A Wizard of the White Council (4 page)

A gaunt man stood nearby, leaning on a steel-headed cane. He wore scuffed jeans and a ragged army camouflage jacket. A thick mane of gray-brown hair encircled his head, mixing with his bushy beard. The beard almost hid a scar running down his face, and dark eyes gleamed beneath his bristling eyebrows. 

For a moment Ally was sure she had seen him someplace before. 

“I don’t have any money,” said Ally.

The man coughed out a laugh. “Money? I don’t want money.”

“I don’t want to buy you supper, either.” 

The man gestured with his cane. “Actually, I just want to sit.”

Ally blinked. “Oh…um, sure. Feel free.” 

The man settled besides her. “Damn me, but it’s good to get off that leg.” 

“You could have just sat,” said Ally. 

The man smiled. “It’s not polite. At least, not where I come from. And if an old corpse like me sits next to a beautiful young woman, well, I’m liable to get arrested.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Ally.

“Why is that?” said the man.

Ally grinned. “Because if you tried anything, you’d have to trade in that cane for a wheelchair.”

The man cackled. “That I would. Tae kwon do, I assume. Or karate?”

Ally blinked. “How did you know?”

The man tapped his cane against the pavement. “Way you move. You can see it, if you know what to look for.”

Ally frowned. “Do I know you? I could almost swear we’ve met before.” 

He gave her a sad smile. “Do you remember me?”

Ally thought about it. “No. I don’t think I do.”

“Then we’ve never met before,” said the man. “You can call me Regent, if you want.” 

“Regent. Well, Mr. Regent, you can call me Ally.”

Regent nodded. “Miss Ally, then. You did good, telling that Gracchan bastard to go to hell.” 

Ally closed her backpack. “You saw that?” Regent nodded. “You were following me?”

Regent spread his hands, cane tucked between his knees. “I was following that little shit. Let me tell you something. The Gracchan Party’s a sham and Wycliffe’s a monster.”

Ally swallowed. “I’ve…heard things to that effect.”

Regent scowled. “They’re all true. Wycliffe is a murderer and a criminal of the worst sort. And he does business with worse people, people who make him look a mild-mannered nun. Let me give you some advice. Stay far, far away from anything that has to do with him or the Gracchan Party.” 

Ally bit her lip. “I’ll…do that.” The half-mad intensity in his eyes frightened her. “I have to go.”

Regent looked at the street. “But the bus isn’t here yet.”

“I’ll walk,” said Ally. She really wanted to get to her dorm room and shut the door. “Good-bye, Mr. Regent.”

She hurried down the sidewalk. 

###

Kyle Allard slid out of the coffeehouse’s doorway, his eyes on the young red-headed woman. He walked to the bench and sat besides Regent. “So. How did it go?”

Regent snorted. “What do you think?”

Allard craned his neck, watching the young woman as she crossed the street. “What do I think? Why didn’t you ever tell me that she was so hot?”

Regent gave him a flat look.

“I’m serious,” said Allard. “My God, Regent. She has a superb ass. You sure were right when you said she was special.” He winked. “And those legs. I wish to God she had been wearing shorts.” He grinned. “Or nothing at all…”  

“Allard,” said Regent.

“Yeah?” 

“Shut up.” 

Allard swallowed. They sat in silence for a while, watching the traffic roar up and down the street.

“She didn’t remember me,” said Regent, adjusting his grip on the cane. 

Allard frowned. “What, you’ve met before?” 

Regent nodded. “Once, long ago, when she was still a child. I’m not surprised. We were both under a great deal of stress at the time.” 

A pair of young women in tank tops and shorts strolled past, cigarettes in hand. Allard turned himself around. “Hey!”

The young women gave him amused glances. “What the hell do you want?”

“Don’t smoke,” said Allard. 

“Are you the Surgeon General or something?”

“I’m serious,” said Allard. “Those things…those things are extremely bad for you.”

