The Secular Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Almost never."

  Matt didn't like the sound of "almost," but reminded himself that they had a backup. "Okay, Manny! You can come out now!"

  There was a moment's pause, during which Pascal sidled around to put Matt between himself and the only nearby outcrop of trees—so of course the manticore stepped out from the boulder behind him. "I thought to accompany you openly on the road, mortals, but there were too many other folk abroad."

  "Yiiii!" Pascal's head seemed to jump a foot, though his shoes stayed on the ground, stretching him out, then snapping him back.

  "He does move quietly," Matt agreed. "Yes, Manny, thanks for staying undercover. Half of northern Latruria seems to be hiking south on the highway."

  "The other half are staying at home seducing one another," Pascal grumbled.

  Matt could see he was beginning to have doubts about Panegyra's fidelity—and this before she had even married! But the man was far too old for her, and Matt thought Pascal was right—the little snip would probably be planning her first affair even as she was marching down the aisle! Assuming she wasn't working on her second. Or third, or fourth.

  But maybe Matt was doing her an injustice. He turned to the manticore. "I've got a question, Manny."

  "I am hungry." Both sets of teeth grinned.

  "I paid a fanner to tie out a brace of goats for you—he seemed to be overstocked, judging by the state of his clothes."

  "Where!"

  "Ah, ah!" Matt wagged a forefinger, then pulled it back quickly, just in case. "Answers first, before you get my goat!"

  "I thought they were the farmer's."

  "Mine now—I bought 'em. When Pascal introduced us, you mentioned that somebody had sicced you on me."

  "I had been commanded to eat you if you crossed the border, aye." The manticore's tongue slurped around its lips. "It took little urging to induce my accord."

  "Good thing you didn't follow through—I'm not a man of good taste."

  Pascal winced. "That was old."

  "That's why it didn't taste good anymore. Besides, I believe in recycling. So tell me, Manny—who was it who told you to put the bite on me? Of course, if you can't say..."

  " 'Tis simplicity itself!" the manticore assured him. "The man who bade me gobble you was Rrrmmmmmmmmm..." His lips sealed themselves shut and his eyes widened in astonishment. "Mmmm! MM, mm!"

  "I was afraid of that," Matt said unhappily. "What's your name, manticore? Not your true one—I can see you wouldn't want to go spreading that around. Just the nickname I've given you."

  "Mmmmmanny!" Then the manticore clacked its jaws shut, looking even more surprised.

  "Easy for you to say. But how about this guy who compelled you to hunt me? What was his name?"

  "Mmnmmmmmmmmmmm..." The manticore stared in outrage. "Mmmmm! Mmm, mmm, mm!"

  "Can't even get his mouth open this time." Matt sighed. "Okay, what's the name of my partner, here?"

  "Why, he is Pascal!" Then Manny frowned, puzzled, and opened and closed his jaws a couple of times.

  "Don't worry, they work just fine—as long as I don't ask you to tell me who told you to get me. What was his name, by the way?"

  This time the manticore hesitated.

  "I know, I know, your lips are sealed—or will be, if you try." Matt held up a hand to forestall the answer. "Don't blame you for not even wanting to try—the condition might become permanent, and then what would those poor lonely goats do? Not to mention all the spare cattle that are for sale between here and Venarra. Okay, Manny, go find 'em. They should be staked out in a meadow about a mile back."

  "I go!" the manticore cried with a toothy grin.

  "Just try to snap 'em up before they even know what hit them, okay?"

  The manticore pouted. "I am a cat, Matthew! A large one, and mixed with a scorpion and a hedgehog, perhaps, but a cat in bulk, and a cat in nature!"

  "Yeah, but just feed, okay? No recreation. Okay, go."

  The manticore disappeared in a blur.

  "Remind me not to get his goat." Matt turned away. "Well, let's pitch camp, Pascal."

  "Are you not concerned that the reeve may send his men after you?"

  "Not terribly. Nobody seemed to notice my would-be murderer dying, in all the excitement over Perkin and Simnel." Matt remembered the scene with a shudder. "Besides, out of sight, out of mind." He only wished they were.

  "Well, mere living is a hazard, in Latruria," Pascal sighed as he dropped his pack. "I was mad to come here!"

