A Logical Magician

7

Anxious to get as far away from the Campus Center as possible, Jack hurried Simon along the walk leading to the humanities building. At this time of the evening, there were only a few classes in session and they had the path to themselves.

Not more than a hundred feet from the Center, Simon came to an abrupt halt. Turning, the Brit put both his hands on Jack’s shoulders and stared intently into his eyes. After a second, the student pursed his lips in a low whistle of astonishment.

“Rose-colored contact lenses,” he said. “I heard rumors that such things existed, but I never expected to encounter anyone actually wearing them. Especially not my mathematics professor.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jack, sighing. “Then you don’t deny you’re a supernatural being, some sort of magical creature?”

“Creature?” replied Simon, grinning. “I may not be human, Professor Collins, but I do have feelings. Simon Goodfellow, of the kingdom of Faerie, at your service, my esteemed teacher.”

“Call me Jack,” said Jack. “I don’t mind the ‘professor’ bit from students seven or eight years younger than I am. But, from a being who has been around for a couple of hundred years, it sounds kinda pretentious.”

“Seven hundred and twelve years, to be exact,” said Simon. “But then, who’s counting?”

They resumed walking down the path, conversing in low tones, appearing to be nothing more than a student and his teacher discussing classwork. Simon seemed quite nonchalant about the whole affair.

“If you told anybody about this,” he declared, “they’d think you’d gone daft.”

“I’ve devoured too many fantasy novels to even consider that possibility,” said Jack. “Nobody believes the hero, and it leads to all sorts of dreadful complications. The last thing I need at present is more complications.

“For the record, though, what kind of magical being are you? I don’t remember reading any specifics on supernatural exchange students.”

Simon laughed. “That’s because you’re thinking too much of our traditional roles, Professor. Oops, sorry—Jack. We faeries have changed with the times. Like all the rest of the supernatural beings that still inhabit this wonderful world. I’m a changeling.”

“Merlin did say…” began Jack.

“Merlin?” interrupted Simon. “You mean to say that Merlin the Magician is in America?”

“That’s who gave me the contact lenses,” said Jack. “I gather he’s been living in Chicago for quite some time.” Casually, Jack added, “Along with his daughter, Megan.”

“Daughter?” said Simon. “I never recalled stories about Merlin having a daughter. There was Morgana, of course, but I thought she was his sister.”

The Brit shrugged. “That’s the trouble with living so long. Fact and fancy get mixed up, and after a while you don’t know what’s true and what’s not. Merlin’s in Chicago, though? I’ll have to look him up. We share a bunch of memories that go way back. Way, way back.”

“That might not be so easy,” said Jack. “But before I describe that mess, explain to me this changeling stuff.”

“If you insist,” said Simon. “A lot of it Merlin explained to me. I don’t know how much the old boy told you, but his theories covering our creation are pretty much accepted fare among the supernatural kingdom. So pardon me if I summarize and condense things somewhat.

“You humans are always trying to cover up your own faults by blaming somebody else. These days, it’s society or peer pressure or a hundred other excuses. Nobody likes to admit maybe they’re the ones responsible for the problems of the world.

“Well, not surprisingly, things weren’t that different seven, eight hundred years ago. In those days, the peasants didn’t have pop psychology to fall back on. There wasn’t this horde of apologists to offer feel-good explanations for aberrant behavior. So, instead, the local populace did the next best thing. They blamed everything on us, the supernaturals.”

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re saying,” said Jack, frowning. “Lots of people accept full responsibility for their actions.”

“Sure,” said Simon, “but a lot more search for a convenient scapegoat. And their more imaginative solutions created beings like me.”

His voice grew caustic. “Got a problem, neighbor? Your young son refuses to plow the field? And he runs away whenever you ask him to shovel the manure? Well, friend, that doesn’t sound like the actions of a well-bred, obedient child. Obviously, it can’t be any fault of yours. As God-fearing folk, you did your best for him. The only logical explanation is that the boy isn’t really your son.”

Simon’s face crinkled with amusement. In the twilight, his eyes glowed amber. “Blame those damned faeries. Free-spirited, mischievous imps love causing trouble for the hard-working good folk of the earth. They replaced your true son with a shiftless, no-good changeling. Sure, he looks just like the boy, but that’s part of the spell. Mark my words. Queen Titania’s spoiling your offspring with sweets while this trickster wreaks havoc on your farm. He’ll never admit it, but you know the truth.”

Solemnly, Simon passed a hand over his face. For a brief instant, his features wavered, grew hazy. Then, an astonished Jack found himself staring at a mirror image of himself.

“Impressive, huh?” asked Simon, in Jack’s voice. “You should see me after one of the ‘Freddy Krueger-fests’ at the Student Union movie theater. I scared a half-dozen co-eds into swearing off beer for a year.”

“I’m still not sure I see how this changeling business ties in with exchange students,” said Jack. “And switch back to your own face. Life’s complicated enough without talking to myself.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Simon with only the slightest tinge of mockery in his voice. With another pass of his hand, he returned to normal.

“Exchange students?” prompted Jack. Keeping Simon focused on one subject was a full-time job.

“Sorry. My thoughts tend to wander a bit.”

“I noticed,” said Jack.