He knew that firsthand.

“Everybody dies,” said one of the women, walking way.

“Not everybody,” said Allard. “Sometimes you’ll wish you were dead.” They ignored him. Allard sighed, guilt flooding through him. “I am such scum.”

Regent cackled. 

“What the hell’s so funny?” 

“Son, you’re an idiot.” Regent tapped his cane for emphasis. “But your heart’s in the right place. Usually.”

“So this Ally Wester doesn’t remember you,” said Allard, wanting to change the subject. “Good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. It’s damned strange, Allard. Alastarius Prophesied about Lithon. It’s Lithon that Marugon wants dead. Yet…there’s something special about Ally.”

Allard grinned. “I’ll say.” Regent glared. “Sorry, sorry.”

Regent’s hands clenched his cane’s handle. “Damned if I know what it is, son. But there’s something around her…like a fire trying to explode. But it’s locked away within her. Maybe that’s part of her memory loss.” He rapped his cane’s tip against the concrete. “Goddamn it, Allard. I don’t understand.”

Allard lowered his voice. “Do you think Marugon is looking for her?” He swallowed. “After the incident with her door room and the…changelings.” The memory of chasing the ghastly changeling through the campus chilled him. And the guilt. The changelings only existed because of his mistakes.

“I still think that was a very unlucky coincidence,” said Regent. “If Marugon knew she and Lithon lived, he wouldn’t send a changeling to kill her. He’d send a winged one. Or that old demon Goth-Mar-Dan. Or Marugon would come himself.” He shook his head. “It’s damned lucky we deleted her records when we did, though they’ve probably been restored by now. And damned lucky I was able to confuse that changeling.”

Allard remembered Regent standing tall and strong beneath the dormitory, his cane lifted high, white light flaring around him. The changeling had cowered, terror in its red eyes, and fled. “I don’t think you told me the truth completely.”

Regent lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I think Marugon ruined you, not Wycliffe,” said Allard, his voice quiet. “I think you have some white magic. I think you’re from Marugon’s world, not from Earth.” He winced and waited for the explosion.

Regent laughed. The older man reached out and tapped Allard’s temple. “You know, son, you’re an idiot, I’ve always said that, but sometimes, just sometimes…you amaze me. You’re right. I’m not from Earth. But I can’t tell you anything more than that.”

Allard nodded. “For my own safety.”

“Damn straight,” said Regent. “So. See if you can amaze me again. What do you think we should do now?” 

“I don’t know.”

Regent grunted. “Didn’t think so. We keep her safe, son, that’s what we do. We keep her and Lithon safe. And if Marugon is looking for her, we make sure he doesn’t find her.”

Allard grinned. “Guardian angels. We should call ourselves guardian angels.”

Regent snorted and climbed to his feet. “Don’t make me hit you.” 

Chapter 4 - A Demon In A Van

Anno Domini 2012

Arran stood on the corner and watched the traffic, the leg he had broken in the Desert of Scorpions aching. 

Two massive black roads, with eight lanes each, crossed before him. More of the glowing lights hung from posts over the road, cycling through red, yellow, and green. The flow of jeeps had increased as the sun had climbed higher in the sky, until a never-ending river of multi-colored jeeps sped past him. Did every last peasant on this world own a jeep? 

Across the street stood a small building beneath an enormous round sign. Rows of blocky metal racks waited in the building’s courtyard. Arran watched as jeeps pulled up to the racks. The drivers climbed out, detached a hose from the racks, and plugged it into the sides of their jeeps. Perhaps this place sold the fire water needed to power the jeeps? 

A red jeep shot past, music blaring from its back seat. He found the music of Earth bizarre, filled with screaming voices and thundering drums and stranger noises. And he had seen stranger things yet in his few hours walking.

But he had yet to see anyone carrying a gun. 

