The Last American Wizard

by Edward Irving

  Now he just had to make sure that she never found out he felt that way.

  Barnaby’s voice broke the evening quiet. “Stand by. The Great Ones say that they’ve detected activity in the transcendent realms.”

  “‘The Great Ones’?” Steve asked. “I thought they’d called themselves ‘Stormy’?”

  “Personally, I think someone has been letting those damn quantum’s get a few too many Kelvins–they take to warm nitrogen the same way you would to a cold beer. Never mind that; it’s just another item we’ll have to deal with later. Right now, I’d concentrate on President Marble over there.”

  “Marble?” Steve said. “Funny, I always just took him for granite.”

  Ace turned her head slowly and fixed him with a truly terrifying glare. “How long have you been waiting to get that out of your system?”

  “Are you kidding? Damn near all….” Steve stopped cold as a sound like…

  Well, it really couldn’t have been like anything except the deep and echoing crack of seventy-six million pounds of marble splitting in two. Like thunder, it rolled away down the mall and then returned, volume almost undiminished by the distance.

  The electric lights had gone on inside the Memorial, and Steve could see as the statue shifted forward on the enormous chair and moved its head to stretch the neck muscles.

  “Do marble statues have neck muscles?” flashed through his mind.

  He heard a quick series of three snaps behind him and turned to see that the three police officers had gone into their full cynocephalic battle mode–their armor instantly altering to accommodate double-jointed legs, broader shoulders, and long snouts. Stacy had gone all furry and, even though she probably had a half dozen breasts now, clearly felt sufficiently clothed to return Ace’s T-shirt. There was a clopping of hooves on the stone terrace and Carlos appeared on his right.

  “Hold on, everyone.” Steve held up a hand. “Let’s stick to the plan. Persuasion first.”

  “Might as well,” Ace muttered. “God knows if anything else will work.”

  Steve stepped up to the microphone, and tapped on the windscreen. Deep thumps issued from speakers mounted on top of the PSYOPS units. Movement over by the left-hand truck caught his eye. The two enlisted men assigned to the sound unit were carrying their unconscious commanding officer on their shoulders as they ran flat-out in the direction of the Tidal Basin.

  Idly, Steve thought it looked like a sensible decision and remarkable loyalty on the part of the enlisted men.

  “Mr. President,” he said into the microphone, and heard the words echo back from the marble memorial. The statue raised its head and Steve swore he could feel the pressure of those eyes, set deep and penetrating under that heavy, brooding brow. “Mr. President. If you can understand me, please raise your right hand.”

  A white stone hand came up. Then a deep voice with all the ringing tones of a boulder being struck by a hammer said. “I can indeed raise my hand. However, let me ask you, friend; would it not be simpler and more agreeable if we simply conversed?”

  “Mr. President,” Steve continued. “Do you know where you are?”

  There was a subdued creaking–almost inaudible at the distance where Steve was standing–as the statue leaned forward, placed his hands on his knees, and peered out into the swiftly darkening twilight. “Well, yes. I believe I do. There have been many changes–those stinking hovels down by Tiber Creek are gone, as is Tiber Creek itself, now that I think upon it–but much remains as it was. It’s good to see that Congress finally managed to agree on funding President Washington’s cenotaph. It is a magnificent obelisk, although I personally favored the Greek colonnade with which Mr. Mills originally intended to encircle the base. Oh, my. Those must be electric lamps that now illuminate the Capitol. Glorious. Unless the nature of man himself has altered, I have no doubt that the building itself is still far more worthy of admiration than are those who labor inside it.”

  Steve laughed and responded, “You are correct, sir.”

  “There are roads and a good number of vast and no doubt useful structures that were not here in my day, but this is plainly the City of Washington within the District of Columbia.” The immense stone figure stood up carefully from his chair, walked bent over with his hands clasped behind his back until he passed through the immense entrance, and stood erect on the terrace.

  “I have to say, I’m a bit surprised by the number of electric lamps–the entire city seems to glow. In my time, the only city that sat this bright under the stars was Atlanta after General Sherman passed through.”

