Science Is Magic Spelled Backwards and Other Stories

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  My theory was that the Inscriptions applied only when the music inscribed on those mysteriously durable plaques was played at the correct time of day.

  I’d learned to play what I thought was a good imitation of the Dawn Concert...it surely sounded weird enough to be alien music...and I’d played it occasionally as part of the Sunset Concert along with the usual Bach adaptations and folk medleys. The year before, I’d mastered the Noon Concert, and this last year before the scheduled inundation, I’d been working on the Sunset Concert. I thought I had it down pretty close to what the aliens intended, but I’d never had the courage to play it at sunset. Until now. I was out of a job—and I needed luck.

  I pulled myself away from the Inscription Room and entered the Control Room through the concealed door behind the fake end of the corridor. As I took my place at the enormous keyboard, shaking in fear of what I was about to do, I kept thinking that if my theory was correct and the Eminent Leaders of this entire Stellar Sector didn’t listen to the concert attentively, I could be responsible for—God alone knew what.

  The easy familiarity of the hand-sized keys, the huge foot pedals, and the maze of knobs that controlled the giant wind organ finally exerted their calming influence as I faced the imminence of a performance. The reporters outside were already broadcasting or recording their lead-up to the announcement that this would be the first and the last public performance of the Sunset Concert by human hands, a final and fitting tribute to Holiday Rock.

  I watched the Sunset Hole above me. When the shadow line darkened, I would have to sound the first chord or the timing would be off and the music ineffective. And as I watched, I prayed.

  I don’t know to whom or what I prayed, but it was the most fervent prayer of my life—that the dignitaries out there would take this seriously—that somehow, someday, I would play my beloved Rock again—that through some miracle I’d be able to attend a proper conservatory and really learn music.

  And then the bright spot of light winked out, and almost without my volition, my hands and feet coordinated in creating that first, spine-chilling, hair-raising chord. I remember being aware, as I heard and felt the awesome tones take shape from the winds, of a wondrous light feeling, as if a staggering burden had been lifted off me.

  I played the Sunset Concert as I’d never played it—or anything else—before, with a totally enraptured concentration, listening to the music I created rather than concentrating on the mechanics of creating it. I never once looked at my score. I was completely caught up in the soaring, single-key melodies building one after another, a structure of interwoven towers behind ethereal veils; building and combining, splitting and rejoining into ever greater crescendos, and finally culminating in one glorious all-consuming symbolic wholeness, a complex chord involving almost the entire tonal range of the Rock.

  The reverberations died away, leaving a terrible silence that could only be described as pregnant. I don’t know how long I sat there, mind and senses benumbed, unable to move or think, almost totally unaware of my surroundings, before it happened.

  At first, I thought it was residual vibrations from the music, but in a few seconds, the creaking, shaking, and swaying reached terrifying proportions. I clutched my bench, eyeing the ceiling distrustfully, heedless of the powdered rock sifting into my eyes. Quakes were no strangers to me. Where I grew up, they were practically a daily occurrence. But here in Boiling Rock Basin, they simply never happened. The region was certified seismically stable.

  It lasted about four minutes, and I judged it at about eight on the ten-scale. I wasn’t far wrong; it turned out to be eight point seven. Which was enough to thoroughly ruin that multi-billion credit dam.

  Now, you go ahead and tell me it was a coincidence. But if you do, I’ll bet my Conservatory Scholarship and my Debut Contract you haven’t been tallying the stories the Newsnets, have been carrying about the highly improbable good fortunes of the Eminent Leaders of this Stellar Sector.

  Would you have the courage to rebuild that dam?

  AVENTURA

  I was enchanting the raisin bread when the boss called me to the phone. I worked in a commercial bakery then. I’d been promoted to raisin bread and jelly donuts because I could preserve the raisins’ plumpness and the dough’s yeasty freshness for two weeks on the store shelves. I could do a hundred forty-four jelly donuts at once, and keep the jelly hot and the icing just right for eight days.

