RS01. The Reluctant Sorcerer (17 page)

Brewster pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I can promise to try.” “Huzzah!” cried Brian, shoving the bench back and leaping up into the air with joy. And in that moment, the moonlight faded in the early light of dawn and Brewster did a double take as a golden chamberpot came clattering down onto the stones of the battlement.

“Oh, bollocks!” said the pot in a disgusted tone.

As Warrick Morgannan watched impassively, the latest “volunteer” was dragged kicking and screaming toward the mysterious apparatus.

“Time machine,” mumbled Warrick under his breath.

Uh ... right. (The sorcerer nodded with satisfaction.) Word had gotten out and it was getting more and more difficult to find volunteers. No one knew exactly what happened to the people taken into the gleaming tower of Warrick the White, located in the center of downtown Pittsburgh, but none of them was ever seen to come out again. Every time Warrick’s white-caped attendants ventured out of the tower, the normally crowded streets of downtown Pittsburgh cleared in a flash.

The king had received a considerable number of protests and even several petitions demanding that he do something about this routine abduction of citizens off the streets, but there wasn’t much that Bonnie King Billy could do.

King William VII of Pittsburgh was the great-great-great-great-grandson of the original Pitt the Plunderer, but he had not inherited his great-great-great-great-grandfather’s brook no-nonsense disposition. He was basically a cheerful sort, altogether a rather pleasant individual who didn’t go for throwing his weight around with a lot of edicts and such, and basically pursued a laissez-faire method of monarchy. He genuinely loved his queen, Sandy, even though the marriage had been arranged by his father for political and business reasons, and he treated his subjects well, for which they had bestowed upon him the appellation of Bonnie King Billy, which he liked so much he even had it embroidered in red on the back of his black brocade dressing gown.

However, lately, the people’s affection for him had waned somewhat and several new monarchial appellations were starting to make the rounds, the least offensive of which was “Bullied King Billy.” He had become aware of this, primarily because the last petition he had received had been addressed to “His Not-So-Bloody-Royal-These-Days Majesty, Bonehead King Billy,” and the situation was causing him considerable distress. Which was why, after thinking about it long and hard, and having a serious discussion with Queen Sandy, he had decided to pay a call on Warrick and talk to him about it.

As the panic-stricken “volunteer” screamed and clawed at the floor while Wamck’s familiar, the two-foot-tall, yet extremely strong troll named Teddy, dragged him by his feet toward the mysterious- Warrick glanced up sharply and frowned.

the, uh, time machine, there came a loud knocking at the heavy wooden door.

“What is it?” Warrick called out, but he could not be heard over the screaming of the volunteer.

The knocking was repeated.

“Bloody hell,” said Warrick. “Teddy, see if you can quiet the subject down, will you?” “Yes, Master,” Teddy said obediently. He tucked the subject’s wriggling legs under one arm, then twisted around and fetched him a mighty clout on the head, which silenced his screaming. Unfortunately, it also fractured his skull and killed him instantly. “Ooops,” Teddy said, looking up at Warrick with an embarrassed grin.

Warrick looked up toward the ceiling and shook his head with weary resignation. The knocking was repeated.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” he said, striding angrily over to the door and opening the little, sliding wooden window that was set in it at eye level. “Did I not leave word that I was not to be disturbed?” he snapped at the attendant on the other side.

“Forgive me. Master Warrick,” said the worried-looking attendant, “but ‘tis the king.” “What about the king?” “He’s here. And he insists on seeing you. Master Warrick. He said ‘tis very important.” Warrick sighed. “Oh, very well. Tell him I’m on my way.” He slid shut the little wooden window and turned to Teddy. “Clean that up,” he said with a dismissive little wave of his hand toward the corpse.

“Sorry,” Teddy said sheepishly. Or, perhaps, trollishly.

Warrick opened the door and shut it once again behind him. He didn’t want anyone but Teddy to know what was inside his “sanctorum,” as he called his laboratory, and his servants knew better than to risk going in there. Most of them didn’t even want to risk a peek. It was a well-paying job, but not without its risks. Occasionally, servants disappeared without a trace, as well.

