Off to Be the Wizard (26 page)

“I am sure,” the Bishop said. “I’ve known Phillip for ten years. That’s a lot longer than I’ve known any of you.” The Bishop paused and looked at Gwen. “Actually, I’ve known you a little longer than that, haven’t I?”

She replied, “Something like that,” and actively avoided eye contact with anyone.

“Well, I’ve known Phillip a long time, and while I don’t like what you wizards do, I like Phillip. I trust Phillip. I know he’d never hurt another person, and he’d never take the chance of accidentally hurting another person, and if you, his apprentice, don’t understand that, then I have to wonder if I can have the same faith in you. Now, if you ask me, and I notice you haven’t, I’d say you take a good long look at that weasel Merlin up in Camelot. He can’t be trusted.”

Martin wasn’t surprised to hear Merlin/Jimmy’s name/names brought up, but he didn’t think much of it. Jimmy was capable of wrongdoing, but only small, silly wrongdoing. He was far too obvious a villain to try to get away with anything truly sinister. No, this was obviously the work of the last person you’d suspect, and that meant they had to investigate Phillip. Martin looked around the room for support, and found none. The Bishop was yelling at him. Gwen was glaring at him. Gary and Jeff were silently staring at the floor. Even the angry dog in the distance seemed to be growling louder.

“Listen to me,” Martin said. “I know that Phillip would never deliberately hurt another person, even if that person was trying to hurt him. It’s not in him. But he is human, Father. We wizards are only human, and it’s entirely possible that Phillip has made a mistake. I don’t think he has, but none of us can honestly say that we know he hasn’t, and if we don’t at least go and ask him, everyone in this room will always wonder, and that’s not fair to Phillip.”

In the long silence that followed, Martin noted that everyone in the room seemed to have gotten angrier, which he took as a sign that he had won the argument.

Chapter 24.

Although he had been argued into submission, Bishop Galbraith refused to take part in confronting Phillip, so the wizards set out for the shop on foot. They could have flown or teleported, but it was only a short walk, and none of them, even Martin, was looking forward to getting there. Gwen was in front, and to the outward observer would have appeared to be leading. In reality, she didn’t want to walk with the others, and was trying to put some distance between herself and them, which can be a form of leadership. They walked in terse silence. The only attempt at conversation did not go well.

Martin quickened his pace to catch up with Gwen, and in a hushed voice asked, in as non-accusatory a manner as he could, “So, why didn’t you tell anyone you were a wizard?”

She answered, “I figured anyone who really deserved to know could figure it out on their own.”

It wasn’t worded to be a specific criticism of Martin, but he took it as one, and he wasn’t wrong. “But Gwen, if you’re deliberately hiding something, you can’t be mad at me for not finding it. You have to give a guy some clue!”

Gwen stopped dead in her tracks, causing Martin to step out in front of her then stop awkwardly. Gwen looked at Martin’s dazzling reflective silver robe, the robe she made for him, then looked him in the eye and said, “Plastic sequins were invented in the 1960s.” Gary laughed. Gwen started walking again, faster and angrier than before. Martin watched as she left, and as Gary and Jeff walked past. He looked down at his robe, let out a heaving sigh and followed behind.

Finally, they reached Phillip’s shop. They entered, filing into the decoy storefront. Martin knew that they’d be unable to enter the next room, with the rune-covered drapes and the crystal, unless Phillip was in there already, so he was not surprised when he tried to push through the curtain and found it as immovable as a brick wall. Martin yelled Phillip’s name a few times. There was no sound. Gary attempted to call Phillip on the magic hand phone, and got no answer. Martin said he’d check to see if Phillip was at home.

He disappeared, then a few seconds later he reappeared, shaking his head. “No, not there. He’s gotta be upstairs.”

The four of them just stared at each other in impotent silence until Gwen rolled her eyes, looked at the ceiling and yelled, “Phillip, it’s Gwen! They know I’m a wizard!”

A moment passed, then they heard Phillip’s muffled voice say, “I’ll be right down.”

“Phillip knew?” Martin asked.

Gwen said, “He’s not an idiot.”

There was some crashing and banging from upstairs, then the sound of heavy, annoyed footsteps coming down the stairs. Finally, Phillip emerged through the curtains into the shop. He nodded to Gwen and said hello, then he turned to Martin and asked, “What tipped you off? It was the sequins, right?”

Gary laughed, and Martin turned on him. “You didn’t figure it out either.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t really care enough to try.”

Gwen asked Martin, “What’s your excuse?”

Martin turned back to Phillip. “No, it wasn’t the sequins. It was when she saved us by scaring off the thug who was threatening to torture us to death.”

Phillip looked at Gwen, who nodded.

“Yeah, I suppose that’d be a bit of a tip-off. How’d they get your staffs away from you?”

“They crept up and pummeled us from behind.” Jeff said.

Gary added, “We were a bit distracted by all the corpses.”

They went on to describe how Gwen had found the now defunct village of Rickard’s Bend, and brought in the other three while still trying to maintain her secret. They told Phillip about their many attempts to reach him and their arrival at Rickard’s Bend. They described in great detail the condition of the bodies they found. The stunted limbs. The lack of shoes.

Phillip shook his head slightly and muttered, “Hobbits.”

“Yes, clearly, Hobbits,” Gwen said.

Martin was surprised, since neither he nor Gary had mentioned this theory to her. Then he made a mental note that he needed to stop acting surprised when Gwen knew things.

By this time they had all moved into the crystal ball room, and were sitting around the table. Martin noted that the Commodore 64 was not in its usual spot on the secret shelf in front of Phillip’s seat, which meant Phillip was using it elsewhere, most likely upstairs.

Phillip ran his fingers through his hair and said, “Okay, so, this is awful. We have a wizard somewhere who tried to turn an entire village into Hobbits, killing everyone in the process. We’ll have to work together to deal with this. Any suggestions as to what we should do now?”

Gary, Jeff, and Martin looked at each other. Gwen looked at the table in front of her. Martin steeled himself and said, “I think the logical first step, Phillip, would be for you to tell us what you’re doing upstairs.”

After a predictable amount of shocked, angry stammering, Phillip downshifted into angry, offended yelling. “You can’t honestly think I would do something like this! I’d never dream of such a thing!”

“I told him you didn’t do it.” Gwen said.

“And I agreed,” Martin said, “But you’re clearly up to something, and a whole village is dead. Think about that, Phillip. You didn’t have to look at it like we did, so take a second to internalize it. An entire village of innocent people, killed in one stroke. And it was clearly done by a wizard who was trying to turn them into Hobbits! We wizards have to police each other because nobody else can do it. You’re the one who taught me that.”

“Oh, I taught you that, did I. Not surprising, since I taught you everything!” Phillip’s voice rose to a high, wounded whine. His eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. “Martin, I took you in! I’m the best friend you have! I’m your bloody mentor! Does it really seem likely that I’d be a mass murderer?”

“No, Phil, it seems highly unlikely. That’s why we have to consider it. You could say that you’re the last person I’d ever suspect!”

Phillip shook his head. “Oh, Martin, is that it? I seem too nice and too harmless, so I must be hiding some sinister secret, like we’re nothing but two-dimensional characters in some bad novel?”

“I genuinely hope not,” Martin said.

“Yeah, I bet. Look, kid, what I do upstairs is my business, and that’s just going to have to be good enough for you. Now get out of my shop.” Phillip rose and pointed at the door. Martin did not stand, nor did any of the others.

Martin spoke in a low, sad tone. “Phillip, I really am sorry. I don’t for a second believe that you would do this, but I’m not the only person who has noticed that you disappear upstairs and refuse to talk about what you’re doing up there.”

“I disappear into the bathroom and I don’t want to talk about what I do in there. Does that mean I’m doing something wrong in there, too?”

Martin kept his voice flat, but arched his eyebrows. “Do you really want to discuss your bathroom?”

Phillip sat down hard in his seat. He looked around the table. “If I kick you lot out of here, you’re just going to go to Jimmy, aren’t you?”

“We don’t want to,” Martin said.

Phillip sneered and shifted his focus to Gary, who shrugged and said, “Just show us what you’re up to, man. We won’t tell everyone. We’ll just take a peek, then we can get on with finding who did this.”

Jeff said, “We’ll be in and out. We won’t touch nothin’. We’ll be like a cool breeze, blowin’ through your attic.”

Phillip looked at Gwen, who was still looking at the table. He asked her, “What do you think?”

She lifted her gaze and looked him in the eye. “I think you should show us what you’ve been up to and be done with.”

Phillip shook his head. “You know what’s sad? I was almost ready to show you anyway.”

Phillip led them through the curtain and up the stairs. The steps were dark, rough-hewn, unfinished wood. The outer wall was unfinished stone, the inner wall was wood. The first five steps led to a landing where the staircase bent ninety degrees to the right. The first few steps, those that might be seen from the curtains, were the same as those before, but beyond that it was too dark to see. Phillip stopped, looked at Martin, sighed in an exasperated manner, then flipped a plastic light switch on the wall.

