Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  graduate student...! was a graduate student... in

  law at UCLA until I found myself yanked over here."

  "UCLA." Markus mumbled. "Well, I'll be damned."

  He circled his visitor slowly, inspecting him as careful-

  ly as would a museum curator who'djust unwrapped

  a newly arrived statue. "You aren't putting me on,

  kid? You're for real?"

  "Damn right I am. The question is, who the hell

  are you?"

  At this the wizard straightened slightly, "I'm Markus

  the Ineluctable, that's who. Ruler of Qusquoqua." He

  Alan Dean Foster

  aso

  shook his head. "Damn. Never can get that right.

  Ruler of Quasequa."

  "Can the bullshit and tell me who you are and how

  you got here,"

  Markus nodded up at him. "A!! right." He re-

  moved his top hat, set it on a nearby table. Jon-Tom

  saw that he was bald ail the way to the back of his

  head.

  "But first you tell me how you got here, kid."

  "1 don't know," Jon-Tom told him truthfully. "A

  local wizard needed help, and for some reason I got

  picked on. It was a mistake, but that hasn't made me

  feel a whole tot better. He can't send me back, at

  least not for a long lime. So I'm stuck here. I've been

  stuck here for quite a while. How about you?"

  "Well, you know, kid, it's the damndest thing..."

  Jon-Tom found a chair and settled down to listen.

  XV

  "See," Markus told him "I'm a professional magi-

  cian." Jon-Tom chose not to comment on this. Hear

  him out, he told himself. Markus was more than

  willing to talk; indeed, he seemed eager to do so.

  "Markus the Ineluctable's my stage handle. My

  real name is Markle Kratzmeier, from Perth Amboy,

  , New Jersey. I've been doing the same schtick for

  years, all up and down the East Coast. I mean, I

  knew I'd never get rich, but it was better than

  pushing lettuce around in the market, and you can

  work your own hours. And you never know when

  some agent might see you and ask you to go out to

  Vegas.

  "Haven't made it yet, though. Once played a nice

  joint in Manhattan and a couple of times a real sharp

  club in Atlantic City, but usually I ain't that lucky. 1

  do the usual gigs: private parties, bar mitzvahs, kids'

  birthdays." He made a face. "God, I hate doing kids'

  birthdays. Little snot-noses always crawling all over

  you, throwing up and begging for candy. I've also

  worked most of the bump-and-grind joints from

  Jersey City all the way down the coast to Surf City.

  I've seen a lot ot Hte. kid, and not much of it pretty."

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  He took a deep breath and leaned on one of the

  tables for support.

  "So anyway, there I am in this Con Edison power

  plant. Bunch of the guys who run the place are

  throwing a stag party for their foreman because the

  sap's getting married the next day. They don't have

  enough money to rent a hall, so they get together

  with the night shift and decorate part of the plant on

  the sly, see? Wasn't so bad. I've worked in worse

  dumps. It was noisy in there, but at least it was clean.

  "I'm doing my stuff, building to my big finish,

  and it's going pretty good because they're all smashed

  or stoned anyway."

  "Big finish?"

  "Yeah." Markus beamed proudly. "I saw one of the

  gals or one of the guys from the audience in half."

  "That's original."

  "Hey, don't knock it. kid. Maybe it's an old trick, but

  it stilt buffaloes the marks. Anyway, I have to do one

  more thing before I get to go home. There's this

  big cake, see?"

  "I get the picture," Jen-Tom said, nodding.

  "Yeah. They hired this bimbo from one of the

  local topless joints." He paused, thinking, and those

  bushy brows drew together. "Merill, or Cheryl, I

  think her name was. Anyway, she's gonna pop out of

  the cake in her swimsuit. The trick is I'm going to

  wave my wand after the guys get through moaning

  and make her suit fall off. Pretty neat, huh?"

  "Very witty," Jon-Tom admitted carefully.

  "So I'm trying to do it up right, give these guys

  their money's worth. I'm waving my wand all over the

  place"—he demonstrated by fluttering the cheap

  plastic wand—"only I don't look where I'm going.

  Suddenly everybody's shouting, and the broad is

  screaming, and I feel myself going ass-over-backwards,

  and I think, okay, that's it, you dumb schmuck, you

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  253

  finally bought it. Had to overdo it for a couple of

  extra tips. I'm falling over and over and the damn

  cape's m my eyes and 1 can see a thing except I get

  just a quick look at this big dynamo or generator or

  whatever the hell it was.

  "Then I hit it. Tell me something, kid. When you

  were little, did you ever get real clever and stick your

  finger in a socket?" Jon-Tom nodded. "Well. for about

  ten seconds there 1 felt like I'd done just that, only

  with my head. I'm shaking all over before 1 black out.

