The Warlock Unlocked wisoh-4

by Christopher Stasheff

  “Danger?” Magnus perked up. “What danger, Papa?”

  Rod shrugged. “Who knows? We don’t even know what kind of country we’re in, let alone what lives here.”

  “It’s all new!” Cordelia squealed in delight.

  “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.” Rod shook his head in amazement. “And to think I used to be a cynic!”

  “Where are we, Papa?” Magnus was looking around, frowning.

  “It’s beginning to get through to you, too, huh? Well, I think we’re still in Gramarye, but way in the future—way, way in the future. It couldn’t be the past, because Gramarye never had trees like this—before the colonists came, it was all Carboniferous.”

  “Carbo-what?”

  “Just giant ferns, no trees.”

  “Art thou certain?”

  “Well, that’s what the rest of the planet still has—but let’s check it, anyway… Fess?” Rod waited for the robot to answer, then frowned. “Fess? Fess, where are you? Come in, hang it!”

  There was no answer.

  “Can Fess ‘talk’ across time, Papa?” Magnus asked quietly.

  “Well, we tried it once, and it worked—but Doc, uh, Dr. McAran was lending us a time-machine’s beam, then.” Rod didn’t finish the thought, but a cold lump of dread began to swell in his belly.

  “But isn’t there a time-machine still running, here?”

  Rod would have to beget brainy kids! “Don’t miss much, do you? Uh, Gwen, dear? I think it’s time we were getting back.” Or trying to.

  Gwen looked up, startled. “Oh, aye!” She scrambled to her feet. “I had clear forgot about time! Why, Gregory must be squalling with hunger!”

  “I have a feeling you should have weaned him sooner,” Rod mused.

  The telepathic mommy picked it up from her kids. “What is this foreboding…? Oh.” She looked up at Rod. “Magnus fears the gate may be closed.” Her face firmed as she accepted it.

  Rod felt a surge of admiration, and gratitude that he’d lucked into this woman. “There is that possibility, dear. Let’s check it out, shall we?”

  Without a word, Gwen clasped little Geoff’s hand and followed after her husband.

  Rod went slowly, holding Cordelia’s hand and letting Magnus stalk by his side, searching for the bent sapling on the one hand, and the split trunk on the other. There, and… there. And there was the big oak with the “X” on it.

  He caught Magnus’s hand. “Take your mother’s hand, son. I think we’d better be linked up, just in case this works.”

  Silently, Magnus caught Gwen’s hand.

  Slowly, Rod paced toward the tree.

  He stopped when the bark was grooving his nose, and didn’t seem disposed to melt nicely out of the way.

  “Thou dost look silly, Papa,” Cordelia informed him.

  “I never would have guessed,” Rod muttered, turning away. His eyes found Gwen’s. “It didn’t work, dear.”

  “No,” she answered, “I think it did not.”

  They were silent for a few minutes.

  “Art thou certain ‘twas here, Papa?” Cordelia asked hopefully.

  Rod tapped the tree-trunk. “X marks the spot. I should know—I put it there, myself. No, honey—whoever opened this particular door for us, has shut it.”

  “At least,” Gwen pointed out, “I will not have to wait dinner for thee.”

  “Yes.” Rod smiled bleakly. “At least we’re all here.”

  “No, Papa!” Cordelia cried. “Not all here! How could you forget Gregory!”

  “Believe me, I haven’t,” Rod assured her, “but I think whoever trapped us here, did.”

  “Trapped us?” Magnus’s eyes went round.

  “Don’t miss much at all, do you?” Rod gave him a bitter smile. “Yes, son, I think somebody deliberately set out to trap us here—and succeeded admirably.” His gaze travelled up to Gwen. “After all, it makes sense—and it’s about the only theory that does. There’s a storm brewing, between the Church and the Crown, back on Gramarye—our Gramarye, that is. And I’ve got some pretty strong hints that somebody from off-world’s been pushing the Church into it. So what happens? Church and Crown have a meeting this afternoon, a confrontation that should’ve blown the whole thing sky-high—and what do I do but foul up the plan by getting them both to see reason! No, of course whoever’s behind it would want me out of the way!”

  Magnus frowned. “But why us, Papa?”

  “Because you’re a very powerful young warlock, mine offspring, as anyone on Gramarye knows. And, if they’re going to all this trouble just to foist off a war between the Church and the State, you can darn well bet they don’t intend to have the State win! So the smart thing to do is to remove the State’s strongest weapons—me, and your mother, and you. Don’t forget, they lost one because of you, already, when you were only two. And Geoffrey’s three already, and Cordelia’s all of five! They’ve got no way of telling what any of you might be able to do.” Nor do I, for that matter. “So, as long as you’re setting the trap, why not catch all five of the birds-of-trouble while you’re at it?”

  “But Gregory, Papa?”

  Rod shrugged. “I’m sure they’d’ve preferred it if your mother’d carried him in here, too—but since she didn’t I don’t expect they’re going to lose much sleep over it. He’s not even a year old, after all. Even if he had every power in the book, what could he do with them? No, I don’t think they were about to keep the gate open just to try and get Gregory, too—especially if it meant that the five of us might escape! Speaking of Gregory, by the way—who’s with him?”

  “Puck, and an elf-wife,” Gwen answered. “And, aye, fear not—she knows the crafting of a nursing-glove.”

  Rod nodded. “And anything else she needs to know about him, I’m sure Brom will be glad to supply.”

  “He takes so great an interest in our children,” Gwen sighed.

  “Ah—yes.” Rod remembered his promise not to tell Gwen that Brom was her father. “Comes in handy, at a time like this. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he flits in from Beastland, just to take charge of Greg personally—and Baby couldn’t be safer inside a granite castle guarded by a phalanx of knights and three battlewagons. No, I think he’ll be safe till we get back.”

  “ ‘Until?’ ” