by Scott Meyer
With a sales pitch like that, Roy didn’t have to think long.
Martin spent a little time at the computer, getting Roy set up in the shell, then Martin announced that it was time to go. There had been some unpleasantness a while back, and now he and a few of his wizard friends were making a point of getting together once a week to compare notes and share new shell scripts they’d devised that could be used in an emergency. He brought Roy along so he could meet the guys and see what kind of things they’d been working on. Having worked in the defense industry, he might find it interesting.
Martin and Roy materialized in the middle of a large clearing about five miles away from Leadchurch. Martin’s friend Gary had picked it because it was large, flat, and surrounded by thick woods on all sides. The wizards had all the room they needed to demonstrate and test new spells without having to worry about any locals sneaking up on them. Even if someone did sneak up on them from the forest, that person would have to move amazingly fast to reach the middle of the clearing before the wizards could react.
Martin, in his silver robe and hat, staff in hand, and Roy, wearing his trench coat, skinny tie, and sensible shoes, stood alone in the middle of the field. Martin spun around, then said, “Oh, no.”
A gray shape emerged from the tree line, moving amazingly fast. Two more shapes, one purple, one black, were closing on their position from other directions.
Martin remembered Gary proposing a new plan to keep each other on their toes. He called it the Kato Protocol. It was a simple idea. The wizards would attack one another without any provocation or warning. It would ensure that they all stayed in fighting shape, it would force them to be aware of their surroundings, and, most important from Gary’s point of view, it would be fun.
“Sounds good,” Martin had said. “When do we start?”
“We’ll see,” had been Gary’s reply.
The streaks of color were almost on top of them when Martin yelled, “Time out!”
The streaks stopped in midair, floating motionless in a rough triangle around Martin and Roy. Tyler’s purple robes hung beneath him, flapping slightly in the breeze. The sun glinted off of the Rolls Royce hood ornament that topped his staff. Jeff landed, tucking his wand into the pocket of his gray flannel robe. Gary drifted around in front of Martin and Roy. His long, scraggly brown hair jutted out from around his jet-black hat. Beneath the hem of his black robe, his skinny legs and black canvas high-tops hung five feet above the turf. He pointed the head of his staff, adorned with KISS action figures, toward Roy, and said, “Hey Martin. Good to see you. Who’s the new guy?”
“Gary, Tyler, Jeff, this is Roy, my trainee. He just arrived last night. He doesn’t have any powers yet, and doesn’t know what’s going on, so it would be really unfair to attack him.”
Despite his clear age difference, and uptight demeanor, the three younger wizards welcomed Roy in a genuinely friendly manner. Martin was relieved to note that despite Roy’s age, cultural background, and year of origin, he didn’t seem to miss a beat when introduced to Tyler, who was possibly the only black man in England at this time in history.
They all agreed that they couldn’t attack him, since he couldn’t really defend himself.
Jeff said, “I could explain to him what’s going on, though.”
“Good thinking,” Tyler said, still floating in an aggressive posture. “That’ll free Martin up to be attacked.”
“And us, to attack him,” Gary added.
Martin said, “Fair enough.” He blurted out the magic word flugi and was off for the tree line like a shot. As he streaked away, a shiny silver ball of speed, he faintly heard Jeff talking to Roy. Martin thought Roy and Jeff would have much to talk about, both being engineers.
Martin made a mental note to work on some sort of fast-getaway sprint spell to help him really accelerate when he needed to fly away from trouble. Some sort of glowing projectiles flew past Martin, striking the ground in front of him. Martin chose to ignore them, figuring that, like bullets, they were only his problem if they hit him.
Martin made it to the tree line with Tyler in hot pursuit. Gary, who had been slower to react, chose to go over the trees and try to head Martin off at the pass, so to speak. Now the pass was in sight. Martin could see a dark shape hanging above the trees, clearly watching him, waiting for him to emerge from the woods. Unless he did something fast, Gary would almost certainly hit him with something. He didn’t know what, but knowing Gary, it would be something unpleasant and probably immature.
Happily, Martin had been working on a few ideas. He had that big workspace in his warehouse; it’d be a crime not to use it. Martin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black beanbag. He aimed for a gap in the trees with empty space beyond, looked behind him at Tyler, who was closing fast, slowed a bit, then tossed the beanbag over his shoulder. It flew in a graceful arc, sailing over Tyler, missing him completely. Martin made a grasping gesture with his right hand and said, “Bamf.”
Martin disappeared in a puff of black smoke, which violently dissipated when Tyler flew through it. In the same instant, Martin appeared directly behind Tyler, generating another puff of black smoke. It appeared as if he had materialized and miraculously caught the beanbag, but in truth, his right hand had materialized around the beanbag, and the rest of it with him.
Martin stopped all forward movement and watched as Tyler flailed, utterly confused by what had just happened. He sailed out of the woods, and instantly was struck by a pulse of energy from above. Gary had clearly mistaken Tyler for Martin.
For a moment Tyler spun in the air. Something clearly was wrong. Then, Martin saw that a small grayish object of some sort was stuck to the small of Tyler’s back, right where he’d been hit. Purple smoke started shooting from the object with quite a bit of force, enough to push Tyler into an uncontrollable spin. The smoke was accompanied by a sound, similar to the sound of a whoopee cushion, but much louder and longer in duration. The purple smoke also had an odor. The odor was familiar, and not at all pleasant.
Tyler spun in the air like a foul-smelling pinwheel. The whoopee-cushion sound was drowned out momentarily by the sound of Tyler cursing at Gary. The thrust from the whoopee-rocket stabilized slightly, and sent Tyler corkscrewing helplessly into the sky, yelling and cursing as he went.
Martin dropped gently to the ground and crouched there in the thicket. He tucked his staff under his left arm and wound up so that he’d be ready to throw his beanbag.
Cautiously, Gary dropped below the tree line, looking for Martin. He hovered, staff in one hand, the other hand shading his eyes so he could see into the darkened forest. He expected to find Martin flying above the ground, but it didn’t take long to spot Martin’s shiny silver robe and hat in the dark brown and green of the woods. It also didn’t take long to notice the black object flying very quickly towards him.
The beanbag struck Gary painlessly in the chest. A split second later, Martin was there, grasping Gary around the neck with one arm, pulling down with all of his weight. Gary toppled over forward. He found himself beneath Martin, who pushed off from him with both feet, driving him even faster into the ground. Gary hit the ground with great force while Martin drifted down gently to Earth.
Gary lay motionless for a moment in the scrub grass along the river bank, eyes closed, gathering his strength, hopefully luring Martin in closer. After a carefully timed interval, Gary sprung up into a three-point crouch, his staff held in front of him. His defiant laugh was made less dramatic by the fact that he misjudged Martin’s location and had sprung up facing away from him. Gary felt something soft hit him in the back, heard Martin say, “Bamf,” then felt Martin’s full weight bear down on his back, buckling his arm and forcing him back into the dirt.
“You done?” Martin asked, standing on Gary’s back as he lay prone in the dirt.
“Yeah, I guess,” was Gary’s muffled reply.
Martin stepped off of his friend and gave him a hand up. He didn’t mention that Gary had two big dusty footprints on the back of his robe, and he hoped nobody else would tell him either.
They turned their attention to Tyler, who was still creating foul, purple curlicues in the sky. Gary muttered something under his breath, and the smoke and noise let out one last, powerful trumpet blast, then stopped. Tyler remained motionless, a dot in the sky, for a moment while he composed himself. When he was ready, he flew to Martin and Gary’s position, landing in front of them, glaring at Gary the entire time.
After a thick, velvety silence, Tyler asked Gary, “When will this smell come out of my robe?”
Gary said, “As soon as you figure out how to make it come out. Sorry. ”
“You will be,” Tyler said. He then turned his attention to Martin. “So, what’s up with the old guy?”
They were amazed to hear that Roy was from the year 1973, or as Gary put it, pre-Star Wars. Martin told them about how Roy had arrived the night before, copped an attitude, then settled down eventually. He hoped Roy wasn’t giving Jeff a hard time. Jeff could be a little sensitive.
They took to the air to reconnect with Jeff and Roy. Martin was relieved to find them sitting in the grass, Jeff listening in rapt attention as Roy told him about what it was like to work at the Skunk Works.