“Well, to give credit where credit is due, when you humans dreamt up explanations, you did a thorough job of it. It wasn’t enough that changelings replaced human children. There had to be some reason for it. Despite all the talk of faeries acting by different rules of behavior, that actually was never the case. After all, we were created in your image. Your myths always provided us with motives that sounded suspiciously human.

“Anyways, Titania became the villainess. Poor Queen of the Faeries never stood a chance. First, some of your more eloquent bards brought her and Oberon into existence, as the romanticized ideals of pure love. Unfortunately, that meant never getting fat and pregnant. No matter what she did, the Queen remained radiantly beautiful.

“However, most of the peasants were far less noble and wholesome. They visualized faeries as much more…” Simon hesitated, and grinned. “Shall we say, earthier. She and Oberon used to make the satyrs blush, and that wasn’t easy.”

“Exchange students?” repeated Jack, with a heavy sigh.

“Like I said, the Queen got blamed for the changelings. According to popular belief, she desired kids to mother. She never let circumstances stand in her way. So, when the maternal instincts overcame her good judgment, she stole away some poor mortal child and replaced him with a changeling. Then, when the urge left her, we were switched back.”

Simon chuckled. “Life was hectic but entertaining. You envisioned me and my kind as good-natured pranksters. And, so that’s how we acted. Though there were a few of us not so pleasant. The dark side of the dream if you catch my meaning.”

“Pickman’s Model,” said Jack, without thinking. “In the story, the narrator described a group of paintings dealing with the offspring of ghouls replacing normal children in a Puritan family. They all sounded pretty ghastly.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Lovecraft got it right. I’m not sure what Merlin told you, but we supernaturals are true reflections of the dual nature of humanity. Among us can be found both good and evil entities. And all possible shades between the two.”

He smiled. “Most faeries fall into that middle ground. We’re neutral unless forced to take sides. Usually, when provoked we stand with humanity. Though most people find that hard to believe. They confuse mischief with deviltry.

“Even changelings have their purposes. If I drove my foster-parents to drink, it was for a purpose.” He laughed. “An obscure purpose at times, I will admit. But for their own good, nonetheless. You have the word of Simon Goodfellow on that.”

“Goodfellow?” said Jack. “The name rings…”

“Robin,” replied Simon. “My cousin of sorts. He’s the famous one. Nicknamed Puck by Willy Shakespeare.”

“Willy?” asked Jack, but Simon was continuing with his story.

“Times changed and so did we. Like all supernatural beings, we evolved with the changes in civilization. It’s our nature to adapt. Take the King and Queen of Faeries, for example. A few years back, they moved to Las Vegas and opened up one of those quickie honeymoon chapel and hotel combos. I got a Christmas card from them last winter.

“From what I hear from my cousins, the Queen is still quite a looker. Now, though, she blends right in with the local scenery. Half the tourists in town think she’s a retired hooker or porn queen. Word is that she and Oberon plan to write a sex manual. Probably title it A Thousand Years of Pleasure. Boy, that would be a book hot enough to scorch your fingers.”

“Exchange students,” said Jack.

“Oh, sure. There’s not much room for changelings in the modern world. We’re impostors by definition. More than that, our basic nature dictates that we have to be disruptive and annoying as well. Which makes us less than welcome wherever we go.

“For a time, I played the role of the long-lost relative. That was fun, though repetitive. After a while, it was like living in one of those 1940’s screwball comedies. Maybe you’ve seen a few? They’re the ones where the husband everyone thought dead turns up the day of his wife’s remarriage?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Fortunately, we supernaturals are hard to kill. Otherwise, the two of us wouldn’t be talking tonight. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and electrocuted more times than I like to remember. It was a lot worse, a lot worse, when I assumed the role of the long-lost heir who turns up the morning the will is scheduled to be read. Wow! Talk about imaginative ways to eliminate people.”

“Then posing as an exchange student…?” began Jack.

“…is just another variation on the theme,” said Simon, completing the thought. “Among us faeries, it’s called the ‘know-it-all gambit.’

“Each year, I transfer to another university. Using a magical interface, it’s easy to fool the school computers into accepting my phony credentials. Ditto for issuing me thousands of dollars in credit for room, board and tuition. Fortunately, nobody in the admissions office ever bothers doing background checks on foreign exchange students.”

“This ‘know-it-all’ role also explains your smug, superior attitude, I take it?” asked Jack.

“You got it, Jack,” said Simon. “It’s my duty to get on everyone’s nerves. I’m here to shake things up a little bit on campus. People need an obnoxious, ‘too-damned-smart-for-his-own-good’ character to despise. It’s healthy for the soul. Or so I’ve been told, since I don’t have one.”

“What about your popularity with the fair sex?” asked Jack. “I don’t remember that being covered in any stories about changelings I read.”

“Titania and Oberon aren’t the only ones with lust in their hearts, Jack,” said Simon, his grin widening. “I can’t help it if you humans created me with a surplus of roguish charm. And a wild streak that prompts me to use it whenever possible.”

The changeling paused, the smile disappearing from his face. “I’ve answered all your questions. Each and every one. It seems only fair to me that you do the same.”

Simon shook his head. “Rose-colored contacts and Merlin the Magician? The implications of that combination worry me. Actually, they scare the hell out of me. What’s going on, Jack?”

Jack told him.