The Inadequate Adept

by Simon Hawke

  "Look there," he said, pointing.

  Black Jack looked and, a moment later, he saw a wagon come into view, make the turn, and start down the slope. " 'Tis the peddlar we passed earlier," he said, recognizing the wagon.

  "Why's he coming back this way?"

  "Perhaps he lost something on the road," said Jack.

  "He's comin' fast."

  "Aye," Jack said with a frown. "He is at that." He squinted hard, trying to make out the driver.

  The wagon came straight at the other group of bounty hunters waiting on the riverbank. They had turned to watch its approach, and suddenly Jack saw one of them clutch his chest and fall. And then another. And another. The driver of the wagon had dropped the reins, and as the horses ran free, he stood in the box, throwing knives at the remaining bounty hunters, who had scattered.

  "MacGregor!" said Black Jack.

  "You said he'd never catch us!" one of the others said accusingly.

  "I don't know how the devil he could have gotten here so fast," Black Jack replied.

  "Now what do we do?"

  Black Jack sneered. "We cut our losses and make the best of it," he said. "If some of the others manage to kill him and survive, everyone's share will be that much greater for the ones who've fallen. If not, we simply cut the ferry ropes and go on. The wench is worth ten times more man the other three combined."

  He held his dagger to the ferryman's back. "Pull, damn you! Pull!"

  Mac leaped down from the wagon and hurled another knife even as he landed, drawing it from his bandolier and throwing it with lightning speed, all in one motion. It buried itself to the hilt in one man's chest, and then the others were upon him. Four had fallen, but three remained, and they rushed at him together, with swords drawn. He drew his own blade and engaged them, dagger in one hand, sword in the other.

  He parried one thrust and ran the man through, but at the same time caught the flash of another blade descending in a cutting stroke. He twisted to one side and felt a sharp, searing pain along his shoulder. No time to think about it, one down, two to go, and they were pressing him for all they were worth. He parried one stroke with his sword, struck the other blade down with his dagger, but the pain lanced through his arm and he could not hold onto it. His dagger fell, and he retreated, simultaneously trying to parry two blades at once. They sensed his weakness and moved in for the kill. Suddenly, a glass vial shattered at their feet and Mac's antagonists instinctively recoiled from the incredible, unholy stench. Another vial fell and shattered. Harlan was up on the box of the wagon, throwing vials of the elixir. Mac plunged his sword into a bounty hunter's stomach and the other one took off running, holding his nose and gagging. Fighting down the gorge rising in his throat, Mac drew a knife and hurled it. It struck the fleeing bounty hunter right between the shoulder blades and he fell, dead.

  "I'm much obliged to you," Mac called to the peddlar. "But did you have to throw so many? S'trewth! The stench would fell a horse!"

  The peddlar simply shrugged.

  Mac turned and gazed out toward the ferry raft. It was three-quarters of the way across the river. He swore. He could swim for it, but he would never reach them before they reached the shore. And with his injured shoulder, he was not even sure he could prevail against the current. They would mount up and ride, and even if he could reach the opposite shore, he'd have no horse with which to give pursuit. He threw his sword down on the ground and cried out in exasperation. And, out of nowhere, an answering cry came, but it was a cry that issued from no human throat.

  If he had known what a locomotive whistle sounded like, he might have thought it sounded just like that, but since he had never heard a locomotive whistle, he could not possibly mistake it for anything else but what it was... me angry roaring of a dragon.

  He looked up and saw the huge beast, its giant wings fanned out full length, its tail streaming behind it, coming down out of the sun in a swooping glide, and astride its back, he could see a human figure, holding on for dear life.

  "A dragon!" cried the peddlar. "We are done for! We'll be roasted!"

  "Nay, 'tis Doc!" Mac shouted.

  "The sorcerer from Brigand's Roost?"

  "Aye, none other!"

  Aboard the raft, they saw the dragon diving down toward them, belching fire, and the bounty hunters panicked. As a gout of flame hit the water just behind them and sent up clouds of steam, several of the men leaped, terror-stricken, into the water and started swimming for it.

  "No man can fight a dragon!" one of the bounty hunters cried. "We'll have to swim for it!"

  "We're almost to the shore!" said Black Jack.

  "Are you mad? We'll never make it!"

  The ferryman and his assistant jumped over the side.

  "Grab the ropes and pull!" Black Jack commanded.

  "Pull for yourself!"

  The remaining men leaped into the river.

  "Blast it, I can't swim!" cried Jack.

  The dragon came swooping down over the raft and Black Jack ducked down as its talons raked the air above him. It soared up again, rising up beyond the treetops, and Jack grabbed the rope and started pulling for dear life.

  "You'll never make it," Shannon said.

  "If I die in flame, then you roast with me!" Black Jack cried, heaving on the rope for all that he was worth.