Now that the pleasantries and the combat were over, they all formally demonstrated the new defensive power they’d brought to share. Gary described what he called his “gas jets,” which he’d accidentally used on Tyler.
Tyler demonstrated his spell by deliberately using it on Gary. Tyler shot him in the back with one of the same glowing bolts Martin had seen whiz past him during their chase. As soon as it hit Gary, he was lifted into the air. Gary swung and lolled sickeningly in space. Clearly he had no ability to stabilize himself. He was also visibly vibrating as he hung in space, helpless.
“WHYYYYYYYY,” Gary whined, in a goat-like, wavering tone.
Tyler walked toward the helpless wizard. He grabbed Gary’s leg, stopping his motion.
Gary said, “Thaaanks.”
Tyler said, “You’re welcome,” and gave him a good, hearty spin. “I’m sure this looks familiar to you all,” Tyler said. “The spell lifts the victim three feet into the air, drops him, then places him right back there, three feet above the ground. It does this ten times a second. The result is that the target is helpless, and has no attitude control, although, in this case, the target had never been able to control his attitude in the first place.”
Gary told Tyler to shut up. Tyler shoved Gary with all his might, sending him gliding away from the group, yelling plaintively the whole way.
Tyler continued. “Also, the vibration humiliates the target, and almost instantly gives them a splitting headache.”
Roy asked, “Why would you think that would look familiar to us?”
“Oh,” Tyler said, “sorry, Roy. I forgot you were so new. It’s based on a spell Martin invented, and used in front of all us wizards once.”
Roy turned to Martin. “You invented that? Kiddo, that’s diabolical.”
Martin shrugged and said, “Yeah, well, I hope never to have to use it again.”
Jeff started to say that this was because Martin had created the spell for his own use, as a crude and utterly failed attempt at a flying spell, but Martin shot him a look that stopped him before he started.
In the distance, a weak, warbling voice said, “Tyyyyyylerrrrrr, pleeeeeease stopppp thiiiiiissss!”
Tyler yelled, “Stop it yourself. Any other spell will override it.”
Gary said the magic word flugi and instantly drifted slowly into the sky, where he hung limply for a moment.
Jeff called out, “Hey, Gary, you okay?”
Gary held up one finger, as if asking for a moment to compose himself. He pointed the finger at Tyler and said, “Ekskuzi vin.” A ball of light streaked from his finger. He was far enough away that Tyler had time to react. He hiked up his wizard staff, and swung it like a baseball bat. The silver Rolls Royce hood ornament traced a glowing arc in the air. The staff connected with the glowing ball, which dissipated on impact. Tyler paused at the end of his follow-through, then craned his head to look at the end of his staff. There, just under the hood ornament, was another of Gary’s gas jets.
After a half second of silence, the gas jet fired. Martin, Roy, and Jeff all ran as Tyler spun violently, trying to keep his grip on his staff. Soon, Tyler was invisible, at the center of a foul-smelling cloud of purple vapor. The wavering sound of the jet and the occasional glint of high-speed chrome were the only indications of the violent activity within the cloud. Finally, Tyler either let go or lost his grip. Either way, his staff soared off into the distance, whirling like a helicopter blade and leaving a purple contrail in its wake.
Tyler lay in the grass on his back. Gary approached and offered him a hand up. As he hoisted Tyler to his feet, he said, “We’re even.”
“For now,” Tyler replied.
Roy shook his head and asked, “Are you boys sure these spells are meant for self-defense, or are they just designed to help you humiliate each other?”
Gary answered, “I think a really good spell ought to be able to do both.”
At that moment, a subtle, warbling, repetitive chiming noise filled the air. The wizards all cocked their heads to the side. Jeff asked, “Okay, whose hand is that?”
Everyone but Roy looked at his right hand. Martin said, “Oh, it’s me.”
Martin lifted his hand in front of his face. A small, semi-transparent image of Phillip’s head appeared in the palm of Martin’s hand.
“Martin,” Phillip said, “I need you to come to my shop right now.”
“Why?” Martin asked. “What is it?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I need you to help me figure it out.”
Martin said, “I’ll be right there.
