Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard

by Glenn Michaels

  Nevertheless, understanding of magical methodology continued to grow and spread, and it gained an increasing number of adherents.

  The wizards tended to follow one of three paths. A small percentage of them divorced themselves from the affairs of men. These wizards retreated to quiet corners of the planet, content to use their powers in peace, focusing their attention on further development of their magic.

  A slightly larger group of wizards used their powers for the selfish gratification of their senses and appetites, choosing to party riotously in nonstop fashion.

  “I’m going to be honest with you about the third group,” Celeste said with a regretful smile. “They are the largest group, and almost from the beginning, they have used their increasing magical powers for personal gain. They worked to accumulate vast amounts of money and other worldly riches. They strove for power and influence, learning to control kingdoms, governments, and then nations. At first, they peacefully competed among themselves, each striving to have more influence and control than the other wizards. Eventually, their competition became violent, their magical powers growing to be so great that they began to initiate wars among the Normals (those without magical powers) in order to gain even more control and wealth.”

  She gazed over at the fireplace, obviously deep in thought. “About a thousand years ago, this third group of wizards decided to form an association, sort of a syndicate. This organization has, over the centuries, grown to include almost every wizard on Earth. It has become known as Errabêlu. The name itself should tell you what sort of organization it is. Erra is the eighth-century Akkadian name for the Babylonian god of plague, mayhem, pestilence, and political confusion. Bêlu is the Akkadian word for lord, master, and king. Together, the name of the syndicate means the masters of the god of mayhem and confusion.

  “Errabêlu has no real control over any of its members. Mostly, it serves as a neutral ground, where a meeting of the minds can take place and sometimes where challenges and accusations can be made. All the wizards give lip-service to the organization, no matter what they actually do in private or with the Normals or governments they control.

  “And even though they might all belong to Errabêlu, they still make every effort to improve their own standing, advancing the science of weaponry and warfare, hungrily pursuing the maximum of wealth, advantage, and control. The situation has, at times, deteriorated to the point that the wizards have actively hunted and killed each other. As a result of the warfare, virtually all of the two previous groups of wizards I mentioned were killed or forced into deep hiding.

  “All the wizards now recognize their special status, that their magical powers define their segregation and superior nature apart from the rest of humanity. Defensive of that special status, the wizards of Earth go through extraordinary pains to maintain their monopoly on magical powers, successfully squelching any effort by Normals to investigate or experiment in any specialty that might confirm the existence of magic and thereby discover its properties. But that seems to be the only goal that we wizards have in common. On every other front, most of us seem to always be on the lookout for ways to murder our rivals and take their possessions.

  “Sometimes, the wizards will form small alliances,” Celeste explained. “Where two or three of us will work together in order to defeat a common enemy. However, such alliances don’t typically last very long. Egos tend to get in the way, and there is almost always a falling-out later on. Some of us recognize that if we don’t stop the bloodshed...well, it could end up killing everyone and everything on Earth.”

  Paul nodded slowly in complete understanding. Thermonuclear warfare made that prospect potentially possible. The thought made his stomach feel a bit queasy.

  “Let me see if I understand what you are saying,” he interposed. “You’re saying that all the countries of the world are magically controlled by wizards, and it’s because of them that there are so many wars? So much death and destruction?”

  “Not quite, no,” she responded patiently. “There are only a few hundred wizards on Earth. Most of the kings and presidents and other rulers are what we call Normals. But somewhere in the background of the dictatorships and military governments, and even most of the democracies, there is usually one or more wizards, quietly manipulating the strings of power, stirring trouble, and scheming new evil to be unleashed.”

  Paul silently mulled over her words. If that was true, it would turn his understanding of the world completely topsy-turvy. Her story seemed so utterly fantastic. And yet, it would explain a few things. He had never understood the desire of some nations to wage war on other peoples. War was such a terrible abomination, and that made it a thing to be avoided. Even the victors of a war lost so much, in terms of cost and of lives shed. Could there ever be justification for a war?

  Well, in some circumstances, there was, he realized, thinking of World War II and the evils of Adolf Hitler and his henchmen. Okay, that kind of people had to be stopped. So maybe there were times when such was necessary. Yet, if Celeste was telling the truth, even that war had probably been instigated by wizards.

  Paul clinched his jaw in anger. With wizards actively fomenting armed conflicts, world peace never had a chance and never would.

  “What are the Oni?” he asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  “Biologically constructed warriors. Assassins, for the most part,” Celeste informed him. “A thousand years ago, the Oni were derived from human stock. But now, they are essentially clones created to do their master’s bidding. They are physically strong and fast, and they possess a certain degree of magical power. But fortunately, they are not very intelligent. Most of the wizards of Errabêlu use the Oni as bodyguards, slaves, and even soldiers.”

  Not very intelligent, huh? That explained why they had blindly followed Paul’s trail into outer space.

  “The Oni go out in public? But how? I mean, they would be seen!” he pointed out.

  “Their powers allow them to disguise themselves,” Celeste explained patiently. “In outward appearance, their disguises make them look and sound like human males. You yourself may have met an Oni or two without realizing their true identity. Of course, now that you possess magical powers, their camouflage spells will no longer work on you. Henceforth, you will always see them as they really are.”

