The Warlock Rock

Chapter Three

The Gallowglasses set off cautiously, Fess following behind. They walked awhile in silence. Then Magnus spoke.

"Yet how could a stone make music? 'Tis not in the nature of the substance; rock is hard and unfeeling."

"Tis equally unnatural for stones to be soft, then," Cordelia reminded.

"Not for a stone made of witch-moss," Geoffrey snorted.

"Aye. What is not in the nature of witch-moss?" Gregory asked.

Gwen smiled, amused. "Why not ask what is in its nature?"

"Everything and nothing," Rod answered. "Right, Fess?"

"That is correct," the robot replied. "Of itself, the fungus had no properties other than color, texture, composition, mass, and the ability to respond to projected thought. Its 'nature' is entirely potential."

"I comprehend how it may be crafted; I have done it." Cordelia frowned. "Yet how can it keep the aspects I give it, when I am far from it?"

Rod shrugged. "Dunno—but it can. If I'm guessing right, the first elves were made of witch-moss by people who didn't know they were doing it—grandmothers, maybe, who were projective telepaths but unaware of it, and who liked to tell stories to their grandchildren. But the nearest growth of witch-moss picked up the stories, too, and turned into the characters the story was about."

"Dost say the Puck is a thing of witch-moss?"

"Not where he can hear it—but he probably is."

"Yet whosoever crafted him must be five centuries in his grave!" Magnus protested. "How can the Puck endure?"

"I should think he is sustained by the beliefs of the people all about him," Fess put in. "One might say that, on Gramarye, the supernatural exists in a climate of belief."

"Thou dost mean that other folk with the power to send out their thoughts do sustain him?" Magnus nodded slowly. "I can credit that; yet how then can he think?"

"Doth he truly think?" Gregory asked.

Fess shuddered. "That is a philosophical question which I would rather not broach at the moment, Gregory." In fact, he didn't intend to broach it for about ten more years. "For the moment, suffice it to say that Puck, and all other elves, do indeed exhibit all the symptoms of actual thought."

"An it doth waddle and quack, can it be a hen?" Geoffrey muttered.

"A what?" Cordelia asked.

"A hen! A hen!"

"Do not clear thy throat; thou shalt injure thy voice…"

"Are they so real that they can even, um"—Magnus glanced at his sister and blushed— "have babes?"

"I had little difficulty accepting the notion," Fess replied, "once I accepted the existence of witch-moss. It is only a question of whether the crafter makes an elf of witch-moss himself, or does it by one remove."

"And if we do credit an elf's thinking," Gwen mused, "wherefore should we not credit a stone's making of music?"

"But there are no tales of singing stones, Mama!" Geoffrey protested.

"What difference does it make?" Rod countered. "If the people of this land believe in magic, they probably believe in anything anyone can imagine."

"Yet a true rock could not make music?" Gregory asked anxiously.

"Not a true rock," Fess said slowly, "though it could conduct vibrations, and resonate with them…"

"Then a rock could be made to convey music!"

"In a manner of speaking—but it could not make music itself. However, a person could make a substance that looks exactly like stone."

"Thou dost speak of molecular circuits," Magnus said, relieved to be back on the solid ground of physics.

"I do. You have all seen the ring your father wears; the jewel contains a molecular circuit, and the setting contains others."

"Can it make music?"

"Your father's ring? No—but it can 'hear' music, and send it to the receiver behind his ear. Still, one could build a circuit of that size that would create simple music—and that is certainly ail that is at issue here."

"And 'twould look just like stone?"

"It could," Fess confirmed, and Rod explained, "In a way, such circuits are stones, since they're usually made of silicon—but they're very carefully made rocks."

"Ah!" Magnus looked up, finally connecting ideas. " 'Tis that which thou didst research, by making the amulet thou didst give Mama!"

"And that she very prudently gave the Abbot. Yes."

Cordelia looked up at the robot-horse, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Art thou pleased with the fruit of thy teaching, Fess?"

"I cannot deny it, Cordelia—the boy turned out remarkably well, in spite of it all. He not only absorbed the information, but also learned how to think, which is a different matter entirely, though related. He even began to enjoy learning, and eventually found it to be so great a source of pleasure that he seeks new information purely as recreation now."

