held my head still and flicked a

glance over to the table, but it must have read my mind, 'cause it was

there by the time I looked.  Then I laid down the notebook, real

carefully, and stepped back, so I could see both the notebook and the

table at the same time.

     They each had a parchment.

     Well, that settled that.  I gave up and brought the notebook over

to the table.  I set it down beside the parchment.  Yep, they were both

still there-Matt's parchment in my notebook, and a brand-new one where

none had ever been before.  At least, a few minutes before-I had

checked the table as I crawled across it.  I frowned, taking a closer

look at the new parchment.

     It was written in runes, and the "paper" was genuine sheepskin,

all right.

     How come runes?

     Because runes are magical.

     I tried to ignore the prickling at the base of my skull and told

myself sternly that runes were just ordinary, everyday letters in

somebody else's language.  Okay, so it was an old language, and a lot

of the items written in it had been ceremonial, which was why they had

been preserved-but that didn't mean they were magical.  I mean, the

people who wrote them may have thought they could work magichut that

was just superstition.

     But it was also something that made the scholar in me sit up

brightly and smack his lips.  I mean, literature had been one of my

undergraduate majors-justified an extra year on campus, right thereand

although it wasn't my main field any more, I was still interested.

     I'd learned at least a little bit about those old symbols-and I

knew Matt had a book around here that explained the rest.  I hunted

around until I found it, blew the dust and webbing off, and sat down to

study.  I looked up each rune and wrote its Roman-letter equivalent

just above it.  I tried pencil first, but it just skittered off that

slick surface, so I had to use a felt pen.  After all, this couldn't

really be anything old, could it?

     After three letters, I leaned back to see if it made a word.

     H-e-y.

     I recoiled and glared down at it.  How dare it sound like English!

     just a coincidence.  I went to work on the next word.

     P-a-u-l.

     I sat very still, my glance riveted to those runes.  "Hey, Paul"? 

Who in the ninth century knew my name?

     Then a thought skipped through, and I took a closer look at the

parchment.  I mean, the material itself.  It was new, brand-new, fresh

off the sheep, compared to Matt's parchment, which was brittle and

yellow-several years old, at least.  Something inside me whispered

centuries, but I resolutely ignored it and went on to the next word.

     I wrote the Roman letters above the runes, refusing to be

sidetracked, resisting the temptation to pronounce the words they

formed, until I had all the symbols converted-though something inside

me was adding them up as I went along, and whispering a very nasty

suspicion to me.  But as long as I had another rune to look up, I could

ignore it-even after I'd already learned all the runes again and was

looking each one up very deliberately, telling myself it was just to

make sure I hadn't made a mistake.

     Finally, though, I had written down all the letter equivalents and

I couldn't put it off any longer.  I stayed hunched over the parchment,

my hands spread flat on the table, trying to grip into the plywood as I

read the translated words.

     H-e-y P-a-ul g-e-t i-n t-o-u-c-h I-v-e I-o-s-t y-o-u-r address.

     Or, to give it the proper emphatic delivery: "Hey, Paul!  Get in

touch!  I've lost your address!"

     I could almost hear Matt's voice saying those words, and I swear

my nails bit into the plywood.  What kin o a ousy joe was t is?

     Friend?  You call that a friend?  First he leaves town without a

word, and then he sends me this?

     I was just realizing that he couldn't have sent it, when I felt

the pain in the back of my hand.

     "Damn!"  I snatched it back, saw the little red dot in the center,

then the big fat spider standing there with that big wide grin painted

on its abdomen, and so help me, it was laughing at me.  Anger churned

up, but the room was already getting fuzzy.  Still, I tried to hang on

to that anger, tried to lift a hand to swat-the blasted thing had no

right to ...

     But before I could even finish the thought, the haze thickened,

wrapped itself around me like a cool blanket, rolled itself up, and

bore me away to someplace dim and distant, and I almost managed to stay

conscious.

     Chapter Two

     When I came to, the mist was gone, and I felt amazingly well.  I

mean, I had never felt that whole, that healthy, since I was a kid-and

I hadn't been aware of it then, of course.  it was like waking up on an

April day, with the air fresh and warming from the night's chill, and

the sun painting the day in primaries as you watch, and knowing it's

your birthday.

     But it wasn't April, it was November, and I was inside Matt's

apartment.  Only I wasn't, I was out in the open-and it wasn't November

any more, it really was April.  Either that, or it was Florida.

     Florida, with mountains stabbing up from the horizon?  And not

gently rounded mountains, like the Appalachians, but jagged granite

obelisks, with snow on top?

     Of course, they were off in the distance.  Close by, all I could

see was a field of wheat, with two or three little hedges cutting it

into odd shapes.  Whoever lived here, they could use some lessons in

geometry.

     I was just beginning to wonder how I'd come here, when I saw the

knight.

     Well, I knew about the Society for Creative Anachronism, of

course, but I also knew they didn't go in for tilting, and this guy was

carrying one of the most authentic lances I could have imagined.  Plus,

he was riding a Percheron-and I don't know any SCA types who could

afford the upkeep on a pony, let alone a beerwagon bronc.  And, of

course, there were the half-dozen men on

     foot behind him, all wearing more or less the same combination of

brown and gray, with steel bands glinting on their hats and long spears

in their hands.  They raised a whoop and pointed at me.  The knight

turned to look.

     He saw me and perked up right away-dropped the point of the lance

to horizontal, aimed the warhorse at me, and kicked it into a gallop.

     Must have been the long hair and the beard.  Mine, I mean.  Either

that, or he had something against blue jeans and chambray.

     His men raised another whoop and came pelting after him like

children hearing the bells on an ice cream truck.  I just stood there,

staring at all that scrap iron and horse meat thundering down at me,

trying very, very hard not to believe any of it.

     Then I realized the tip of the lance had come close enough so that

I could see it was sharp and made of steel, and I had to believe that

much.  I jumped aside.  The rider tried to swerve, bellowing some nasty

things, but his Percheron didn't have that tight a turning radius, and

he went crashing into the underbrush.

     Underbrush?

     I whirled around and, sure enough, there it was, just stunted

trees and bushes, a little thicket in the middle of all those fields,

presumably where the ground was too poor to grow anything.  Or maybe

around a creek-I braced myself, hoping to hear a splash.

     Instead, I heard a crack that filled my whole head, along with a

piercing pain.  The scene went dark for an instant, then came back full

of bright little shiny lights.  I would have fallen down, but a big

rough hand was holding me up by the arm while a voice guffawed, "He is

nothing, only a scrap of skin and bone!  Here, Heinrich, you try him! 

" And I was spinning and staggering across the grass, dazed and amazed

to realize I could understand the words, though I knew damned well they

weren't English.

     Then I slammed into something else meaty and with foul breath.

     He slammed a fist into my gut.  I doubled over, my stomach trying

to climb up my throat, and a huge bellow of laughter filled my ears.

     Then something hard slammed into my bottom, and I heard another

nasty laugh.  I moved my legs fast, just barely managing to catch up

with my top half in time to keep from falling-but behind me, I heard an

outraged shout.  "It was not your turn, Rudolf!  Remember your place!"

     Then I slammed into another wall of leather and sweat that

     made an evil laugh and pushed me back far enough so that I could

see the fist swinging at me.  Reflex finally took over, and I squirmed

aside so that the fist hit my shoulder, not my head.  It spun me around

enough so that I could see Heinrich belting Rudolf one.  Rudy went down

to his knees and stayed there, rubbing his chin-and behind them, the

knight was sitting his horse with his visor up, nodding and laughing.

     Then another tough snarled, "My turn!"  and grabbed me.

     But another clunk grabbed my other arm and yanked back.  I yowled,

but I could still hear him bellowing, "Take a lower place, Gustang!  I

will not be forborne!"  And he swung a quick left hook into Gustang's

gut.

     I couldn't believe it.  Not only were they beating up a total

stranger, just for fun-they were fighting over me, too, about the

pecking order.

     But the wrangling had taken just long enough for me to collect a

little bit of my wits, and it was the part that held the memory of my

karate training.  What would I have told my teacher, if he'd been here?

"Sorry, Sensei, I was watching the scenery?"  Sure.

     Time to remember I was a trained killer.  I'd never killed

anything larger than a mouse, of course, and that was only with a

trap-but that didn't change the training.

     I spun around, slamming into the guy who had my arm and snaking my

leg around his in the process, shoving and kicking back.

     Down he went, and I spun to the next one, who was so surprised he

was slow getting his guard up-only it wasn't a guard, he was just

swinging at me, not even trying to block.  I ducked and kicked, and he

went down.

     The other four finally woke up to what I was doing and fell on me

with an outraged roar.  I sidestepped, ducked, punched, whirled, and

kicked, recovered and chopped.  The adrenaline was singing, and if I

was bruised and groggy, I didn't realize it.  Two of them were down,

and the other two hesitated, uncertain-at a guess, I decided they

weren't used to having their toys play back.

     Then the knight shouted and slammed down his visor-obviously time

to restore a little order here.  His men relaxed, stepping back and

leaving it to Papa.

     All the outrage I felt boiled up as I saw the Percheron plodding

forward and beginning to pick up speed.  This was no way to treat a

stranger, at least one who hadn't even offered an insult!  As the huge

beast lumbered into a trot, I shouted, "What are you doing,

     jumping a stranger just going his way?  Are you out of your

brains, have you nothing but hay?  Do you have any sanity?  Any common

humanity?  You should feel what it's like to be crashed up this

     way!  " The huge horse tripped.  It tumbled.  It hit the ground

hard and rolled.  The knight bellowed in alarm, and just managed to

kick free at the last instant.

     I stared.

     So did his men.

     Then somebody hissed, "Zabreur!"  and the knight began to kick his

arms and legs-he was on his back, trying to turn over.

     But he was out of action long enough for me to make some headway

against his men.  I turned to them, advancing-if I tried to run, it

would restore their self-confidence.

     But that was very thoroughly shot.  They moaned and backed off

fast, then turned, stumbling, and started to run.

     I stared, thunderstruck.  They couldn't be that scared, just

because the horse had hit a gopher hole and tripped!  Okay, so it was a

lucky coincidence that I had just finished yelling something-but that

shouldn't have scared them that much.

     The knight didn't think so, either.  "Hans!  Klaus!  You

worthless, good-for-nothing blobs of dog meat!  Come back here and aid

me, or I'll ..."  Then he caught sight of me limping toward him,

frowning, curious, and I guess I must have looked pretty bad, being

mussed up with my shirt torn and all, because he moaned and made some

sort of sign.  "You cannot prevail!  My master is an Earl

     of Evil!

     Some force staggered me, making my head ring.  He must have thrown

something I hadn't seen.  Anger surged, and my instinct sent me to kick

his head in-but prudence took over at the last second, pointing out

that I should get as far away from him as possible, and not add

homicide to any other charges the local authorities might dream up

against me.  This was especially true because he obviously was one of

the local authorities.  I had laid off smoking grass for similar

reasons, and it had apparently paid off, since I hadn't been arrested. 

I slowed and nodded.  "Right.  I love you, too, sweetheart.

     Remind me to return the hospitality some day."  Then I turned and

went away, walking fast-or as fast as I could; I seemed to have

developed a limp.

     I glanced back a couple of times, but no one was showing any great

interest in following me.  That made me curious after a while,

     so I shinnied up a tree until I had a line of sight back to the

little forest we'd been near.  I was on the other side of that woods

now, but I could see the knight and his boys trudging off toward the

castle way up high across the valley.  That was both good and badgood,

because it meant I had some time to find a hiding place, or get farther

away; bad, because it meant they'd apparently decided I was too much to

handle and were going back for reinforcements.

     Of course they could just be cutting their losses.  Maybe they

were planning not to mention me to anybody again-but somehow, I doubted

that.  Might have had something to do with that word somebody'd hissed

when the knight went down-"Zabreur."  My German was a little rusty, and

that probably wasn't real German, anywaybut didn't the word mean "male

witch"?

     Possible.

     I shinnied back down, turning thoughtful.  Chambray and blue jeans

probably looked like luxury fabrics, to them-now that I thought about

it, their cloth had looked pretty much homemade.  And my styles were

certainly odd, by their standards.  The belt and boots alone would be

enough to mark me as above peasant rank, and weird-tooled leather with

a huge metal buckle, and high heels.  No, from their point of view, I

was familiar enough to be real, odd enough

     to be special.

     I set off uphill again, deciding I'd better stay alert.  The

"magician" pose was a good idea-it could help protect me, and I sure

didn't have anything else to do the job.  Well, no, I had a large clasp

knife in my pocket-I like 'em big enough so that "jacknife" seems like

an understatement.  I decided I'd better use it to help me make

something better in the way of a weapon.  I stopped off at the next

woodlot, hunted around, and found a fallen branch that was still pretty

solid.  I whittled away twigs as I walked and, pretty soon, I had a

serviceable staff.

     I'd hung around with some SCA guys and learned a little about

quarterstaves from them-but I'd learned a bit more from my sensei.  I

wasn't an expert, mind you, but I was capable, and it was better than

     nothing.

     I looked around me then, finally letting the scenery sink in,

instead of just taking a quick glance to know which way to go.  There

were rugged mountains in the distance, big hills nearby, with sheep

grazing on the slopes and every more-or-less horizontal spot taken up

by grain.  I couldn't have told you one cereal from another unless it

came in a box, but this stuff looked too hairy to be wheat.

     Finally, it hit-I wasn't in the Midwest any more.  In fact, I

doubted

     I was even in America-and judging from what I'd seen of the

locals, I wasn't even it the twentieth century.

     Time travel?  Space zapping?  Impossible!  I had to be dreaming.

     But those punches had sure hurt.  A dream, this wasn't.

     Hallucination?

     Possible-but if it were, it would've had to have been the most

detailed trip I'd ever heard of, and the most enduring.  Besides, I had

sworn off all chemical experiences years before.

     Flashback?

     Again, possible-though I didn't think I'd taken anywhere near

enough drugs, ever, to have caused a spontaneous trip to happen, and

certainly not one that lasted this long.  Still, it was a possibility. 

I closed my eyes and willed myself back to my apartment.

     But there were no psychedelic patterns inside my eyelids, only

darkness-well, redness; I was standing in sunlight.  I groped for my

identity symbol, but my hands were empty, except for the staff.  In

desperation, I put my left hand on my belt buckle and started tracing

the patterns of the Native American symbols I could feel there.

     Nothing happened.

     I sighed and gave up, opening my eyes.  I was stuck here, wherever

"here" was-and I was going to have to live by the local rules, whatever

they were.  Denial wouldn't help, and it might be a quick road to

disaster.  Whether that disaster was psychological or physical was kind

of a moot point-it would be very unpleasant, either way.

     Unless there was some evidence to the contrary-and I couldn't see

any-I had to assume that the knight and his bullyboys were genuine not

modern people putting on some incomprehensible show.

     Those guys couldn't have been SCA members-they weren't polite,

they weren't friendly, and their weapons weren't padded.  So, somehow,

I'd landed in the middle of some sort of medieval culture, from what I

could see of it-and if they thought I was a magician, that could

explain a few things.

     I wondered where I was.  I couldn't offhand think of any place on

Earth that was still living in the Northern European Middle Ages.

     Okay, there were some isolated islands where the living was still

pretty limited-no TV, even-but so far as I knew, they didn't run to

knights.

     A medieval fair, being held to attract the tourists?  No; you

don't beat up on tourists.

     I sighed, deciding that I just didn't have enough information to

fig

     ure out where I was, how I'd been brought there, or why.  I

shelved it until I could learn more.  There were more immediate

problems that needed tending to, such as survival.

     I set off up-slope.  A few hundred yards later, I passed a berry

bush-and I was amazed to realize I was hungry.  I stopped and stepped

closer, inspecting the berries carefully, and decided that I couldn't

be all that badly off, if I could still want food.  I'd tied in with a

local back-to-the-basics group for a year or two, going out on field

trips into the countryside to learn how to survive in the wild, or at

least without grocery stores; I hadn't quit until they started talking

about setting up a commune.  So I knew which plants were edible and

which weren't, and the all-important rule: if you're not sure it's good

to eat, don't touch it.  But these looked to be perfectly ordinary

raspberries, so I took a chance, and a handful.  They tasted good, so I

took another handful.

     As I was munching, I noticed a very big spiderweb, glowing with

the sunlight behind it-in fact, several of them; the neighborhood must

have been saturated with flies.  The biggest web, though, had an

eight-legger the size of a quarter, an exact double for the one that

had stung me.  Anger rose, and my hand tightened on my staff-but I told

myself that it couldn't be the same bug, and I turned away.

     Bad year for spiders, folks.

     The land was still sloping upward.  I decided I must be in the

foothills of the mountains I'd seen in the distance.  After a little

while, I came to a woodlot that went on and on.  I stayed on the

fringe, just this side of the underbrush, and kept a wary eye on it-for

all I knew, a dragon might have come charging out any second.  On the

other hand, I wanted to be able to duck into it quickly, if Sir

Overbearing and his boys decided to come hunting, after all.

     Then, suddenly, the shock hit.  I stopped dead still, leaned on my

staff, and waited for the feeling of desolation to pass.

     it didn't.

     I lifted my head, looking out over that strange, strange view, and

Kullervo's lines from The Kalevala sprang into my mind.  I chanted them

aloud, hoping the sound would make me feel better:

     "And the friendless one reflected, 'Wherefore have I been created?

     Who has made me and has doomed me, Thus without a sun to wander

Through the starry wastes forever?'

     It worked.  just the sound of a human voice helped, even if it was

my own-and the feeling of kinship, the knoN,Iedge that somebody else

had felt this way before, somewhere, somewhen, and that a lot of other

people had to have felt the same way, too, to keep that verse alive

down the centuries.  I wasn't a total oddball, and I wasn't completely

alone.  Culture can be a great consolation.

     Consolation enough to put some spirit back into me.  I

straightened up, squaring my shoulders, and set off again.

     Light blossomed-an actinic, piercing light that seemed to lance

though my eyes.

     I fell back, raising a forearm to protect them.  Panic surged

through me-the only thing I'd ever heard of that made sudden light like

that was a from .

     But there was no explosion.  Instead, I seemed to hear, very

faintly, the sound of a chiming gong-but it could have been

imagination.

     In fact, it had to be-and so did the strange, vague,

anthropomorphic shape at the center of that light burst, where the

glare was strongest.  As I watched, it coalesced, becoming clearer and

more humanlike.

     Then I caught my breath.  It had turned into the shape of a young

man, swallowing up all the light so that it still shone faintly, even

though I could see through him.  just barely.

     He wore a glowing robe, and there was a shimmering behind him, a

suggestion of huge folded wings-and his face was very severe.

     No.  It couldn't be.  An angel?

     "I am even so," the being responded, "and the one who hath known

thee even since the day of thy birth, Saul."

     Well.  That brought me back to my senses, a little.  "If you've

known me that long," I said, "how come I've never seen you before?"

     "In that dull world to which thou wert born, naught of the spirit

can be seen, save to those few souls that do glow with goodness.

     Here, though, the world of the spirit is open to men, if they do

but seek.  " "World?"  I frowned.  "You mean I'm in a totally different

world from the one I've lived in all my life?"  Somehow, that didn't

seem like news.

     "Even so," the angel agreed, but he was still frowning.

     Then the other part of his message registered.  "But," I said,

"I'm not particularly interested in the world of the spirit."

     "How little thou dost know thyself, Saul!  And how greatly dost

thou seek to hide thine own nature from thyself.  Thou hast ever

     been preoccupied with the things of the spirit, and 'tis even thy

aching search for truth that hath led thee away from the churches of

men."

     I just stood there for a second while that sank in.  Then I said,

"I thought you boys were supposed to think the churches had a monopoly

on truth."

     "The religions they serve have truth within them, and therefore do

the churches, also-yet the folk who constitute each church are but

human, and as fallible as any among thee.  How intolerant art thou, to

excuse thine own failings and condemn them for theirs!"

     I lifted my head in indignation.  "I haven't condemned anybody!"

     "Hast thou not turned from them because thou hast judged them to

be hypocrites?  Yet surely thou must needs see that their fait is a

striving after perfection."

     I nodded, not following.

     "Therefore, if they do strive for perfection, they cannot already

have attained it."

     "Now, wait a minute!"  I held up a hand, seeing where he was

going.

     "Thou hast learned it," he said, nodding.  "If they are thou canst

not blame them for their imperfections."  not perfect,

     "But I haven't judged anybody!"

     "Hast thou not but now judged even thy Creator?  Hast thou not

blamed Him for creating thee doomed to loneliness?"

     "Oh," I said.  "That's what brought you here."

     "Even so," the angel confirmed.  "In this world-nay, this

universe-prayers are answered more obviously than in thine own, and

verses are prayers, or petitions to the Adversary."

     Suddenly, I was very glad I hadn't sung "Sympathy for the Devil."

     Then the rest of what he'd said sank in.  I frowned.  "What do you

mean, 'this universe'?"

     "Hast thou not perceived it with thy vaunted reason?"  he taunted.

     "Thou art no longer in the universe of thy birth.  Thou hast been

transported to another, in which magic rules, and physics is

superstition."

     I stared.

     "Yet the God of All is the One God here, as well as in thy home,"

the angel said inexorably, "and of all the universes that be; for 'tis

He who made them, and doth maintain them by the force of His will.  It

is this mighty and majestic God whom thou dost blame for thine own

failings!  "

     "But I wasn't talking about the judaeo-Christian Creator," I

objected.  "I was reciting a quotation from the Finnish national epic! 

If you want to look for the 'creator' I was talking about, go look

among the gods of the Finns!  Besides, I didn't even make a statement! 

I just asked a question!"

     The angel waved the objection away with an impatient gesture.

     "'Tis immaterial.  Thou art in a universe in which the only true

Creator is Jehovah, and thou must needs align thyself either with God,

or with the Devil."

     "Are you trying to say God didn't make me to be lonely?"

     "Nay, nor to wander.  If thou dost lack friends and home, that is

the consequence of thine own deeds and choices.  If thou dost not wish

it so, thou canst choose otherwise."

     I frowned.  "Choose to go back to my own world?"

     "Even that, though thou shalt have to seek the means, and labor

long and hard to earn or learn the way.  Yet I spoke more of thy

grieving for friends and place."

     "I've been looking for friends all my life!"

     "They have been there," the angel said inexorably.  "Thou hadst

but to live as they did, to learn their ways and follow them."

     "Wait a minute!  You're saying that if I wanted to be part of a

group, I had to do as everybody in that group did?  " "Thou hadst need

to abide by their rules," the angel said.  "There are many such that I

have rejoiced to see thee turn away from-yet

there were others who

were good folk, whose customs thou didst dis

     dam.  " t

     I remembered the kids in grade school, who thought fighting and

sports were everything.  "Damn right!"

     The angel's face flared in wrath.  I shrank back.  "Uh, sorry,

there.

     Darn right."

     He diminished to a slow burn.

     I collected the pieces of my wits and said, "They were so phony!

     And their standards were, too!  Thinking that how well you could

hit a ball really mattered!"

     "It did," the angel said, "to them."

     "Not to me!  Reading books counted!  Knowledge counted!"

     "Thus thy books meant more to thee than friendship.  Thou hadst

made thy choice; thou hadst small room to rail 'gainst God."

     "Oh, yes I did!  I should've been able to have friends and

booksother kids who liked to read, liked to learn!  Then I would have

been

     part of a group!  We might even have learned how to play baseball

together!  " "Dost thou not wish to be rare?"

     "No!"  I exploded, and was shocked to hear myself say it-but I'd

worked up too much momentum to be able to stop.  "I'd love to be

normal!  To have friends!  To be a social animal!  And I tried!  I did

learn their ways, at least a little bit-but it was too late!  I

couldn't acquire the instinct!  And they knew I was faking!"

     "Yet nonetheless would have given thee toleration, if thou hadst

continued to strive."

     "To try to be something I wasn't?  To be a phony?  I thought you

guys were supposed to value truth!"

     "As indeed we do," the angel returned, "and I rejoice that thou

hast chosen the more truthful way.  Yet 'twas thy choice, not God's

     doing."

     "Sure, but look what He gave me to choose from!"  I drew a deep

breath and reined myself in.  Harmony, balance; center yourself .  . .

"I thought having more brains was supposed to give you a big boost

toward Heaven."

     "Nay," the angel returned.  "Heaven is open to all, to the lame as

well as the nimble-and to the moron as well as the genius.  'Tis the

soul that is of concern to God, not the mind."

     I stared, shocked.

     Then I said, "But I thought people with better minds had a better

chance of coming closer to the truth!  And that's God, isn't it?"

     gel said, "or a description of it.

     "That is an aspect of God," the an 'Tis no more the whole of Him

than is His omnipotence.  Oh, a man of greater intellect can come to a

fuller and more complete knowledge of God, if he doth strive

lifelong-yet his way is more torturous, for his mind can see more

obstacles to faith in God than can the man of less nimble wits."

     "But the smarter man can do more holy works!"

     " Not 'more' " the angel corrected me, "only ones that others

cannot see.  Yet his temptations to error are greater, for if he does

not apprehend the truth in an instant, he is like to say it doth not

exist, and turn away."

     "So," I said slowly, "that's why the student went to the rabbi and

said, 'Teach me the whole of the law while I stand on one foot.' "

"That is an allegory," the angel agreed.  "Yet if thy mind is the

     means of coming closer to God in the end, it hath also its own

forms of obligation."

     I turned wary.  When someone says obligation, they're trying to

get you to do something you don't want to do.  "Such as?"

     "To use thy mind to labor for the good of thy brethren," the angel

said.  "To never rest till thou hast come to see the Truth of God-and,

till thou hast attained that clarity of vision to hold fast in the

faith that 'tis there."

     I turned very cold.  "You're asking me to believe in something I

     don't know is there."

     "I

     f thou didst know it," the angel returned, "there would be no need

for faith."

     "Nice twist to the logic."  I dismissed the argument with a wave.

     "But if I can't prove it, I won't accept it."

     "Yet thou must!"  The angel stepped closer, face creased with

anxiety.  "For this world to which thou hast come is a domain in which

spirit rules, and if thou art not dedicated to God and His goodness,

thou wilt slip toward Satan and evil."

     "Ridiculous!"  I scoffed.  "I've heard that before, too-'you've

got to commit yourself.  There's no middle ground.' " .  i "There is

not, here.  With each deed thou dost to any other human being, thou

dost commit thyself to good, or to evil!  Thou canst not remain poised

between!  Thy smallest action will doom thee, if thou dost not choose

God as thy goal.  Thou canst not stand alone!  " "Well, I blasted well

intend to!"  I snapped.  "I'm not about to commit myself to anything! 

Or anybody!  All my life, people have been telling me, 'You've got to

sign up!  You have to join!  You can't just stand by yourself!' But I

didn't believe them-I learned early that being part of a group always

results in having to do things you don't believe are right.  I refused

to do those things before, and I'll refuse again!  " "And therefore

wilt choose to be alone," the angel warned.

     "Yeah, I've been ostracized!  Sometimes directly and openly,

sometimes subtly and covertly-but always cut off, snubbed.  if that's

the price I have to pay for being my own honest self, I'll pay it-and I

have!  I've been doing just that for twenty-four years now, thank you,

and doing just fine!"

     "Thou hast not," the angel contradicted.  "Thou dost endure in

loneliness and instability."

     "Well, if that's the price of freedom, I'll pay it!  And if you

think

     you're going to do anything to punish me for it, you'd better just

stop talking and get to the thunder and lightning!"  I braced myself,

ready for annihilation, and found myself hoping that I'd been right

about God, and that He was on my side after all.

     The angel looked unutterably sad as he studied me, then seemed to

rally a little.  "Nay.  My power may not be spent 'gainst the living,

and most especially not 'gainst the mortal who was placed in my care. 

I shall repel devils who seek to torment thee with all of my power, as

I have in the past-but thy choices are thine own to make, by God's

decree.  And thou hast made them."

     I stood still, waiting for the adrenaline rush to wear off.

     The angel turned stern again.  "Yet henceforth do not rail 'gainst

Heaven for thy loneliness-for 'tis thou who hast chosen it."

     Suddenly the light exploded outward, enveloping him.  It dwindled,

rising and soaring upward, but faded out before it had gone very far.

     I just stood staring after it, feeling the stiffness ebb from my

limbs, feeling the weakness begin, and letting myself realize that I

had just seen my guardian angel.

     But I intended to go on griping all I wanted.  I might have to

accept loneliness as the price of freedom and integrity, but I didn't

have to be happy about it.

     On the other hand, I wasn't accepting it, either.  "You can have

friends and still be yourself," I muttered to myself.  "It's just that

friends who like you the way you are, are few and far between."

     Which reminded me of Matt.

     I turned and started trudging uphill again.  If I'd been

transported into a different universe, maybe he had, too.

     Same different universe?

     I hauled up my sinking stomach.  There was a good chance of it,

wasn't there?  After all, I'd been looking for him when that damned

spider had bitten me and sent me into this world.

     How could a spider bite transport you between worlds?

     Death?

     Or hallucination.  Which reminded me of the angel.  Had to be a

hallucination.  Couldn't possibly have been anything else.  The

berries, I realized-they may have looked like ordinary raspberries, but

they had probably contained a hallucinogen of some sort.  They'd just

opened up a channel for my subconscious to speak to me, in the form of

my guardian angel.

     Which meant my subconscious was religious.

     I definitely didn't like that notion.

     I could almost hear it speaking.  Sub to conscious.  Come in,

conscious.

     No.  I refuse.  I'll stay outside.

     And I would, too.  Chapter Three

     As I walked, I tried to reason it out-after all, forty credits'

worth of philosophy ought to be good for something, and if it wasn't

any good in this situation, it never would be, anywhere.  I resisted

the personal, supernatural view of the local phonemena-angels weren't

real, and neither was magic.  Well, okay, something that sure looked a

lot like magic was going on here-but magic wasn't a person, with

emotions and a personality; magic could much more believably be just a

force, a kind of energy, impersonal and ...

     My train of thought derailed as a flicker at the corner of my eye

caught my attention.  I glanced that way, but it had disappeared, of

course.  No, there it was again, like a glitch in my field of view.  A

wild stab of panic hit; this would be a very, very bad time to lose my

vision!  But it passed, with a little shove from my common senseand

just in time, too, because the glitch widened, and I felt the impulse

to reach out and adjust tracking.  Silly, of course-because it not only

widened, but swelled, turning into a zigzag tearing that reached

downward to the ground and churned up a cloud of dust.

     Then the membranes in my nose stood on end, and wrung themselves

dry as the stench hit them with a rotten egg.  "Guardian angel," I

muttered, "if you're anything more than an hallucination, now would be

a great time to show yourself!"

     It didn't, of course-hallucinations don't usually come on demand.

     But I did feel a surprising surge of confidence, almost

reassurance.

     Shouldn't have surprised me, I suppose-the mind plays funny

tricks

     on itself, and this was just my subconscious' way of getting

itself to believe it could cope with whatever was coming.  I suppose.

     But I happened to notice a tickling in my thumbs.

     The dust cloud died down, and there sat an ancient crone in a gown

of charcoal gray.

     That, I could live with, given the milieu-I had seen her before,

in my extreme youth, in dozens of illustrations in books of fairy

tales.

     What threw me, though, was that she was sitting at a desk, with

papers strewn all over it, and a quill pen in an inkwell.

     "You have cast two unauthorized spells in the space of half an

hour."

     Two?

     Spells?

     The crone wheezed on.  " 'Sobaka,' said I to meself, 'there's

nothing for it but to come hither and gaze-and aye, there he be! 

Yonder he stands, flaming with zeal to oust the palsied old witch-woman

from her bailiwick and take her peasants for his own!  If there's aught

I cannot abide, 'tis a bursting new magus!"

     "Hey now, wait a minute!"  I was beginning to get angry again.  "I

don't want anybody's 'bailiwick'-and you can't own people!"

     "Blasphemy!"  she cried.  "Not only a magus, but also a liar!  As

if 'tweren't a plentitude of folk in the art one must struggle with as

'tis!

     Aye, a body's no sooner believing she's secure in her place, to

lord it over her own trembling churls in easy breath, when, whoosh! 

Another young'un crops up, with cheek and with challenge, to be put in

his place.  It's no wonder the land's going to the pigs, with half the

peasants turning to bandits, and a good number of them trying to

out-evil their own township witch!  And all from letting delinquents

get out of hand!  Abe, for the auld days!  When younglings knew their

places, or we had leave to fry them!"

     "Leave?"  I glanced at the desk again.  "Who gives you leave to

blast people or not?"

     "Why, my master, fool, Queen Suettay!"

     "Sweaty?"  I stared; it struck me as an odd name for royalty.

     "Nay, fool-Suettay!  And be sure you do not take her name in vain,

or she will surely appear to blast you!"

     That gave me back some composure.  I smiled, not too nicely; I'd

heard that before, though usually about a personality a bit higher than

an earthly monarch-that you have to talk nicely about Him, or

He'll

strike you with a lightning bolt.  But I've seen and heard an awful lot

of people saying nasty things about God, and I've never no

     ticed any of them running afoul of large doses of

electricity-except for the one who was working on a live wire at the

time, and he didn't start cursing until after he got zapped.  "Okay, so

she's Queen Suet-ty."  I had a mental image of a very, very fat lady

looking like an awning pavilion with a crown on top.

     "Suettay!"  the old witch snapped.  "Speak her name properly,

crack-pate, or she will wish you ill indeed!"

     Now I had it-the French word for wishes, intentions, as in, "I

wish you a good day."  The pronunciation had thrown me off, that was

all.  "Whatever.  And this Queen Suettay will zap you, if you zap me? 

" "Without showing you the error of your ways, aye.  I am the bailiff

of this bailiwick, given authority to see to its taxes and enforce the

queen's laws o'erit!  'Tis for me to see you are noted in its book,

and deal you work to do that will give the queen crops-or, if I have no

need of you, to another."

     I bridled instantly.  I mean, had I left my own civilized

universe, with running water and modern medicine, just to come to a

godforsaken medieval backwater that still made me cope with a

bureaucracy?  "Okay," I snapped, "so you've got the authority to issue

me a travel pass, or whatever, because you're the witch in charge of

the local parish ...

     "Bailiwick!"  she screamed.  "Speak not in the words of the

Flock!"

     I frowned.  Flock?  Then I remembered the parable of the Good

Shepherd, and that "ecclesia" literally means "flock," and I

understood.  So anything having to do with Christianity was anathema to

her, huh?  Maybe I could use that-but I kept it in reserve.  After all,

calling on the saints, or making the Sign of the Cross, or anything

like that, kind of rankled; I hadn't been about to cop out to religion

back home, and I didn't intend to here.  Besides which, it might

require conviction, which I definitely did not have.

     She must have seen that in my eyes, because she gave me a

gaptoothed grin.  "Ah, then!  You shy from those words yourself, eh?

     Well, then, come!  Prick your finger, write your name in my book,

and swear to serve the queen and her master, or I'll call upon his

power, and you'll writhe in flames!"

     Outrage kindled.  "No way!"  I snapped.  "I've heard about that

book-and I'd end up writhing in flames either way, until this

hallucination wears off!  I won't be a slave, and I won't accept any

master!  " She answered with an evil grin.  "Excellent," she crooned,

"most

     excellent!  For if you'll serve no master, then you cannot be

protected by any-and the Other Side will not ward you!"

     I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.

     "I felt your first use of a spell and said to myself, 'Sobaka,

what bother is this?' and began to tidy up my work to spare time for a

visit-but ere I departed, I felt the nerve-grating shimmer that could

only have come from an agent of the Other Side, and withheld my visit

till that grinding had ceased .  . ."

     Translation: she'd sensed the visit from my guardian angel and had

been so scared that she'd burrowed under the bedclothes.  I felt a

little more confident.

     "Yet cease it did," she crowed, "and totally-there was no shred of

it left!  Therefore did I come here, and sure enough, I see no particle

of the aura of the Other Side about you!  You have not aligned yourself

with them, and have not their protection!"

     The temperature of my precious bodily fluids began to fall again.

     " "Tis an idiot, surely,' I said to myself, 'an idiot who doth

think to gather magic as if he were a windmill, gathering power from

the gale and wielding it to grind what he will!  Ay, such a fool I can

twist right easily!' So come, addle-pate, and sign in my master's book,

or die in agony!"

     Somehow, for a second, I didn't doubt that she could do as she'd

said, and my heart sank down to join the caterpillars that were trying

to turn into butterflies in my belly-but mostly, I felt the hot anger

of indignation.  How dare this old witch try to push me around!  "No

way will I get on your hook!"  I snapped.  "Keep the fire for your

blasted book!"

     She let out an outraged squawk, just about three-quarters of a

second before her book burst into flames.  She screamed, jumping back.

     All I could do was stand there and stare.

     That was too bad; it gave her a chance to recover from her

surprise.

     "Vile recreant!"  she screamed.  "The records of all who owe my

master are destroyed!"  Then she hooked her fingers into claws,

chanting, "By the most vile of obscene names, Follow that book into the

flames!"

     And she threw a whammy at me.

     Only this whammy took form very fast, some unseen energy gathering

itself together until it materialized about halfway between us as a

roaring globe of fire.  I shouted and leapt out of the way, but it

     swerved to follow me.  I jumped again, in a forward somersault,

but came up to see it still following.

     I ran.

     Behind me, the hag's cackling almost drowned out the roar of the

fireball-and it was gaining.  In a rush of adrenaline, I suddenly

realized I should be trying verbal acrobatics, not physical-she had

brought this phenomenon into being by versifying; I sure hadn't seen

her pulling the pin on a grenade.  I ducked behind a boulder; it

followed me, and it was roaring, but so was I, tapping myself on the

chest and chanting,

     "Put out the light, and then put out the light.

     If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former

light restore, Should I repent me; but once put out t y ig t, Should I,

considering, find it sinister I can leave it dark and quenched

forevermore."

     I had to do a little rewriting there, since rhyme seemed to be

important here-but under the circumstances, I didn't think Shakespeare

would mind.

     The fireball dimmed, darkened, and took a nosedive for the ground.

By the time it hit, it was only a smoking cinder.

     Sobaka stared at it.

     Then she snapped her glare up to me, and I have never seen so much

malice in a pair of human eyes.  "Villain!  Aroint thee!  If you wilt

not bend to my will, you shall break!"  She began to move her hands in

some sort of jagged pattern, chanting in a language I didn't know,

though it sounded like Latin.

     I gave her a grim smile.  She must have thought that if I didn't

know the words, I wouldn't realize she was versifying-but I could

recognize rhymes when I heard them, and the meter was strong enough to

slice up for seasoning.  Well, if she wanted to have a contest slinging

verses, that was okay with me.

     Or maybe it wasn't.  There was a huge rumble, and the ground

heaved beneath my feet.  I fell, instinctively turning to land on my

side and roll as Sensei had taught me-and saw a jagged crack opening

the earth where I'd been standing.  The hair on the back of my neck

prickled.  How had she known an earth tremor was coming?

     But it was my turn, and the minor chasm made me remember an old

hard-times song.  I made a few modifications:

     "Well, if I had it, why, you could have it, But I ain't got it-I'm

down and out.

     And now I've had it-with you, I've had it, So now I'll send it,

and end this bout.

     She gave me trouble On a scale that's Richter, So from the rubble

Now I have picked her.

     And I will drop her Into a deep hole That will stop her From

hurting people.

     And this old clown Will be unfound As she sinks down, down, down.

     The earth rumbled again, and a hole opened right under the old

woman's feet.  She dropped like a stone.

     I stared.

     Sobaka screamed.

     I was so flabbergasted, I couldn't think of anything to do until

she had disappeared.  Then I came to and leapt over to the hole to tell

her not to panic, I'd dig her out-never mind that she'd been

threatening to kill me-but she was wailing, "Air!  Nay, give me air!"

     I looked down the hole and saw two very wide and frightened eyes

peering up out of the darkness about ten feet below me.  "The earth,

the earth presses in all about me!  Spare me, Wizard!  I shall trouble

you no more!  Only release me!  Do not let the earth fall in on me, I

pray!  " "Holy cow!"  I gulped.  I had just put a claustrophobic in a

hole.

     "Enough, right now!"

     I heard a moo.

     I froze.  I didn't want to look up.

     But the wailing down below roused my guilt; I had to do something.

I looked up slowly, straight into the big brown eyes of a leanlooking

bovine female.  It had a hump on its back-a Brahma cow.

     Coincidence.  Pure coincidence.  Obviously, I was closer to India

than I had thought.

     I turned back to the hole, assured that the cow wouldn't bother

me.  "Just keep calm!  We'll get you out of there!"

     "Be quick," she wailed, "before my master seizes the chance to

take my soul!"

     I froze again.

     Then I said "No taking of souls allowed.  Not while the person's

still living."

     "Aye, but death might happen thus!  The master needs but a slight

chance, a crumbling of the earthen wall, to bring about a natural

death!  Then he can take me, and I am doomed forevermore!"

     "He?"  I frowned.  "You're talking about the Devil?"

     "Do not say his name!"  she wailed.  "Or you will hear the rustle

of leathery wings!

     I was about to object, saying that was only a superstition.  Then

I remembered the cow, and decided I didn't want any more coincidences. 

"Look, as long as you've lived a good life by your own beliefs, you've

got nothing to be afraid of."

     "But I have not!"  she wailed.  "I have been as evil as I might! 

I have sold my soul for power over my fellows!"

     "Sold your soul?"  I stared.  "Why the hell-uh, heck?-would you do

a dumb thing like that?"

     "I was ugly, and small, and shrewish, and all shunned me.

     'Sobaka,' they said, 'you are so ugly, even the swine will spurn

you!

     You are stupid, Sobaka-step aside.' ' 'Tis done badly, Sobaka-you

can never do anything right!' 'Not even I could love you, Sobaka, and I

am your mother!' 'Do not sing, Sobaka, you have the voice of a crow!'

Until, at last, hate waked like a burning coal in my breast, and I

swore I would someday have power to make them all suffer, to rue the

day they had mocked me!  But I could see no way to it, till the master

appeared to me in a dream!"

     I couldn't believe it.  Not only a paranoid with a five-star

inferiority complex-it had blossomed into raving delusions.  She had

actually convinced herself that she had sold her soul!  All of a

sudden, I could understand how come she had dug herself under when

she'd heard my verse-it had fitted into her delusional system and had

convinced her subconscious that she'd been overwhelmed by a spell.  And

since I wouldn't sign up with the Devil, presumably I had the force of

good behind me, which is always stronger than evil in the end-at least,

in the sort of medieval culture this seemed to be-so she'd been

convinced my spell had taken over anything she could dream up.

     Selling her soul was a metaphor for having dedicated herself to

evil, of course.  She had probably managed to become a minor bureaucrat

just by toadying to the people in power-but she had convinced  herself

she was damned.

     I couldn't let her die in that kind of agony, no matter what she'd

been trying to do to me.  "Look," I said, "even if you sold your soul,

you can still get it back.  All you have to do is repent, tell God

you're sorry and won't do it again!"

     "But what if I should live?"  she cried, in an agony of

indecision.  "If I should repent and live, I would be the lowest of the

low!  All whom I have wronged would rise to smite me down!  The master

would send agents to deprive me of what life I'd have left-though

'twould be precious little; I am more than an hundred years old

already!  " Delusion again-she couldn't have been a day over sixty,

judging by looks.  This being a medieval culture, she was probably only

forty-life aged them fast, back then.

     "Look," I said, "just because you were small and plain didn't mean

everybody hated you."

     "Yet they did!  All need to know there is one lower than they! 

How could they fail to despise me?"

     "By your being good, way down deep," I reasoned.  "Sure, they're

cruel-but if they saw you were really good inside, trying hard to make

up for everything mean you did, they'd start liking you."

     There was silence down at the bottom of that hole.  Then, almost

shyly, "Do you truly think so?"

     Well, no, I didn't, actually-just from the clues, I had a notion

she had been maximally mean to everybody she'd ever known, and people

aren't that quick to forgive.  So I changed the subject.  "It doesn't

get done in a day, of course-you have to earn trust, earn forgiveness

by proving you've reformed-and proving it again and again for years and

years.  They'll punish you at first, sure, but you deserve it by now,

don't you?"

     "I did not when I was a maiden!"  she said hotly.  "Where was

their good will then?"

     "That was then," I reminded.  "How much punishment do you deserve

now?  "

     It was quiet, down there in the dark.  Then she began to cry.

     I hate the sound of a woman crying.  "Please," I said.  "Please

don't cry.  I'll get you out of there somehow."

     "I have been so evil!"  she wailed.  "I deserve death, slow and

agonizing death!  Nay, what if they were to do to me as I've done to

them?  "

     "Maybe it would be quick," I suggested.  inside me, my blood ran

     cold.  just how wicked had this woman been, anyway?  "Maybe they'd

be so angry, they'd just kill you out of hand."

     "Then I would be damned!"  she howled.

     "Not if you'd repented."  Then I remembered my Dante.  "Sure,

you'd spend a long time in Purgatory-but at least it wouldn't be Hell. 

Besides, the more they hurt you before they killed you, the less time

you'd spend in Purgatory."  I hated that kind of logic-I had a notion

it had resulted in a lot of people torturing themselves, and certainly

refusing painkillers when their last hours could have been a lot less

agonizing-but it would help in this case.

     "I cannot face it," she wept.  "I cannot face the tortures I have

meted out."

     There was a rustling noise, just in front of me.

     I froze.  Then, very slowly and much against my better judgment, I

looked up.

     He was very toothy in the grin, very red in the skin, very black

in the wings, and very sharp in the horns.

     Sobaka saw him and wailed so hard she almost jarred the earth

loose.

     I found my voice.  "Is this your master?"

     "Nay!"  she howled.  "'Tis his minion!"

     Or some peasant, I realized, come to get revenge by scaring the

life out of her.

     "Get back, slave," he sneered.  "This soul is forfeit!"  And he

jabbed at my face with his pitchfork.

     I recoiled, but reflex took over; I grabbed the pitchfork and

yanked, hard.  I took him by surprise; he stumbled into the hole and

fell flat on his face.

     Dirt cascaded down inside.

     Sobaka screamed in terror.

     I realized I had to work on her delusional system-nothing else was

going to work fast enough.  "Get out of here," I snapped.  "You can't

take her soul till she's dead!"

     "I shall see to that, too."  The devil bared his teeth in a snarl,

rolling up to his knees, crouching to spring.  "I shall cave in the

hole.

     Fear not-she's already buried."  And he sprang at me.

     I leapt to the side, rolling.  Oh, well, what the hell-I had a

delusional system, too.  "Guardian angel!  This is where violence is

authorized!  " "It is indeed!"  a steely voice sang.  "Avaunt thee,

hell spawn!  Or I shall rend your ectoplasm asunder!"

     There he was, my guardian angel, twisting the pitchfork into a

pretzel and throwing it at the devil.  The horny one howled in terror

and disappeared.

     I wondered just what had been in those berries.

     "Only juice," the angel assured me.  "I am real, Saul.  Remember."

     I was thinking at a frantic pace.  "Uh, before you go, could you

step ver to that hole, for a second?"

     "Wherefore?"  The angel frowned down at the hole-and then, bless

him, he stepped up to the brim and called down.  "Sobaka!  Call on God,

and He shall yet send your angel to ward you!  I have banished your

demon, but he will not stay gone when I go!"

     I couldn't take a chance on any more hesitating.  I began to

chant, "Aid me now, insightful Freud,

     To help this woman to avoid Paranoia stemming from Insecurities

that come From toxic parents, spiteful peers, And all anxieties and

fears They bred, that are a key That locked inferiority Into her soul,

therein to fire Hot into a complex dire.

     Vengeful fantasies, begone!

     Grandeur-delusions, all be done!

     I swear to this day, I don't know where that verse came from.  I

mean, if I'm really up for it, I can improvise-but not like that.

     Then I remembered the tried and true.

     "Day by day, in every way,

     I'm getting better and better."

     "I repent me!"  Sobaka wailed, deep down in the hole.  "Alas, my

soul!  All these years, I have sought revenge for naught!  For insults

that need not have hurt me!  Ah, what a monster I have been!

     Well.  Results already.  What had been major wounds suddenly

seemed like minor irritations.  It didn't matter what people said to

her, because she knew she was good.

     Now.

     But why was my guardian angel looking at me that way-I mean,

surprised?

     I shoved the question aside.  The memories of her cruelties would

swamp her newfound self-esteem, if I didn't give her an out.

     "What's done cannot be undone, But what's broken can be mended.

     Remorseful sinners can atone For all the hurt intended."

     "Yet there is hope!"  the voice cried from the hole.  "I can make

amends-some, at least!  Those whom I've slain, I can give aid to their

survivors!  And if 'twill restore some faith in goodness to them, to

see me suffer as justice dictates, why then, let them hurt me!"

     I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that-but it would probably give

her the strength she needed, to endure the transition back to goodness.

Seeing herself as a martyr was better than the fire of her own

self-damnation-I meant, condemnation-and if I ever came back

this

way, I could see to it that she moved on from suffering to ser

     vice.

     "I repent me!"  she cried again.  "Dear Lord, save my soul! 

inflict what trials Thou wilt, what sufferings Thou dost deem just! 

Only let me come into Thy presence!"

     There was a howl of rage and frustration somewhere, distant, but

ringing.  I looked up, surprised, but I didn't see anybody except my

angel.

     He was smiling a very smug smile, though.  "That, Saul, was her

personal tempter.  You cured her mind, and she saved her own soul."

     I stared.

     Then I gave my head a shake.  Whatever sort of dream this was,

working within its rules was working very well.  "Okay," I said, "but

we'd better hurry up and save her life, shouldn't we?"

     "Should we?  For the longer she lives, the greater the chance that

she'll slip back into sin."

     I looked up at him, scandalized-but he wasn't even looking at me,

he was talking to empty air on the other side of the hole.  I felt the

gooseflesh rise.

     "Indeed, you are right," he said with regret.  "If the Lord doth

wish her home, naught we can do will save her."

     "So if we can save her," I said, "that means it's not her time."

     He looked down at me in surprise.  "Indeed, Saul.  You see it

most

     clearly.  " Well.  I wasn't impressed.  I'd figured that one out,

long ago.  Hadn't he been watching?  "So how do we get her out?"

     "Try a verse," he suggested.

     "Ridiculous!"  I snapped.  "You can't make things happen just by

     talking!

     Is

     peak of that to Madison Avenue," he retorted.  "'Twas you put her

down there, did you not?"

     I just glared at him.  I always hated it when the other guy was

right.

     But he was right-so I sighed and called down into the hole,

     "The day doth daw, the cock doth craw, The channering worm doth

chide!

     'Gin you must be out of this place, Though in sore pain you may

bide!"

     And she was standing beside the hole, looking about her in

surprise that very quickly became major fear.  "How-how did you achieve

that?"

     "By poetry," I said impatiently, "or at least a very, very old

folk song.  What's the matter-don't you even know the rules of your own

universe?  " She shook her head, faster and faster, stepping away from

me, hands coming up to fend me off.  "I know only the rules of good and

evil!  " That stonkered me.  "Then how did you work magic?"

     "Why, by reciting the spells my mas ... doomer gave me."

     Rote memorization.  Parrotlike repetition.  Coincidence and

association.  She hadn't understood anything about what she was doing. 

No wonder she was a minor functionary.  "There are other rules," I

said.

     Then I remembered.  "But you don't need to know them any more."

     "'Tis true."  Her hands came down.  "All I need now is the justice

of God, and the need for faith in Him."

     Suddenly, she was on her knees, clutching at my jeans.  "And 'tis

you who have rekindled that faith!  'Tis you who have cured my soul of

the curdled anger called hatred, that did drag it down!  'Tis you who

have freed me to suffer for the right and seek to aid my fellow

creatures!  Oh, a thousand thanks, young Wizard, and a thousand

blessings!"  Then she remembered herself and dropped her hands.  "If

the blessings of a corrupted soul may be of benefit to you."

     I was hugely relieved.  I just don't like having things clutching

at me-unless they're young, female, and shapely; and even then I'm

wary.  This one may have been female, but she was anything but

beautiful, and I could have sworn she was growing older by the second.

     "Your soul shines like newly minted silver," my angel said.

     I looked up at him, startled.  Compliments were one thing, but

this ...

     Then I realized he was prompting me.  "Say it yourself," I

snapped.

     "No way am I going to deliver a line like that!"

     "To whom do you talk?  " Sobaka quavered.

     I looked down at her, then looked up quickly at the angel.  No, he

was still there.  "Him," I said, pointing.  "Can't you see?"

     She looked where I was pointing, and fear creased her wrinkled

face, not that it made much difference.  "Nay," she said.  "There is

none there."

     "Well, there is," I sighed, "even if he's invisible to you."

     "A familiar!"  Her tones quaked.

     "No, an angel," I said quickly, and started improvising; anything

to give her the guts to keep going.  "You've got one, too, and he-"

"She," my angel prompted.

     "She," I corrected.  Maybe the Quakers had been right.  "She is

watching you every second."

     Sobaka glanced around her, fear turning into wonder on her face.

     "Can you see her?"

     "No," I said, "but she's there."

     "She is very happy just now," my angel informed me.

     "She's very happy just now," I told Sobaka.  "Don't make her sad

again, okay?"

     "Oh, I shall not!"  She turned away, heading off downslope.  "Oh,

bless you, unseen angel, for never having despaired of me!  Oh, stand

by me and lend me strength, for I now must undergo the strongest trials

of my life!"  She turned back to call to me.  "Ever shall I praise you

in my prayers, healer of my soul!"

     I shuddered, but managed to fake a smile.  "Pay it back to other

people," I called.  "You don't have much time left.  Better get busy. 

" "I shall!  Oh, I shall!"  And she headed off down the hill, caroling

her joy.

     I winced; a singer, she wasn't.  "At the rate she's aging," I

muttered, "I don't think she'll even make it to the bottom of the

hill."

     "Even if she dies, she will be on the road to Heaven," my angel

assured me.  "Her angel thanks you, too."

     "Tell her she's welcome."  I turned to him, frowning.  "So angels

come in sexes, too?"

     "Well, no," he admitted, "but it makes you humans think of us

     more easily if we seem to.  You term it 'identification' and

'selfimage.' Call it 'gender.' " "Identification!"  I looked up,

understanding something I'd been wondering about.  "So that's why

you've dropped the 'thee' and 'thou' form.

     "That you might better understand me, aye."

     "Understand, my foot!  You want me to identify with you, to e

mulate you!  Hey, I'm not even supposed to be able to see you!"

     "You did call upon me," he reminded.

     "And Sobaka didn't, so she couldn't see her angel?  Is that who

you were talking to, about whether or not to get her out of the hole or

let her die,

     "Her guardian angel, yes."  He nodded.  "You have made three most

happy today."

     "Three?"  I looked around, frowning.  "I only count two-Sobaka,

and her guardian angel.  if you say so."

     "Three," he said proudly.  "Count me, also.  You have struck a

blow for the angels today, Saul.  You are on our side, after all."

     Why did that send such a thrill of panic through my veins?  Why

did I snap out, "No way!  If I did something that worked for your side,

it's just because it was the right thing to do under the circumstances!

     Don't bet I'll do it again!  If something else comes up that I

think is right, I'll do it, even if it's for the other side-by your

rules!"

     A look of apprehension crossed his face.  "Nay, nay!  Do not sin

for no reason other than my having said you are on the side of the

angels!  "

     "Very funny," I said bitterly, "considering who's talking.  If it

seems right, I'll do it, even if it's against your side-but don't

worry, I won't murder, loot, or rape, just to keep from signing up with

your team, either.  I won't go out of my way to commit what you think

is wrong."  I turned on my heel and stalked away.

     "You have lied," he called after me, "with that speech."

     "See?"  I said over my shoulder.  "I've started already."

     Chapter Four

     The nice thing about being past Sobaka's checkpoint was that I was

able to keep on trudging up-slope.  I didn't know where I was going,

except that it felt right-especially since it was out of her domain.

     Maybe, if I was lucky, I could get out of this massive

hallucination.

     Or else find Matt ...

     Another nice thing about getting up in the world, was that I kept

stretching out the sunset.  Finally, I came to a pass at the top of the

mountain.  Down below me, the valley was in shadow-twilight, to them. 

I could even see a few lights appearing-fires of some sort.

     Maybe smoke-holes in huts?  Had these people invented the chimney

yet?

     Then I looked up and saw one of the most glorious sunsets of my

life.  The only ones to beat it had been out in the Great Plains, where

the landscape is mostly sky.  Here, I was high enough up to have a lot

of sky again, though not quite as much.  Everything looked golden and

rose, every mountaintop-and there were a lot of mountaintops.

     I wondered where I was-the Pyrenees?  The Alps?  Was I even in

Europe?

     Or even on Terra?

     I shelved that thought, but it shook me enough so that I stopped

contemplating the sunset, I turned back to the pass, saw its huge

granite walls towering to either side, and decided I wanted to be

through it before the light completely failed.  I hurried, with a

wary

eye above me, glancing from side to side-I'd heard that mountain

     eers, historically, tended to be rather territorial.  I'd also

heard that they had reasons.  But if they were watching, I guess they

figured I was no threat, or was too small a fly to swat, because

nothing happened.  in fact, the only living creature I saw was a kind

of mountain goat, who watched me for a while, then jumped into a shadow

and disappeared.  He was beautiful, but the experiences of the day made

it seem rather spooky.

     So, as I came to the other end of the pass, I was wondering what I

was going to do about being alone in a strange country, in what was

promising to be an extremely dark night.

     I was very glad to see the camp fires below me.

     Not very far below, and I could tell they were camp fires, because

of the tents.  But the hallucination was still on-the men between the

tents and the fires were wearing armor covered by long white tabards,

and leading Percherons.

     l sighed, squared my weary shoulders, and started the downhill

hike.

     One of the younger ones looked up, saw me, and called out,

"Stranger!"  He lugged out a sword the size of the Eiffel Tower and

brandished it as he came toward me, demanding, "Friend or foe?"

     "Either one," I snapped-that sword got my back up.  "Take your

choice."

     He frowned at me-it wasn't one of the expected answers.  But his

buddies dropped what they were doing and came clustering around; I

hadn't seen that much steel in one place since I'd crossed the Golden

Gate Bridge.  "Declare yourself," one of the older ones demanded.

     That was exactly what I had been trying not to do.  "Saul

Delacroix Bremener," I told them, and nothing more.

     "Saul Delacroix?"  He frowned at his companions.  "Named for the

king or the apostle, and one of the cross."

     "But Paul was not of the cross," one of the others objected.  "He

never knew the Savior, in life."

     "Still, 'tis a goodly name," another said, then moved aside

quickly as a tall, broad-bodied man with grizzled hair stepped through.

He had a face like tanned leather and a jaw like a vise.  The

commander, at a guess.

     He looked me up and down and pronounced, "His attire is odd, but

he has no horse or arms.  He cannot be a gentleman; he must be a

peasant."  Then he turned away, dismissing me with a gesture.  "Let

     him stay; but he must draw water and fetch wood for the fire."  He

glanced back at me.  "See to it, fellow."

     The command did it.  "Peasant" got to me, and the bit about menial

labor made it worse-but the command made my anger turn cold and active.

"Fetch it yourself," I snapped.  "I may be a commoner, but I'm no

serf-and I am a gentleman."  Which was true, on a technicality-I was a

scholar, after all.  By their standards.

     "Oho!"  A glint came into the commander's eye.  "If you are a

gentleman, then you are a gentleman-at-arms-for there is no other sort!

" Great.  To be a gentle man, you had to be capable of violence.

     oddly, the idea appealed to me; it fit into my configurational

pattern of contradictory concepts.  Hypocrite?  Who, me?  I just calls

'em as I sees 'em.

     "Yet he is clearly not a knight, or he would wear a sword.  Ho,

Gilbert!  You aspire to knighthood-prove yourself!  Test this stranger

for Me!  I1

     A kid with only a small sword grinned and stepped up to me,

dropping into a wrestler's crouch and beckoning.

     I was appalled.  He was at least six years younger than me,

certainly still a teenager, and the top of his head was bald.  "You've

got a tonsure!"  I said.

     "All monks do," he agreed.

     "But you're a knight!"

     "Only a squire."  His lip curled at my ignorance.  "I am not yet

worthy of my final vows.  Will you fight, or talk?

     Well.  Monks were obviously different here than they were at home.

I dropped into karate stance, circling my hands and coming up ready to

catch or chop.  "Ready."

     He stared at my actions, then frowned and lunged.

     He telegraphed the move-I saw the half step forward on the leftbut

I resisted the urge to dodge, staying in to test the waters, so to

speak.

     He hit, and he hit hard.  it was like slamming into an opening

door.

     He grabbed me in a bear hug and hoisted-it had to be the crudest

move I'd run into since grade school.

     But effective-he was very strong.  I found myself rising high,

then slamming down at the ground, while all around me, those

monkscum-knights were cheering.

     I twisted, landing on my side, and rolling back up to my feet to

see

     the kid grinning as he came back in for more.  But this time, I

sidestepped at the last second.  "That was your freebie," I told him.

     "Now I get my turn."

     He didn't like that; he turned with a bellow and charged.  I

grabbed his arm and turned, put a hip against his, and flipped him.  He

swung up and down like a Ferris wheel.  I figured he wouldn't know how

to fall, so I held on to his arm and pulled up, to make sure he landed

on his side, without too much force.  The knights rumbled at that-they

didn't like the look of it.  I let go, and the kid scrambled to his

feet again, face red, boiling mad.

     Good.  Angry, he'd make mistakes.

     But he didn't charge again; he was smart enough not to make the

same error twice.  He shuffled in, hands circling, hunched over,

watching for an opening.

     I decided to give him one.  I dropped my guard and put my hands on

my hips, looking exasperated.

     Sure enough, he bit.  He went for my knees.  I shoved against his

shoulders, pushing myself back, That made him madder; he charged

forward, trying to catch my knee like a donkey going after the carrot

that's hanging from the pole.  But he only took a couple of steps

before he went for my crotch and arm, trying to hoist me.  That meant

he was coming up; I stepped back just long enough for his momentum to

take him up far enough so that I could grab his tunic, lifting him a

little bit as I hooked a leg behind his, and pushed as I kicked back. 

He fell-harder this time, since I wasn't trying to break his fall for

him.  He scrambled up, eyes blazing, and sent a fist shooting toward my

face.

     Oh, so he wanted to box.  I blocked, and the blow went wide as I

counterpunched.  He hit my shoulder, and pain jolted the joint, but

nothing big.  On my other hand, his head rocked back, and I brought the

left down, fingers stiffened, and jabbed him in the solar plexus.

     That took the fight out of him, along with the breath and the

legs.

     He folded around a center of agony, fighting for breath.  I

relaxed with a sigh of distaste-I really didn't like doing this to

anybody, but especially not to a guy who really hadn't had a chance to

fight back.  Then I stepped around behind him, massaging his back and

sides right opposite where I'd hit.  The ring of men let out a shout of

outrage, but the biggest guy held up a hand.  "Nay.  He but seeks to

give aid to a fallen foe."  He turned to me.  "Yet give over, good

man-let us tend to him."

     "No," I said, "I don't think you know the technique.  I broke it,

I'll fix it."  I heard a hiss of breath below me and looked down at

Gilbert.

     "You okay now?"

     "I will mend," he gasped.  "You are a doughty fighter."

     "Just had a little training," I assured him.  "You're very strong,

did you know that?"

     "Strength is not enough," he groaned.

     "True."  I grasped his arm and pulled.  He followed and came to

his feet.  From the heft of that biceps, I knew I'd done right to try

to stay away from him.  It was a good thing he had used that bear hug

to throw me; if he'd just kept squeezing, I'd have been out like a

light.

     "You have fought bravely," the commander assured him, and beckoned

a couple of other squires.  "See to him."

     They took him away, one on either side, and the ring of men began

to break up as they turned back to their tasks, eagerly discussing the

bout-what there had been of it.  I noticed several guarded glances in

my direction, but none of them seemed contemptuous.

     I sighed.  It was the same old story all over again.  just win a

few fights, and they'll accept you.  Wasn't there anything more to a

man than his fists?

     "You are welcome among us now," the commander assured me.

     Of course.

     But he was still watching me warily.

     "Thanks for your hospitality," I said wryly.  "I assure you, I

won't start attacking without an invitation."

     He shrugged the comment away.  "We have swords enough.  As to this

wrestling, 'tis a peasant's sport-yet you do it well."

     "Maybe too well?"  I hazarded, from the look on his face.

     "Mayhap."  He turned, glowering.  " 'Tis a most strange manner of

wrestling.  Where did you learn it?"

     "In the East," I said.  Okay, so America was west of here,

assuming I was in Europe; but Japan was west of America, wasn't it? 

And it was the East.  So I had learned it in America, but it was

Japanese, and America was east of Japan, so I had learned it in the

East.

     "All."  His face cleared; he nodded grimly.  "The land of the

paynim.  Any rarities might come thence."

     He meant the Near East, I was pretty sure-but Muslim culture was

just different enough from his that, for all he knew, anything, but

anything, might be there.  It struck me with sudden inspiration-an

excellent means of explaining any way in which I didn't fit in.  "I

     lived in the distant land for many years," I said.  "I'm a

scholar, and not terribly interested in the things of this world-but

their wise men taught me that training of the body has to come before

any really advanced training of the mind."

     "There is truth in that," he allowed.  "With what weapons were you

trained?"

     "Only the staff," I said.  "They drew their scholarship from holy

men, who taught that it was wrong to use edged weapons."

     "As do ours."  The commander nodded.  "Save for we few who are

sworn to defend the True Faith by force of arms."

     "I was wondering about that," I said.  "You have tonsures.  Are

you monks, or knights?"

     He frowned more closely at me.  "How long have you been away from

Christian lands?"

     "Since I was very young," I admitted.  After all, the American

public schools fit that description, these days.

     His face cleared.  "Small wonder, then.  Know that we are knights

of the Order of Saint Moncaire-yet monks, also."

     Well, now, that rocked me.  I mean, I'd learned about the Knights

Templars in school and read about them in Ivanhoe, and been thoroughly

scandalized by the mere notion that a man who is purportedly dedicated

to God could also be dedicating himself to smashing up his fellow human

beings with a Clydesdale and a mace.  But I tried to be tactful.  "Uh

... isn't that kind of a contradiction in terms?"

     Instantly, the frown was back.  "Why, how mean you?"

     "Why," I said, "a monk is dedicated to love of his fellow human

beings, and to upholding the Commandments-including 'Thou shalt not

kill,' and 'Love one another.' But a knight is dedicated to hurting

those same people."

     "Assuredly, you cannot mean it!"  He paled, and I could have sworn

he was genuinely shocked.  "Do you truly know so little of your own

faith?"

     "Of my own civilization, you mean."  I frowned up at him.  "You

forget I've spent most of my life in a foreign land."

     "Aye, I had forgot."  He gathered composure around him, but still

seemed rather shaken.  "Know, then, young man, that we, as knights, are

dedicated to the protecting of God's people from those who worship

evil.  And they who are dedicated to evil, scruple not to kill and maim

in their lust to capture all that they can.  It is therefore necessary

to take arms against the minions of Satan; only major force can stay

them."

     I braced myself and tried to smile.  I was hearing the

rationalization that had allowed medieval Christians to mount a crusade

against their own countrymen, for no better reason than that they had

come up with a different version of Christianity.

     The commander turned away and began to stroll through the camp,

glancing around him to see all was in order-but he was still talking,

so I tagged along.  "Know, too," he said, "that in these lands of

Christendom, many folk have fallen under the sway of Satan and his

minions.  Allustria, where we are now, is sunk in the bog of

corruption; it is ruled by a sorcerer-queen.  lbile is only lately

freed from a similar fate, and Merovence is free only because a most

powerful wizard came to the aid of the heir, Queen Alisande, and fought

off the evil spells of the usurper's sorcerer, so that her armies might

cleanse the land of the false king Astaulf and his twisted knights."

     Well, usurpation I could understand, even if it was saturated with

superstition.  "I take it you come from this, uh, Merovence?"

     "In truth, we have."

     "Ibile"-that had a familiar ring.  The Iberian peninsula?  if so,

the "reign of evil" would probably have been nothing more than the

Moorish Empire-to medieval Spaniards, the Muslim Moors seemed like

pagans, therefore worshipping false gods.  So I took the rest of it

with a grain of salt.  "Allustria" sounded like "Austria" with a couple

f Is thrown in-maybe "Allemagne," which was Germany, combined with

Austria?  I knew of a pretty demonic figure in recent history who had

tried to do just that-but he wasn't medieval.  So I decided to reserve

judgment on the evilness of Allustria's queen.  But Merovence-would

that be France, or Italy?  Or maybe Poland or Russia?  At a guess it

was the land of the Merovingians, which would have been France.

     Why not ask?  "I'm kind of turned around," I said.  "Which way

is

     Merovence?  " "Why, ahead of you," said the commander, surprised. 

"You are near its border.  Did you not know you had come out of

Allustria?"

     Suddenly, the business about Allustria being under the reign of an

evil queen gained credence-at least, judging by the reception I'd had

there, and the things Sobaka had said.  "I hadn't known," I said.

     "Wherever it was, though, I was trying to get out of it."

     "In that, you succeeded.  Know that you have come into the

mountains, and even though the queen of Allustria claims them, her

writ

does not truly run-though she has folk stationed in pretense of

goy

     ernance.  if these hills are held by anyone, they are held by the

mountaineers who call themselves Switzers."

     Suddenly the geography clicked into place, and I frowned.  "But

aren't you kind of going the long way around?  To go through

Switzerland to get into Allustria?"

     The commander nodded.  " 'Tis even so.  Yet there is no other way

to come upon the minions of Queen Suettay unawares.  Even coming down

from the mountains, we may be espied."

     "I think not," I said slowly.  "If you go down through the pass I

came from, you may find that the functionary who's supposed to watch

that crossing point may not have been replaced yet."

     He glanced at me keenly.  "Have you slain him, then?"

     "Her," I corrected, "and no, I didn't do any killing.  Persuaded

her to see the error of her ways, you might say."  I didn't like the

way he looked at me then, and I added quickly, "Don't get any ideas. 

I'm not a missionary."

     "You must have a silvered tongue, then, to have so swayed one of

Queen Suettay's liege men!"

     I noticed my correction about gender hadn't taken, and I wasn't

surprised.  People tend to see what they want to see, and the Middle

Ages kind of locked people into certain expectations, blinding them to

anything they hadn't been taught.  I recognized this whole business

about needing to take arms against evil as just another excuse for

doing what Christianity forbade, which amounted to hypocrisy.

     I wasn't about to say that out loud, though.  Standing for truth

is one thing, but saying it when you haven't been asked is another.  I

had no desire to get pummeled, or to become the subject of an impromptu

beheading.

     But I was still kind of dazed by the notion of an order of

military monks.  I wondered what their monastery looked like.  Did it

have a gate, or a portcullis?

     "Strange that you know so little of your own land," the commander

sighed, "from sojourning so long among the paynim.  Yet you are a

scholar, and therefore also a gentleman-though you know not the weapons

of honor."

     Again, I nodded.  I knew something of late medieval society.  A

gentleman was below the aristocracy, but above the peasantry-upper

middle class, in my own day's terms.  Knights qualified, but by the

eighteenth century, so did squires, even if they never became knights.

     They owned enough land to have several tenant farmers, and

generally had more education than most.  At this point in

historyassuming it to be about 1350; I didn't dare ask, for fear of

betraying ignorance that might make me suspect-that meant being able to

read and write, and knowing table manners and strict rules of protocol.

     Not that these boys seemed all that big on class distinctions,

though-I saw knights in their gambesons, fetching buckets of water and

lighting campfires, right along with their squires.  "Uh," I said.

     And, "I notice that your men are fetching and carrying, right

along with their squires."

     "Aye," he said.  " 'Tis a lesson in humility."

     "But," I said, "when I came up, you said all I was good for was

fetching and carrying."

     "Aye, and I regret the haste of my words-yet by your appearance,

who was to know your quality?  Still, friend, though peasants may be

fit only for hewing wood and drawing water, a knight is fit for any

task, short of those fit only for royal blood, or appropriate to a

monk."

     "But knights can draw water and gather wood, too, eh?"  I nodded;

it made sense, within their worldview.  You can always do less than

you're able-and to them, it was a gesture of humility-but you can't do

more.  The idea raised my hackles, especially since I knew damn well

that any man could learn to ride or swing a broadsword-though I would

have been the first to admit that some can learn it better than others.

It was just that my enlightened age believes that every task is as

honorable as any other-or tries to, anyway.  "But you're monks, too."

     "Aye, and like other monks, we labor at menial tasks as well as

great, to make us mindful that we, too, are only mortal, and must

strive lifelong if we would become saints in Heaven."

     Something about that struck a faint resonance of rightness within

me.  I tried to ignore it.  "Meaning that all people are equal in God's

eyes?  " He stared at me as if I had spoken treason.  "Nay, nay!  Only

that all may become saints, after death!"

     But some saints were greater than others, no doubt.  I had a

vision of Heaven with everyone walking around with different sizes of

halos, and smaller houses for the peasant-saints but bigger houses for

the gentry-saints, and of course palaces for the aristocratsaints.  My

mouth quirked, and I had to bite my lip to keep from

laughing, then speak quickly to cover up.  "In that case, do you

mind if I help?  " The commander smiled slowly.  "Why, how is this? 

Will you now freely offer to do what you refused, when commanded?"

     I looked up at him, amused.  "Kind of answered your own question,

haven't you?  "

     The commander laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.  "Aye, you

are indeed a gentleman!  We will be glad of your aid.', "And I'm glad

of your hospitality," I rejoined, "for which, my thanks.  Even with the

opening wrestling match, you're a lot more friendly than the last bunch

I ran into."

     The tension was back, suddenly; he was alert all over again.  "Who

were they, and where?"

     "A knight and his men-at-arms," I answered slowly.  "Don't know

their names, but his shield had a torch turned upside down and mashed

flat. "Sir Hohle of the Tarn," he said, his face grim.  "I know him

by repute, and all of it is evil.  Where did you meet him?"

     "On the other side of the pass, and a long way down, before the

climbing became really steep."

     " 'Tis well; his horses could not follow.  What manner of welcome

did they give you?"

     "None at all; they used me for a punching bag, until I got mad and

started hitting back."

     "Mad?  You are a berserker, then?"

     "No, no!"  I closed my eyes, then looked up at him with a forced

smile.  "I meant 'angry.' I knocked down a couple of them, and the

knight decided to flatten me-but his horse crumpled underneath him, and

the fall knocked him out' "Sheer happenstance?"  The commander

frowned.  "I trust it not.

     What spirit wards you?"

     That brought a chill trickle of familiarity through my vitals, but

I shrugged and said, "Just the usual guardian angel, as far as I know. 

" "Then it must have been something you said," the commander mused. 

"Are you a wizard?"

     Again, that cold trickle-I couldn't think why.  "Not as far as I

know."  I didn't bother mentioning what had happened to Sobaka; surely

that must have been my guardian angel at work.  Or my hallucination ...

     Hallucinations that happen to somebody else?

     "It may be that you have an inborn talent for magic," the

commander said, brooding.  "If so, walk very carefully!  The merest

misstep might cast you into the power of the Evil One-for folk who have

such gifts draw either on the power of Satan, or the power of God,

though they know it not.  Beware, lest you evoke a power you wish not

to worship."

     That got my back up.  I wasn't about to worship any source of

power, no matter where it came from.  After all, who'd worship Niagara

Falls, just because it produced electricity?  "Thanks for the advice,"

I said, though.  I've always tried to be polite, but at the moment, I

had extra reasons.

     " 'Tis scarcely a matter for astonishment, that you had so ill a

greeting," he said, "since you were coming out of Allustria.  In truth,

I am amazed you could walk through that benighted land with no i-nore

unpleasantness than such as they gave."  He stopped by a stack of

leather buckets and handed me a couple.  I braced for another scene,

but he picked up two himself and started walking toward the stream that

was gurgling nearby.

     Mollified, I followed.  "I wasn't in Allustria very long."  That

much, at least, was true.

     He nodded.  "You came through the Balkans, then?"

     I didn't want to tell a real lie, so I said, "I wasn't about to

ask for hospitality there."  I looked up sharply at a sudden thought. 

"Wait a minute!  That's why you insisted on that wrestling match,

wasn't it?

     To see if I'd pull any tricks!"

     "We did test you," he admitted.  "Think not harshly of us, I

prithee.  You were coming from Allustria-we marked you as soon as you

came forth from the pass-and you wear outlandish garments .

     Who knew but you might be a sorcerer come amongst us?"

     I stopped, frowning.  "How do you know I'm not?"

     "Why, a sorcerer would have used foul magics to best his opponent,

before ever the man had struck him-or, at least, would have used foul

blows and no slightest mercy.  You accorded your opponent first strike

and did what you could to lessen the impact of his

     fall."

     So he had noticed why I'd held on to the kid's arm.  I nodded

slowly; for the first time in my life, starting with a fight made

sense.

     Almost.

     Suddenly, I felt bad about deceiving him, especially if I was

going to accept his hospitality.  What had happened to my obsession

with truth?  "Actually," I said, "I didn't go into Allustria by my

own

     choice.  I was in my homeland, thousands of miles away, and a very

large spider bit me.  I blacked out, and when I came to, I was on the

other side of that mountain."  I gestured behind us.

     The commander stopped in his tracks, staring at me.  "Were you

truly?  Then you have been transported hither by some great magical

power!  "

     "One that works through spider bites?"

     He glanced to either side and lowered his voice.  "I have heard of

such-of a Spider King, whom no one knows to be either good or evil.  "

Instinctively, I liked this arachnid autocrat.  "Where can I find him? 

Maybe he can send me home!"  Could I dispel the hallucination by

working through its own terms?

     "None knows, nor do I think he would send you hence, for he must

have brought you here for a purpose of his own."  He frowned down at me

for a few seconds, then forced a smile.  "Still, be of good cheer!  It

may be you were transported here by a saint!"

     I shuddered, deciding that, saint or Spider King, I was dealing

with superstition.

     That was what this whole scene was, of course.  Was that what was

really underneath my rationalist mind-a superstitious subconscious?

     The commander turned away and started walking again.  "Still, if

you waked in Allustria, whatsoever it was that brought you must have

work for you there.  Mayhap you should not be fleeing that benighted

land."

     "Or maybe I should," I gritted.  "After all, I didn't apply for

the job.

     I wasn't even consulted."

     We do not always choose our paths."  He knelt by the river and

filled each leather bucket with a single swing of his arm, then stood

again.

     /, Have you?"  I asked.  "Chosen your path, I mean."

     He nodded slowly.  "We have chosen to go into Allustria, no matter

the risk.  There do be yet a few good folk there, who strive to

maintain their virtue in a sink of absolute corruption.  The sponsor of

our order, Saint Moncaire, came to our abbot in a dream a fortnight

agone, to reveal the plight of one such poor family, who hold by God

and goodness, though they dare not do so openly ... I1

     I felt the anger of outrage ring through me.  Superstition or not,

people have a right to worship as they please, without having to hide

it.  "But they've been careful, so they haven't been bothered?"