  So he might have actually met Oni before, but seen them as human, due to a magical spell? Gee, that was a creepy thought.

  And then another question occurred to him.

  “How did they follow me?” he asked, still mystified by the Oni’s abilities. And yes, still feeling more than a little fear left over from the previous day.

  She shrugged. “They probably had a gemstone, one that held the power to detect magical energies. That’s what the Oni usually use to try to track a wizard’s movements.”

  Abruptly, another possibility dawned on Paul, and he squirmed nervously in his seat at the disquieting idea.

  “Then could they not track us here, to Paris?” he asked, an edge of panic in his voice.

  She smiled, lightly shaking her head. “No, they couldn’t. Over time, we have learned ways to mask our magical spells, especially our portals. And the energies released dissipate in just a few minutes. The Oni won’t be able to track us here. They tracked you because—forgive me for being blunt—the energies you used for your portals were much greater than necessary and weren’t masked in any way. Also, your talisman is rather crude. Oh, don’t get me wrong! For a first effort, it is impressive! You should have seen my first talisman! But it isn’t even the equal of what the Oni carry.”

  Yes, Paul had received ample demonstration of the truth of that contest. At her calm assurances, his panic subsided into the background again.

  “No offense taken,” he replied, his mind still spinning furiously. “Tell me, is that how you found me there in the desert? By following my trail of portals?”

  Her smile was almost patronizing. “Yes, Paul. Like a trail of breadcrumbs.”


  He was still not offended. “But how did you know to come looking for me in the first place? For that matter, how did the Oni know that I existed?” Then the truth burst upon him, and he felt like slapping himself upside the head. “It was the talisman, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right, Paul. When a wizard creates a talisman, the energies that are released are fantastic. They can be detected from anywhere on Earth.”

  Paul mulled that over. Merlin should have warned him. But perhaps he was being too hard on the old wizard. Maybe Merlin would have warned him if he had asked the right questions.

  “Can you teach me how to mask my spells?” Paul asked, indeed, practically begged her. “Help me avoid the Oni?”

  “Of course, Paul,” she graciously replied. “And I can teach you a lot more. A good wizard, if necessary, can fight a half-dozen Oni and win, but the best solution is to avoid them altogether. You can be taught how to do that and also to construct a better talisman. You can even be taught how to—ah, how do I say this delicately?—make a few physical and mental enhancements.”

  Paul chuckled in amusement at her tactful turn of phrase. “I’m anxious to get started on that as well.”

  “Excellent,” Celeste commented with another one of her brilliant smiles. “Then perhaps, for dinner, you might feel up to a little company?”

  Paul frowned at the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation. He was enjoying her company a lot. He suddenly wasn’t crazy about sharing her with someone else.

  “Who would that be?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

  “Dr. Duncan Ruggiero, a wizard I admire very much.”

  Ah, joy. Another man. And a doctor, too. Wonderful. He sounds stuffy already, Paul thought.

  “Oh, I see. Is he the one who interviews new wizards?” he inquired somewhat sardonically.

  Celeste blinked, her smile losing a degree of potency. “Hardly. You are the first new wizard in more than four hundred years. Except for that genie-turned-wizard friend of yours, of course.”

  Paul stared at her in shock, a tingle moving up and down his back. Four hundred years?! But....

  “That’s impossible!” he resolutely declared with a pinched expression. “Why, you yourself can’t be more than twenty-five years old!”

  Her smile developed a tinge of sadness. “Paul, I was born in a tiny hamlet near Andorf, Austria in the sixth month of the year of our Lord 1505.”

  ELEVEN

  Paris, France

  16th Arrondissement

  December

  Thursday, 2:02 p.m. CET

  Celeste offered her profound apologies but informed Paul that she had to go out for a while to run a few vitally important errands. In the meantime, she insisted that he make himself at home, providing him with an upstairs bedroom at his disposal if he felt like taking a nap.

  “There is also a wonderful library in the house,” she told him. “It’s on the other side of the front room, near the front door, behind a double set of doors. It’s quite extensive. Dr. Ruggiero has personally taken responsibility for its upkeep, and I think it will suitably impress you. Feel free to browse it in your leisure.”

  After making sure that Paul had everything he might need or want while she was gone, Celeste smiled and repeated her apologies, leaving by way of portal shortly before noon.

  Although Paul felt tired and in need of a good rest, he couldn’t picture himself taking a nap, not in the middle of the day. Since he loved a good book (mostly science-fiction, of course, but he had other interests as well), and since Celeste had spoken so highly of the selection in the library, he decided to wander over to that room and check it out for himself.

  The library was a marvelously furnished room, lined with bookcases overflowing with huge old books, a massive oak desk sitting near the big bay window, and a black leather sofa with end tables occupying the middle of the room. A large oriental rug adorned the wood floor. The portions of the walls not hidden behind the bookcases were paneled in dark-stained wood. All in all, it would be just the perfect place to curl up with a good book on a dark and stormy night, a mug of hot chocolate in hand.

