A Wizard In Absentia

CHAPTER 2

A shout of pure terror rose to Ian’s lips, but he bit down on it, as much afraid of the keepers as of this fall into the unknown.

There was a soft light about him, and his bottom struck a yielding surface. He fell backwards head over heels, then rolled and came up to his feet as his father had taught him, looking about him in panic. He was inside the Stone Egg!

Outside, the keepers must surely be looking for him, calling to one another and running about—but he heard nothing except a whisper of moving air, and a faint hum, so faint that he felt it more than heard it. It flashed through his mind that this must be a safe place that the dwarves had built, but when he looked more closely at his surroundings, he found them completely strange, alien. Surely the dwarves could never have grown this odd golden moss beneath his feet, the great chair that looked to be of leather with a row of peculiar square windows in front of it and a greater square above—but windows that were blank and empty, showing only the gray of the rock’s surface. For a moment, Ian strained to understand—what good was a window that showed only the inside of a shell?

“Safety Base Forty-three ready to function as you may command.”

Ian hunched down into a ball, his staff raised to defend himself, looking about wildly—but he could not see the person who had spoken.

The voice spoke again, deep and resonant, a man’s voice, though with a strange lack of feeling. “This facility is completely automated. Food and drink are prepared from cryogenic stock. Armament is activated. Communications facilities are functional. Safety Base Forty-three is at your disposal.”

The voice was suddenly silent. Ian held himself ready, looking about, waiting for it to speak again, to demand he say what he was doing there. It was a rich voice, a lord’s voice. Surely it would demand to know why a mere serf had invaded its hideaway…?

The chamber was still; the voice was silent. No one spoke, no one moved.

Slowly, Ian uncurled himself; more slowly still, he stood up, looking about at the rich surroundings, his pulse beginning to slow. The voice must be that of a guardian spirit—for certainly, inside this egg, there was scarcely room enough for two grown men. No one could hide from him.

Except for the guardian spirit.

The flesh on his back crawled. He looked behind him, and behind him again. There was no defense against a spirit…

But it did not attack him, it did not seek to take vengeance. It had said it was preparing food and drink. If it sought to help him … Ian breathed more easily, and looked about him yet once more. He was safe for the moment; he could not have asked for a better hideaway until dark. What was this strange place he was in?

There was an air of quiet orderliness about him, of safety and security. Ian began to relax, studying the chamber in which he found himself. At the far side, there was a round black hole in the floor with a low guardrail about it. Ian went over to it and peered down. A flight of spiral steps led to a room below. How strange that there was light, a soft light coming from nowhere that he could find! He retreated from the hole; perhaps that was where the guardian spirit lived. Later he might go down there and see—but only if he was sure it was safe. For now, it would be better to leave it alone.

He looked at the great chair, went closer to it, inspecting it. If this was a sanctuary to protect anyone who needed it, then surely this chair was for him to sit in. He clambered up, sat down, and looked at the table in front of him. It was shallow, only as deep as his forearm, and set with little circles and bars that glowed in many different colors. Their soft light struck fear into him, but he plucked up his courage and dared to poise a finger over one of them. Then his boldness failed, and he snatched his finger away. No, certainly he should not meddle with such things!

But—why not? If the “Base” was here to protect him, would he not be free to do as he wished? Perhaps, though, if he pressed one of these glowing circlets, the spirit would be angered, and would seek to revenge itself on him.

“Food and drink are prepared.”

Ian started at the suddenness of the deep voice, then caught himself with a hand against the table in front of him…

Something clicked.

His gaze darted down; he stared in horror at the heel of his hand. Slowly, he lifted it away, and saw that one of the green circlets had sunk into the tabletop. A low humming began. He backed away against the chair, eyes wide. Had he angered the spirit?

One of the square windows before him suddenly filled with light. Ian thought he must be looking out into the middle of a blizzard; there were only flecks of black and white, chasing each other past the window. At the same time, he heard a hiss begin, and the guardian spirit spoke. “Communication system is activated. Beacon is broadcasting distress signal.”

Then the voice was quiet. Ian waited, tensed, but nothing more happened. He looked down at the circlet. Should he try to pry it back up out of the tabletop?

No. The guardian spirit did not seem angered, and had not threatened to harm him. Better to leave well enough alone.

But the spirit spoke again. “Food and drink are served.”

Ian looked up, heart hammering—but at last, the words sank in. Food and drink! Suddenly, he was very hungry. But where were they? He searched all around the cabin, being careful not to touch anything. As he passed the hole with the spiral staircase, he caught the scent of fresh bread, eggs, and, wonder of wonders, pork! His mouth watered; he swallowed heavily, the hunger suddenly an ache in his belly. The food was down the spiral staircase, then. But was it safe to go down there? Or was the guardian spirit enticing him for some other, unknown purpose? He stood stock-still at the top of the steps, wondering. Then hunger got the better of caution, and he started down.

