Secular Wizard

Chapter 20

They watched the herald out of sight. Then Alisande turned to Sir Guy, resolutely banishing thoughts of a strange chill-white concoction in a clear glass standing cup, with some sort of dark brown sauce oozing over the top of it, and said, “How now, Sir Guy? How shall we save Matthew without bringing a war down upon our heads?”

“I would say,” the knight said slowly, “that we must first discover how Matthew may be in dire danger, but not in Latruria.”

“Is he gone from Latruria?” Stegoman rumbled. “A good thought.” Alisande turned to Ortho the Frank. “How say you, Wizard? Is your teacher in Latruria, or not?”

“He is not.” Ortho’s gaze still probed a distance only he could see. “Yet he is nonetheless in dire peril.”

The ice of fear enveloped Alisande’s heart. Ice! That was the stuff in the standing cup! But not really ice, either… “He… he is not in… a realm of the Afterlife?”

“No,” Ortho said with complete certainty. “He is not in Hell, nor Purgatory, nor any of the realms of the dead. He is in a place that both is and is not…” He shrugged, his eyes coining back into focus. “I cannot explain it more clearly than that, your Majesty; we have not the words. It is a wizard’s realm; let it rest at that.”

Stegoman scowled. “A wizard’s realm, and Matthew cannot break free of it?”

“Not by himself, no.”

“And can you not aid him?‘ Sir Guy demanded. ”Alas, no,“ Ortho sighed. ”I am a willing wizard, Sir Knight, but not a terribly powerful one.“

“Then we must bring a terribly powerful one.” Stegoman swung his head toward Sir Guy. “Is this not the emergency of which the Witch Doctor spoke?”

“It is,” Sir Guy agreed, and turned back to Alisande. “A clear and present danger,‘ he said. This is a present danger, though its nature may not be clear.”

“Yet it is clearly a danger.” Alisande turned to Ortho. “Is it not?”

“Most clearly indeed, your Majesty, and if it is not present now, it will most quickly become so!”

“Then there is no more time to wait,” Alisande said to the Black Knight. “Summon the Witch Doctor!”

Sir Guy loosened his gorget and drew a most unspectacular bauble out from the protection of his breastplate. “This is the amulet he gave me.”

Alisande frowned at the ball on its length of dull iron chain. It was a globe of metal perhaps two inches across, perforated with dozens of tiny holes arranged in diagonal rows-serried ranks. “ ‘Tis most unprepossessing, Sir Guy.”

“It is,” the Black Knight agreed. “The Wizard Saul says appearances are of no importance-only function and substance do matter.”

Alisande shuddered. “I pity his lady, Angelique!”

“Be assured, she has their cottage well in hand,” Sir Guy told her, “and he rejoices in its appearance as he does in hers.”

Alisande frowned. “Does he not see that his pleasure in her beauty, and the loveliness she creates about her, give the lie to his claims not to care about the outsides of things?”

“With respect, your Majesty,” Ortho said, “Lord Matthew has told me that the wizard Saul has never been troubled by his contradicting of himself. What does the amulet do, Sir Guy?”

“It will take my words to him.” Sir Guy pressed a little nubbin on the side of the cylinder that held the amulet. “There is a charm I must recite, to make it carry my voice… ‘Breaker, breaker! Nine one one! Come in, Wizard Saul! Mayday! Mayday!’”

Alisande frowned. “But ‘tis mid-June, Sir Guy, nigh to Midsummer’s. ’Tis long past May Day.”

Sir Guy shrugged. “Who can comprehend the ways of wizards, Majesty? He told me that it means ‘help me’ in a language called French-muh aid-ay-but that makes scarcely more sense, for I have never heard of such a tongue.”

