My Son, the Wizard

Chapter Eleven

Now it was Papa who held up his arms and spoke in tones of command.

The genie whirled away from the drawbridge and leaped back to the invisible Wall, then stepped through it. As one, all the djinn shot into the air, then dove, roaring, to converge upon a low hill that rose at the edge of the castle’s plain.

“Have I passed the final examination?” Papa asked.

“Only the first problem,” Friar Ignatius answered.

Three multicolored dots appeared on the side of the slope, darting and dashing every which way.

“Water!” Matt called. “In a bowl!”

A soldier stepped up, pouring water into a broad goblet. Matt waved his hand over it, muttering a verse, and the fluid darkened. The others gathered around in time to see it clear, and saw the hillside in much closer view.

Mama and Papa stared in surprise, then relaxed into fond smiles. Papa whispered, “It is good to see him practicing his profession, isn’t it?”

Mama nodded. “And with such assurance, and others so confident in him!”

They beamed proudly in unison.

In the goblet-view, the multicolored dots turned out to be robed and turbaned men, shouting furiously up toward the djinn. One was rubbing a lamp, another a ring, the third a bottle.

The djinn swooped back up, howling in frustration, then turned to dive again. The sorcerers chanted, still rubbing, and the djinn seemed to be pushed aside. They swooped up high in the air again, darted together, and hovered.

“War conference,” Saul interpreted.

But in the goblet, one sorcerer suddenly looked up, then pointed straight at Matt, calling to his colleagues in excitement and anger.

Matt dashed the water to the ground and held the goblet upside down. Even so, the miniature bolt of lightning lanced out of it and struck the stones of the battlements, leaving a smoking charred spot.

“I think they’re onto us,” Saul said.

“Then we must fight them on their own ground!” Papa dashed for the stairwell.

“Ramon, no!” Mama cried, but too late… her husband was already out of sight.

Matt shot off after him.

“No!” Alisande cried in frustration. “Dame Mantrell, can you do nothing?”

“With such headstrong mules as these? No,” Mama said, exasperated. “But I can protect them.” She turned back to the battlements and began to gesture, chanting.

A dot of light sprang from the sorcerers’ hill, swelling into a fireball… but Mama finished her verse, snapping her hands out as though she were tightening a cord, and the fireball’s flames dwindled, then vanished, leaving only a charred and smoking lump that bounced off the Wall of Octroi and plummeted to earth.

All three enemy sorcerers bunched together, just as the three djinn dove toward them, welding themselves into a single mass, a giant spear aimed at the sorcerous target. But the sorcerers chanted so loudly and in such perfect unison that their voices came faintly even to the battlements, and the spear burst apart into the three djinn, who fell to the ground around the trio, kneeling and salaaming to them.

Then one of the sorcerers whirled and pointed toward the castle.

Saul shouted with pain, shaking his hands as though he’d touched something hot. “The Wall!” he cried.

“He tore down my Wall of Octroi… don’t ask me how!”

The djinn rose into the air, ballooning into giants again, arms windmilling to gather the missiles that began to materialize in their hands.

Mama intoned a Spanish verse, fingers outspread like antennae to direct her spell toward the djinn. The vague gray forms in their palms stayed dim and misty, then began to fade.

“You have canceled their spell!” Alisande cried, amazed. “They cannot make boulders anymore! Well done, Dame Mantrell!”

“At least I have given some return for your hospitality,” Mama said, pleased. Then she turned her antenna-fingers toward the sorcerers and began to chant again.

Sharp reports sounded, and cracks began to appear in the stone of the battlements.

Mama intensified her chanting.

The cracks healed and disappeared.

Alisande stared at Mama.

But Mama’s voice shifted rhythm and emotion, becoming even more stern, more compelling… and the sorcerers began to run erratically around their hillside. Above, the djinn gave a shout of triumph and dove toward their masters again.

One of the sorcerers stopped. A few seconds later, one genie sheered off with a cry of anger.