  He looked down, shame and regret showing clearly on his weathered face. “By the Lord God, I wish that Atlanta had never had to burn. Nor Richmond. Nor any other Southern city. It has been a black stain on my soul for all these long years.”

  There was a pause and then the massive bearded head came up again, the voice strengthening. “Our cause was right and I still know in my heart that we could never falter in defending the cause of freedom so approved of my judgment. It was not a war we began but one we accepted, and thank God, we did not let it end until the object of our determination–the freedom of all men and the unity of this nation of freemen–was accomplished. I remember saying in Baltimore that ‘if destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher.’”

  Steve had no idea how to respond to that emotional speech, so he just let the sounds of crickets and frogs grow until they alone dominated the quiet night. Lincoln continued to survey the city with a calm and mildly interested air.

  Steve dared to hope that Lincoln’s spirit–the great soul which was both animator and prisoner of the eidolon–in the end, could not destroy the city he’d fought so long and hard to preserve.

  “Shit,” Ace whispered. “Look at his right shoulder.”

  It took Steve a moment, but he finally made out a man standing on the stone shoulder of the president’s frock coat and steadying himself by holding on to the edge of his ear. He snapped up the rose lens and made out Adam Weishaupt, the leader of the Illuminati.

  “Barnaby!” Steve yelled. “What’s he saying?”

  “How the hell do I know?” the computer replied. “Do you see a lot of electronic equipment up there? Wait… OK, Send Money is reconfiguring those big public address horns as parabolic microphones. He should have sound in just a–”

  Weishaupt’s voice, a combination of hatred and soothing persuasion like a hornet caught in a spoonful of honey, came out of the cell phone. “…unhappy to inform you that liberty has not triumphed. This is the reason we have labored tirelessly to bring you back from your well-deserved rest.”

  “That son of a bitch.” Ace put her right hand above her head, and with a whizzing smack, Joan of Arc’s sword appeared in her palm. This time, Ace’s face showed no indications of pain as she said, “Thank you once again, ma’am.”

  The oily voice continued to come from the speaker. “Do you see that city across the river? The tall buildings and bright lights? That is Rosslyn, the capital of the Confederate States of America. Those two glass buildings made to look like the prows of ships? They are the President’s Plantation and the Assembly of Slave States–defiantly built so as to look down on our own White House and Capitol. The lifeblood of thousands of the enslaved, black, yellow, and brown alike was used to slake the mortar that holds those structures aloft.”

  Weisshaupt’s voice became a rasping monotone as the statue faced away but they could hear Lincoln clearly over the speaker. “This cannot be! Grant and Lee have met and the Army of Virginia surrendered! From Richmond to New Orleans, the fortresses and redoubts have fallen and the rifles of the defeated are stacked like sheaves of corn! The black man is free and that resolve was won in blood and burns forever in the hearts of all true Americans!”

  “And so it did, my president, but only for a short time.”

  Steve could see the enormous head as it shook violently in horrified negation. “No! The forces of liberty had conquered! The
South is broken; its armies destroyed! They could never have risen again in rebellion without slaves! No!”

  “Do you remember General Hayes?” Weishaupt asked softly, “General Rutherford Hayes? Yes, a lawyer and yet an honorable man. Why, he fought at South Mountain and broke Jubal Early’s boys on their retreat from Washington. My God, he had four horses shot from under him and suffered a multitude of grievous wounds! Surely he would never turn so dark as to countenance this obscenity before me!”

  “Sir, you said that you never sought the power of the Presidency, and indeed, with your poor, lank, lean face, you never even expected to achieve it. As you are well aware, a selflessness of this degree is seldom found in the hearts of men. General Hayes became president only a handful of years after Booth fired the traitorous ball that took your life, but to reach that high office, he made a satanic compromise. In one act of betrayal, he made meaningless the lives of all those you see sleeping under the gentle greensward of Arlington Hall.”

  Weishaupt swept an arm towards Arlington Cemetery.