A stone bench stood on the corner, beneath a blue sign marked with odd symbols. Arran paced to the bench, sat down, and tried to think. Where had Lord Marugon gotten the guns? Arran had known the guns came from Earth, but had never given it any more thought. Perhaps the rulers of the United States had sold Marugon his guns, or perhaps the local nobility of Cicero and Chicago. But that didn’t make any sense. Plainly the people of Chicago had a taboo against carrying weapons in public, or perhaps the rulers had forbidden the people from purchasing guns. But if that was true, why had they sold guns to Marugon? Or maybe some local merchants had sold guns to Marugon, without the permission of the rulers of the United States. 

And just how was he supposed to find Alastarius? 

Perhaps Arran should hunt down these gun-merchants, whoever they were, and kill them. They had sold Marugon guns. They had caused horror and torment and carnage on his world. They deserved death.

No. Arran could do nothing yet. This world, this city, was a mystery to him. He did not know enough of its customs to make his way. Arran needed a guide. 

As he thought, a pair of young women stopped near his bench. Like many of the other women he had seen, they wore clothes that left their arms and most of their legs bare. They did not seem so different from the young women that had once populated the royal court of Carlisan. Except the women of Carlisan had worn more clothing, of course. An old man wearing a striped shirt stood near the women, followed by a boy in a red shirt and trousers of blue material. What were they waiting for?

A large, boxy jeep pulled up to the bench, smoke belching from a pipe on its roof. It looked large enough to hold forty or fifty people. A pair of doors on the side of the jeep opened with a loud hiss. The people piled inside, putting coins into a machine near the drivers’ seat. The boy glanced at the bus, shrugged, and sat beside Arran on the bench. He produced a curious rectangle of glass and metal and began to press it, images flickering over the glass. The boxy jeep’s door hissed shut and it roared away with a cloud of smoke. Arran watched it go, intrigued. 

He turned his head. “Boy. My pardon, but could I ask a question of you?”

The boy glanced up from his glass rectangle. “Yeah, sure.” He looked about eleven or twelve, sunburned with blue eyes. “Dude, nice cape. Are you supposed to be Batman or something?”

Arran glanced at his cloak. It had acquired tears, threadbare patches, and even quite a few bullet holes. “It has seen better days, I’ll warrant.” 

“It’s only September 29th. Halloween’s not for another month.” 

“What is Halloween?” said Arran. 

The boy gave him a strange look. “You an immigrant or something?”

“Yes,” said Arran. “I am.”

“From where?”

Arran thought it over. “Iraq.”

“You don’t look Iraqi. There’s an Iraqi kid in my class, Abdul or something like that, and you don’t look like him.” 

“My family is from an obscure region of Iraq,” said Arran. This was not going well. “But I am new to Chicago. And I would like to ask you some questions, since I am unfamiliar with this city.”

The boy nodded. “Okay. It’s not like I have anything better to do. The stupid bus is late, again.” 

“That jeep that pulled up to the curb a few minutes ago,” said Arran. “What was that?”

The boy scowled. “Jeep? I didn’t see any jeep.”

Arran tried to explain. “That large box-shaped jeep. The doors opened, people put coins into a machine, and then the jeep drove away.”

“Oh! That’s not a jeep. You must really be from a foreign country if you didn’t know that. That was the bus.”

“Bus.” Arran nodded. “What is a bus?”

“It’s…you know, the bus. You get on, pay two dollars, and then ride the bus until you get where you want to go. Sometimes you have to get off and change buses. It’s a real pain. I wish was old enough to drive.” 

Arran thought this over. “Could you take me on a tour of this city, this Chicago?”

The boy rolled his eyes and looked back at his glass rectangle. “Dude, I got better things to do with my time than to take a smelly old guy on a tour.”

Arran dug in his pocket. “Wait.” He pulled out one of the dollars that the drunken man had given him. “In exchange for this dollar, will you show me the customs of the buses?”

The boy’s eyes got wide. “You’ll give me fifty dollars to show you around on the buses?” 