Alisande glanced quickly at Ortho, but he only shrugged, looking as baffled as she. “Nine one one! Mayday, Wizard Saul!” Sir Guy said again, then, “Oh! I forgot! He said I must loose the nubbin when I am done speaking!” He lifted his thumb, and the button rose. Saul’s voice crackled out of the amulet, surprising Sir Guy so much that he dropped it. Fortunately, it swung by its chain, reverberating with the little tinny voice that somehow they could recognise as Wizard Saul’s. “You’ve gotta let up on me button, Sir Guy! I’m talking, but you can’t hear me if you don’t let go! Raise your thumb! Lift up your finger!” Then, oddly, the voice broke into song. “I lift up my finger and I say,‘tweet, tweet, now, now, come, come,’

“Am I sounding as daffy as I think I am? Hey, wait a minute-how can you answer if I’m still talking? Okay, Sir Guy, I’ll give you a chance-I’ll shut up for ten seconds. You press the little button again and tell me if you can hear me. Remember the incantation? It’s, ‘I read you loud and clear.’ Got that? Okay, let’s try it.”

“He might give me a chance,” Sir Guy said, annoyed, then pressed the button. “As it happens, I do remember that-I read you loud and clear, Wizard Saul! Though I do not read you, truly, only hear you, and why you think this spell will work when it has neither meter nor rhyme, I cannot think!”

He let up on the burton just in time to hear Saul say, “Well, I knew that. Don’t worry about the verse, I enchanted it when I built it, and it will keep working unless you break the indicted thing. Over.”

“He says ‘over’ to signal that he is done talking,” Sir Guy explained, and pressed the button. “Wizard Saul, we have just received word that Matthew is in danger. He seems to be imprisoned, but we cannot say where-it seems to be some sort of wizard’s realm!”

“We pray you come to his aid, and quickly!” Alisande called into the amulet, men added as an afterthought, “Over.”

For a moment mere was no sound Sir Guy frowned, and war just about to press the button again when Saul’s voice sounded; from the bauble. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a good reason for putting my experiment on ice. It will take a few minutes to shut down, then a few more to square things with Angelique, but give me, oh, half an hour, and I’ll be with you.”

“There is no need to be with us!” Alisande protested, and Sir Guy pressed the button in time for the amulet to catch her words. “Only find a way to be with him!”

“Over!” Sir Guy said, and let go of the button. “Be with him- Gatcha,” Saul’s voice said. “I’ll work on it. Any other instructions? Information, maybe?”

Alisande glanced questioningly at Ortho, who shook his head, and Sir Guy said, “You know all that we know now, Wizard Saul-except that word came from King Boncorro’s chancellor, Lord Rebozo, saying that Matthew is no longer in Latruria. The knowledge that he is in danger came from Ortho, who has been Matthew’s assistant for some years. Ortho also tells us that Matthew is in a strange sort of wizards’ realm that is neither part of this world nor of any domain of the Afterlife-but cannot explain what he means. Over.”

“Well, if anybody would be wise to him, it would be his research assistant,” Saul’s voice said, “at least, when it comes to magic. How did you know, Ortho? A dream? A waking vision? A hunch? Excuse me, I mean ‘a feeling.’ Over.”

“A feeling,” Ortho said, “but far more than that. There was, of a sudden, a sensation that I walked through mist, that the whole world had become insubstantial, and that I would never find my way out, for there were no landmarks. Over.”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty convincing,” said Saul’s voice. “I’ll start work on it and see if I can find anything-or anybody. Report back to you this evening. Over.”

“Over and out,” Sir Guy said, and let up on the button. “Well, your Majesty, we have done what we may.”

She nodded “it is in Wizard Saul’s hands now.”

“Shall we, indeed, press onward?” the dragon rumbled. “We shall.” Even though she was no longer in her own country, Alisande still knew instinctively what was best for Merovence; in this universe, the Divine Right of Kings was no empty theory. “We shall discover what we may, for I know in some manner that it shall be vital to us all that we be in Venarra when Saul finds Matthew. Forward!”

They marched, the army newly resolute, Ortho now with hope to balance his dread, and Alisande wondering whether the cold white substance in the clear dish could be snow, and if possibly they might have some in King Boncorro’s kitchens.

Matt didn’t really relax until the dark castle had disappeared into the mists behind him. Then he slowed down to a stroll and decided to admire the scenery. The only problem was that it was awfully hard to admire a continuous expanse of gray mist-so he started making his own.

