The Lawrence Watt-Evans Fantasy
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Contents
COPYRIGHT INFO
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
THE TEMPLE OF LIFE
MEHITABEL GOODWIN
HEART OF STONE
THE FINAL CHALLENGE
BETH’S UNICORN
THE BRIDE OF BIGFOOT
KEEPING UP APPEARANCES
DROPPING HINTS
THE BOGLE IN THE BASEMENT
THE MAN FOR THE JOB
CHAPERONE
OUT OF THE WOODS
GHOST STORIES
THE FROG WIZARD
HORSING AROUND
SPIRIT DUMP
ARMS AND THE WOMAN
MITTENS AND HOTFOOT
JUST PERFECT
TRIXIE
IN RE: NEPHELEGERETES
IN FOR A POUND
SOMETHING TO GRIN ABOUT
BEST PRESENT EVER!
The MEGAPACK® Ebook Series
COPYRIGHT INFO
The Lawrence Watt-Evans Fantasy MEGAPACK® is copyright © 2017 by Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.
Cover art copyright © 2017 by Homunkulus28 / Fotolia.
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The MEGAPACK® ebook series name is a trademark of Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.
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A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
Lawrence Watt-Evans may be best known for his fantasy and science fiction novels, particularly the Ethshar series, but he has published a significant body of short fiction, too, including the Hugo Award-winning “Why I Left Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers.” This MEGAPACK® collects his fantasy stories—more than 400 pages of terrific reading! Please see his Author’s Introduction for more information.
Enjoy!
—John Betancourt
Publisher, Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidepress.com
ABOUT THE SERIES
Over the last few years, our MEGAPACK® ebook series has grown to be our most popular endeavor. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”
The MEGAPACK® ebook series (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt (me), Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Shawn Garrett, Helen McGee, Bonner Menking, Sam Cooper, Helen McGee and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!)
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Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.
TYPOS
Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.
If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at wildsidepress@yahoo.com or use the message boards above.
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
One of the problems in writing short stories is that they wind up scattered across a variety of venues, which makes it hard for readers to find them. The stories here were published in an assortment of anthologies and magazines and chapbooks over a period of more than thirty years; up until now I doubt anyone outside my immediate family has read all of them.
Oh, some have been reprinted multiple times, but most haven’t seen the light of day in decades. It’s nice to have them collected in one place, where readers can find them!
They’re all fantasy, from old-fashioned sword-and-sorcery to a Christmas story; you’ll find werewolves, elves, dragons, and wizards.
All of these are stories that have not appeared in any of my previous collections. That’s a large part of why this is specifically a fantasy collection. You won’t find any science fiction, horror, vampire stories, or tales of Ethshar—those have already been published in previous collections. (Well, mostly; there are a few more science fiction stories that haven’t been collected yet.) You won’t see any collaborations or licensed properties; it wasn’t worth the legal hassles. I also kept out a couple of stories about the monster-hunting librarian George Pinkerton because I hope to eventually collect that whole series in its own volume. And there’s one story called “Sit!” that doesn’t seem to fit anywhere, including here, so it will probably never be reprinted.
But what you do have here is all the rest of the short fantasy I’ve had published. And some of it, if I do say so myself, is pretty darn good.
When I was going through my files to assemble this volume I discovered that I had several of these stories in multiple versions; in those cases I tried to use whichever version had been published originally. I may have gotten that wrong once or twice.
Whatever their history, I hope you like them.
—Lawrence Watt-Evans
Takoma Park, 2017
THE TEMPLE OF LIFE
Few ships came to Avitaine any more and the docks at which the Broken Stone made its mooring were deserted and rotting. This was one reason for choosing them, as Elihaniku had no particular desire to attract attention. One could never be sure how far away his enemies would look before giving up the chase, and the distance put behind him so far was not as great as he might have wished.
And as Merek, his captain, reminded him, there are no mooring fees at abandoned piers.
In keeping with Elihaniku’s policy of caution, no one left the ship until nightfall; even then, half the crew was kept on board in case a hasty departure became advisable. The others, including Elihaniku and his mysterious companion the Pad, but not Merek, dispersed quickly into the dark, empty streets in search of congenial company.
To Merek’s astonishment, within the hour many had returned, and each in his turn told the same tale. Not a single tavern, inn, or brothel was to be found open; all were unlit, windows shuttered and doors barred. No one had seen so much as a single person on the streets. Some ventured to guess that the city was haunted, or cursed, or that a plague was loose; all were eager to depart as soon as possible.