The staircase was steep and narrow, made out of some eldritch material that was neither stone nor metal nor wood, but something of all three—clean and smooth to the touch like metal, warm like wood, and gray like stone. It was just wide enough for a full-grown man, very steep, and turned upon itself like a corkscrew.

His eyes came below the level of the floor, and he stopped, staring in amazement.

Ten feet below him was a circle of the odd moss, wider than the hut in which he’d lived all his life. The walls sloped inward, like the inside of a cone with its top cut off. The “egg,” then, was the top of this cone, and this chamber was underground!

The strange, warm moss covered another floor, and this time, that moss was deep blue. Great padded chairs stood near him, and across the room stood a round table with two stools that had backs rising up—why, they were lords’ chairs! Trepidation rose in him all over again, fear at trespassing in a place so clearly the property of some great lord—but hunger was greater than fear. Two chairs! Was there company, then? Or was it merely that this hiding place was large enough for two people at a time?

A lord’s hideaway for a dalliance with a peasant wench!

But on the table was a plate with thin slices of meat and, wonder of wonders, a silver fork and spoon and knife beside it! He blinked, overawed by the luxury, and, very hesitantly and carefully, came to the table.

Nothing bad happened.

He slid up onto one of the lords’ chairs and, ignoring the knife and fork, began to eat with his fingers. If they caught him here, at least they would not be able to say he had stolen-for surely, stealing such treasure as a silver fork would be cause for hanging a serf!

He ate like a wolf, and the food was gone very quickly. Then he huddled back in the chair, wishing there were more, and staring at the steaming cup in front of him. The meat had been salty, and his thirst grew as he stared at the cup. Finally, he reached out and lifted it by the little handle. It almost overbalanced and spilled, but he caught it in time; the fluid within it was very hot and a dark brown. He sipped at it and made a face. It was very bitter. How could a lord like such stuff? He set it down and, instead, picked up a glittering, clear cup filled with orange liquid, sipped it carefully, decided it was very good, and drank it down. Then he looked about him, frowning. Strange that the dwarves had not found this place…

He shrugged. There was no point in wondering at it. He slid down from the chair. It was still daylight outside, and he could not go out again until night. How he would get out was another problem; but the spirit had been good to him so far, and he would worry about that difficulty when the time came. He stretched himself out on the moss—it was very soft—pillowed his head on his arm, and was very quickly asleep.

When Magnus entered the dining room in black complet and snowy shirtfront and neckcloth, Pelisse clapped her hands. “Oh! How handsome you look!”

Robert glared at her. “Overdoing it a bit, aren’t we, Pelisse?”

“Oh, do be still, Robert! Even you must admit that he looks ever so elegant!”

“Yes, Robert, you must,” Aunt Matilda said, with a glare.

“Well … a sight better than that outlandish outfit he was wearing this afternoon,” Robert mumbled. Magnus felt his face flush, and was all the more careful to hold his expression immobile. “Literally outlandish, of course, and quite medieval—just the sort of thing you would wear on my homeworld.”

“Yes, but not in civilized society, is it, old boy?” Magnus let the “old boy” pass. “Perhaps you mean modern society—though I do note that these garments tend much more toward the turn of the century.”

“Turn of the century?” Robert looked up, frowning. “Stuff and nonsense! Lapels much wider then, don’t you know, and trousers much looser!”

“I was speaking of the turn of the Eighteenth Century into the Nineteenth—the decade that began in 1810, as a matter of fact.”

Robert could only glare at him, and Magnus realized, with a shock, that the young man probably knew nothing about the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries, didn’t know that the clothes he was wearing were very clearly based on those of the Regency.

Aunt Matilda filled the gap. “You must remember, children, that your cousin’s garb was that of his own culture; it is our costumes that would look outlandish there.”

“Like his thee’s and thou’s, eh?” Robert muttered. Magnus felt his face flame again, and resolved to make no more slips.

“Yes, quite. Robert, perhaps tomorrow you will escort Magnus to the family tailor? And the haberdasher, of course.”

Robert turned red, and his jaw set—but he ground out, “Yes, Aunt.”

“Very good.” Matilda favored them all with a bright smile. “Now, then, shall we dine?”

The robots began serving, and Magnus reflected on the lovely, charming family from which he had come.

He was braced for the shopping expedition with Cousin Robert the next day, and it was just as grueling as he had feared. Robert began with whining complaints and progressed to sniping comments very quickly. Magnus responded as politely as he could, but couldn’t quite keep back a few remarks of his own.