He began small, with a miniature snow-globe scene, right after somebody had shaken the ball-and sure enough, there it was, ahead and off to his right. The little house looked charming, the snowman actually waved at him, and the flakes drifted gently down. Of course, being so small, it seemed to be far away-but what the hey, it was all illusion, anyway.

On an impulse, Matt left it standing for a while, thinking about something else-say, making a succulent fruit plate-until he was fifty feet past it. Then he looked back-and sure enough, it was still there, even though he hadn’t been watching it, and had very deliberately not been thinking about it. The snowman hadn’t turned to watch him go, but you wouldn’t expect that a snowman would. So any illusion he conjured up would stay there until he deliberately wiped it out. Matt was tempted-after all, it was a harmless little scene-but the antilitter habits of his own world took over, and he carefully thought of it disappearing as if erased with an art gum.

No doubt he just imagined that the snowman looked a little bit panicked just before its head disappeared, but he felt a trifle guilty, anyway. Then he turned around, pondering the possibility that illusions could gain even more of an independent existence here. The bowl of fruit sat before him, looking every bit as delicious as he had imagined. Matt stared-he hadn’t even willed it into existence, just imagined making it, with lingering delight. In fact, he had worked up an appetite just thinking about it-so maybe that was why it had appeared. Gingerly, he reached out, selected a slice of melon, and bit It was definitely the best melon he had ever tasted-exactly as he had imagined it should be, succulent and flavorful and moist.

The moistness helped a lot, since he hadn’t found a drinking fountain yet. He finished the melon, ate a few more pieces of the fruit, then imagined the whole plate fading into nothingness. Condensed mist wasn’t very satisfying; the fruit was, and the comfortable feeling in his stomach stayed. Why not? It was just as easy to create the illusion that he was well-fed as it was to create the illusion of a fruit plate. He strolled along, fabricating butterflies and songbirds as he went. They fluttered and flew about him, then went winging off to spread glad sounds everywhere else in this pocket universe. With all that depressing gray stuff, they were needed.

Matt came to a halt with a sudden thought. If he could leave illusions lying around the landscape, couldn’t other people? And if his could make noise and taste good and fill the stomach, maybe somebody else’s could draw blood with sharp teeth, or inject agony with a very big stinger. He decided to proceed a bit more cautiously. It also raised the question of what happened to the odd imprisoned magician who died here. Could his soul escape to the Afterlife, or did it have to hang around this vale of mist? Admittedly, sorcerers would probably prefer to hang around-paybacks are hell, literally in this case, and Hell wasn’t apt to be cheated, especially by a pocket universe created by a man who wasn’t even trying to be saintly.

So the odds were that Hell would have no trouble reaching in to yank one of its debtors out. But the ghost of a wizard might be another matter, though why it should want to linger around here when it had Heaven waiting, Matt couldn’t think. Of course, if it was expecting a long session in Purgatory, that might be another matter-so Matt decided to be wary of wandering ghosts. After starting with alarm at three different wraiths that turned out to be just thicker-than-average swirls of mist, he decided that, no matter what, he needed sunshine. The idea of creating the sun itself was so audacious that he had to think twice about it, but he reminded himself that it was only an illusion, not a real sun.

In fact, just to keep himself from getting confused and also possibly suffering radiation sickness, he imagined it as a ball of pure light, not flaming at all, and only a hundred feet overhead. Sure enough, it appeared-or its light did, filtered through the mist. As he walked, he imagined the mist melting away under the sun’s heat-and there it was, his own portable sun, sitting up there at the zenith… But he had imagined it as having just risen. And, come to think of it, he had imagined its light as being golden, not white, not yet.

What was going on here? Especially what was going on as the lifting mists disclosed a beautiful park, lush lawns bordered with flower beds in a dozen colors and textures, trees whose leafy boughs were so regular that they might have been sculpted, hedges and bushes that definitely had been, and here and there among them all, pools of water with stunning miniature scenes and fountains, and elegant, almost Classical, statues. Matt went up to one of the statues, wondering, and decided that it really was Classical, at least in style.

Someone had studied the Greeks and Romans thoroughly, and done a painstakingly accurate job of mimicking their style. The feminine form was tantalizingly real, its posture inviting and graceful, but its face a study in the calm, cool self-possession that he had seen in so many pictures of Greek statues. He went a little farther, wondering, looking all about him. There wasn’t a single religious statue among the lot-or at least, nothing that was Christian or Hindu or Buddhist; these figures might have come from the Greek and Roman pantheons, but if so, they were only idealized versions of the human.

Human! That was it! Someone had rediscovered the value and potential of the human body and, presumably, of the human mind! These weren’t Classical statues, they were Renaissance! But this was the Middle Ages; this universe hadn’t rediscovered the Classics and begun the rebirth of knowledge yet.

Wait a minute-when he had mentioned old Greek tales, Boncorro had said that he had heard of such discoveries, had even read a few. The Renaissance had started in Italy when the English knights were still slugging it out with broadswords, and Latruria was Italy by any other name. Had he arrived just in time for the beginning of the Rebirth of Art and Learning? Matt wondered. Or was it going to be stillborn? Was King Boncorro going to keep it locked up here, instead of letting it loose? Anger surged, but faded into puzzlement.

King Boncorro was far too interested in learning, and in finding alternatives to religion, for him to have deliberately banished a scholar. Was there some Latrurian equivalent of Petrarch or Abelard imprisoned here? And if so-why? The park opened out to reveal a manor house of alabaster, gleaming in the noon glare-and now Matt recognized that sun! It was the magical, clear light of Italy and Greece that he had read about. Whoever lived in that house really knew his subject. As he came closer, Matt saw that the building wasn’t really all that imposing. Oh, it was no cottage-but it wasn’t a palace, either. In fact, unless he missed his guess, it was a Roman villa, but scaled down to be comfortable for one man. His respect for the owner went up-he had some humility and wasn’t greedy.

He could have anything he wanted, but what he wanted wasn’t ostentatious or overdone-it was simple, but very elegant in its simplicity. The proportions were perfect, the colonnade behind it harmonizing beautifully with the house itself. The paved court in front was welcoming, as it led up to a portico that was the one element of the house not accurate historically, but blending so well with the Classical style that Matt found himself thinking he must have missed something major in his overview of Classical architecture. Of course, that had only been two weeks out of a survey course, but still… Wait a minute! This wasn’t part of the Classical style-it was something new, an innovation, but developed in perfect harmony with the spirit of the sunlit Golden Age of Greece, expressed in Roman style! Whoever this man was, he was eclectic, and not afraid to try something new.

Matt had to meet him. He walked up to the door and was surprised to find a huge brass knocker that could have come off a door in sixteenth century Florence, but somehow blended exquisitely with the Roman style. He lifted it, let it fall, waited a minute, then lifted it and let it fall again. He was mildly surprised that there were no reverberations echoing away into cavernous depths, then surprised at himself for being surprised. No, of course there wouldn’t be, would there? Not in a sunny, airy, open house like this. The door swung wide, and an old man stood there, bald, a little stooped, with a Roman nose, a thin-lipped smile, and a bright, inquisitive eye. “Good day, friend! You are a friend, I trust?”

“Not yet,” Matt said, “but I think I’d like to be.”

“Are you a philosopher, then?”

“I can’t really claim that.” After all, he hadn’t even written his dissertation yet, let alone received his Ph.D. “I just enjoy learning.”

“But not enough to claim you love knowledge, eh?” The man smiled, amused. “Perhaps you love women more? Or one woman?”

“One,” Matt confirmed. “I suppose you might say I flirt with knowledge, but I wouldn’t want to marry it.”

“Ah!” The man laughed. “Whereas I, my friend, most exquisitely enjoy flirting with beautiful women, but have chosen to marry knowledge! Have you read the works of the Greeks?”

“Only some,” Matt admitted, “and I studied modern languages, never did learn Latin or Greek.”

“But you are a scholar!”

“No, only a professional student.”

Finally, the man frowned. “You must explain the distinction to me-but first we must see to some refreshment for you. Come in, come in!”

