A Calculated Magic

29

“Tonight,” declared the Crouching One, “the world is mine.”

“Aren’t you a tad premature in reaching that conclusion?” asked Roger. He peered over the top of the novel he was reading to stare at the pacing demigod. For the past two hours, the Lord of the Lions had done nothing but march to and fro in their suite, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the night’s events. His constant gloating was driving Roger crazy. “I recall you saying almost the exact same words the night of von Bern’s aborted human sacrifices.”

“A God learns from his mistakes,” answered the Lord of the Lions. “Last month, that thrice-damned Logical Magician interfered with my schemes. I seriously underestimated Collins’s abilities. However, al-Sabbah has successfully neutralized our worst enemy. Without him present, my plans should proceed like clockwork. There is nothing anyone can do to stop me.”

Roger smothered a smile. The demigod was completely unaware of his own plans. Tonight, it was going to receive an unexpected jolt. As were Hasan al-Sabbah and any other supernatural beings present. Nor was Roger convinced that Jack Collins and his allies were not nearby. The mathematical magician had displayed an astonishing talent for turning up at the right place at the right time. As before, the Crouching One was underestimating Collins’s abilities.

“What about the representatives from the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction?” he asked. “And Loki and his frost giants?”

“Annoyances, nothing more,” said the Crouching One, dismissing his competition with a wave of a hand. Blue sparks flickered from his fingertips. “I have a score to settle with the Brotherhood. They rescued Karsnov using my information, but afterward they refused to deal directly with me. Instead, they went to the Old Man of the Mountain. Their mistake shall cost them dearly.”

The demigod laughed, an unnerving sound. “As to Loki, I know him from olden days. He is still the same sniveling coward, hiding behind brainless henchmen. I have nothing but contempt for the Sly One. He is a worm. If he stumbles into my path, I will crush him beneath my heel.”

Roger placed his book on an end table. Like most murder mysteries, he found it too contrived for his tastes. Normally, he read computer manuals for relaxation. But he had been unable to find one in the resort’s newsstand.

“Hasan al-Sabbah won’t be pleased if the auction flops,” he remarked. “The Old Man of the Mountain is counting on generating a fortune to pay off his bet. I gather a representative of his major creditor flew in specifically to observe the proceedings.”

“Then he wasted a trip,” said the Crouching One. “The plague virus will be mine. At the price I set.”

“Why do you want the stuff anyway?” asked Roger. It was rare that the demigod was this talkative. Inadvertently, it might reveal some important information. Roger understood the importance of taking advantage of the moment. “How can a plague virus reestablish your power?”

“The greatest power in the world, my befuddled human servant,” said the Crouching One, “is fear. Though the last of my worshipers died thousands of years ago, the same terrors that frightened them continue to haunt mortals today. I ruled ancient Babylon as the God of Death and Destruction. Plague served as my loyal servant, chastising those who disobeyed my commands. A small amount of pain, properly applied, worked wonders. What I accomplished then I can do again, once I am equipped with the proper tools.”

“But people won’t worship a disease,” protested Roger.

“No,” said the Crouching One, “but they will bow down to the one who controls that disease. They will worship me or perish. Do not mistake cynicism for intelligence, sophistication for knowledge. Civilization is a thin shell, with barbarism lurking close beneath the surface. The wars raging right now in Africa and Eastern Europe demonstrate how easily mankind reverts to savagery.”

The Lord of the Lions chuckled. “To use your own terminology, I am an expert at pushing the right buttons. Using the plague virus selectively, I will undermine the basic tenets of your society. Darkness will descend upon the Earth. And as darkness engulfs the world, I shall emerge once again as the supreme master of everlasting night. Nergal, Lord of Death, will reign supreme.”

“Very dramatic,” said Roger, shaken more than he cared to admit, “But it all hinges on you obtaining the anthrax germs.”

Blue sparks crackled like fireworks over the Crouching One’s forehead. “In a few hours, the Old Man of the Mountain will discover my will is not easily thwarted. He will deliver the plague virus to me, or suffer the consequences.”

The demigod’s fingers curled like claws. Sparks leapt from one digit to another. Remembering the deadly spots on his elbow, Roger shivered. He muttered a silent prayer to the printout in his pocket. If it didn’t work tonight, he was doomed. And from the sound of the Crouching One’s threats, the entire world was doomed with him.