by Simon Hawke
“Yes, that’s all it is. Science is merely a form of knowledge.” “Merely knowledge,” Brian said. “What, then, is sorcery?” Now it was Brewster’s turn to frown. “I’m sure I don’t know. I didn’t even think there could be such a thing as sorcery.” “Sorcery is a form of knowledge, too,” said Brian. “An apprentice to a wizard knows nothing when he embarks on his apprenticeship. In time, if he is diligent and clever, he learns. As an apprentice, he could not cast any spells, because he did not know how, but once he had the knowledge, he could do it. How does that differ from your science?” Brewster grinned. “Now you sound less like a prince and more like a philosopher,” he said.
“What is a philosopher?” “Never mind,” said Brewster. “If you thought parallel universes and interdimensional travel were confusing, you don’t want to get anywhere near that one.” “No? Well, I shall take your word for it for now. Perhaps, one day, you will explain it to me. Still, you have not answered my question. How does your science differ from sorcery, if both are knowledge?” “Well, for one thing,” Brewster said, “in my world, sorcery doesn’t work and science does.” “Indeed?” said Brian. “Yet, your science seems to work here, in my world.” “I see what you’re getting at, but it’s not the same thing,” said Brewster with a wry smile. “Just because magic seems to work here is no reason why science shouldn’t. Science is merely an understanding and an application of the way natural forces work. And it isn’t just one thing, really. For example, if you want to understand the life processes of living organisms, then you study the science of biology. If you want to find out more about the stars and other heavenly bodies, then it’s the science of astronomy you want. Or if you’re more interested in the origin of your own world, then it’s the science of geology you want to study. If you want to learn about the natural laws that govern matter and energy, then it’s the science of physics you’re interested in, and to get more specific, there are different categories of each science, known as fields, depending on which branch of natural phenomena you wish to investigate. In physics, for example, there’s mechanics, thermodynamics, acoustics, nuclear physics, particle physics, plasma physics...” He saw the expression of dismay on Brian’s face and stopped. “You have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Brian shook his head. “At first, it seemed as if I were beginning to understand, but as you went on, it became more and more confusing.” “Well, it’s pretty complicated for someone who’s never had any formal education,” Brewster said. “Maybe I just went too fast. It’s not your fault, Brian, it’s mine. I guess I just didn’t explain it very well.” Brian leaned back against the wall of the battlement and scratched his head. “I wish to understand. Doc, I truly do. This science, it appears, ‘tis not just one thing, but many things.” “Well, yes, in a way,” said Brewster. “You see, science is basically a discipline, an approach to learning about things. But there are many different things to learn about, so the branch of science you choose depends on which specific thing you wish to learn about.” “Ah,” said Brian. “You mean like war.” “War?” said Brewster with a puzzled frown.
“Aye. If you wish to be a warrior, then you must study the art of war. But there are many different things that make up the art of war. There is the art of swordsmanship, and the art of archery, the art of disposition of the troops, and of making fortifications...” “Yes, exactly! That’s an excellent analogy,” said Brewster.