  The dragon was coming around again, its roars filling the air. It belched smoke and fire and a jet of flame boiled the water near the raft and sent steaming clouds rising up into the sky. The dragon swooped down low, its talons reaching for Black Jack, but he ducked down beneath his horse, using it and Shannon for a shield, and the dragon soared up into the sky again.

  Black Jack grabbed the rope and started pulling. The raft touched the shore and he fought to control the terrified horse as he led it onto shore. The animal shied, its eyes rolling, but Black Jack held onto the reins and swung up into the saddle.

  "You'd best cut me loose and drop me, or you'll never have a chance," said Shannon.

  "I'll still have a chance, with you as hostage," Jack replied, spurring his horse. The animal needed no encouragement. It took off at a dead run down the road into the woods.

  "I cannot breathe fire at him in those trees," said Rory, flying high overhead. "It would set the entire forest ablaze."

  "Set me down ahead of him!" cried Brewster.

  "Are you certain?"

  "No. But what other choice do we have?"

  As Black Jack rode full speed down the forest road, he kept anxiously glancing overhead. The treetops were effectively screening him from view. So long as he kept to the trees, the dragon couldn't see him, and the forest stretched on for miles. Ahead of him, there was an open crossroads, but he could plunge off the road into the trees and work his way around it, to keep himself out of the open. He heard a great rush of wind as a huge shadow passed by overhead, and he heard the dragon's roar, but no attack came.

  "Roar all you like, you great worm!" he said. " 'Twill take more than an overgrown lizard to stop Black Jack!"

  The crossroads was just ahead... and standing in the middle of the road, directly in his path, was a man, dressed in a strange-looking surcoat. He seemed to be unarmed. He was holding his arms up in front of him, as if commanding him to stop. The fool, thought Jack, I'll ride right over him.

  As the horseman barrelled straight on toward him, Brewster held his revolver in both hands, thinking back and trying to concentrate on the time when the EnGulfCo CEO had taken him to the firing range, after presenting him with a matched set of Smith & Wessons. The CEO was an avid target shooter, but it was the only time Brewster had ever fired a gun.

  "Now, just take it nice and easy and don't get excited," the CEO had told him, after showing him the proper grip and stance. "If you've got time, and you want to make sure to place your shot as accurately as possible, fire the gun single-action, by manually cocking (he hammer back with your thumb. Line up the front sight so it's squarely in the middle of the rear-sight notch, and so the
top of the front sight is exactly level with the top of the rear sight. Push forward slightly with your right arm, and pull back slightly with your left, to give yourself a nice, steady shooting platform. Don't use a lot of muscular tension, though. Keep the gun steady and make sure it isn't weaving about. Once you've got the sights lined up, focus on the front sight, not the target, so that the front sight is nice and sharp and the target is just slightly blurred. Place the front sight just below the bull's-eye, take a breath, relax, exhale, and gently squeeze, don't jerk the trigger."

  The gun fired. The .357 Magnum jacketed hollowpoint slug struck Black Jack high in the left shoulder and knocked him right off his horse, passing completely through him. The horse reared up and Brewster quickly holstered the gun and raised his arms, standing in front of the horse and hoping the animal wouldn't strike him down with its hooves.

  "Easy, boy! Easy! Easy!"

  He managed to catch the horse's reins and hold onto them as the animal reared up again, and then he pulled them tight and moved in close to the horse, speaking softly, gently, trying to soothe the beast. In a few moments, the horse managed to calm down, though its eyes were still wide and frightened, and Brewster stepped close to it, gentling it, speaking softly and reassuringly.

  "There, there, boy, it's all right, it's all right."

  When he had the horse calmed down, he slipped his arm through the reins and came around beside it. Shannon looked up at him weakly.

  "Shannon! Are you all right?"

  "What kept you?" she said with a smile.

  He cut her bonds and helped her down off the horse. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her.

  "Don't try to stand," said Brewster. "Here, let me help you."

  He took her arm and put it around his shoulders, holding onto her hand and supporting her with his other arm.

  "The others?" she said.

  "They're all right, I think," said Brewster. "Here, let's get off to the side of the road here so you can sit and rest."

  He helped her down and she leaned back against a tree trunk wearily. She sighed and groaned. "I feel as if every bone in my body has been shaken loose." She looked up at him and smiled. "I owe you my life, Doc."

  Brewster smiled sheepishly. "You'd have done the same for me."

  "Perhaps," she said.

  "Perhaps?"

  She grinned. "After this, for certain. I will never forget how you stood up to Black Jack's charge and hurled your magic thunderbolts."

  "My magic... ?" Brewster glanced down at his bolstered gun. "Oh. That."

  " 'Tis a truly brave and fearsome sorcerer you are, Doc. And I shall always be grateful to you." She reached up, took his face between her hands, and gently kissed him on the lips.

  Suddenly, they heard a horse neigh and Brewster turned around to see Black Jack swing up into the saddle and gallop off toward the crossroads. He jumped up and pulled his gun from its holster, ran out into the middle of the road, and drew a bead on Black Jack's rapidly retreating back. And then he lowered the gun.