Gary leaned in behind Martin’s shoulder. “We’ll all be right there.”
Phillip rolled his eyes. “Is it too late to say that I want you to come alone?”
Martin said, “I’ll come alone.”
Gary said, “We’ll all come alone.”
6.
Moments later, Phillip’s private sanctuary was crowded with wizards. Phillip liked to call it his inner sanctum. All the other wizards called it his rumpus room.
Martin asked what was going on. Phillip pointed to his wet bar. Sitting on the bar, there was a large salad bowl, the most beautiful salad bowl in the world. It was a perfect half sphere, made of the thinnest, clearest glass Martin had ever seen. The bowl was kept upright by three impossibly perfect clear glass dolphins that acted as legs.
“Where’d you get that?” Martin asked, approaching the salad bowl.
“The bottom of the stairs,” Phillip said. “I was tending to some important chairman business and I heard a ringing noise. I went to investigate, I found that. There was no note, and before anybody asks, I checked, and the phrase ‘So long, and thanks for all the fish’ isn’t engraved anywhere on it.”
“So someone left it there and rang a bell to get your attention?” Jeff asked.
“No. You know nobody can get up in here without my permission. That’s why Gary’s waiting downstairs.” Phillip looked at the floor and yelled, “Having fun down there, Gary?”
A muffled voice answered, “No.”
Tyler asked, “So, what made the ringing noise?”
Phillip reached into the bowl and pulled out a glass disk, about the size of a coaster, but again, it was the most breathtakingly clear and beautiful glass coaster Martin had ever seen. Phillip held it a couple of inches above the bottom of the bowl, then let it go. When it struck the bottom, it created a loud, clear, yet somehow soft tone that filled the room.
Phillip said, “I figure whoever sent th
em put the bowl there first, then sent the disk, a few inches above it, to get my attention.” He handed the disk to Martin. “Now, to get your attention, I’ll ask you to take a look at this.”
Martin held the disk up to the light. It weighed less than he expected, and was cold to the touch. As he turned it in the light Martin saw that it was etched with some sort of pictogram. It showed two figures in pointy hats standing, facing each other. Between them, they held a large half-circle, each supporting it with both hands. In the middle of the half-circle Martin could make out a circle that he was sure symbolized the glass disk in his hand. Beneath the two figures, there were words. It was hard to read such small, fine print etched so lightly on a transparent background, but Martin immediately recognized that the words were the names Phillip and Martin.
“So, Phillip, what do you think?” Martin asked.
Phillip said, “If they were trying to hurt me, they’d have just sent a bomb or something.”
“Unless they wanted to hurt both of us,” Martin said. “This bowl thing does put us in the same place at the same time, touching the same object.”
“True,” Phillip allowed, “but all the same, this doesn’t feel threatening to me.”
“Me either. Still, this could be dangerous.”
“Agreed,” Phillip said, before yelling, “Okay, Gary. You can come up now.”
Gary, Tyler, Jeff, and Roy took shelter behind Phillip’s beloved Pontiac. Even though it was from the eighties, it was the most advanced car Roy had ever seen. He was not impressed. “It looks like a doorstop.”
“It’s about as mechanically sophisticated as one, too,” Jeff said, as they took up their positions, cowering behind the car.
Like any Fiero owner, Phillip had learned to ignore such comments. He and Martin stood in the middle of the room. Phillip held the bowl in one arm, the disk in the other.
Phillip asked, “You ready for this, Martin?”
Martin answered, “Not really, but we’re going to do it, aren’t we?”
Phillip said, “Yes. Yes we are.” He placed the disk in the bowl, then held the bowl up so Martin could help support it. Soon, they were each holding the bowl with two hands, as the picture had demonstrated. For a moment nothing happened, then the rim of the bowl glowed a vibrant bluish-green. A pulse of light traveled the entire radius of the bowl, glowing brighter wherever Phillip and Martin were touching it. The pulse subsided, and the disk lying in the center of the bowl glowed and lifted into the air just above the bowl’s rim. A shaft of blue-green light projected upward from the disk, grew more diffuse, then coalesced into the figure of a person who stood facing Phillip. It was a young female with short hair, large eyes, and an impish smile.