Once his eyes had adjusted, Martin could see that the remainder of the steps were a beautiful, long-grained hardwood that had been treated with some sort of finish which had made them glossy and turned them the color of honey. The outer wall was still stone, but the inner was slightly off-white plaster, with a subtle bumpy texture. Phillip continued up the stairs. The others followed. As their heads rose above the level of the floor, they were able to see the room they were entering. It took a moment to fully comprehend what they were seeing.

The entire upstairs was one large room. The floor was covered in the same beautifully finished hardwood as the stairs. Tasteful track lighting and a skylight illuminated clean, white plaster walls. A sofa made of chrome and white leather sat near a black leather lounge chair and matching footrest. Between them was a coffee table made of glass and white-washed concrete. The walls were decorated with a palm tree rendered in neon, and thin black frames supporting angular paintings of beautiful women with smooth white skin, thick black hair, and perfect bodies. There was also a stereo the size of a small kitchen appliance with speakers as tall as Martin, and a full sized arcade cabinet that said GORF. Phillip made a beeline for the corner, where a small glass and concrete dining table and chairs sat next to a built-in wet bar. Phillip pulled the cap out of a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink without offering one to anyone else.

Gary whistled and said, “I’m totally doing my cave up like this!”

Phillip said, “Well, be sure to let Martin know what you’re up to, or you might get accused of mass murder.”

Martin took no notice. He was preoccupied by what he saw beyond the seating area. A large roll-up door was built into the wall. In the corner there was a work table with the Commodore 64, modem, and tiny TV, displaying the file. In front of the door sat a nearly mint condition white Pontiac Fiero. Nearly mint because the tail lights were not fully assembled. A set of screwdrivers and a drinking glass with screws lying in the bottom told Martin exactly what Phillip had been doing when they demanded that he come downstairs.

Martin approached the Fiero. It was smaller than he remembered them, but then, he hadn’t seen one since he was a child. He slowly circled the car, drinking in all of its contours. He bent to look in the window like a teenager peering into the interior of a floor sample at a Ferrari dealership. It looked complete and pristine. Martin knew there were limits on what could be transported back in time. His flimsy kid-bed mattress was about the upper limit of what was possible. Clearly, Phillip had painstakingly disassembled his beloved car, transported the parts here piece by piece, and reassembled it with great care; more care than was probably taken when it was assembled in the first place.

Martin stood up and looked at Phillip, who was still behind the bar on the far end of the room. “This is amazing!” he said, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped!”

Phillip said, “That’s the point. I wanted to do it myself. There’s a certain pride in looking at something big and complex and knowing you did it without help.”

Even if Martin could argue with that, he wouldn’t have. A minute ago, seeing what was in this room had seemed like the most important thing in the world. He was willing to suffer any consequences to make it happen. Now he had seen what was here, and it was great, far better than anything he had hoped, and infinitely superior to what he’d feared. Now all that was left was to deal with the fallout and try to repair the damage. Looking at Phillip, and the faces of his friends, he saw how much damage was done. In that moment, Martin couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking just a few moments before.

Gary was sitting in the lounge chair. Gwen sat on the couch. Jeff was studying the GORF machine with great intensity. None of them were looking at Phillip.

Martin had taken the lead in making the mess. He’d have to take the lead in cleaning it up. He walked around the nose of the car and slowly approached the bar. Phillip watched him silently, holding the glass of whiskey in his hand. When Martin reached the bar, Phillip silently reached beneath the bar and pulled out another glass. He glanced at Martin and poured a second glass of Jack Daniels. He picked up the glass, looked Martin in the eye, then quickly downed it himself. He sneered at Martin as he slammed the empty glass down on the bar.

Martin said, “I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’re sorry we did this.”

“I know I am.” Phillip said.

“But, Phillip, you get it, right?” Martin continued. “I mean, I know you’re mad, and you’ve got good reason, but you see why we had to do this.”

“No. Honestly, Martin, I don’t. I don’t understand why you couldn’t take my word. All of you, I mean, okay, Martin’s only known me a little while, but I’ve known all of you for years! I thought we were all friends! But the first time someone kills a hundred or so people, you lot are the first to turn up at my door with pitchforks.”

Gwen turned on the couch to look at Phillip. “None of us wanted to believe it, Phillip, but you’re the only one we knew who was keeping a secret.”

Phillip smiled as he said, “Really? Gwen? I’m the only one you know who was keeping a secret?”