As Matt stepped inside the door, the old man held out one hand as he closed the door with the other. “I am Arouetto. And you?”

Well, here it came. This was the chance of friendship, or the making of an enemy-but Matt didn’t feel like lying to this guy; he instinctively liked him. “I’m Matthew Mantrell.”

Arouetto stared. “The Lord Wizard of Merovence?”

Matt braced himself. “The same.”

“I have heard of you, have heard of the breadth of your scholarship! Oh, do come in, seat yourself! We must talk, at length and of many matters! Come, come!”

Arouetto hurried away down a hall and through a doorway. Matt followed, bemused. Nice to know he wasn’t counted as an enemy-but it was a bit of a surprise to hear this stranger sing his praises, especially for his scholarship. Maybe, by the standards of this world, he knew enough to be called a scholar-but Matt knew the truth. On the other hand, he knew a mathematician who had walked through the commencement line, taken a proud look at his Ph.D. diploma, and said, “Well, now I know how much I don’t know.” Maybe it went with the territory. But sitting down did have a nice sound. He followed Arouetto. They passed through the door into the atrium. That bright Italian sun beat down, but Arouetto was leading him to a marble bench in the shade of a wall, with a little table beside it. “Seat yourself, my friend! I know-the marble is hard. But a cushion will soften it!” He stared at the white surface, and suddenly there was a brocaded cushion covering its top, fitting its shape exactly. “And something cool to drink!” Arouetto stared at the tabletop, and a crystal goblet appeared, beaded with moisture, for the purple liquid inside it was iced. Arouetto looked up, beaming. “It is convenient being in a world of illusion, is it not?”

So he knew. “How long did it take you to figure that out?” Matt asked slowly.

“I did not-I fear I am slow of thought. It took an encounter with a braggart sorcerer, who thought to intimidate me with the range of his fantasies.” Arouetto smiled. “But he did not know the Classics, knew nothing of the Hydra or the gorgons. He fled screaming when he met them, and by the time he remembered they were only illusions and could be fought, I dreamed up this villa. Its walls were proof against monsters, for I fear the man had little learning, and less imagination. He sat down on a bench next to Matt’s, the little table stretching to accommodate them. ”How long did it take you, my friend? Being a wizard, you no doubt knew it for what it was quite quickly.“ A goblet with chartreuse liquid appeared in his fingers.

”Well, yes, but I was trying to figure it out,“ Matt said, ”and when you’re deliberately trying to cast a spell, and it works better and faster man you’d expected, you kind of get a hint.“ He took a sip; it was unfermented grape juice, cold and delicious. ”Apparently, King Boncorro decided it would be better for me to be working my magic in here than in his kingdom.“

“So you confronted the king himself! A wizards’ duel?”

“Don’t know if you could say it was a duel,” Matt said slowly. “I was too busy talking and not being suspicious enough; he took me more or less by surprise. I can understand why he’d want me out of the way, though-I did come into his kingdom in disguise, after all. To be frank, I was spying.”

“And he found you out.” Arouetto nodded. “Or was it his chancellor, Rebozo?‘

“It was Rebozo, and he would as soon have cut my head off as glowered at me-but Boncorro decided to send me here instead. He said it was a test to find out how powerful I was. If I can figure a way to get out of here, I pass.”

“In which case, he will know that he must use every spell at his command to slay you.” Arouetto nodded. “I would recommend, Lord Wizard, that if you do manage to fly this congenial prison, you escape to some place far from King Boncorro-and take me with you.”

Matt swirled the liquid in his goblet. “I should think you would like it here.”

“Oh, it is certainly far more luxury than I could manage in the real world, and I am able to surround myself with beauty that I can only dream of at home! But it is lonely, Lord Wizard. I may not wish to marry, but I do enjoy the company of kindred souls-and corresponding with the few others who have discovered the delights of the old Greek and Reman books.”

“I can understand that. I saw some of your statues coming in, though, and they’re masterful. Did you just remember works you had actually seen? If you did, I’d like to meet the sculptor.”

“I did remember the statues of the Greeks and Remans that I have seen myself, but for the others, I imagined people I knew, then undressed them in my mind and set them on pedestals, in stone.”

