A Wizard In Mind - Rogue Wizard 01

by Christopher Stasheff

  Gianni stared. What did Gar mean? They knew why the lords had united against the merchants—because of the scheming of those fake Gypsies! Though, now that he thought about it, they did seem an awfully ineffective lot, to have so mobilized the lords—in fact, they seemed far more the kind of people who sat around and argued heatedly about what to do rather than the kind who actually did it.

  Giuseppi frowned. "What reason do they need, other than greed?"

  "They've had that all along," Gar explained, "though I think it's increased hugely this last year. But I have to know, you see, or I can't fight them with any hope of winning."

  Ambiguous as it was, that seemed to make sense enough to the others; they subsided, grumbling. It didn't make much sense to Gianni, though, and he found himself wondering why they could be so easily convinced.

  Then he looked into Gar's glowing eyes, and saw why.

  "Come!" The giant rose, stooping slightly because of the roof. "Follow and do as I bid, and you shall be out of this castle before dawn!"

  They murmured a little as they followed him, then went quiet as he stood by the gate, reaching out to lift the huge padlock in both hands, staring at it as though by simple force of will he could make it open. Slowly he wrapped his fingers around the curving top of the lock, wrapped the other hand around the keyhole, then began to twist ...

  The lock groaned, gave off a sharp cracking noise, then wrenched open, the curving top curving even more, its tip shredded.

  The prisoners stared, speechless.

  Carefully and silently, Gar removed the lock from the hasp, laid it on the ground, then opened the gate and crept out into the night. Wordlessly, they followed as Gar turned toward the keep—but Gianni reached up to pull on his shoulder. "You're going the wrong way!" he hissed. "The gatehouse is over there!" He pointed, his arm a bar of urgency.

  "But the gatehouse isn't what I came to see," Gar whispered back, his tone gentle. He started toward the keep again. Gianni glared after him a minute, then threw up his hands in exasperation and followed. Everything considered, it was probably safer with Gar than without him, if his wits lasted. Of course, Gianni thought inanely, if his wits were sound, would he have come in here in the first place?

  But there was no good answer to that question, so he followed with the rest of them.

  Gar drifted up to the door of the keep like a shadow made gigantic by candlelight—only this shadow clasped a huge left hand around a sentry's mouth and pressed fingers to his neck. The man folded without a sound. Gar handed him to Gianni and stepped across the doorway just as the sentry's partner turned to look. He stared, speechless with surprise—then speechless because Gar's palm covered his mouth, pressing him back against the wall, as the other hand pressed his neck. In minutes, he, too, slumped unconscious. Gar handed him to Giuseppi and whispered, "Tell Claudio and Benvolio to put on their livery."

  Claudio chuckled as he dressed the unconscious soldier in his vermin—ridden garb.

  "Be sure they stay unconscious," Gar whispered to Vladimir, who nodded and pulled the bodies into the shadows, then sat down beside them with one of their own truncheons in his hand. "Keep the watch," Gar hissed to Claudio and Benvolio, and they nodded, then lifted their halberds slanting outward and stood vigilantly at the door. As an afterthought, Claudio pushed it open for Gar. He beckoned his little company forward, and prowled into Castello Raginaldi.

  Stairs wound upward alongside the entry hall, and Gar headed straight toward them. Just as he came to their foot, hard footsteps sounded, and a Stiletto captain came around the turn. He saw Gar, yanked at his sword, and managed a single shout of anger before one big hand clamped down on his mouth and the other swung a borrowed truncheon. The captain's eyes rolled up as he slumped down. Gar handed him to Feste, hissing, "You're promoted. Strip him and dress! Bernardino, Estragon! Bind him and gag him, then hide him."

  "With pleasure," Bernardino said, grinning, as Feste stooped to start stripping the captain. He grumbled a little at shedding his motley, but it was very grimy, after all, and the clean livery felt much better.

  Gianni was amazed that they were all so eagerly following Gar, so blindly obeying him. But he was no better off himself; his pulse had quickened with excitement at the audacity of it, and at the hope of striking a blow at the noblemen and their tame condotierri. Up the stairs they went with Feste strutting at their head, his hand on his new sword. No one else stopped them until they came to the top, where two more guards stood at either side of a brass—bound oaken door. They snapped to, halberds slanting out at the ready, as Feste came in sight, then relaxed at the sight of his clothing. "Oh, it's you, Captain," one said, then looked more closely. "Hold! You're not the captain! And who's that monster behind . . ."