  "Lovers generally are—and you really were mad for a sight of Panegyra. Don't worry, you weren't exactly the only mad soul in that house."

  A low moan began all around them.

  Matt froze. "Speak of the—" He clamped his jaw shut; in Latruria, it probably wasn't a good idea even to speak about speaking of the Devil. "—of the ghost, and you hear him moaning!" He turned around. "That you, Spiro?"

  "How did you know?" A wavering tendril of mist curled up from the ground, thickening and spreading to a little above Matt's head. The top of it sculpted itself into the rough semblance of a human face.

  "Deduction," Matt answered.

  "A form of reason? Foolish mortal!" The face firmed into Spiro's countenance, and the body began to define itself into clothing. "When you deal with the supernatural, what good is deduction?"

  "If it's good enough for the tax man, it should be good enough for you," Matt answered, nettled. "What's the occasion? Decided it was going to be too long before they gave your room to some other poor sucker, so you might as well track me down and have another try?"

  "Nay." The hollow eyes scowled down at him. "I have come to thank you, if you must know!"

  Matt stood frozen in astonishment for a minute, then said slowly, "Well, I guess I must, if you're going to say it. Uh, you're welcome, Spiro."

  "I have not even thanked you yet!"

  "Okay, so I'm premature. My mother always said I was. Let's try again. Uh... glad to see you, Spiro."

  "A pleasure, minstrel." The ghost bowed.

  "Say, how's it been going?"

  "Most marvelously well! The current squire has already unearthed my coffin and built another around it. Even as we speak, it trundles through the night toward Genova, where it will take ship for Greece!"

  "Hey, congratulations!" Matt grinned and reached out to pat Spiro on the back, then thought better of it.

  "I never thought he would agree so quickly!" Pascal said, eyes wide.

  "Who should better know the nature of my descendants?" the ghost said dryly. "Nonetheless, he succumbed to his wife's pleading—and his own dislike of my claim on the manse, no doubt! I must thank you indeed, minstrel, for I shall soon be all at sea!"

  "Must run in the family," Matt said with a glance at Pascal. "Well, I'm really glad for you, Spiro—and glad I could be of service." He almost volunteered to help out if the ghost developed any further little problems, but caught himself in time.

  Besides, Spiro beat him to it. "I am in your debt, mortal, and I dislike that state. If you need my aid, call upon me."

  Matt stared. Then he recovered and said, "Oh, that's not necessary! I was just trying to help out a little, that's all." As a matter of fact, all Matt had really been doing was trying to get a very intimidating specter out of his room. He felt guilty about taking any kind of payback for it, even gratitude.

  But Spiro was determined. "I must repay my debts, mortal! That is the nature of Purgatory!"

  "Well, uh, thanks—but you're going to be in Greece!"

  "I shall be farther than that, if I have any choice," Spiro assured him, "and I have, or I would not be here. Nay, even from Purgatory, I can hear and come to aid you—in whatever manner a soul may, who has Passed Over."

  "I'm sure there's some medium of communication there," Matt assured him. "Okay, nice offer! Thanks, Spiro! If I need a friend Over There, I'll call! Assuming I can find a way to send a message, that is."

  "You have it." Spiro nodded at Pascal, who instantly did
the best he could to become invisible. Unfortunately, there was no cover besides the tent, and he hadn't even started to pitch it yet.

  "Pascal?" Matt turned to frown at his friend. "He's no medium!"

  "Nay, but he is of my blood," Spiro assured him, "and blood speaks to blood; like will to like. Have him call upon me, and I shall hear."

  "C-C-C-Call?" Pascal stammered.

  "Have you no wits?" Spiro demanded. "My blood has grown weak if it reposes in such as he!"

  Pascal stared. Then his face darkened and he stood up straighter, clenching his fists.

  "Ah, that is better!" Spiro allowed himself a smile. "Never forget that you are the son of a squire, lad—especially if you truly seek knighthood! Stand tall and remember your honor! Even as your friend does." He turned to Matt with a frown. "I would think you were a knight, if you were not so plainly a minstrel."

  "Appearances can be deceiving." Matt just hoped they were. He needed a quick change of topic. "Say, if you founded the whole line, then you must have been the wizard!"

  "Nay, he was my son."

  "Then you must have something of his talent for magic."

