"Aye," said Nogiri, "and now they all run after us. Turn left at the next street."
A couple of arrows screeched past, but the zigzag course of a skater working up speed threw off the archers' aim.
Sounds of chase pursued the fugitives after they were out of sight of their pursuers. They skated up to the entrance to Klung's domain. As they entered, several of the magician's clients, waiting in the courtyard, cried out.
Abruptly Kerin stumbled on the irregularities of the rolled earth, pulling Nogiri down with him. Hastily, they arose, unfastening their overshoes.
"Why, Master Kerin!" exclaimed Wejo. "The learned doctor is with a client but will be out forthwith. We got the message from your hantu—"
"Tell him, unless he protect us instanter from all the villains of Salimor, he'll lose that which I bring him."
Klung appeared; in a few words Kerin explained their plight. Klung ordered away the woman who had been consulting him and the other waiting clients. As the clients jostled their way out the gate, the pursuers' clatter waxed.
A crowd of temple guards and royal guardsmen appeared at the gate. An officer pushed his way in shouting: "Doctor Klung, we demand—"
"Keep out!" shouted Klung. "Back, unless ye would be turned to toads!"
The officer nervously backed away. Klung shouted, gesticulated, and threw a handful of powder into the air. A wall of flame sprang up across the front of the grounds. With more words and gestures, Klung extended the flames clear around the house.
Through the flames, Kerin glimpsed a temple guard departing at a run. "Come in," said Klung. " 'Tis not a real fire, albeit hot enough, but an illusion created by a class of hantus that you call salamanders, in my service. Didst bring the secret?"
"Aye," said Kerin, hauling out the package of papers.
The magician glanced over the rows of ideographs. "It will take time to translate this; but it saith something about stroking an iron pin with a lodestone. It is the right paper, certes. Would we had real rag paper like this here."
"My conscience bothers me," said Kerin.
"My husband has a tender conscience, as others have sore joints or itching scalps," said Nogiri.
"Cherish him, my dear," said Klung. "Few enough have any conscience at all. What plagues you, Kerin?"
"They gave it me thinking me the true Rao of Mulvan, to convey to King Lajpat. So methinks it properly belongs to him."
"Hm!" said Klung. "Could I but get the new Sophi and that king bidding against each other. . . . But that's for the future."
"How came the succession?" asked Kerin.
Klung chuckled. "Recall you that Mulvanian whom Pwana presented to Sophi Vurkai? The Mulvani's potency spell proved all too effective. Vurkai commanded his thousand-odd wives to line up in the corridor outside his bedchamber, whilst he futtered them one by one. In his folly he tried to go through the entire harem at one sitting, if that be the right word. He gave each as long as it takes to soft-boil an egg ere calling for the next.
"When he mounted Number Seventy-Five, howsomever, his aging heart gave out. The woman shrieked; the flunkeys rushed in and hauled the Sophi off, but too late. I daresay he died happy. His nephew ascended the throne and, as is the custom, ordered all his brothers and halfbrothers slain."
"That's a beastly custom!" said Kerin.
"But had the third Dimbakan pursued it, Vurkai had not been alive to seize the throne out of the proper line of succession."
"Why does the new Sophi take Pwana's part now?"
"Dimbakan thinks that Pwana compassed his uncle's death on purpose to make him ruler, and he is grateful. It were not to Pwana's advantage to admit that the Mulvani's Spell of Inordinate Lust was a mere blunder with a man of Vurkai's years."
"How went the election for balimpawang?"
"Tied, nine to nine, curse it! We shall hold another—"
"Master Klung!" cried Wejo, putting his head in the door. "The Pawang Pwana has arrived, and the ring of fire dwindles."
"Curse of the purple pus!" cried Klung. "Come! It is my besetting weakness that when engrossed in talk I lose track of time."
Outside, Pwana stood amid the besiegers, incanting. Over the tops of the dwindling flames, the officer shouted: "In the name of His Majesty the Sophi, admit us!"
Klung made passes and uttered words, and the flames sprang up again.
