The Warlock Rock

Chapter Eighteen

The children were beginning to stumble with weariness as the sun set, and Rod was about to call a halt if Gwen didn't; the metal blimp would just have to get away. But as the dusk gathered, the blimp slowed and stopped.

Gwen halted, eyes still fixed on its swollen form. "Doth it sleep?"

"It would seem so," Rod said slowly. "If it throws out a mooring line…"

An anchor swung down from the blimp and snagged in the top of a tree. Rod relaxed, nodding. "It's set for the night. Collapse, kids. I'll find the raw materials." As the youngsters sank down, he touched Gwen's hand. "You could rest a little, too."

"I thank thee." She smiled up at him. "Yet I'm not so tired as I might be."

"You're a wonder—it's been a long hike."

"I, too, could last some while longer, Papa."

Rod looked up at Magnus and decided they could both benefit from the lad's proving how tireless he was. "Okay— you go bag a couple of rabbits."

Magnus smiled, turning away and taking out his sling. "Will squirrels do?"

"Oh, no!" An unfamiliar voice called out. "Get back, get back!" They looked up, startled. A young man in glittering garments was coming out of the wood, manic energy in every step. "No, no!" he cried. "Be nice, be nice!"

Cordelia reached up to catch Gwen's hand. "Mama—his face!"

Gwen looked, then gasped. "Even so, daughter! Doth he mock?"

"He must," Cordelia said.

Geoffrey frowned. "What ails thee?"

"Why," said Cordelia, "that young man doth—for thus will Prince Alain look when he is grown."

Geoffrey swung back to stare, amazed. " Tis even so!" He leaped to his feet, sword flickering out. "Avaunt thee, pretender!"

"Avaunt!" the mimic mocked. "Get back, get back! Who gives orders? What a fool!"

Rod's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue!"

"Oh, great man!" The mimic held up his hands in mock horror. "Oh, shall I bow? No—thou shalt bow, to thy prince!"

"The true prince is only half thine age," Gwen snapped, "and thy mockery hath little of amusement in it."

"A joke, a joke! The lady doth smoke!"

"Nay, but thou shalt, if thou wardest not thy tongue." Magnus stepped forward. "Shall I slay rabbits as thou slayest humor?"

"A slayer, a butcher!" the man screamed. "Murdering thief! Get back! Get back!" He leaped at Magnus, foot lashing out in a kick.

Magnus ducked easily, but the mock prince slapped him as he went by, catching Magnus a sharp blow on the cheek. The young warlock's face reddened; he lashed out with his empty sling.

"A weapon!" the mock prince cried. "I have one, too!" He yanked off his doublet and hurled it at Magnus, who slapped it away and stepped in to swing at the man—but he caught a boot square in the eye. He howled in anger, ducked the next boot, and came up swinging—to catch the youth's hose right in his face. The mock prince hooted with delight and slashed another kick—but Magnus caught the foot, twisted, and shoved. The mock prince hopped backward with a howl and fell, but did a backward somersault and rose, hurling his singlet at Magnus and catching at his loincloth.

Cordelia stared, not believing what she was seeing—only for a split second, though, before her mother clapped a hand over her eyes.

But the mock prince had only pulled a knife out of his loincloth, and that was his undoing. He slashed at Magnus, who caught the wrist, whirled, and cracked the young man's arm backward across his knee, locking the mock prince's elbow in the crook of his own arm. The imposter howled, eyes bulging, and the knife dropped from his fingers.

"Wait, hold it right there!" Rod called. "He's in the ideal bargaining position!"

Magnus looked up. The bellowing imposter twisted, and Magnus reacted barely in time to tighten the elbow lock. "What can he know?"

"Only the item we're wanting most." Rod went over and caught the young man by the hair. As the mock prince jerked his head up to yell at Magnus, he howled. "Yeowtchl"

"Yes, that gives you a reason to hold your head still," Rod said. "Now, pay attention for a second."

"What for, big man?"

Magnus applied a little more leverage. The imposter groaned, eyes bulging.

"Now that we have a basis for discussion," Rod said, "maybe you can tell us where these music-rocks came from."

"Oh no, big man." The youth tried to shake his head, winced, and gave it up as a bad job. "Oh no, I can't. I only know they came one day—and never has my living life been dull a moment since."

"I wonder an he doth tell the truth." Magnus bore down, and the young man yelped. "The dead! Only the dead know, only the dead! I mean it… YEOWTCH!"

"Magnus!" Gwen scolded. "What honor's in this? Thou hast reason to hold him still, naught more!"

Magnus looked up, realization dawning. "I cannot stay here all year, Mama."

"Mama, Mama," the young man mocked. "Oh, pretty honor, little b—OWWWW!"

"You shouldn't have made him angry," Rod explained. "Either control your mouth, or don't use it. As to your dilemma, son—we could put him to sleep."

Magnus shook his head. "He would but follow us when he waked, Papa."

"What dost thou intend!" Gwen said with indignation.

"I know not," Magnus confessed.

"Give him more of what he doth wish," Gregory suggested. •

"No can do, little man! I want everything!"

"Aye, but what dost thou want most?"

The imposter's eyes roved toward Cordelia, but his arm creaked, and he groaned. "Music. Most of all, music!"

"He shall have music, wherever he goes." Geoffrey shrugged.

"An excellent idea, brother!" Gregory caught up two rocks.

"What?" Geoffrey stared blankly. "What have I said?"

"That he should have music, wheresoe'er he doth go!" Gregory placed the two rocks over the youth's ears. Instantly, his eyes dulled and lost focus.

"Maybe, just maybe," Rod said thoughtfully.

"Bind them in place," Gregory suggested.

Geoffrey caught up the youth's singlet, tore off a strip, and tied it around his head, crown to chin. Then he tore another and bound it from nape to forehead. "They shall stay, unless he doth take them off."

"He won't, or I miss my guess," Rod said. "Let him go, son."

Magnus let go, and the young man fell like a stone.

Magnus looked down at him with disgust. "What, hast thou no pride? Rise and walk, man!"

The prince-mocker picked himself up, looking dazed, and ambled away. He walked right between Gwen and Cordelia, unseeing, and wandered into the wood.

Rod nodded with satisfaction. "Wonderful idea, boys! He's out of trouble for the rest of his life!"

"Or until someone doth take the rocks off from him," Geoffrey pointed out.

"By then, we shall be long gone," Magnus said with satisfaction, "and our trail grown very cold." Then he frowned. "What did he mean by saying, 'only the dead know'?"

"A metaphor," Gregory suggested, "to show that none living can have any idea of the rocks' origin."

"No." Rod was quite certain. "What started this whole exploration, son?"

Gregory looked up, startled. "Why… the dancing dead."

Rod nodded. "So if he says that only the dead know, those zombies might just be the dead he speaks of."

"But where," asked Cordelia, "shall we find the walking dead?"

"Somewhere between sunrise and dawn." Rod turned to pick up sticks. "But I, for one, am not minded to go searching just now. Fire and food, kids. We'll go hunting tomorrow. Maybe the blimp will show us."

"Aye," Gwen agreed. "For now, dinner and bed."

They managed to sleep well in spite of all the music—or perhaps because of it. Rod's last thought, as he drifted into sleep, was that maybe his ears were beginning to grow numb.