  "Not 'must'—but I think I may have a trace." The hollow eyes creased in a smile. "I shall hear young Pascal call, never fear—and I think I may find a way to answer. Farewell!"

  "G'bye." Matt waved as Spiro's form blurred into the tendril of mist again and sank into the ground. Matt watched it recede, then gazed at the bare grass. "Well, I always said I needed every friend I could get."

  "Then you must have some very odd friends indeed!" Pascal wilted, knees gone rubbery. "I am amazed that you are so undaunted! You truly are a knight!"

  "Yeah, well, just don't noise it around." Matt turned back to the pile of canvas. "You want to cut the sticks for the tent, or shall I?"

  The low whistle brought Matt out of a light sleep. He looked around, but the campsite lay still in the pale light of a quarter moon. There were no trees, just the boulder and a copse across the road. Maybe a night bird?

  Then the whistle came again, and Matt was sure no bird really sounded like that. He was on his feet with his dagger in his hand in an instant, fumbling for his sword. "Pascal! Visitors!"

  His answer was a snore.

  "Pascal!" Matt hissed. "Wake up!"

  "Oh, do not trouble him," said a deep voice, and harness creaked as mounted figures loomed up out of the night. "It is yourself whom we have come for."

  Well, that let out bandits. Matt brought his sword out slowly, turning it to make sure the moonlight gleamed off its twenty polished inches. "And who might you be?"

  "I am Vanni, bailiff to the reeve of this shire—and these are my watchmen."

  "Oh." Matt lowered his sword. "Well, that's a relief. What can I do for you?"

  Pascal, awake now, stared at him as if he were crazy, but rose to stand at his side.

  "You can come with us." Vanni sounded a bit surprised himself. "We have come to arrest you in the king's name."

  Matt stood still for a few seconds, letting the news soak in—and, oddly, found that he had almost been expecting it. "On what charge?"

  "For the murder of a man."

  "I murdered no man." Matt frowned. "Who is my alleged victim?"

  "We do not know his name," Vanni answered, irritated. "He was a stranger—the man with whom you fought."

  "Oh." Matt shrugged, making sure the movement made the light gleam on his blade again. "No problem there—I wound up fighting in self-defense. He tried to kill me."

  "I did see the stranger wielding a knife," one of the watchmen said.

  "And I saw the minstrel strike it out of his hand," Vanni snapped. "Innocent or guilty, it is not for us to say." His gaze stayed on Matt. "It is only for us to bring you to the reeve."

  Why did he have the feeling that the reeve was not going to give him an unbiased hearing? Matt wondered. Maybe the mention of the king? "The stranger just died all of a sudden. His heart stopped. I had nothing to do with it."

  Vanni barked a laugh. "Died while fighting you, and you had nothing to do with it? Nay, surely!"

  "We're in a land of sorcery," Matt countered, "and you doubt it?"

  Vanni frowned. "The young king is no sorcerer!"

  "What kind of magic does he work, then? Even in Merovence we've heard that he's powerful enough to protect himself—and in a kingdom with a lot of unemployed and vengeful sorcerers running around, that's no mean skill!"

  "The king's magic is not your affair," Vanni snapped. "Obeying his law is!"

  "I did." Matt decided it was time to call in reinforcements and raised his voice. "Didn't I, Manny?"

  "Indubitably," the rich voice said out of the night.

  Vanni frowned, peering into the darkness beyond the circle of firelight. "Who said that?"

  "I did." The manticore stepped into the light, grinning and lashing his tail.

  The horses screamed and tried to bolt. A few of them managed it, with riders shouting halfhearted protests. Most of the men fought their mounts to a standstill, though—and looked as if they wished they hadn't.

  "The minstrel obeyed the king's law in every particular," the manticore said, giving Vanni the full double grin.

  Vanni goggled at the monster, then managed to wrench his gaze back to Matt. "What manner of man are you, who keeps company with a manticore?"

  "Just a traveling companion, really," Matt answered. "Manny isn't so much with me as he is with my friend, here." He slapped Pascal on the shoulder. The young man gulped and managed a rather queasy grin. His nervous glance was ticking back and forth between the bailiff and the manticore so regularly that Matt found himself wondering if his eyes were run by clockwork.

  "The youth?" Vanni stared down at Pascal.

  The young man's lips twitched in an attempt at a grin. "He is an old family, ah, friend."