  Paul merrily stepped over to the nearest bookcase and began browsing the titles.

  Then he began to frown. Most of the titles he read weren’t even written in English. And the ones he could read looked pretty bland. As he worked his way through the library, he found books on history, medicine, surveying, shipping, and law. But there didn’t seem to be any books on math, physics, or engineering. And not a single work of fiction either, not even Shakespeare or any of the other classical writers. For a library, this was woefully out of date and boring as well.

  Paul finally selected a history book, one about the ancient Germanic people, printed in London, England in 1833. He spread out on the sofa, settling into a comfortable position, and opened to page one.

  Right away, he knew he was in trouble. The writing style was stilted, some of the words obscure, and the concepts were awkwardly presented. At times, even the author seemed confused about the material and wandered around aimlessly.

  Paul’s eyes began to droop. He managed to read another two pages but then lost the battle to stay awake. Leaning his head against the arm cushion, he fell asleep, the book draped across his chest.

  • • • •

  Paul woke up and pushed away a pink comforter, sitting upright on the edge of a magnificent king-sized bed, complete with satin sheets and a goose-feather pillow. For a few moments, he looked around in complete bafflement, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered, he had been in the library, reading a very boring book. Now he was in a bedroom, dressed in a set of red pajamas.

  Celeste. It must have been Celeste. She must have come back to the house, found him asleep in the library, and then magically moved him to a bedroom. It was the only explanation that Paul could think of that made any sense. And since there was a dinner jacket and a pair of dress slacks hanging from a clip on the back of the bedroom door then, yes, it pretty much confirmed the theory, at least in Paul’s mind. The clothes were even in his size.

  With difficulty (due to his arm), he dressed and went downstairs to look for her.

  There was a man in the living room having a conversation with Celeste. She had changed clothes and now wore a sultry, dark blue, shoulder-less evening dress. She looked gorgeous. The man was wearing a dark suit and tie. Celeste introduced him to Paul as Dr. Duncan Ruggiero.

  Dr. Ruggiero was tall, at least 6 foot 2, dark-skinned, with black hair in a crewcut, a prominent nose, thick eyebrows, and black eyes set wide apart. He carried himself with dignity, and Paul could easily see him as a leader of men. He vaguely reminded Paul of Laurence Fishburne of the Man of Steel and The Matrix movies.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Armstead,” Ruggiero asserted in a resonant voice as he shook Paul’s hand. “Celeste speaks very highly of you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Dr. Ruggiero,” Paul replied politely.

  Celeste gracefully interrupted, saying, “Gentlemen, dinner is ready. Shall we eat while the food is still warm?”

  “Quite,” echoed Ruggiero.

  He took the head of the dining-room table, Celeste sitting at his right hand. Of course, Paul chose to sit on Celeste’s right.

  The dinner table was spotless, completely bare of food, dishes, or silverware, and Paul briefly wondered just what they were supposed to eat.

  The door to what Paul assumed to be the kitchen swung open silently, and a series of china plates floated smoothly through, spinning along on thin air. They were followed by silverware (marching along in a vertical position like tin soldiers), saucers, napkins, and glasses.

  Neither Celeste nor Ruggiero seemed to notice the procession, and what was worse, Paul couldn’t tell whose magic was making it happen, though he could sense the magic at play. And he was strongly impressed. True, the energies involved weren’t very significant. But the degree of preci
sion and control! His eyebrows went up in amazement and appreciation.

  The plates moved around behind everyone, and then, in perfect synchronization, they slid past their shoulders and touched down lightly on the table. Everything else followed suit into their proper placements.

  “Mr. Armstead,” Ruggiero said formally. “Ordinarily, we don’t discuss business during a meal. However, since you are our guest, and since you have different customs in America, we would like to dispense with European conventions on this one occasion. Do you have any objections?”

  Paul was listening to Dr. Ruggiero, but he continued to watch, still impressed, as a new parade of items streamed through the door, beginning with a series of salad bowls and small individual baskets of dinner rolls. He also noted, with considerable interest, that no one was using incantations for their spells. Apparently, like the wizard/genie, their skill level didn’t require them to use spoken words. He hoped that one day, he would be able to do the same thing.

  “That would be fine,” he answered automatically as he solemnly watched the salads and rolls descend into their places on the table. It really was eerie to watch food deliver itself to be eaten.

  “Celeste has related to me the details of your narrative,” Ruggiero informed Paul with an air of quiet dignity. “An interesting series of events, indeed. Very interesting. Would you object to my asking a few supplementary questions?”

  Paul shrugged in indifference, turning his attention back to Celeste. “Not at all,” he replied, watching Celeste stab some of her salad with a fork and take a bite. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he picked up his own fork and slowly did the same.

  “You say a genie turned himself into a wizard and then made you into a wizard too. Do you know the name of the genie?” Ruggiero inquired.

  Swallowing his bite of salad, Paul thought for a moment about the question. It seemed unimportant to him. Did genies have names? Well, he supposed that they must have.

  “He never told me his name,” Paul admitted apathetically, still far more interested in watching Celeste. “Why do you ask?”