Warrick ascended the stairs to the second floor, which was actually the first floor in the sense that the long and handsome flight of marble steps leading from the street gave entrance to it and only large iron double doors at the back, a sort of delivery entrance, gave admittance to the ground floor. He crossed the wide expanse of the ornately tiled entrance hall, with its marble columns and white-on-white decorator scheme, and went through the doors into the reception hall, where Bonnie King Billy was pacing nervously back and forth by the huge fireplace with the heavily veined marble mantelpiece.

“Your Majesty,” said Warrick as he came in and gave the king a curt, perfunctory bow.

“Don’t you get tired of all this white?” Bonnie King Billy said, gesturing generally at the room. “ ‘Tis so bright it hurts the eyes.” “I suppose I have grown used to it. Your Majesty,” said Warrick.

Bonnie King Billy grunted. He was not certain quite how to proceed. He had not dressed formally for this occasion, for it was bad enough to have the king calling on the royal wizard rather than the royal wizard calling on the king, but Warrick Morgannan wasn’t just any royal wizard. He was the most powerful wizard in all the twenty-seven kingdoms, with a tower that rivaled the royal palace in luxury, if not in size, and a salary that only the tax base of a city the size and richness of Pittsburgh could support. Still, powerful or not, protocol was protocol, so Bonnie King Billy had left his formal crown and royal robes at home, choosing instead to come dressed in his hunting outfit, which consisted of riding breeches, a short jerkin and cloak, and a thin gold circlet that was his traveling crown. He never actually used this outfit for hunting, for he was a very urban king and not much of an outdoorsman, but he often wore it on shopping excursions with the queen and it looked pretty snappy. “See here, Warrick,” said the king, “we, uh, need to have a talk.” “Certainly, Your Majesty,” said Warrick. “What about?” “Well, ‘tis a somewhat awkward matter,” said the king, hesitating slightly. “I’ve, uh, been receiving some complaints.” “Complaints, Your Majesty?” said Warrick, raising his eyebrows.

“Aye,” said the king, “complaints. Petitions and the like. You know the sort of thing.” “Ah,” said Warrick, nonconunittally.

“Well... something must be done,” the king continued.

“About what. Your Majesty?” “Well... there have been, uh, certain disappearances.” “Disappearances, Your Majesty?” “Aye, disappearances. People being snatched off the street and suchlike. You know.” “Ah. I see.” “Well.. -as I’ve said, there have been complaints.” “Aye, Your Majesty. You said that.” “Umm. Well... something must be done.” “You said that, too. Your Majesty.” “I did?” “You did, sire.” “Umm. So I did. Well. What about it?” “What about what. Your Majesty?” “The disappearances, Warrick, the disappearances!” the king said irritably. “Something must be done!” Warrick merely raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I mean... well... you must understand my position,” the king said awkwardly. “I realize you have your work to do and all that, whatever it may be, but try to look at it from my point of view. I can’t have your people snatching citizens off the streets in broad daylight. ‘Tis damned awkward, you know.” “I see,” said Warrick.

“You do?” ,”I do, indeed. Your Majesty. However, I require subjects for... certain weighty purposes of thaumaturgical research. ‘Tis most important, sire. Most important, indeed. I am afraid I cannot do without them.” “Oh,” the king said. “I was afraid of that. I don’t suppose you could use some sort of substitute? Cats or something?” “Cats?” said Warrick, frowning. “I hadn’t thought of using cats.” “Well, wouldn’t they do?” Warrick pondered the question for a moment. “Perhaps, but it wouldn’t really be the same, sire. Besides, I rather like cats.” “Oh. Well, what about dogs?” “There are no dogs about the streets these days. Your Majesty,” said Warrick. “Your Majesty may recall his edict concerning dogs.” “Oh, that’s right,” the king said. “I banished dogs, didn’t I? Well, the streets were becoming damn near impassable for all their droppings. The queen ruined her favorite pair of slippers, you know.” “I recall the incident. Your Majesty. But as you see, I cannot very well use dogs.” “Hmmm,” said the king. “Well, ‘tis most unfortunate, most unfortunate, indeed. Still, something must be done.” “What about prisoners. Your Majesty?” said Warrick.

“Prisoners?” the king said.

“Aye, sire. If I could use prisoners for my subjects, there would be no need to seek for subjects in the streets.” “Hmmm, good point,” the king said. “Very good point, indeed. That could solve the entire problem. Very well, then, you may use prisoners.” “Then Your Majesty’s sheriff will have to make some more arrests,” said Warrick.

