Dangerous Hardboiled Magicians

by Mel Gilden

  “Anything else?” I asked tightly.

  “Just one more thing,” Lord Slex said. “And you may appreciate this reason more than the other: I don’t want casual observers to know Ms. Morning is being guarded. I want your appearance changed so there will be no chance of a Stilthins Mort old-timer recognizing you.”

  “What difference would it make? Not many of them would know I was a private detective.”

  “It takes only one,” Lord Slex suggested.

  I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair while I weighed his insulting suggestion against my ability to pay the rent next month.

  “All right,” I said. “But you better get to it before I change my mind.”

  “Very good,” Lord Slex said, and took a packet from a drawer in his desk.

  “Commercial magic?” I asked. This was the second time I knew of that he used a packaged spell instead of mixing up his own from scratch. Despite Silverwhite’s theories, I still didn’t believe Lord Slex used instant spells because he was too good to mix up his own.

  “Oh, Nu-face is quite safe,” he said as he studied the instructions. He tore open the packet, pronounced the spell, and threw the powder over me.

  I sat unmoving, waiting to feel some change. Then I chuckled to myself. Whatever was going to happen had happened already. The spell hadn’t actually altered anything about me of course, only what people saw. Applying the spell was like putting on a mask.

  “Look here, Mr. Cronyn,” Lord Slex said as he rose and took a few steps to a cabinet, which he opened, revealing a mirror hanging inside the door.

  I joined him at the cabinet and looked at myself. Though I knew I would look different, actually seeing the changes the spell had wrought was kind of a shock. But it was a good shock. I looked like my handsome brother. “One hot dude,” I remarked.

  “Indeed. Come along, Mr. Cronyn. I want to introduce you to the other two members of the board. I don’t believe you met them when you were a student here.”

  When we left his office, the hallway was empty, which was just as well because I was self-conscious about my new appearance. Would anybody notice? Would women sigh and fall at my feet, instantly my love slaves? Intellectually I knew neither of these things would happen, but I still felt as if I were wearing a neon sign for a hat.

  Our footsteps echoed as I followed Lord Slex diagonally across the hall to another office. Without knocking he pulled the door open, then stood aside to let me enter first.

  In details, this office was different from Lord Slex’s, but generally it was much the same hodgepodge of books, papers, and magical paraphernalia I had seen earlier. It seemed that being a pack rat was a prerequisite for being a wizard; maybe I should have stuck around after all.

  There were two men in the office. Sitting behind the desk was one of the thinnest, pruniest men I had ever seen. His shoulders were barely wide enough to support his robe of office, and every line in his face—and there were many—was vertical, making him look even thinner. He wore a monocle and a tiny mustache. Leaning over the desk, pointing to something in a book that covered most of the desktop, was a very handsome man—noble, wise, and sympathetic. He was that rare thing, a man who looked enough like what he was to play one in a movie. He might have posed for the stained glass fantasy over the front door of the building.

  They were the same two men who had been with Lord Slex in the photograph of the fancy chocolate car, now fifteen or so years older.

  They froze in place as if they’d been caught doing something naughty, turning only their heads to look at us.

  Lord Slex introduced us. “Mr. Cronyn, the seated gentleman is Lord Trask. His learned colleague with the accusatory digit is Lord Philpot. Gentlemen,” he went on, indicating me as if I were a sideshow attraction, “this is Turner Cronyn. I have just engaged him to protect Misty Morning.”

  Lord Trask nodded.

  “Delighted, I’m sure,” Lord Philpot said as if it might even be true, and shook my hand.

  Without much trouble Lord Slex ushered me out of the office. We left the Administration building and walked up the hill in the bright sunshine to one of the classroom buildings. It looked much the same as the Admin building, lacking only the stained glass window over the main entrance.

  Most of the classroom doors were closed, but through them I could hear the rumble in the time-honored cadence of instructors attempting to impart knowledge. We went up to the second floor and once again Lord Slex held a door open for me.

  We stood together in the back of the room watching as a big soft bear of a boy wearing glasses fiddled with a long sheaf of colorful ribbons. He looked as if he’d slept in his mismatched sweater and corduroy pants, a costume whose patterns seemed determined to fight each other to the death. The boy never took his eyes off the instructor as she moved gracefully up and down the room lecturing, and he maintained a dopey sort of smile the whole time. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in love with her. Most of the other male students and a few of the females seemed similarly entranced. I was a little entranced myself. It was difficult not to be.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PUPPY LOVE

  The instructor, whom I assumed was Misty Morning, was a slim, twentyish woman who looked very appealing in a crisp man’s shirt and tight jeans. Her blonde hair was short and artfully mussed, as if she kept it trimmed and clean but otherwise wanted to give the impression she didn’t pay much attention to it. She had an easy, friendly smile and a voice one might spread on one’s morning toast.

  “If you read last night’s assignment,” she said, “you know there are two basic laws of magic.” She nodded, inviting the class to join in. “The Law of Similarity and the Law of Contagion,” they all said together. “Give me the test ribbons, Mr. Hillyer,” she said alone, and held out one hand to the fat kid. He trotted forward and laid the sheaf gently across her hand as if he were laying a wreath at a monument. “Thank you, Mr. Hillyer,” she said. Then she mumbled a few magic words and threw half the ribbons into the air. The other half she waved around as if she were leading a cheer. The ribbons she’d thrown away danced in the air, following the pattern she made with the ribbons in her hand. Basic as pulling iron filings with a magnet, but a demonstration like that never ceased to fascinate me and make me smile.

  “You see,” Ms. Morning said, “once magically connected, the first set of ribbons continues to influence the other set, even at a distance. All magic, no matter how complex and impressive, springs from the principles demonstrated here.” She glanced at the clock. “That’s all for today,” she said. “See you in lab tomorrow.” She caught the flying ribbons and put the two sets on a table, where they lay motionless as if she’d killed them, though I knew that was silly.

  Members of the class gathered their school supplies and drifted out of the room. Mr. Hillyer collected his stuff and then spent a lot of time making sure that Ms. Morning didn’t want him for anything. I got the impression that jumping off a building would not have been too much to ask.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Hillyer. That will be all. See you in lab tomorrow.” Her voice had firmed up some, and the temperature had dropped, but she still had to repeat herself a few times before Hillyer took the hint. He backed out of the holy presence smiling and shuffling. If he’d had a forelock, he would have tugged it. It was a shameless display of puppy love. Had I ever been that young?

  Lord Slex made introductions all around. Electricity went up my arm when Ms. Morning and I shook hands. I’m afraid I stood there a little longer than I should have, dazed by her high-voltage smile. Hah! If this was puppy love, so be it! I was glad to be hiding behind my masking spell, though I had no idea how Ms. Morning would have reacted had I been my normal self. At the worst of times no woman had ever run screaming when she saw me.

  “The college has hired Mr. Cronyn to protect you,” Lord Slex said.

  She seemed surprised. “From what?” she asked.

  “Industrial spies, I am told,” I said.

 
Ms. Morning laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. “I’m more likely to be done in by jealous colleagues,” she said.

  “The board takes your welfare very seriously, my dear,” Lord Slex said.

  “Your welfare and the security of your big project,” I added, always trying to be helpful. Lord Slex shot me an irritated glance.

  “I see. Very well, then—Mr. Cronyn, is it?—you may guard my body.”

  That was the best offer I’d had in a long time, but I didn’t do more than smile and thank her. I was, after all, a professional on assignment. Getting mixed up with a client in a romantic way could only lead to difficulties.

  Ms. Morning picked up her briefcase, and I followed her and Lord Slex down the stairs while they spoke about her dissertation in terms I remembered only dimly from my time at Stilthins Mort. At the foot of the stairs we met a well-buffed male who was nearly as old as Ms. Morning. “Ready to go?” he asked her.

  “You go on ahead, Rodney,” she said. “Mr. Cronyn will drive me home.”

  Rodney appraised me as if I were a beaten-up pair of shoes. “If you’re sure,” he said without certainty. I guess I failed to come up to his standards, even with my new face.

  “I’m sure. We’ll talk later on the phone.”

  Rodney nodded and stood aside to let us pass. Getting back to the Administration building took a long time because Misty Morning seemed to have a lot of friends and they all wanted to speak with her. Once or twice someone even spoke to Lord Slex.

  We got to the Administration building at last and stood for a moment under the stained-glass wizard while Lord Slex assured Misty Morning that everything would be fine now that Turner Cronyn was on the job. To seal the bargain she threw me another one of her dazzling smiles, nearly knocking me over.

  Though my legs were wobbly, I managed to stay upright all the way to my car, opened the passenger door for her, then went around to slide in behind the wheel. She told me she lived in an apartment up Benedict Canyon and directed me how to get there.

  I turned right onto Western and rode my brakes down to the meat grinder that is rush-hour Sunset Boulevard and turned west, fighting traffic all the way. Traffic would not have been a problem if the municipal magic bond issue had passed. Trust the voters.

  Hollywood traffic was always a trifle more ostentatious than it is in other parts of the city, excepting perhaps Beverly Hills. A number of vehicles, like my Puck, looked like the automobiles of old. But there was also an assortment of Hansom cabs, row boats, and stage coaches.

  The variety of magically motivated vehicles didn’t lighten the traffic on Sunset Boulevard any. It took us across town with all the grace and élan of mud being forced through a pipe, while all around us capered what the travel folders are pleased to call “the heart of Hollywood,” a city that actually has as much to do with the movies as Pittsburgh. Most of the studios are in the valley or on the west side of town. Hollywood is, however, a great place to purchase a T-shirt, a postcard, or a case of syphilis.

  During our time together, Misty—she asked me to call her Misty—and I got to know each other. Which somehow made the whole Hollywood experience worthwhile. She told me she was left-handed, which I already knew, having seen her write on the board in her classroom.

  “Me and Leonardo da Vinci,” she said, enjoying the idea.

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “He was left-handed, too. I always admired him, the archetypical Renaissance Man. We lefties have to stick together.” She went on, explaining at length how she fancied herself a Renaissance Person like Leonardo. She made being a Renaissance Person sound like fun.