  Gar stepped past Feste and cracked their heads together. Their helmets took most of the force of the blow; one of the guards turned jelly—kneed but managed a shout of alarm anyway, before a right cross to the chin felled him. The other was shaking his head and blinking furiously, trying to bring his halberd to bear, when Feste clubbed him on the side of the head with his sword hilt. The man folded.

  "Not quite the way the sword was meant to be used," Gar said, "but it will do. An excellent improvisation, Feste. The rest of you, quickly! Into the chamber! Trade clothes with them and tie them up!"

  "How?" Gianni shoved at the door. "It's locked!"

  "Yes, but not that strongly." Gar grasped the handle, glared at it, and pushed. The lock groaned; then the door opened. The fugitives stared, then came alive and dragged their captives into the room. Feste turned about, hand on his hilt, the captain of the guard on sentry—go. Gianni shut the door—but as he did, he glanced at the lock. And shivered. The bar had sunk back into the wood, unbroken. Somehow, Gar had opened that lock as surely as though he had held the key!

  No time to worry about it now—they were in darkness, except for a swath of moonlight through a small window that served to show them, at least, where a candle sat by a tinderbox. Gar's shadow obscured the window and the candle for a moment; there was the scratch of flint on steel, then a soft glow that grew into a small flame. Gar held it to the wick, and the flame grew brighter. Then he closed the tinderbox, and the light was less, but constant. The candle flame showed them a circular room about twelve feet across with walls of mortared stone, a water stain where the roof needed patching, a table and chair near the window, where the candle stood.

  And on that table, a low rounded shape that Gianni first took to be a giant egg. Then he saw that it had a curved handle on top and decided it must be a curling stone, such as the old men used for playing their unending lawn game on the village greens ...

  Until he realized the stone had a long, thin strip of light across its front, a strip with numbers on it. Beneath that, there were five circles, each a different color, and now that Gianni looked, the handle on the egg had a little wire wrapped around it, a wire that ran up the wall and disappeared into the roof. Gianni saw that Gar had followed its route, too, and asked, "The triple cross?"

  Gar nodded. "Yes, and I think it's a triple cross in more ways than one."

  "What is this?" asked Vincenzio. "An alchemist's workshop?"

  "Something of the sort. Don't let it trouble you. We won't stay here long." Gar sat down and peered at the lighted strip. "Back up my memory, Gianni—it's becoming moth-eaten. 'Eighty—nine—oh—one M.H.' "

  " 'Eighty—nine—oh—one em aytch.' " Gianni repeated dutifully. "What does it mean, Gar?"

  "It means," said Gar, "that our false—Gypsy friends have competitors they don't know about."

  "Orzans!"

  Gianni turned to look, and saw Rubio leaning over an open sack with jewels running through his fingers. "Orzans, hundreds of them! And there are four more bags like this one!"

  Gar nodded, mouth a grim line. "I had thought as much. No wonder this room is stoutly guarded." He turned back to the curling stone and touched the green circle. Gianni reached out to stop him, his heart in his mouth�
��then froze as he heard the stone say, in a strange, very thick accent, "Prince Raginaldi, please answer!"

  "What is that?" Rubio cried, leaping to his feet. "Shush!" Gar hissed. "It's only a magical memory, nothing more."

  The stone spoke again. "Since you do not appear to be near the far-talker now, Your Highness, I will ask you to call Zampar of the Lurgan Company when it is convenient. Thank you." There was a chime, then silence.

  The men stared at one another with wide, frightened eyes. "Sorcery!" Rubio hissed.

  "No, just great cleverness," Gar assured them. He touched some more colored circles, then said, "Gar to Herkimer. Do you hear me?"

  "Yes, Gar." The reply was instantaneous; the voice was well modulated, cultivated, gentle. "I am glad to hear you alive and well."

  "Well enough," Gar replied. "Herkimer, please start eavesdropping on—eighty—seven—oh—two, was that, Gianni?"

  Gianni felt a chill. So soon? "Eighty—nine—oh—one em aytch, Gar."

