A Calculated Magic

22

The insistent ringing of the telephone dragged Jack from slumberland. Groggily, he rolled over and stared at the clock. It was nearly ten in the morning. Flopping across the mattress, he grabbed the phone receiver.

“Whozzit?” he asked, barely able to speak.

“Jack, Jack?” came Merlin’s worried tones. “Are you in trouble?”

“Other than suffering from sleep deprivation?” retorted Jack, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. “I’m fine. At least, I’m surviving as best can be expected considering the circumstances,” His brain cleared rapidly. “Did you make those inquiries I asked about?”

“Yes,” said Merlin. “That’s the main reason I called. The situation’s exactly as you described. I’ve spoken to my Japanese friends and they are definitely interested. The wheels have been set in motion. The only problem is that their representative will not arrive until eleven in the evening.”

“That fits in fine with my timetable,” said Jack, mentally rubbing his hands together. He loved sneak attacks. Grinning, he relayed to the mage the day’s schedule. “I’ll phone if whatever happened last night postpones the auction. Otherwise, proceed as planned.”

“I’ll notify our associates as soon as I hang up,” said Merlin. There was no disguising the anxiety in his voice as he asked, “No luck finding Megan?”

“Not yet. But I’m scheduled to take a trip to Paradise at noon. The ravens will accompany me. Together, we’ll locate her. Don’t worry. She’s continually on my mind. Rescuing her is my first priority.”

“Sorry to be a pest,” said Merlin. “I realize you’re equally concerned about her safety. But Hasan al-Sabbah has such a nasty reputation. And Megan’s always been very special to me.”

“No need to apologize,” said Jack. “She’s special to me, too. Don’t worry. I’ll save her. Remember, I’m the Logical Magician.”

“Any luck dealing with the genie?” asked Merlin, changing the topic. “Have you discovered any frailty you can exploit?”

Two fireballs of black feathers bulleted into the bedroom, coming to rest on the headboard. “See,” said Hugo to Mongo, “I told you he was awake.”

“I heard him, too,” said the other bird. “My ears are the equal of yours. It merely occurred to me that, being on the telephone. Jack might like some privacy.”

“Nah,” said Hugo. “Jack’s not like that. Who’s on the phone, Johnnie?”

Jack groaned. Cassandra, he expected, was outside somewhere, exercising. Leaving him alone with the two blackbirds for company.

“It’s Merlin,” he answered. “He’s curious if we’ve found a method to deal with the Afreet.”

“No such luck,” said the raven. “He’s a major pain.”

“Hugo’s right,” said Jack, trying to regain control of the conversation. “I’ve had the opportunity to watch the genie in action several times now. He presents a real challenge. The creature displays the capacity to change nearly instantaneously from a mist to a solid. In a gaseous state, he’s incredibly quick, faster perhaps than even the ravens.”

“I protest,” interrupted Mongo. “No entity in the material world flies faster than us. We are lean, mean, flying machines.”

“Perhaps,” said Jack, trying to maintain two distinct conversations at the same time. “But it would be a close race.”

“He cannot be invulnerable,” declared Merlin. “No supernatural is without some flaw. Basic human nature demands imperfection in any creation, good or evil.”

“I agree,” said Jack. “The problem is that the Afreet’s vulnerable only to glass. His powers are neutralized by it. The one method of defeating him is to trap him in a bottle. Unfortunately, without Solomon’s signet, there’s no means of effectively sealing the container. Even using a glass stopper won’t work, because there’s a microthin layer of air between the two pieces. In his gaseous form, the genie could slide through that easy. There’s no bottle in the world that can hold him.”

“Too bad,” said Hugo, “they don’t make containers with openings on the outside but none on the inside.”

Jack’s brow knotted in concentration. “Say that again.”

“I said it’s too bad they don’t make…,” began Hugo.

“You have an idea?” asked Merlin.

“Perhaps,” said Jack. “Just perhaps. Manipulating the circumstances might take some effort, but I believe they could be arranged. The one thing going for us is that the Afreet’s not very bright. He obeys Hasan’s orders without question. Neither of them strike me as being mathematically oriented. I doubt that they would recognize the trap I’m contemplating.”

“Mathematics?” squawked Hugo. “You’re planning to use algebra to capture an Afreet?”

“Not algebra,” said Jack. “A subject a tad more complex,” Speaking directly into the receiver, he asked, “Is Fritz available? And Witch Hazel?”

“Both of them are here,” said the magician. “Like me, they hunger for news. And want to help.”

“Well, I’ve got a special object for them to construct,” said Jack. “It requires his building skills and her talent for magic. Together, I think they can make it happen. The big problem is whether or not they can complete the job in the next few hours. And transport the finished product to me before the auction tonight.”

“If they succeed,” said Merlin, “you will have it. And I am certain they will not fail.”

“Neither do I,” said Jack. “Put the dwarf on the phone. Describing what I want him to assemble is going to be difficult. And I’m due downstairs shortly for my trip to Paradise.”

When Cassandra entered the suite thirty minutes later, Jack, otherwise fully dressed, was pulling on his shoes. Munching on the last remnants of a room-service breakfast, he was humming the third movement from Scheherezade by Rimsky-Korsakov.

“You’re in remarkably fine spirits,” the Amazon remarked, “considering the odds we’re facing.”

Jack grinned. “Why shouldn’t I feel good? I’m about to experience the joys of Paradise.

“More significantly,” he continued, “I recalled an important lesson learned during our fight with Dietrich von Bern and his minions.”

“Which is?” prompted Cassandra, as Jack paused to swallow a gulp of Coke.

“In our contemporary world, old techniques no longer work against the forces of darkness. If monsters evolve, so must the method of combating them. We can’t use outmoded ideas to defeat modern menaces. Changing times require changing solutions. We’ll overwhelm the Old Man of the Mountain and his genie not with King Solomon’s ring or some other ancient relic, but by utilizing today’s science and technology. As long as we don’t forget that, we can’t fail.”

“Brave words, Johnnie,” said Mongo, gravely. “But talk is cheap. Are you sure you can back them up with solid results?”

“I’d better,” said Jack, rising to his feet. “If not, civilization is in big trouble. Not that we’ll be around to watch it collapse. I doubt if the Old Man of the Mountain grants second chances.”

“What do you want me to do while you’re visiting sin city?” asked Cassandra.

“Go out and buy me an inexpensive pocket camera and film,” said Jack. “I need a miniature tape recorder also. Afterward, come back to the room and wait for the arrival of a package from Merlin. He promised it would be delivered here this afternoon. It’s the key to our success tonight at the auction. Guard it carefully.”

“With my life,” said Cassandra solemnly.

Jack nodded. He wasn’t worried about anyone stealing his precious secret weapon. No one other than a mathematician would have any idea what it was. However, his instructions gave Cassandra a sense of purpose and kept her from being bored. A good general, he understood the importance of maintaining the morale of his troops. Even if his entire army consisted of a solitary Amazon and a pair of sarcastic blackbirds.

“You two ravens turn transparent,” he instructed, “and take your positions on my shoulders. Remember, I’m counting on you locating Megan in Paradise. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Failure isn’t part of our vocabulary, Johnnie,” said Mongo. “If Megan’s a prisoner in this place, we’ll find her. I promise.”

“We never fold under pressure,” said Hugo. The bird’s voice dropped an octave and took on an peculiar inflection. After a few seconds, Jack realized the raven was imitating Humphrey Bogart. Badly, with a Swedish accent. “After all, we’re blackbirds. We’re the stuff dreams are made of.”

Speechless, Jack shook his head in dismay. His mother was definitely letting the ravens watch too many classic detective films on TV.