For example, when the airlock door dilated and Magnus found himself staring at the inside of a small but luxurious rocket boat, Robert snapped, “Don’t look so surprised. You can’t just walk where you please on an asteroid, you know. No air.”

“Of course.” Magnus stepped in and sat down. Robert followed suit, grumbling, “Don’t know why Mama picked me for this little chore. Pelisse would have been more than happy to show you around.”

“Whereas you, of course, are delighted.”

“No, not a bit.” Robert turned to frown at him. “Planned on a morning’s practice at polo, actually. Where’d you get an idea like that?”

Magnus found himself wondering if Robert knew what the word “sarcasm” meant.

“Deuced inconvenience,” Robert complained. “Why’d you have to come, anyway?”

Magnus ground his teeth and said, “To discover my origins, Cousin Robert—what kind of people I came from, what kind of environment had formed them.”

“Had your father to look at, didn’t you?”

“Indeed,” Magnus agreed, “but one person is not necessarily representative of the whole family.” Thank Heaven, he added silently to himself. “Don’t know why we have to have dashed outsiders,” Robert went on as though he had not heard. “Doing quite well enough by ourselves.”

Magnus began to wonder if the man knew he was speaking aloud.

“Bad enough trying to sort out the inheritance as it is,” Robert griped. “Of course, Pelisse will take care of that—but still, it’s a dashed nuisance.”

Magnus gave him a sharp glance. “Inheritance? Why should that be a problem? Has someone died recently?”

“Not yet, y’—” Robert bit off the expletive, which was just as well, Magnus thought grimly. Then his cousin went on. “Death that’s coming, of course. Uncle can’t last much longer, more’s the pity, and his son’s made it very clear he doesn’t want the inheritance. That leaves it to Pelisse, don’t y’ see.”

“No, I don’t.” Magnus frowned. “Isn’t your inheritance patrilineal?”

“What?” Robert gave him a narrow look. “Don’t use your fancy terms on me, my man! Say what you mean in clear language, dash it all!”

Magnus was beginning to think that he had overrated Robert’s intelligence, as well as his education. “Don’t you inherit, as the remaining male?”

“No, I don’t—I’m the poor relation. Don’t you know anything?”

“Nothing more than I’m told,” Magnus said shortly, “and I would thank you for doing so.”

“Well, I’m a third cousin,” Robert snapped, “from the Orlin branch-parents died young, and I was as close to this family as to t’other. So, no, I don’t inherit, though I expect Uncle’s left me well enough off. Have m’ biological parents’ estate coming, in any case, when I reach my majority.”

“Majority?” The man was clearly in his twenties! Magnus decided not to ask—he just accepted the prevailing wisdom. “So Pelisse will become Countess,” Magnus inferred.

“No reason not to,” Robert muttered, but he gave Magnus an uneasy glance, leaving his guest wondering just how Pelisse was supposed to fix any problems arising from the inheritance. In fact, of course, Robert hadn’t mentioned what the problem was, really. Somehow, Magnus thought he didn’t want to know.

Their flier circled around a huge, pastel layer-cake of a building and docked. They stepped out into an air lock. As they walked down the tube and through the dilating door, Magnus said, “Surely you could have your own robot tailors, and order anything from outside by video screen.”

“Of course, of course,” Robert said impatiently, “but then there wouldn’t be any shopping, hey? Nor any reason to get out of the house at all. Let’s have a quick one, then get on to the tailor’s.”

Magnus was relieved to discover that Robert was referring to an alcoholic drink. He wasn’t so relieved when the “quick one” turned into two or three.

The tailor was a robot, after all, and all he had to do to measure Magnus was to have him stand against a wall screen that did the job in less than a second. Then they sauntered down rows of fabrics, with Robert brightly extolling the virtues of each until Magnus selected a few, just to shut him up—he thought they were rather gaudy, himself, but they were Robert’s recommendations. His cousin seemed to think Magnus’s preference for quieter fabrics was very unsophisticated.

“And have that delivered by 1700 hours,” Robert told the robot tailor as they left.

It bowed. “As you wish, sir.”

As they strolled out of the store, Magnus protested, “There was no reason for haste.”

“ ‘Course there was, old boy—the ball next week. Don’t you remember?”

“I can’t very well,” Magnus said slowly, “since I haven’t been told. What ball?”

“The one Mama is throwing! In your honor, old— I say! There’s Runcible!” And he hurried off to chat with a chum.

Magnus observed the two, noting the degree of loudness, the social distance between them, the lack of physical touching, the intonations, and half-a-dozen other signs of modern customs—but all the time, at the back of his mind, he was wondering why his aunt was putting on an impromptu ball, and why it was in his honor. Were they that desperate for something to do, for some trace of excitement, here?