. Rod tried not to blush.

Geoffrey shuddered. "How could one enjoy learning?"

That saved him. "Believe it or not, son, it can happen."

"I have seen you reading of the famous generals of the past, Geoffrey," Fess pointed out. "In fact, when you learn that even peacemaking is an extension of the same root purpose as warfare, you will find that virtually any information is enjoyable."

"Pray Heaven I never do!" Geoffrey exclaimed.

"Yet if thou dost take such pleasure in learning, Papa, wherefore dost thou so seldom seek new knowledge?" Cordelia asked.

"Not that seldom," Rod protested. "I've always found time to read the odd book or two."

"And some of them are very odd indeed," Gwen added.

"As for research," Fess said, "it is simply that he rarely has adequate time for such pleasures."

"He hath found such time this year," Cordelia pointed out.

"Yeah, and it's been such a relief." Rod grinned, stretching. "Gramarye seems to have been struck by a wave of peace for the past dozen months or so. When your mother politely hinted that I was becoming something of an encumbrance around the house…"

"Oh, I do remember thy discussing that Papa had not been to the castle for some time…"

"That was the occasion, yes. So I went down into the spaceship, and passed some time quite pleasantly in the laboratory, which is small but spacious…"

"Wilt thou never show us where it is?" Geoffrey demanded.

Gregory said nothing; he had already deduced the spaceship's location, but he didn't dare try to visit it.

"It would be of small interest to you, Geoffrey, since it has only minimal armament," Fess said, while Rod was still trying to think up a tactful answer. "The laboratory is adequate for a broad range of research, however, and your father settled down to see if he could grow a molecular circuit that could function as a psionic transceiver."

"All right, so it wasn't a complete success," Rod said quickly, to forestall criticism. "Still, it should have some worth, as a transducer. In fact, I would have experimented with it myself, if only…"He broke off, glancing at Fess.

"There is no need to hide it from them," Gwen said, "sin that 'tis where it shall be safe."

"What? what?" Magnus asked in concern. "Hath it a property thou hast not told us of?"

"More of a side effect than a property," Rod hedged. "It's not just that it shifts one form of psi energy into another, see—it also turns the esper's power back on its source."

"Thou dost say that an I were to wear it, and seek to lift a stone with my thoughts, I would instead find myself lifted?" Gregory asked, wide-eyed.

"We can move ourselves already," Geoffrey scoffed.

"I cannot," Cordelia pointed out.

"You wouldn't want to," Rod assured her. "The thought-impulse picks up energy from its surroundings, and comes back at you about ten times stronger."

Gregory stared. "Thou dost say that my own thoughts would come back to me more strongly than I sent them forth?"

"Oh! What a wondrous device!" Geoffrey cried. "I could move mountains with it; I could make walls to tumble!"

"Sure," Rod said sourly, "if we could figure out which power converts into telekinesis—and if it would hit the wall. But it doesn't—it hits you."

"If you sought to break a castle wall, Geoffrey," Fess explained, "that purpose would turn back on you, and it is yourself who would be broken."

That brought Geoffrey up short. "Mayhap I should not wish it," he said slowly.

"Only 'mayhap'?" Cordelia said aghast, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"But there is worse to tell." Fess's voice was flat and toneless. "That tenfold thought would still be projected out of you again, and the wall would return it to your mind, multiplied by another ten…"

"An hundred times stronger!" Cordelia breathed.

"Exactly. And the hundredfold signal would push out, to be returned multiplied by ten yet again."

"A thousandfold." Geoffrey was definitely beginning to see the horror of it.

"Yes, Geoffrey; we call such a phenomenon a 'feedback loop.' And, being uncontrolled…"

"It would burn out his mind," Magnus whispered.

"It would, if you did not cease pushing out your thoughts almost instantly. Fortunately, your father knows what feedback is, and ceased the experiment as soon as he felt his own mental power turning back on him. Even so, he had a raging headache, and I kept a close watch on him for twenty-four hours, fearing brain damage."

"That was when he failed to come home!" Geoffrey exclaimed.

"No wonder thou wast so distraught," Cordelia said to Gwen.