“What is... analogy?” “Oh, boy,” said Brewster, rolling his eyes. “Well, it’s what you just did, Brian, when you compare things that are different, but are similar in their relationships. Like war and science.” “Ah,” said Brian. “So then the many different skills that make up the art of warfare are like the different fields of science that you spoke of?” “Yes, that’s a good way of looking at it,” Brewster said. “You grasp things very quickly, Brian. You’re a very clever young man.” “I am?” said Brian with surprise. He sat down at the table opposite Brewster, an expression of intense interest on his face. “No one has ever said that to me before. I had never thought that I was clever. Tell me more about this science! I wish to learn!” “Well, said Brewster with a smile, “that’s the most important thing you need to have to be a scientist. The desire to learn. But there’s so much to learn.... To be a scientist means to devote your whole life to learning.” “Then I shall be a scientist!” said Brian excitedly. “Teach me how!” “I don’t really think you know what you’re asking me to do,” said Brewster. “There’s a great deal to learn.” “To learn, one has to think, is that not true?” asked Brian. “Well, there is little else that I can do but think. I am doomed to my enchantment for all eternity, and all I have had to think of until I met you was my misery. How stupid, vain, and foolish I had been, how I had wasted my life in idle pursuits of pleasure, how I had accomplished nothing, learned nothing...” Brian’s voice trailed off and he sighed heavily as he looked up at the sky. “Soon, it will be morning, and the enchantment will take hold again. I, a prince, born of noble blood, shall once again be nothing more but the most common sort of object, meant to serve the most common and demeaning sort of purpose. Tis a terrible enchantment, Doc. I can feel, I can think, somehow I can speak and see and hear, but I can do nothing! ‘Tis enough to drive one mad. And, sometimes, I think perhaps I am mad.” “Isn’t there anything that can be done?” asked Brewster. “ ‘Tis said that any enchantment can be broken,” Brian said, “if one has the proper knowledge.” He glanced at Brewster sharply. “Knowledge. Like your science!” “Oh, now wait a minute,” Brewster said. “We’re talking about two different things here. Magic is not science.” “How do you know?” asked Brian. “How do I know? Well... I... that is....” “You said yourself that science is but a way of knowing things about the way the world works. Well, perhaps in your world-your dimension, as you call it-magic does not work, but in my world, it does. Does that not make it part of how the world works?” “Well.. .yes, I.. .I suppose you could say that,” Brewster replied uncertainly.
“When an apprentice to a sorcerer embarks upon a study of the ways and secrets of magic,” Brian continued excitedly, “he is said to be studying the thaumaturgic arts, which is what sorcerers call the discipline of magic. And if thaumaturgy is the art of learning how magic works, then is not thaumaturgy like a branch of science?” Brewster stared at Brian for a long moment. “Well... looking at it that way.. .I suppose it would be,” he said slowly.
“And you are a scientist!” said Brian. “That means you could be a sorcerer! All you lack is the proper knowledge!” “Well... I don’t know about that,” said Brewster.
“But I do!” said Brian. “In my enchantment, I have passed through many hands, and among them have been the hands of sorcerers. I am no sorcerer myself, but there is much that I know about them. You teach me about your science, and I shall teach you what I know of sorcerers and their ways, and together, perhaps we may find a way for my enchantment to be broken!” Brewster took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, as a scientist confronted with a new and inexplicable phenomenon, I can hardly resist. But, Brian, there are no guarantees in science. I can’t make any promises, you know.” “But you can promise to try,” insisted Brian.
Brewster pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I can promise to try.” “Huzzah!” cried Brian, shoving the bench back and leaping up into the air with joy. And in that moment, the moonlight faded in the early light of dawn and Brewster did a double take as a golden chamberpot came clattering down onto the stones of the battlement.
“Oh, bollocks!” said the pot in a disgusted tone.
CHAPTER NINE
As Warrick Morgannan watched impassively, the latest “volunteer” was dragged kicking and screaming toward the mysterious apparatus.
“Time machine,” mumbled Warrick under his breath.
Uh ... right. (The sorcerer nodded with satisfaction.) Word had gotten out and it was getting more and more difficult to find volunteers. No one knew exactly wha
t happened to the people taken into the gleaming tower of Warrick the White, located in the center of downtown Pittsburgh, but none of them was ever seen to come out again. Every time Warrick’s white-caped attendants ventured out of the tower, the normally crowded streets of downtown Pittsburgh cleared in a flash.
The king had received a considerable number of protests and even several petitions demanding that he do something about this routine abduction of citizens off the streets, but there wasn’t much that Bonnie King Billy could do.
King William VII of Pittsburgh was the great-great-great-great-grandson of the original Pitt the Plunderer, but he had not inherited his great-great-great-great-grandfather’s brook no-nonsense disposition. He was basically a cheerful sort, altogether a rather pleasant individual who didn’t go for throwing his weight around with a lot of edicts and such, and basically pursued a laissez-faire method of monarchy. He genuinely loved his queen, Sandy, even though the marriage had been arranged by his father for political and business reasons, and he treated his subjects well, for which they had bestowed upon him the appellation of Bonnie King Billy, which he liked so much he even had it embroidered in red on the back of his black brocade dressing gown.