     "oh, nay!  They were gentry, but over the span of generations,

they suffered again and again, because their rulers sought to rob them

of their faith by driving them into despair-first by taxes, then by

spells."

     "But how'd these rulers know about them?"

     "Because the good souls of this household never left off doing

good for their neighbors and aiding those who were poor or beset.

     Thereby did the witches and warlocks who were given jurisdiction

over their parish know them for what they were and seek ways to bedevil

them."

     "Sounds like some petty bureaucrats I know."  I nodded, with a bad

taste in my mouth.

     "Now," the knight said, "they live without land and are tenants on

the acres their ancestors owned-for they were squires, and their

holdings held a whole parish within their boundaries.  All its people,

following the example of this family's goodness, forsook their

dog-eat-dog ways and persevered in the face of all the harassments and

abuse their masters did heap on them.  Those harassments have grown

more and more frantic as the decades have passed, for such fortitude

and perseverance in virtue is bound to attract the attention of the

queen, who will no doubt punish her henchmen for failing to drive these

virtuous folk into sin.  Therefore they will harry this family out,

root and branch-for they persevere in their faith and charity, even

though they are poor and must ask aid of others, which none dare grant.

One child is dead of poor food and chill; another is ailing.  They are

at wits' end and near to despair.  Therefore hath our abbot sent us

forth, to win glory by bringing these poor folk out of the land of

spiritual misery, and into the light of Merovence."

     "That could be dangerous," I suggested, "if there really are so

many evil sorcerers around-and even more, so many evil knights."

     "Most dangerous indeed, and 'tis quite possible we shall lose our

lives in the attempt."  His jaw firmed and his eyes flashed.  "Yet 'tis

for us to seek to ward the godly, unheeding of the peril-and if we die,

we die.  Spending our lives in so worthy a cause, we shall surely not

linger long in Purgatory, and it may be that we shall even be accorded

the crown of martyrdom."

     I winced; I wondered how many people had been lured into

unnecessary suffering and early death by that promise.

     'Tis not death we should fear," the commander said, "but that

     we might fail in the attempt-for we must bring that family out

right quickly, ere they despair and are subverted and dishonored, or

slain."

     "Should fear," I said softly.  "But what you really do fear is the

evil that you have heard is in that land.  Right?"

     "We should be fools if we did not."  His whole body tightened so

much that I knew it was closer to terror than fear.  Privately, I gave

him credit for being either a hero, a saint, or a fool.  I didn't think

he could really qualify as a saint, since he was using a sword-so, all

things considered, I strongly favored the last option: a fool.  Not

that I was about to say so, of course.

     So I accepted their hospitality for the night, helped with the

camp chores, and joined in the sing-along on the less-religious songs-I

always did like "Amazing Grace," but I wasn't too good on the Gregorian

stuff.  I was a devoutly agnostic Protestant, and the God I didn't

believe in was Calvin's, so I didn't do too well on the Latin-only one

year in high school, and it didn't sound much like theirs.  Different

dialect, no doubt.

     Then I bedded down at their fire, helped with the morning chores,

hauled a bucket of water to help douse the fire-and held up an open

hand in salute.  "Well, it's been fun.  Thanks a lot for your

hospitality, Sir Monk-but I gotta be going now."

     "Assuredly you will not ride alone!"  He seemed to be genuinely

dismayed.  "You are not yet past the reach of Queen Suettay.  Wizard or

not a lone man is a marked man; you will be easy prey for whatever evil

forces she may send against you!"

     "I've managed okay so far," I objected.

     He sighed.  "You have indeed-yet you slept among armed monks last

night.  How many other nights have you spent in Allustria?"

     I swallowed thickly, remembering what superstition claimed about

nighttime.  "None," I admitted.  "Only one day."

     "Even so."  He scowled.  "And in that day, you did work magic?"

     "Well, I wouldn't have said so, but .  . ."

     He chopped off my comment with a sideways sweep of his hand.

     "What you would say matters little; what you did, is all.  Be

assured that Suettay knows of your presence-or that her underlings do."

     That, I could believe, whether or not magic really did work here.

     Sobaka's boss was bound to notice she was missing, sooner or

later-and if she were at all efficient, it would be sooner.  First

thing I knew, I might have bloodhounds on my track, and I had a notion

that in this world, the emphasis was on the blood.  "I'll be okay," I

protested.

     "You mean, 'well enough,' " he interpreted, "and in Allustria,

there is no such state.  You are either holy enough to withstand the

assaults of the satanic, or you will succumb to their temptations and

become yourself an ally of evil."

     "No way!"  I glared up at him.  "I don't buy it, Captain!  You

don't have to be either a saint or a devil-you can just be yourself,

human

and humane.  A man can stand alone, and I intend to!  I refuse

to commit myself!"

     "Mayhap that is true in the land from which you came, but it is

not, in Allustria."  He clapped and beckoned.  The knights and squires

looked up in surprise, and he pointed at Gilbert, the guy I'd wrestled

yesterday, then beckoned.  The kid dropped his horse's reins and came

over.

     "This foolish wizard seeks to ride alone, still within Queen

Suettay's reach," the commander explained.

     The kid went wide-eyed, staring at me as if I had just volunteered

to be the main course at a state dinner.

     "It's not really that bad," I protested.

     "Nay, it is!"  he said.  "You will be corrupted or slain ere you

see another dawn!  " My stomach sank, but I stood up a little

straighter and said, "Look, I'm not the superstitious kind, but I'm no

fool, either.  if I see trouble coming, I'll hide, and if it won't pass

by, I'll fight."

     " 'Tis praiseworthy to die fighting," Gilbert admitted, "yet

foolish

     to spend your life needlessly."

     The commander nodded.  "Buy some advance in grace, at least, if

you must give up your life.  Nay, I cannot let you ride fully

unguarded.  Gilbert, do you ride with him, as his shield and buckler."

     The kid stared at him as if he'd been wounded.  "But, my general!

     To lose my chance for glory in our quest-" "is what I require of

you."  The commander's tone was iron.

     Gilbert flushed, then slowly bowed his head, but his back was

     ramrod-stiff.

     " 'Tis not so vile as it may seem."  The commander's tone

softened.  "I have had a dream that has shown me that this man is a

hinge-upon him will turn great events, and if he can be held to the

path of goodness, I doubt not he will aid greatly in the overthrow of

the evil queen, and the establishment of the reign of goodness in

Allustria."

     Gilbert looked startled, then glanced at me.

     "Don't look over here," I said.  "It's news to me, too."

     "A stalwart man with a rugged face did speak to me as I lay

sleeping," the commander said.  "He wore kingly robes, and a cap with

leaden images of saints all about its rim.  He told me that this man

Saul will be the lever that topples the throne of Allustria, even as

the disciple Paul was transformed from the sword that slew the early

Christians, to the share that plowed the field of Gentiles."  He turned

to me.  "You are fortunately named."

     I wasn't about to disagree with him, but I did think his metaphors

were a little odd.  "Who was this saint you saw in your dream?"

     But the commander shook his head.  "Some holy man of Allustria's

age of virtue, belike, who lived in humble obscurity and died unknown;

not all the saints were famed, or even known.  He was none of whom I

have ever heard.  Yet his face did not shine, so he may be a blessed

one, not a saint."

     I frowned.  "How do you know he isn't a devil masquerading in

disguise?  " Everybody in hearing range looked up with a gasp, and the

commander stared, offended.  "Why, for that I am in a state of grace!"

     "Uh, sorry."  I swallowed and forced a smile.  "But even in a

state of grace, you could be tempted."

     "Mayhap," he said slowly, "but a devil would not wear saints'

medals on his hat."

     I gave it up.  He was so certain about it that he couldn't even

consider being wrong.  "But look-I really don't need an escort.  This

young man has important work to do."

     "My work is what my captain commands," the kid assured me, and if

he says that accompanying you is of greater import than our quest, he

must be right."

     That grated.  Faith is all well and good, but so is skepticism.

     But the commander was nodding.  "Import there is, and the danger

will be no less-mayhap greater.  Nay, there will be great chance of

gaining glory in this mission-and, win or lose, you will gain your

spurs.

     The kid's eyes fired.

     "Dead or alive," I muttered.

     "How do you say?"  the young man asked me courteously.

     "That this really isn't necessary," I snapped.  I had to admit

that I liked the idea of an armed escort, but I have this thing about

close and continued contact with people I don't know well.  "Look, I

really appreciate the offer, but I travel alone."  I grabbed his hand

and pumped it.  "Nice wrestling with you.  Have a good trip."  I

dropped

     his hand, gave the commander a curt bow.  "Thanks for your

hospitality, Sir.  I wish you well on your quest-and good-bye."  Then I

turned on my heel and strode away.

     Behind me, I heard him call, "God be with you, too, Wizard," and

to somebody else, presumably the squire, "Why do you wait, Gilbert?

     Take sword, buckler, and horse, and go with him!"

     I walked faster.  If the kid had to pack, I had a few minutes to

get lost, at least.  There was a line of evergreens ahead; if I could

make it to the trees, I could hide well enough so that he might miss

me.

     I was about ten yards away from the first fir when I heard the

hoof beats behind me.

Chapter Five

     Look, I hate jocks-or, well, not jocks as people, just jocks as a

class; and you couldn't have any better example of the jock-ocracy than

medieval knighthood.

     "Ho, Wizard!"

     I sprinted.

     The evergreen boughs closed around me.  I heard a blundering

behind me, and a cry, "Wilt thou not wait?"

     No.  I wouldn't.  At least, not if I had any choice.  I dodged to

the left, since he'd probably be expecting the right, and plastered

myself behind the largest trunk I could find.

     "Wizard?  Wizard!

     I tracked his voice and, as he moved forward, I sidled around

backward, trying to keep the tree trunk between us.  I must have

succeeded, because he blundered around for an awfully long while,

coming up with all sorts of swear words that had to be so clean they

were almost antiseptic-things like, "By blue!"  and "Bones!"  and

"Blood and iron!"  I resolved to remember them if I ever had to cure an

infection.  When he was far enough away, I sprinted to a little thicket

I had seen and crawled in.  He kept crashing around, coming up with an

amazing variety of expletives that had absolutely no need to be

deleted, while I tried to stifle my laughter, Finally he gave up,

blundering back out the way he had come, lamenting his failure loudly

and at great length.  I felt sorry for him, a little, then reminded

myself sternly that he was probably better off

     with his buddies-and in any case, this was my chance for a

getaway.

     I crawled out and started walking fast, heading downhill.  Twice I

struck a trail wide enough for a horse, but I sheered away from

them-that was exactly the kind of road he'd be likely to take, if he

hadn't given up looking for me yet.  They angled across my path,

instead of going straight down, which I figured was a plus.

     Finally, I came out onto a clear road, wide enough for two horses

side by side.  It was still trending downhill, but at an angle opposite

to the trails I'd seen, and I decided to chance it.  The kid had either

given up by now, or passed me by.  But I kept a wary ear tuned as I

went down the dirt track, walking fast, alert for the slightest sign of

him.  So the first time, Gilbert saved my bacon without even being

therebecause I was listening for him, I heard the sudden rustle in the

leaves just behind me, and had already leapt forward before I heard the

thud on the ground.  I whirled, chopping at the point where a uy's neck

would be if he were crouching.  I was a little high; I caught him on

the side of the head, and he yelled as he went sprawling.

     I whirled back to the front, having a hunch he wouldn't have dared

jump an able-bodied man if he were alone.  Sure enough, another

specimen was just coming out of his crouch from having dropped from the

branch ahead of me, as four of his buddies stepped in from the sides,

two with battle-axes, two with arrows drawn.

     Let me tell you, these were not the nice, clean boys from Sherwood

Forest-or, rather, if there really was a Robin Hood, this is probably

what most of his merry men really did look like.  Their clothes were

patched and filthy-I could actually see the dirt-and the only one of

them who shaved had been neglecting that art for several days.  The

others looked as if their beards got trimmed once a year, and that had

been January first.  Their grins showed rotten teeth, and they smelled

to high Heaven.

     The one in front uncoiled from his crouch and sprang at me with a

shout.  I didn't try to get out of the way, just gave ground fast, so

that he didn't slam into me terribly hard.  I nearly kicked him away

from sheer disgust; the stench of him was more likely to knock me out

than his fighting.  But the archers wouldn't try a shot, if he was real

close, so I ignored the stench and grappled him.  Unfortunately, he

grappled back, throwing his arms around me and squeezing.  I whirled

him around with the pain in my ribs getting worse and worse-all he knew

was a bear hug, but he was strong!  I'd caught him with one of my arms

up, though, so I waltzed him over toward his

     buddies at the side of the path, hoping my wind would last until I

was next to one of the hatchet men.

     Max the Axe saw me coming and backed off, keeping just far enough

away for a swing, worse luck, and I was starting to see spots, so I

stamped on my hugger's instep.  He howled and loosened up; I broke his

hug and hit him with three quick punches to the face.  He let go with

an oath that would have blistered paint, if they'd had any, and I

staggered away, just accidentally stumbling into the axeman.

     He saw me coming and shouted, swinging his blade up, but I slammed

into him in a body block, and we both went down.  I grabbed the axe

handle and twisted as I rolled.  He yelped, and I came up holding an

axe in both hands.

     A stick cracked down on my right-hand fingers.  I yelled as the

fingers went numb, and somebody twisted the axe.  My hurt hand fell

loose, but I yanked hard on the other one and kicked.  I got him in the

gut-he was the first one I'd chopped, getting back into the fight.  He

gave a loud grunt and fell away, and I started whirling the axe, as if

it were a propeller blade.  The four who were still on their feet

backed away-they didn't like the look of that, and the archers didn't

look too sure about trying a shot.

     I was just realizing that one was missing when the blow caught me

on the back of the head, and for a minute, I couldn't see.  Somebody

grabbed the axe out of my hand; somebody else kicked me in the gut, and

I went down with that awful dread that the final blow is coming, that I

was just about to gain empiric evidence as to whether there is an

afterlife.

     But there was a lot of yelling going on still, and some very odd

ringing noises.  I heard heavy, dull, staccato sounds with some howling

thrown in, and managed to pull myself up, my eyes clearing, to see

three of the bandits trying to scramble back into the brush, three of

them lying crumpled on the ground in front of the horse's hooves, and

my old buddy Gilbert, with a little round shield on his left arm and a

large sword in his right, hefting and glaring after them as if trying

to decide whether to go chasing.

     "Don't try it," I croaked.  "Once you're off the road, they've got

the advantage.  They can just sit up in the trees and throw rocks at

you, even.  " "Friend Saul!"  he cried, whirling toward me.  "You are

hurt!"

     "Just a mild concussion."  I hoped I was as well as I was trying

to sound.  "Y' know, I think I'm glad you decided to tag along, after

all."

     Then things got kind of dim, and my knees folded.

     He was there before I hit the ground, leaning down from his horse,

holding me up.

     "I'll ... be all right," I managed.  "Just ... need to get my

bearings.  " "You should rest."

     "Just a little while."  I looked up into his broad, open face, saw

the frown of concern, and decided maybe there was something to be said

for jocks, after all-if they were on my side.

     Well, what could I do?  Tell him to go home to Papa, after he'd

saved my life?  Right.

     So we went along together.  Gilbert insisted that I ride the

horse, and I insisted that I didn't-if it doesn't have brakes and a

gear shift, I'm not interested.

     "You shall have to learn to ride, if you stay long in our land!" 

he remonstrated.

     "I'm not planning to," I assured him.  "What's a nice kid like you

doing in the military, anyway?"

     "Why, for that good folk need protecting!"  He was mildly

scandalized that I even asked.

     Well, that made sense.  "But why as a monk?"

     "I felt the call," he said simply.  "I have a vocation."

     I'd always wondered about that.  "What's it feel like-the call? 

Did you have a dream?  A sudden moment of enlightenment?"

     "I have heard of such," he said slowly, "yet in my case, 'twas

simply that there was a famine when I was so small that all I can

remember is the great gnawing in my belly, and the kindly face of the

monk who came at last to give my family a loaf of bread.  In the rush

of gratitude that came then, I wished to be like him-and that wish

never left me."

     "Just a good example."  I frowned.  "Didn't it bother you, when

you were old enough to know what was going on, to find out that some

monks were greedy and lustful?"

     His face hardened.  "I did hear of such, aye, though we only knew

of one, ourselves-but we did learn of a whole abbey full of them, miles

away, and heard that other abbeys did visit grinding rents upon their

tenants, the whiles their monks did live in luxury.  Yet the monks who

dwelt nearby us lived in a cloister they had built with their own hands

and which they themselves had enlarged and repaired.  They farmed, even

as we did, and would not accept gifts of any more land than they

themselves could till."

     "Sounds like the Franciscans," I said.

     He frowned.  "I know none of that name.  Their example has shone

down the years of my life, though.  I cannot condemn all clergy for the

mistakes of a few, aye, or even of many, when those I have met myself

are good and godly men."

     I nodded.  "Then why didn't you join their order?"

     "Alas!  As I grew older, I found that I was fond of fighting.  The

good monks did rebuke me, and I strove hard to contain my anger at

others' taunts; but when they struck at me, I felt outrage at their

injustice and smote them down.  Then did I come near to despair,

thinking myself fit only for the plow and never for the cloister-but

the monk who came to say Mass for us, every Sunday, did learn of this

and told me of the order of Saint Moncaire.  'If you must needs strike

a blow,' quoth he, 'let it be the minions of Satan that you smite, so

that you may protect the poor and weak.' Thereupon my heart did thrill,

and I gave my poor parents no rest till they agreed to let me try my

vocation, and I went to the monastery as a squire."

     I nodded.  "So you like fighting, but you wanted to be a monk, and

the Moncaireans let you combine the two.  Very neat.  And you wanted to

be a knight?"

     "What lad does not?  Yet I knew I could not, for I was baseborn; I

wished only to be a squire, and never thought I could be more."

     "Oh."  I frowned.  "So that's how it goes here, is it' You have to

be born a knight in order to become one?"

     "'Tis possible that a lowborn squire may be knighted for great

courage and prowess," he pointed out, "yet 'tis rare."

     "A battlefield commission, huh?  And of course, he'll never really

be accepted by the other officers."

     "Your terms are strange-yet 'tis so.  His children, though, will

be ranked with any, for they will have grown with other knights. 

Natheless, 'tis otherwise, in my order-any lad may become a knight of

Saint Moncaire, if he proves his vocation.  Yet it will take great

deeds to win my spurs."  He flashed me a grin.  "Therefore, lead me

into danger, Wizard Saul!  For I would prove my worth!"

     "I'll try not to arrange it," I assured him, but I had this

secret, nagging dread that he was going to get his wish.

     Maybe right now.  We came to the top of a rise and saw a huge

crack in the ground right in front of us.  It was a gorge, and it

stretched away out of sight to the right and left.

     But there was a bridge over it.  Very narrow, but it was a bridge.

     "Well, at least there's a way over."  As we came up to it, though,

I developed doubts-it looked kind of flimsy.

     "Looks like single file," I told Gilbert.  "Think it'll take your

horse's weight?"

     He scanned it with a practiced eye-I guessed he'd been trained in

military engineering.  "Aye, if I dismount."

     "Good enough."  I started out across.

     "Nay, Wizard Saul!"  he yelped.  "First we must test for-" "Ho! 

Ho!"  something tumbled.

     I stopped and glanced at the sky.  "Thunder?"

     "Worse!"  Gilbert cried.  "Flee, Wizard!"

     Hands as wide as bread boxes slapped onto the railing.  Something

huge and smelly swung itself up in an arc and landed with a shock that

made the bridge sway.  I held tight to the railing and stared, totally

dumfounded.

     It was about eight feet tall and shaped like a turnip, with legs

as thick as kegs coming out of the narrow end.  The wide end tapered

down into two tentacles with the huge hands on the ends, and two eyes

the size of dinner plates stared down at me from its chest.  Beneath

them, a knob of nose twitched over a vast slice of mouth, which opened

in a grin set with shark's teeth.

     "What the hell is that?"  I yelped.

     "'Tis a troll!"  Gilbert howled.  "Not from Hell, but vile enough!

     Stand aside, Wizard Saul, and let me have at him!"

     "How?"  I looked frantically to left and right, but there was no

place to jump to.  Then I remembered that I knew how to swim.  I turned

to dive over the rail, but Gilbert called, "Nay!  He'll leap in after

you and catch you in a trice!  " I wondered crazily if a trice was

anything like a net, as I turned back to watch the troll slobbering

toward me.  I backed away, blurting, "But you can't be real-you're a

fugitive from a fairy tale!  So I can't be your meal!

     The monster jerked to a halt and glanced about him, and I could

have sworn he was looking nervous.  So help me, one huge finger came up

over his mouth, looking for all the world as if he were trying to shush

me!

     "I will not be silenced!"  I cried.  "The word is my weapon!"

     The troll shrank back, hands coming up to fend me off, and Gilbert

cried, "A deft stroke!  oh, bravely done!  Smite him again, Wizard!"

     "How?"  I cried.

     The troll relaxed, straightening up with a slobbering grin, and

came slavering toward me again.

     I backed away fast, wondering what had spooked it.  "What's a

matter, big guy?  You worried about fairies?"

     The troll jerked to a stop again, making frantic shushing motions

and glancing about him.

     il You are!"  I cried in triumph.  "You're afraid of the word

itself!

     Okay, Gruesome, try this one on for size!

     'Rushing down the mountain And trooping through the glen, We dare

not go a-hunting For fear of little men!'

     The troll gave a moan of fear and jumped.

     He landed on top of me, and I slammed a punch in sheer reflexand

howled; it had felt like hitting rock.  The howl was a mistake, because

then I had to inhale, just as that huge midriff slammed me back against

the wood, Something cracked under me; I saw stars, and my w o e

universe was filled with the incredible stench of that monster.

     I couldn't believe it-that close to water, and he didn't bathe?

     Dimly, I beard Gilbert yelling, and beard something that sounded

like ringing.

     Then, suddenly, there was light, and the hideous smell was gone.

     I gasped, pushing myself up as quickly as I could-and there, so

help me, were a dozen little guys scarcely as tall as my knee, in red

caps and brown outfits, kicking at that troll and pinching him, How

their pinches could make any progress against that granite skin, I

didn't know-but I wasn't about to object.

     "You have summoned them!"  Gilbert shouted.  "Oh, bravely done,

Master Wizard!"

     Master?  I wasn't even a journeyman!

     The yelping troll was caught between two packs of little men now.

     He couldn't even jump off the bridge, because there was a batch of

them on each side, pinching and kicking if he came near them.  He

huddled down into a miserable, wailing bundle, tentacle-arms curled to

protect his face.  Somehow, I almost felt sorry for him, "Your charity

does you credit, but is sadly misplaced."

     "Hub?"  I looked up to see a bigger-than-average elf standing on

the railing by my shoulder.  instead of a red cap, this one wore a

coronetyour basic, minimal crown.

     "Yet 'tis foolishness, also," the little guy went on, "for this

monster has no mercy within his flinten skin, no heart, no compassion;

he would have devoured you as soon as looked at you."

     "I believe it."  I glanced at the huddled, moaning granite turnip,

then back to the guy with the crown.  "Lucky for me you were in the

neighborhood.  Thanks for the save, Your Majesty."

     "Highness," he corrected.  "I am a prince of Wee Folk, not a king.

     And 'tis a hobnailed jest to speak of luck, when 'twas your spell

that summoned us."

     He glanced at his corps, while I stared.  Spell?

     Then he turned back with a severe frown.  "'Twas unwise of you to

venture to cross a bridge without having taken precaution 'gainst that

which might dwell beneath it.  You know the signs of bridges that were

built by trolls to tempt mortals to their doom."

     "Uh-no, to tell you the truth, I don't.  I'm, uh, kinda new in

this country, you see."

     "New?"  He stared at me.  "Have you no trolls whence you come?"

     "Not like this," I assured him.  "I admit I know some people who

could qualify, but they're really human underneath it all."

     "This one is not!"  He turned on Gilbert, who had come onto the

bridge behind me.  "You, squire!  Assuredly you must know this land-you

wear the badge of the Moncaireans!  Did you not warn him of his

danger?"

     "I did not speak quickly enough," Gilbert said contritely.

     "Did you not know he was a stranger?"

     "I confess I did not realize the depth of his strangeness."

     I'd heard that before, from other jocks-but I decided not to take

offense, this time.

     The elfin prince turned back to me.  "Do you henceforth survey

most closely every bridge that you may come to!  If 'tis rudely made,

and the ends of the logs show the marks of teeth, not axes, be sure to

recite a spell for the banishing of trolls ere you cross."

     I looked and, sure enough, the ends of the logs did look as if

they'd been chewed through.  "I didn't think to look," I admitted. 

"Even if I had, though, I probably wouldn't have thought anything of

it."

     "Not thought!"  the elf prince and Gilbert cried together.

     "Yeah," I admitted ruefully.  "I probably would have just thought

somebody had used logs that beavers had cut down."

     The prince and the squire exchanged a glance, then turned back to

me.  "What are beavers?"

     Then I remembered that the flat-tailed rodents with the buck teeth

were American fauna only.  "Uh, small animals, where I come from, who

like to chew on things."

     "Most amazing," Gilbert muttered.  The elf prince said firmly, "I

would not offend you, squire, but you alone are not protection enough

for this ignorant man."

     "Hey," I objected.

     "Not a word!"  The prince held up a hand, then turned to snap his

fingers at his retinue.  "Stand back, and let him rise!"

     They looked up, startled.  "But, Highness "Do as I bid!"

     Reluctantly, they stepped back.

     "Rise, troll," the elf prince said, with a tone that hinted at

dire tortotes.

     Slowly, the troll uncurled itself and stood up to a shaky eight

feet, whining at the back of its throat.

     "What is thy name?"

     The troll shrank back, but a hail of kicks and pinches made it

straighten up with a howl, "Your name," the prince intoned, in a pitch

that wavered like the pattern on a Damascus blade.

     The troll croaked some incomprehensible pattern of gutturals and

rachetings-but it was unmistakably language, if one I couldn't

understand.

     I stared, amazed that the monster could talk, but the elf prince

held up both hands and began to chant something dire.  I could tell it

rhymed and had meter, but I couldn't have made the first guess as to

what the words meant.  I only know that it made the troll cower away,

hands up to fend off the words, and I caught the grinding and grating

of his name in there a couple of times.  Then I got a real shock,

because the verse ended in my name, "Saul!"

     The elf prince clapped his hands, and the troll straightened up,

moaning, his huge mitts dropping to his sides.

     The prince nodded, satisfied, and turned back to me, fists on his

hips.  "He is tamed now.  I have laid a geas upon him, binding him to

go wherever you go and protect you from any thing, beast or man or

spirit, that does seek to hurt you."

     My mouth dropped open; I stared at the troll, appalled.  Then I

turned back to the prince to protest that I didn't really want such a

gruesome traveling companion, but the prince only held up'a hand, palm

out.  "Nay, do not thank me, I know you wish to protest that I

     am too kind, but it is our great amusement to protect good mortal

folk from such depraved creatures as this."

     I wanted to protest, all right, but not about his kindness.

     "Your Highness is exceedingly gracious," Gilbert said gravely.  I

turned to ask him if he was out of his mind, but he was bowing his head

to the prince, and I realized anything else might get me in worse

trouble than I was in already.  No matter what, I didn't want these

little guys for enemies.  I swallowed my protest and turned around to

bow, too-after all, we could always find a way to lose the monster when

the elves were out of sight.  He didn't look to have too high an IQ. 

In fact, he didn't look to have an IQ at all.

     The prince pointed off toward the cast.  "The gorge will narrow a

league or so farther on, and you will find there has been a rock slide

that will provide a bridge for you."

     Something rumbled in the distance, in the direction he was

pointing.  I wondered how long that rock slide had been there.  No, I

definitely didn't want these little guys to take a dislike to me.

     "Henceforth," he said, with a very severe stare at me, "if you

realize that you shall need our help, summon us at once.  There is an

aura about you that tells me that you shall be vital to the casting out

of the rule of evil which we so hate for the trouble and grief it has

caused my people; so summon if you so much as think you may have need

of us; and be sure, we shall come."

     "I'm not really that important."  Why did everybody here think I

was the solution to all their troubles?  I admit I was used to that

attitude from the women I met, but supernatural beings were another

matter.

     "You are," he said, with a steely glare that allowed no argument.

     "Call at the slightest need.  Till then, farewell!  Men of mine! 

All flit!"

     Sunlight got in my eyes; I blinked, and they were gone.  There was

no one there but Gilbert, his horse, me-and the troll.

     I braced myself, ready to run-I didn't think fighting would do

much good.

     But a very dejected troll came mincing up to me, hanging his

head-or the whole top half of his body, at least-and fell to his knees.

     I backed away, horrified.  "All right, all right!  I'll have to

put up with you-but no kneeling!  I hate that!"

     The troll scrabbled to his feet, staring down at me expectantly.

     "Do you remember my saying anything about agreeing to take this

lunk along?"  I asked Squire Gilbert.

     "Why-you have no choice in the matter, Wizard," he said in

surprise.  "Neither has the troll."

     "Oh, yeah?"  I started out across the bridge.  "Just watch me."

     There was a loud groan from below.

     I froze.  I hadn't stopped to think that Huge-and-Gruesome might

have had company.  I backed away in a hurry; whatever was under there

just might have brains enough to realize that the easy way to get rid

of Gruesome's geas was to get rid of me.

     On the other hand, if it tried, Gruesome would have to fight itand

it might not be smart enough to realize that.  I decided I didn't want

to find out.  I retreated back to Gilbert's side with alacrity and

turned away east.  "On the other hand, maybe a one-mile detour wouldn't

be so bad after all.  Let's go, Gilbert-fast!"

     "If you say so, Wizard."  He mounted and paced alongside me on his

horse, trying not to let his smile show.

     I tried to ignore it-and tried harder to ignore the slap of huge

flat feet behind me.  I'd had experience with that, too, but it wasn't

working any better this time than it had before.

     Gilbert didn't seem to mind it, but every now and then, I caught

him glancing back out of the corner of his eye.  All in all, it was a

very nervous-making mile, though he and I tried to cover up with light

conversation.

     "So you were born a peasant, but within the order you can become a

knight?"

     "Aye.  Even so, 'tis not likely, mind you-but I may attain glory

enough to cover me with honor."

     Interesting metaphor.  I was tempted to try to figure out if it

was mixed, but resisted in favor of gaining information.  "Any chance

you can change your mind then, leave the order, and get married?"

     "Oh, nay!"  He turned to me, shocked.  "I would never wish to

leave the order!"

     "Eighteen is young," I said, from the airy height of twenty-five.

     "Twelve years from now, you might be tempted to reconsider."

     "Heaven forfend!  May the angels protect me from such!"

     "I hope so," I agreed.  "But could you, if you wanted to?' He

started to object again, then closed his mouth, frowning, and thought

it over.

     "Purely hypothetically, mind you," I said.

     "Nay, I could not," he said.  "In the Order of Saint Moncaire, we

do not take our final vows until we are accorded the accolade of

knighthood.

     "So."  I nodded.  "Once you become a knight, you can't quit."

     "Aye," he agreed.  "Before that time, whilst I am still a squire,

I could leave the order, if I wished-but I do not wish."

     I hoped he wouldn't get the quick exit that would no doubt be the

most honorable.  I'm sure he would have wanted it, though.  These

medieval Christians were crazy for martyrdom.

     Well, there went my notion of social mobility.  In my own feudal

Europe, the only two ways for a young man to rise in socioeconomic

status were through the army, and through the Church.  in the army,

there was an extremely long shot that a peasant might be knighted on

the battlefield for services above and beyond the call of sanity.  In

the Church, native ability alone might push him up to the rank of

bishop, or pope if he were Italian-but he wouldn't have any heirs to

leave it to.  So, okay, the Order of Saint Moncaire was giving Gilbert

a chance to improve himself-but only just himself.  Well, that was all

he asked, anyway.

     So far.

     The slapping of big flat feet was coming closer.  I glanced back

over my shoulder and saw that the troll was gaining, and he had a big

wide grin.  Okay, it was an eager, puppy-dog, ingratiating grin-but it

didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm.  "Uh, Squire Gilbert-should we

do anything about our hungry friend back there?"

     "Feed him, do you mean?"  Gilbert looked back, then thought better

of the idea.  "With meat of beasts, that is."

     "Assuming we're not beasts."  I gave the troll a jaundiced

eyeglance, I mean.  "I'm not sure he knows the distinction-and he's

definitely getting closer."

     "But of course!  How can he protect us if he is not with us?"

     "By being far away."  I turned back to the front and hurried. 

"Come on.  Let's find that rock slide."

Chapter

     Six

     it was just a little farther along.  A chunk of the hillside was

raw and ragged, and the gully was filled with weed-tufted dirt, heavily

interspersed with boulders.  I eyed it with trepidation.  "We're

supposed to cross on that?"

     "it does look infirm," Gilbert agreed, "but the weeds show that it

has been here long enough for the rains to settle it somewhat."

     "Yeah, too much-it's at least two feet lower in the center."  I

decided I must have heard another landslide happening.

     "I shall essay it first."  Gilbert swung down from his horse's

back.

     "Yet let Thorn carry only his own weight, that his hooves may not

sink lower than they must."

     I glanced over my shoulder at what was coming up behind and said,

"No, I'm the leader of this expedition-or at least, you're here because

of me.  I'll go first."  I stepped out onto the dirt bridge before he

could stop me.

     "Nay, Wizard Saul!  'Tis my place!"  he cried, but I waded on with

determination.

     And I do mean "waded"-the dirt gave beneath my feet with every

step.  My stomach started fluttering, and I began to envision a

minilandslide with me in the middle.  It was almost enough to make me

believe in the magic the people here kept talking about.  I tried to

remember some stabilizing verses.

     "We come," Gilbert called behind me.  I took his word for it; my

eyes were on the path ahead, if you could call it that.  I tried

stepping

     on the larger stones, and that was better; they sank in a little

farther, but at least my feet didn't.  I was glad I wore boots.

     Finally I reached the other side.  I grabbed hold of the nearest

tree and let myself sag against it.  Then I turned around so I could

watch Gilbert finishing the trek.

     He was doing better than I had, possibly because he was walking in

my footsteps-had to shorten his stride to do it, but it gave him a

firmer surface.  His horse followed on the reins, with a lot of

snorting, head tossing, and rolling of the eyes-but whenever they

rolled back far enough, he saw the troll wallowing along behind him and

decided the dirt was the lesser of two evils.

     Gilbert guided him up onto firm land, then looked back at the

laboring troll with a frown.  "Mayhap we ought to help him."

     "Are you crazy?"  I protested.  "The monster that would have

gleefully had us for lunch-even without ketchup?  Besides, we're trying

to get away from him, remember?"

     "'Tis so," Gilbert conceded, but his open, honest face looked

unhappy about it.  "I hate to leave even an adversary so beset."

     "You'll get the hang of it," I assured him.  "Look, any chance

your horse could carry double for a little while?  I hate to ask it of

him, but I'd feel a lot better if we could put a few miles between

Gruesome, there, and us."

     "As you wish," Gilbert sighed, "though 'twill do no good.  Once

under a geas, a living creature will ever press after his duty."  He

held the horse steady while I mounted.  Fortunately, I'd learned a

little bit about riding in my one trip to summer camp, so I knew how to

get aboard, at least.  I hiked myself back behind the saddle, though.

     "Nay, Master Wizard!  Do you take the saddle!"

     "You don't think I'm dumb enough to try to steer this thing, do

you?  No, you can have the front seat!"

     Gilbert gave me a funny look, but he climbed aboard, bending his

knee so his foot missed my face-but not by much-then turning the

horse's head inland and shaking the reins.  The beast started trotting,

and I held on for dear life.  "Aren't there ... any ... shock absorbers

... on this bus?"

     "I do not follow your meaning, Master Wizard, but I'll essay a

faster gait."  He knocked his heels into the horse's sides.  I was

about to protest when the ride smoothed out amazingly.  I remembered

that a canter is less jouncy than a trot-but only by comparison; it was

still pretty rough.  On top of that, I was discovering why the army

adopted the McClellan saddle.  I held tight to Gilbert's midriff and

     glanced back.  Sure enough, Gruesome was still wallowing through

the dirt and was growing smaller behind us.  I relaxed a little, set my

teeth, and turned to the front, determined to last it out.

     After about fifteen minutes of this-just a guess; my watch seemed

to have stopped-I said, "That ought to do it.  Must have been a couple

of miles, at least."

     "Aye."  Gilbert reined in.  "Will that suffice, Master Wizard?"

     "Just fine," I said through clenched teeth.  I made it through the

deceleration trot, then gratefully slid off the rump.  "Maybe he'll

lose us now.  "

     "I fear not."  Gilbert started to dismount.

     "Hey, what're you doing? No reason you should walk!"

     "But you are my leader "Not your superior, though, only your

senior!  You just keep riding.

     After all, you're the one with the armor."

     "'Tis only a mail coat."  But he seemed relieved.  "Even so,

Wizard Saul, 'tis my duty to advise you that distance will not stop a

troll, nay, even if he did not labor under a geas," That was doubly

less than reassuring.  It didn't exactly guarantee that Gruesome was

under a geas.  Compulsions I could understand, but greed was even more

comprehensible.

     We strolled along, exchanging biographical notes, and I switched

the topic to future aspirations.  Gilbert practically glowed as he

recounted the glories of knighthood and the potential glories of

martyrdom.  You can't help liking a guy with that much zeal, but I

couldn't help feeling that somebody was playing him for a real sucker. 

On the other hand, I think Jonah felt that way, too.

     The sun was almost overhead, and I was just beginning to think of

calling a halt for lunch, when Gilbert looked back and said, "Yonder he

comes."

     I spun about, staring.  Sure enough, there he came, snowshoe feet

and turnip shape, grinning from ear to ear with pathetic eagerness.  I

had to remind myself that I was the one who was likely to be pathetic,

not him.

     "No help for it," I decided.  "Time for lunch, anyway.  Let's

relax and rest awhile-and if he attacks, he attacks, and we'll deal

with it then."  I was nowhere nearly as nonchalant as I pretended.  The

presence of an actual, me-eating troll was incentive enough to get me

to working up some good verses, not that I really thought they'd help

any.

     On the other hand, if my hallucination included trolls and

elves,

     why not magic?  Though a troll was hardly the kind of opponent you

would expect to start slinging rhymes.

     "He will not attack," Gilbert said with blithe unconcern as he

dismounted.  "He goes under a geas."

     Obsessive-compulsive disorders, I could understand-it was just the

object of the obsession that worried me.  Nonetheless, I let Gilbert

lay the fire while I waited, arms akimbo, looking a lot more certain

than I felt-but as Huge-and-Ugly came closer, I felt the old, familiar

chill within me that seems to come whenever danger looms.

     I didn't feel fear, because I didn't feel anything.  After the

crisis was over, I'd turn to jelly-but there'd be time, then.

     "Running behind schedule, I see," I commented, as he came up.

     The troll looked surprised.  "Ske-dool2l'

That's right-I

remembered he'd demonstrated a limited vocabu

     lary.

     "Took you awhile to catch up with us."  I braced myself and said,

"I'd really rather you didn't."

     It stared down at me with blank incomprehension.

     "Don't catch up with us," I explained.  "I don't want you near me.

     Go.  Away.  Shoo!"

     He stared, grin fading, mouth loosening.  "Go?"  And, so help me,

a huge, fat tear welled up in one eye.

     My inner chill almost warmed into remorse for a second, but I

focused on the shark teeth inside that woebegone lip and said, "You

tried to eat me.  I can't trust you.  I don't want you along."

     "Me come!"  he protested, in a voice like a basso chain saw.

     "Fairies see!  Fairies say!  Want only ward you!"