"Surround the grounds!" came the voice of the officer, now hidden behind the wall of pseudofiame. Pwana's voice rose to a screech.
"Great Vurnu!" cried Klung. "Look at that!"
Over the fire loomed the upper parts of a herd of elephants. Astride the neck of each elephant sat a robed, hooded, bat-winged figure.
"Who are the winged mahouts?" asked Kerin.
"Fifth Plane demons. Pwana hath found a way to protect them from sunlight. Why thought not I of that? Come inside; the fire will hold them for a half-hour, but I cannot keep it going for ay despite Pwana's opposition. When the fire fails, the elephants—methinks from the Sophi's herdwill smash my house to bits unless I get you away. Ye would not wish to remain in any case, since Captain Huvraka hath filed a claim against you for the theft of his ship's boat, and the kinsmen of that guard you slew have sworn vengeance."
"That was self-defense!"
"No matter; they'll slay you anyway. Come!"
In Klung's oratory, the wizard opened the door to the cagelike apparatus, saying: "Wejo, fetch the sack with our visitors' effects. Kerin, pray enter with your lady!"
"What dost?" asked Nogiri.
"I send you back to Kerin's native land, with the help of some Fourth Plane entities I control. Then I shall invite those without to enter and search for you."
"That sounds risky," she said.
"Of course it is risky! But what choice have we?"
Kerin said: "You told me you had not yet adjusted the machine so it moved inanimate objects. Has that been corrected?"
"Aye; or so I believe. First I must cancel your protective spell, what is left of it. . . ." After a series of magical operations, Klung resumed: "Now, Kerin, hold Nogiri's hand in one of yours and grasp your bag with the other."
Klung slipped out of the cage, made adjustments, and moved a lever. The cage hummed; violet light played around the bars and wires. The scene faded, and Kerin felt as if a mighty wind were bearing him aloft.
"Darling!" he shouted. "Art with me?"
"Aye, love!" she called, as if from a distance, although Kerin still grasped her hand.
The windblown sensation went on and on. Kerin could see nothing but a blur, as if he were flying through clouds, some lighter and some darker.
In Kortoli City, in the Temple of Shumal, the Fediruni god of righteousness, and his consort Kawais, goddess of purity, the prophet Ikbar was working his sermon up to a climax: "Woe unto those who expose their integuments to the sight of other mortals! None but gods may see the persons of persons; to do otherwise is an abomination. The holy Shumal hath told me that, when he and's consort purpose to beget godlets, they doff not their robes but employ certain cunning openings to make such congress possible!"
Standing before the altar, the Reverend Ikbar waved his arms, so that the baggy sleeves of his long black robe flapped like the wings of a Fifth Plane demon. Long gloves covered the arms that his gestures exposed, and a veil hid all his face but the eyes.
Before him stood several hundred worshipers. Ikbar considered pews a decadent luxury. The congregation all wore hooded robes and were gloved and veiled like their prophet. Ikbar continued:
"Oft have I told you how, years agone, the divine pair appeared unto me on this material plane as I prayed in the temple. Oft have I, without success, besought them once more to manifest themselves before my virtuous worshipers in this very fane. Today I shall essay once more to prevail upon these incomparable deities to bestow upon us this boon."
Turning his back on the audience, he raised his arms and cried: "O divine Shumal, O ineffable Kawais, deign to show your holy faces here before your worshipers. Come! Come! Come!"
There was a flash of blue light, a sharp sound as of a small thunderclap, and a rush of displaced air, which blew the prophet's hood back from his head.
Standing between him and the altar appeared two persons. One was a young man of middling size, lean but well-built, with a curly brown beard. The other was a black-haired young woman with a skin of golden brown and slightly flat-faced, slant-eyed features. Both were completely naked, without so much as an ornament.
A gasp arose. Ikbar staggered back, crossing his arms as if to ward off a blow. "Great Shumal and Kawais!" he gasped. "What do ye?"