“The sorcerers have lost their lamps and rings!” Alisande cried. “One has found his talisman, though, and has regained command over his genie!”

Again Mama chanted, and again the third genie stooped with a cry of vindication.

“Once more you have hidden his lamp!” Alisande cried in delight.

The other two sorcerers stopped their frantic scurrying, and their djinn sheered off with howls of rage.

The third sorcerer dashed madly about the hillside, searching. He stopped, snatching something up; his genie swerved to the side and plowed into the hill. Well, not “plowed,” really… he disappeared into the dirt and grass.

Then the father-and-son team reached the foot of the hill with a squadron of knights right behind them.

They all charged up the hillside, chanting in unison.

“What poem are they reciting?” Saul asked.

Mama shook her head. “They are too distant to say with any certainty, but I think I hear something about San Juan Hill.”

The two remaining djinn stopped dead in the air, a yard short of their masters. The third genie shot out of the hillside straight toward the charging squadron. The other two veered aside and arrowed after him.

The three sorcerers turned and ran. Suddenly there were two charging squadrons, one a mirror image of the other. Then each of them doubled, and four identical bunches of horsemen charged after the sorcerers. The djinn roared confusion, darting from one squadron to another, unsure which to strike. Half a dozen horsemen veered off with Papa at their head, swinging wide around the djinn to follow the sorcerers. The djinn decided on a process of elimination, and started eliminating. They faced the four squadrons, shooting lightning bolts from their fingertips. Mama shouted an infuriated verse. Bolts struck two of the squadrons, they disappeared. The lightning froze in midair over the third, then hovered sparking and flashing. One of the sorcerers fell. His genie swooped toward him with a shout, but Papa was faster and closer, he leaped down beside the fallen man, caught something up from the ground, then swung an uppercut into the sorcerer’s chin. The genie slowed, dropped to earth, and salaamed to Papa.

Mama clapped her hands. “Ramon has found the sorcerer’s lamp! He commands the genie now!”

Matt was gesturing at the two other… damn. They started gesturing too, but didn’t see the huge sheet, like a blown-away ship’s sail, that swung down upon them out of the sky. They didn’t even notice it until it struck. Then they whirled, howling, to jerk free of it… and couldn’t. Every gyration made it cling more tightly to one portion of their anatomies or another. Finally, in frustration, they disappeared. “Flypaper.”

Mama said with satisfaction. “A giant sheet of flypaper. And to think I was worried that my son might forget the practicalities of life.”

“It will not work again,” Alisande told her “They will be watching for it now.” Then she smiled at a happy thought, “But that will keep one of them from attacking while he watches “

“Or handicap all three, by distracting them continually,” Mama nodded. “Well thought, Your Majesty.”

Alisande stared at her, startled, then bit her lip. Mama gave her a warm smile, stepping close enough to speak in an undertone “When we are alone with family, we shall use family names… but in public, I should address you formally, no?”

“Of course!” Alisande smiled with relief. Mama looked out over the field. “They are riding back now, and I think they have taken a prisoner. Saul, have you tried conjuring up modern gadgets?”

“No, I haven’t,” Saul said, startled at the thought “I assumed they wouldn’t work, so I cobbled up magical equivalents.”

“It would not hurt to be sure.” Mama held her hands in front of her eyes, cupping fingers and thumbs and looking through the closer hand to the farther, chanting in Spanish. A spyglass appeared in her hands.

Saul stared. But Mama shook her head and lowered the telescope “No, you were right It does not make things look bigger. We shall have to employ magic after all. How did you craft your enchanted gadgets, Saul?”

Saul shrugged “I made them look like the real thing from our universe, then told them what to do.”

“Told objects what to do?” Mama raised her eyebrows “Well, well!” She turned and spoke a stern verse to the spyglass, then held it up to her eye again “Yes, now it works indeed.”