  "Eighty—nine—oh—one m.H.," Gar repeated. "Not so well as I might be, Herkimer; my brain may need an overhaul after this little jaunt. Check who uses that frequency, please."

  "The Lurgan Company, Gar. Since your departure, I have become aware of their activities through their transmissions."

  "The Lurgan Company, yes." Gar's lips were thin again. "What is it?"

  "A semilegal syndicate who have been known to break laws designed to protect backward planets, Gar."

  "How can they be legal at all, then?" Gar growled. "By setting up their headquarters on planets that do not yet subscribe to the full I.D.E. code," the voice told him. "When a host planet does agree to full enforcement of that code, the Lurgan Company moves to a newer planet."

  "Semilegal perhaps, but ethical not at all," Gar growled. "What information do you have about orzans, Herkimer?"

  This time there was a pause of several seconds before the voice answered. "They are extremely rare fiery gems that are found only on Petrarch, Gar. They begin as crystals grown from water laden with a rare mineral that dissolves out of impure limestone through seepage in caves; those that have been buried under rock for several centuries acquire the luster and clarity that makes them so prized as ornaments."

  Gar glanced at the gems in the big sack and hissed, "Put them back, Rubio." He turned back to the stone. "Current market value?"

  "A flawless one-carat specimen would pay the annual power bill for a small city," the voice replied. "Consequently, the only market is on Terra and the older, very wealthy colonies, such as Hal IV and Otranto."

  "The playgrounds of the rich," Gar muttered. "I thought they looked familiar."

  "Your great-aunt does have one such pendant, Gar, yes."

  Gianni felt as though his hair were trying to stand on end. Terra? Hal Four? Otranto? These were names from legend, names of fairy—tale realms!

  "It's all as I had thought," Gar said. "Thank you, Herkimer. Please keep monitoring that frequency."

  "I shall, Gar. Be careful."

  The room was suddenly amazingly silent.

  "Who was that?" Gianni whispered. "Your tame wizard?"

  "Eh?" Gar looked at him, startled. "Well, yes, I suppose you might say that. Not a bad analogy at all, in fact." Then he scowled at the other young merchant. "Leave the bag here, Rubio!"

  "It's a fortune, Gar," Rubio protested, "the chance of a lifetime!"

  "The chance of a hanging, you mean! Steal that bag, and Prince Raginaldi will never rest until he has found it again, and when he does, he'll have you flayed to make sure you haven't hidden any of them under your skin! Leave them, and he may forget about us. Which reminds me . . ." He turned to touch the colored spots again, muttering, "Eighty—six . . ."

  "Eighty—nine—oh—one em aytch," Gianni said quickly.

  "Thank Heaven one of us has a memory," Gar growled. He finished punching, then turned toward the door, not even looking as he said, "All of them, Rubio!"

  "Only as many as were stolen from me, Gar!" the young merchant said stubbornly.

  "I suppose that's only just," Gar sighed. "But not a fragment more, mind! Now outside, everyone, and silently!"

  They went out, and Gar closed the door carefully; Gianni was sure he heard the lock turn, but with a tame wizard, why not?

  "Not a tame wizard," Gar whispered as they started down the stairs, and Gianni jumped; he would have thought the giant had read his thoughts. "More of a friend—well, an associate."

  "But still a wizard." Gianni frowned up at him. "Does he appear in your dreams?"

  "No," Gar replied, "but he says I appear in his." Gianni digested that as they went down a few more steps. Then he asked, "What was that object?"

  "Magic," Gar answered.

  "Of course," Gianni said dryly.

  CHAPTER 11

  As they were coming down, another pair of guards came out of a side passage and started up the stairs. They saw Gianni's party and stared. "Captain!" said one. "Why are the prisoners..."

  "That's not the captain, you dolt!" the other snapped, and thrust with his halberd.

  Gar reached past Feste and pushed the weapon aside, just as the fake "captain" drew his sword and put the tip to the man's throat. The guard's mouth opened to shout—and froze in silence.

  The other guard did manage a shout, just before Gianni closed his mouth with an uppercut. He fell back down the stairs and struck his head against the wall, but the helmet protected him enough so that he was only groggy as he tried to climb to his feet, croaking, "Alarm! Prisoners ... escaped ..." until Gianni jumped down beside him, caught up the man's own halberd, and held the point to his throat. "Be still!" The man looked up at the gleaming steel and the hot, angry eyes above it, and held his tongue.