  "A DNA-linked spell," Matt explained.

  Vanni's stare snapped up to him. "Are you a sorcerer, too?"

  "No," Matt said truthfully. After all, Vanni hadn't asked if he was a wizard. "But I've heard talk about it."

  Vanni forced himself to look the manticore straight in the eye again—a brave man indeed, Matt decided. "Is your name truly 'Manny'?"

  "Of course not," the manticore spat. "What fool would let his true name be known far and wide, so that any passing sorcerer might enslave him? 'Twas one such incautious lip-slip that gave this youth's ancestor power over me, to bind me to himself and his family for all my days! Forbear, foolish man—I will not step into your trap." His toothy grin lolled wider. "Though you might step into mine."

  "I asked only from curiosity, I assure you!" It was amazing how fast Vanni could backpedal, even on a horse.

  "Say, Manny," Matt asked, "do you remember my telling you not to eat human flesh?"

  "Aye," Manny said, his grin now so wide it was amazing his own head didn't disappear into it. "And bitter am I about it, for mortal folk have a most excellent flavor."

  "I was thinking about taking it back."

  "Were you indeed!" Manny looked at the reeve's men hungrily, and a slab of tongue drooled out of his lower pair of teeth to circle around his lips, slurping.

  "I am convinced of your innocence!" Vanni said quickly. "I thank you for your testimony, minstrel—and friend! I shall return to my master the reeve and tell him of your arguments, so monstrously persuasive!"

  Or of my persuasive monster, Matt thought. "Why, thank you, bailiff. It would really be quite an inconvenience to have to go back to your village."

  "But we shall." Vanni reined his horse around. "Ho, men of the Watch! Back to our quarters!"

  "I am sorry to see you go," Manny pouted.

  "Perhaps another time," Vanni said uneasily. "It has been fascinating to make your acquaintance! I shall tell my grandchildren about you."

  "You're too young," Matt protested.

  "You cannot have grandchildren yet," Manny concurred.

  "No, but I intend to. Farewell!" And away they rode, bare
ly managing to hold their horses in from blind flight Matt caught a few mutters about, "Manticore for a friend! Can he be more fell than it, then?" "He seemed pleasant enough." "Aye, one you could pummel with impunity." " 'Tis quite unfair—one never knows who will have powerful friends."

  As they disappeared into the night, Matt turned to the manticore. "Thanks, Manny. You take a hint beautifully."

  "Hint?" The monster stared. "I spoke in all earnestness, Wizard! Did not you?"

  The next day passed without incident. Matt and Pascal joined up with another group of roistering travelers, much larger than the first; a few discreet inquiries revealed that this crowd comprised three or four smaller groups that had all set out from different villages with the same purpose: living the good life in Venarra. There was constant laughter, constant singing, and the wineskins passed freely from hand to hand. Matt wondered where they found the money to buy them.

  He found out at the next wayside inn, where the landlord sold them provisions at what had to be cost or below. In fact, when a few of the peasants took the wine and forgot to pay, he made no mention of it—just looked tense and nervous until they had finished lunch and started on. Looking back, Matt saw him wipe his forehead and collapse onto a bench with relief. Matt could sympathize—there were at least fifty men in the group, thirty of them young, and all of them strong and able enough so that together they could have torn that inn apart. No wonder the landlord had wanted to keep them in a good humor.

  Matt had also noticed that the servers were all male, and all wound tight as springs, as if nerved up to expect trouble. There wasn't a one of them who wasn't carrying a small club hanging from his belt. At a guess, Matt decided, the landlord had told the serving girls to hide and called in his hostlers, plus men from the nearby village, to hurry this crowd along. They were probably having to go through this at least once a day. Matt was impressed—it would have been more in keeping with Latruria for the landlord to use his female personnel to try to keep the vagabonds satisfied enough not to cause trouble. Of course, there were more women than men in the group, but still...

  Still, he proved to be wise, as Matt found when the crowd came upon a peasant girl working in the fields but sneaking covert glances at the wanderers. Matt could almost see her wondering whether or not she should join them—but she must have decided not, when the boys gave a shout of glee and started chasing her. They coursed as hounds chase a pretty doe, and brought her to bay the same way, then took her down, and what they tried to do to her was not pretty at all.