Alisande glanced at Saul in surprise. He shrugged and spread his hands. “The prisoner is one of the sorcerers.” Mama collapsed the telescope with a snap and pointed at the war party, intoning a verse in dire tones. Then she lowered her arm with a nod of satisfaction. “That should hold him.”

“What did you do?” Alisande asked, wide-eyed. “Bound his spells, of course. If that sorcerer attempts any magic, he will find it recoils upon him.” She held up the spyglass again, then smiled. “I do not know what he tried, but he jerked most unpleasantly in his saddle.” A minute later, she said, “He tried again.”

“I would like something left of him to question,” Alisande said “Then let us hope he is not too trying.” Mama told her. Alisande eyed her warily. “Do you not mean, ‘Does not try too hard?”

“Is that how you say it in your language?” Mama asked, all innocence “Well, I shall remember.”

Alisande was sure she would. Somehow she was very glad the older woman was on her side… and likely to stay so, because of family ties. The queen resolved to treat her husband more kindly. The horses trotted into the courtyard, and Matt dismounted, grinning up at Alisande. Her eyes glowed as she smiled down at him, and Mama, watching, smiled, too, behind her hand. Papa was more open about it. He raced up the stairs to catch Mama in his arms, whirling her about and laughing. “See the trophy I have brought you, mi corazon! But what did you do to him?”

“Only made his own spells rebound upon him,” Mama said, laughing. “Put me down, Ramon! The children are watching!”

Alisande and Matt were watching indeed, then shared a glance as Papa put Mama down.

She tucked her hair back into place, smiling and saying, “If your sorcerer had tried to do anything to favor himself, he might have managed it… but since he only sought to hurt you, he hurt himself instead.”

Papa looked up in surprise, then called down to Matt, “Block his magic!”

Matt turned to find the sorcerer had become transparent. He sang,

The sorcerer grew more opaque, then cursed. “What foul magic made you able to keep me here?”

Matt lifted his head slowly. “So. You speak our language.”

The sorcerer’s eyes became hooded, wary. “And a most barbarous dialect it is, that flows like water and seeps through the understanding!”

“Yes, not a single guttural to recommend it,” Matt said with irony. “But if you can converse, Master Sorcerer, you can answer questions.”

Fear showed in the sorcerer’s eyes, but he blustered, “I shall never answer one single demand!”

“I can’t go on calling you ‘sorcerer’ or ‘prisoner,’ ” Matt said. “What’s your name, anyway?” Then, as the shadow of dread passed over the Muslim’s face, “Your public name, not your secret one.”

“Achmed,” the sorcerer said warily.

“See? You answered one of my questions already.”

Achmed went red with anger. “I shall answer not one single other, pork-fattened unbeliever!”

“Hey, pork isn’t bad if it’s cooked hot enough,” Matt objected. He called to a soldier, “Guard! Run to the kitchens and bring a slice of that ham we had for supper last night, will you?”

“At once, my lord,” the soldier said, grinning. He turned and ran.

Sweat sprang out on the sorcerer’s brow. “You wouldn’t!”

“Why not?” Matt said. “We must be hospitable, after all… couldn’t see a guest go hungry.”

“You swine!”

“Careful, there,” Matt cautioned. “You might be advocating cannibalism.”

“I shall never touch a morsel of that foul meat!”

“No,” Matt said softly, “it will touch you.”

Papa frowned. “My son, I had never thought to see such ruthlessness in you.”

“I’m a knight now, Papa,” Matt said simply. “I can do what I have to do.”

“But such disrespect for another man’s religion!”

“It’s kinder than torture, isn’t it?”

“You could visit no worse pain on me than forcing me to sin!” the sorcerer accused.

“Don’t be so sure.” Matt turned back to his father. “What do you suppose would happen if you rubbed your lamp and told the genie he could do whatever he wanted to his former master?”

“You could not be so barbarous!” the sorcerer gasped.

“No, you could not,” Papa said, and it was a command.