"I was quite concerned," Gwen admitted, "though Fess sought to reassure me."

"I immediately informed her that he was well, but would rest within the spaceship for the night. He had connected me to its systems, as he does whenever he goes there, so I was able to monitor his condition closely through his sickbed. But he recovered, with no sign of brain damage."

"Did he ever dare use it again?"

"I dislike that glint in your eye, Geoffrey. Please give over any thought of using the device; it is simply too powerful."

"But is it truly safe where it is?" Gregory asked.

"The friars of St. Vidicon of Cathode have sifted such matters five hundred years," Gwen assured them.

"And five centuries of research into psionic affairs should give them a certain competence," Rod pointed out. "In fact, Brother Al assured me they were the best in the Terran Sphere, even better than the scholars on Terra."

"If they cannot handle it safely," Fess said, "no one can—and they will have the good sense to know that at once."

"Then they may destroy it?" Gregory sounded so disappointed that Fess interpreted it as a danger signal, but his programming wouldn't allow him to lie. "I cannot be certain, Gregory, for your father asked them not to tell him if they did so."

"I was kinda proud of it," Rod admitted.

"So," Fess said, "they may liquidate it—or they may yet use it as a research tool. We simply do not know."

"Yet we can know that we will never have it out from there," Geoffrey said, disgusted.

"Quite so, Geoffrey." Fess was relieved to see his most tenacious student finally let go of the notion. "Destroyed or intact, it has gone where it will be safe."

Geoffrey suddenly lurched, tripping over something among the dry leaves. "Ouch!"

They were all suddenly still, for there had been a very odd echo to his word.

In the silence, they heard music.

"'Tis louder," Gregory observed.

"And with a stronger fundament." Geoffrey's head began jerking backward and forward in time to the beat.

"Geoffrey," Fess commanded, "hold still!"

The boy looked up at him, hurt. "I did not move, Fess."

"Yet thou didst," Gregory assured him, and turned to Fess, wide-eyed. "What insidious thing is this, Fess, that doth make one's body to move without his own awareness?"

"It is rock music, Gregory," Fess answered. "Come, look where Geoffrey tripped."

They turned back a step and pushed aside the leaves. Sure enough, there it lay, the twin of the first rock they had found.

"We were right!" Cordelia cried, clenching her fists and hopping with delight. "Oh! Hath our experiment succeeded, Fess?"

"It has, Cordelia; our hypothesis is validated. Now, gather more data."

"Well enough!" Cordelia knelt and picked up the rock. It chuckled. "Oh!" she said, surprised. "Tis harder!"

"Yet still doth yield." Geoffrey poked the rock with a finger, and it fairly howled with laughter.

"Let me! Let me!" Gregory dropped down to probe the stone, and it laughed so hard it coughed—right on the beat, of course. "Leave off!" it wheezed between coughs. "Oh! I shall die of tickling!"

Cordelia dropped it and rubbed her hands on her skirt.

"Art thou alive, then?" Gregory asked.

"Aye; no fossil form am I." The rock chuckled. "Oh! I have not laughed so since last I split!"

"Last?" Magnus looked up. "Thou dost halve oft, then?"

"Have off what?… Oh!" The rock chortled. "Aye, foolish lad! Whene'er I increase far enough!"

"Didst thou divide today?"

"Divide today into what? Oh! Morn and afternoon, of course! Nay, I did not—the sun did that."

"Whose son? Oh! Thou dost speak of the orb in the sky! Yet didst thou split when it rose to its highest?"

"Aye, lad, every day I havel 'Tis fertile land here, midst the leaves! And I do take my leave when'er I may!"

"Dost thou never work, then?"

"Nay, I exist but to make music! A bonny life it is!"

"So long as there is witch-moss by for thou to roll into," Cordelia returned. "Yet wherefore art thou hardened?"

"Why, for that I've aged. All things must needs grow hard as they grow old."

"Not every thing," Rod said quickly, with a glance at Gwen.

"It is not entirely true," Fess agreed. "Still, I must admit that is the common progression."

"Yet an it hath progressed as its progenitor did…" Magnus stood, gazing thoughtfully off into the trees.

"Aye." Gregory pointed. "Yon doth continue the vector we did tread, brother!"

"Another hypothesis?" Fess was ever alert for the sounds of learning.

"Nay, further evidence for the one we've tested. An we backtrack farther on this vector, Fess, we should discover the parent of this parent rock."

Fess nodded judiciously. "That is a warranted extrapolation, boys. Yet time grows short; let us send the spy-eye." The pommel of his saddle sprang up, and a metal egg rose out of it.

"Fun!" Cordelia cried, and the children crowded around Fess's withers, where a section of his hide slid up to expose a video screen that glowed to life, showing a bird's-eye view of the immediate area. They could see Fess's head, neck, and back with their own four heads clustered around, growing smaller in the screen and swinging off to the left.

"I did not know of this," Gwen told Rod.

"Never thought to tell you," he admitted. "Remind me to dig up his specifications chart for you one of these days."

The rock increased the volume of its music, miffed at being so suddenly ignored.

"Cordelia," Gwen said, "cease tapping thy foot."

Cordelia glowered, but stopped.

On the screen, greenery streamed past faster and faster as the spy-eye shot toward the west. Then, suddenly, it slowed to a halt.

"Three hundred meters," Fess said, "the same distance we have come from the first stone. Here is the audio, children."

From the grille below the screen music blared, faster than that in the air around them, and with a heavier beat. The music from the speaker jarred with the music around them, out of phase; the children winced, and Fess turned it down. "There is another music rock nearby, of a certainty. Let the eye descend, Fess."

The leaves on the screen seemed to swim upward, past the edges of the frame and out, until the brown of fallen leaves filled the screen. The brush swelled until the children could see the outlines of each stick and branch.

" 'Tis there!" Geoffrey cried.

"Directly where we said 'twould be," Magnus said, with pride.

" Tis a darker gray." Cordelia pursed her lips. "Would it be harder, Fess?"

"Since this stone is harder than the first we found, and since it maintains that hardness comes with age, I should say the prospect is likely, Cordelia. Can you make any other inferences?"

The children were silent, startled by the question. Then Magnus said slowly, "Thou dost mean that an we seek farther in this direction, we shall discover more rocks."

"That does seem likely."

"And then the farther away they are, the harder they will be?" Geoffrey asked.

"I would presume so, though the spy-eye cannot test it."

"Yet it can see if they are there. Send it farther"— Magnus eyed the angle of the sunlight that streamed through gaps in the trees—" farther west, Fess."

The scene on the screen shrank as the spy-eye rose, then shot into a blur as it swept away.

"Hypothesis: that the farther west we go, the more rocks we shall find, at an interval of approximately three hundred meters," Fess postulated, "and that each rock shall be harder, though we cannot test it…"

"And darker!" Cordelia cried.

"And with louder and more driving music!" Gregory added.

"Harder, darker, and with more raucous music," Fess summarized. "Why do we extrapolate so?"

"Why, because the farther west we go, the older the rocks must be!" Magnus said triumphantly.

"A warranted inference, Magnus! Yet that insight should yield one more."

The children were silent, staring at the screen.

"I would I had had such a tutor," Gwen murmured.

"Why, that the first rocks… must have come from the west country," Magnus said slowly.

"Excellent, Magnus! And what does that, in its own turn, tell us?"

"That the crafter who sent out the first rock must be also in the west," Gregory breathed. "I had forgot that there must needs have been a person who did make the first of these rocks."

The scene steadied on the screen, and there it lay, neatly centered, a dark gray rock. Fess turned up the speaker, and twining music with a hard, quick beat boomed out at them. They winced, and the sound dwindled quickly. "Hypothesis validated," Fess said, with a trace of smugness.

"I could use this form of thought to discover an enemy's camp," Geoffrey whispered.

"It is a powerful tool," Fess agreed.

"Yet this is not the only hypothesis involved," Gregory said, his little face puckered in thought.

"Indeed?" There was an undertone of anticipation in Fess's voice.

"We have tracked the trail of this one rock," Gregory said, "yet wherefore should the crafter have made but one?"

His brothers and sister stared at him, startled, and Rod and Gwen shared a proud glance.