     "He speaks truth, Master Wizard," Gilbert said, his voice low and

completely calm.  "He cannot turn his heart against you now, not under

the elf prince's geas."

     He sounded very confident, and it occurred to me to wonder how the

troll would react if I really did drive him away.  if this was anything

like a love-hate relationship, I could find myself with a real nemesis

on my trail.  "Well ... if you're sure The troll's grin came back, and

he nodded eagerly.  At least, I think it was nodding; it might have

been bowing.  But Gilbert assured me, "He is your guard and servant

now, till the Wee Folk remove the

     geas.  " That was the other thing that bothered me.  If some enemy

magician came along and counteracted this artificial compulsion, I

could find myself on the inside real fast, in small pieces.  But I

didn't really

     see that I had much choice.  I sighed and said, "Okay, Gruesome,

you can join us."

     The troll looked hugely delighted, then frowned, puzzled.

     "Goosum?"

     "Gruesome," I amplified.  "That's my name for you."  Then one of

my few moral principles kicked in-I hated infringing on anybody's

identity; I knew what it felt like to have people try.  "But I'll drop

it if you have a name of your own."

     "Name?"

     So much for that idea.  "What do other trolls call you?"

     "Odder trolls?"

     "They are solitary beings, Master Wizard," Gilbert explained.

     "They are never seen together."

     I frowned.  "They have to now and then, or there would never be

any little trolls."

     Gilbert blushed.  So help me, he blushed.  I tried to remind

myself he was an adolescent, and a very sheltered one, in some

respects.

     "All right," I sighed.  "If they don't have a social structure,

they don't have any need for names."

     "Well, there is the secret name," Gilbert said slowly.  "Every

creature takes the first sound of its own kind that it hears after

birth, as the designation for itself.  It is this the elf prince used

to compel the troll.  " "But it's secret?"

     Gilbert nodded.

     I'd heard of it.  Almost every primitive culture believed that

identity was so intimately linked with name that your enemy could use

it to work magic against you-so the true name was secret.  Everybody

had a public name for communication, and a private name for identity. 

I turned to the troll again.  "What is the sound that means you?

     "No say!"  Gruesome almost looked panicked-and I wasn't an elf

prince, with a host of little accomplices that could pinch hard enough

to be felt through that igneous hide.  So, "No se, indeed," I muttered.

     I fell back on primitive communication, pointing to the troll's

granite chest.  "You.  Gruesome."  Then I pointed at myself.  "MeSaul."

Then I jabbed a finger at the squire.  "Him-Gilbert."  I frowned up at

the dinner-plate eyes.  "Understand?"

     "Unner ... ?  " He didn't have the concept of understanding. 

"Gruesome, go to Gilbert."

     His face cleared, and he turned to trot over to the squire. 

Gilbert braced himself, but he didn't need to-he was still kneeling by

the camp fire, and the troll shied away at the sight of flame.

     "Gruesome!"  I called.  "Come to Saul!"

     "Gruesome come," he said brightly, and shambled back to me.

     I nodded, satisfied.  "Good.  Now, eat."

     The troll stared, unbelieving.

     I suddenly realized what he thought I meant he should eat. 

"Gilbert, food!  Quickly!"

     "Here, Wizard."  A round, hard loaf came flying through the air.

     I caught it and presented it to the troll.  "Gruesome eat."

     The troll frowned down at the loaf, then took it from me between

thumb and finger.  His lump of nose wrinkled.

     "All right, let it go if you want."  I said.  "But it's all we've

gotisn't it?"

     "There is a little dried beef."  Gilbert held out something that

looked like a collection of buckskin thongs.  I took them and held them

out to Gruesome, but he backed away, shaking his top.

     "Well, sorry."  I went to sit down by Gilbert.  "But we have to

eat."

     I took another loaf, broke it, handed half to Gilbert, and started

munching.  He handed me a wineskin; I took a sparing sip, then handed

it back.

     Three bites later, I happened to notice Gruesome.  He was sitting

down now, with his hands on his knees, eyeing us hungrily.  I told

myself it was the food he was eyeing, but I didn't believe me.

     "I mistrust his gaze," Gilbert muttered.

     "I mistrust this whole geas thing."  I frowned at Gruesome.  "I'd

feel a little safer if it had been my idea."

     "An excellent notion!"

     "Say what?"  I looked up blankly.

     "Make a spell of your own!  That will hold him doubly!"

     He looked at me with such total trust that I figured I at least

had to go through the motions.  "if you say so," I sighed, and turned

back toward Gruesome, trying to remember a verse having to do with

loyalty.  I found it among my boyhood Kipling collection, and tapped my

own chest as I recited,

     "Now here is your master-understand!

     Now you must be my guide, To walk and stand at my left hand, As

shields on shoulders ride.

     Till Death or I cut loose the tie, At camp and board and bed, Your

life is mine-your life's design is to guard me with your head.

     The troll sat bolt-upright, looking very surprised.  Its eyes

glazed, then cleared, and it turned to me and said, "Saul master of

Gruesome.  Gruesome guard Saul with life."

     He said it with such total conviction that I just couldn't doubt

him.  I decided that trolls were very suggestible.

     Behind me, Gilbert let out a hiss of breath.  I turned back,

surprised, and the kid was staring at me almost with reverence, "You

have done it indeed!  All, fortunate am I, to see such spells worked so

hard by me!"

     "It's pretty hard by me, too," I grunted, "and speaking of hard,

let's finish this journey bread."

     But Gilbert was looking past me at the troll.  "He is your

creature now, and woe betide any who seek to hurt you-but he still

hungers.  "

     It occurred to me that Gilbert might be feeling less than Secure.

     "Guard Gilbert, too," I ordered Gruesome.

     "Gilbert safe from hurt!"  the troll assured me, but he still

looked hungry.

     "He must be fed, with something," Gilbert said, his voice low.

     "I'd rather be a little more definite about the 'something,' " I

said, and raised my voice.  "Gruesome!  Go gobble up a billy goat!"

     The troll looked very surprised for a minute, then grinned,

gratified, and scrambled off.

     Not believing my luck, I stared after him, then turned to start

stuffing the rations back into Gilbert's sack.  "Quick!  Now's our

chance!  "

     "Chance for what?"  Gilbert said blankly.

     "To lose that monster!  Come on, let's go!"

     "It will avail naught," Gilbert protested, but he gathered his

gear and mounted up.

     We were only a hundred yards down the road when I stopped dead in

my tracks.  "What's the matter with me!"

     "Naught, that I can see," Gilbert said, surprised.

     "Nice of you-especially considering what some other people I know

might have said for an answer."  I turned about and started hiking

back, double-quick.  "I just realized what I told that fool troll to

do!

     "Aye-to dine upon a goat."

     "Right!  And where do you find goats in a country like this?"

     "Why, upon Suddenly, Gilbert's eyes filled with foreboding.

     "Upon a farm!"

     "Right!  And I only told him to guard you-I didn't say anything

about any other humans!  Come on, let's go!"

     "Ride," Gilbert snapped.

     His tone riled me, but I had to admit there was no time to debate

the issue now.  I scrambled up behind him and held on for all I was

worth.  He kicked the horse into a gallop and went pounding up the

hillside.

     "There he is!"  I pointed.

     Gilbert swerved, and the horse leaped the fence.

     I wasn't expecting it-I almost went flying.  But I managed to hold

on tighter, and Gilbert grunted as I gave him an impromptu Heimlich

maneuver, Then we were pounding over the meadow grass and swung about

in front of a slavering troll just as the goatherd boy yelled in

fright.

     "No, Gruesome!"  I held up a hand.  "Mustn't eat any people."

     "Not eat?"  Gruesome protested, wounded.

     "Not eat people!"  I said with conviction.  "Only goats!  And

wolves and bear and deer," I modified, and turned to the goatherd. 

"It's okay-he's only after your goats, not you."

     "But-but I shall be whipped!"  Trembling, he faced us all, crook

held slantwise across his body, ready to strike.

     I almost invited him to come along right there, he was so brave. 

I

     would have, too, if I'd known where I was going.  As it was, I

just reached in my pocket and fished out a quarter.  "I'll buy one goat

from you.  I1

     He caught the quarter, then held it up, staring at it.  "'Tis

silver!"

     "Will it .  . ."  I remembered the principles of bargaining and

changed the wording.  "How big a goat will it buy?"

     "The biggest in my herd!  But 'tis a most strange coin,

gentleman!"

     "I'm a foreigner," I explained.  "Make it a billy goat, all

right?"  I glanced at the troll and said, "A gruff one."

     "My worst," he said eagerly.  in thirty seconds, he had driven out

the most ornery billy goat I'd ever seen, who kept turning and trying

to butt him.  I didn't blame it-if I'd been being driven toward a

troll, I would have tried to run, too.

     But Gruesome solved the issue by pouncing.  There was a startled

bleat that ended abruptly, White-faced, the goatherd backed away.

     "Gruesome!  Come to Saul!"  I said sternly, and to Gilbert, "Walk

away.  " We turned and started walking.  I glanced back; Gruesome was

following, taking large bites.  I winced and turned away.  "Crisis

over.  Do we have to go through this every mealtime?"

     "You will find a way," Gilbert said with total confidence.  I

wished I'd shared it.

     I didn't make the same mistake when we set camp for the night-I

made a different one.  Well, no, maybe not a mistake, really-as soon as

I realized Gruesome was eyeing us hungrily, I said, "Hungry enough to

eat a bear?"

     Gruesome nodded, a huge slab of tongue coming out to slurp over

his lips, what there were of them.

     "Then go catch one."  I said.  "If you can catch it, you can eat

it."

     He nodded brightly, surged up to his feet, and trotted off into

the trees.

     Gilbert stared after him open-mouthed, then turned to me.  "Will

he find one?

     I shrugged.  "Whether he does or not, we'll get an hour or so of

worry-free sleep."

     Gilbert smiled, a slow grin.  "Ingenious, Master Wizard!  Nay, let

us dine quickly and seek sleep faster!  I'll take the first watch."

     I realized I was dog-tired, so I didn't object.  Right after we

finished, I rolled up in the cloak Gilbert's commander had sent with

the squire.

     "Will you not pray first?"  Gilbert asked, scandalized.

     "No, I don't think so," I told him, then thought better fast.  "I

meditate while I'm going to sleep."

     His face cleared; where he came from, "meditate" meant the same as

"pray."  He nodded and turned away to watch the night.

     He woke me some time around midnight and said, "Wake me for the

third watch."  I bit back a gripe and nodded, rolling up to my knees,

watching the landscape, and wishing heartily that this universe had

discovered coffee.  Much better for my health, I'm sure, but no more

pleasant than healthful things usually are.  Gilbert was snoring within

five minutes.  I'd heard that soldiers developed that ability.

     As my head cleared, I looked around and realized what was

missing-the troll.  My spirits picked up-maybe the bear had won.

     I was really getting to be hopeful when I woke Gilbert about six

hours later-my watch had gone on the fritz, so I was going by the

     Little Dipper.  He came awake instantly, took one glance at the

stars, and said "Master Wizard!  You should have waked me sooner!  Nay,

I've slept through two watches!"

     "Six hours for you, six hours for me," I told him.  "Comes out

even."  I didn't mention that mine had been two and two.  I decided

that the next night, I'd take the first watch.

     "Natheless, a knight should be able to keep a vigil!"

     "How about we talk about it tomorrow evening?"  I suggested.

     He brightened surprisingly.  "Aye, assuredly.  Good sleep to you,

Wizard!  " "Good night to you, squire," I said, puzzled.  I was almost

asleep before I realized why he'd been so pleased-saying we'd talk

about it tomorrow night implied that I was accepting his company.  I

broke out in cold sweat as I felt the clammy tendrils of commitment

gluing themselves onto me.  I was going to have to find some way to

send Gilbert back to his buddies.

     it took me a while to get to sleep.

     I woke in the false dawn, to hear a sound like a chain saw eating

its way through a stack of garbage cans.  I sat bolt upright to see

Gilbert standing guard, hand on his sword, casting nervous glances at a

huge, gently heaving hulk.  I realized it was my pet troll come home,

snoring like a railroad car full of scrap steel, swaying on loose

tracks.  Next to him lay a collection of bones and hide, all of them

sizable.

     I stared.  So the bear hadn't won.  I repressed a surge of

guilt-better it than me.  Or Gilbert.

     Then I relaxed-the fact that Gruesome had done as I told him was

very reassuring.  So was the fact that he could handily defeat a

fullgrown bear, Muscles like that might come in useful for a stranger

in a mighty strange land.  I decided I'd keep him for a while.  All

things considered, I might be safer with him than without him.

     Unless some enemy sorcerer decided to remove the restraint spell,

anyway.

     That thought, combined with the dawn's early light, pretty much

guaranteed that I wasn't going to get any more sleep.  I got up, waved

Gilbert to silence, and started rousting up breakfast.  If there was

one thing I didn't need, it was an ornery, fresh-wakened troll.

     I took a chance on nudging him with my boot an hour later and told

him we were taking off.  He rolled up to his feet right away, eager as

a puppy dog.

     So we set off south, heading into what I hoped was Switzerland,

with a squire looking for enough trouble to win him a knighthood, and a

half-tame troll eager to find something to protect me from.

     Understandably, I was nervous.  Chapter Seven

     Late that day I looked around, frowning and footsore.  "Notice

anyhing strange?"

     "Aye," Gilbert said.  "We have come into a barren waste."

     "Yeah, but there used to be a lot of trees here-at least, little

ones."  I pointed at the expanse of four-inch stumps, lopped off so

cleanly that you could see the rings.  "What was it, a lumber crisis?"

     "I ken not."  Gilbert looked around nervously.  " 'Tis uncanny,

though.  I would we did not have to stay the night here."

     "Yeah," I said, "but it's getting dark.  Think we ought to pitch

camp pretty soon?"

     "It would seem likely," Gilbert said grudgingly.

     A distant, bloodthirsty moan stopped us in our tracks.

     "But not right here," I qualified.

     "Mayhap not."  Gilbert nudged his horse ahead and drew his sword.

     "Hold on!"  I protested.  "Where do you think you're going"' "To

discover what made that sound," he said, in a tone that brooked no

argument.  "If 'tis our enemy, 'tis better that we come upon it, than

that it come upon us."

     "Now, hold on!"  I protested.  "If it's going to be that

dangerous, you can't go in there alone!"

     "I am a squire," he said simply, "a man of arms."

     "That's what I mean."  I stumbled on ahead.  "Whatever it is, it's

a long ways off yet."

     "We must be silent," he protested.  "You should stay here."

     "Of course," I said, "not."

     "Yuh, not."  Gruesome flexed his huge hands, grinning, and padded

forward.  For all his bulk, he moved more quietly than I did-but then,

he wasn't wearing boots.

     "See?"  I said.  "We're coming along, Gilbert.  Gilbert?"

     "Up here," a voice whispered ahead of me.  "For Heaven's sake, be

still "Still.  Yuh."  Gruesome turned to hiss at me.  "Still!"  Then he

turned back without waiting for an answer.

     I followed along, wondering what had happened to my usual common

sense.

     But it was my party-these two were here because of me.  I rushed

the pace a little, passed Gruesome, and came up level with Gilbert as

his horse groped its way along a stony path in the gathering darkness.

     Gilbert started to protest, but just then the moan burst out

again, and I saw a glowing shape drifting toward us through the gloom,

its mouth an impossibly wide circle of slavering emptiness, eyes

staring and covetous, and its fingers hooked like talons, poised to

grab.

     Then some stranger jumped out of the dimness, dove past me, and

cowered behind a boulder, trembling.

     That seemed to be okay with the ghost.  it shifted its attentions

to me, zooming toward me with a gloating howl.

     The fugitive leapt to his feet, turned, ran-and slammed right into

the only tree on an otherwise barren hillside.  He slumped down,

beneath a huge spiderweb with a very large spider in it.  The ghost,

shifting back to its original quarry, fluttered after its victim, then

hesitated, apparently repelled by the spider.  I could sympathize, but

I knew the specter wouldn't be halted long.

     "Hold it right there!"  I shouted.  I jumped in front of a big

boulder, yanking my belt out of the loops and swinging the buckle. 

"Cold iron, remember?"

     The ghost yelled something that sounded suspiciously like "Yum!  "

and threw itself on the buckle.  I dropped the belt and yanked my hand

out of the way just in time, and the ghost bored on into the rock,

sinking out of sight.  Of my belt, there was no trace.  There was also

a large hole in the boulder.

     Then the ghost veered out of the rock face, swooped out in a

circle,

and headed back toward me, smacking its lips and drooling. 

Whatever kind of spook this was, it was a virtual flying appetite.  it

re

     minded me of a shark-but it also reminded me of my Kipling.  I

shouted,

     "We come to fight and triumph in The savage wars of peace, To fill

full the mouth of Hunger, And bid the Famine cease!"

     The ghost jolted to a halt with a look of startled shock as its

mouth snapped shut and sealed itself.  its checks bulged, and its body

ballooned with a huge flapping sound.

     "Wizard Saul!"  Gilbert pounded up to me, panting.  "Beware!  'Tis

a hunger ghost!"

     "Yuh," Gruesome grunted, scrabbling up behind the squire.  "Get

'way!  Ghost eat all!"

     "It will indeed," Gilbert corroborated.  "it will eat anything it

encounters-and it is never full!"

     "Then I think I've created a first," I said, picking up a stone,

"but get ready with some rocks anyway, will you?  If it opens its

mouth, pitch for the breadbasket."

     Gilbert turned to the ghost, then stared.  "Opens?  But a hunger

ghost's mouth is never shut!"

     "This one's is," I said.  "It's full."

     Full, and getting fuller-its belly was still stretching, turning

it into a perfect globe with stubby limbs sticking out and a bulge of

head on top.

     "it doth depart," a wondering voice breathed somewhere around my

kneecap.  I looked down and saw a patched hat with a gaunt face beneath

it, all eyes and pointed nose and jawbone, with hollows for cheeks, and

more hollows at the back of which eyes glittered.

     Well, at least whatever I'd saved was human.

     I looked up again just in time to see the ghost drift high enough

to catch an updraft and shoot away to the west, shrinking until it was

lost in the twilight.

     "It must have sped most quickly indeed," Gilbert said, "for 'twas

still swelling with thy spell, Wizard Saul."

     "Spell?"  the man I had saved cried.  He looked up at me with a

feverish hunger of his own.  "Are you a wizard, then?"

     "Well, I wouldn't say that," I demurred-but I saw the scandalized

look on Gilbert's face and said quickly, "but everybody else here seems

to.  Why do you ask?"

     "If you are a wizard, you can cure me."

     Gruesome looked away, humming.  That made me uneasy.  I stalled. 

"How do you know I'm a good guy?  just because I worked, urn, a-" I

swallowed heavily and forced it out "-a spell, doesn't say which side

I'm on.  I could have been an evil sorcerer."

     Gilbert stared, appalled, but the famine case shook his head

firmly and said, "If you had been a sorcerer, you would have let the

ghost have me, and welcome."

     "Good thinking," I approved, but I frowned up into the sky.  "Do

you suppose that thing will burst when it's had too much?"

     "Nay, surely," Gilbert said, and the other added, "A hunger ghost

can never have had too much."

     I was again seized with the unhappy reminder that everybody else

in this country seemed to know more about what was going on than I did.

To cover it, I said to the man cowering at my feet, "Come on, bucko,

up with you!"  I caught his arm and helped him stand.  "How'd you get

that ghost sicced on you, anyway?"

     "I think his appearance tells us that," Gilbert said softly.

     Yes, it was pretty obvious, now that I looked-the tattered coat,

the patched leggings, the holes in the shoes, and, above all, the

general emaciation.  The arm I was clinging to felt like a bone wrapped

by a rag, and the man's whole face was pinched with hunger.

     I remembered a college lecture on the Minnesota Starvation

Experiment.  "Gilbert, could you get a piece of beef jerky out of your

saddlebag?  And the water skin."

     In a second, Gilbert was holding out the tough, leathery strip,

and the water skin.

     The vagabond snatched the pemmican from him and bit into itthen

forced his molars down onto it, pulled his jaw open, and bit down

again, and again.

     "That's it," I soothed.  "Don't bite, chew.  That meat is so dried

that you can't gulp it."

     The man gave it a valiant try, I had to admit, but beef jerky

takes an awful lot of chewing just to get a bite off the stick, let

alone soften it enough to swallow.

     "Not much else to eat, I'm afraid," I apologized, and was glad I

didn't have to lie.  "One swallow of water when you get that bite down,

okay?  just one swallow-then another bite of jerky.  By the time you

finish that strip, maybe we'll have some stew on."  I turned to

Gilbert.  "Now I'll take the first campsite you can find."

     Fifty yards farther down, the path broadened out onto a

twenty-footwide terrace.  Gilbert pronounced it fit, so I arranged a

ring of stones and looked around for firewood.  "Seen any kindling,

Gilbert?"

     "Aye."  The squire held out an armload of sticks.  "I gathered

what I found, as we did come down the slope."

     "Ah, to have Gilbert's forethought!"  I dumped the sticks into my

fire ring.  "Good thing this path wasn't always above the timberline."

     "Aye," our mystery guest said.  "This slope bore a few scrub

trees, till the Spirit of Famine began to chase me."

     I swallowed, hard, at the thought of the hunger ghost planing

every living thing off the side of the mountain, and put the thought

resolutely behind me.  "Gilbert, will you do the honors?"

     The squire stepped up and struck flint against steel.  A spark

fell, and he breathed it into a small flame.  Seconds later, fire

bloomed from the kindling.

     I looked around for something to skewer the provisions Gilbert had

collected along the way.

     "Will this serve?"  Gilbert held up a three-foot splinter of rock.

     "Yeah, just fine."  I poked the spear through the three pheasants,

rested the ends on the highest two rocks, and sat back to watch.  I

thought of asking how Gilbert had come by the rock spit, but decided I

didn't want to know.

     Our guest watched them hungrily, but he didn't leap on the raw

flesh.  The pemmican had filled him up a bit, especially with the water

swelling it in his stomach-and it had taken him so long to chew and

swallow it that he'd begun to feel full before he could gobble enough

to hurt himself.

     "A sword would come in handy for this sort of thing," I said. 

"Remind me to make one right after dinner."

     Gilbert looked scandalized at the idea, but our hungry guest said

obligingly, "Make a sword right after dinner; are they done yet?"

     "They've just barely started cooking."  I rummaged in Gilbert's

saddlebag, pulled out another strip of jerky, and pressed it into the

man's hand.  "Chew on that while you're waiting, Pavlov.  Say, what is

your name, anyway?  " "Frisson," the man mumbled through his pemmican.

     I nodded.  "How'd you get into this fix, anyway?  No, I don't mean

attracting the hunger ghost-I mean getting so close to starvation in

the first place?"

     "Why," Frisson said, "I am a poet."

     I just sat still for a minute.

     Then I nodded.  "Yeah, that explains it, all right.  But, I mean,

you could have gone after a job.  Woodcutter, for instance."

     "The very thing," Frisson muttered, nodding as he chewed.  "I have

been a woodcutter, a plowman, a cooper's prentice, and a chandler's

prentice.

     I frowned.  "Then why were you starving?"

     "I could not cease chanting poetry."

     Gilbert gasped, covering his mouth in alarm, and Gruesome edged

frantically away from our guest.

     I frowned around at them.  "All right, so maybe his verses weren't

the best, but they couldn't have been that bad.  Does everybody have to

be a critic?"

     'Tis not that, Wizard Saul," Gilbert said.  "For all we know, his

verses may have been most excellent.  True poetry, mayhap-yet he is not

a wizard."

     "What difference does that ... ?  Oh!

     Frisson watched me, nodding as he chewed, and Gilbert said softly,

Aye, Wizard Saul.  A poet's concern is for the words themselves, for

the excellence of the verses and the manner in which they fit together

to form a whole-not for their effects."

     The poet turned to him in surprised, though masticating, approval.

     I nodded.  "And if he doesn't worry about their effects, the

images he creates in his verses may come to life as he chants, and-"

"Do untold damage," Gilbert finished for me.  He turned to Frisson. 

"What hazards did you unfold, poet?  A juggernaut of doom rushing down

upon the heads of the men in your master's shop?  A corpse come to life

in the coffin you were building?  Wood nymphs slipping out to seduce

the passersby, in the wood you had gleaned?"

     Frisson hung his head, but he didn't stop chewing.

     "The man's a walking catastrophe," I muttered.

     "Oh, poor fellow!"  Gilbert burst out, showing an unexpectedly

sympathetic side to his nature that got the better of his healthy

dread.  "You have been cast out to roam the wilds alone!"

     The poet nodded; a tear trembled in his eye.  "I have sought to

prevent it, good squire.  I have broken the meter into odd phrases with

the accents reversed; I have used slant rhymes, broken rhymes, and no

rhymes-yet all to no avail!"

     "Of course not."  I groaned.  "You concocted new kinds of verse,

and just made the magic stronger!"

     The poet looked up at me, frightened.  "Aye, my lord.  The mayor's

house did fly apart on the instant; my words did breach the baron's

     wall.  I foreswore my verses; I bit my tongue; I ground my teeth

against the words-yet all to no avail!  I could not help myself; anon I

shouted words aloud!  They chased me from the town, they chased me from

the parish, they chased me from the province-and anon they chased me

from my native land of Merovence, to live or die in this wilderness of

Allustria."

     "But," I said.  "But-but-" Gilbert looked up at me with a frown. 

"We have only two pheasant and a partridge, Wizard Saul."

     "But!"  I shouted in exasperation.  "But you don't have to chant

your verses out loud!"

     Frisson's jaw gelled, and he stared up, appalled.  "I'd as lief

stop eating, milord."  Then he set to work chewing again.

     "Write them!"  I exploded.  "Why don't you just write them down?

     Your verses, I mean!  Then read them over, and just don't recite

anything that looks dangerous!"

     Frisson stared up at me; his jaw dropped.

     "He has never thought of it," Gilbert murmured.

     "Aye, never!"  Frisson burst out.  "So that is why men learned

to

     write!  " "Well, there were some other little things," I said

uncomfortably, "such as grain inventories, and bills of sale, and laws,

and history.

     But it works for poetry, too, yes."

     "Can ... can you teach me?"  Frisson begged.

     I just stared at him.

     Then I said, "You're a poet-and you don't know how to read and

write?  " "I had never thought of a need for it," Frisson confessed.

     "Well!  I've heard of the oral tradition-but I've also heard of

departures."  I wondered, uneasily, if I was witnessing the downfall of

poetry, or the beginning of its glory.  "Sure, I'll teach you to

write."

     After all, if I could handle two dozen freshmen, surely I could

manage one starving poet.

     Well, it helped.  He understood it instinctively, took to it like

a goose quill to ink.  More likely, like graphite to paper;

fortunately, I carried a pocket notepad and a stub of pencil.  I showed

him how to draw the letters, and the sound each one made.  His eyes

went wide with wonder; he snatched the pencil and pad from me, and in

half an hour, he was sitting cross-legged by the fire, scribbling

frantically in an impossibly small hand.  From then on, as long as I

knew him, he would be constantly writing in that book-he filled it in a

day, but

     fortunately, one of his first poems was a wish for an endless

supply of parchment-he didn't know the word for paper-and my little

pocket notebook never ran out.  On the other hand, after the first

fifty poems, it started producing a much higher quality of writing

material.

     Nonetheless, sometimes some of his magic leaked out.  Writing it

down seemed to channel it safely, since he didn't speak it aloud-but

when he didn't have time to write and suppressed too much poetry, he

thought about it so intensely that the magic started working without

his having to say it aloud.  Sometimes we'd be hiking down the road,

and his eyes would start bulging, and a bat would materialize by the

roadside in bright daylight, or a gushing fountain would spring up

right smack-dab in the middle of the path, or we would suddenly find

ourselves walking on gemstones, and let me tell you, when the soles of

your boots get thin, that's no picnic.

     The first time it happened, I reined in my temper and turned to

him with a sigh.  "Frisson, you've got to stop and write it down."

     "Eh?"  He looked up at me, startled, then saw the glitter on the

road.  "Oh!  My apologies, Master Saul!"

     "No problem, no problem.  Never can tell when we're going to need

a little hard currency.  Just So Frisson sat down by the while I knelt

down and started you never could tell.

     After a while, though, it got never knew when he was going ages. 

He never did, fortunately, front of us, too quickly for me to keep from

smacking into it nosefirst, was almost as bad as the wolf I saw when I

opened it.  I slammed it fast.  "Frisson!  Write it down!

     He did, and I showed him how to write as he walked.  That

helped-but hey, nobody's perfect.

     I developed a streak of prudence, though, and I took to going

through his day's output every evening, around the campfire; he was

pathetically eager to have me read them and tell him how much I liked

them-I was careful never to criticize partly because I knew how hard

beginners take it, and partly because I just flat out didn't

understand what he was trying to do.  But I knew from experience that

it worked, so I figured he had to be doing something right.

     I always enthused as I handed them back to him-but I kept the ones

that I thought might be particularly useful.  With his permission,

     sit down and write it out, okay?"

     roadside and filled his parchment, filling my pockets.  As I'd

told him,

     to be a nuisance, especially since I to start using dragons as

poetic imbut the door that appeared right in

     of courser had a notion that infringing copyright could have bad

results, in this particular hallucination.  I even memorized the ones

that looked to have the most potential.  As I'd told him, you never

     know ...

     But that first evening, I needed a distraction; the first dozen

verses he turned out, and proudly showed me, filled my head with such

a

clamor of acoustics and clashing of images, that I needed some men

     tai soothing.

     of course, a philosophy student always has a distraction to

handreasoning out arguments.  It's risky, because sometimes you get so

caught up in it that it keys you up even more, but under the

circumstances, I figured it was worth a try.  So I spent a half hour or

so trying to rationalize my way out of having to believe in trolls or

fairies, or magical spells that could have anything to do with either. 

It wasn't much use, of course-I kept coming back to the conclusion that

either the evidence of my senses was unreliable, or what I had seen

and

     heard was real.

     Of course, it didn't take much to discredit sensory evidence, for

a man of my generation.  I seriously considered the possibility that I

was simply stoned out of my mind, and all this was happening in a

fantastic hallucinogenic trip-but I couldn't help remembering that I

had sworn off all drugs for final exams-years ago.

     Fortunately, there was an alternative.  Bishop Berkeley had pretty

much discredited the senses for us all, way back in the I700s, by

pointing out that if we don't actually see something, we can't really

know it exists-and that even if we do, we could be wrong, because even

if our minds perceive it, all they have to go on is the sensory

impulses from our eyes and ears and nose and tongue and hands, all of

which can be very easily deceived.  Optical illusions are the most

obvious example, of course, which is why science insists on

measurement-but how're you going to prove, logically and completely,

that the ruler itself isn't an illusion?  He managed all this without

knowing about LSD, too.

     Of course, to Berkeley, the fact that we can't really know

anything was just proof that we had to have faith-but to the rest of

us, the idea that things don't exist if they're not perceived, and the

corollary, which is that we can't know what's real because of the

fallibility of our senses, just means that we have to live in the world

as we perceive it, while we're trying to stretch the limits of our

perceptionsand raises the distinct possibility that hallucinations may

just be the perception of an alternate reality, or two, or three. 

"Heaven lies about

     us in our infancy," as the poet says, and there may be a lot more

to the universe than we see, as Hamlet was kind enough to point out to

Horatio.

     I was faced with the unfortunate conclusion that both ideas

applied to my current situation.  The world I was perceiving was

certainly real to all intents and purposes, and I had to deal with it

as if it were, because it was certainly going to deal with me as if I

were.

     Dr.  Johnson claimed he disproved Berkeley by kicking a

cobblestone, presumably meaning that if the cobblestone flew away, he

did interact with it, and therefore he and the cobble were both in the

same frame of reference; what he failed to mention was that his toe

hurt.

     So did mine-metaphorically, at least.  Gruesome would eat me if my

spell slipped, and there might be a monster around the next hill who

would sneak up on me in the night if Squire Gilbert nodded off while he

was on guard duty.  it might be an illusion, but it would hurt just as

much as if it were real-so I was going to have to treat it as if it

were totally authentic, or it might kill me just the same.

     But I wasn't going to believe in magic.  Okay, some unexplainable

things had happened, and they did seem to coincide with verses I'd

spoken aloud-but coincidence was no doubt what it was, and the events

were unexplainable only because I didn't know enough.  I made a firm

resolution to learn more about this strange-but-familiar world, and not

to delude myself into thinking I was practicing magic.

     But I decided to save Frisson's verses, just in case.

     I remember thinking, just before I drifted off to sleep, that I

had stubbed my own toe.

     Chapter El(jht

     Guardsmen were shoving me roughly, trying to push me into a cell,

and one of them was saying something about things being wrong.  I

turned to him with sullen resentment, and was surprised to see that

     he had a troll's head.

     I stared at the troll, then looked quickly about me and saw the

campfire with Gilbert lying on his side asleep, soles of his feet

toward the coals, Frisson across from him, curled around the warmth.  I

realized I'd been dreaming.  I looked up and, sure enough, the troll's

head was still there-but now I recognized it.  "Time for my watch

again?"

     Gruesome shook his head, looking agitated.  "Wrong!  Wrong!"  He

pointed out toward the darkness in several different directions.

     I frowned.  "What's the problem, then?"

     "Dunno."  The troll twitched, raising his head to look out into

the

     night.  "Feel wrong, wrong!"

     "Just a hunch?"

     Gruesome nodded and held up his huge mitts.  I backed off in

alarm, but he only wiggled his inside talons.  "Feel pinches! 

Trouble,

     trouble!  " I1 'By the pricking of my thumbs,' " I quoted, but

remembered, in the nick of time, not to finish the verse: lisomething

wicked this way comes."  I rolled up to my feet.  "I'm never one to

scoff at intuition-at least, not in this world.  Want to wake up the

     broke off, staring.

     With my usual paranoia, I had decided to set up a barrier

against

     supernatural attackers-there had been too many things that had

gone bump last night, though that could have just been Frisson dreaming

in verse.  We hadn't gone very fast today, out of deference to his

weakened condition, and we were still in pretty open country, though

there were a lot of scrub trees about.

     So I had conjured up some talcum powder, sprinkled it around our

campsite in a circle, and chanted the tail end of Shakespeare's dirge

from Cymbeline, with a few adjustments:

     "No sorcerer shall harm thee!

     Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

     Evil ghosts forbear thee!

     Nothing ill come near thee!

     Safe shall we be within this sign, For nothing ill shall cross

this line!"

     I'd figured if anything spooky had tried to get too close, that

verse ought to keep it outside our perimeter-and it seemed I'd been

right.

     Just outside the circle of white powder, a blob of formless mist

was rising from the ground, thickening and coalescing into a human

form-but a mangled human form.  Its face was bruised and swollen, one

eye socket empty, thumbs dangling, one foot twisted almost backward,

and its tunic ripped open to show dark smudges against its chest and

abdomen.

     "It is a ghost," Gilbert murmured from his place by the fire. 

Apparently, Gruesome and I hadn't been as quiet as we'd thought.  The

squire sounded excited, fascinated.  "It is the shade of one who died

by torture.  " I was glad he could take such a detached interest in it.

For myself, I felt rather queasy and thoroughly sickened in my heart.

     The specter flitted from point to point about the circle, moaning.

     Chains, attached to the fetters on its wrists, clanked and

rattled.

     "Bewa-a-a-re!"  it cried.  "Oh, foolish mortals, bewa-a-a-re! 

Flee!  Hide yourselves away!  " I summoned my courage and called out,

"Having you hang around just outside the perimeter doesn't exactly

imbue me with a great desire to go exploring!"

     "Heart of stone, who would mock a soul in torment!"  the ghost

cried.  "O kindred of my fate, arise!  Up, all ye who died by torture!

     Spirits bound to this world in unquiet slavery to a sorcerer's

will, come now to school this foolish mortal!"

     I had to turn to follow its progress, and I muttered out of the

corner of my mouth, "Keep an eye on the place it came from, Gruesome."

     The troll moaned in answer-but I figured he'd fight all the harder

if he were scared.  Either that, or run.

     I wished I could.

     Moans began to fill the night in horrendous discord, faint, but

growing louder; and dim forms, drifting here and there, swam out of the

darkness.

     "Abandon your ill-advised escape!"  the ghost cried.  "Return

whence you came!  For know that, if you do persist in opposing Queen

Suettay, you shall become as I-a shadow of a soul who died in agony

unspeakable!"

     I felt the blood draining from my face.  I remembered Gilbert's

commander warning me about the evil sorceress-queen of this country. 

How the Hell had I attracted her attention?

     How the Hell?

     No.  Couldn't be.  just a figure of speech.

     But I spoke up bravely.  Unfortunately, it sounded more like a

croak.  "So I'm to be deterred by the thought of a horrible death, a

punishment for even thinking about leaving Allustria, or raising my

hand against the queen?"  Not that I had ...

     "Even that!"  the spirit cried over the chorus of moans and wails

behind it.  "I gave the queen my fullest measure of obedience-yet she

had me rent apart, while still alive, for her mere pleasure!  Chortled

with delight at all my screams!  And as I died, despairing, she seized

my soul, to chain it in eternal slavery to her will!"

     Now I began to tremble inside.  I scolded myself harshly, if

silently, and reminded myself this was all impossible.

     "It is true."  Gilbert came to his feet.  "Suettay tortures folk

for mere amusement, daily."

     A sadist.  I was being pitted against a sadist of the worst

kind-and for what?

     To get home.  Preferably, alive.

     I steeled myself to the piteous cries around me and called out,

"Go!  The afterworld is huge-you don't have to stay around here!

     The queen loses power over you when you die!"

     "Foolish mortal, how little you know!"  Another specter swam up

beside the first, a ghost like an illustration from an anatomy text,

muscles and ligaments naked to the night.  "She whose power comes from

Satan can petition her master for dominion over others who have turned

their hearts toward the Evil One!"

     "But you only fall into the Devil's power through your own fault!"

     "And so we did," the phantom sneered.  "I myself sought

poweralways power.  While yet a boy, I swore to do whatever deed the

Devil wished, if he would give me power-and I gained dominion over

peasant folk, then over soldiers.  Yet Suettay plucked me out for her

fell mirth, and I died in agony, crying to my master Satan for power

against this corrupted sorceress-and as I cried out to evil, Suettay

wove her spell about me to capture my soul!  At the last instant, I

cried out in despairing repentance, but it was too late.  Suettay had

claimed me, and I am bound to her!"

     I suppressed nausea.  I mean, I really felt sorry for them, even

if they had been total vipers when they'd been alive.  If ever I'd

heard a sound reason for being good, this was it.  Unfortunately, I was

aware of my own enormous failings and knew I wasn't in the world's

greatest shape for combatting evil.

     "Be of good heart, Wizard Saul," Gilbert counseled.  "They cannot

touch you here, within your enchanted circle."

     I turned, welcoming the change of topic with zeal.  "You're right.

     So why did Suettay sic them on us?  just to make sure we don't

sleep and are so weak tomorrow that we'll fall into her hands?  I can't

really believe that!  " "I doubt it, also," Gilbert answered.  "It may

be that they seek to frighten you into joining their foul cause."

     "That's crazy."  I turned back to the spooks, debating within

myself.  I could only wonder how Suettay had come to know I was here.

     Crystal balls?  Ink pools?

     It didn't matter.  "Go tell your mistress that it will take worse

than you to scare me!"

     The ghosts' moans turned into roars, and they came swooping

against the invisible barrier like moths to the chimney of a hurricane

lamp, anger and outrage in their faces.

     I turned back to the squire.  "Has to be more than just a try at

scaring me."

     "It must," Gilbert agreed.  "Otherwise, when they saw you were not

daunted, they would have fled."

     " Yeah."  I gestured to the barrier of specters.  "You'd swear

they were trying to attack us, but it's obvious they can't get in."

