A Calculated Magic

38

“These people,” said Boris Bronsky quietly, “isd not very pleasant.”

“Considering their background,” replied Jack, “that’s not particularly shocking. The Crouching One is an ancient demon God of Death and Destruction. Hasan al-Sabbah, the Old Man of the Mountain, is the immortal leader of a cult of assassins. And Loki is the evil trickster from Norse mythology. None of them qualify for good citizenship awards.”

The two of them were alone at the end of the refreshment table. Loki, backed by his frost giants, was examining Karsnov’s notes. Al-Sabbah and Nergal, standing in front of the Old Man’s throne, were discussing the pros and cons of dissolving enemies into powder. Cassandra paced the floor like a caged tiger. Patience was not one of her virtues. Roger Quinn, his face tinged green, had wandered off in search of a bathroom.

“I was thinking,” said the Russian, “dat if any of them buy plague formula, it will lead to a big disaster. Maybe for the whole human race. We should not let that happen.”

“We?” asked Jack. “What exactly are you proposing, Boris?”

“Yous and me join forces. Working as a team, we stop the others. And destroy the virus and the notes tonight.”

“I have certain responsibilities…,” began Jack, not wanting to step out of character.

“My government will pay your boss the money lost,” interjected Boris. “You godt responsibilities to your human race, too.”

Jack grinned. There was no arguing with the Russian. “My real boss would be glad to hear you say that.”

The Russian’s eyes widened immeasurably. “Your real boss?”

“We’re fighting on the same side for a change,” said Jack, feeling very James Bond-ish. “I’ve a surprise planned near midnight. So take plenty of time bidding. Stretch out the auction for as long as possible. Then, when I make my move for the vial, you grab the notes. In the confusion, destroy them. Okay?”

“I will follow your orders to the letter,” said Boris. “Dis is very exciting. And very dangerous, too.”

“All in a day’s work,” declared Jack, stoically. On his shoulder, Hugo shook with silent gales of laughter.

They returned to their chairs a few minutes later. Quickly, Jack informed Cassandra of his conversation with the Russian. “He evidently thinks I’m with the CIA or FBI,” said Jack. “I saw no reason to persuade him otherwise.”

“Good move,” said the Amazon, “Why confuse him with the truth.”

Frowning, Cassandra surveyed the room. “Did you notice that Roger Quinn is still missing? I wonder what’s keeping him?”

“Here he comes now,” muttered Hugo. “Over there, by the elevator. He’s unfolding a piece of paper.”

“Mr. Quinn,” called Hasan al-Sabbah from in front of his throne, “please be seated. We are about to continue the auction.”

“One second,” Roger said, and staring down at the document in his hands, began reading in a loud voice.

“O spirits of darkness, who are wicked and disobedient, hear my commands and obey. Let those who are named Nergal, Master of Destruction; Hasan al-Sabbah; Loki, the Sly Trickster; and any others present of lesser rank but supernatural origin, heed my words and obey. The Curse of the Chains binds you to me forever and aye. By the glorious and incomprehensible names of the true God and creator of all things, by the irresistible power of those same names, I curse thee into the bottom of the Bottomless Pit. There thou shall remain until the Day of Judgment unless thou heed my each and every command and do my will.”

“Oh, brother,” murmured Hugo in Jack’s ear as Quinn paused for a breath. “The Curse of the Chains. I haven’t heard that clinker in centuries. I wonder if he’s mastered the correct pronunciation of the holy names. That’s the section that separates the magicians from the apprentices.”

Jack quickly scanned the room. Loki, Hasan al-Sabbah, and Nergal appeared frozen in place. The Afreet hovered above the table with the plague vial, looking puzzled. As did Boris Bronsky. Cassandra, standing absolutely motionless, winked.

“Obey me now,” continued Roger, sweat dripping down his forehead, “in the mighty names of Adonai, Zebaoth, Amioram, Tetragrammaton, Anexhexeton, and Primematum. Obey me always in the names of Baralamensis, Baldachiensis, Paumachie, Apolorosedes, and Liachide. Obey me, now and forever, amen.”

No one moved. No one spoke. For an instant, time stopped. Reaching into his pocket, Roger pulled out a revolver. “Now, I’m in charge,” he declared, cheerfully.

“Not really,” said Loki, shaking his head. He applauded politely. “But you did recite that spell nicely.”

“An excellent job,” agreed Hasan al-Sabbah. “One rarely hears that many sacred names invoked with the proper accents. It must have taken many hours of study.”

“But… but,” stuttered Roger, sounding confused, “you’re bound by the Curse of the Chains. You can’t move or talk without my permission. I uttered the spell perfectly. It had to work. You’re my slaves.”

“These fools never learn,” said the Old Man of the Mountain. He clapped his hands. “Guards, take charge of this idiot before he accidentally does some real damage with that toy gun.”

Mentally, Jack groaned when three gigantic ghuls emerged from a sliding door in the wall. He had hoped Hasan employed cult members in his chambers. Cassandra could hold off a horde of ordinary humans for hours if necessary. She was no match for dozens of ghuls. Timing remained critical if they hoped to survive.

“Don’t kill him,” said Nergal, shaking its head in disgust. “Despite Roger’s faults, he normally performs his tasks adequately. He can’t help being greedy. Training a new assistant would be tiresome.”

“But why didn’t the spell work?” demanded Quinn, struggling helplessly in the arms of his captors. “The summoning spell I originally used to raise you from the outer darkness functioned perfectly. All the spells I recited summoning demons ran smoothly. What went wrong with the Curse of Chains?”

Supernaturals couldn’t resist a question, no matter who asked it. They loved to talk. It was part of their nature.

“The answer is obvious,” said Loki. “We supernaturals have been closely involved with the publishing industry since its beginnings. Didn’t you ever hear the phrase, ‘printers’ devil’? While we see nothing wrong with issuing books containing summoning spells, we are not foolish enough to permit any binding spells to be published intact. That would be suicidal. You pronounced the incantations perfectly, foolish mortal. However, the spell itself, as written, is gibberish. As are all magical charms and enchantments of that category available to the general public. Your attempted rebellion was doomed from the start.”

“Take him below,” commanded Hasan al-Sabbah, waving a hand in dismissal. “He can share the rock with the sphinx and Collins’s girlfriend. They will welcome the company.”

The ghuls, dragging a befuddled Roger Quinn, disappeared into the elevator “Now,” said the Old Man of the Mountain, “we can continue the auction in peace.”

Reaching over, Jack unzipped his bag completely, revealing the blue bottle within. He lifted it out and placed it on the floor between his and Cassandra’s chairs. The bag containing the camera and tape recorder he pushed off to the side. No one paid him any attention.

Casually, he peeked at his watch. It was exactly eleven, If the airlines could be trusted, his secret weapon was now in Las Vegas. In approximately thirty minutes, Hasan al-Sabbah was going to receive a highly unwelcome phone call. At that precise moment, Jack planned to steal the plague virus. And all hell would break loose.

It did, but not in the manner Jack had imagined.