Kerin muttered: "Follow my lead, darling. I know who this fellow be." He raised his arms and, lowering his voice to an artificial bass, thundered:
"Thou art guilty of a monstrous error, perverse mortal! Thou hast distorted and misconstrued our teachings. These deem the body holy, to be covered only as the exigencies of climate and occupation require. Down on your faces, to beg our divine forgiveness!"
With a wail of terror and repentance, priest and congregation flopped down on the mosaics, Kerin took Nogiri's hand and led her swiftly through the masses of black-robed worshipers, stepping over and around the prostrate figures.
Outside, a fine rain fell from a leaden sky. Looking around, Kerin sighted a rank of horses, mules, and asses tethered to a row of hitching posts. Some were saddled; others stood in the shafts of gigs and carriages.
"This way!" said Kerin. "Run!"
Minutes later, a patrolman of the Kortolian constabulary goggled to see a horse galloping down the main avenue of Kortoli City. The peace officer put his whistle to his lips, because no pace above a trot was allowed in the streets. But then he stood with mouth open as he saw that the horse drew a gig, and that the gig was driven by a naked man, standing up and flicking the horse with a whip, while on the seat behind him sat an equally unclad woman.
While Kerin dried himself with a towel, Nogiri struggled into an unfamiliar dress, hastily borrowed from Kerin's sister-in-law Margalit. Kerin explained to his kin:
"Klung's spell brought us hither. But that final adjustment, to transport also our clothes and gear, is still not right. So all our possessions, including my money belt, and that jeweled sword, and some nicknacks I bought in Kuromon for gifts, remain in Kwatna." Wistfully he added: "I had saved a liberal sum from the money the Emperor gave me for the return journey, too; but it would be silly to try to go back to Salimor for it."
"We're so glad to see you," said Margalit, "that we should never have thought about homecoming presents. And you seem to have changed."
Kerin's eyebrows rose. "How?"
"You were such a shy fellow, so easily embarrassed. And here you come galloping up in the gig of the wine merchant Morcar, borrowed without his permission, and banging on our door without a stitch on, as if it were the most normal thing. Didst get the facts of the escapement?"
"Aye; but my drawings are in my bag at Klung's house. I suppose that sprite Adeliza hired to watch over me will be along when she wearies of her fairy lover."
"Adeliza will be wild," said Gytha, Kerin's other sister-in-law. "She might bring an action against Mistress Nogiri for filching her betrothed."
"We weren't—" began Kerin, but Jorian interrupted: "Hadn't you heard? She's wedded young Cenred, the village troublemaker. Eomer's the wild one."
Kerin grinned: "So hiring that sprite to haunt me was effort wasted?"
The practical Margalit said: "Hadn't we better get you some garments? The pair of you got soaked. And what if someone come in?''
Kerin knotted the towel around his loins. "One thing I need more than clothes right now is pen and paper, to redraw the diagrams of the great clock from memory. I can do it, but on conditions."
"Eh?" said Jorian. "My dear little brother, becoming a sharp haggler? What conditions?"
"That I be left alone without interruption whilst doing it; and that the family pay my tuition at Othomae University. I don't think I shall ever see my own money, left in Salimor, again. Ah, thankee, Margalit."
Taking the pen, ink bottle, and paper that his sisterin-law handed him, he headed for his bedroom.
About the Author
L. Sprague de Camp, who has over ninety-five books to his credit, writes in several fields: historicals, SF, fantasy, biography, and popularizations of science. But his favorite genre of literature is fantasy.
De Camp is a master of that rare animal
humorous fantasy.
As a young writer collaborating with the late Fletcher Pratt, he set forth the world-hopping adventures of Harold Shea and the delightfully zany
Tales from Gavagan's Bar
, a book which has remained in print for forty years.
In 1976, at the 34th World Science Fiction Convention, he received
The Gandalf—Grand Master Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Field of Fantasy.
The Science Fiction Writers of America presented him with their
Grand Master Nebula Award of 1978.
Alone, and with his wife and sometime collaborator Catherine, de Camp has been a welcome guest of honor at fan conventions throughout the United States.
The de Camps live in Texas. They have two sons: Lyman Sprague, and Gerard Beekman, both of whom are distinguished engineers.