“Eh? Why’s that?” “Because I have already used up all the prisoners in the royal dungeons,” Warrick replied.

“You have? Well... dash it all, Warrick, that makes things very inconvenient. You might have asked me, you know.” “I did not wish to trouble Your Majesty with matters of so little import.” The king grunted. “Well... I appreciate that, Warrick, I truly do, but if you have already used up all the prisoners, then it might take a while to fill up the dungeons once again, you know.” “Perhaps if Your Majesty sent the royal sheriff to see me, we might be able to come up with a solution,” Warrick said. “A minor new edict or two might be devised, some stricter enforcement might be implemented, there’s really no need for you to trouble yourself about such things. Merely give the royal sheriff your approval and it will be seen to.” “And you think that would take care of it?” the king asked.

“Undoubtedly, sire. I am sure that it would solve the problem.” “Well.. .good,” the king said. “Very good, indeed. I am glad we had this little talk.” “Always happy to oblige Your Majesty,” said Warrick with a smile.

The king left, satisfied. However, he would not remain that way for long. His easygoing, laissez-faire method of monarchy was about to undergo considerable modification, which would make the royal sheriff very happy, for it would give him a great many new edicts to enforce, very strict edicts that Warrick would diplomatically suggest and that the royal sheriff would eagerly implement in the king’s name. Being even slightly late with revenues, spitting on the street, public drunkenness and lewd behavior, not having proper change for the tollgates, and a host of other things that most citizens of Pittsburgh had never thought twice about would suddenly become crimes punishable by immediate imprisonment and the dungeons would provide Warrick with a steady supply of subjects for his thaumaturgical research. And poor, bumbling King Billy would bear the brunt of the people’s resentment.

“There is, of course, another way,” said Warrick, looking up toward the ceiling. “A certain voice in the ether could supply me with the answer to the riddle of the so-called time machine.” Unfortunately, the narrator couldn’t really do that, because it would cause serious interference with the plot.

“Well, in that case, ‘poor, bumbling King Billy’s’ predicament would be the narrator’s responsibility and not mine,” said Warrick.

Nevertheless, it was Warrick who came up with the idea of instituting strict new edicts to fill the royal dungeons with prisoners he could use as his subjects.

“Perhaps,” said Warrick with a sly smile, “but ‘tis your plot, unless I am mistaken.” Back at the keep (and not a moment too soon), Brewster hadn’t slept a wink all night. He’d been on adrenaline overdrive, talking to Brian and trying to assimilate everything he’d learned. Suddenly, it was a brand-new ball game. In a brand-new ball park, so to speak. The trouble was, the rules were slightly different here. In this stadium, the runners didn’t steal third base, they waved their fingers at it and made it disappear. The bat boys were leprechauns, the team mascot was a unicorn, and the fireflies hovering over center field were actually fairies. (And having belabored that analogy to death, we should probably move on.) After Brian’s enchantment had kicked in again, Brewster had carried him downstairs to the kitchen of the keep-which, he’d decided, would be the next area in need of modernizing- and they talked until the sun came up. Brewster heated some water and made himself some tea from an herbal mixture Mick had given him. It tasted rather lemony and was about ten times more stimulating than coffee. It had the effect of keeping Brewster wide awake-very wide awake- and giving him a nervous energy that would have kept him up for the next forty-eight hours even if he wasn’t too wound up to sleep.

Brian had been a great deal easier to deal with as a handsome prince than as an ornate chamberpot, and not only because it felt a lot more natural to talk to a person than to an appliance. (Or was it a utensil? Anyway, you get the general idea.) As a chamberpot, Brian was somewhat caustic and sarcastic, not that Brewster could really blame him, and though his personality didn’t really change in any significant way, there was an edge to him that took some getting used to.

In fact, the whole idea of man turning into an object took some getting used to. Talking with him while he was in his enchanted form was positively surreal and a graphic reminder of the sort of world Brewster had wound up in. Though several weeks had passed, Brewster hadn’t really seen anything that would have led him to suspect he had been transported to another universe in some kind of parallel dimension. The peregrine bush, he realized belatedly, should have been his first clue, but he had merely assumed it was some rare plant, perhaps some sort of localized mutation, that had not survived into the modern age he came from.