  "Why did you not kill him?" Shannon asked.

  Brewster shook his head. "I thought I had, at first. I guess I only wounded him."

  "You should have finished him," said Shannon.

  "I couldn't shoot a man in the back," said Brewster. He glanced down at the gun. "I'm amazed I was able to shoot him at all."

  She shook her head. " Tis a strange man you are, Brewster Doc. But 'tis a privilege to call you friend."

  "Rory can pick us up at the crossroads and take us back across the river," Brewster said, "but I'm afraid we'll have to walk there. Think you can make it?"

  "After the ride I've had, I think that I would much prefer to walk," said Shannon.

  He helped her to the crossroads, where Rory picked them up and flew them back across the river, with Shannon holding onto Brewster for dear life, terrified until Rory set them down again on the opposite shore. Brewster thanked the dragon and Rory said, "Think nothing of it, old chap. It was great fun." Then he sprang up into the air and was soon no more than a faint dot receding into the distant sky.

  "I knew Doc wouldn't let us down!" said Fifer Bob as he came running up with Long Bill and Silent Fred. "He and Mac have saved the day! We're back among our friends again, and free!"

  "Aye, 'tis back you are," said Shannon, "but take your fill of freedom for the present, for when we get back to the Roost, I'll have the three of you in stocks until you rot!"

  The three brigands looked horrified. "Oh, woe is us!" wailed Fifer Bob. "I can't take no more of those awful urchins! Oh, why, oh, why did I ever let you talk me into going along with your greedy, devious ways? 'Tis all your fault, Long Bill! Tis all your fault!"

  "Oh, shut up!" said Long Bill.

  Mac came running up to Shannon. "Shannon! By the gods, I thought I'd lost you!"

  He threw his arms around her, and she recoiled in horror, pushing him away. "Blind me, what's that awful stench?" she cried, gagging.

  Mac grinned weakly. " 'Tis my new fragrance. Like it?"

  "Surely you jest! Doc, you wouldn't have any of your magic soap about" you, would you?"

  "I had a whole supply," the peddlar said, "but I fear I'm all sold out. In fact, I'm sold out of all the goods!"

  "What goods?" said Shannon. And then she noticed Mac's wound. "Mac! You're hurt!"

  " 'Tis but a scratch," he said. "Come, the peddlar will take us back to Brigand's Roost. We shall probably run into the others on the way."

  "Aye, and it will give me an opportunity to discuss some business ventures with you," Harlan said. "I have some ideas that should prove quite profitable for all of us, I think."

  "Another time, Peddlar, if 'tis all the same to you," said Shannon, getting into the back of the wagon with Brewster. "Right now, all I want to do is sleep."

  Mac got in beside her.

  "Mac," she said, wrinkling her nose, "would you mind very much sitting up front?"

  And so, as Brewster and Shannon rest in the back of the wagon while Mac sits up front with Harlan reluctantly listening to a lecture on the money to be made in real estate, we take our leave of our intrepid characters, but only for a short while, for we'll return soon with our next bizarre installment. (After all, even narrators have to take a short break every now and then, and attend to such mundane matters as paying bills and balancing the checkbook.)

  Will Colin Hightower, relentless newshawk kidnapped by the naked wench from Pittsburgh, find a way out of his embarrassing and possibly dangerous predicament and get to the bottom of the strange phenomenon he is investigating, or will he wind up with a tabloid headline all his own? Will Marvin Brewster ever find a way to get back his missing time machine from the most powerful mage in all the twenty-seven kingdoms? Will Shannon and MacGregor wed, and start a school for fighters and assassins in Brigand's Roost, so they can get the awful urchins off the streets, or will Mac's new fragrance force an indefinite postponement of the nuptials?

  Will Harlan the Peddlar start a franchise operation and develop the first successful pyramid scheme in the twenty-seven kingdoms, or will the Better Business Guild cut him off at the knees? And will Brigand's Roost experience an unprecedented influx of new settlers, fleeing Pittsburgh in search of freedom from oppression, new business opportunities, and a relaxed, suburban lifestyle, or will they take one look at the grubby little village and decide to go back and take their chances with Sheriff Waylon and his deputies? And what of the plans The Stealers Guild is hatching for a revolution?

  Will Warrick Morgannan discover the secret of Brewster's time machine on his own, or will he embark upon a relentless search for that machine's creator, having overheard his name by eavesdropping on the narrator again? And will he ever forgive Teddy the Troll for being the unwitting cat's-paw of your faithful narrator, or will Teddy have a nervous breakdown and start looking for an exorcist?

  And what of faithful Pamela? Will she survive the devious machinations of a huge, multinational conglomerate and succeed
in replicating Brewster's time machine, or will all her efforts be doomed to dismal failure? (Hint: maybe not.) For the answers to those and other irrelevant questions, be sure to join us once again for our next exasperating episode, The Ambivalent Magician, or Shannon and the Seven Dwarfs.