These stories made Merek himself most uneasy, but he knew that an immediate departure was out of the question. This stop was no mere pleasure visit; the ship’s stores were dangerously low, her water nearly exhausted. Both had to be replenished before she could sail again. This was of the most especial importance since the next voyage planned would be a very, very long one; Elihaniku had decreed that the Broken Stone was to sail for the legendary Land of the Sun, in the Ultimate East, and Elihaniku owned the ship. Merek suspected that the noble love of adventure that the old man boasted of to the crew was so much nonsense, and that the ancient coward simply wanted to reach someplace so distant that none of his pursuers, not even the Dark King of Nathmar, would follow. Not that the captain didn’t sympathize; he hoped that when – and if! – he ever reached Elihaniku’s age he would not have one-tenth the enemies that the Chronan did. There were times when it seemed that all the world save Merek and the Pad was allied against the old thief, and Merek’s loyalty was a direct result of the fact that he somehow always had ready gold with which to pay his captain.
Merek mull
ed over the situation as the night wore on; as dawn approached, he realized that all his crew had been back for a hour or more, but that no word had come from his employer or the Pad.
He began to worry with the first greying of the eastern sky, and by full daylight he was equipping a landing party to scour the city.
These preparations ceased suddenly, however, when the Pad strolled out of an alleyway as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Merek knew better than to talk to the Pad; in fact, most of the crew thought the odd little man was mute. Only in complete privacy would he speak, and then only to a chosen few. Merek had just recently become one of those few. Still, the captain was of by the Pad’s nonchalance, and beckoned him to his cabin. With a casual nod, he complied.
The instant the door swung to behind them, the Pad’s manner changed completely. He spun on his heel, and locked and barred the door. He peered out the stern window, and seeing no one, drew tight the curtains. Merek was astonished to see him sweating, his hands trembling, for the Pad rarely displayed any emotion other than suspicion; yet now he was frightened, and that simple fact seemed somehow much more ominous than any number of scared sailors or shuttered taverns.
The two men seated themselves at the captain’s rough oaken table, and the Pad spoke in his customary harsh whisper. “The old man’s a prisoner. A wizard, Garl, runs the place, and don’t like visitors.”
“Why did he take Elihaniku and no one else?”
“We went near his palace, others didn’t. Didn’t see me.”
Merek knew quite well that when the Pad chose not to be seen, he wasn’t. When the captain first met his employers they were the most successful thieves in Feltharucesh, largely because of the Pad’s stealth. The little man could move in almost complete silence, and vanish with startling speed.
“How did Garl capture him?”
“Bats.”
There the conversation ended; the Pad had said his piece, and no coaxing from Merek could get more out of him. Merek knew better than to try very hard; he knew everything he needed to know, except what to do next.
After due consideration he decided upon a fairly direct course of action; he would find a talkative native, find out what he could, and try to get into the palace to free the old Chronan.
Thus it was that two strangers settled in the Crimson Peacock for dinner; the taverns were open from sunrise to sunset, but not a moment longer.
The big man talked and sang, and in general made himself congenial company, while the other said not a word and kept his hand always near the hilt of his dagger. It was not long before someone told them the tale of the young king of Avitaine’s unhappy wedding day two years earlier, when their rightful ruler and his new bride, during their nuptial ceremony, entered the Temple of Life never to be seen again; the wizard Garl had sealed the building up, and made himself master of the island during the consequent confusion.
This story was followed by countless anecdotes of the cruelty of their new overlord.
Upon hearing these tales, Merek grew less and less cheerful; how could they hope to free Elihaniku from such a fiend? And how were they to resupply the ship, when Garl kept close watch on all commerce and had forbidden foreign trade? The longer Merek listened, the more convinced he became that it was little short of miraculous that most of the ship’s company still remained unharmed and apparently undetected.
As if summoned by these dreary thoughts, a man burst into the tavem, crying, “Garl has found a strange ship in the harbor, and even now he is freezing it!”
Merek joined the crowd that rushed out into the street and down toward the docks where the Broken Stone lay at anchor; to his horror, he saw that despite the mild spring weather ice clung to his ship’s sails, and grew visibly as he watched. The sailors on the decks were utterly still, as if instantly frozen, and stood in grotesque postures on the whitening planking. As the tavern crowd stood helplessly by, the ice grew and spread until at last the entire vessel was sealed in a vast block of crystal, glittering diamondlike in the sun.
Severely shaken, Merek returned to the Crimson Peacock, where the Pad still sat. He described what he had just seen, but of course received no reply. The Pad sat in total silence, and seemed to be thinking intently. Abruptly he rose, and made as if to leave. Merek rose to follow, but was motioned back to his seat. He complied, and the Pad vanished through the door.
Perhaps an hour later Merek sat staring at his fifteenth beer, wishing the alcohol would affect him, when the Pad slipped in as silently as he had left. He motioned to Merek, and the two strolled casually out into the street.