Then Cordelia said slowly, "Aye, 'tis unlikely. E'en an he did it solely for the pleasure of it, would he not have made many, to delight in his own prowess?"

"That is possible." Fess carefully said nothing of the plague of songbirds that had struck the area around the Gallowglass house earlier that spring. "But how could we answer that question?"

"An there were other rocks," Magnus said slowly, "they would have split and flown three hundred meters at a time, even as these did."

"That is sensible, if we assume such rocks were identical to the ones we have already found."

Magnus shrugged, irritated. "There is scant reason to think aught else. They should therefore be each at a distance north or south from each of these we've found, but at an equal distance east and west."

"Why, how is that?" Geoffrey demanded.

"Oh, see, brother!" Magnus said, exasperated. He caught up a twig and dropped down to sweep dead leaves aside, exposing bare earth, and scratched with the twig. "An the rocks begin from the crafter, there in the west—let this dot stand for him—then the rocks we've found sprang from him three hundred meters at a time, here… here… here… and so forth." He made a series of dots moving farther and farther east. "Yet if another stone so split, and sent forth offspring, 'twould be either hard by each of these—and we know 'tis not, for we'd have seen them—or at some little distance, here… here… here…" He punched another line of dots, moving farther north as they moved east. Then he froze, staring down at his own diagram.

So did his parents.

Slowly, Gregory reached in with another twig and punched another line of holes south of the original line, moving farther south as they moved east, then another line south of that, and another, and another…

" Tis a set of circles," Cordelia breathed.

"With a common center," Geoffrey agreed.

"The term for such circles is 'concentric,'" Fess explained.

Magnus looked thoughtfully at Fess. "There is no reason why this could not have happed, Fess."

"I agree," the robot said softly. "Let us send the spy-eye searching north and south—though as you have noted, children, it must search in an arc, not a straight north-south line."

"Yet how shall it know how sharp a curve that arc must have?" Geoffrey asked.

"Why, by the distance from the center of the circle, brother!" Magnus crowed. "Dost thou not remember that the circumference is equal to pi times the diameter?"

Geoffrey glared at him.

"But in this case, we do not know exactly where the center is," Fess reminded him.

Magnus looked startled for a second, then had the grace to look abashed.

"Fortunately, the rocks we seek send forth sound," Fess added. "I shall turn amplification up to maximum, children. If the spy-eye comes near a rock, we shall know by its music."

The children waited in breathless silence, trying to ignore the droning of the stone behind them.

A tinny, clattering sound came from the screen.

" 'Tis there!" Geoffrey said.

"We shall proceed in the direction of maximal increase of signal," Fess told them. On the screen, the scene swooped down and around, and steadied on…

"Another rock!" Magnus cried, and Cordelia clapped her hands. Gregory only smiled up at the screen, his eyes glowing.

The rock lay in the center of the frame, medium gray, and heavily thumping under its cascade of metallic notes.

"Seek again," Magnus urged.

"Seeking," Fess answered, and the picture blurred once more. The children held their breath as one sound dwindled and another grew, then…

"'Tis there!" Magnus pointed, and the other children cheered.

The rock lay in the center of the screen, almost identical to the last two, both in appearance and sound.

As the sound slackened, Gregory piped, "Fess—canst thou determine an arc from three points?"

The robot was silent for a beat, then said, "If we assume it is an arc, Geoffrey, yes."

"Then do so, please! And show us it on a map of Gramarye."

Rod stared, amazed, as he realized what the boy was getting at.

"Remember," Fess said slowly, "that this is only an hypothesis."

"Hypothesis! Hypothesis!" Geoffrey protested. "Doth one hypothesis lead ever to another?"

"Yes, Geoffrey. That is how human knowledge progresses."

The screen flickered, and the children found themselves staring at an overhead view of the Isle of Gramarye. Then a circle appeared over it, cutting through the western corner of Romanov, down along the western edge of Tudor and the western corners of Runnymede and Stuart, to intersect the Florin River in the middle of the Forest Gellorn, and on through the western corner of Loguire to cut Borgia in half from north to south.

The children stared at the screen.

Then Magnus asked, in a hushed whisper, "Where is its center, Fess?"

"Where radü meet," the robot answered, and a large red dot appeared at the western edge of Gloucester.