     "Obvious indeed," the squire said, turning toward the perimeter,

but not looking all that sure, himself.  "Yet there's this, too--if

they cannot come in, it is equally true that we cannot go out."

     I could feel my eyes widen.  "But that means somebody's trying to

keep us here, to make sure we haven't gone anywhere until A gout of

greenish flame ripped the night, lighting all the hillside with an

eerie light.  The ghosts moaned in terror as the light dwindled.  The

residual chartreuse glow flickered on a dozen hooded forms, and lighted

from below the face of the huge, grossly fat woman who stood before

them, swathed in brocaded robes, rings glittering on her fingers, an

elaborate crown on her head.

     "So, then."  She smiled, and her eyes almost disappeared in folds

of fat.  "You have the audacity to trespass in my Allustria."

     "It is not yours, gross mockery of a woman," Gilbert cried, and I

had to stifle an impulse to shush him.  "The land belongs unto the

people!  " "Then it cannot, of a certainty, belong to you, who come

from Merovence."  Suettay laughed, a sound like frying bacon.  "You are

not yet a man-only a beardless youth."

     Gilbert flushed; blond beards don't show much.

     The queen turned to the row of men behind her.  "Counselors,

behold a marvel!  A boy that speaks like a man!  Yet an he were, he

would feel desire!"

     The hooded forms dutifully laughed, but there was little humor in

the sound.

     Suettay turned back to me.  "The more fool you, to be so cozened

into taking a mere boy for to ward you!  " "Oh, he's man enough," I

assured her.  Bitches always make me mad, and she wasn't the first one

I'd run into who'd thought she was a queen.  Gilbert looked up at me

with surprised gratitude, but it was as much for myself I'd said it as

for him-I felt anger growing, just enough to begin countering the fear.

"You twisted the facts," I told Suettay.  "But then, you twist

everything that's true within your domain, don't you?  Or try to leach

the life from it, if it won't twist!  " "Indeed, as my dunce of a

country sorcerer will yet bleed your troll."  Suettay's lip curled. 

"What a vile thing is he, that's neither gnome nor rock!  What a

catastrophe of nature, nay, a perversion of life!  Yet you should thank

me, corrupted monster, for you owe your life to me."

     "Wozzat?"  Gruesome's grunt had a dangerous edge.

     "Your father was a gnome who strayed out of his hole!"  the queen

chortled.  "I saw, and cast a glamour over a boulder, to make it seem a

woman of his own kind, wondrously beautiful in his eyes!  For my

     own amusement, I inflamed him with lust for it!  Then, in my

crystal, I watched what did ensue, and oh!  what delightful-"

Gruesome's roar drowned out the rest of her words, as he lunged.

     "No, Gruesome!"  I cried in panic.  "If she can get you mad enough

to break the circle-"

     The monster stopped with a jolt, his head poking out above the

white line.  I wondered what could have stopped him, then saw Gilbert

down below, ramrod straight, shoulder against Gruesome's chest,

straining against Gruesome's bulk-but his feet were plowing up the

ground as Gruesome pushed steadily toward the witch, and Gruesome's top

had made a hole in my defense screen.

     The troll roared, almost managing to make words-but anything he

was saying was drowned in a mass shriek, as all the ghosts dove at the

hole he'd made in the magical wall.

     I leapt up to shout at the monster.  "It couldn't be true,

Gruesome!

     Rocks can't have children!  only a mommy troll and a daddy troll

can make little trolls!"

     The troll's eyes suddenly lost focus, and his brow creased with

effort as he tried to figure out the facts of life.  He wasn't long on

brain power-but the distraction was enough for the squire.

     "Back, brave being!"  Gilbert shoved harder, and the troll rocked

back just enough for its head to clear the white line.

     The ghosts' noise rose to a howl as they all tried to jam into the

hole, but I shouted out,

     "If these shadows have offended, Be but brave, and all is mended!"

     The ghosts groaned in disappointment, then roared in rage and

began to dash themselves against the invisible circle again.

     I called out to Gruesome,

     "Let your hide of flint Deflect all hint Of insults dire!

     Come to the fire!"

     He looked up, blinking his huge, glowing, saucer eyes, totally

dumfounded, then turned slowly and came hulking back to the campfire.

     Gilbert breathed a long and shaky sigh of relief.

     But Suettay and her boys were laughing themselves silly.  "Oh,

skillfully done!  Skillfully done!"  the queen wheezed, between

giggles.

     "Why not march upon my kingdom, mortal!  Do!  For you should be

mired in your own muddle ere the day is out!"

     "Oh, yeah, sure!"  I strode up to the circle, anger getting the

better of common sense.  "We're such total klutzes that you bring

yourself and your top twelve henchmen out to try to scare us? 

Meanwhile, of course, you can't even breach this simple little guarding

circle I've set up!"

     The queen's laughter chopped off on the instant, and her eyes

narrowed to slits with glowing coals behind them.  "Enough!  Show this

foolish impostor what awaits im!"

     A scream rent the air-but one that was very much alive, not like

the ghosts' mourning wails.  This one was filled with terror and was

definitely feminine.

     The hooded ones threw her sprawling onto the grass between Suettay

and the guarding circle.  She was young, with long blonde hair and an

enchanting figure; I could see it through the rips in her tunic.

     She scrabbled in the dirt, turning toward Gilbert and Frisson and

Gruesome and me, her face filled with horror-a face bruised and

battered, with a swollen nose, marks of burns on her breasts and belly,

blood still dripping from triple gouges in her skin.  "Help me! 

Please, I beg of you, before I-" Then she broke off into a scream as

four hooded forms surrounded her, two of them falling on their hands

and knees side by side, the other two catching her thrashing limbs to

lift her and swing her up onto the backs of the first two.

     I almost went right through the guarding circle.  All that

restrained me was Gilbert's arm-but it had about as much give as

granite.

     "You cannot help her now, Wizard Saul-you can but break your

     warding circle!

     "Besides, 'tis like enough that she did put herself into Suettay's

power, in hope of preferment," Frisson quavered, staring at the scene

in loathing.  "The most you can give her now is a quick death and the

queen will do that herself."

     The woman cried, "I did not-" but her sentence ended in a one of

the hooded forms twisted something.

     scream, as My mind raced as I stared.  The poor victim had been

trying to say she hadn't done anything wrong.  How could I save her? 

Without breaking the guarding circle, of course-that was what Suettay

wanted.  She was lumbering forward, hitching at her robes and pulling

out a long, twisted knife.  She held it up in both hands, gloating gaze

fixed on the woman's body as she droned out a long chant, overriding

the screams.

     "It is an invocation," Gilbert told me, "an invocation in the Old

Tongue!  " It must have been very old indeed-it didn't sound a bit like

Latin, or even Greek.  I felt a chill prickling outward from my

spine-how could I fight spells in a language I couldn't understand?

     "She calls on the Devil."  Apparently, Gilbert didn't labor under

that handicap.  "If the woman, in her terror, despairs of salvation and

is damned, the queen dedicates the woman's soul to Satan, but asks that

her ghost be the queen's slave as long as Suettay endures."

     I felt my scalp prickle; the woman's screams filled my ears,

maddening me.  I fought to control myself, to keep from charging out to

try to save her, knowing that I couldn't win, that Suettay had chosen

the time and the conditions.  The knife soared high in Suettay's fists,

beginning to glow with the chant as the hooded acolytes joined in.

     I fought back with the only thing I could think of-a chant of my

own.  I sang it, of course-that's how I'd learned it.

     "Tell her to make me a cambric shirt, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and

thyme!

     Without a seam, or belt to be girl, Then she'll be a true love of

mine!"

     The girl stared up at me, and Suettay flushed with anger and

jerked a nod at one of her acolytes.  He reached down and twisted, and

the girl screamed.

     I fought down the urge to leap out of the circle and start

kicking.

     I couldn't win alone.

     Alone?

     "All right, angel!"  I yelled.  "Now's your chance!  You want to

make me believe?  Then give me a hand-or an idea!  Nothing physical,

mind you, just inspire me!  Fill my mind with a way to rescue this poor

victim!"

     And, confound me, it was there-the knowledge that the woman didn't

deserve this fate and, moreover, was human and worth any help that I

could give, and my mouth was moving, a voice booming out of it that

didn't seem to have anything to do with my thoughts, but had a very

familiar ring.  "Woman, pray!  Even now, call upon the Lord your God,

and He will save your soul from Hell's power!  Only repent and pray to

be forgiven, and He will snatch you from the jaws of evil, even in the

instant of your death!"

     But the knife was slashing down, and the woman was

screamingScreaming, "My God, forgive me my sins and save-"

     Then there was only a gurgle, for her throat had been cut, and the

knife slashed downward through her heart.  Her whole body convulsed

once and was still.

     "Rise and obey!"  Suettay thundered.

     She didn't.

     Well, she rose, all right-at least a shred of her, a wraith.  It

was her ghost, and it floated over toward the white chalk line of my

guarding circle as if a breeze were blowing it.

     Suettay screamed like a spoiled brat seeing a box of candy being

snatched away.  "Vile interloper!  Ball of slime, thatch of dung!  She

should have despaired in that last instant and been bound for Hell,

whereupon my master would have given her soul into my power!  But you

have interfered, curse you, and her soul is lost to me!  She was

innocent of all but the smallest sins, and her spirit will flee to

Heaven!  " Then, suddenly, she fell silent, eyes bulging, a depraved

grin spreading over her face.  "Not yet!  Not if I act quickly!"  She

whirled to the corpse, hands spread wide and going through gestures

whose meanings I shuddered to consider while she chanted some racheting

verse in a language I didn't understand.  A glow sprang up around the

body, like the phosphoresence around decaying vegetable matter in a

swamp, then died away, and Suettay spun about to me with a crow of

triumph.  "I have bound her to Earth!  As long as her body lives, her

soul is bound here, for I have cast a spell that has preserved her

mortal coil."

     "Why, you filthy bitch!"  I swore.

     "How dare you!"  she shrieked, and her hands clutched something

unseen and threw it at me while she snapped out a quick,

incomprehensible rhyme.  Energy lanced from her fingertips in purple

streamers-and dashed itself to sparks on my shield.

     This time, though, the queen didn't scream.  She only glared at

me, her eyes gleaming malevolently in the midst of her slab of pitted

face.

     "See to the purifying of your own soul, Wizard, for if you do not,

you shall fall into my power-and you shall meet the same fate as the

girl.  Maiden, come!"  she snapped at the wavering spirit.

     But the girl's ghost had drifted across the line into my circle,

and now she cowered away from the wicked queen, eyes wide and

frightened, shaking her head.

     "You have stolen her!"  Suettay screamed.  "You have taken from me

my rightful-" But her voice was drowned out by a long, shuddering moan

that

     filled the air, rebounding from ghost to ghost, the specters' eyes

widening and filling with hope.

     "I did repent!"  one cried.

     "I, too, with my last breath!"  another answered.

     "God forgive my sins!"  a third cried.

     One by one, they remembered their final moment of repentance,

wailed their appeals for salvation-and, one by one, they winked out,

like candles snuffed.

     I stared.  "You mean all that was holding them here was their own

belief in the queen's magic?"

     "It would seem so," Frisson said, huge-eyed.  "They lost faith-but

you have restored it."

     That hadn't exactly been one of my prime goals in life.  On the

other hand, it hadn't exactly been me speaking, either.

     But a new moan filled the air, a moan of dread, as the hooded

acolytes shrank back from the bleeding corpse, huddling together,

terror-filled faces turned up to watch the ghosts depart.

     And Suettay was turning to me with a gaze filled with more malice

and hatred than I had ever seen before, a glare of berserk fury.  She

strode forward, arms uplifted, striding straight at my guarding circle,

intoning a chant in the Old Tongue.

     "She summons a devil!"  Gilbert cried.

     "Angel!"  I yelped.  "She's breaking the rules!  You can protect

us!  " Blue sparks leapt at the queen's fingers with crackles like

gunshots.  She shrank back with one of the foulest curses I had ever

heard, then turned to me and my companions, eyes just slits in fat,

hands weaving a symbol I didn't know, bellowing, "Rot their flesh and

boil their blood!

     Meat slough off and turn to mud!"

     Her hands snapped out, all fingers pointing at us.

     A coruscation of sparks filled the air over the white line.  A

wave of nausea swept me, and my knees gave way, but Gilbert held me up,

and my legs strengthened again as my stomach settled.

     "Cowards!"  Suettay screamed.  "Pusillanimous pests!  Come out to

battle!

     "We ... we battled," I managed.

     "You shall, you must, soon or late!  Then shall I be revenged upon

you!  Then shall I see your flesh fry from your bones, your eyes drop

from their sockets!"

     I was feeling a little bolder and said the only counterspell I

could think of.

     "I'm rubber, and you're glue.

     Whatever you say Bounces off me And sticks to-"

     With a shriek of frustration, Suettay disappeared.  Green fire

thundered inward on itself, seeming to consume the huddled, hooded

forms.  It died away, and the night was quiet and dark again.

     And clean.  Even the corpse was gone.

     For some reason, that bothered me.

     But I didn't have long to think about it-my head suddenly swam,

and my knees gave way again.

     "Now, now, buck up!  You did marvelously!"  Frisson assured me.

     "Heroes are made of sterner stuff, Wizard Saul!"  Gilbert chided.

     "You must not collapse as soon as the battle's over!"

     "It's better than ... melting while ... it's still going on," I

gasped.

     "That is true, and there is no shame in it, so long as he does

wait until the battle's over," Frisson allowed.  He propped me up

against Gruesome's side and began chafing my hands.  "Really, you were

masterful-you came only moments from death, and a horrible one at

that."

     "Huh?"  I blinked, the thrill of dread pulling my mind back into

focus.  "You mean I almost blew it when I started to charge out?"

     "You did indeed.  That whole affair with the poor peasant lass

served one purpose, and one only-to induce you to leave your magic

circle in an attempt to save her."

     "Yeah."  I swallowed thickly.  "Yeah, I knew that's what I was

doing as soon as I heard her scream.  I knew it, but it almost worked

on me anyway-and on Gruesome.  Thanks, Gilbert.  You saved his life-and

all of us."

     "Surely, Wizard Saul," the squire said, blushing with pleasure at

the compliment.  "It was little enough I could do."

     "It was enough all right.  Thanks again, Gilbert."

     "My pleasure," he said, then frowned.  "Yet there's another you

should thank, whose aid was greater than mine."

     I frowned ' looking around me.  "Who ... ?  Oh.  Yeah."  I

remembered my guardian angel.  "Well, I'll give him my warmest, next

time he shows up."

     The night was awfully quiet.

     Then Frisson cleared his throat, and Gilbert looked away, abashed.

     I looked around, frowning.  "What's the matter?"

     Neither of them answered.

     Then Gruesome growled, and my hair rose.  "All right, all right!

     Frisson, what did he mean?"

     "I do not speak the troll's language," the poet said with

hesitation.

     "Still, if I did, I would guess he had said ... that your behavior

was rather .  . ."  He trailed off, looking away.

     "Cheap," Gruesome rumbled.

     Frisson looked up, startled.  "I did not know he knew the word!"

     I frowned.  "What do you mean?  Angels don't want bribes."

     "Of course not," Gilbert said slowly, "but it might be polite to

at least indicate a willingness to return the favor."

     I frowned at him while his meaning percolated in.  Then I went

hard inside.  "Now listen, and understand this well!  I am not

committing myself to either side, or any side!  Anybody who does me a

favor, I'll do a favor for him, if I can-but aside from that, I'm not

promising anything!  " But it seemed to me that the stars winked, and

the sounds of the night began again as the land came to life around me.

     Chapter Nine

     it gave me a chill, so I turned away, brusque and growling-to see

the ghost hovering near the fire, half-invisible because of its light. 

Her eyes were glowing, though, so I couldn't miss her.  In fact, I

wasn't sure I was entirely happy about the way those eyes were glowing

at me-but I had saved her afterlife, so I supposed I had some

responsibility for her.  I came over-and she drifted away with a look

of alarm, but still with that morbid fascination in her eyes.  At

least, I thought it was morbid.  I remembered the blanket rules for

making friends with small animals and sat down, waiting.  Sure enough,

she began to drift closer-then hesitated as Frisson came up behind me. 

"Why's she looking at me that way?"  I asked him.

     "Why, because she is in love with you, Master Saul," he answered

softly.  "Do you not know the signs?"

     I felt the chill again.  "Yeah, but I was trying to pretend I

didn't.

     Why should she be in love with me?  just because I sort of saved

her?"

     I1 'Tis reason enough," he assured me, "coupled with your face and

form-but there is a greater.  Did you not know that the verse you sang

was a binding spell?"

     My stomach sank.  "Oh.  Was it really,"' "Aye, and a most

venerable one."

     "What did it bind?"

     Frisson stared at me as if I were crazy-or maybe he was seeing

through my attempt at self-deception.  "It binds her to yourself,

Master Saul-or at least, her affections."

     That was what I'd been afraid of.  "An old one, huh?  I take it

spells gain power with age."

     "Like fine wines, aye."

     So that's why each verse ended with, Then she'll be a true love of

mine.  "But she didn't have time to make me a cambric shirt."

     "It worked by intent," Frisson assured me.  "She is bound to you

now, Wizard, by the spell that most surely binds woman to man."

     Which would have been great, if it hadn't been synthetic.  Her

ghost looked harrowed, but the marks of torture were fading even as I

watched, and she was really, rarely beautiful.  Her dress had even

mended itself.  I'd heard that love was healing, but I thought it had

to be mutual to have that effect ...

     Nonetheless, it was having that effect.  I clamped down on the

implications.  "How did you fall into the queen's hands, lady?  You

don't look to have sinned enough."

     "I have striven not to, Sir Wizard."

     "Saul."  I held up a hand.  "Just 'Saul.' I'm not a knight."  I

didn't commit myself about the "wizard" part.

     "Master Saul," she amended.

     I sighed, but told myself it would help keep distance between us.

     "Okay, that's my name.  What's yours?/) "Angelique," she replied.

     I frowned.  "Given the local rules, a name like that should have

helped protect you./, "That was my mother's intent."  A tear formed at

the corner of her eye.  "She died when I was very small, though."

     Somehow, that made sense-and seemed ominous.  "But if you tried

not to commit sins, how come the queen had a hold on you?"

     "Because she wrested me from my father, Master Saul, and forced

him to yield his authority over me."

     My blood ran cold.  "What kind of a father would do that to his

own daughter?"

     "A father in Allustria," Frisson murmured.

     The ghost hung her head.  " 'Tis so.  He is a merchant who panders

to the queen, immersing himself in every sort of vice to gain her royal

favor-and grants of monopolies."

     "To the point of giving her his daughter?"

     "Not quite so bad as that," she said stoutly.  "Nay, he protected

and reared me in total innocence, until I had come of woman's years,

whereupon .  . ."  She broke off, with downcast eyes.

     "I would not press her," Frisson murmured.

     "Right."  I slapped my knees.  "I didn't mean to get personal-"

"Nay, I must have you know!"  She was almost pleading.  "No sooner had

I come into earliest womanhood than my father attempted to reap the

harvest of my innocence himself."

     I froze, feeling myself turn very, very cold.  "Why, that

infernal

     louse!  " "He did not succeed," she said quickly.  "The queen

discerned his intentions and stepped in to halt his incestuous

advances.  I hailed her as my savior-until I discovered that she had

taken me only to save as sacrifice to Satan.  She told me that fell

prince has a great taste for virgin souls, 'tis said, and they are rare

indeed, in Allustria."

     The inner chill was still there, and getting colder.  "I really

don't think I like these people at all," I growled.  "And I was the cue

for her

     to kill you?  " "There was some other cause," she said quickly. 

"I i not grasp the whole of it-I could spare small attention for her

conversation

with her henchmen, the pains of the torture devices

being so very se

     vere .  . ."

     "That would hinder concentration."  The chill had hit absolute

zero and was beginning to bounce back up, as anger.

     "There was some talk of barons rebellious," she said, "and of the

queen of Merovence readying her troops to invade."

     I looked up at Frisson sharply.  "I caused all that?"

     "I would doubt it," he answered.

     Gilbert said, "Nay, Wizard Saul.  'Twas all of a piece with the

mission of my order-the mill had been grinding before we came upon you.

It Which meant I was only one part of a bigger plan-but whose?  "So

she was saving you up for a doozy of a spell that would have given her

the power to blast her enemies-and when the time came, she decided to

get double mileage out of it, by using you to decoy me out where she

could annihilate me."  I shook my head.  "What a horrible

     life you had!"

     "Oh, nay!  It was pleasant, with many causes for joy-until these

last six years.  I grew restive at never being able to roam the town or

frolic through the fields, as I saw others doing from afar-but my home

was spacious and comely, and I thrived in my father's love."

     Her gaze strayed, then turned brooding.  "Until it soured."

     Or until she discovered his real intentions.  I wondered if he'd

thought incest would score points with the queen.  "What about the last

six?

     "I was a guest of the queen," she said slowly, "though I could not

leave my chamber.  It was pleasant enough, even luxurious-but it was

all the world I saw."

     "Then it's a crime that you should have had so little of life! 

But at least you have Heaven waiting.  Don't tarry here, whatever you

do-go on to your reward!"

     "I cannot," she said simply.

     I stared.  Then I said, "No!  Not just my binding spell!"

     'Tis not that which holds me to Earth," she said slowly, "though

it fends off sorrow and brings rejoicing."

     I wanted a change of subject, quick.  "What holds you here, then?"

     "My body."  She moved her hands in aimless seeking.  "It has not

yet died; there remains some spark of life within it.  I can feel it, I

can sense it!"

     "The queen has preserved her clay," Frisson said softly.

     "Of course!"  I remembered what Suettay had said when she cast

that fox-fire spell over Angelique's body-and it made perfect sense.

     "She didn't succeed in sacrificing you the first time, so she's

saving your body to try again!"

     "But would not the soul need to be within the body, in order for

the queen to murder it?"  Gilbert asked.

     "Yeah, I'd say it would

     -especially if she wants to make Angelique commit the sin of

despair, so Hell can have some claim on her.  As it is, her soul's

still too pure for Satan to have any hold on it.  Angelique's goodness

doesn't protect her from physical force, of course, but it does make

her ghost immune.  That was the whole idea of this horror show the

queen just put on-the agony and terror were supposed to make her stop

believing in God and Heaven!"

     "It would have done so."  Angelique bowed her head.  "I verged on

such despair; I had almost come to think that there was no God, or that

the queen was right, and the Devil was stronger than the Creator.  It

was your words that restored my faith, if only for an instantbut in

that instant, the knife fell."

     "Glad I could do some good," I said lamely.

     "But if she can cram your soul back into your body and torture you

again, it might work this time."

     "Nay."  She gazed directly into my eyes.  "You have restored my

faith; I shall never despair again."

     How about if I told her I didn't love her?  That chilled me,

too-it meant I didn't dare be honest, which really rankled.  But we

were

     right.  I'd read enough medieval literature to know the rules, if

not enough to make me sympathize with the spirit.  "So she's going to

be

     trying to get your soul!"

     The ghost paled-or, in her case, turned almost transparent.  "Then

I must leave you!  Or my presence will bring her down upon you!"

     And she darted away.  I jumped up to call out to her to stay-but

she slammed into my unseen barrier and rebounded with a cry.

     "Sorry about that," I said quickly, "but we can't let you go

roamng off by yourself-she'd swallow you up in an instant, and you'd be

back in the torture chamber."

     "I must chance it!  I will not imperil you!"

     I realized, with a sinking heart, that I could really get to like

this

     girl.

     Fortunately, Gilbert spoke up, with quiet certainly.  "We would

never forgive ourselves, lady/ if we abandoned a maiden in peril. 

Indeed, it would weigh on our immortal souls."

     The ghost stilled in her frantic dashing.

     "You would not wish to send us toward Hell, would you?"  Frisson

     asked.

     The ghost seemed to droop.  "Nay, I would not."

     "You see," I said carefully, "you've become a crucial element in

the future of this country.  There seems to be some sort of a campaign

kick out the queen and all her ministers, and the evil going on, to

that they serve.  You were apparently her trump card, her ace in the

hole, her secret weapon to give her more power to repel the invaders

and the rebellious barons.  Now that your sacrifice failed, the Devil

and the lords will all drop her as having become too weak-too weak to

be of any use to the Devil, too weak to defeat her barons if they

rebel.  That means that all the nobles will be jockeying for power,

each one trying to prove to the Devil which of them is most evil and

most ruthless, so that the Prince of Bullies will choose him to be

the

     next king."

     Angelique's ghost began to grow brighter, then dimmer, then

brighter again, throbbing with anxiety.  "But I am only a poor, simple

maid of the common folk!"

     "Maybe that's why you're so important," I said softly.  "Really

good people are hard to find, in any age."  I should know; I'd been

looking

     for a good woman for years.

     "But you must not endanger yourselves for my sake!"  she wailed.

     "We're already nicely endangered, thank you," I told her.  "Why

do

     you think the queen brought you to us?  No, I'd already made

trouble for her before you came."

     Angelique stared, wide-eyed.  "Wherefore?  'Tis folly of the worst

sort to antagonize her with no cause!"

     "She wants me to leave, if I won't serve her cause," I grated,

"and to me, that's reason enough to go back in.  I'm not about to

knuckle under to authority, unless it has won my respect and

confidence.  I'm going to do what I think is right, no matter what the

rules say!  And something tells me that trying to get your body away

from the queen, and back to you, is right!"

     Suddenly the chill within me stabbed all the way to my vitals,

accompanying a sudden total sense of the rightness of what I had said.

     With a sinking heart, I wondered if I had played into the hands of

somebody else-the angels.  Especially mine.

     "I shall accompany you, then," Angelique said slowly, "for there

is merit in what you say, and I perceive that you are a good man."

     But the way she was looking at me said more, much more, and I went

into panic.  "No, I'm not!  I'm a sour old cynic who's bitter about

human nature in general and women in particular!  I think religion was

invented by priests for their own self-interest, and I scorn its rules!

I'm an agnostic and a secular humanist, and by the standards of this

universe, I'm thoroughly despicable!"

     I ran out of gas and stood glaring around at them all, panting. 

Angelique shrank back, but not much, and just hovered there, staring at

me out of those huge, worshipful eyes.  Frisson and Gilbert exchanged

judicious looks, lips pursed, and finally nodded.

     Gruesome, of course, just sat blandly by the fire, looking vaguely

interested.  Why should he care?

     Right.

     "And what are you two snickering about?"  I growled at Gilbert and

Frisson.

     "That you lack faith may be true, Master Saul," Gilbert said

slowly, "but we have seen your works."

     I frowned.  "My works?"

     "You do not have it within you to turn away from a soul in need,"

Frisson explained.

     I glared at him, but what could I say?  It's my biggest failing. 

It gets me taken for a chump, time and again.  Emotional leeches latch

onto me like piglets to a sow, and I let them take and take and take

before I finally get mad enough to tell them to bug off.  I'm a sucker

for a hard-luck story and a gloomy face.

     Gilbert delivered the final verdict.  "You are a good man, and we

will follow you to the death."

     The chill hit again, and I snapped up a palm like a stop sign.

     "Now, wait a minute.  Who elected me leader?"

     "Why," Frisson said, "who else has the slightest idea as to what

we should do, or where we should go?"

     It was a good question.  But I sure as heck didn't.

     I was still trying to figure it out as I rolled up in my cloak, to

try to eke out a little sleep from what was left of the night.  But

Angelique was right in my line of sight-deliberately, I was sure, the

way she was gazing fondly at my battered, hairy face-and just knowing

she was there played hob with my concentration.  Every few minutes, I

found myself opening my eyes just a little, to drink in the sight of

all that lush feminine beauty, that lovely face, those wondrous curves

that showed as hints through her long, gauzy gown every time she moved

a little, and even when she didn't.  I might not have been in love with

her, but I sure got a charge out of looking.

     Unfortunately, she seemed to have the same problem with me; every

time I peeked, she was still gazing adoringly at me.

     Suddenly, it hit me with a shock, and I went rigid, fighting to

keep my eyes shut.  That blasted binding song had worked both ways! 

I

was just as much subject to it as she was!  Like it or not, reality

or il

     lusion, I was in love!

     My mind reeled, trying to adjust to the facts, trying to

understand romantic love as a magical spell-not just the product of a

spell, but the spell itself.  My mind went over and over that idea,

around and around it like a squirrel in a cage, until insight struck

again, and I realized what the literature had always said love

was-magic.

     I relaxed, just a little.  Of course, I'd been hearing that since

I was a kid, from every adventure novel with a love interest, and half

the popular songs on the radio.

     Nonetheless, the reality was something of a shock.

     On the other hand, I'd come to believe some time before that love

was nothing but an illusion.  I remembered that and got back some peace

of mind.

     But not much.

     We were up with the morning star for a cold breakfast.  I longed

for a cup of coffee and was tempted to believe in magic long enough to

conjure some up-but I turned mulish at the last second.  Sunlight

     and morning had put me back into skeptical mode, and I was

discounting all the spells I had worked as being part of the

hallucination.  Besides, nobody else there needed caffeine.

     So we were off as the sun rose, following our shadows down the

road to the west, not that I really expected to get very far.  After

about an hour, though, we climbed to the top of a ridge and stopped

short, seeing the telltale shingled roof of an official toll station.

     "I don't mind paying for the use of the road," I said to Gilbert

and Frisson.  "Where there's verse, there's gold.  But I'm not exactly

up for a session of arguing."

     "There is no avoiding it," Frisson told me, "and I have wandered

far enough to know.  Even were we to slip into the high grass or the

woods to bypass the hut, the witch within would know of our presence by

her spells."

     "Magical border alarm system," I grunted, thinking of electric

eyes and radar.  "Well, if we have to brazen it out, we might as well

do it with style."  So I strode up to the doorway and knocked.

     My friends stared, then ran after me frantically, but they skidded

to a stop as I knocked a second time, their faces sinking as they

realized there was no help for it now.

     But by the third knock, they were beginning to look puzzled.

     "Nobody home," Gruesome grunted, disappointed; I think he'd been

hoping for a quick snack.

     "A border station, unmatched?"  Gilbert stared.  "Surely not! 

'Tis unthinkable!  " "Then how come you just thought of it?"  I turned

to Angelique.  "I hate to take advantage of your special nature, but do

you suppose ... ?"

     "Surely, Master Saul."  She was only an outline in sunlight, a

gossamer strand or two-but she drifted through the cabin door as if it

hadn't been there.

     We waited.  I tried my best to look impatient and annoyed. 

Gruesome just looked hungry, and Frisson looked apprehensive.  Gilbert,

though, stood like stone with his hand on his sword hilt.

     Angelique slipped back out, scarcely more substantial than

birdsong.  "There is no one within."

     I stared.  "No one?"

     "None," she confirmed.

     "But that cannot be!"  Gilbert protested, and Frisson seconded

him.

     "No witch who was stationed to guard a road would dare leave her

post while she lived, mademoiselle."

     We fell silent at that, exchanging glances.  I put it into words. 

"But if she's dead, where's the body?"

     "There are signs of haste," Angelique said helpfully.

     "Let me see."  I pushed at the door, but it was locked.

     "Lemme."  Gruesome hipped me aside-his shoulders were too

high-took the door by the handle, and yanked.  Wood cracked and

splintered; the door came loose, leather hinges flapping.  Gruesome

grunted and tossed it aside.

     "Uh-yes."  I eyed the dismembered door and cleared my throat.

     "Direct, aren't we?  Well, let's have a look."  I went in.

     it wasn't in the world's best condition, that was true, but it

wasn't all that bad, either-sort of like somebody had stopped doing the

housekeeping a month ago; that rotten smell must have been the dirty

dishes in the kitchen.  At least, I assumed that was what the curtained

doorway in the back wall led to; this part of the house just had a

central fire pit under a hole in the roof, shielded by a louver, and a

desk with a huge book beside an inkwell with a quill in it.  I stepped

closer and peered in; there was still liquid in the pot, but you could

see the thick line above that showed it had evaporated.  There was a

fine coating of dust on the book, not all that obvious unless you

looked; I guessed it had been a week or so since it had been used.

     I looked up at that curtain hanging across the doorway.  Something

inside me balked and protested, wanting to leave well enough alone, but

curiosity drew me on.  Had to be curiosity, right?  Couldn't have

     been anything else.

     I pushed the curtain aside and looked in.  The smell got a lot

worse, and I wrinkled my nose.  I couldn't pretend it was just rotting

food any more-it was the stench that goes with sickness, bad sickness.

     Angelique had been right, though-there was no one there, certainly

not in the bed.  it wasn't made, though, and the dishes were piled up

on the table.  This was where the toll-witch lived-but where was she

     now?

     I went back out, shaking my head.  "You called it, Angelique. 

No

     one home."

     Frisson clapped his hands with a smile of delight.  "Most

excellent!

     Let us go on past!"

     "Yeah," I said slowly, "let's."

     But it nagged at me, as we went by the tollhouse.  I didn't like

unsolved puzzles and I liked even less the idea that somebody might be

lying around sick, with nobody to take care of him.  However, there

     was every chance that the duty-witch had been taken in for an

overhaul, and that her replacement just hadn't arrived yet, so I pushed

my misgivings aside and followed Gilbert into the woods.

     Then I heard the moan from the other side of the trail.  Chapter

Ten

     it was hard to say whether that moan was of pain or terror-maybe

both.  But I couldn't ignore it.  I stopped.  That meant Frisson and

Gruesome had to stop, too, or bump into me-but they had stopped already

and were frowning into the shadows under the leaves.

     "What moves, Master Saul?"  Frisson asked.

     "Probably nothing," I answered.  "From the sound, I'd say whatever

made it is too sick to do more than lie there."

     Gilbert heard and looked back.  He stopped, frowning.  " 'Tis not

our affair, Master Saul."

     "Anybody hurt is my affair," I snapped.  " 'No man is an island.'

I thought you were a Christian, Gilbert."

     "I am indeed!"  he cried, offended.

     "Then remember the parable of the Good Samaritan."

     "The Samaritan," Frisson said nervously, "was in no peril."

     "He speaks wisely, Master Saul."  Angelique's voice seemed to come

from thin air.  "There may be danger."

     "Can't let a little thing like that stop us."  I stepped into the

shadows, pushing the branches aside with my quarterstaff-and just

incidentally keeping it near the guard position.  "Let's see what

we'll

     find.  " Leaves rustled as we moved in-then Angelique recoiled. 

"Evil!"

     I could smell it, too-or maybe it was just the aroma of illness. 

I reminded myself that this massive hallucination included a guardian

angel, and kept going.

     The underbrush opened out, and there, hovering near a sheer rock

face, were two of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen, with multiple

fangs and tusks sticking out of their snouts, under baleful yellow eyes

set in red, leathery skin that turned into black as it stretched out

into bat wings.  Their fingernails were claws, and their feet were

cloven hooves.  I froze; the mere sight of them struck fear through my

vitals-or maybe it was their sulfurous smell, or the aura of evil that

hung about them.

     They were chuckling and gibbering, jabbing long-nailed fingers at

the poor bundle of rags and quivering flesh that huddled against the

rock face.  I took a deep breath, reminding myself that they were just

hallucinations.

     The deep breath was a bad idea, though; I caught a whiff of her

stench and was almost glad the demons, sulfur smell drowned it out-but

it was definitely the same as the trace lingering in the back room of

the toll cabin.

     She saw me and stretched out a hand in supplication.  "Aid!  Good

trave er, ai !"

     The devils turned in instant suspicion, saw me, and dove for me,

howling.

     Terror damn near immobilized me, but trained reflexes made me leap

aside and slam a kick at the nearest one.  I yelped; he was hard!

     And hot; pain seared through my toes.  My boot was charred.

     The devil snarled and turned, gloating-but Gilbert leapt in front

of it, holding his sword up like a cross and crying, "Avaunt!  Leave

off, in the name of the Christ!  " They actually hesitated, and I knew

with a sick certainty that the only thing that protected Gilbert right

then was his total, idiotic purity and the massiveness of his

unquestioning faith.  If I had tried it, they'd have torn me limb from

limb.

     Even Gruesome was cowering back, and Frisson was hiding behind

him-but Angelique's ghost drifted to Gilbert, glowing with righteous

indignation and purity.  "Get thee hence, in the holy name!

     Avaunt, and begone!"

     Now the devils did cower back-but they didn't go.  I figured

they'd work up their nerve eventually-this was their prey, after all.

     Which reminded me about the sick one.

     I stepped over to the whimpering bundle.  "What's the matter?"

     A claw pulled the hood open enough so that two rheumy eyes blinked

out at me.  "Oh, the pain!"  She pressed one hand to her belly.

     "It tears me apart from within!  I have cast spells against it,

but it eats through even that power!  I die!"

     The devils surged forward, cackling with glee.

     "Avaunt!"  Gilbert shoved his cross-hilt in their faces, and I

swear he didn't show the slightest trace of fear.  Angelique glowed

with wrath behind him, and the devils bellowed with anger, but

retreated.

     "They will take me," the old woman whimpered.  "They will haul

     me to Hell!"

     Sympathetic fear wracked me, but I hung on to my composure and

said, "No they're not!  Not according to the rules!  All you have to do

is repent!  I remember that, because it always seemed like such a cheat

to me, that a man could live his whole life making other people

miserable and still go to Heaven if he just repented at the last

secend!  " "With eons in Purgatory," the witch moaned, "but even as

thou sayest ... The tortures would end, someday The devils howled with

rage and sprang, vaulting around Gilbert and Angelique in two jumps. 

One of them slammed me back into t e dirt, and pain tore through me

where his huge hand pressed.  His monstrous face was an inch from mine

as his jaws gaped wide, and terror jellied my insides-but I heard the

old witch scream in horror,

     and the sound galvanized me.

     "Angel!"  I cried.  "I'm trying to do your work now!  It's in your

own interest!  Get rid of these monsters!"

     Thunder cracked, and searing light filled the little clearing. 

"Even so!"  the angel's voice snapped, echoing all about me.  "I am

entreated by a mortal who seeks to do God's work!  Begone, loathsome

fiends!"

     The light shrank in on itself just enough to be an anthropoid

form, and glowing hands reached out to yank the two devils aside.  "

'Tis the power of God that flows through me to brand you!  Get hence,

in

     His name!

     The two demons howled; the angel hurled them away, and they

shrank, diminishing, until they were just two black dots that disap

     peared with a double pop.

     I stared, awed, and muttered, "Dealer wins all draws."

     The shining form waved a hand at me.  "Let thy pain be gone! 

Now

     aid the woman!"

     And he disappeared.  just like that.

     Gilbert looked up at me, awed.  "What manner of man are you,

Wizard, that even angels will come when you call?"

     "A do-gooder busybody," I snapped.  I was too busy being amazed to

be polite; the burning pain in my chest was gone.  I took a quick peek

down inside my shirt and didn't see the slightest scar, just a bright

pinkness in the shape of a huge clawed hand.  It was enough to give me

a bad case of the shakes, until the poor lump of rags moaned.

     I turned to it, trying to remember that this "poor thing" had

probably burned peasants and gloated at their pain, in her time, and

practiced the rest of the catalog of medieval minor witchcraft, such as

making cows go dry and women barren.  But I couldn't resist trying to

help when she looked so pitiful.  "Apologize," I advised.  "You know

you're going to die-but if you repent, the devils can't have you.

     Maybe a long, long time in Purgatory, as you said, but not Hell."

     "I dare not," the old woman whispered.  "The pain is held at bay

only by the spells I've cast-and even with their aid, 'tis like to

drive me from my senses!"

     "And if you repent, you lose your magic powers, so the pain will

rip you apart?  But remember I tried to recall the rules, as I'd

learned them from Dante.  "If you suffer the agony patiently here on

Earth for the few days you have left, it will take centuries off your

tortures in Purgatory."