  Gar stepped forward and touched his fingertips to the first guard's temples. The man jerked, staring; then his eyes closed, and he slumped. Gar caught him and eased him down. "We still have two men out of uniform. Take his livery." Then he stepped down to touch the other guard's temples. As the man sagged back onto the stone, Gianni asked, "What did you do to them?"

  "Put them to sleep."

  "I can see that!" Gianni reddened. "How?"

  "Believe me," Gar told him, "you don't want to know." He went on down the stairs, leaving Gianni to follow, seething—but also wondering. He'd been suspecting for some time that there was much more to Gar than met the eye, and that he didn't like what he wasn't seeing.

  As they came out into the courtyard, the only three not wearing Prince Raginaldi's livery were Vladimir, Gar, and Gianni. "Join us," Gar said softly to Bernardino and Vincenzio as he beckoned to Vladimir. "Gianni, hold your arms behind you, like this, as though they were bound. The rest of you, level your halberds at us—that's right. Now, Feste, march us all together to the gatehouse, and tell the porter and the sentries that you've been ordered to take Gianni and me out to hang us from a tree, because the prince has judged us to be rabble-rousers too dangerous to let live."

  Feste frowned. "Will they believe that?"

  "Why should they not?"

  Feste gazed at Gar a moment longer, then shrugged and went forward to lead the way. The other men clustered around Gianni and Gar and moved toward the gatehouse.

  "What if the guards recognize us from the Gypsies' descriptions?" Gianni muttered.

  "Then they'll be sure the prince knew what he was doing," Gar muttered back. "In fact, we just might come out of this with everyone thinking we're dead."

  "Not when they don't see our bodies hanging from a tree near the drawbridge, they won't!"

  "True," Gar sighed, "and when they find a half-dozen naked guardsmen."

  "In fact, they'll be after us even harder!"

  "Don't let it bother you," Gar assured him. "They can only hang us once."

  Gianni shivered at the casual, offhand way he said it. For a moment, he imagined he could feel the noose tightening about his neck—but he shook off the fantasy and plodded angrily after Gar.

  As they came to the ga
tehouse, Feste barked, "Halt!" The rest did a creditable imitation of a soldier's stamp-to-a-stop. "Drop the bridge!" Feste ordered the real sentries. "The prince has commanded that these two be hanged at once!"

  The sentries stared, and one said, "He can't wait till dawn?"

  "Who are you to question the prince's orders?" Feste stormed.

  "I don't know this captain," the other guard said doubtfully.

  " 'You will,' " Gar muttered to Feste.

  "You'll know me soon enough, and better than you like, if you don't obey orders!" Feste raged. "The prince wants these two hanged outside as a warning to any who would defy him! Now lower that drawbridge!"

  "As you say, Captain," the taller sentry said reluctantly, and turned to call into the gatehouse. Gianni waited with his heart in his throat, hearing the huge windlass grind away, thinking the bridge would never stop falling, thinking crazily that the sentries must see through them, their disguises were so transparent. How could they possibly accept Feste as a new captain when they had never seen him before? He couldn't believe experienced soldiers could actually be persuaded by so obvious a lie!

  So when the sentries stepped aside and waved them on, he followed mechanically, amazed—and, as they came out across the moat, he found himself wondering how it could ever be that the soldiers had obeyed. He could only think that Feste was far more persuasive than he seemed.

  "No shouting," Gar said, his voice taut, "not a sign of victory till we're half a mile away! Just march us back into the woods over there, and keep marching!"

  Silently as a funeral procession, they marched through the moonlight and into the trees, with Gianni expecting any minute to feel a crossbow bolt in his back. But they came into the blessed darkness unscathed and marched on for twenty minutes more until they came to a clearing, where Gar stopped and said, "Now."

  The men cut loose with a howling cheer, throwing their borrowed helmets up into the air, then running fast to avoid them as they came down. Gar turned to grin at Gianni and slap him on the shoulder. Gianni felt himself grinning back, all his nervousness sliding away under the triumph and sheer joy of being alive and free.