by James Gunn
I looked at it dubiously.
“It's an old Chaldean spell. An exorcism, expressed in contemporary mathematical symbols,” he explained. “In cases like this it's helpful to recite the verbal equivalent."
He entered the circle and lifted his face toward the ceiling. Little, white-haired, cherubic, he was not my idea of a magician; he was more like a professor about to expound upon some dull fragment of learning. I wondered again whether I should have rested my fate in his uncertain hands.
Then he began to chant. He had a low and surprisingly effective voice.
“He who makes the image, he who enchants, the evil face, the evil eye, the evil mouth, the evil tongue, the evil lip, the evil word..."
Shivers ran up and down my back. This was potent stuff.
“Spirit of the sky, exorcise them! Spirit of the earth, exorcise them!
“The Magician has bewitched me with his magic, he has bewitched us with his magic;
“The witch has bewitched me with her magic, she has bewitched us with her magic;
“He who has fashioned images corresponding to our whole appearance has bewitched our appearance;
“He has seized the magic draught prepared for us and has soiled our garments;
“He has torn our garments and has mingled his magic herb with the dust of our feet;
“May the fire god, the hero, turn their magic to nought!"
I let out my breath. I realized that I had been holding it for a long time.
“My goodness,” Uriel said, “I feel better already."
He looked better. The pallor beneath the rouge had changed to a healthier pink. As a matter of fact, I felt better, too. My neck had been sore and stiff. I touched it tentatively. Now it seemed as if I had never had an encounter with an enchanted towel.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now,” Uriel said vigorously, “is the time for the counterattack. We must trick Solomon into showing his true face, or revealing his real name."
Silently I pointed toward the back of the mirror leaning against the wall.
“Ideal!” Uriel said. “Now, where would be the best place? I'm afraid the Crystal Room is out. Someone innocent might get involved."
“How about his rooms?” I suggested. “He won't be expecting us to come after him."
"His rooms?” Ariel repeated.
“The penthouse,” I said, and shrugged. “I may not be much of a detective, but I learned that much."
“The very thing,” Uriel said. “I don't know what we'd do without you, son."
“But will he be there?” Ariel asked. Her lower lip trembled a little. I liked to think she was leaning on my courage—or foolhardiness.
“There's one good way to find out,” Uriel said. He turned to me. “A program."
I pulled my program out of my coat pocket. “It won't do any good, though. Only the program for October 30 was included."
Uriel opened the booklet to its middle. “Oh, no. This is fine."
I looked over his shoulder. The page that had been headed October 30 had been changed completely.
October 31
10:00 THE ORIGINS OF ROODMAS (WALPURGIS NIGHT)
10:30 WHEN THE GOD WAS KILLED—A PANEL DISCUSSION
11:00 EINSTEIN'S FIELD THEORY—A VINDICATION OF THE ART
“Oh, dear,” Uriel said. “That was my lecture. I'm afraid there will be a gap in the program."
“After yesterday,” I said, “somehow I don't think they're expecting you."
11:30 THE CABALISTS—RITER THAN THEY KNEW
12:00 A SPELL FOR ADONIS
12:30 USEFUL WAX IMAGES AND HOW TO MAKE THEM
1:00 RECESS
3:00 WHY THERE WERE NO PROFESSIONAL MAGICIANS IN EGYPT
“No magicians?” I said.
“All priests. It was the state religion."
4:00 INVISIBILITY—A LOST ART
5:00 THE VAMPIRE IN MYTH AND FACT
“Oh, dear,” Uriel moaned softly. “Darker and darker."
8:00 BANQUET
11:00 INVOCATION—PENTHOUSE
“I thought the invocation always came at the beginning of events,” I said.
Ariel shuddered. “Not this kind of invocation,” she said.
“Oh, me,” Uriel said. “Do you suppose—?"
Ariel nodded her head grimly. “I'm afraid so."
“Then,” Uriel said with determination, puffing out his chest, “we'll have to stop them."