  The job paid poorly, and there was no future in it. At twenty-four, I was already a top bakery enchanter. But I expected to quit at the end of the month to get married. So when the boss called me to the phone, I thought it was the wedding caterer.

  “Miss Tira Nau?” asked a voice.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Forbes, of Forbes, Gibbon and Reilly, attorneys for the Prosper Nau Estate. We’d like you to come to our office on a matter concerning your uncle’s will.”

  My father’s older brother, Prosper had died a year ago. He’d split with my father long before my father, who scorned magical education, was killed when a fireworks plant lost control of a fire elemental. A cousin had told me Prosper, a Certified Public Wizard, had died never knowing his brother was dead because he’d warded himself against hearing his brother’s name.

  “Where are you located?” I asked.

  He told me. It would take an hour to get there on the public bus. “I can make it at five tomorrow.”

  “Fine. I’ll wait for you.” He gave me directions.

  I scribbled them down, and said I’d be there.

  The attorney’s offices were typical of any wizard class business—sedate, staid navy blue and silver carpets and drapes, with snow-cloud grey plush furniture. The blond receptionist showed me into a huge office where Forbes sat behind a desk bigger than my apartment’s living room.

  The desk was hand-chipped obsidian, of course, and utterly bare except for a gleaming white Paraphernalia Case about five feet by two feet. Behind the case sat the wizard, wearing his peaked cap and long black robe, as if he were in court.

  “Please be seated, Miss Nau. These proceedings are being recorded for the court records.”

  I swallowed my nerves, perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, and pretended he didn’t intimidate me. How could they hold me liable for Uncle Prosper’s debts?

  He told me my uncle’s will dispersed his considerable wealth to various charities for underprivileged magicians, but specified that this one item should go to his wayward but talented brother, who refused to practice the craft.

  Then he shoved the white case toward me. “Since you are your father’s only heir, this now belongs to you.”

  Not without trepidation, I opened it.

  Inside was a sword shaped from translucent quartz flecked with gold. The guard and pommel were jeweled, and carved, and the whole thing glowed with power. It was a magical Implement such as only the most accomplished could use, and only the most affluent could afford.

  Hesitantly, I picked it up. The charge tingled along my arms and made my hair stand on end. I could enchant the entire bakery’s produce for the day with this! “Oh, I don’t—this couldn’t—I couldn’t there must be some mistake!”

  “No, indeed. Hold the sword vertically.”

  I did, feeling it resist being turned; then it leaped from my hands to hover before me. A small area cleared in the blade, and suddenly I was looking at my uncle’s face.

  “Greetings, Gil. As you receive this small bequest, please believe that I wish you only happiness. This sword is called Aventura. Perhaps it will bring you freedom. Blessings be....” The eyes squinted, as if trying to make out something blurry. “...on you and your progeny.”

  The picture flickered out. I suppressed a shiver as I said to the wizard, “I can’t—”

  “Well, you needn’t use it. You can store it and bequeath it to your children.” He closed the Case. “You did say you were busy, so I won’t detain—”

  “Doesn’t the Case come with it?”
/>
  “Oh, no—that belongs to the firm. But Paraphernalia Cases can be purchased—”

  “I know,” I replied, standing up, for twice my annual salary! The sword bobbed to my shoulder height, still glowing with that luminous charge. Perhaps I could use it in my hall as a coat tree? “Is there an owner’s manual?”

  “No, this is all we received. It’s quite old. The original papers have long since disintegrated. You can look it up in any good reference. Or—as any quality item of the sort, it will be glad to instruct you.”

  “I see.” I didn’t. “Well, thank you, Mr. Forbes.”

  Out on the street, I felt self-conscious with the quartz sword following at my shoulder. People who owned such things had their own limousines. I had to take a crowded bus.

  I tried to ignore the stares Aventura collected as I dropped coins into the slot. People standing in the aisle stared and made way to let me through. A seat was vacated near the back door, and I swooped into it, trapping the sword next to the window.