Matt smiled. “It’s a good thing none of them can see their statues.”

“Oh, they would not recognize them!” Arouetto assured him. “I begin with faces I know, but change them so that the resemblance is lost, but the beauty preserved.”

“And change them toward the Greek ideal while you’re at it, I’ll bet-and the same for their bodies. I haven’t seen too many modern people who have those builds.”

Arouetto smiled with delight. “You have caught me! But yes, there is a certain sameness to all the faces, and to the bodies, too. It is the Classical style.”

“I take it you enjoy working with nudes.”

“If you mean, do I find sexual pleasure in it, the answer is yes,” Arouetto said. “I caress the feminine form divine with my mind as I am making it appear on its pedestal-but I take equally great delight in the contemplation of its proportions and its line and grace, when I am done.”

He was honest, at least.

“I might accuse you of glorifying the human form.”

“Might, but would not?” Arouetto smiled wickedly. “So you, too, believe that human beings are perfectible!”

“Well, yes, but they’re depravable, too,” Matt said slowly. “I do think our race has an amazing number of good qualities and hidden potentials-though I sometimes despair of them ever being developed.”

“Still, you have faith in humanity?”

“I’m afraid I do,” Matt sighed, “though it does make me feel gullible. I wouldn’t say I believe that all people are born fundamentally good, but I think most of them are. Doesn’t always last until they’re grown up, of course. I take it you do believe humanity is good in and of itself?”

“Oh, I think that people are wonderful! They are a never-ending source of wonder and mystery, even the bad ones! But yes, I find that there is more good than bad in them, and believe that we as a species can be made perfect.”

“You are definitely a humanist,” Matt said. “What else are you?”

Arouetto spread his hands. “I am a scholar who seeks to become a philosopher. That is all.”

“That’s enough, Heaven knows.” Matt noticed that the man didn’t flinch at the word “Heaven.”

“But how do you make a living?”

“I inherited enough to live in comfort if I lived plainly,” Arouetto said, “and found that I had to make a choice. I could live in genteel poverty and devote myself to study-or I could marry, rear a family, and pay the price of having to labor and scheme in commerce to support them. I chose to devote myself to Knowledge, my true love.”

“And Art,” Matt pointed out. “Couldn’t you have made a living as a sculptor?”

“Oh, my hands have neither skill nor talent! I cannot paint or sculpt in the real world, Lord Wizard-or no better than a clumsy child can. It is only here, in a realm that can be governed by pure thought, that the glories I imagine can become real!”

“Sounds like your ideal habitat,” Matt said, “provided you could leave it whenever you wanted to, for a little socializing. What did you do to get sent here in the first place?”

“Nothing.” Arouetto smiled sadly. “I existed. That was enough.”

Matt stared. “All you asked was to be left alone to study, and the king sent you here?”

“No, Rebozo did-or rather, the king’s were the hands that sent me, but it was at Rebozo’s urging. He told the king that I was a threat, though I cannot see why.”

“I can,” Matt said darkly. “Rebozo’s power rests on the power of Satan, and you have the audacity to ignore it. If everybody else started thinking the way you do, people actually might start living morally, without fear of the Devil or faith in God, just because it was the right thing to do, just because life was better that way.”

Arouetto’s smile was sad again. “Come, my friend! Next you will have me believe that water flows uphill and winter is warm! I believe in the worth of humanity, but even I am not so foolish as to believe that most people will be good without some form of coercion!”

“Rebozo believes it, though,” Matt said, “and anything that might encourage people to be good is going to win his instant animosity. As to the king, he’s young enough to believe most of what his chancellor tells him.”

“He will grow, though, and gain wisdom for himself,” Arouetto said. “Oh, yes,” Matt said softly, remembering the conflict he had witnessed between chancellor and king. “You may be sure of it.”