  She was describing her parents, a couple of straitlaced customers from Chicago, when I noticed a small burgundy car that seemed to have been trailing us for some time. It was missing most of the paint on its front bumper.

  “You know anybody who owns a burgundy car?” I asked.

  “Huh? What?”

  Just beyond a shoddy court full of offices tricked up in art deco architecture and called with wild optimism “The Crossroads of the World,” I made a sudden turn up Orange Drive, trying not to hit any valuable tourists, and rolled along slowly as if I were looking for an address. What I was actually doing was watching my rearview mirror. The burgundy car had turned behind us and was now sniffing at our tail pipe even though there was plenty of room to go around. I was close enough to see that the driver was all alone—no passengers.

  Next to the Roosevelt Hotel at the end of the block was the hotel’s new parking structure. Making an instant enemy, I suddenly turned in front of a one-man riverboat that had been coming the other way. The sound of its steam whistle faded as I took a ticket from the entry machine and rolled into the dimness of the structure.

  “He’s coming in here,” Misty said as she watched out my rear window.

  “I thought he might,” I said. I drove up the lane between parked cars as quickly as I dared, turned and started up the incline. After a moment I saw what I was looking for—not a parking space, but a car just pulling out. I hurried so I would be beyond him when he momentarily blocked the open lane. He had to stop with a jolt to avoid hitting me. I was making enemies left and right today.

  I rounded the corner at the top of the incline and followed the arrows to the exit. “Do you see him?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I stopped behind the gossamer barrier at the bottom of the structure where the guy at the little booth glanced at the time on my ticket. I hadn’t been inside the structure more than five minutes.

  “You weren’t in there long, sir,” he said.

  “Nope. Forgot all about the young lady’s saxophone lesson.”

  He nodded and made the gossamer barrier go away.

  “Thanks,” I said and waved to him as I bounced down the driveway. I turned right and soon was back on Sunset heading west. The burgundy car was no longer behind me. If I was lucky, he’d be tangled up inside the parking structure for ten or fifteen minutes.

  “Who was it?” Misty asked.

  “I thought you might know,” I said. “A detective hired by another college? An industrial spy? Maybe somebody you work with at Stilthins Mort? You seem to have a lot of friends, not to mention admirers.”

  I felt her squirm in her seat. “Do you really think I’m in danger?” She sounded lots more worried now than she had been in her classroom.

  I wanted to pat her hand, but that seemed patronizing. “Probably not,” I said. “But if you are, I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.”

  “I know you will,” she said and patted my hand. I liked it, actually, though keeping my mind on driving was briefly a problem. I only hoped that I could keep her safe enough.

  “You’d make my job easier,” I said, “if you’d name a few names. For some reason the board members at Stilthins Mort were kind of secretive on that point.”

  She smiled. “Bad luck to call on your enemies,” she said.

  “Worse luck to stumble around blindly.”

  “All right,” she said after a moment. “You probably know about Stilthins Mort’s crosstown rival, the California Institute of Thaumaturgy.”

  “I thought that was just football.”

  She shook her head. “Football is only the beginning. Both sides compete for big-name lecturers and count the publications of academic papers as if they were dollar bills—which, in a sense, they are.”

  I nodded. It was all coming back to me now. When I was a student at Stilthins Mort, I’d been too busy failing my classes to get involved with extracurricular activities. “School spirit,” I suggested.

  “Yes. In the least reputable sense of the word. Cal Thau might hire its own detective to watch over its staff.”

  “Do you know anybody over there?”

  “Just to say hello to. Nobody special.”

  “What about big business?” I asked as I tried once again to chose a lane that didn’t move quite so slowly.

  She took a while to answer. I glanced at her quickly
and saw her looking out at the tourist traps. We had plenty of time. Traffic was moving hardly at all.

  “The most likely candidate,” she said, speaking to the window, “is PrestoCorp.”

  “Why them?”

  “I sold them the rights to the car-of-different-color spell.” She was suddenly so angry she almost spit. “What a rotten deal.”

  “They cheated you?”

  “Depends on whose lawyers you ask.” She shrugged and almost smiled. “Old news. It was a learning experience.”

  “Life is full of them,” I agreed. “And you think they would be interested in your latest project?”

  “They already told me so. Dr. Hamish seemed a little miffed that I wouldn’t tell her anything about it.”

  “Dr. Hamish?”

  “Heather Hamish. She’s the vice-president of PrestoCorp’s research and development department.”

  “Ruthless?” I asked.

  “About average for that crowd, I guess,” Misty said.

  “And your project is?”

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I suppose not. But you can’t blame me for being curious.”

  “No.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me?”

  “No. I don’t like to talk about my projects until I finish them.”

  I broke through a knot of rickshaws and miniature locomotives, and on the other side found no reason for the hold-up. I’ve been driving for years but I still don’t understand why traffic acts the way it does.

  She turned toward me. “What will you do now that I’ve named names?” she asked.

  “Check around. With a little luck I might be able to prevent some trouble.”

  Once again her eyes were wide and full of worry. “You said you didn’t think I was in danger.”

  “There’s all kinds of trouble. Not all of them involve physical danger.”

  She nodded.