  It was a long ride across town. We passed through the university section. The bus emptied, and students piled on. The sword attracted only mild curiosity here.

  Finally, one woman student asked, “May I sit here, Professor?”

  Professor? “Oh, uh, certainly.” Who else but a professor could look so seedy and own such an Implement?

  Politely, the student asked, “It’s an Attitudinal, isn’t it? Finnish manufacture?”

  “Um.” I was embarrassed at how little I knew.

  “Will you be teaching with it next semester?” At my confusion, she apologized. “I’m interested in Attitudinals. I’m majoring in Social Work.”

  “I see,” I replied. My own education included only two years of Enchanter’s Trade School.

  “I’m in organic chemistry, actually. Reaction Arrestment specialist.”

  As we talked, new notions awakened in the back of my mind. By the time she got off, I could see myself married, raising kids, and working for a Wizardship. I wondered where I’d get the money. Aventura wasn’t the sort of thing one could sell. Um, I’d have to master it before I could pass it on to another owner who wasn’t my child.

  My fiancé, Rogero, was waiting when I arrived at the jewelry store where we were to pick up our wedding rings. We’d chosen them on an auspicious day a month ago, and they’d been sent out to the Monogramming Sorcerer. Rogero had ordered mine set to record permanently how I looked the moment he put the ring on my finger; and he’d paid extra to have an anti-loss spell put on it.

  He looked dapper in his neat, black suit and ever-clean patent shoes. He carried a businessman’s Paraphernalia Case made of dark purple leather, with a woven shoulder strap. And he was wearing the hat I’d bought him for his birthday. I felt twice as dowdy as I walked up to him, still in my bakery whites, with my old cloth coat thrown over.

  He turned. “I thought you’d never—what’s that?”

  He eyed the sword bobbing at my shoulder. I told him, adding, “An hour ago, I’d no idea what to do with it. Now, I’m thinking I’ll go back to school and learn to use it.”

  He shook his head, saying, “Well, come on, let’s get the rings before the store closes.”

  It was early autumn, and already getting dark. We inspected the rings, and signed for them, as the jeweler admired Aventura, and tried to sell us a more expensive wedding band set. Hiding exasperation, Rogero put him off.

  Out on the street, he fumed, “You’ve got to get rid of that thing.”

  That had been my goal since I first saw it. But when Rogero made it an edict I rebelled. “Why? It could be useful. It got me a seat on the bus!”

  “Tira, it’s going to be nothing but trouble.” He walked around it, inspecting it, as passers-by gave it a wide berth. “How do you turn it off?”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t come with a manual. I’ll have to do some research.”

  “Where will you get the time! I’m not having tha—that thing—bobbing along our honeymoon!”

  “Now wait a minute!” His attitude made me angry. Aventura bobbed faster and began to glow more brightly.

  Rogero sighed, gesturing placatingly. “It’s all right, Tira. I’ve got connections. I’ll find out how to turn it off for you. Then we can pack it away and forget it. Come on.” He turned toward the subway.

  “Where are we—?” I started, hanging back. Aventura made a menacing twang at Rogero.

  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, exasperated. “I had this evening all planned to be one of the happiest memories of our lives. Tira, we’ve got celebrating to do—I’ve been promoted!”

  “Then you got the Infant’s Clothing Department?” It was a plum of a job for a fireproofing charmer because of the cost of manufacturer’s liability insurance; it was a responsible, well paid, management position.

  He took my shoulders, glaring at Aventura. “No! I’m now Managing Charmer of the Commercial Textile department. The Chief Sorcerer took me aside and told me I could’ve had the post anytime these last two years, but they wanted a stable, married man. So it’s all your doing, and I’m going to take you out on the town!”

  I squealed my delight, and kissed him. “What a piece of luck. Now we can afford university courses!”

  “Anything you want, Tira—anything.” He pulled me toward the subway. But as we flowed down the stairs with the rest of the crowd, he muttered, “I just don’t think you’re going to have time, though.”