“See?” Matt asked the sorcerer. “Sinning is much less painful… but it’s even kinder to let you decide to commit the sin of your own free will.”

“I could never so oppose my own conscience!”

“I suppose your conscience doesn’t trouble you when it comes to enslaving djinn and conquering Christians?”

“What is done for the Faith is no sin!”

Matt looked up at his father. “Seems to me that every time I’ve heard a religious man say that, he’s coming up with an excuse for breaking the most fundamental doctrines of his own faith.”

Papa nodded grimly. “Murder and looting. I trust you will not try to tell me that the ends justify the means?”

“Sometimes they do.” But Matt winked with the eye the sorcerer couldn’t see.

The soldier came pounding up with a ham bone that had quite a bit of meat left on it. “I thought you might wish to threaten him with this club, my lord.”

“Not a bad thought.” Matt took the ham bone and held it out to the sorcerer. “Have a bite.”

“Never!” the sorcerer snapped.

” ‘Never’ is such an absolute term,” Matt sighed. He brandished the ham, chanting,

The sorcerer’s mouth began to water “What corrupted magic do you seek to practice on me’” he wailed

“Only the transformations any good cook can bring about,” Matt answered “Never knew pig meat could be so good, did you’”

The aroma of the meat drew Achmed into lifting his head closer to the ham bone “This is most immoral of you! To make me lust after forbidden food!”

“Hey, it’s not a sin in my religion ” Matt turned to the guard and called, “Light a little fire. Let’s warm this roast up a little and let Achmed get a whiff of its full aroma “

The soldier grinned and called to a groom, “Bring some hay and some sticks!”

“You are the cruellest torturer of all!” Achmed groaned “Others twist a man’s limbs… but you would distort my soul!”

“Would you like some wine with that ham?” Matt gestured to the soldier who was lighting the fire. The man nodded to the groom, who ran off toward the kitchens “You know it is forbidden! I shall never drink of the fruit of the vine, unbeliever!”

“But there are Muslims who do,” Matt pointed out “I don’t know if you’ve heard of Omar Khayyam, but his verses go like this

“How can this be?” Achmed cried “I lust for this wine you speak of now… and I have never tasted of it!”

“Probably won’t be as good as you’re imagining,” Matt consoled him “But then, what ever is?”

The soldier held the ham bone over the little fire, and the first trace of a delightful aroma filtered through the air “You shall regret this corruption of one of the Faithful, minion of Shaitan!” Achmed cried “You may doom my soul, but Nirobus shall give my colleagues enough magical power to set you aflame like the Hell to which you would send me!”

Matt went very still “Nirobus? I think I’ve heard that name before. But he’s very far away… too far to send you any reinforcements.”

“He can and he will! Already he has given us the power to strengthen the arms and the swords of the Moors!”

“Really?” Matt said, bright with sarcasm “And what piffling little service does he expect you to perform for this power? Conjuring demons? A little contract in blood, maybe?”

“Only what any good Muslim would do if he could… inspire a jihad, a holy war to spread the faith of Islam to enlighten the whole world!”

“Light a fire that will sweep through all of Europe, huh? Won’t work, Achmed. You can inspire men to fight, but all you’ll have then is a mob. You have to have a general if you want to make them into an army.”

“Do you think me a fool?” Achmed said, his voice acid with contempt. “We have such a Mahdi, a young man of devout faith and burning zeal, a veritable genius at stratagems and battles! He needed only a little persuasion to make him see that he could conquer all Europe for Allah, and the Moors needed even less to acclaim him as their Mahdi!”

“Sounds like the only power Nirobus needed to give you was finding that military genius and starting rumors of invincibility,” Matt commented “How old is this Mahdi, anyway?”

“Perhaps twenty-five. Soon all the world shall know his excellence!”

“Twenty-five,” Matt repeated, deadpan. “A really tried and proven soldier, huh?”