However, lately, the people’s affection for him had waned somewhat and several new monarchial appellations were starting to make the rounds, the least offensive of which was “Bullied King Billy.” He had become aware of this, primarily because the last petition he had received had been addressed to “His Not-So-Bloody-Royal-These-Days Majesty, Bonehead King Billy,” and the situation was causing him considerable distress. Which was why, after thinking about it long and hard, and having a serious discussion with Queen Sandy, he had decided to pay a call on Warrick and talk to him about it.
As the panic-stricken “volunteer” screamed and clawed at the floor while Wamck’s familiar, the two-foot-tall, yet extremely strong troll named Teddy, dragged him by his feet toward the mysterious- Warrick glanced up sharply and frowned.
the, uh, time machine, there came a loud knocking at the heavy wooden door.
“What is it?” Warrick called out, but he could not be heard over the screaming of the volunteer.
The knocking was repeated.
“Bloody hell,” said Warrick. “Teddy, see if you can quiet the subject down, will you?” “Yes, Master,” Teddy said obediently. He tucked the subject’s wriggling legs under one arm, then twisted around and fetched him a mighty clout on the head, which silenced his screaming. Unfortunately, it also fractured his skull and killed him instantly. “Ooops,” Teddy said, looking up at Warrick with an embarrassed grin.
Warrick looked up toward the ceiling and shook his head with weary resignation. The knocking was repeated.
“Yes, yes, what is it?” he said, striding angrily over to the door and opening the little, sliding wooden window that was set in it at eye level. “Did I not leave word that I was not to be disturbed?” he snapped at the attendant on the other side.
“Forgive me. Master Warrick,” said the worried-looking attendant, “but ‘tis the king.” “What about the king?” “He’s here. And he insists on seeing you. Master Warrick. He said ‘tis very important.” Warrick sighed. “Oh, very well. Tell him I’m on my way.” He slid shut the little wooden window and turned to Teddy. “Clean that up,” he said with a dismissive little wave of his hand toward the corpse.
“Sorry,” Teddy said sheepishly. Or, perhaps, trollishly.
Warrick opened the door and shut it once again behind him. He didn’t want anyone but Teddy to know what was inside his “sanctorum,” as he called his laboratory, and his servants knew better than to risk going in there. Most of them didn’t even want to risk a peek. It was a well-paying job, but not without its risks. Occasionally, servants disappeared without a trace, as well.
Warrick ascended the stairs to the second floor, which was actually the first floor in the sense that the long and handsome flight of marble steps leading from the street gave entrance to it and only large iron double doors at the back, a sort of delivery entrance, gave admittance to the ground floor. He crossed the wide expanse of the ornately tiled entrance hall, with its marble columns and white-on-white decorator scheme, and went through the doors into the reception hall, where Bonnie King Billy was pacing nervously back and forth by the huge fireplace with the heavily veined marble mantelpiece.
“Your Majesty,” said Warrick as he came in and gave the king a curt, perfunctory bow.
“Don’t you get tired of all this white?” Bonnie King Billy said, gesturing generally at the room. “ ‘Tis so bright it hurts the eyes.” “I suppose I have grown used to it. Your Majesty,” said Warrick.
Bonnie King Billy grunted. He was not certain quite how to proceed. He had not dressed formally for this occasion, for it was bad enough to have the king calling on the royal wizard rather than the royal wizard calling on the king, but Warrick Morgannan wasn’t just any royal wizard. He was the most powerful wizard in all the twenty-seven kingdoms, with a tower that rivaled the royal palace in luxury, if not in size, and a salary that only the tax base of a city the size and richness of Pittsburgh could support. Still, powerful or not, protocol was protocol, so Bonnie King Billy had left his formal crown and royal robes at home, choosing instead to come dressed in his hunting outfit, which consisted of riding breeches, a short jerkin and cloak, and a thin gold circlet that was his traveling crown. He never actually used this outfit for hunting, for he was a very urban king and not much of an outdoorsman, but he often wore it on shopping excursions with the queen and it looked pretty snappy. “See here, Warrick,” said the king, “we, uh, need to have a talk.” “Certainly, Your Majesty,” said Warrick. “What about?” “Well, ‘tis a somewhat awkward matter,” said the king, hesitating slightly. “I’ve, uh, been receiving some complaints.” “Complaints, Your Majesty?” said Warrick, raising his eyebrows.