“He may then find my ideas not as threatening as his chancellor does.” Oddly, Arouetto didn’t seem all that eager about it. Matt studied him closely a moment and guessed that his calmness was more a matter of willpower and discipline than of gut-level emotion; it spoke of the Stoicism of Marcus Aurelius. Also, now that he looked closely, he saw that the scholar wasn’t really all that old; the bald head and the stooped shoulders were signs that, in this case, were misleading. His face was wrinkled, yes, but mostly with crow’s-feet and laugh lines, along with some grooves in his forehead, and that prow of a nose made the whole face look leaner than it really was. Matt’s revised guess for his age was mid-fifties, maybe sixty. Of course, in a medieval world, that was old. “Yes, I think the king would find your ideas interesting, even now,” he said slowly. “In fact, I think he would find them vital-if he knew about them.”

“There is the little problem of informing him, yes.” The scholar sighed. “But why do you think he would find my studies so fascinating, Lord Wizard?”

“Because he’s trying to convince himself that there’s no Heaven or Hell,” Matt said, “which means no God or Satan. In brief, he’s trying to do away with religion.”

“Then my ideas would not please him!” Arouetto said severely. “I believe most strongly in God, Lord Wizard-which no doubt had something to do with Rebozo’s eagerness to be rid of me.”

“But you also believe in humanity.”

“I do, and see no conflict between the two. The churchmen teach that we are born in sin and are animal by nature. I cannot argue with our essential animality, but I will also affirm that we each hold within our souls a spark of the Divine. I have dedicated my life to discovering and revealing that innate goodness in man and woman which comes from God, and to developing all that is best in human nature.”

“Ah! Then you believe that if you are a scholar, you have the obligation to teach!”

“Only if I am asked.” Arouetto smiled. “And I have not been.” He seemed relieved. Matt was not. ‘Too bad there aren’t any universities to confer the degree-you’re definitely a Ph.D. No wonder Rebozo thought you were a threat.“

“Yes-for if someone had asked me to teach, my students might have begun to think and question.” Arouetto’s eyes sparkled. “But you’re no threat at all to King Boncorro’s overall plan-in fact, your ideas are just what he’s aching for!”

“All the more reason to hide me away here, is it not? No, I am no threat to King Boncorro’s goals-but I am a threat to the chancellor’s plans for frustrating his Majesty’s efforts, and corrupting the king himself into the bargain.”

“Oh?” Matt’s attention suddenly focused even more sharply on the scholar’s words. “I only met the two of them briefly, you understand. You think the chancellor has a deliberate plan to stop Boncorro’s chances of doing good?”

“Not just to stop him-to pervert all his efforts for the good of his people into ways to cause them suffering as great as any they have ever known. Nay, worse, for it will be a kind of agony of the spirit they have never encountered before, and are ill-prepared to endure!”

“That makes sense,” Matt said slowly. It really did-the king having his own private in-house brothel, conferring status and legitimacy on prostitution; the organized campaign to seduce country girls into the business, and the men into crime-Matt realized that something that grew up that fast had to have been planned and encouraged. He wondered if Rebozo had agents leading the runaways south, instigating and twisting their revelry. “You mean Boncorro has a whole strategy mapped out for the enrichment of the commonwealth, but Rebozo has a strategy for corrupting it?”

“That is my guess-though I must confess I have no proof.”

“Other than observation, generalization, and prediction, no. It’s impossible to run a real laboratory experiment on people; you need field studies, and the field is pretty boggy.” But Matt was galvanized, excited, and ebullient. “Your ideas really are what King Boncorro needs-something to temper his secularism with: humanism, injecting values that might forestall the worst excesses Rebozo’s trying to lead him into!”

“Only the worst,” the scholar cautioned. “Humanism is not a religion, after all-though it is not opposed to religion, either.”

Matt jumped up. “Let’s go!”

Arouetto stared at him. “Go? Go where?”

“Why, back to Latruria, of course! You’ve got no business loafing around here when there’s so much work for you at home!”

“But how are we to break out?” Arouetto asked, bewildered. Matt shrugged it off with airy disregard. “With your brains and my magic, we should be able to find a way easily-but not if we don’t try! Come on! Time for research! To the laboratory! Let’s hit the books!”

Arouetto began to rise from his bench, his smile growing, his eyes kindling with excitement. It was too bad that the chimera chose just that moment to attack.