Yes. Of course they were. How could he ever have wondered?

The haberdasher’s was only a hundred meters away, but it took them half an hour to get there—Robert had to stop every few feet to greet friends, and had to beg off coming to drink with them because he had to squire his bothersome cousin around—and he didn’t hesitate to use those terms, when he must have known full well that Magnus could hear him. If he had thought of it. Magnus was beginning to wonder just how good a guide Robert was to the manners of this people.

He was very much aware of being the outsider, studying the customs as though he were an anthropologist, though for a much more pressing reason than academic research. It was horrifying to realize that this subject group he was observing were supposed to be his own flesh and blood, the people and stock from which he had sprung.

He understood now why his father had left home. In fact, he had gone beyond a mere understanding to a very active sympathy.

The haberdashery comprised a vast assortment of hats and ties and other accessories. They could all have been displayed on screens, of course, and the orders placed by computer—but that would have deprived the young men of a reason to go sauntering down the aisles, where they could be sure of encountering one another and pause for a good, long chat. Magnus resigned himself to a long and boring afternoon, the more so because he was seldom introduced and never included in the conversation—not that he would have wanted to be; it seemed to be exclusively a discussion of the latest styles, sports averages, and local scandals about who was sleeping in whose bed. Magnus was sure it would have been fascinating, if he had only known what they were talking about.

So, when they arrived at home and he had endured high tea and was finally able to seek the comfort of his own rooms, he keyed the wall screen to news, and spent an hour absorbing a quick summary of recent events—local, Terran, and throughout the Terran Sphere. Where he needed additional background to make sense of the summary, he keyed for more information—but still, an hour just wasn’t enough time to give him more than an inkling of what the young men had been talking about.

“The worst of it,” he told Fess, “is that none of it seems to matter much at all.” Since he was alone he could speak aloud. If anyone heard him—well, all the d’Armands were strange.

That will change as you come to understand more of it, Fess assured him. An hour a day will do wonders, Magnus.

“I hope so,” Magnus sighed. “Perhaps you can make sense of Robert’s hostility, Fess. Have I violated some taboo, done something to offend him?” No, Magnus—none.

“Then why his hostility? He almost seems to feel that I am some sort of threat to him.”

Fess gave the burst of white noise that was his equivalent of a sigh and said, Magnus, I fear I must acquaint you with some of the less pleasant aspects of Maximan heredity.

“What?” Magnus frowned. “Adaptation to low gravity? That would effectively trap them on this asteroid. Or perhaps a chromosome for vile tempers?” No, Magnus—inbreeding.

“Oh.” Magnus’s face went blank. “All of the above.”

Quite right, Magnus. Recessive traits are reinforced, and some of them are desirable—but some are not. Over the centuries, some of the more unpleasant traits have become widespread—such as low intelligence and emotional instability.

“So.” Magnus thought that one over. “A surprising number of my dear relatives will be idiots or madmen.”

Yes, Magnus, though in many cases, they will be neither, just … a little slow, or rather unpleasant. “Which accounts for Robert.” Magnus nodded. “Nothing wrong with him but a mild case of paranoia. And what, may I ask, is the matter with Pelisse?”

Nothing that I have detected. “Yet? ”

Yet. Of course.

That also accounted for Magnus’s uncle, and his delusion. And it gave Magnus an inkling as to why the Count’s son had elected to stay on Terra. In any event, the heir was not to be aired, and showed absolutely no interest in inheriting the family estates.

Magnus learned these details the next day, as he was escorting Pelisse through the mall. Between lengthy stops to chat with her friends, she managed to answer a question or two about the family.

“It is difficult to believe that Uncle Roger has no interest in the inheritance.” Actually, Magnus didn’t find it hard to believe at all.

“I know—but he doesn’t,” Pelisse said, “though it’s a good guess that he’ll expect a decent share of the income.”

“Of course.” Magnus smiled, not pleasantly. “All the money but none of the responsibility or inconvenience, eh? He won’t bring it off, will he?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll receive a generous settlement—but even if he didn’t, I don’t think that would persuade my dear uncle to come back.” Pelisse seemed to have grown rather nervous. She stopped abruptly, facing into a store-screen. “Oh, what a lovely gown! Come, Magnus, I must try it on!”

Magnus glanced up at the gown and wondered what could have taken her eye about it; it seemed quite ordinary to him. But, all things considered, there were worse things to do with his time than to watch Pelisse try on a tight-fitting gown, so he followed her around behind the screen and into the shop, not entirely reluctantly.