“Aye,” said the king, “complaints. Petitions and the like. You know the sort of thing.” “Ah,” said Warrick, nonconunittally.
“Well... something must be done,” the king continued.
“About what. Your Majesty?” “Well... there have been, uh, certain disappearances.” “Disappearances, Your Majesty?” “Aye, disappearances. People being snatched off the street and suchlike. You know.” “Ah. I see.” “Well.. -as I’ve said, there have been complaints.” “Aye, Your Majesty. You said that.” “Umm. Well... something must be done.” “You said that, too. Your Majesty.” “I did?” “You did, sire.” “Umm. So I did. Well. What about it?” “What about what. Your Majesty?” “The disappearances, Warrick, the disappearances!” the king said irritably. “Something must be done!” Warrick merely raised his eyebrows slightly.
“I mean... well... you must understand my position,” the king said awkwardly. “I realize you have your work to do and all that, whatever it may be, but try to look at it from my point of view. I can’t have your people snatching citizens off the streets in broad daylight. ‘Tis damned awkward, you know.” “I see,” said Warrick.
“You do?” ,”I do, indeed. Your Majesty. However, I require subjects for... certain weighty purposes of thaumaturgical research. ‘Tis most important, sire. Most important, indeed. I am afraid I cannot do without them.” “Oh,” the king said. “I was afraid of that. I don’t suppose you could use some sort of substitute? Cats or something?” “Cats?” said Warrick, frowning. “I hadn’t thought of using cats.” “Well, wouldn’t they do?” Warrick pondered the question for a moment. “Perhaps, but it wouldn’t really be the same, sire. Besides, I rather like cats.” “Oh. Well, what about dogs?” “There are no dogs about the streets these days. Your Majesty,” said Warrick. “Your Majesty may recall his edict concerning dogs.” “Oh, that’s right,” the king said. “I banished dogs, didn’t I? Well, the streets were becoming damn near impassable for all their droppings. The queen ruined her favorite pair of slippers, you know.” “I recall the incident. Your Majesty. But as you see, I cannot very well use dogs.” “Hm
mm,” said the king. “Well, ‘tis most unfortunate, most unfortunate, indeed. Still, something must be done.” “What about prisoners. Your Majesty?” said Warrick.
“Prisoners?” the king said.
“Aye, sire. If I could use prisoners for my subjects, there would be no need to seek for subjects in the streets.” “Hmmm, good point,” the king said. “Very good point, indeed. That could solve the entire problem. Very well, then, you may use prisoners.” “Then Your Majesty’s sheriff will have to make some more arrests,” said Warrick.
“Eh? Why’s that?” “Because I have already used up all the prisoners in the royal dungeons,” Warrick replied.
“You have? Well... dash it all, Warrick, that makes things very inconvenient. You might have asked me, you know.” “I did not wish to trouble Your Majesty with matters of so little import.” The king grunted. “Well... I appreciate that, Warrick, I truly do, but if you have already used up all the prisoners, then it might take a while to fill up the dungeons once again, you know.” “Perhaps if Your Majesty sent the royal sheriff to see me, we might be able to come up with a solution,” Warrick said. “A minor new edict or two might be devised, some stricter enforcement might be implemented, there’s really no need for you to trouble yourself about such things. Merely give the royal sheriff your approval and it will be seen to.” “And you think that would take care of it?” the king asked.
“Undoubtedly, sire. I am sure that it would solve the problem.” “Well.. .good,” the king said. “Very good, indeed. I am glad we had this little talk.” “Always happy to oblige Your Majesty,” said Warrick with a smile.