“No, it’s just one dollar.” 

The boy snatched the dollar from Arran’s hand. “Right. Sure. Okay, mister, you got a deal. If I went home I’d just have to mow the lawn. I’ll show you how to use the buses. But you better not be a kidnapper or a pervert or something like that. If you try anything I’ll kick you in the balls until they burst.” 

“That sounds unpleasant.” Arran spread his hands. “I just want to find my way around the city.” If he could learn to use the buses, they would be an invaluable aid to him. “What’s your name?”

The boy thought about it. “You can call me Robert.”

Arran nodded. “Arran Belphon, at your service.” 

“Okay, Mr. Belphon.” Robert scratched his arm. “Stupid mosquitoes. We’ll wait for the bus. We might have to stand, since it’s Saturday and everyone’s going shopping.”

“Saturday?” said Arran. “What’s that?”

“You know. Saturday. I get off school and my parents get off work.” 

“A day of rest, then,” said Arran. Robert had to be the son of a noble or a scholar. No one else could afford to attend a university. 

“So where do you want to go?” said Robert. “Are you visiting relatives here or something?”

“No,” said Arran. “I’m looking for two people. An old man named Alastarius and a boy named Lithon Scepteris. Lithon would be two or three years older than you, I think.”

Robert shrugged. “Never met either of them. Are they friends of yours?”

“No.” Arran stared into the street and watched the jeeps drive back and forth. “Alastarius was a…a friend of woman I knew in my homeland. She told me to find him before she died.”

“Was she sick?”

Arran shook his head. “No. She was killed. I saw it happen.”

Robert’s eyes got wide. “Wow, Mr. Belphon. That sucks.” 

“Indeed.” Arran closed his eyes and thought of everything that had happened since Marugon had returned from Earth. 

They sat in silence.

Robert jumped to his feet and craned his neck. “The bus is coming. So where do you want to go, Mr. Belphon?”

“Just show me around the city.”

Robert grinned. “It’s a big city. That might take a while.”

A bus stopped at the intersection. “Then show me the important places. The market square, the residences of the lords, places like that.” Perhaps he would find Marugon's gun-merchants there.

“I think we’ll go downtown, then,” said Robert. “We’ll take the bus, and then switch to the EL.”

“The EL?”

“Here.” Robert handed him eight small coins. Arran gave the coins a dubious glance. They did not look like real silver. “Since you gave me fifty dollars, I suppose I can pay for your bus fare. Put those coins in the machine. The driver will give you a ticket. Then we’ll go find a seat, if there’s one free.”

The bus ground to a stop before the bench, and the doors hissed open. Robert bounded up the steps and put his coins in the machine. The driver, a large black-skinned woman, handed him a small piece of paper. Arran followed Robert up and put his coins into the machine.

The driver gave him a dubious look. “You can’t be taking those big swords on the bus.”

“My swords?” said Arran. “Why not?” He was relieved he had hidden his guns.

“They’re just painted plastic,” said Robert, leaning back. “My Dad's taking them to school with me so we can use them for the play.”

“All right.” The driver pushed a pedal on the floor, and the bus lurched into motion. Arran grabbed at a support pole for balance. “But you cause any trouble, I’ll be calling the cops on your sorry ass faster than you can blink.” 

Robert led Arran through the crowded bus. No one spared them a glance. Robert claimed an empty seat, and Arran sat beside him. 

“Charming woman,” said Arran. The bus’s vibrations made him feel queasy. “And I’m not your father.”

“Like, duh,” said Robert. “What was I supposed to tell her? That you’re some crazy guy I met? She’d probably call the cops.”

“The cops?” said Arran.

“Yeah, the cops. You know, the police.”

Arran nodded. “You mean the city guard. So we are going to…Down Town, you said? Where is Down Town?”

Robert laughed. “No, downtown. The center of the city. There’s a lot of cool big buildings there and stuff. Maybe we’ll go to the Willis Tower. I think it’s open today. Yeah…then you can see how big the city is for yourself.”