  Since I’d be quitting my job, I didn’t see what I’d have except time, but I didn’t argue; no point spoiling his mood.

  He took me home, and I dressed in my best. As we left my apartment, the sword insisted on following. I tried standing on the threshold and slamming the door before the sword could squeeze through after me, but it danced and slithered through. Once I caught it between the door and the jamb, but it resisted being crushed and popped out after me, flickering brightly, as if proud of itself.

  Rogero and I tried all the spells we could think of to turn it off, which was a lot, since he had two years more school than I. “It’s no good,” he admitted at last. “We’ll miss the show if we don’t get going. Just ignore it.”

  “Can you?” Aventura seemed to intimidate him.

  “Certainly,” he said, and kissed me.

  I thereupon forgot everything, and followed happily.

  As always, he was as good as his word. Aventura hovered behind my aisle seat at the play (to which Rogero had been given tickets); stationed itself behind my chair at the restaurant, and bobbed rhythmically when we danced.

  He acknowledged it only when people from his firm came up to congratulate him, and inquired about it. “My fiancé inherited it,” he’d say, and steer the conversation away.

  At midnight, I yawned, and said, “It’s getting late, and I have to be at work early in the morning.”

  “I hadn’t thought! I’m sorry, Tira.” He called for the check.

  As we collected our coats, one of his bosses came in, congratulated him, and was introduced to me. As we were leaving, Rogero said, “This is why you’ve got to quit that job. I can’t afford to leave now. To get beyond lower management without a Sorcerer’s Certificate, I’ve got to make all the right contacts. I don’t have to be at work until noon.”

  In the cab, I fell into a strange mood. I’d always had such deliriously happy times with Rogero—parties at rich friends’ houses, restaurants and theaters—places I couldn’t afford. We always met exciting, important people who made me feel wonderful. Tonight had been even better because Rogero was a center of attention. But I didn’t feel good about it.

  I was annoyed, peeved, and rebellious. I suddenly couldn’t see spending the rest of my life as Rogero’s smiling and witty decoration. I’d be no more to him, after a few years, than Aventura—an accoutrement that should be turned off when convenient. Suddenly, I wanted to be important.

  I kissed him goodnight, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  I lay awake, my nice dark b
edroom glowing with the sword’s light. The darn thing even followed me into the bathroom!

  In the morning, I couldn’t get the sword to stay home. I tried explaining to it, calling it by name, and even asking it for instructions on how to get it to stay home. But it still dogged my steps. I tried slamming the door on it again, and almost broke my wrist. Finally, I ran for my bus and just made it to work on time.

  I was so tired from the late night, I didn’t even notice the swirling mutter of comments following me across the floor to my station. I climbed up to survey the conveyor belt. The first rank of raisin breads was still ten minutes away.

  Wishing I’d had time for another cup of coffee, I tooled up and got ready to cast my freshness enchantment, wondering how I’d muddle through the day. I didn’t want to get fired before I quit—I might need the recommendation some day. So I pulled myself together and began to raise my cone of power. I was so fuzzy-minded, this would take all my energy.

  The ranks of loaves arrived, and I enchanted. I picked up the familiar rhythm and began to feel jaunty. I could do this in my sleep. Surely I could get a Charmer Degree.

  I prepared to shift to jelly donuts, when coffee break time came and the boss called me to his office. He had a tray of unrisen, unbaked raisin loaves on his desk.

  Eyeing Aventura, he asked, “Would you mind explaining just what is going on around here?”

  I started to tell him about the lawyer, and how Rogero and I had tried to turn the sword off.

  “I didn’t mean the sword, Miss Nau. I meant this!”

  “That’s raisin bread.”

  “No, that’s dough.”

  “Well—give it time,” I suggested lamely.

  “Miss Nau, this bread rose and was baked this morning. It passed your station at nine-fifteen and entered the wrapping plant in this condition! You did this, Miss Nau. Eighteen hundred loaves that cannot be baked—according to our lab analysis—for another two weeks, because of your ultra-freshness spell!”