The sarcasm went right by Achmed. “He has fought five great battles already, and has driven the Christian knights into a strip of land along the northern coast of Ibile! His arm is strong with the might of Allah, his sorcerers bold with the power of Nirobus!”

“Oh,” Matt said “The armies win by magic, huh?”

“The armies triumph over the cumbersome, bulky knights of Christendom as his sorcerers defeat the weak magic of the Christian wizards! You cannot stand against him! Yield, and he will treat you with kindness!”

“As long as we convert to Islam, that is.”

“Nay! He will not force you, only encourage you to see the benefits of Islam, of surrender to the will of Allah!”

“Only encourage us,” Matt said, nodding. “Of course, Christians will have to pay heavier taxes than Muslims, and Christian dukes and earls will have to give up their castles and lands to Muslim aristocrats, and the Muslim judges will tend to decide in favor of Muslims who are suing Christians… but that’s just the fortunes of war, right?”

“Even those mild punishments need not be yours, if you surrender to Allah.”

“So you’re not just promising your soldiers victory… you’re promising them loot from Christians who won’t convert. Tell me, just how did you manage to defeat King Rinaldo’s wizards?”

Achmed seemed to expand with pride, his eyes burning with arrogance. “Nirobus does indeed send us power from his distant land, unbeliever… a new sort of power, that strikes deep into a sorcerer’s soul and swells him with strength. There is no feeling like it! When I draw on Nirobus, I feel as though I were more intensely alive than ever before, filled with the strength of three, four, five lives, even more!”

“Matthew,” Papa said, “the new drug in the neighborhood… while they are under its influence, the boys go limp, with foolish grins. Indeed, some must stand guard while the others are under its influence. And even when they are sober, they seem to be weaker, slower, less vital… “

“So that’s why they weren’t fighting as well as they used to!” It was galling for Matt to realize that his victories might not all have been due to his new strength and skill. “How do you think the addiction will end, Papa? With each of them completely drained of his life force, dying as a shriveled husk of his former self?”

Achmed frowned. “Of what do you speak? Nirobus would never leach the souls of the living!”

“Not their souls, maybe, but their vitality.” Matt held up a hand to forestall the sorcerer’s protest. “Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t doubt that your Mahdi is a good man, or even that you and your fellows aren’t sorcerers at all, but good and virtuous men by the tenets of your Faith, wizards who mean only to draw on the powers of Goodness.”

“Then what is this talk of weakening young men?”

“I think Nirobus has pulled off the world’s biggest con,” Matt said, his face somber. “That means a cheat, a fraud. I think he’s managed to persuade you all that he’s a holy and righteous man who’s only trying to advance the cause of your Faith.”

“Assuredly he is!”

Matt shook his head. “Afraid not. At best, I think your Nirobus might be out to advance the cause of himself, to let your Mahdi conquer the world for you, then kill him off and Nirobus himself become emperor of all.”

“It cannot be!” But doubt shadowed Achmed’s eyes.

“Oh,” Matt said. “You don’t want to know the worst, then?”

“I do not!”

“I’ll tell you anyway,” Matt said softly. “Who is the Father of Lies, Achmed? Who is the Sultan of Fraud? The worst of it might be that Nirobus isn’t trying to conquer for himself at all. He might have a master, a very evil master.”

Achmed writhed and gyrated, trying to shrug off his bonds. “Free my hands to cover my ears! I shall not hear your blasphemy!”

“It’s not blasphemy to say that you and your fellow sorcerers are credulous fools who have let an amoral predator convince you of what you want to believe,” Matt said, “that you have let yourselves be convinced that Nirobus wants to bring all the world to Allah… “

Achmed began to scream, thrashing about in his bonds.

“But he doesn’t want the world for Allah!” Matt shouted. “The master he really serves is Satan, and he really wants to put us all into the power of Hell!”

“I did not hear you!” Achmed cried. “I did not hear the words of blasphemy!”

But they both knew he had, and knew that it wasn’t God that Matt was indicting.