     "I fear the pain too much," she gasped in despair.  "I am too far

sunk in cowardice!"

     I bit back the urge to tell her she deserved what she was getting,

then-I'm sure it wouldn't have seemed that way to me, if I'd been the

one that was in agony.  I frowned; what to do?  If she couldn't repent

because she was in pain, but the only thing that made her want to

repent was that same pain ...

     No, it wasn't.  It was fear of eternal pain, in Hell.

     "If I can make the pain go away," I asked her, "would you still

want to repent?"

     "Aye, assuredly!"  she gasped.  "Anything to save me from an

eternity of agonies as I've felt now!"

     "Probably worse," I reminded her.  "Well, let's see what we can

do.

     What kind of pain?"

     "A gnawing, a hideous gnawing!"  She pointed to her belly. 

"Here!"

     "Not a burning pain, like a hot coal?l, "Nay!  'Tis as if

something did eat me from the inside, with terribly sharp teeth!"

     Not appendicitis, I guessed-but it did sound like abdominal

cancer, and she was sure old enough.

     I sat back on my heels, frowning.  How do you use magic to cure

     cancer?

     Then I remembered that "cancer" is Latin for "crab," and that the

disease was named that way because it felt as if a crab were digging

you out inside with its pincers.

     So how do you fight an inside crab?

     obviously, bring it outside.

     "Gilbert," I called, "come over here with your sword."

     "Nay!"  the witch shrieked.

     "Oh, it's not for you," I said impatiently.  "No mercy killing-I'm

not about to end your mortal agony by sending you to everlasting

torture.  " Gilbert came up, sword ready, frowning.  "What moves,

wizard?"

     "A crab," I told him.  "I'm expecting a giant crab, or something

ery much like it.  If it shows up, stab it.  Frisson?

     v "Aye, Master Saul."  The poet edged up, trembling.

     "See if you can't cook up a verse for killing shellfish.  Okay,

folks."

     I took a deep breath, tried to ignore the gnawing in my own

middle, and reached out for the scrap of parchment Frisson handed me. 

I read it, chanting,

     "Get you gone up-channel With the sea crust on your plates, And

get out of that body With the burden of your freights!"

     Nothing happened.

     Frisson's face stretched so long I thought it was rubber.  "I

have

     failed!"

     "No, I don't think it was you."  The rules again.  "She's in the

power of evil now, and our spells are based on goodness, so they can't

touch her."  Except for spells inducing remorse-I'd found that out with

Sobaka.

     I wondered if I would have to use them again.  "Woman!  I cannot

cure you unless you repent!  You have to open your soul to God's race,

or all the good will in the world can't touch you!"

     She was still a moment, rigid.  Then she convulsed around the

agony in her middle again, screaming and crying out, "I repent me!

     Aiiee, even if I die in agony, I will not suffer thus for

eternity!  I forsake Satan and all his lies!"

     Then she screamed, as the king of all pains racked her body

     again-a souvenir from her boss, no doubt.  But the woman had

amazing grit; she held on, and when the spasm passed, she went right on

where she'd left off, though in a husky whisper.  "May God forgive my

sins!  I forswear my pact with the Devil!"

     Then she screamed again.

     I started chanting on the instant, repeating the verse:

     "Come forth from salty bloodstream With your pain that cramps and

grates!

     Get you gone up-channel With the sea crust on your plates, And get

out of that body

     With the burden of your freights!"

     The witch gave one last shriek ' then fell silent, panting

hoarsely as, between Gilbert, Gruesome, yself, and the huddled witch,

the air seemed to thicken, growing darker and darker.  Then, all of a

sudden, it snapped into sharp, clear detail-and a crab three feet wide,

with yard-long claws a foot thick, was scuttling straight toward me,

its pincers aiming for my throat.

     I yelled and jumped back, just as Gilbert shouted, "For Saint

Moncaire and for right!"  and leapt in, stabbing down.  His sword

skewered right through the whole crab, pinning it to the forest

floor-and he had the sense to jump back.  A high-pitched keening

pierced my ears, and I fell away, hands pressed over them.  Gilbert was

staggering, too, fingers in his ears, while the crab scuttled,

thrashing about-until it pulled the sword free from the earth and came

straight at the squire.

     With a bellow that shook the trees, Gruesome leapt.

     He landed on the monster with both feet; its shell gave with a

sickening crunch.  Pincers waved wildly, snaking back to snip at

Gruesome's feet-but he reached down, catching the claws in huge hands,

and straightened up, wrenching them loose.  The monster screamed-I

heard it even through my hands-then went limp.

     The clearing was very quiet.

     I looked around and saw Frisson, over at the base of a tree trunk,

his lips moving silently.

     I sat up, dazed, taking my hands away from my ears, but keeping

them close, just in case.

     The only sound I heard was the roar of triumph as Gruesome jumped

up and down on the shell, then tore open the claw and thrust it toward

his mouth ...

     "Gruesome, no!"  I shouted.

     His fangs clashed together but held back, as if he'd just bitten

down on a spare auto fender.  Then he held off on the claw, looking

down at me resentfully.  "Hungry!"

     "And you certainly deserve a ten-course banquet," I said quickly,

stumbling over to him.  "I'll conjure one up for you, as soon as we're

done helping this poor old lady!  But not that meat, Gruesome!  Bad for

you!  Shellfish has parasites!  Very bad!  Especially since the pieces

of this one might pull themselves together inside you and start trying

to eat their way out!"

     Gruesome stared at the claw as if he'd never seen it before.

     'Tis well spoken," Angelique said.  "The monster weakened outside

a host's body, and quickly-but would it not regain strength,

     once within?  " Gruesome hurled the claw away with a howl of

frustration-but even as he did, it was fading, fading ... and was gone.

So was the huge plastron he was standing on, and all the little legs,

and the other big claw.  Gruesome stared down, dismayed; the lower edge

of his huge lipless mouth quivered.

     "Shellfish never did stay with me long," I sighed.  "Always hungry

again in an hour.  Don't worry about it, big fella-we'll get you a

whole steer, in just a few minutes."

     "The witch," Gilbert said softly.

     Something in his tone reminded me that without the lash of pain,

our witch might not be feeling so remorseful.  In fact, there was no

guarantee that she wouldn't go back on her repentance.

     She was sitting up, staring down at her midriff wide-eyed,

pressing experimentally here and there.  " 'Tis 'tis gone!  I am well! 

No more hurt!  " ,i,d still take it easy for a while, if I were you," I

said.  "Just because we've got it licked for the time being, doesn't

mean it won't come back."

     "Nay, it will not, for I saw it torn apart by your huge troll! 

Amazing, most amazing!  Who would have thought there was a crab within?

Who would have thought to have conjured it out to fight it with

steel?"

     "It faded away," I reminded her.  "it could reappear inside you-or

another one just like it."

     "Even if it does not, I may find myself beset by another illness,

right quickly."  The old woman looked up with tears in her eyes.

     "Alas!  How comes it, good stranger, that you would help me, who

have been so cruel to so many and torn the life from no few?

     "I can't resist a call for help," I said, with some self-disgust. 

"I know that makes me a chump, but-" "Then a 'chump' must be a most

excellent thing!  Oh, I will sing your praises wherever I go!"

     "Mayhap," Gilbert put in, "it would become you more to sing God's

praises."

     "Aye, indeed!"  The witch sank down on her knees, clasped hands

upraised.  "I repent me of all my sins!  I would that I could atone for

each and every wrong I have done!  Dear Father, forgive me!"

     Nothing happened, no thunderclap ... but a look of peace swept

over her face, and her eyes widened in surprise.  "Why ... is it thus?"

     she whispered.

     "The peace of God."  Gilbert nodded.  "Yet you must seek out a

priest, poor woman, as quickly as you may, that your sins may be

shriven.  " "Even so!  That I shall!"  The ex-witch pushed herself to

her feet, gathering the rags of her robes about her.  "And I must go

quickly, for if the queen should discover my betrayal, I shall die

quite quickly!"

     "And in agony," Gilbert nodded.  "Therefore tarry not."

     The old woman shrugged.  "The agony matters naught; I deserve far

worse than ever she could wreak upon me, for all the wrongs I've done. 

Nay, almost would I welcome it now, that it might ease my burden of

guilt.  Yet I would not have it for eternity, and therefore will I go

hotfoot."  She whirled to me, hands upraised in gratitude.  "Oh,

stranger, I cannot thank you enough for your pity and aid!  You have

behaved as a true Christian, nay, as a saint would have!  May you be

blessed forever!"

     "Glad I could help," I said, uncomfortably aware of everyone's

eyes on me.  "Now go your way and try to help others as I've helped

you."

     "I shall!  Oh, I shall!  And shall praise your name every night,

in my prayers!  Farewell!"  She turned and hobbled into the woods, and

was gone from sight.

     "You have wrought well for God this day, Master Saul," Gilbert

said softly.

     I shrugged impatiently.  "I did something good for a human being,

out of entirely selfish motives."

     "Selfish?"  Gilbert frowned.  "How so?"

     "Because it made me feel good inside."  I raised my voice.  "Hear

that, angel?  I'm grateful for your help-but I had it coming, because

what I wanted to do was also what you wanted done!  I'm not on your

side!  But I'm not on their side either!  Got that?"

     But I felt a strange, vagrant wave of amusement that almost seemed

to blow through me like a breeze, and I had to turn away fast to escape

Frisson's long and thoughtful gaze.  "Come on, troops.

     We've still got a long day's hiking ahead of us."

     But we couldn't have been hiking down that trail for more than ten

minutes before the roadway exploded in front of us.

     The explosion kicked up a geyser of dust, and there stood the

wicked queen herself, shrieking pure venom, her rolls of fat shaking

with rage.  "Vile invader!  Your meddling has cost me five minutes'

agony, hot irons searing all through my body!  My master has punished

me shrewdly for letting another soul escape damnation-and has commanded

me to obliterate you and your friends!  Yet first, I shall see you

suffer as I have suffered!"

     But it wasn't me she threw the first whammy at, it was Frisson,

stiff-arming a gesture that twisted as it stabbed while she bellowed

something I couldn't understand.

     Frisson screamed and fell, writhing.

     I shouted, "For the unquiet heart and brain,

     A use in measured language lies;

     The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain."

     Frisson relaxed with a groan of relief.

     "Meddler!"  Suettay yelled.  "Rogue!  Villain!"  Yes, I did detect

a note of panic there, a note of fear.

     Of me?

     No, Of her master.

     "Mendacious mendicant!"  she screeched, then added some syllables

in the Latinlike language, winding up to throw me down.

     I took a deep breath for a counterspell, hoping I'd think of one

in thing pressed into my palm.

     time-but on the inhalation, I felt some Looking down, startled, I

saw some chicken-track lines scrawled on a scrap of foolscap.  The

misspellings were horrendous, but they were being viewed by a volunteer

tutor who had fought his way through many a Freshman English paper, and

I managed to catch the gist of it at a glance.  I called out,

     ,wicked old queen, come losses or gains, Here is the verse to

bring you fear:

     Go hand, go foot, till naught remainsGone with the snows of

yesteryear!"

     Suettay began to disappear, from the feet up.  She howled in

frustration, then lifted her arms to throw another whammy-but they

disappeared, too.  She screamed in full rage, face darkening and as

ugly as I've ever seen, as her hips and abdomen faded.  Then,

unfortunately, she remembered herself and screamed something in the Old

Tongue that made her arms reappear; they wove a quick, unseen symbol as

she screamed another verse, and all of her reappeared just as it had

gone, but much more quickly.  Even as her nether parts were returning,

she was winding up another verse that she belted out, hands rolling

over and over each other, and a six-foot dragon leapt from them to

charge roaring at us.

     Gilbert gave a shout of joy and leapt in front of all of us,

stabbing in low and jumping back.  Ichor spurted from the dragon's

chest, and it bellowed in startled pain, swerving to pounce at

Gilbert-but the squire leapt aside and chopped horizontally, shearing

off a bat wing.

     The dragon screamed, whirling and lashing out; steel talons cut

through Gilbert's mail, and blood slicked the metal.  The squire

clenched his jaw and chopped again, a roundhouse swing that clipped the

beast's head off its sinewy neck.

     We all cheered.

     But Suettay was chanting again, gesturing wildly, her volume

building toward a crescendo.

     I gulped.  "It's gonna be a big one."

     "Can you not hinder her?"  Angelique pleaded.

     "Frisson!"  I snapped.  "Any more verses,"' The poet shook his

head, huge-eyed.  "Naught but an old song comes to mind, Master Saul-a

child's bit of nonsense."

     "Try it!  Anything, right now!"

     "As you will."  Frisson shrugged and started singing.

     "As I went down to Darby town, 'Twas on a summer's day,

     There I beheld the biggest ram That ever was fed on hay!

     That ever was fed on hay!

     That ever was fed on hay!

     When this ram began to bleat, Sir, The thunder, it did break!

     When this ram began to walk, sir, The earth began to shake!"

     A deep, dull, thrumming sound boomed through the air, and the

earth beneath us heaved and settled.  Then the sound and the earth

tremor came again, and Suettay shrieked in anger and fear.  I risked a

peek.

     A wall of wool blocked out the sun a hundred yards distant,

supported on legs that would've shamed a sequoia.  I craned my neck

back; up, way up there, a hundred fifty feet up, floated a huge head

with magnificent, curled horns the size of a highway cloverleaf-and

sure enough, there were eagles circling around them.  "Must be nesting

season."

     But Suettay was still shrieking.  "What magic is this, that I've

heard naught of?"

     "Ethnomusicology," I called back.

     But her attention was on the ram, and with good reason-it was

ambling toward us, and with legs that size, ambling was high-speed.

     "What hell-begot monster art thou," Suettay cried, "that comes

thundering down on this poor rotted world!"

     "Nay, speak not of Hell!"  The ram's voice was a rumble in the

Earth's crust.  "I am begot of the core of the world, a child of magma!

     What art thou, tedious gnat, that would wake Darby's sleep?"  The

ram advanced, the earth trembling in sine waves with his footfalls.

     "For he who'd wake the ram must die, ere I can sleep again!"

     Frisson turned pale as milk.  it was borne in on me that I had

roused an elemental.

     "Nay, it was he!"  Suettay shrieked, finger spearing toward

Frisson.

     "Pounce on him, jelly him!  For he 'tis who waked you!"

     "Is it thee?"  The ram swerved a fraction of a degree, glowering

down at Frisson.  "Aye, for I see in thy face that only now dost thou

see the danger thou hast waked!"

     Damn good eyesight, I noted; there was maybe three inches of

Frisson's head showing, from the ram's angle.  But, the hell with the

risk-I couldn't do anything cowering, and it was my asking that had

nudged Frisson to sing the song.  I stepped forward, trying to ignore

the hollow feeling in my belly and the way my knees wanted to webble,

and claimed the responsibility.  "it was I who bade him do it, so it

was I who waked you!"  I felt a dramatic surge coming on.  "Beware,

mountain mutton!  For I can slay you forever with the breath of a song!

     Hey, it sounded good, right?

     "Dost thou threaten me?"  the ram thundered in enraged disbelief.

     I bellowed back at him, "Aye, I do threaten!  Therefore beware,

and do as I bid thee!  Slay this foul witch!  " "Eh, would you dare?" 

Suettay shrieked.  "Heed him not, mighty ram, but turn to slay him! 

For know that I, too, can slay you!"  And her hands began to weave an

invisible net, while she chanted, "Earth, give bellow; fire, blast!

     Vomit molten rock and ash!"

     I didn't wait to hear any more.  Queen or not, if that witch was

going to be fool enough to open up a volcano under the ram, it could

kill all of us.  I grabbed Gilbert and Frisson and threw them to the

ground, yelling at Gruesome, "Duck!  And after the boom is over, run

for your life!  " I was only glad Angelique had no body to hurt.

     A flue opened, and a jet of ash shot out-but the ram stepped on

it.  The earth shook a little, and he set another foot down; the earth

quieted.

     Suettay just stared.  Then she let out a screech that had some

syllables in it, arms windmilling madly.  A sudden whirlwind kicked up

a lot of dust and stray ash, then dispersed and settled-and she had

disappeared.

     "Can we rise now?"  Frisson asked around a mouthful of grass

blades.

     "Uh-yeah!  Sure."  I stood up slowly, staring at the spot of

meadow where Suettay had been.

     "Why-she is gone!"  Gilbert said, amazed, as he stood up again.

     "Yet I remain!"  the ram thundered, still quaking toward us. 

"Once I am waked, I cannot sleep again till my waker lies buried!"

     "Wait a minute!"  I barked.  "Remember that spell I told you

about!  " "Wherefore ought I chance it?"  The ram was fifty yards off

now, and coming fast.  "I shall crush thee ere thy lips can form the

words!"

     "I wasn't kidding."  But I backed up as fast as I could.  "I know

just the verse for the occasion."  But my blood ran cold; I was

bluffing.

     Frisson stared at me, amazed.  "How so, Master Saul?  I know the

same verse!"

     "Then sing it!"  I yelled.

     "Aye, do so," the ram thundered, only a dozen yards off.

     "I hate people who call my bluff."  Actually, the verse was

"Didn't He Ramble": he rambled till the butchers cut him down."  But

     when it came down to it, I just couldn't stand to see something as

majestic as that sheep converted into a mountain of ram chops-not if

there was a choice, anyway.  So I passed the buck and hoped like fury

that Frisson hadn't been bluffing, too.  "Frisson!  Sing it!  Quick!"

     The poet started chanting,

     "You who were waked from a century's sleep, in a place dark and

timeless, unfathomably deep, Return to the slumber from which you were

waked!

     Return, and go quickly!  Your blood-thirst is slaked!"

     It was working.  The ram towered closer, only twenty feet away,

and he filled the world-but his outlines were wavering, and the curls

of his wool were blurring together.

     He covered ten feet with each stride, though.

     Somehow, Frisson kept it soft and lulling.

     "Sleep, for your great eyes do close!

     Sleep, as the years and the centuries go!

     Lulled in the magma that rocks you so slow, Sleep where only the

All-Father knows!"

     The ram was a mountain, a McKinley, an Everest-but it faded off

into the sunlight at the edges, and its body was growing translucent.

     And it yawned.

     I added my two cents' worth.

     "Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smile while sleeping, never rise.

     Sleep, mighty ram, and make no cry.

     Rock him, rock him, lullaby!"

     Frisson and Gilbert joined me for a chorus: "Rock him, rock him,

     lullaby!

     The great hoof swung up for the last ten feet, growing thinner as

it came.  it lifted high over my head.  I held fast with every thread

of determination I had, frantically singing, petrified, rooted to the

spot, staring up at the great dark circle that seemed to fill the sky. 

It oised, then slowly came lower-but I could see the clouds through p

it quite clearly, it faded to barely an outline as it dropped down,

an

outline that encircled our heads

     And was gone.

     And a vast, distant thunder echoed, fading away, half angry

bellow,

     half yawn.  it reverberated over the land for what seemed a

thousand miles, and was gone.

     I let out a very long and very shaky breath, then turned to

Frisson.

     "Fantastic job, Frisson!"

     He was still gazing at the place where the ram had been.  "It was,

was it not?  'Twas truly my verses that effected this!"

     "It sure was."  I turned to Gilbert.  "How bad is it?"

     "Naught but a scratch."  He looked very happy, eyes glowing with

pride.  "I have slain a dragon, Master Saul!  A small one, but a dragon

natheless!  I have actually slain a dragon!"

     "You sure did, and we're your witnesses," I affirmed.  "You didn't

hesitate for a second.  If that doesn't prove your worth, what could?"

     I turned back to Frisson.  "But where'd you ever learn that word,

magma'?

     "Why, the ram himself did say it," the poet answered, "did say he

was a 'child of Magma.' Who is she, Wizard?"

     Chapter Eleven

     The day passed without any further incidents, thank Heaven, and we

set up camp in a nice, wide open river meadow.  The most menacing

wildlife in sight was a convention of spiders, and I was getting used

to them.  They seemed to be more and more abundant the farther we went

back into Allustria-sort of a comment on Suettay's housekeeping, I

supposed.  In fact, there was a web on every bush around the campsite,

flickering with the reflections of our firelight.  There were circular

webs, triangular, strands of gossamer between branchesevery sort any

arachnid architect ever thought of trying.  Their builders ran the

gamut, too, from humble little brown things, up through the

medium-sized spotted ones, to the huge, wide-as-a-quarter specimens

like the one that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.  I

glowered at them with transferred resentment, but I couldn't really

blame them for what one of their mates had done.  On the other hand, I

didn't have to let them inside my guarding circle, either.

     I suddenly realized that I was beginning to regard them as good

company and decided I had definitely been here too long.

     Not that I could do much about it.  If this was an LSD trip, it

wasn't wearing off-besides, I hadn't been dropping any lately-and if it

was a dream, I couldn't figure out how to wake up.  I had pretty much

decided to take the pragmatic approach to the whole problem of being in

a world that couldn't exist.  Illusion, dream, hallucination, or

altered state of consciousness coming from my maybe being hit by a car

and lying in a coma-it didn't matter; I was going to have to

     treat it as if it were real.  Magic might have been only another

part of this dreamworld, but within the context of the illusion, it

worked, and it could hurt me just as badly as a revolver in my own

world.  I was going to have to treat it as if it were real.

     Not that I was going to have to work any magic myself, of course.

     I didn't have to admit its existence that thoroughly-not as long

as I had Frisson.  Let him write up the spells, let him be the

magician.  So what if I was the one who read them aloud?  That was just

oral interpretation.

     Hypocrite?  Who, me?  I was simply making an emotional adjustment

necessary for psychological survival.

     I took first watch, since I didn't feel much like sleeping with

all that speculation going through my head.  It didn't keep buzzing

around very long, though, because Angelique was sitting there,

unsleeping, just outside the range of the firelight, her form glowing

in the night, her eyes glowing at me.  I smiled in return, then closed

my eyes, pretending to go to sleep.

     I couldn't, of course.  My favorite fantasy had come true; a

beautiful young woman was head over heels in love with me, and I

couldn't exactly be indifferent to that-couldn't just dismiss it and

yawn, even if she wasn't anything more than a part of a very detailed

hallucination-and even if she was just a ghost.  Of course, pure love

shouldn't care about bodies, but I'm afraid mine wasn't all that pure.

     It also wasn't love.  At least, I wasn't in love with her-or so I

was trying to persuade myself.  At least, I knew it wasn't real, just

the result of a slip of the tongue, so to speak, a rhyme snapped out

without due forethought, in a place where verse had a far more potent

effect than it had any right to.  And I knew da- darn well that

Angelique wouldn't have been in love with me if I hadn't accidentally

come up with the wrong spell.

     But what could I do?  Tell her that to her face?  I couldn't quite

summon that much cruelty-besides which, she probably knew already, but

was still in love with me; knowing it was just the result of a binding

spell didn't make any difference to the way she felt.  No, all I could

do was to try to spare her the pain of a phony romance, by not letting

her know how I felt-but that was definitely becoming harder, with

Angelique sitting there watching me adoringly, looking almost mortal in

the darkness.

     Then all of a sudden, she wasn't.

     I mean, she was still watching me-but she was coming apart at the

seams.  Then even the pieces were coming apart, shredding into a

     hundred tatters, and her eyes had glazed, no longer seeing, no

longer aware.

     It didn't take much to figure out what was happening.  I sat bolt

upright, calling, "Angelique!  Baby!  Pull yourself together!"  Then I

snarled at myself for losing my poise and forgetting to make it rhyme. 

I racked my brains for an integral verse, but all I could come up with

was a variation on "Danny Boy": "But come ye back, all bits of

ectoplasm!

     Reintegrate, all shreds of lady fair!

     Remain you here, in firelight and shadow, one integrated whole,

with those who for you care!"

     Okay, so it was doggerel.  What do you expect, on the spur of the

moment?  But it helped-a little, at least.  The tatters and shreds

stopped moving.  They hung suspended in midair, so that it seemed as if

Angelique had just expanded to take in a bit more volume.  I racked my

brains again, trying to think of a verse that stressed reintegration

and harmony of disparate elements-but a voice behind me called out,

"Oh, come back together, All bits of my bonny lass, Pull all together,

rejoin and tether!

     Be all of one, in mind and in body!

     Go not to pieces, go not so early!

     Stay!

     With those who care for thee, Care for thee rarely!"

     Well, Frisson certainly had learned how to do odd things to rhymes

and meters-but it worked; the tatters that were Angelique began to pull

themselves back together.

     Astonished, I whirled and saw Frisson sitting up in his blanket

roll, sorting frantically through the scraps of verse he'd been

scribbling since we pitched camp.  I felt stunned-but I forced the

feeling down and turned back to the rope in my magical tug-of-war.

     She was looking a little more solid than before-but even as I

watched, she was shredding again.  Grasping at straws, I called,

"Tarry, rash lady!

     Am I not thy lord?"

     No, I wasn't-and Angelique wasn't growing any firmer, either.

     The bits and pieces of her ectoplasm were still drifting away

from

     one another, their form only vaguely resembling a woman's now. 

After all, the couplet hadn't rhymed-but at least she held steady for a

minute.

     Long enough for Frisson to thrust another verse into my hand, I

gave it a quick glance, then read it aloud:

     "Thou art too long awaited, for Thy presence to be 'hated!

     Tarry, lady-stay awhile, Till the sun returns to smile!"

     That bought us some time, at least.  Angelique's pieces began to

pull together remarkably quickly; she was almost an integrated whole

again.  Frisson really didn't know his own strength.  She became so

whole that I could see she had wakened from whatever longdistance

trance the enemy sorcerer had put her in; she was staring about her in

horror.

     I preferred something without a time limit.

     "Oh, mistress mine, Where are you roaming,' Oh, stay and hearYour

true love's coming, That can sing both high That can sing both high

     I was stretching the truth a bit, but I was sure her true love was

coming some time-I just hoped she'd recognize him when he showed up. 

But it had worked; her shape was almost complete again, as Frisson

found another scrap of parchment and held it out.  I caught it up, gave

it a glance and frowned, but read it anyway:

     "Oh, lady fair, never be so wroth As to part the strong

friendships thou hast wrought, When the spoiler pulls, as now she doth,

Bear in mind the loyalties thou wast taught, And stay to bind thyself

fast to us!"

     The verse worked with overdrive; Angelique's form pulled together

so fast I could have sworn I'd heard it click.

     And was just as quickly shredded again.  The enemy sorcerer must

have been putting every ounce of his-or her-energy into that spell.

     I was amazed.  I actually began to feel tension in the air around

me, growing stronger and stronger, like strands of unseen force,

pulling

     and low, and low."

     tighter and tighter, and I was the fly caught in the web.  The

fleeting thought went through my mind, that this must have been what an

electromagnet felt like as you boosted the voltage-and I began to feel

an intangible pushing, too, as if another field of force was fighting

at my own.  Was this how an electron felt, inside a transistor?

     The webs of magical force intensified around me; I felt the

unbearable tension of another magic field repelling my own, trying to

pull Angelique apart.  My mind reeled; I felt as if it were being

stretched thin between two enormous engines, each pulling away from the

other with enough force to bend an I-beam-and, in panic, I felt that

Angelique's ghost must be annihilated even if its semblance stayed with

Gilbert and Frisson, destroyed by the sheer stress of being stretched

between two such huge forces.

     In desperation, I bellowed the first verse that came into my

mind:

     "What can a tired heart say, Which the wise of the world have made

dumb?

     Save to the lonely dreams of a child, 'Return again, come!'

     Angelique's tatters began to pull together one more time, becoming

more and more integral.  Before I could even think about the

implications, Frisson thrust another scrap of verse into my hand, and I

called it out without even stopping to think:

     "Begone, dull tearing of the fair!

     Away, false render of the pure!

     Abductor vile, By thine own bile, Be stunned, and fade, And loose

the maid!"

     Something snapped all about us, something we couldn't hear,

something that slammed us all to the ground with its recoil.  Dazed, I

scrambled to my feet, but the tension was gone, the two vast magical

fields dispelled, and Angelique was whipping up, arrowing straight

toward me to bury her face in my doublet-and into my chest-arms winding

about me in a desperate effort to cling, sobbing in terror and fear.

     Automatically, I folded my arms about her, trying to hold them

just outside her form while I murmured soothing sounds, but I was

     really too shaken to appreciate the contact; I felt some

interesting prickling, but thrust it out of my mind.  I looked up over

her translucent head at Frisson and gasped, "Thanks."

     Frisson only nodded, though with shining eyes.  The look on his

face gave me a chill, but Angelique was beginning to gasp out

syllables.  I turned my attention back to her.  "You're safe now," I

assured her with more confidence than I felt.  "It's gone."

     "Aye," she gasped, "yet it was so evil!  I feel soiled by its

touch, whate'erit was-it was so vile!"

     "It was," I muttered.  "The magic in this land is of the most

depraved sort, all right. Over Angelique's head, I saw Gilbert

standing in front of Gruesome, looking at me with outrage.  Because he

hadn't been able to get in on the fighting, no doubt.  I asked, "What

sorcerer was that we fought?"

     "It could have been none other than Queen Suettay herself,"

Frisson assured me.  "Without doubt, she was humiliated by the lady's

escape, and again by your countering of her spells."

     "Yes."  I nodded.  "Since she planned on adding Angelique to her

routine of ectoplasmic slaves-it does reflect on her, having Angelique

saved at the last stab."

     "And to lose all the rest of them to Heaven, too," Gilbert assured

me.  "It lowers the esteem in which her barons hold her-lowers it

drastically; and several may dare to take arms against her, attempting

to seize the throne for themselves.  We weaken her by protecting the

maiden, Wizard Saul."

     "And thereby make it vital for Suettay to recover her," I

inferred.

     "She has to save face, or risk a rebellion.  I1

     "A nice little uprising would rather help us," Frisson noted.

     "So the queen must slay you, to prevent that revolt," Gilbert

summarized.

     Angelique looked up, horrified, then stepped away from me, hands

warding me off.  "Nay, I must leave you, then-for by protecting me, you

have made yourself a marked man!"

     I felt my stomach sink, but managed to answer gamely, "Don't let

it worry you-I've been a marked man for a while now."  To keep myself

from wondering how much I'd meant by that, I turned back to Frisson and

said, "I really appreciate your help."

     "I did aid, then?"  Frisson asked, eyes glowing.  "I truly did

aid? "Oh, yes," I assured him.  "You aided fantastically."  But I

said it with a feeling of awe verging on fear, and couldn't help

wondering if Frisson should be classified as a secret weapon.

     Apparently so, from the look on his face.  His eyes were lit with

joy, and his whole emaciated countenance was suffused with the look of

a man yanked back from the grave.  "I think," Frisson said, "that I

have found my metier."

     I knew we weren't going to get off that lightly-Suettay may have

lost the skirmish, but she was bound to come back for the rest of the

battle.  After all, we hadn't eradicated her, just sent her away from

us, presumably back to her castle-and once on her own territory, she'd

be able to start plotting again.  She didn't strike me as the kind of

person who would give up.  Considering that she had sold her soul and

promised her boss a sacrifice, she couldn't give up, or she'd end up in

Hellfire, permanently.  Extremely permanently.

     It made me uneasy, wondering what deviltry she was going to hit me

with next.  After all, she knew my weak point-I glanced over at my weak

point, but she was only a heat shimmer in the sunlight.

     That wouldn't keep Suettay from being able to find her, though.  I

resolved to keep an eye on Angelique, even if I couldn't see her.

     About midafternoon, we came to a village that definitely looked as

if it had seen better days.  The thatches on the cottages were ragged

and moldering; patches of daub were missing on the walls, letting the

wattle show through.  There was garbage in the streets, as if the

people were too tired to take it as far as the garden patches to dig

under for compost.  The people themselves were ragged and gaunt,

walking with a shuffling gait, hunched over, as if the weight of the

world were on their shoulders.  They darted us quick, suspicious looks

out of narrowed eyes, and as quickly looked away, speeding up to get

away from us.  Within five minutes, we were walking down a street that

showed not a single sign of life; there wasn't even a dog or a pig to

go snuffling among the garbage.

     Too bad; I would have bought it for roasting.  The pig, that is,

not the dog.  I was that hungry, and I shuddered to think how Gruesome

must have been feeling.  But I noticed a larger-than-average hut with a

pole sticking out above the door, and from the pole hung a bunch of

broom corn-dry enough to use for sweeping, but still a " us which meant

the place was a tavern.

     "Let's see if they have anything to eat."  I angled toward the

house.

     "If they do, I am not sure I would care to dine upon it."  Frisson

gave the dried broom a jaundiced eye.

     But Gruesome perked up and rumbled, "Food!"  so Frisson decided it

would be a good idea, after all.  At least, they followed me in, and

     so did Gilbert.  Angelique's form brightened as she came into the

gloom of the hut, but she disappeared instantly, leaving behind only a

murmured, "I must not alright the landlord."

     We sat down at a table.  It was quiet as a tomb.  I waited

restlessly, watching Gilbert fidget and Gruesome drool, until my

impatience got the best of me.  Finally, I cried out, "Ho!  Landlord!"

     A formerly portly individual-at least I assumed he must have been

fat once, because his apron was wrapped completely around him, and the

strings were cinched three times-came out, frowning.  "What the devil

do ye Then he saw Gruesome, and blanched.

     The troll rumbled, "Foooood!"

     "But-but there is no food!"  the tavernkeeper stammered.  "At the

least, there is little enough so that only my wife and hairns may dine,

and that poorly.  All else has been taken by the queen's bailiff!"

     I sat rigid for a moment, then forced myself to relax and said,

"That sounds like pretty high taxes."

     "Tax' There is no question of tax-'tis a question of what the

queen will let us keep!  'Tis simply that the crown takes all but the

smallest quantity that will keep us alive to raise another crop!  Every

year they have taken more, and it has been two years since I had hops

enough to brew my ale!  We live by a small patch of garden, my wife and

I, and poorly at that, for three-fifths of it goes to the queen, and on

two-fifths must we dine!"

     I felt instantly sorry for the guy, but Gruesome had started

growling, and Gilbert was standing up, loosening his sword in his

scabbard and saying, "If that be so, 'tis my duty as a squire to-" just

then, the door crashed down.

     Yes, down, not open-and half a dozen men in steel caps and leather

jerkins burst in, waving halberds and shouting, "Out!  Out, one and

all!  into the square with you all!  I1

     "What!"  one shouted, seeing Gilbert's hand on his sword.  "Would

you strike 'gainst the men of the queen's bailiff?  Nay, Beiner, slay

him!

     Gruesome bellowed, surging to his feet.

     The soldiers stared for about one second.  Then they slammed back

against one another, scrambling for the door.

     "They are strangers!  They burst in without asking leave!"  The

innkeeper ran over to the soldiers' side fast.  "I told them I have no

food to sell, and they-" His fawning restored some measure of poise to

the lead bully.  He

     grabbed the man and threw him back to his mates, snarling, "Aye,

like enough!  We have naught to do with travelers-we have been bidden

only to bring the townsfolk!  Out with you, now!"  And he made a

hurried exit, leading his men out with the tavernkeeper in their

midst-and Frisson and me right behind him.

     in the middle of the press of bodies, Frisson hissed, "Master

Saul, why have we come with the soldiers?"

     "Because I'm curious," I hissed back.  "But they might spot me for

a ringer, because of my clothes.  if they chase me out, you stick with

it and come back and tell me what's going on.

     "If I can," Frisson muttered, glancing about him fearfully.

     That struck me as amusing.  Frisson was probably the most

dangerous man there, but he was scared!  Somehow, though, I managed to

restrain my boundless mirth.

     The soldiers herded us out into the village square, along with a

hundred other souls of both sexes and all ages.  Another dozen soldiers

were drawn up there around a roaring fire, and in front of them

strutted a little, stocky man in a long black robe embroidered with

astrological symbols.  He grinned as the villagers were herded up, as

if savoring the sight.  When they were all there, he snapped, "You have

not paid your taxes!"

     A moan of dread swept through the crowd-but the tavernkeeper

stepped forward.  "Nay, Bailiff Klout-we have paid, we have all paid! 

" "You know that we have!"  an old woman wailed.  "Why, you were young

among us, yourself-" "Aye, and the most despised and shamed of any!" 

Klout snapped back, eyes glittering.  "Fools!  You could not see my

inner greatness!

     But the shire reeve did, and has given you all into my power!"

     "And every year you have made our taxes higher!"  a woman groaned.

     "The queen is never satisfied," Klout retorted.  "Yes, you have

paid your taxes for each person, each household-but you have not paid

the tax for your village!"

     "A tax for the village!"  A man with a long white beard stepped

forward.  "Never have I heard of such a thing!"

     "You hear of it now!  The shire reeve has given me leave to take

as much from you as I will, the better to serve the queen .  . ."

     "He keeps a share for himself, right?"  I hissed to Frisson.

     "It is the custom," Frisson acknowledged.

     and I have deemed it fit to levy a tax for the village as a

     whole, due to the shire reeve and the queen!  Ten pieces of gold! 

Pay!

     Pay now what you owe!"

     "But we have no more money!"  a woman wailed.  "All our coins you

took long ago!"

     Then I will take cattle or pigs, grain or fruit!  But you will

pay, you will pay, or I will burn this village down!"

     The people gasped with horror.

     Klout surveyed them, gloating.  "You laughed at me when I was a

small, clumsy runt of a child!  There is not a woman of my own age who

did not mock me for an ugly gnome when I was a youth!  Well, mock now! 

Laugh now!  For by the queen, I surely shall!"

     A low moan rose and swelled among the villagers.

     I could sympathize with Klout, but only just so far.  Revenge I

could understand, but this was way too much.

     "No coin?"  Klout cried.  "Why, then, burn!"  And he gestured to

his men, who yanked torches from the bonfire and whirled them around

their heads, setting the flames to roaring.

     But another roar answered them-Gruesome, waddling out of the

tavern, and beside him strode Gilbert, bright sword drawn.

     Klout recoiled.  "What monster is that!"

     "Just a friend of mine."  I stepped forward.  "We're all from out

of town, you see."

     Klout swung around, staring at me wildly.  "You!  Who are you?"

     "Just travelers. I worked at being way too casual about it.

     "Stopped at the tavern for lunch, but it seems they've gone out of

business-no food to sell.  So I got interested in the situation.  Think

I'd like to check on the details."

     "The queen has sent you!"  Klout cried.

     "I never said any such thing!"  But I wasn't about to stop him if

he wanted to believe it.  "I would like to see your books."

     "Books?"  Klout turned ashen, and a murmur of gratification went

through the crowd.

     "Your ledgers, your accounts!  So we can all see whether or not

the village has paid the tax due!  Come on, trot them out!"

     "You have no authority to demand this!"  Klout said.

     Gruesome stepped up beside me, grumbling with his mouth and

rumbling in his stomach.

     "Just an interested bystander," I agreed.  "Call me a visiting

magician, asking for a professional courtesy."

     Klout took another glance at Gruesome and didn't seem disposed

     to dispute my claim.  He only turned a lighter shade of ashen and

snapped to one of the soldiers, "The ledger!"

     "Cook the books!"  I whispered at Frisson.

     He stared at me as if I'd gone crazy.  "What, Master Saul?"

     "Give me a verse to make his accounts show he's lying!  Quick!"

     Frisson formed an 0 with his lips and turned away, pulling out his

charcoal pencil and a scrap of parchment.

     The soldiers were collecting their nerves and themselves, pulling

together into a knot in front of Gruesome, who grinned and licked his

chops.  The soldiers faltered, and the ones standing guard at the back

and sides of the crowd began to pull together into clumps.  T at left

some unguarded peasants, who began to sneak away between the

     huts.