  "When I wake up, I'm lying in a room in this

  rockpile and there's this big dumpy character lean-

  ing over me asking me if I feel okay" Markus's

  tone was earnest. "Kid, I don't mind telling you that

  this is a little tough to take, coming off a slag party

  where I didn't have a damn thing to drink. I swear,

  not a drop! Couple of beers maybe, one shot of rye.

  Pretty good stuff too. But I know I ain't drunk.

  "So I try to keep cool even though this refugee

  from a horror flick is standing over me. and I get the

  idea to wave my wand and make with a few magic

  words to try and scare it away, and what do you

  think happens? Something picks the big jerk up and

  throws him across the room." He paused to take a

  long drink from a pewter tankard. "Local booze ain't

  half-bad, kid. Anyways, I see that this mass of talking

  meat is more scared of me than I am of him. So 1

  start fooling around with the old wand"—he con-

  ducted his words with the plasic as he spoke—"and

  what do you think I find out?"

  "What?" asked Jon-Tom guardedly.

  "That all those cheap tricks I've been practicing for

  twenty-five years, all the junk I've been doing for

  spoiled brats in Westchester and their tight-assed moth-

  ers who wouldn't give me the time of day, they all work

  here. For real. I can do real magic. Not only like the

  stuff I've always done, but new stuff, too. Ain't that a pip?

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  "So I talk to this big dummy who found me and see

  that he's long on muscle but slow upstairs, and 1

  get the lay of the land. I find out that there's another

  magician here who kinda runs things from'an advisor's

  post. I feel my way around, introduce myself real

  nice, and finally meet up w
ith a couple of the guys

  who sit on this Quorum or Mafia or Congress or

  whatever you want to call it. Some of them see which

  way the shit's flying and some of them don't, and

  with a little magic and the help of the ones who see

  right, I take over the whole damn city." He spread

  his hands and grinned.

  "Just like that. Me, Markle Kratzmeier from Perth

  Amboy. Now I'm the advisor, the chief, the head

  honcho. And this is only the beginning, kid. Only

  the beginning. These hairy rubes think I'm the greatest

  thing to hit them since chopped liver. And you know

  what? I am. There's got to be stuff I can do I ain't

  even thought up yet. Me, Markle Kratzmeier. After

  years of eating dirt and yessiring and no-ma'aming

  and putting up with you wouldn't believe what kind

  of shit, I'm on top. You know what? It feels good!"

  "That sounds swell," Jon-Tom agreed. "You know

  what else? I can do a little magic myself."

  "Izzat so?" Markus suddenly looked wary.

  "Oh, nothing big, nothing like what you've done,"

  Jon-Tom hastened to reassure him. "Just small stuff.

  Entertaining, like that." He took a chance and moved

  nearer. Markus didn't back away from him-

  "Now, what I was thinking was that with the two of

  us working together on the problem, maybe we could

  figure out a way for both of us to get back home."

  Markus eyed him in disbelief. "Get back home?

  Why the hell would I want to get back home, kid? I

  mean, look at the setup I've got here. Tell you what,

  though. You play your cards right and don't screw

  up and maybe I can use you. It*d be nice to have

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  255

  somebody to talk with about back home. But go

  back?" He waved at the lavishly decorated room.

  "You want me to trade this in and go back to doing

  bar mitzvahs and weddings and working crappy clubs

  up and down the Jersey coast? You got to be nuts, kid.

  "Anyway, I wouldn't know how to start getting

  home, even if I cared to try it. No way. See, these

  rubes know what money is, and what power is, even

  if most of them do look like they came out of the

  local zoo or dog pound. In other words, they know

  what's important in life. Maybe some of them have

  whiskers that grow sideways instead of down, and

  paws instead of palms, and fur coats instead of skin,

  but they're still people. And I can run the whole

  bunch of them. Hell, I am running the whole bunch

  of them! And like I said, this is just the begin-

  ning.

  "Know something else?" He winked and Jon-Tom

  felt suddenly unclean. "There's even people like us

  here."

  "I know."

  "And some of the dames look pretty good. I've

  seen some broads around here who could've made

  it big in the big casinos except for what they all seem

  to be a little on the short side- That suits me fine

  since'I ain't no center for the Knicks myself- They're

  all in awe of me, afraid of me." Markus's sunken

  brown eyes looked more piggish than ever, Jon-

  Tom mused.

  "I like that. I like it a lot, kid. I like them all

  bowing and scraping and cowering in front of me.

  Go back home?" He laughed, a short nasty sound.

  "If I tried touching any broads who looked half as

  good as the ones here back in New York, they'd spit

  on me and call a cop. You, you're young and good-

  looking, kid. You never had that happen to you. You

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  256

  haven't the vaguest idea what it's like for a woman

  you idolize to spit on you.

  "Well, nobody spits on Markus the Ineluctable!"

  he snarled. "Go home? I'd sooner cut my own throat

  right now. All my life I've gotten the short end of the

  stick. All my life people have cut me down. Well, no

  more. This is my chance to get back at them, and I

  ain't giving it up!"