“What's all this about?” I asked, but they were looking at each other in distress. I shrugged. Apparently it was another of their arcane understandings that I would share when the time was right. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes after ten. Only five after ten? I shook it, but it was still running. “According to the program, then,” I said, “Solomon should still be in the Crystal Room and will be for more than two hours yet."
“But how can we be sure?” Ariel asked. Clearly she wanted to take no chances of blundering into the malevolent magician on his own territory. I didn't blame her; I wanted no part of that either.
I picked up the telephone and asked for the Crystal Room. I listened to the phone ring at the other end, and then someone picked it up and said, “Hello,” very softly. I could hear someone speaking in the background.
“The Magus, please,” I said.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” the voice replied. “He's on the stage now. I can call him to the phone if it's urgent, or I can have him call you when he's free."
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “I'll get in touch with him later.” I turned to Ariel and Uriel. Uriel was chalking equations on the back of the mirror. Ariel was looking at me expectantly. “Let's go,” I said bravely. “Let's go beard the magician in his penthouse."
But my knees were shaking.
Uriel stepped back, inspected his work, and pronounced it finished. He turned to us. “You two will have to go ahead. I must attend to some other preparations. Take the mirror and place it where he won't see it until too late. Then search his rooms for some clue to his identity. Failing that, try to get some hair or nail clippings. My friends in Greek used to say that even Homer nods. Why not Solomon?"
I pulled the automatic out from under my arm and inspected it again before I replaced it.
Ariel watched me, and as I looked up she was frowning. “That won't do you any good,” she said.
“That's where you're wrong,” I said. I patted the lump under my coat with affection. “Maybe it won't do Solomon any harm, but it sure makes me feel a lot better."
I got a towel out of the rack in the bathroom, handling it a little gingerly out of memory and respect, wrapped the mirror in it, and turned toward the door. “Ready?"
We took an elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. The elevator had one other occupant when we got on—a large, middle-aged matron with purple hair who stared at the towel-wrapped square under my arm as if she was sure we were making off with the hotel's property. But she didn't say anything, perhaps because we were going up; she got off at twenty-nine and stared after us until the doors closed.
At the thirty-fifth floor we got off and climbed a flight of fire stairs to the penthouse floor. I cracked the door an inch and peered out. The hall was empty. We crept along it, hugging the wall, until we reached the door. It was just opposite the elevator. So far nothing had happened. Probably we could have taken the elevator clear to the top and no one would have known.
All this uneventfulness was hard on my nerves. I watched the shadows suspiciously, ready to jump—for the stairs—if anything moved. I wasn't cut out for this kind of work.
I put my hand on the cold, smooth doorknob and tried to turn it. The door was locked. I looked at Ariel inquiringly.
She muttered something under her breath and reached out with one finger to touch the knob. Nothing happened. The knob still wouldn't turn. Ariel frowned and bit her lip. “There's a spell on it,” she said.
I searched my memory for the section of Uriel's manuscript headed “Counter-spells.” I r
eached in my pocket for the piece of chalk that had become standard equipment, drew a circle around the knob and an X across the keyhole, and hesitantly jotted down an equation. As I finished writing the last figure, the door clicked and swung gently open.
I turned to smile proudly at Ariel. She smiled back and said, “You continue to surprise—"
She stopped in the middle of what she was going to say, and her eyes got big. I saw fear mirrored in them as they looked over my shoulder at something behind me. I spun around and stopped, unable to move.
In the doorway, facing us, blue eyes glinting, tail lashing wickedly back and forth, was a tiger.
Even as I identified it, I knew it wasn't a tiger at all. There never was a tiger with a black face, ears, and paws, and fur the color of cream. This was no tiger. This was a Siamese cat, but it was as big as a tiger, and its crossed eyes studied us hungrily as it crouched a little closer to the floor, getting ready to spring....