  “Oh, my sweet Lord! The graves!” The president cried. “There were never so many even after the catastrophic slaughters at Gettysburg and Cold Harbor! Look how they run. White row after terrible white row. The war we suffered was the most appalling the world has ever known. It could not have continued, and yet I see the evidence clearly marked by the simple crosses that fill those fields.”

  Weishaupt’s poisonously persuasive voice continued. “Those are the brave men who were slaughtered in their barracks or perished in the failed attempts to reconquer the South. Hayes, the damned traitor, sold away your victory for a bowl of pottage. He has gone down in history as ‘His Fraudulency’ because it was the sale of your blood-bought victory that won him the votes in the Electoral College and brought him to the White House!”

  “Flip these damn things back to loudspeakers,” Steve snapped. In a second, his voice boomed across the empty space. “Mr. President, this man lies. The Union you fought to build still stands and no soul lives in slavery within the borders of your beloved nation. I say–no, I swear to you, he lies!”

  “It’s not going to work.” Barnaby spoke at a low volume from his belt. “Weishaupt has a geas on him. The eidolon’s very existence is the Illuminati’s doing, and although the shadow of the great soul which now inhabits that mighty body doesn’t know it, its existence was bought with the blood of innocents. If Lincoln wasn’t such a noble being, he could simply be commanded. Even so, with such a powerful spell on his very soul, we’re predicting that Weishaupt will sway him with his deception.”

  “Do not listen to that voice.” Weishaupt’s voice came from the cell phone again. “They are from the very government … successors of those that turned their backs on sacred vows, and betrayed all you fought and suffered for; the triumph that cost you the love of your wife, killed your children, and, finally, took your very life. The evidence is forthright and the truth unavoidable. You once swore eternal fealty to the just cause. You promised to give it your life, your liberty, and your love. You sent men to their deaths by the thousands with your brave words ringing in their ears. You told them that if the republican robe was soiled, that you would repurify it–wash it white in the spirit, if not the blood, of the Revolution. These men died for those dreams; can you do less?”

  Lincoln screamed–a colossal roar of anger and pain–and began to stride toward the Memorial Bridge and the gleaming lights of Rosslyn. There were no longer any words in the sound— all intelligence swept away by a sea of horror, failure, and terrible, unforgivable guilt.

  “OK, the good news is that I think we’ve saved Washington, but I’m afraid Rosslyn is toast,” Ace commented.

  “Rosslyn is a fairly crappy city.” Steve said. “But I suppose we should do something about it. Plus, there are a couple of excellent Vietnamese restaurants up Wilson Boulevard that I’d hate to see squashed under those size 130 oxfords.”

  Steve took a deep breath. “OK, Carlos, you and the Royals who have their own transportation–that’s the Prince and the Knight–go after Big Abe and see if you can take out small, dark and evil upon his right shoulder. Do you have any spells?”

  The two men looked at each other and then Chubb shrugged. “No idea, huh?” Steve said. “Well, if you feel any sudden urges to throw something or pull on an invisible rope–anything like that–just go with it, OK? Ace, you’re with me. Now let’s go! Boulder-butt isn’t waiting for us!”

  Carlos took off at a gallop with both of the policemen hard on his heels. The statue was now crossing the traffic circle and taking the first step onto the Memorial Bridge. Steve watched as both Chubb’s horse and Bautista’s chariot lifted off the ground. Their wings might not be all that impressive but at the rate they were moving, they’d catch up to the striding figure long before he reached the far bank.

  Steve wondered for a moment how the rest of them were going to catch up. Then Hans roared across the grass and stopped in a power slide that left him pointing toward the retreating giant. All four doors popped open.

  “Stacy, if you would, hop in the back seat,” Ace ordered. “The Fool and I need to be up front.”

  Steve only got out the “W” of “Why” before Ace’s strong shove in the center of his back propelled him into the driver’s seat. He tumbled in with his hands up in the air–afraid of touching anything that might anger the temperamental vehicle. The door slammed behind him and the thick armor plate slid into place. Ace slung her duffle over her shoulder, slid the sword into her belt, and did a Starsky and Hutch slide over the front hood.

