A Logical Magician

36

“What do you mean, I’m not going?” demanded Simon angrily. The changeling’s face was a brilliant shade of purple, and he appeared ready to explode. “Why not?”

“I just finished explaining that, Simon,” said Jack apologetically.

He had put off this confrontation as long as possible, but now he had run out of time and destinations. It was time for the final confrontation between good and evil, between Jack and his friends and Dietrich von Bern and the forces of darkness. But Simon could not participate.

“Though you’re oriented towards the light, you are still partially a creation of chaos,” said Jack. “All faeries are. It’s the mischievous, trickster part of you. There’s no changing that. As you’ve said many times, it’s built into your basic character. YOU can’t alter it. And, like it or not, that’s the reason you can’t come with us.”

“You mean you don’t trust me?” asked Simon, the purple changing to blue. “Just because I’m chaos-born.”

“Of course not,” said Jack, feeling exasperated. Arguing logic with supernaturals was like trying to build sand castles with a thimble. It was possible, but barely so. “Trust has nothing to do with it.

“I selected my weapons very carefully. I dared not use anything that might harm Megan or her father. Everything in the backpacks I’ve prepared should cause maximum damage against the servants of the dark, the followers of chaos. But, that’s the problem. There’s no way I can protect you from their effect. If you accompany us into the tunnels, the inventions I use to destroy the Border Redcaps will have the same effect on you.”

Jack put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I value you too much, Simon, to be the one who murders you.” He grinned, breaking the solemnity of the moment. “Even if sometimes you deserve it.”

“All right,” grumbled the changeling, resuming his normal shading. Several people in the Field Museum who had been watching his color changes from a safe distance shook their heads in disappointment and wandered off. Jack suspected the onlookers thought that his party consisted of visiting aliens from space. Which, considering Simon’s various facial hues and Fritz Grondark’s size, didn’t seem far off the mark.

“Besides,” said Jack, “if we don’t succeed, at least you and Witch Hazel can continue the fight. I left a notebook filled with my deductions back at the trailer camp. If you take it to a major science fiction convention, I’m sure you can recruit a new champion. Several of them, probably, if Hazel performs a bit of real magic as a convincer. Just don’t show the papers to any editor there. They’re much too practical to believe in faeries and trolls and ancient gods returned to life.”

“Enough chattering,” said Cassandra impatiently. “It’s time we got started. Nighttime isn’t that far off. I’ll bet von Bern is practicing lighting bonfires with his Zippo while we speak.”

“The tunnel entrance is located in that small glade of trees by the bandshell,” said Jack, pointing across Lake Shore Drive. “According to the book describing the system that I found at the library, there’s a metal grating covering the passage leading down. We’ll have to move it before we can descend to the underground railway.”

Grunting, Fritz Grondark effortlessly hauled two backpacks filled with supplies onto his massive shoulders. He patted the handle of his monkey wrench with one huge hand. “I’m ready. No more talking. Let’s do some serious troll-busting.”

“Agreed,” said Cassandra. She twirled her wooden staff about in a semicircle. “I’m itching for a nice squabble.”

Jack shook his head. He was the only sane one of the bunch. Though, considering he was about to challenge a hundred or more supernatural villains with a hodgepodge of scientific knick-knacks, he didn’t feel particularly stable himself.

Around his waist he wore the battery power pack stolen from the photo lab. It was connected by wires to the black rectangular tube from the chemistry department. Along with the items he had purchased that morning from a local electronics shop and now packed in the bags on Fritz’s back, it was all he had to stop the human sacrifice scheduled to take place in a few hours. Hard, cold logic told him that he had made the right choices. Quite illogically, he prayed that he was correct.

For the dozenth time, he wished he had been able to contact Megan in the dream world. But, as had been the case two nights ago, he had been unable to locate her in his sleep. Only Hazel’s reassurances had kept him from assuming the worst. The dead obviously didn’t dream. The witch swore that the presence of the Great Beast so near made psychic communication impossible, and that Megan was still safe. Jack could only hope Hazel was right. He would find out the truth soon enough.

The light on Lake Shore Drive turned red, halting traffic. “Come on,” declared Jack, pushing away all thoughts of despair. “We’re off to save the world.”

“About time,” grumbled Grondark. “Damn humans and faeries talk too much. Dwarfs know better.”

“Don’t worry, Simon,” Jack said to his changeling friend. “We’ll be back.”

Waving goodbye to the despondent faerie, they ran across the street. The CD boom box Jack insisted they bring with them clattered noisily against Cassandra’s walking stick. None of his companions had questioned his odd selection of weapons, though Cassandra had balked a little at his choice in music.

They found the entrance to the tunnel network without much trouble. It resembled a giant raised manhole cover some eight feet across. A massive rusted metal grate covered the opening.

Reaching into a backpack, Jack pulled out three miniature flashlights. After giving one to each of his companions, he shone his into the darkness. After a second, he spotted a ladder leading downward. It started two feet below the grate.

“Out of the way,” commanded Fritz Grondark, removing the pack from his shoulders. He pulled the monkey wrench from his belt. “This is dwarf work.”

Six bolts fastened the cover to the cement. Six times Fritz raised his wrench and slammed it into the concrete. By the time he finished, it looked like someone had used sticks of dynamite on the opening.

Tucking the tool back into his belt, Grondark bent over and grasped the grate with both hands. His fingers tightened on the rusted metal. Muscles like steel bands rippled in his gigantic shoulders. Groaning, the dwarf slowly straightened up, pulling the immense cap with him. Balancing it like a giant steel waffle, he turned and walked to an open section of the glade. Carefully, he laid the grate to rest on the grass.

“I don’t like damaging city property,” he explained, brushing flakes of rust off his palms. “I’ll put it back where it belongs when we return.”

“We’ll probably use another exit,” said Jack, still not sure he believed his eyes. “The Park District can take care of the grate. Assuming they have a crane handy.”

Cassandra leaned over the edge of the pit and shone her flashlight into the depths. “The ladder descends about thirty feet to the floor. There’s a big block of wood there. And a tunnel leading towards the city.”

“It’s the end of one of the rail lines,” said Jack. He drew in a deep breath. “According to the maps, this passage should take us on a direct route to von Bern’s headquarters. It’s several miles away, but we have plenty of time before nightfall. Let’s go.”

Descending the ladder into the blackness of the pit, Jack gazed up at the bright blue sky. Silently, he prayed it wasn’t going to be the last time he saw the sunshine.

“Order over chaos,” he whispered softly. “Good over evil.”

Smiling faintly, he patted the odd weapon that bounced against his chest. “Logic over superstition.” He drew in a deep breath as he recited the final line of his mantra. “Light over darkness.”