“How long will it take for us to reach downtown?” said Arran.

“About half an hour, I think.”

Arran blinked. “Half an hour. In this vehicle?” He felt his stomach twitch. “Just how big is Chicago?”

Robert grinned. “You’ll see.” 

###

“Astonishing,” said Arran, watching the elevated train shoot away. “I have never traveled that fast in my life.”

Robert laughed. “Airplanes are faster. This way.” He led Arran across the crowded train platform and down a broad set of stairs to the street below. 

“An airplane?” said Arran. “What is that?”

“You know, an airplane? Wait. You probably don’t. It flies in the air from place to place.”

Arran blinked. “You mean there are machines that can fly?” He could not fathom such a thing. 

Robert laughed. “Yeah. I’ve been on one. My parents took me to Disney World when I was nine.” He seemed to find all these marvels commonplace.

Arran frowned. “Disney World? Did…you travel through the Tower?”

“What Tower?”

“The Tower of Endless Worlds,” said Arran. “Is that how you reached this world of Disney?” 

“No, we took a plane. Disney World’s in Florida. That’s way south of here. I’ve never heard of this Tower of Infinite Planets, or whatever you said.” 

Perhaps most of the people of Earth did not know about the Tower. After all, the door had vanished as soon as Arran had stepped through it. Perhaps a few merchants had discovered the Tower and used that opportunity to sell guns to Marugon.

“Mr. Belphon, you okay?” 

Arran nodded. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Robert grinned. “Well, if you like towers, wait until you see this close-up. Remember those things you thought were mountains?”

“Yes.” He had glimpsed them through the window of the marvelous vehicle Robert had called an elevated train. They looked like strange, angular mountains. “So what about them? Are they truly mountains?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Jeeps buzzed up and down the street, while men and women on foot hurried along the sidewalk. Almost all the people wore dark clothes, the fabrics gray or black. The women wore dresses with jackets, though the skirts still seemed high to Arran. 

“So these mountains,” said Arran. “They are the strangest mountains I have seen.”

Robert laughed. “They’re not mountains, Mr. Belphon. They’re towers. You know, buildings.”

That was astonishing. “Buildings?”

“Yup,” said Robert. They turned a corner. “Look at the Chicago skyline for yourself.”

Arran froze. “By all the gods that ever were.”

Dozens of huge towers stood clustered in the heart of the Chicago. Some were brown, some gray, others a gleaming black. They were not as large as the Tower of Endless Worlds, of course, but forces unknown had reared that Tower. “Men built these things?” 

“Yup.” Robert’s laughter redoubled. “Mr. Belphon, you’d better close your mouth. A bug’s going to fly in there if you don’t.” 

Arran shook his head. “What are these towers used for?”

“Business, I guess.” Robert shrugged. “They’re called skyscrapers.” 

“I can see why. You mean merchants’ guilds?” 

“Maybe.” He pointed at the biggest of the towers, a colossal black building crowned with two white spires. “That’s the Willis Tower. It used to be the headquarters of Sears, a place that sells clothes and drills and stuff. But now my dad says the Japanese own that building.” 

“If you say so.” Arran stared up at the great black tower. “Do you know how many people live in Chicago?” 

Robert grinned. “Say. If you want to see how big Chicago really is, then come with me.” He crossed the street and headed for the Willis Tower, Arran following. Robert steered his way through the crowds with deft skill. They passed a number of shops, their front windows stuffed with all manner of exotic merchandise. Food smells filled the air, and Arran's stomach grumbled. He would stop and have some jerky after Robert showed him the Willis Tower.

They soon reached the front doors of skyscraper, a massive edifice of polished glass and gleaming steel. Robert led him into a front gallery, polished stone gleaming beneath his shoes. They stood in line for some time, and Robert paid some money to a clerk at a counter.