At the mouth of an alleyway nearby, the Pad vanished, and Merek was jerked roughly back into the shadows. When his eyes had adjusted to the gloom he found himself again facing his companion, who whispered quickly, “Spoke to the old man through the window; you get Garl to the temple by sunset.”
Before Merek could reply the Pad had disappeared again, and this time he did not return.
* * * *
The Pad moved easily through the alleys and byways of Avitaine, and came without incident to the end of an alley which opened onto the great square in front of the Temple of Life. Here he paused to inspect the building. Hewn of solid marble, it gleamed in the afternoon sun. The Pad could see gargoyles with Gail’s face perched, leering evilly, upon door, frame, and eaves, where the wizard’s magic had installed them two years earlier.
Seeing no means of entry he slipped back into the shadows, and stole silently around the north side of the temple, which proved to be completely blank and featureless; the south side was likewise unadorned. The east end, however, was joined to the house where the temple priests dwelt; the Pad decided that this deserved a closer look.
The windows of the priests’ house were unbarred, and within a very few minutes the Pad stood silently in an upstairs room, every sense alert. When he detected no movement nor any indication that his presence had been noticed, he crept with the utmost stealth to the back of the house, and began a systematic search of the unoccupied rooms for any entrance to the temple proper. After considerable exploration, he was forced to admit to himself that there was only one door linking the house to the temple, and that was in the main hallway, where three solemn robed figures stood talking quietly. It was clearly beyond even his consummate skill to slip by this trio unnoticed.
Desperate now, for the plan, if it was to be successful, must be carried out by sundown, the Pad picked up a nearby candelabrum and hurled it across the hall to a chamber opposite, where it struck the floor with an alarming crash and clatter.
The three priests abruptly ceased their conversation and turned toward the noise; as they hurried into the empty room to investigate, the Pad slipped by and hurried to the door. Breathing a silent sigh of relief he grasped the handle and pulled.
It was locked.
* * * *
After the Pad left, Merek wasted no time in returning to the tavern, where he finished his fifteenth beer and three more as well, to strengthen his nerve. Thus fortified, he set out boldly for the palace; as the drinks at last began to make themselves felt, he began swaggering. By the time he reached the palace gate, he was boasting and singing, and the appearance of two cloaked guards failed to disturb him until they grabbed him by the arms and proceeded to drag him through the entrance to the royal courtyard.
He was led unceremoniously to the Great Hall, and tossed on his face before the throne. He scrambled to his knees, lifting his gaze slowly to the bedizened figure of Garl, who sat brooding over him. The wizard shone with an unearthly dark fire, towering from his throne; he was inhumanly tall with a gaunt, drawn visage, and glared down at the besotted seafarer as a pagan idol might regard an insect that had had the effrontery to walk across his altar. His voice rolled forth like the boom of a great drum, resounding from the tapestried walls.
“Who are you, and what do you mean brawling about my city
?”
“I am Merek sen Ermi, merchant and mercenary of Feltharucash in the Sealands, and captain of the caravel Broken Stone. How is it your mightiness need ask? Are you not a great wizard, with all knowledge at your fingertips?”
“You speak insolently, Merek sen Ermi; are you perhaps weary of life? I am in truth a mighty wizard, and it is dangerous to doubt it; but I have better uses for my art than to waste my time keeping track of such scum as you.”
“Indeed? What else has such a piddling overlord to do? You rule nothing but a small island, and a city, by your words, of scum; does this befit a mighty wizard?”
“You talk boldly indeed, and I suspect it is mostly liquor speaking, and not your better judgment. Know that I am master of all the arcane arts, and in my mastery choose to devote but a tiny portion of my time to statecraft.”
“Ah, so you have mastered all arts! Then tell me, O great Garl, why do you bother with such trash as myself? Why do you argue with me, when here in your own city is a much greater foe? Why, I venture that even I could best you at the art of swordcraft, and there can be no doubt that there is in your city one who you concede to be your superior in many things.”
“Who is this foe you speak of, then? Why has he not challenged my rule?”
“Because you have imprisoned him by trickery, of course, being afraid to face him openly. I speak of Avitaine’s rightful king, and the Spirit of Life that anoints him King.” Merek had no idea if the King was really in any way Garl’s better, or even if he still lived, but the Pad had said to bring the wizard to the temple, and Merek, in his drunken bravado, thought this the moat expedient way.
He was quite correct. Unfortunately, he had also spoken a boast that could well bring his own death.
“Perhaps, fool, there is some sense in what you say. It is time that I made plain my mastery over this absurd Spirit, and completed the task I began two years ago. First, though, I would answer a challenge you have made. You ventured that you could best me at swordplay; would you then be so good as to support your claim?”