     The soldier brought the book from a saddlebag and set it in

Klout's hands.  He opened it and held it out before me.  "There!  You

shall see every penny that each of these villagers has paid, and shall

see that each has rendered no more than the levy set for him!"

     Beside me, Frisson was muttering.

     I paged backward, frowning.  "Where does your tenure in this

office begin?

     "On page thirty-one," he said.

     I found it, and saw the change of handwriting-but I also saw the

handwriting change.  Nothing obvious, just a few Roman numerals

transforming, two Is close together turning into Vs, two Vs merging

into an X, and so on.

     Now, I'm not exactly skilled at Roman numerals, so it took me

awhile to puzzle it out.  It certainly turned out to be cumbersome-I

had never realized what a blessing the Arabs had given us when they

invented the zero, and the decimal system that went with it. 

Doubleentry bookkeeping would have helped, too-this was just a list of

figures, and I began to appreciate the layout of the checkbook I never

kept up.

     I took my time turning the pages, checking out all three of the

years Klout had been in office, and he began to get nervous-I could

tell by his fidgeting, while the crowd eroded at the edges.  Finally,

he snapped, "Will you study it all day?"

     "No," I said.  "I'm up to date.  Each person in the village has

paid more than he owed, by anywhere from one penny to ten-and the extra

more than covers the town tax."

     He stared, then whipped the book around and started doing his

     sums.  His eyes grew wider and wider as he paged backward through

the book, growing more and more frantic.

     "In fact," I said, "it looks as if you owe the village some

money."

     "Witchcraft!"  he bawled, and hurled the book away from him, "Liar

and thief!  I know what I wrote there!"

     I was sure he did-always less than the person had really paid.  I

looked up at Frisson.  "You saw the figures?"

     "Well enough," Frisson agreed nervously.

     "Do those figures show anything more than any of the peasants

really paid?"

     "Not a penny," he assured me, and he sounded much more certain

about it.

     'Twas the foulest of magics!"  Klout was turning hysterical. 

"Vile twisting of ink stains and marks!  You cannot come from the

queen, or you would not seek to make taxes less!

     Any peasants who hadn't taken to the tall timber were tiptoeing

away now.  The soldiers let them go, gripping their weapons tightly and

edging around to surround Gruesome, with Gilbert, Frisson, and me

around him.

     "Smite them!"  Klout pointed at us.  "The queen shall not shield

them, but my magic shall shield you!"

     I pulled out my sheaf of Frisson's verses.

     The soldiers roared with delight and pounced.

     Gilbert knocked aside a sword and sheared through the leather

jerkin behind it in one blow.  The soldier screamed and fell back, as

Gruesome reached over the squire's head and picked up another soldier

in each hand.  They screamed and struck at him with their halberds, but

he only laughed as the steel glanced off his hide.  Then he squeezed,

and the men screamed even louder.  Gruesome threw them away and reached

for two more.

     Klout shouted something in the Old Tongue, pointing at Gruesome

with both forefingers.  Gruesome froze.  So did Gilbert, in

midswing-for a split second.

     just long enough for me to yell out, "The sun beat down upon us,

     And we gasped for cooler air,

     But the sunrays melted all the ice That held us frozen there!"

     The soldiers roared with vindictive rage and swung, but Gilbert

came alive again, parrying two cuts with one swing, then chopping

     back to shear through two halberd handles.  Gruesome came alive,

snatching up soldiers and hurling them, Their mates yelped and leapt

back.

     Klout turned purple.  He pointed at me and screamed,

     "As a lying embezzler, I hearby indict you!

     Let all of these numbers rise up and bite you!"

     They did.  They really did.

     Like a fool, I was holding the book again, open-and I saw the

Roman numerals pry themselves off the page.  That was enough; I threw

it away with a shout, but the Xs and Vs were arrowing through the air

to stab at me, and the Ls and Cs were growing diminutive jaws and

biting.  Sharp little pains shot through my skin, none more than all

over my face, my arms, a mild nuisance by itself-but they were and my

hands!  I had never been so glad that I wore denim and boots!

     I flailed at them, trying to swat them, and shouted, "Frisson! 

Take over!  Don't worry about me, just knock out the soldiers!"

     Frisson stared, taken aback, then shook himself and yanked the

sheaf of poems out of my pocket.

     Fortunately, Gruesome and Gilbert were keeping the troops too busy

for them to take advantage of my being out of the action.  The troll

gathered up two more soldiers in each hand, knocked their heads

together, and threw them at the five who were charging him.

     They went down in a tangle of steel and limbs, and Gruesome waded

in, stony talons stabbing.

     Klout wasn't idle, though.  He was making mystic passes and

chanting in the Old Tongue.

     Frisson flipped frantically through the sheaf of poems, found the

one he wanted, and chanted.

     "Letters and numbers are toys for the playing,

     Able to hurt only when saying The vituperative injuries formed by

a man's mind.

     Freed now from that bondage, numbers assigned For forays of truth,

wound the men of deception!

     Stab them and bite them, in justice's reception!"

     The numbers froze in midair, then turned and arrowed toward Klout

and his soldiers.

     "Flee!"  the lead soldier bellowed, and suddenly the remaining

soldiers were scrambling to their feet and running in panic.

     Gruesome yodeled with joy and ran after them.

     They looked back, saw him, yelped, and ran faster.  They pulled

away-they were much quicker than he was-but he kept it up for a while,

having fun, shouting and blubbering and chortling like a whole chorus

of haunts.

     Klout leapt on a mule and dashed away down the road.  But at the

village limit, he reined in, turned back, and faced me, weaving

complicated symbols in the air while he chanted something

inarticulate.

     Frisson took the next verse from the stack and called out, "Mule,

you have labored right, Therefore of sleep you have great need, So

vanish instantly from sight, And rest you from your worthy deed!"

     The mule disappeared, and Klout slammed down, hard, on his

tailbone.  His verse broke off into a yell of agony-and the numbers

caught up with him.  He leapt to his feet with a howl, then ran

hobbling away, hand pressed over his tailbone.  The numerals shot after

him, buzzing like mosquitoes, catching up with him, and away he went,

surrounded by a cloud of the figures of his own deception, bleating in

pain until his shouts faded away.

     All of a sudden, the village was awfully quiet.

     Then yells of joy burst out all around us, and the peasants came

charging out to hoist Frisson, me, and Gilbert up on their shoulders.

     They paraded us all around the square, singing our praises in

terms that would have made Roland and Arthur blush.

     "Did I do well, then?"  Frisson called anxiously to me from his

seat on the neighboring pair of shoulders.

     "What do you think they're praising you for?"  I shouted.  "You

did great!  And thanks, Frisson-for saving my hide!  What's left of it,

anyway!  " He took the hint and got busy crafting a verse that would

get rid of my integer rash.

     The peasants had just about gotten the celebrating out of their

systems by the time Gruesome came waddling back, grinning, whereupon

they put us down, backed away, and got down to the serious business of

trying to find something for the troll to eat.

     They fed us, too, as it turned out-with their usual peasant

shrewdness, they had managed to salt away a few staples that not even

Klout and his soldiers had found.  As darkness fell, full and replete,

Frisson and I rolled up in our blankets with Gruesome already a snoring

hill and Gilbert standing watch.

     0 & 0

     They fed us again in the morning, and we were hard put to refuse

any of it.  We managed to set off without being totally foundered, but

the only one who had really avoided overstuffing was Angelique, and I

could have sworn that, if they'd been able to see her clearly, they

     would have found a way.

     our breakfast was beginning to settle, and we were beginning to

pick up speed, when we came to the circle.  The road met another at

right angles, but instead of the two crossing at your average

plussign-shaped intersection, they all ended in a ring-shaped track,

for all the world like a traffic circle.  I stopped, frowning. 

"Awfully advanced traffic engineering, for a one-horsepower culture. 

How come they don't just let the two roads intersect?"

     "Because," said Frisson, "that would make a cross, like to that on

which our Savior was hanged."

     I seemed to feel the air thicken at the mere mention of words that

were forbidden here, but I did my best to ignore it.

     "It was a crossroads once."  Gilbert pointed.  "The newer grass,

growing where there once was beaten earth, is some small part browner

than the old.  Look closely, and you can still see the sacred

     sign.

     The air seemed to thicken even more with foreboding.  I looked

closely, and sure enough, I could just barely make out where the old

intersection had been.  "Getting a little fanatical, aren't they"' "I

assure you, it would have inhibited the power of the queen and her

henchmen," Angelique's voice murmured, though I could

     scarcely see her.

     "Well, we do need to get across it, if we're going to keep going,"

I said.  "Let's go, folks."  I stepped out onto the circle, turning to

my

     left.

     just then, a man wearing black velvet with a dull silver chain

rode out of the woods and into the traffic circle.  There were a dozen

armed men behind him, so I could just barely hear him shout,

     "Halt!"

     He shouldn't have bothered; I'd stopped already and was feeling in

my pocket for the sheaf of Frisson's latest poems.

     "Fool, turn!"  the man in black barked.  "Would you break the

queen's law by going with the sun,"' I stared at him.  " 'With the

sun'?  What are you talking about?"

     "He speaks of the direction in which you were walking, Master

     Saul," Frisson said in a low voice.

     The head honcho barked, "Go widdershins!  Against the sun!  Thus

is it commanded of all who come to a road-circle!"

     I stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged and turned

around.  "Okay, so I'll go from west to east-counterclockwise, if you

insist.  Big deal!"

     "Hold!"  he shouted again.  "I like not your manner of speech."

     "Well, you've got a pretty lousy accent yourself."  I looked up,

frowning.

     He narrowed his eyes and moved his horse closer, glaring down at

me.  I stood my ground, beginning to feel mulish.

     "Odd clothes, odd speech, insolent manner."  He looked up at my

companions.  "And accompanied by a troll."  Back down at me.  "You are

he who has been curing witches of their deadly ills, are you not?"

     "Only two."  I definitely did not like the way this was going,

especially since his men were making a lot of noise rattling their

sabers as they drew them.  "What's the big deal?"

     "Know that I am the reeve of this shire!"  the man snapped.  "Word

has come to me that you bilked the queen of tax money yesterday, and

raised your hand against a bailiff into the bargain!"

     "Self-defense," I snapped, "and what's so bad about curing the

sick?  "

     "Have you a permit for it?"  he returned.

     I stared.  "A permit saying I can cure people?  What is this, the

AMA?  "

     "The queen has ever banned the curing of a witch on her deathbed!

     None who had her license to cure would ever dream of doing so! 

Nay, and worse-you have encouraged them to repent, to break their bonds

with Satan!"

     "Breaking bondage is definitely what I had in mind."

     His sword whipped out.  "You had no right, nor license!  You shall

cast a spell this instant, revoking those cures you have worked-or you

shall die!"

     Chapter Twelve

     Gruesome rumbled, and the soldiers had to quiet their horses. 

They started looking nervous.

     I waved my group to be still and said to the reeve, "Can I see

your license for breathing?"

     He stared.  "What license?"

     "For breathing," I said, impatiently.  "if you have to have a

license to get well, you must have to have a license to breathe! 

Hasn't the queen gotten around to informing you about it?  Show me your

license!

     "There is no such thing!"  he snapped.

     "Ah-ha, you don't have it!"  I waved an admonishing finger at him.

     "Everybody who lives in this country lives at the queen's

pleasure, right?  " "Well ... aye "Any heart that's beating, is beating

because the queen lets it beat, right?  " "Well ... aye, but "Then

anybody who's breathing is only breathing because the queen lets them! 

Because the queen gives them license!  So where's your license to

breathe?"

     "I... I have not any - - ."

     "No license to breathe?  And you trying to lay down the law!

     Where do you get off telling me to stop curing people just because

I don't have a license' If you really think that makes sense, then you

stop breathing-because you don't have a license!"

     That shut him up, and I thought he was just staring at me, until

his face got red.  Then I realized, all of a sudden, that his chest

wasn't moving.

     "Master!"  the soldiers cried, and started forward.

     Gilbert drew his sword with an entirely unnecessary clatter, and

Gruesome growled loudly as he stepped up.

     The reeve fell off his horse.

     I leapt forward and caught him just as the soldiers shouted.  They

started forward again, but hesitated, seeing him in my hands.

     "This is ridiculous!"  I snapped.  "Don't you know satire when you

hear it?  Now stop this silliness this instant, and start breathing

again!  "

     He turned blue instead.

     "You don't have to obey the queen!"  I shouted.  "Besides, she

never said anybody had to have a license to breathe!  I made it up!"

     His face grew darker, and I realized with a shock that it wasn't

just that he wouldn't breathe-he conldn't breathe.  I had made the

argument sound too sensible, and he had something like a posthypnotic

command going that compelled him to obey the queen's will-or whatever

he even thought of as her will!

     But that was impossible-hypnotism couldn't make people do

something they were dead set against, I knew that.

     It followed that the reeve wasn't set against being dead.

     It hit me like a ton of bricks.  She had linked a posthypnotic

command to his death wish!  "Frisson!  Praise life!"

     The poet held up a scrap of paper in front of my eyes.  I read it

aloud, and quickly.

     "You find yourself in love with Death,

     Yet be assured, she

     Is a damsel most distressing, And confers no blessing.

     Turn from her, and gain some longer breath!"

     I remembered a Drayton couplet, and added it in:

     "Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to

life,

     thou might'st him yet recover."

     And, just so Tennyson wouldn't feel left out-but I made a few

modifications:

     "Drink life To the lees; all times you shall enjoy Greatly, as

you've suffered greatly, both with those You'll find to love you, and

alone!"

     The reeve's body convulsed with a huge, shuddering breath, and his

complexion lightened.  I went almost as limp as he did.

     "You ... you have saved me!"  He looked up at me, staring, wide

     eyed.

     "Darn right I have!  Another minute, and you would have been at

Hell's door!"  I suddenly realized an implication.  "That's right-being

a civil servant to a sorceress-queen, you must have sold your soul to

     the Devil, too, didn't you?"

     "Aye!  Yet I have gazed at the fiery portal!  'Tis no children's

tale, but truth!"  He looked shaken, but even so, his eyes were

narrowing, and he was beginning to look at me as if estimating how much

torture I could take before dying.  I decided the view of Hell hadn't

been enough for him.  "Frisson, do you have a verse for

empathy-feeling

     what other people feel?"

     There was a quick riffle of papers behind me, and the reeve shook

himself, glaring over my shoulder.  "Is he your scribe?"

     "With his handwriting?  Not a chance!"  I reached for the slip of

parchment Frisson was handing me-but the reeve started to chant in that

confounded ancient language, so I snapped out a Shakespeare verse that

had been tugging at my memory:

     "My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue

brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.

     All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar,

crying all, 'Guilty!  Guilty!' Oh no!  I rather hate myself, For

hateful deeds committed by myself!"

     The reeve froze in midsyllable, a stricken look on his face.

     So far, so good.  I held up Frisson's verse and read it.

     "There is no creature but I should love, And all that I have

wronged, should feel my pity.

     For hateful deeds that I have done to others Should each and all

be visited upon my heart, That I myself should feel the pain That I

have done to others!"

     The gathering malice in the reeve's face suddenly dissipated.  His

eyes widened, then turned into pools of misery.  He bent over, as if

there were a pain inside him.  "Aiiee!  What have you done!  I remember

every cruelty I've wrought; I feel the pain of those I've injured!

     How have you done this thing to me!"

     "By poetry," I answered.  "That's one of the things it's supposed

to do-make you aware of what someone else is feeling."

     "I ache, I burn!  Oh, how could I have done such vile things! 

Curse you for having given me a conscience!  Never again shall I be

able to smite down an innocent!"  A single large tear formed at the

inside corner of his eye.  "How can I ever make amends for those I

have

     wronged?"

     I

     'Well," I said gently, "You could start by repenting."

     "I do, I do!  I repent me of my sins!  Alas the day that ever I

swore allegiance to the Devil, and banished my conscience!  Ah, I ken

not who to hate the more-he for having taken it, or you for having

given it back!"  The reeve groaned.  "Oh, where is there a priest?  For

I must confess my sins, I must be shriven!"

     I stared at him a long minute; then I said, "I have a notion you

know better than I do-if there are any priests hiding out in your

shire, you've got a strong suspicion where they are.  You just haven't

gotten around to hanging them yet-too many other things to do, like

whipping peasants into paying another tax."

     " 'Tis even so."  He managed to get his feet under him and stood,

bracing himself against his saddle.  "I shall find such a one, I shall

confess!  I must know that G ... that Go ... that I am forgiven by the

Most High!"  But his body convulsed like a whiplash as he said it, as

if the mere attempt to speak of something sacred had resulted in

intense pain.  He set his teeth and pressed on in spite of it.  "I

forswear my pact with Satan!  I shall turn to G ... to Go ... I1

     "Keep trying," I urged, "You'll get it out eventually."

     One of the soldiers screamed and charged his mount at the reeve,

his sword swinging.

     Gruesome took two steps and picked them up, both horse and rider,

gave them a hard shake, and threw them away.  The man struck his head

against a stone and lay still.  The horse scrambled to its feet and

bolted.

     The other soldiers backed away with a moan.

     "I take it that was your second-in-command?"  I asked.

     The reeve nodded.  "He would have become reeve in my place, if he

had smitten me down for treachery to the Devil and the queen.

     Another will do so soon enough, I doubt not, but I shall have made

some amends for the harm I've done."

     I looked at his glossy black hair and realized it was no longer

glossy.  In fact, I was definitely seeing a gray hair or two.  "Uh ...

if you don't mind my asking, how old are you"' "Ninety-seven," he

answered.  "I have preserved life and youth by black magic-and ahhh!" 

He almost screamed, back arching in pain.

     ,What I did to bring about that spell, the number of those I bled!

     Nay, 'tis only justice if all my years come upon me now!"

     They were doing just that-he was aging even as I watched.  The

black magic that had kept him alive and relatively youthful was gone,

now that he had rejected his bargain with Satan, and his debt of years

was pressing to be paid.

     "Find that priest," I suggested, "and quickly, while you still

can."

     "I shall!"  He scrambled back onto his horse and clutched at the

pommel grimly.  To his men, he said, "Get thee back to my castle, with

word that I shall never return!  Say also that even my witchcraft

succumbed to that of this stranger!  I bid thee repent, for the

hegemony of evil is passing!"

     Frisson, pale-faced, pressed another slip of parchment into my

hand.  Surprised, I gave it a quick once-over, then nodded emphatic

approval and muttered,

     "He is a sinner, I know full well, And yet his death is not God's

will.

     But his return to live and dwell Until a priest has seen him,

still Bitten by sin and doing ill.

     One thing is certain, that life fliesYet can be slowed for he who

tries To seek the solace of his faith, And find the peace repentance

buys!"

     That last one sounded like something out of The Rubaiyat, but I

wasn't about to criticize.

     The reeve looked up, startled.  "What did you say"' "Nothing to

worry you," I answered.  "Better get on your way.  Who knows?  Suettay

might appoint a new reeve before the day's out."

     The erstwhile reeve shuddered at the thought and turned his horse

away.  "Aye, 'tis even as you've said!  Farewell, stranger!  I withdraw

my curse on you; I bless you instead, for the agony of conscience you

     have wrought will save my soul.  But beware the queen, for she

never had a conscience, ever, so no spell can give her one!"

     "Thanks for the warning."  I exchanged a worried glance with

Frisson.  "Hope your trip is smooth."

     "If it were rough as rapids, I could not complain of injustice. 

Farewell!"  He rode away into the woods-but I noticed that he went

clockwise around the circle.

     His men groaned and turned back the way they had come, riding

fast.

     I turned back to my friends.  "Let's just cut across the

circle-what do you say?  And get under the trees fast.  I don't think

we want to linger.

     The trees petered out in late afternoon, and we found ourselves on

an open tableland with occasional straggling lines of undernourished

scrub to show where there was a watercourse.  We camped by one of them

just as the sun was sinking, ate a meal of journey rations that tasted

like cardboard and hot water, then turned in.  At least, Gilbert and

Frisson did, and Gruesome curled himself up into a very large ball. 

But Angelique didn't sleep, of course, and I took first watch; I was

too restless to doze.

     So were Angelique and Frisson, to judge by all the whispering that

went on for the next hour-but Gilbert corked right off like the

seasoned campaigner he was, so I woke him up for the second watch,

sometime in the wee hours.

     I couldn't sleep, of course.  Suettay's threats were too much on

my mind.

     Gilbert looked up in surprise to see me wrapped in my cloak

against the night's chill, but still sitting by the camp fire, staring

into the glowing coals.  He came over to say, very softly so as not to

wake Frisson, "Will you not sleep, Master Saul?  You shall need your

rest on the morrow.  " "I don't doubt it-but I've got much on my mind. 

I'm trying to meditate, Gilbert," He frowned.  "Do you speak of

prayer?"

     "It's like praying," I hedged.  "in fact, prayer can lead to

meditation, and vice versa.  Either way, it's a good way to relax and

get the worries of the day off your mind."

     "All."  He nodded, satisfied, and stood.  "Then I shall leave you

to your holy thoughts, Master Saul.  Good night."

     "Good night," I answered, and went back to gazing at the coals,

reciting a mantra.

     At first I thought it was doing no good-the coals just reminded me

of Hell, which reminded me of Suettay, which reminded me of danger.  So

I gazed down at my cupped palms instead, trying to imagine the sound of

one hand clapping, and it was just beginning to work when there was the

faintest of whispers beside me, and Angelique murmured almost in my

ear, "Why are you so sad, Master Saul?  Can I aid?  " Now, that was

exactly what she was not doing.  Maybe she didn't have a body, but she

certainly still looked as if she did, especially at night, when her

form glowed its brightest, complete with all her curves, which

certainly were not in the slightest conducive to a tranquil state of

mind, and definitely not the holy one Gilbert was hoping I'd have.

     "I'm not sad."  My voice was more gruff than I intended it to be,

and she drew back a little, hurt-so I amended my statement and tried to

soften my tone.  "I'm troubled, yes-worried about the queen's being

after us.  But I'm trying to calm down and put her out of my mind."

     "Mayhap I can aid."  She reached up to touch my forehead with her

hand, and insubstantial though it was, a breath of coolness seemed to

touch my skin.  I shivered, but not with the chill, and reached up to

push her hand away with what I hoped was gentleness.  "Your touch would

inspire anything but tranquility.  Might distract me from thoughts of

the queen, maybe, but it sure wouldn't put me to sleep."

     She frowned.  "I do not understand."

     '. just stared at her, then nodded.  "Good.  I think it's better

that way.  I1

     Then I unwound myself to my feet.  "You'll have to pardon me.

     just sitting isn't doing any good, so I think I'm going to have to

take a walk."

     "Oh, beware!"  Concern replaced the hurt that had been briefly in

her face.  "The world is not safe for good folk, at night!"

     "Then I shouldn't be in any trouble."  I turned and went away

quickly, before the sight of her made me feel any less good.  I glanced

back briefly as I restored the guarding circle, behind me, and saw that

she was looking hurt, which made me feel wretched-but what could I do? 

And don't give me any guff about spiritual union-under these

circumstances, it would have been highly unsatisfying.

     I strode out into the long grass, walking fast, trying to work out

the sudden spurt of energy her presence had given me.  I kept telling

my hormones that ghosts can't emit pheromones, but my glands weren't

listening.

     There were too many longings in my body to let me relax enough to

put the witch-queen out of my mind.  Besides, Angelique's presence

reminded me that Suettay knew my weakness, and that weakness was

entirely too beautiful, even as a wraith, for my peace of mind-and far

more appealing than she knew.  I hoped.

     But Suettay knew it, I was sure.  I wondered if Angelique was safe

back there, with only Gilbert and Frisson to protect her if the queen

tried anything again-but I decided that, at the least, they'd manage to

call me if anything went wrong.  I turned back to see just how far I

had come, then stared, shocked-the coals of the camp fire were only a

glow in the distance, and I couldn't even see any of the bodies around

it.  I had come entirely too far.  I started back.

     A cloud of green smoke erupted ten yards ahead, a silent explosion

in moonlight.

     I dropped into a defensive crouch, whipping out my clasp knife.

     Adrenaline slammed through my veins.

     The green smoke thinned and drifted away in the night breeze.  A

squat, bulging shadow stood black against the moonlight, a floorlength

robe blending its outline into a monolith.  A low, mocking laugh came

from the silhouette.  "Come, novice!  Do you truly think you can defend

yourself from me by force of arms?"

     I recognized the voice: Suettay, gilded by moonlight.

     I straightened slowly, folding the clasp knife and putting it

away.

     "No ... but then, I don't really need weapons, do I?"

     But my heart was hammering, and the adrenaline of fear was

flowing.  I had faced Suettay and won, yes-but that had been with

friends beside me, including a squire who was as skilled as any knight,

and a poet whose talent verged on genius.  How could I stand against

her alone?

     Not that I was about to let her know it, of course.

     "Ahhhhhh, insolence!"  the sorceress breathed.  "You have gained

arrogance since our last meeting, Wizard Saul!"

     "Oh, so now I'm a wizard, am I?"

     Suettay laughed, a noise like a nut grinder.  "Certes!  'Tis what

the common folk call you.  Did you not know?  I assure you, I did. 

Naught could happen in my kingdom that I would knov@ not of-for

     if anything transpires, my ministers and their clerks tell me of

it!

     Though there was no need for such offices in this instance;

yourself was enough.  " "Enough?"  I frowned.  "You mean just by

living, I give myself

     away?  " "There is something to that."  Suettay wheezed; I think

she meant it for a laugh.  "You should not think so hard about magic-it

makes you quite conspicuous, to those with the Sight."

     "True-but you've been watching me all along anyway.  How come you

didn't just send another of your minions tonight?  Figure you're ready

to take me on personally now?"

     "The audacity of the slave!"  Suettay breathed, almost in

admiration.  "Indeed, I have your measure-and you'll be like a child's

toy to my power!  I am sure of your strengths and weaknesses and know

best how to use them!

     illogically, I felt a flow of confidence that spread a grin across

my face.  "Sure of yourself, eh?  Is that why you've bushwhacked me out

here in the middle of nowhere, away from Gilbert and Frisson?"

     "Perhaps," Suettay sneered.  "They are, indeed, part of your

strength-and you are shorn of them now.  You are quite at my mercy."

     "Oh?"  I raised an eyebrow in polite skepticism.  "Mercy?  Do you

have any?  " "None to mention," Suettay snapped, and her arm swung down

like the arm of a catapult, a fireball leaping from her fingertips.

     I dodged, but the fireball swerved to follow me and exploded

against my chest in a soft fountain of sparks.  A huge, mushrooming

pain answered from inside my chest, an instant of unbearable agony,

then ...

     Nothing.  No sensation at all.

     The night seemed to darken about me, and strength ebbed from my

legs.  As I fell to my knees, I realized, with horror, that my heart

had stopped.  Panic thundered in, but I threw it back with a wrench.

     Think fast, or die!

     And my mind chilled into total clarity, with an icy lack of

emotion that almost frightened me in itself.  There was, after all, no

time for panic-scarcely time for a single sentence.  I rasped it out

with what breath was left in my lungs:

     "Life ebbs now in full retreat,

Till once again begins the beat

     Heavy, steady, short, and hard, Beats the never-ending heart!"

     Pain wrenched my chest again, but blood roared in my ears and a

jackhammer yammered inside my ribs.  I breathed in against its beat

thankfully.  As the haze cleared from my eyes, it cleared from my mind,

too: This wasn't going to be a trial of strength, or any other limited

form of conflict-Suettay was playing for keeps.  If she could kill me,

she would.

     Could I bring myself to try to kill her?

     The sorceress came into focus as my heart slowed and steadied.

     Suettay's hands were weaving, her lips moving.  Then the sorceress

froze, and I realized she'd finished another spell while I was trying

to restart my pump.

     Suddenly, the air was filled with darting, whirling streaks of

silver-a thousand knives spinning toward me.  I threw myself to the

side, but the knives followed me, swooping.  I whipped out my pocket

knife, swinging it in a frantic figure eight as if it were a rapier,

chanting, "I, the spirit master,

     Can fend off all disaster.

     Multiply my slight stiletto

     A thousandfold, by whirling ditto!"

     There was one slant rhyme, and the meter wasn't exactly constant,

but it worked-the air was suddenly filled with a thousand whirling

clasp knives.  They buzzed out at Suettay's daggers, and I grinned as I

watched each of the poniards collide with one of the pocket knives and

fall to the ground.

     Then the grin slipped as I caught sight of Suettay; I realized I

shouldn't have taken time out to watch the show.  The sorceress' hands

were weaving air again, stringing a pattern of forces.  My face

tightened grimly, as I realized the nature of the fight.  Working a

spell took time-so, while I was chanting my counterspell, Suettay was

working up her next attack.  That meant that I was going to stay on the

defensive, unless I could figure out how to jump a spell.

     I had to, or I was dead.  Sooner or later, I'd tire-and if I was

late on just one counterspell, I was had.

     Dust writhed, and a hundred serpentine heads lifted up around me,

spreading cobra hoods.

     It threw me back to my childhood, and Kipling's stories.

     "Let us have a mongoose plural From an Indian village rural,

Skilled at fighting snakes, and glad toA hundred mongeese, fighting

mad, too!"

     I carefully did not watch as the dust boiled alive about me; I

didn't have time.  Suettay's arms were weaving, and I took the

offensive:

     "Let a dust storm boil up from the plains of the thirties,

Filling the sky; and before the next word she's Trying to speak, let it

blow in and underA real Kansas dust storm, sudden as thunder!"

     I didn't even get to the chorus before the tableland was filled

with a howling wind, laden with dust.  it swept between the sorceress

and me, blocking us from each other.  Far off, I heard a roar that just

barely penetrated the thunder of the churning dust wind-Gruesome,

letting out an unbelieving, horrified bellow.

     Yes-my mascot was out in this, too.  He must have waked, seen l

was gone, and realized I was in danger.  I felt an instant panic-had he

broken the guarding circle as he came waddling out to search for

     me?

     I whipped a fold of my cloak over my nose and mouth, but Gruesome

wouldn't know he should do that.  Besides, he didn't have a cloak.  The

storm would kill him as quickly as Suettay's spells.

     And maybe not just Gruesome; my chest heaved with a huge, wracking

cough.  Some of the dust was getting in through the cloth.

     But I only needed a few seconds to rank the priorities in my

mind:

     One: Get rid of whatever it was that Suettay was whipping up for

her next spell;

     Two: Throw another spell of my own at her, and keep on throwing;

and

     Three: Get rid of the dust.

     Right.  Get going on number one.

     "Still more fool shall she appear By the time she lingers here.

     With one fool's head she came to war, But she'll go away with

more!"

     Actually, now that I thought about it, that took care of point

two, too; Suettay couldn't do much of a spell with an IQ suddenly

lowered to slightly better than an onion's.

     If she hadn't deflected my spell in time.  The dust was

thinning,

     and the wind was dying down.  So Suettay had wasted time lessening

the loesS2

     Then I heard a rumble of thunder and realized I was wasting time,

myself.

     Too late.  With a sound like a lireaking sieve, the rain drenched

down.  The dust settled, fast; and through the curtain of water, I saw

Suettay-or something that had been Suettay.

     It still wore the queen's robes, but it had small eyes under a

very low forehead, and a wide, gaping grin-on one of its heads.  The

other two were similar, and maybe worse.  I stared, appalled-was this

what happened when you practiced magic without a license?

     Certainly without really knowing what you were doing.  I was

disgusted

     with myself.  A clean death would have been infinitely better!

     Until I realized the loose grins were forming themselves into

words.  Sure-two heads are better than one, and three idiots add up to

a modicum of sense.  Whatever spell it was going to be, it wouldn't be

too effective-committee work never is-but I didn't feel like waiting

around to find out.  I grabbed for another verse:

     "This monarch will be hanged With a silver chain'Tis not the chain

of many!

     Stole the lives of serf and peer, And must be hanged for any!

     A silver chain lashed down out of the rain, snaked around the

center head, and snapped taut.  Suettay's body jerked upward a good

three feet and dangled, kicking and writhing, from a chain that wasn't

attached to anything.

     But the other two heads were still forming words, slowly and

painfully ...

     Alarm sizzled through me.  I'd only solved one-third of the

problem!  Quickly, I started muttering,

     "Triad, by the rule of three, Multiply this spell for

     Too late.  The other two heads were fading, disappearing, and the

loose grin on the one in the noose was tightening as intelligence

     came back into the eyes.  The forehead moved up-and it was

Suettay's normal face again!  The lips writhed in a snarl as she

hoisted her hands up to grab the chain above her head.  She pulled, got

her throat clear of the links, and took a deep breath.

     I grabbed for another verse.

     "They plucked the entrails of an offering forth, And could not

find a heart within her breast!"

     Suettay looked up, grinned, and started chanting.

     I froze.  It hadn't worked!  Okay, it was only a couplet, and it

didn't rhyme-but it was Shakespeare!  It should've shown some result!

     Then I remembered an old medieval tale, transformed into a modern

fairy story, about sorcerers who, afraid of death, put their hearts

outside their bodies for safekeeping-say, in an egg, which was inside a

duck.  Or an amulet.  How that could work, I couldn't see, unless ...

     yes ... wait a minute ... Assume a hyperspatial link, so that

blood could flow from the sorceress to the heart in another dimension,

and

     back ...

     I came to myself with a jolt.  Too much thinking!  Suettay was

spitting out the last phrase, and I had lost the initiative.  Suddenly

my whole body went rigid.  I couldn't move!  And the paralysis was

creeping over my chest to seize heart and lungs, then trickling up over

my shoulders toward my neck.  If I didn't get a quick spell out, I'd

have lockjaw!  Plus death.

     And Suettay was spell-weaving again!

     IL

Chapter Thirteen

     I took as deep a breath as I could and spat out:

     "Can't freeze my bones or rot my spleen, 'Cause I've been shot

with Salk vaccine!

     So I'll hang loose from stern to prowParalysis can't touch me

now!"

     My knees suddenly flexed, and my hands relaxed at my sides.  I

tried a step and managed it-but slowly and painfully.  Well, you

couldn't expect a cheap spell like that to work wonders ...

     But Suettay hadn't wasted the time.  She was back on the ground,

the silver noose still hanging above her head, and was finishing up

another chant, her hands pantomiming yanking something up from the

earth.

     And four lions leapt out of nowhere, straight at me, roars shaking

the plain.

     But a greater roar drowned theirs out, blasting from behind meand

Gruesome thudded past me, straight at the lions!

     They hit the brakes, plowing up sod with iron claws and terrified

howls-or three out of four did.  The fourth bellowed all the louder an

eapt straight at the troll.  I couldn't help thinking that this was how

evolution put an upward limit on courage.

     Gruesome was very direct; he slammed in an uppercut.  His timing

was just right; he caught the lion under the jaw.  It went flipping up

over his head and down in an arc, its head flopping at an unnatural

angle.

     The other three decided their initial instinct had been right, and

fled out across the plain with howling yips of fright.

     Suettay's hands flew; crooked syllables clanked off her tongue.

     Gruesome turned slowly toward me, a hungry glint in his

     eye.

     "What's the matter?"  I backed away.  "Look, I didn't mean to get

you into this!"

     "Juicy."  Gruesome's slab of tongue came out and smacked around

his chops.  "Taste good."

     I yelped and whirled to run; Suettay had canceled the fairies'

antihuman-eating spell.

     Gruesome's feet pounded behind me, coming closer, and I knew that,

though his legs were much shorter in relation to his body, they were

longer than mine, since he was so much bigger-and he could move them

faster, no matter what he looked like.  I wasn't going to get out of

this by running-just by talking.  Or rhyming, rather.  I swerved around

behind the biggest boulder I could find in that barren land and started

chanting.

     "You cannot eat but little meatFor your stomach, I'm not good.

     Obey elf-prince and wizard friend, Not sorceress in hood!

     Why then should you seek quarry more,

     And still seek friends anew,

     When change itself can give no more'tis easy to be true!  "

     A huge fist came down and smashed the boulder to smithereens.

     Gruesome loomed up, huge eyes lit with glee, mouth spread in a

horrible, drooling grin, upraised hands hooked to pounce, and I turned

to run.  Huge nails clawed my back, and I howled with pain, tripping

and falling.  I rolled to my feetAnd I was just in time to see the glee

dim from his eyes as his mouth puckered in confusion.  "Wizard?  What I

do?"

     "Nothing."  I went limp with relief.  "You chased away some lions

for me, Gruesome.  Thanks."

     But beyond his bulk, I saw Suettay, hunkered down on her knees,

belt over diagrams she was drawing in the dirt, and intoning a long,

     diconing chant.

     My heart sank.  Whatever she was whopping up, it was big-if

     symbolic gestures increased magical power, symbolic drawing would

be even worse!

     Then full inspiration hit me, and I realized that a sword can cut

both ways, no matter how clumsy.  "Gruesome!"  I cried.  "There's

another one!"  I pointed at Suettay.

     'Nother one what?"  the troll rumbled, turning to look.  I chanted

quickly, "What you see amid the waste, See as something you would

taste!

     Be it horse, or cat, or bear, Or a sorc'ress, kneeling there.

     in your eye it shall appear As a morsel sweet and rare!"

     Slant rhyme again, but I hoped it would work.

     It did.  Gruesome let out one gusty "Yum!"  and started

runningstraight at Suettay.

     The sorceress looked up, startled.  Then she sprang aside with a

howl of fear, in the nick of time-Gruesome thundered by, plowing up her

diagrams with his great taloned toes.  Suettay howled in rage and

frustration-and I seized the moment, my mind shifting into high gear. 

I knew better than to waste a single second by this time.

     While she was on the run, I chanted, "Be reversed from Galatea;

     May your limbs and joints betray ya!"

     I ripped a thread loose from my shirt, frantically tying knots in

it as I went on:

     "Knot the stomach, bind the headLet your limbs go weak with

dread!"

     The sorceress collapsed, falling back on the ground with a howl of

anger and fear.

     Gruesome bellowed victory and stooped for the kill.

     "Be as thou wast wont to be!"  I shouted.  "See as thou wast wont

to see!

     Gruesome froze.

     Then his face wrinkled, and he turned away in disgust.  "Yugh! 

Sorceress!  Tough!  Sour!"

     Suettay stared, not knowing whether to be insulted or relieved.

     The fear spell was still on her, but she started muttering

anyway,

     r

     Gruesome whipped about, looking from side to side in total

bewilderment.  "Where goody,' Where juicy piglet?"

     So that was what he had seen, instead of Suettay.  "it got away,"

I said quickly.  "Why don't you go back to the camp fire and see if

Gilbert has any leftovers from dinner?"

     "Deer haunch."  Gruesome nodded sagely and turned away.

     Yom!

     I pulled out my clasp knife, snapped it open, and stepped up to

touch the point against Suettay's throat.  "Cut it," I snapped, "or I

     will!  " The last syllables of the chant died in the sorceress'

throat as she read the conditional sentence in my eyes.

     But she saw something else, too, and a slow, mocking smile spread

over her face.  "You believe you have beaten me, then?"

     "I did sort of have that impression, yes."  Privately, I wondered

how long I could hold the knife still.

     "Slay me, then."  Suettay smiled, showing teeth.

     I stared.

     I clamped my jaw, narrowed my eyes.  She was mocking me, riding a

bluff.  She should have known better; it only made sense for me to kill

her.  I braced myself for the thrust-and stayed braced.

     Suettay's eyes danced, mocking me.

     I ground my teeth and tried to summon up the resolution for the

fatal blow.  "Start a spell."

     Suettay shook her head, grin widening.

     "Damn"' I whirled away, plunging the knife into the earth.

     Suettay laughed, a mocking bray.  "I congratulate you on your ...

     honor, Wizard."

     I swung about, fuming.

     "Aye, slay the helpless old woman," the sorceress jeered.