  She slipped in the passenger door and crouched on the passenger seat. Even before her door closed, Hans shot forward in a haze of blue smoke and the scream of high-adhesion racing tires. Ace pulled the wrist rocket out of her bag and began to strap it on. “I’ve got those lead shot, but I don’t think they’ll do crap against seventy-four tons of angry marble, and I’m not sure that my explosives will…well, explode.”

  Steve, who was trying desperately not to touch the steering wheel or the foot pedals–not to mention the dreaded schaltwippen– said, “Remember those yellow exploding things that the Illuminati keep tossing at us?”

  “Only too well.”

  “If I belong to all suits, I should be able to magic some of those,” Steve said. “I’ll mash it down so it’s the same size as one of your slugs. The only problem is whether you can aim well enough to hit Marble Mike without touching the little yellow pills. I don’t think we have time to get you repaired again.”

  “Amazingly enough, that’s not a bad idea,” She looked at him suspiciously. “Have you been sneaking around and thinking behind my back?”

  Steve was already concentrating, but he managed to shake his head vigorously.

  Ace snorted and said, “Well, be careful. You can strain something if you try too much too fast. Great. See if you can make me a whole bunch of them.” She held her finger and thumb about a half inch apart. “About .50 caliber but they don’t need to be all that precise.”

  “I’m working on it,” Steve said. “When do you need them?”

  “Open the roof.” Ace said to Hans and the heavy sunroof slid back. Ace stood up on the passenger seat and braced herself as the car cut a straight line across the roundabout, up and over the central grass plaza, and back onto the road just as they passed the giant golden statues that graced the east end of the bridge.

  She took an experimental pull to make sure the slingshot was ready and said, “Now would be nice.”

  Steve closed his eyes for a second, thought of the sun that shone on the young man in the card, and felt the ripping agony in his head that indicated he’d learned a new power. He opened his eyes and looked through migraine creases at the glowing yellow sphere that sat in the palm of his hand.

  Ace grinned down and said, “See? Thinking just slows you down. Now, see if you can hold that for another second or two without hurting yourself.”

  She braced herself in the cor
ner of the hatch, leaving as much room as possible over Steve’s head. “OK, now just pretend that you’re one of those ironworkers in the old cartoons and just toss that up nice and gentle so it stops right about here.” She held out the leather pocket of the slingshot in front of her with the thick elastic bands extended.

  Fully expecting disaster, Steve gently tossed the globe up in the air. Just as it reached its highest point and stopped for an instant before falling back down, Ace slipped the pocket under it, aimed, and instantly whipped it after the enormous statue. It expanded as it flew to the size of a basketball. Steve saw it fall short and explode in a shower of bright sparks, creating a good- sized pothole in the pavement.

  “Hmm, a little lighter than I calculated.” Ace said, shouting over the wind noise. “Keep them coming, I’ll nail his stony ass this time.”

  Hans was doing the driving so Steve could concentrate on creating balls of liquid sunstuff and tossing them up to Ace. Every shot was hitting the statue now and resulting in sizzling bursts of sparks. Steve could see the impacts, and like the building in Greenbelt, wherever they hit, craters were appearing in the stone and rivulets of melted rock made red streaks in the gathering twilight.

  “It’s not enough,” Ace called. “It’s going to take all night at this rate. Can’t you whip up something with a bit more punch?”

  “If you know so much, you come down here and make these damn things,” Steve grumbled. Then he Reached for more power, created a bilious green sphere, and almost lost control of it before he could toss it to Ace. This produced a bigger blast but, when the smoke cleared, he could see that the impact crater was still dispiritingly shallow.

  “It looks like they’ve installed a shield against your powers,” Ace said. “Hans, we’re going to need to get in front of this thing and see if we can stop it at the other end of the bridge. Steve, in the meantime, keep those green thingies coming. Let me see if I can knock out a knee.”