  Jon-Tom listened to Markus rave on and forbore

  from pointing out that the people of this world had

  never put him down. Jon-Tom was Just old enough

  and had seen just enough of the world to know for

  the first time exactly what he was up against in the

  person of Markus the Ineluctable.

  He was one of the faceless ones, one of the

  insignificant, uninspired, nameless persons whose

  only real purpose in life was to occupy a few bytes in

  a government computer. A number more than a

  reality, an organic something in the shape of a man

  who took up space. Someone who under normal

  conditions was incapable of doing good and too

  incompetent to do evil.

  But a twist of space-time, a jog in the smooth

  procession of events, an irony of eternity had thrust

  him into this world and had placed him in a position

  to do damage all out of proportion to his naturally

  constituted self- In his own world Markle Kratzmeier

  would simply have faded away without making much

  of an impression on existence one way or the other.

  But in this world, Markus the Ineluctable and his

  ability to work magic posed a terrifying threat to

  people who had never known of his history, his problems,

  his concealed envies and hatreds. That didn't matter to

  someone like Markus, who believed that all the forces

  of the universe were arrayed against him. He wanted

  to strike out, strike back against life, and it wouldn't

  matter to him who or what got in his way.

  TBK MOMCHT OF TBS MAOICIAH

  2B7

  So Jon-Tom had been both right and wrong. The

  man who had usurped power in the city-state of

  Quasequa was indeed from his own world, but only

  in body. In spirit he was an alien, an evil import, and

  a danger to everyone who came in contact with him.

  The problem now at hand was not one of getting

  home, but of saving himself and his friends.

  It was clear that Markus's only interest lay in

  gathering as much power to himself as possible-

  Carefully. Jon-Tom was going to have to proceed

  very carefully. Markus wasn't stupid. He was no

  scholar, but he had street smarts, and those could

  prove more dangerous than real intelligence.

  "I understand- 1 mean, you've got a helluva setup

  here. A couple of expatriates like you and me from

  the good old U.S. of A., we ought to stick together.

  Like I said. I've got a little talent myself. Noth-

  ing like what you can do, of course, but I can do

  small stuff- I know we wouldn't be equal, wouldn't

  be a team. I wouldn't expect that. But with my

  abilities augmenting yours, we could really show

  these dumb animals a thing or two."

  "Yeah. Hey, you know what I'd really like?" Markus

  told him after he'd finished making his proposal.

  "I'd really like a couple of Big Macs, some fries, and a

  vanilla shake."

  "1 could go for that, too," Jon-Tom told him

  enthusiastically. "Why don't you let
me do this one?"

  He looked around as if searching for something. "I

  do my magic better with some music, though. It's

  like with your wand. Kind of helps to set the mood,

  if you know what I mean. Your guards took my in-

  strument away from me. If I could have it back I

  promise you a regular MacFeast." He pointed. "Right

  on that table there. Then we can make plans."

  Markus stared at him for a long moment, then

  repeated his thoroughly unpleasant laugh. "What's

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  the matter with you, kid? You think I was born

  yesterday? You think I've spent all my life poking

  through every dump on the East Coast without learn-

  ing nothing about people?"

  "1 don't know what you're talking about," Jon-Tbm

  said lamely.

  "The hell you don't- You're too eager. Too eager to

  throw in with me, too eager to help, too eager to

  throw your buddies over, and you're sure as hell too

  eager to get your mitts on your guitar or whatever it

  was that my boys took off you." He smiled. It was no

  more pleasant than his laugh-

  "Tell you what, though. I'm a fair guy- This buddy

  of mine 1 was telling you about earlier? His name's

  Prugg. Maybe I'll let you wrestle him for your duar.

  In fact, I'll go one better than that. You beat him and

  I'll take you on as my partner, fifty-fifty split, straight

  down the line. How's that, kid?" Before Jon-Tbm

  could reply, Markus looked past him and whistled.

  "Hey, Prugg! Come on out and join us. 1 want to

  introduce you to sm^rt-boy here."

  Something moved in the darkness near the back of

  the room. A section of wall pivoted on its axis,

  revealing an immense shape. It stepped out into the

  room. In one paw it easily held an iron club that

  looked like an Olympic barbell that had been melted

  to a stub at one end. A leather cuirass two inches

  thick covered it from chest to thighs.

  The bear was nearly nine feet tall and probably

  weighed in the neighborhood of a ton and a half.

  "Kill now?" it rumbled expectantly.

  "No, not now." Markus looked back up at Jon-

  Tom. "How about it, kid? Can you take him?"

  "Come on," Jon-Tbm said uneasily, "this isn't funny."

  "You bet your smart ass it ain't." Markus's smile

  vanished as he moved forward until he was standing

  right next to his prisoner. "You fucking college boys

  Tm MOMENT or TOE BSAOicwt 259

  think you know everything, don't you? Mummy and