     "When you rendered me defenseless, Wizard, you bound your own

     hands.

     "Nothing," I ground out, "gripes me more than someone who takes

advantage of someone else's good nature."

     "I could not be more pleased with your ... virtue."  Suettay made

the word an insult.

     I spun away, burning, taking a deliberate step away from the woman

so I wouldn't do something I'd feel sorry for in the morning.

     Behind me, the sorceress sang out a rhyme in that ancient language

I didn't know.  I spun about in alarm.  She was stretching luxuriously.

"Thank you for affording me a moment to recite my

     counterspell, Wizard.  Be assured, I'll not return the favor." 

Her hands started weaving.

     I. snatched up the knife and turned back to her, shifting from

side to side, coming in low.  Of course, she could have blocked that

with three words, so I chanted,

     "Her freedom is gained, Her malice unfeigned!

     The blow need not hold, For blood's no longer ...

     Suettay stared, alarmed, then broke off her chant to cry, "Hist!"

     She held up a hand, turning her head a little to the side and

frowning, as if listening to a distant sound.

     Then she turned back to me, snarling, "How you have worked your

vile spells, Wizard, I do not know-but I grant You've been far more

formidable than I had thought you would be./' A truce?  I wondered if

it was wrong of me to feel relieved.

     "I would I could stay and finish what we've so lately begun,"

Suettay spat, "but sudden, urgent affairs have arisen, which require my

Personal attention-blast that monk and his obstinancy!  We shall meet

again, be certain-yet I must own, I've gained some respect for you. 

When next I see you, 'twill be with an army at my back."

     Yes, I decided, wanting a truce was wrong.  I screwed down my

mercy and began reciting.

     "Fear no more the heat ol the sun, Nor the furious winter's

rages

     Suettay looked up in amused surprise.  I set my teeth and went

on:

     "Thou thy worldly task hast done; Home art gone, and ta'en thy

wages."

     Suettay cocked her head to the side suddenly, as if she were again

listening for something.

     Trying to distract me, I thought.  I focused tightly on her face,

chanting:

     "Golden lads and girls all must

     Suettay turned back to me with a long, gloating laugh that ended

abruptly in a shouted, unintelligible phrase as she swung her arms in

opposing circles.

     "As chimney sweepers!"  I shouted.

     Suettay disappeared.

     I1... come to dust," I finished.  "Damn.

     too!

     Then I started wondering what she had been laughing about. 

Probably just trying to distract me, as I'd thought ... but ...

     How about if she had seen some trouble coming for me and my

     companions?

     On a wide-open plain?  In the dead of night? Ridiculous!  After an

act like that, what trouble could make any difference?

     Then I heard the clank of arms, Gilbert's shouting, and Frisson's

howl, faint but clear across the plain.  Gruesome roared, and a crowd

     of voices answered him.  Metal clashed on metal.

     "She sent an ambush party while she had me out of the way!"  I

cried.  But I didn't answer; I was already running, and trying to

figure

     out how I could get there faster.

     Faster?  I skidded to a halt.  I was a wizard, wasn't I?  At

least, that's what they kept telling me.  I could get to any place I

wanted, instantly-at least, within this hallucination.  All it took was

the

     right spell.

     "The trouble's fast-moving, and so must move I,

     Till I'm set by the fire 'Neath this bright midnight sky.

     Let me, in an instant, a league or more gain, In the bat of an

eye, far out 'cross this plain!"

     There was a sudden rush of giddiness-then my head stopped

swimming, and I looked up at mud-and-thatch walls, crude plank

furniture, and dirty, unkempt people in ragged, dun-colored home

     spun.

     The man of the house looked up, startled, from his place at the

table.  He had a long beard and a large axe.

     I stared.  What had gone wrong?

     Terminology.  I'd said "by the fire," but I hadn't specified which

one.  And I had said "across the plain"-so here I was, in a peasant

     hut presumably on the far side of the plain.

     I gave the denizens a toothy grin and tipped an imaginary hat.

     "Sorry about the intrusion, folks.  just semantics, that's all."

     The man's lips writhed back in a snarl as he came up from the

table, hefting his axe.

     Obviously a grammarian.  I adlibbed,

     I And I had a good excuse,

     "The lure missed the fish, and wound up in a shack.

     I return to the world, 'cross the plain.  I go back!"

     The axe swung down-and I was suddenly in the midst of bright

moonlight again.  I turned around, totally confused-and saw a bright

spot on the horizon.  Dimly, I heard clashing and yelling.

     I sighed.  Overshot again!  Well, I hadn't exactly had time to get

specific.

     But my friends were in a jam.  I had to come up with a spell while

I made it to them.

     "The starry welkin cover thou anon With gloomy fog as black as

Acheron And lead these treacherous soldiers so astray As each come

quickly in the other's way!"

     Suddenly, fog rose up from the ground, getting thicker and thicker

as it climbed.  In two minutes, it had hidden the stars-and the distant

clash of arms was liberally interspersed now with shouts of surprised

and angry pain, and cursing.

     That would hold them for a while.  I dredged up an orientation

verse:

     "Take me back to my new friends At the campsite where they fend

And guard themselves with might and care From the foes attacking

there!"

     There was that moment of disorientation again-then things

steadied, and I found myself staring at the coals of our camp fire.  I

whirled about to see Gruesome tossing soldiers like Indian clubs. 

Gilbert was laying them about him with his broadsword, and Frisson

crouched by the fire, reading scraps of paper aloud.  Angelique flitted

here and there, trying to scare enemy soldiers, and not terribly

worried by their weapons.

     But I was-because the fog suddenly lifted.  Only ten feet or so,

but that was enough for the soldiers to see where we were and turn to

center on us with some very nasty oaths.

     If their field sorcerer could disperse my fog, he might be able to

trap Angelique!  I had to find some way to bust up his party.

     "Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host

with their banners at sunset were seen.

     Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown That host in

the morning lay withered and strown."

     A huge unseen hand seemed to slap back and forth in the middle of

the raiding party, and troopers went flying.  That left only a man in a

gray robe and pointed cap, frantically dodging the unseen force.  He

was going to be confused for a few minutes, and I decided to make it

worse.

     "I'll chant to him in summertime, And in the winter, too!

     But the only, only thing That I'll sing for his song is to shroud

him in the foggy, foggy dew!"

     -and among The fog came down again, all the way to the ground the

moans of the soldiers, I heard a tenor cursing.  I grinned; that should

keep this junior sorcerer confused for a few minutes.

     kly.  I needed something a But he'd pick up the pieces pretty quic

uld scare the symbols off his robe-and little more enduring, that wo

     his soldiers, too.

     And I knew just the thing.  I grinned with anticipation as I took

a deep breath and recited, with my best attempt at the original

pronunciation, "The fierce spirit painfully endured hardship for a

time,

     He who dwelt in darkness ...

     The grim spirit was called Grendel, a rover of the borders, One

who held the plains, fen and fastness ...

     There came gliding in the black night the walker in darkness, From

the plain under the mist-hills Grendel came walking,

     Wearing God's anger!"

     Night thickened around them, and I took off, following the

crashing Gruesome was making.  on my third step, I slammed into

something hard and furry.  A roar resounded around me, and a huge,

clawed hand reached down through the darkness toward me.  Far above,

two little red eyes gleamed.  I howled, ducked around the giant

     shin, and ran.

     Grendel apparently wasn't about to change course for so small an

irritation, because the crashing of boulders being ground into pebbles

behind me, and I didn't think that was just because was going away he

was running so fast.  A yell of horror confirmed it, followed by the

rattle and clash of suits of armor being jumbled together.  I slowed

and looked back, but all I could see was a black cloud with a horse

arcing above it and a sorcerer beyond, sawing the air frantically

with

     his hands.  The horse landed on its hooves, by some miracle, and

streaked off in a panic-but the sorcerer had to stand his ground and

keep trying.  I didn't think he'd have much luck when he couldn't even

tell what the monster was-especially since I didn't think the man knew

Middle English.  Too bad the Dark Age bards hadn't left a few verses

with a wider range of applications-but their interests had seemed to be

rather narrow.

     Wide enough for current purposes, however.  I noticed that the

crashing seemed to have stopped.  So did the sorcerer-he was frozen

with his arms half-raised, looking uncommonly as if he were

surrendering to a Wild West sheriff.  Then he whipped about and

disappeared back into the pass.  The black cloud drifted after him,

leaving huge, clawed, vaguely anthropoid footprints.

     I didn't really care about the sorcerer, but I couldn't leave a

scourge like that to prowl the countryside.  I tried to remember how

the fight had gone, decided to be a little more humane, and improvised

a different ending:

     "Grendel must flee from there, mortally sick, Seek his joyless

home in the fen-slopes.

     He knew the more surely that his life's end had come, The full

number of his days."

     The black cloud kept moving up toward the pass-but as it moved, it

thinned until, by the time it reached the top, it was almost gone.

     A vague outline hung in the air for a second, huge and gross, like

a monstrous parody of the human form-or was it reptilian?-then was

gone, so quickly that I wondered if I'd really seen it.  I sighed and

turned away-there had been something heroic about the monster, after

all.

     Gilbert was glancing warily up toward the hilltop, then back to

the place where his opponents had been.  There was only a dust cloud

there now.

     I looked at it, surprised.  "What did you do-knock them all the

way back to the mountains?"

     "Nay.  They saw that black fog you raised, and turned tail.  They

fled, and I came near to fleeing after them."

     "Near!  If I'd had a clear field, I would've been flying out of

here so fast, my backwash would have knocked you over!"

     "Me, too!"  The troll actually looked shaken.  "Goosum go, fast!"

     I looked up at Gruesome, frowning.  "I thought trolls weren't

scared of anything."

     "One."  Gruesome nodded vigorously.  "Found it."

     "And you banished it, Wizard. Gilbert looked up at me, the

whites still showing all around his eyes.  "Nay, you have certainly

cleared our pathway!  Have you disbanded them so quickly, then?"

     I1 'Dismembered' may be more like it," I answered.  "You'll pardon

me if I don't go back to check."

     "Aye, Certes."  Angelique looked down from where she wafted around

Gruesome's shoulders, eyes huge.  "And what monstrous apparition was

that which you did raise against them, Wizard Saul?"

     Being a ghost, she had a professional interest in the question.

     "That's a long story."  I sighed.  "And a very old one.  I'll tell

it to you some time-but right now, I think we'd better reset the

guarding circle that Gruesome broke when he came out to help me-thanks,

old monster .

     "Help you?"  Angelique looked up, ready to fibrillate.

     "That's another story," I said quickly.  "I thought you wanted to

hear the one about the monster while we wait for daylight."

     "Aye, but I pulled out my can of talcum powder "Then we'd better

get busy.

     and stepped over to the break in the circle.  Angelique drifted

after me anxiously, but by the time she caught up, I was deep in,

mumbling the spell.  When I finished, I looked up brightly and said,

"Okay.  Anybody want to hear?"

     Angelique's protest was drowned out by noisy concurrence from

Frisson and Gilbert.  I glanced around and saw that even the troll was

looking mildly interested.  I relaxed and took a deep breath.  "Okay.

     Now, once, long ago and very far away, a hero named Hrothgar built

him a hall, hight Heorot .  . ."

     And they sat up around the camp fire listening for what was left

of the night, eyes growing larger and larger as they listened to the

wondrous tale of the hero Beowulf.

     What with one thing and another, we weren't in the world's

greatest shape for traveling when we broke camp and buried our fire the

next morning.  We made it until noon, but when we saw the gleaming

castle in the distance, sitting on top of its mound in the middle of

the plain with bright banners flying from its turrets and the midday

light glistening off the white stone of its curtain wall, I couldn't

resist it.

     "Just a little farther," I coaxed my friends.  "We'll ask for

hospitality there, and if they say yes, we'll be able to rest in peace

and security.

     "Aye," Angelique said, "for surely no one evil could live in so

fair a fortress!"

     But Gilbert didn't look convinced, and Frisson said, "Can any who

are not evil hold a castle in Allustria?"

     But Gruesome grinned from one side of his face to the other and

chortled, "Food!"

     "Yeah, but just grain, okay?"  I looked up at him nervously.  "No

gobbling up the castle horses, now-we don't want to eat out our

welcome."

     "Goosum be good," he promised, and we pressed on to our new

short-term goal with renewed vigor.

     As we came up the slope, though, I frowned.  "Odd.  Drawbridge

down, banners flying-but not a soul in sight."

     "Mayhap they are all gathered in the bailey for some purpose,"

Frisson ventured.

     "Surely they would have left sentries at the walls!"  Gilbert

expostulated.

     "Well, we'll find out soon enough."  We had come up to the

drawbridge's edge.  I called out to the little slit windows in the

gatehouse, "Is anybody home?"

     A face with a steel cap showed at one of the windows.  "What wish

you?  " I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. 

"Hospitality.  We are wayfarers who seek a night's lodging-and we are

of gentle blood."

     The face looked up a little above my head.  "He is not."

     I looked around.  "Who, Gruesome?  No, he's a troll, but he's

friendly.  "

     "I doubt the castellan would countenance his entrance," the porter

called back.  "He must stay without until the lord of the castle has

spoken-but the rest of you may enter."

     I stood rigid for a moment, then hissed to my friends, "Maybe we'd

better look for a different campground."

     "Mayhap," Gilbert said.  But Angelique, unseen, said, "You could

do well with a soft bed and a strong wall about you for a night,

gentlemen, and the troll will not fret," "Goosum hunt!"  the troll

averred.

     "Well .  . ."

     Frisson's eyes were feverish.  "A real kitchen, with true food! 

A

dinner of any other thing but journey rations!"  He turned to Grue

     some.  "Surely you would not feel neglected, would you, good mon

     ster?"

     Gruesome shook his head-or the whole top half of his body,

whichever way you wanted to look at it.  "Goosum no trou

     b le!  " Well now, that could have meant that he wouldn't be any

trouble if we took him into the castle, or it could have meant that it

wouldn't trouble him to be left outside, but I chose the latter

interpretation.  "Okay, Gruesome, you wait out here.  Go hunt a boar or

something.  We'll see you in the morning-sooner, if the lord of the

castle has a change of heart."

     Gruesome nodded affably and turned away toward the nearest

     woods.

     Somehow it bothered me, having him out of sight, but I reminded

myself that I was probably safer that way, anyway.  "Okay, he's taking

a hike," I called up to the soldier in the little window.  "Can we

come

     in now?

     "Aye!  The drawbridge is down, and the keep awaits you!"  he

called back, and disappeared.

     I turned to my companions.  "Shall we, friends?"

     We went through the gatehouse, Angelique glowing visibly in its

shadow-and the skin on the back of my neck prickled, expecting a volley

from the little windows all along both sides of the passage.  But

nothing happened, and we came into the bailey.

     " 'Tis fair enough," Frisson said.

     It was.  The courtyard was bare in the center but with a broad

fringe of grass, where a few horses were grazing contentedly.  They

wore only bridles, but they were big-knights' mounts.  Smoke came from

some of the buildings against the wall, with cooking odors from the

kitchen range and the steady clang of metal from the smithy.

     Both of them relaxed me a little more, though it still seemed odd

not to see anybody around.

     "No doubt they are all inside."  Frisson sniffed the delicious

aromas and smacked his lips.  "Come, friends!  To the keep!  Must we

not present our compliments to the lord and his lady?"

     "Yeah, I guess that's the correct protocol."  But this time, I let

Frisson take the lead.

     We walked across the courtyard to the tall, round building that

was the keep and went through the doors at its base-into total gloom,

in which Angelique shone brightly again.  Frisson stopped

     with an exclamation, and Gilbert came through last, looked about

him, and growled.

     " 'Tis a ruin!"  Frisson cried.

     "Well, I wouldn't go that far."  I prowled past him, looking

around.

     "Structurally, it's in good shape."

     "But 'tis filthy, with the dust and dirt of a century at least!" 

Angelique protested.

     It was.  A little light came in from two small windows high up on

the walls, enough illumination to show us a huge round room with fat

pillars holding up the ceiling-and huge cobwebs that stretched

everywhere there was a right angle.  A few of them were new, with

active spinners busily mending tears or rolling flies, but the others

were lank and ropy, thick with dust.  The floor wasn't much better,

coated with humus that had once been moldering straw.  Broken benches

and tables poked up here and there, and I could see the remains of a

few camp fires, where wanderers had spent the night.

     "But how could it be?"  Frisson protested, visions of a good

supper fleeting away.  "The outside is so fair, so well kept and well

tended!"

     "Wherefore would they neglect the keep?"  Gilbert looked about

him, frowning.  "Do not the lord and lady live here?"

     The answer hit me like a thunderbolt.  "No, they don't, and they

haven't for fifty years or more!  The place is deserted!  Somebody just

tidied up the outside to lure us in!"

     "But who would go to such great labor?"  Gilbert cried.

     "What great labor?  It just took a little magic!  And I'll give

you three guesses who uses magic on that scale!  Out of here, folks!" 

I turned and headed for the door.

     just a second too late.  A howling war cry cut loose all around

us, waking echoes that the old hall hadn't even known it had.

     Chapter Fourteen

     Soldiers came charging out from behind the pillars.  Around the

edges of the room, knights stepped out from doorways, clanking down

on

     our little group.  iced.  He swung it with a

     Gilbert's sword was out before I'd not bloodthirsty howl, as I

snapped my staff up to guard.  The squire chopped into a helmet, used

the rebound to slash at a belly, and snapped the sword straight ahead

to fend off the oncoming soldier.

     But a huge net fell from the rafters to enshroud him.  Gilbert

roared and flailed at the net with his sword.  He managed to cut a few

strands, but more of them entangled the sword.

     I howled in anger, yanked out my knife, and sawed at the mesh,

trying to free my friend-but soldiers crowded me from either side, and

I had to turn to dodge a halberd and lunge at its owner.  The soldier

yelled with pain and went down under the feet of his comrades, and a

pike head jabbed at me from the side.  I managed to parry, then

remembered I was supposed to be a wizard and frantically tried to think

of a verse.  Difficult, because I was also dancing around the

guardsmen, trying to leap in to cut at them and get out before a sword

or halberd hit me.  Worse, I was distracted by the sight of Angelique,

almost a whirlwind of gauze, swishing across a trooper's eyes long

enough for Frisson to thwack him with his staff.

     Angelique undulated in front of another trooper long enough to

make him stop in his tracks.  The man behind him jarred into him,

and

the two of them turned to fighting each other with shouts of an

     ger.  Angelique sped away, flitting through the attackers, causing

havoc.

     Frisson fought gamely with a staff, though he was clearly getting

the worst of it.

     A bellow split the air, and the soldiers drew back in fright, for

a behemoth strode into the fight with teeth and claws.  "Gruesome !"  I

shouted with relief.  The monster must have heard the sounds of the

fight and come running back to get in on the pounding.

     Then some sixth sense warned me, and I spun around.  Someone had

managed to get behind me, and a weighted club was swinging down toward

my sinuses with a fully armored knight behind it.  I took a breath to

rattle off a verse, but the club swooped down to fill the world, a huge

pain exploded at the side of my head, and I didn't get to see how the

fight came out.

     The murk cleared enough for me to see something gleaming.  I

blinked, focused, and saw shining, pale-yellow teeth curving upward in

a grin.  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head-and immediately

regretted it; pain wreathed my brain in fire.  I groaned, clutching my

poor fevered pate and squeezing my eyes shut.

     Something nudged my shoulder, none too gently.  "Look up, Wizard! 

Ere I cut your lids from your eyes!"

     There was a certain gloating quality to the words, one that made

me think the speaker would just love an excuse to carry out her threat.

I gritted my teeth and forced my eyes open.  The murk, mercilessly,

had fled, forcing me to see the smile in context-and the context was

pretty repulsive.  In fact, it was Suettay's face.

     I winced and turned away, hoping for a better alternative.

     There was an alternative, all right, but whether it was better or

not was decidedly moot.  We were in a dank stone chamber, filled with

wicked-looking instruments that I vaguely recognized-an iron maiden;

thumbscrews; and, beside me, several racks.  on one lay Frisson, bound

hand and foot-and beside him, Gilbert, who was awake but groggy, and

sitting up.  Gruesome was missing.  Oddly, I felt a spurt of relief-at

least one of us had escaped the ambush.  Then anxiety reawakened in the

wake of the thought, and I hoped the troll wouldn't be so fanatically

loyal as to try to rescue us.  After all, what could he do?

     On the other hand, I was a bit more anxious about Angelique.

     In fact, she was my prime worry, because she was here, too-in

the

     flesh!  Although now that I looked at it, the body's chest was

still, none of the gashes were bleeding, and it was deathly pale.

     Deathly ...

     Suettay had put her corpse in with us.

     Outrage hit me.  How dare Suettay save Angelique's mortal clay

like a trophy?

     Or was it for some other purpose?

     Suddenly, I remembered what the witch-queen had said about

preserving Angelique's body, and why.  I found myself really hoping my

favorite ghost wasn't in that room with us-but I was very much @.fraid

she was, and in some condition I couldn't detect.

     No way around it-I decided I'd have to recognize that we were in

real, genuine, bona ride predicament, and no matter how ugly it was, I

was going to have to face it.  I turned back to Suettay.

     The queen saw my resignation and laughed, a sound like a truck

trying to roll with a broken hearing.  I sighted and reevaluated

herwhen you got right down to it, the queen was a very ordinary-looking

fat woman, if you didn't count the cruel glint in her eye or the

gloating, eager smile on her glistening lips.

     A scream scoured the air.  I turned frantically to my

companionsand was hugely relieved to see that none of them had made the

noise.

     it did, however, jerk Frisson rudely back to consciousness,

staring about in instant panic.  Suettay laughed again.

     I turned to look at her and was amazed to see that the queen

wasn't looking back.  In fact, she was looking off to my right with

rapt fascination, nodding slowly and grunting.  "Good, good.  Again,

again!  " Sure enough, the scream split the air once more, and

Suettay's eyes glistened like a connoisseur regarding a Picasso-or, I

revised it, like a voyeur watching a pornographic movie.  I turned to

follow Suettay's gaze, puzzled.

     I turned away again, as quickly as I could.  I could tell from the

sounds that my companions had made the same mistake.

     Suettay, apparently, watched torture for fun.

     Fortunately, the victim wasn't anybody I knew.  I wondered if the

poor man had done anything to deserve torture, or if Suettay's soldiers

had just grabbed the nearest passerby.

     The queen turned toward me, grinning from ear to ear.  "Do you not

find this pastime amusing, Wizard?"  She said the last two words with

so much sarcasm that they might have cracked under the load.

     But I was in no condition to notice; I was fighting a rising

gorge.

     "Uh, no thanks, Your Majesty-that's more like my idea of work."

     The torturer giggled as he turned some minuscule device, and the

prisoner screamed again.

     Suettay's face reddened on the instant, engorging with rage.  "Do

you think yourself so much better than me, then?  Torturer!"  She waved

at the official.  "Release the prisoner!  We will save the rest of his

agony for a time of proper leisure!"  Then, to two apprentices standing

by in leather loincloths and black masks, "Seize this churl and lay him

on the table!"

     In the middle of the apprentices' giggles and my friends' cries of

outrage, all I could think, as they unstrapped me and hustled me over

to the table, was that at least I'd spared the poor peasant some pain.

     "Fight, Wizard Saul!"  Gilbert shouted.  "Do not let them doom you

without a struggle!"

     But I didn't have any time to fight-I was too busy thinking up

verses.

     The torturers slapped me down on the table.  Very effective-it

knocked the breath out of me long enough for them to put the shackles

on.  Then the main torturer advanced, grinning over a glowing branding

iron.  I tried to forget it was for me and started to mutterbut the

torturer nodded at an apprentice, who stabbed the ball of my thumb with

a fat pin.  I yelped, the verse going completely out of my mind.  But

it reminded me of another one:

     "By the pricking of my thumbs Something wicked this way comes!

     Open locks, whoever knocks!"

     The shackles sprang loose with a clatter, and I bounded up,

stiffarming the torturer as I passed.  "Sorry, but I don't really have

time today, I have an appointment with-" Gilbert and trisson shouted

approval, but the queen stared, appalled; whatever she'd been expecting

from me, that hadn't been it.

     Her face darkened then, and she barked, "Seize him!"

     Two guards jumped me and slammed me back down on the table.

     Suettay gave a curt nod toward the rest of the captives, and other

guards backhanded them both across the mouths.  Frisson reeled back

down, and Gilbert recoiled.

     Anger filled me, for which I was thankful.  I glared at the queen,

who laughed with vindictive pleasure as the torturer came back with

     the heated iron, its glow dulled to a sullen red.  He moved it

slowly toward my forehead, his gloating grin growing again.

     I stared at the horrid, glowing pentacle, as fascinated as I was

horrified, trying for the life of me to think of a verse-and I did.

     'Tears are for the craven, Pleading for the clown, Halters for the

silly neck That cannot keep a crown.' He was taken prisoner, He was

cast in thrall, iron, cold iron, is master of them all!"

     The iron star cooled amazingly, its glow dimming to blackness as

it neared.  The torturer cried out-was that fear, or just

disappointment?-but Suettay's hands moved in some odd pattern while she

snarled something with a heavy meter in a tongue I didn't know, and the

star glowed into brightness again-not just red, but white-hot.  The

torturer's grin grew back with it, and I just had time to realize that

Suettay had been expecting some sort of cooling spell, before the heat

of the iron seared my whole face, then passed beyond my sight, and

pain, bright liquid pain, worse than any I had ever known, shot outward

from the center of my forehead, drowning out all other sensations-my

friends' shouts of horror, Suettay's victorious crowing, my own scream.

     Gradually, the pain diminished until the things I saw could

regisill wrapped in agony, and my ter again, though my whole head was

St whole spirit quailed in total, abject, gibbering fear.  I could hear

Suettay soothing, "Softly, softly.  Pain on pain will yield no gain; he

will not feel the pins, while he's curled in agony from the iron."

     Good advice, and I realized the smart thing would be to keep

screaming and pretending I was delirious-but I saw Angelique's bruised

corpse; Gilbert, a bruise darkening on his cheek; and Frisson, crumpled

against his rack, blood trickling from the hand cupped over his mouth.

     There was no room for anger now; my whole being was filled with

fear, horrible fear that the torturer would do that again, and I

whimpered, "Please ... please .  . ."

     "Yes, it does please me."  Suettay chuckled.  "And will please me

for all of this day, and part of this night, I doubt not."  Suddenly,

her eyes blazed, and her whole countenance contorted.  "Fool!  To defy

my

     will!  Now will you learn the fate that befalls those who oppose

Suettay!  Now will you learn what it is, to die in torment!"

     She motioned, and pain lanced through my hands.  I screamed; then,

as the pain dimmed, the thought fleeted through my mind that at least I

didn't have any major sins on my conscience at the moment, so I'd die

Heaven-bound ...

     The realization blossomed like a flower, even through the pain,

and I had no doubts as to where it had come from.  By myself, I

wouldn't even have thought of those terms, and if I had, I would have

thought that because I wasn't holier-than-thou, I couldn't have been

good.  But the inspiration came, and I realized that, yes, I was in a

state of grace at the moment-not perfect, but I'd been doing more good

works than bad-enough so that Satan had no power over me.

     That meant Suettay could only control me with physical force; as

far as magic went, her spells were by no means unbeatable.

     If I could only find the right one.  And if I could just get it

out of my mouth.

     But Suettay saw the hope rising in my face, and screamed, "Lance

him!

     Pain bit through my thumbs again.  This time, though, I knew it

was coming, and I could grit my teeth and ride it out.  I held tight to

the thought of defense.  My mind searched frantically through the

verses I knew, rejecting anything the queen might expect, seizing the

least likely:

     "You get a good spadesman To plant a small tradesman (First take

off his boots with a boot tree), And his feet will take root, And his

fingers will shoot, And they'll blossom and bud like a fruit tree!"

     The torturer cried out in alarm as invisible hands wrenched off

his boots.  A block of stone flipped itself out of the floor, and the

unseen hands jammed the torturer into the dirt beneath.  Then he howled

with pain and fright as his arms stretched out like tree limbs.  His

fingers elongated like little branches, the tips bulging into buds that

sprang open into flowers.

     My friends shouted with delight, and the apprentices shrank back

with a moan.

     "Mercy!"  the torturer cried.  "Mercy!"

     "You're welcome," I muttered.  I wasn't thinking too clearly, what

with all the pain.

     Suettay paled, falling back a pace.  I started to flounder up off

the torture table, though, and the queen snapped out of her shock.

     "Guards!  Seize him!"

     But all of a sudden, the guards were reluctant, and it gave me

time to climb to my feet, searching frantically for another verse.

     "Will you not seize him?"  the queen ranted.  "Must I turn you all

into flaming brands?"

     The soldiers paled and started forward.

     I decided to stay with Gilbert and Sullivan.

     "If you want a proud foe to make tracks, if you'd melt a cruel

monarch in wax, You've but to call in the old resident jinn, From

Seventy Simmery Axe!"

     An explosion of expanding air rocked the chamber, and there it

was, a full-fledged Arabian jinn, complete with turban and beard.

     "Your command, master?"

     The companions and guards both stared, and somebody made a sick

moan-maybe it was Suettay.

     "More like a client, actually," I clarified, remembering what one

tradition said happened to jinn's masters.  "I'd like you to clear the

guards and torturers out of this chamber, banish them to some oasis

dded, rememberin the nearest desert.  But not too lush an oasis," I a

     ing what the torturers had done to me.

     "Your wish is my command."  The jinn raised his hands ...

     And Suettay got her mouth working.  Her hands twitched through the

air as she recited some incomprehensible syllables-incomrehensible to

me, but apparently something understood them somep where, because when

the jinn cried aloud some ancient syllables of his own and threw his

hands up, the whirlwind that sprang up just as quickly died down.

     The jinn stared, unbelieving, then suddenly gasped and spat out a

string of words, making mystic passes all around himself.  His form

wavered and thinned, then solidified again.

     Suettay grinned, chanting again as her hands stirred the air.

     "I cannot," the jinn gasped.  "The sorceress moves against me!

     'Tis all I can do to fend off her magics!  " But I had taken time

for a thinking break, and chanted,

     "And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted

like snow in the glance of the Lord!"

     The guards cried out as a huge, invisible hand slammed them

against the wall.  They crumpled to the floor, out cold.

     "I cannot prevail," the jinn gasped.  "I can at best withhold her

might!  " "You're doing just fine," I assured him.  "While you're

holding her off, I'm free to work on her henchmen.  Now, let's see ...

a verse about torturers .  . ."

     Suettay's face twisted, and she snarled, "Seize her!"

     The apprentice torturers leapt to Angelique's body.

     Frisson and Gilbert struggled against their bonds, but Suettay

snapped, "Hold!  Move, and her spirit dies!"

     I whirled to her, staring.  She was holding a corked bottle over

her head-and it looked to be made of very thin glass.

     One of the torturers, hearing, whisked out a knife and held it to

the throat of Angelique's body.

     "So," I said.  "When your men knocked me out, you managed to

compel her ghost into a bottle."

     "W

     by, how quickly you understand!"  Suettay crooned.

     /ISO break it."  I frowned.  "All you'll do is free her ghost

again."

     "Nay, for I'll scream the spell as I do-and as the lady comes out

from the flask, her ghost will leap to her body.  Look at it!  The boot

is on!"

     I whirled to look.  Sure enough, the iron boot was clamped around

one of Angelique's feet, and there were thumbscrews on each hand.  I

knew, with a sick certainty, that they had been there ever since she'd

died.  If her ghost went back in there, and the body came alive again,

it would be in instant agony.

     But the explanation had taken time from Suettay's spells, and the

jinn shouted what sounded like an oath.  A huge scimitar appeared in

midair, slicing down at Suettay.  The queen answered with a curse, and

the huge blade winked out just before it hit her.  She broke out in a

sweat and snapped, "Banish him, Wizard, or the woman lives!"

     I was in no shape to appreciate the irony.

     Neither was the jinn; he was chanting again.  Suettay's face

reddened, and her hands sawed the air furiously; she managed to croak a

verse ...

     The torturer pricked, and a drop of blood welled up on Angelique's

pale throat.  Frisson groaned, and Gilbert cried out in dismay.

     I capitulated.  "Thanks, 0 jinn-but I'm afraid we're outflanked.

     Back to the place of your people, now."

     The jinn cried out in relief and delight, and disappeared.

     Suettay wiped her forehead with a shaking hand, drew a deep

breath, and forced a grin.  "Now, Wizard.  I believe we understand

our

     positions."

     "Not quite."  My eyes narrowed.  "If that slab of beef harms a

hair

     on her head, I'll turn him into a turnip."

     The torturer looked up, appalled.

     "I think not," Suettay purred, "while I can prevent it."

     "True.  First, I'll turn you into a pig.  Not that it will take

much."

     Frisson crowed his approval, then caught himself, eyeing the

queen

     fearfully.

     Suettay reddened, and her eyes narrowed.  "Attempt it, and she

will wake into agony while you chant."

     "Not if the torturer knows you'll gobble him up the next minute-or

do you really think you'd be able to resist the temptation?

     You're not too good at that, you know."

     "I think I shall still be as I am, and you shall be a toad!"

     I raised my hands, ready to gesture.  "Ready to try it?  On the

count

     of three "Be still!"  Suettay watched me with narrowed eyes. 

Beyond her, I saw Frisson's abstracted gaze, and knew I could count on

magical help from an unexpected quarter.  On the other hand, I wasn't

sure what the effects of that help would be-if inspiration struck, he

was apt to forget practicalities.

     "You prevaricate," the sorceress guessed, "for you would not

chance the woman's life."

     I said slowly, "Not if there's a way to guarantee her safety, and

that of my friends, no.  Trouble is, I don't see any such way."

     "There is one," Suettay said, with a leer.  "Ally yourself with

myself and with evil, and the maid shall go free."

     I lay rigid with shock-but beside me, Gilbert called out, "Nay,

Master Saul!  She would smite the lass nonetheless!"

     "I would not," Suettay retorted, "for if I did, the wizard might

turn against me./,

     "That ... makes sense," I said slowly.

     "Surely you are not tempted!"  Frisson cried.

     "Tempted, sure."  I shrugged.  "Anybody can be tempted, right?

     Can't avoid that.  Giving in to it is another matter-but yes, I am

tempted."

     "Tempted most shrewdly."  Suettay's leer broadened.  "Come,

Wizard!  Swear allegiance to me and to Satan, and the soul of the lass

shall go free.  Nay, further-I'll remove the spell that keeps her body

alive, so that her soul may fly to Heaven."

     It was a good deal, and it was very tempting; I loved Angelique

dearly, and sending her to eternal bliss would have made her very

happy.  Unfortunately, it would have made me very sad-I finally

admitted to myself just how thoroughly I'd fallen in love with her, and

how much I wanted her with me.  With me, in body as well as spirit, I

might add-I might have been substantially in a state of grace, but I

was no plaster saint.  I wanted Angelique and I wanted her alive, well,

and corporeal.

     But that was selfish.

     "No, Master Saul!"  Gilbert cried.  "You must not!  Without you,

we should all be-" Suettay nodded at a guard, who slapped Gilbert hard

across the mouth, then stuffed a gag in, But he'd said enough.  Without

me, this whole complex of forces that was gathering to oust Suettay and

clean up Allustria might falter and fail.  I know that sounds

conceited, but I didn't really know what my part in the whole scheme

was-only that I was definitely a part of it, and if one part failed,

all the rest probably would, too.

     But more importantly, Suettay still needed Angelique for that

virgin sacrifice-and once I committed myself to the power of evil, I

would be under her authority, and powerless to stop her.

     "He hesitates," Suettay snapped.  "He is a fool, and will do us no

good.  " The torturers rumbled agreement-of course-and Suettay stepped

up to Angelique's body.  She handed the flask to one of her henchmen.

     "Pull the cork when I bid you, and the spirit shall be sucked back

into the clay."  Then she began to weave a pattern of strange, vaguely

obscene gestures over the corpse, chanting in that strange, eerie

language.

     I had a sudden vision of that poor, gentle body coming alive,

convulsing in pain, screaming in agony.  "No, wait!"

     "Will you join me?"

     My heart twisted within me, and my whole body twisted with it.

     All the fears and horrors of the evil I'd seen flitted through my

memory, and an intuitive impulse such as i,d never had surged through

me, adding up to a panic of denial-but there lay Angelique's body, with

her ghost ready to hand "No."

     "Curses!"  Suettay spat.  "How strong is your love, then, if you

will not sell your soul to save the maiden from pain?"

     That suddenly made everything clear, and I felt the peace of

certainty flow back through me-for I realized that selling my soul

would be the denial of love.  Love is healing, love pulls the soul

toward Heaven ' because it's a tiny taste of Heaven-so if I sold my

soul, dedicated it completely to evil, I'd be locking myself away from

love.  If I signed up with Suettay, I would no longer really be able

to

     love Angelique.

     But I would still desire her-and what might I do to her then,

with

     no conscience and no empathy?

     "No," I said.  "if I sold my soul, then I'd be placing her

completely in your power-there would be no one left to shield her."

     "A curse upon the spirit that has told you that!"  Suettay

snarled.

     I suddenly realized where all these inspirations had been coming

from.  "Won't work.  He's curse-proof."

     Suettay's eyes narrowed.  "Then I'll proffer you another bargain.

     Cease your hold on this world, and I shall let the girl's ghost go

free."

     Panic again, at the thought of leaving Angelique-but the logic of

it made me hesitate.  Sure, if Suettay could augment her power by

converting a wild card of a wizard to her side, it would make her that

much stronger, and her enemies that much weaker-but if she couldn't

subvert me, she could at least get rid of me.  That would give her one

less thing to worry about.

     A return to my own world was what I wanted anyway, right?  Except

that I was trying to find Matt-but I'd sure found out where he had

gone, and there was no particular reason to think he wasn't alive and

well.  If I really wanted to find out, all I had to do was go back to

my own world, find the parchment he had used, and read whatever spell

it contained-it would take me to him.  Nice double cross for

     Suettay, too.

     But what would happen to my friends in the meantime?

     I summoned all my nerve and said, "No."

     "That was my final kindness, fool!"  Suettay screamed.  "Why do

     you disdain it?"

     "Because," I said, "as soon as I'm out of the way, you'll go ahead

and sacrifice Angelique, then start in on my friends."

     "But you would have no knowledge of that!  You would not care!"

     "Oh, I would care," I assured her, "very much."

     Her eyes narrowed to glitters of malice.  "Then we shall remove

all

the sources of that care-by simple murder!  I am loath to waste

oh

     jects of pleasure in quick killing-but if it will speed you hence,

I shall do it!  Guards!  Slay-" "No!"  I shouted.  "You kill them, and

I'll hang on in this universe just to get revenge on you!"

     She broke off, looking up at me with a strange, malicious smile.

     'Tis tempting-for revenge is sinful, and in letting yourself be

consumed with hatred and the desire for vengeance, you would succumb to

the lure of evil, and be subsumed in it."

     My heart sank.

     "Sweet though that would be," she said regretfully, "it would be

of no aid to me, myself-and might hinder me, in your rebellion."

     I saw my chance.  "Yeah!  And the sinfulness of my revenge might

even be balanced by the good I did in getting rid of you!"

     'Tis even so."  Her eyes were back to the nasty glitters again. 

"So it would seem that you must join me, or die."

     I felt my stomach drop down to the bottom of the shaft, but I set

my jaw and said, "Death.  Definitely death."  And I tried to sneak in

one more spell:

     "He took the Wine and blessed it, He blessed and broke the Bread

     "Enough!"  Suettay screamed.  "Silence him!"

     A hard hand backhanded me across the mouth.  I saw stars, and

wondered if I'd need a dentist or an orthodontist.

     "To the dungeons with them!"  Suettay ranted.  "The wench shall