Chapter 14
She may be promised her life on the following conditions: that she be sentenced to imprisonment for life on bread and water, provided that she supply evidence which will lead to the conviction of other witches. And she is not to be told, when she is promised her life, that she is to be imprisoned in this way; but should be led to suppose that some other penance, such as exile, will be imposed on her as punishment.... Others think that, after she has been consigned to prison in this way, the promise to spare her life should be kept for a time, but that after a certain period she should be burned. A third opinion is that the Judge may safely promise the accused her life, but in such a way that he should afterwards disclaim the duty of passing sentence on her, deputing another Judge in his place.
Heinrich Kramer and
- James Sprenger, Malleus Maleficarium
“A familiar!” Ariel breathed.
The paralysis of fright left me. I made the fastest draw of my life. The .45 was pointed and my finger was squeezing the trigger when Ariel put her hand past my arm, her finger aimed at the cat, and muttered a few words. Suddenly I was aiming two feet over the cat's head. It had shrunk to normal size. I eased my finger off the trigger and put the gun away, feeling foolish.
“We make quite a pair,” I said, “me for the locks and you for the familiars."
“Let's hope nothing comes up we can't handle between us,” Ariel said, moving past me. She bent down to pet the cat, but it stared at her haughtily, sniffed toward me, and moved aloofly away on business of its own. I was just as happy to see it go. I let out a sigh and discovered that I was still hugging the mirror under one arm.
“I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this,” I said. “Let's get it over with."
Ariel nodded quickly, uneasily, and started across the lush living-room carpet, blood red and glowing in some spots from the morning sunlight slanting through venetian blinds. She headed toward two doors that opened off one end of the room. I looked around for a place to spot the mirror and finally decided on a window. One of the venetian blinds was partly raised. I unwrapped the mirror carefully and propped it in the window frame. The bottom of the blind kept it from falling out.
I stepped back and admired my placement of it—from a discreet angle. If the man who called himself Solomon didn't return until night, and there was good reason to think that he wouldn't, he would never suspect that one window was a mirror until too late.
I hoped that he would get trapped in it as I had.
Ariel came out of one room empty-handed. I pointed out the mirror so that she would be careful. She nodded.
“Find anything?” I whispered. There wasn't any reason to whisper, but that was the way I felt.
She shook her head. “No papers. Nothing,” she whispered back. “I've never seen a place so clean. If it hadn't been for the spell and the familiar, I'd have thought we were in the wrong apartment."
She vanished into the other room. I poked around the fancy living room, lifting cushions, peering under furniture, searching desk drawers. I couldn't even find any dust or lint. It was impossible that anything could be so unlived-in.
Ariel came back. “The bedrooms are spotless,” she whispered. “Even the sheets have been changed."
“It's impossible,” I said. “Nobody could live here even a few hours without leaving some kind of trace. You're right—if it weren't for the cat—Come to think of it, where is the cat?"
Ariel shook her head. “I haven't seen it. That's strange, isn't it?"
My nerves were beginning to vibrate from being stretched taut too long. I was ready to admit defeat and try something else, but there was one more door. We walked toward it together.
“Those were bedrooms?” I asked.
She nodded. “And a bath."
“No personal things?” I said. “No razor? No toothbrush? No deodorant or aftershave or—"
The look on her face was sufficient answer, but she said, “Just unused glasses and towels and unwrapped soap."
We went through the last door and into a small kitchen. It was all butcher-block wood and glass and stainless steel. It looked and smelled as if it had never been used. Everything glistened and gleamed. There weren't any dirty dishes or glasses. No food or bottles in the refrigerator. The place was fantastically, implausibly clean.
I snooped through the cabinets and drawers without hope. Dishes were stacked neatly, glasses were turned upside down, silverware was perfectly aligned.
“If this is magic,” I said, in a futile attempt at levity, “someone ought to package it and sell it to housewives.” Ariel didn't smile. I said, “Where is that damned cat?"
It wasn't in the kitchen, either. There was nothing in the kitchen that didn't belong there except Ariel and me.