"The center of the rock music is on the West Coast," Gregory breathed.

"The hypothetical center," Fess reminded them, "and the word is 'western,' not 'west.' It is an adjective."

"Oh, what matter?" Geoffrey grumbled. " 'Tis the location of the crafter we do seek. Is he on the coast or not?"

"Remember, we are making several assumptions that may prove false," Fess cautioned. "We really must have more data before we can claim our hypothesis is sufficiently well validated to rank as a theory."

"And a theory is a statement of fact?" Magnus asked.

"Yes, Magnus, with the understanding that such a statement may later prove to be only part of a larger pattern. Do not make the error, as so many do, of saying 'theory ' when they really mean 'hypothesis.'"

"Then let us hypothesize further." Geoffrey folded his arms, frowning at the screen. "Let us ask what will hap if we are right, and this development of rock music doth proceed without hindrance."

"A valid question," Fess said slowly, while Geoffrey's brothers and sister (not to mention his parents) stared at him in surprise. "Extrapolate."

"This arc of thine will expand, at the rate of three hundred yards a day."

"Why, then, we may calculate how long it hath taken to come this far east," Gregory said, eyes lighting.

"How shall we do that, Gregory?"

"Divide the distance from the western coastline by three hundred yards!"

The answer appeared on the screen in blue characters.

"Two years and three-quarters?" Magnus stared. "How is't we've not heard of this sooner?"

" 'Tis but entertainment," the rock behind him answered. Magnus gave it an irritated glance. Fess said, "It is probably correct, Magnus. No one thought the phenomenon worth reporting; all thought it too trivial."

"How long shall it be ere the whole country is filled with soft rocks?" Geoffrey asked.

"Good question," Rod murmured.

"Extrapolating at the current rate of three hundred yards per day, and assuming no change?"

"Aye, aye!" Geoffrey said impatiently. "How long ere the rival army doth conquer us, Fess?"

The robot was silent a moment, then said, "I would prefer you not think of these rocks as an enemy army, Geoffrey…"

"Any pattern may be enemy action, Fess!"

"Nay!" Gregory looked up, alarmed. "Any pattern may have a meaning, but that meaning need not be hostile!"

"Tend to knowledge, brother, and let me tend to arms. A sentry doth not cause a war. How long, Fess?"

"Four years and a month, Geoffrey"—the robot sighed— "and allow me to congratulate you on correct use of the scientific method."

Geoffrey leaped in the air, shaking his fists with a howl of triumph.

Piqued, the music-rock boosted its volume.

"I question, however, the purpose for which you have used it," the robot said. "Still, I must applaud the alacrity with which you have learned the day's lesson."

"I have learned… ?" Geoffrey gaped at the robot. "Fess! Thou didst not tell me 'twas school!"

"We were still within school hours, Geoffrey. But it is so no longer; my clock shows 1500 hours. School is out for the day."

The children cheered, turned about, and plowed into the forest, heading west.

Rod stared after them, startled. "What do they think they're doing?"

"Children! Come back!" Gwen called.

"Fess did but now say school was out." Cordelia turned back, puzzled. "We are free to do as we wish, are we not?"

"Well, aye," Gwen conceded. "Yet what is't thou dost seek to do?"

"Why, to test our hypothesis," Magnus said.

"We must needs seek the information," Gregory explained. "Fess hath said we have not yet enough."

"Come to think of it, he did," Rod said slowly.

"It was not intended as an imperative, though," Fess protested.

"Is not that what we came to do?" Geoffrey demanded.

"Not quite," Rod said, as much to straighten out his own confusion as theirs. "We're supposed to be finding out who's sending zombies into Runny mede, trying to scare the taxpayers!"

Geoffrey cocked his head to one side. "And where shall we seek to learn that?"

Rod opened his mouth, and stalled.

"Here, at least, there is a clear path to follow," Gregory pointed out, "and the two phenomena are as likely to be related as not."

"There is a tempting refutation of logic in that…" Fess said.

"Yeah—it comes down to: when you don't know where to look, one direction is as good as another." Rod threw his hands up. "So, okay! Why not go west?"

The young ones cheered, and charged into the woods.