Then the cat meowed loudly from the living room. We stiffened. I put one hand on Ariel's arm and with the other hand pushed the door of the kitchen open. The cat was sitting in front of the hall door, looking up at it expectantly. I held Ariel back, as if I could protect her from what was standing in the hall outside the door. But I felt suddenly chilled.
There was a noise from the hall, distant and uncertain, like doors sliding. The cat looked at us and back at the door as if to say, “Now you'll get what's coming to you for breaking into my home.” I looked at the cat, thinking that I should have shot it when I had the chance. Ariel peered over my shoulder and whispered, “How can you shoot a cat?” I glanced at her. I knew I hadn't said anything.
We all heard it then: footsteps stopping outside a door, a pause, and the doorknob turning.
"Meow-w-w!" the cat said. "R-r-reow!" it warned.
The door swung open. I pressed Ariel back into the kitchen and let the door close to a slit. I pulled the .45 out of the shoulder holster and held it ready in my hand. Maybe it was useless, but it felt good there. I heard Ariel muttering behind me. Or maybe she was praying.
And Solomon stepped into the room cautiously, one hand in a jacket pocket, looking at both sides of the door and at the floor. The cat jumped at him, clawing his black pants and talking angrily, in words even I could almost understand, about strangers who had broken into the penthouse, who had violated the sanctity of the place that had been left in its charge....
Solomon seemed to be listening only casually. His head, slowly turning, swept his gaze around the room. He half-turned, his left arm straightening suddenly in a savage arc that sent something in his hand hurtling away from it. Involuntarily my eyes followed the object. It struck. Glass broke. A square of night shivered itself into black fragments that tinkled to the carpeted floor.
But just before the black mirror broke, shattered by whatever object Solomon had pulled from his pocket, I saw him as he really was. The momentary glimpse was enough. I knew him. There was no mistake possible. But it was late for the information. I prayed that it did not come too late.
I looked back toward the door. Solomon was gone. My heart skipped a beat, and then started again, strongly, hopefully. Had the black magician been trapped in his own black mirror
before it broke? Had the ojbject he threw shattered Solomon himself into a thousand shards? For a wonderful moment I let myself believe it.
Then, in back of me, Ariel shattered my illusion. She gasped. I swung around, my gun ready.
We faced Solomon. He leaned, dark-faced and smiling, against the stainless-steel sink. The cat rubbed against his black pant leg, its crossed eyes almost all pupil as it stared at us malevolently.
“So,” Solomon said urbanely, “the beautiful witch and the intrepid detective.” Cream-colored fur lifted on the cat's back; it growled deep in its throat. “Baal!” Solomon said. “You mustn't be inhospitable to our guests, even if they did arrive a little early, and without waiting for our invitation.” He looked back at us. “So nice of you to come to see me. You saved me endless trouble in searching you out, and I did want to invite you to my little party this evening. Especially you, my dear.” He bowed mockingly to Ariel. “There is a special place in the ceremony for a virgin, and you know how difficult it is to find virgins these days."
“Don't move!” I said, shoving the automatic at him, my finger tightening on the trigger. “Don't lift a finger to work a spell or mutter anything! The first suspicious word or action, and I shoot. Without remorse!"
“But I've already said ‘Pax Sax Sarax,'” he said. “That's a sure defense when staring down the muzzle of a gun. In any case, you must realize that if Ariel's spells are useless that thing you're holding is merely a toy.” He looked at Ariel. “You can stop muttering now. Nothing will work here except what I will. I put in too many hours of preparation.” He smiled broadly.
Anger was a red tide rising in my throat. My finger got white. The hammer clicked futilely against the cartridge. It clicked again and again. I stared down at the automatic in dazed disbelief. It was my last defense, and it had failed me.
“There, now,” Solomon said gently. “That was unfriendly of you, and murderous, and unwise. Now I must take measures to make certain that your bad impulses do not overcome you again. In fact, I think it would be better if you did not move again."
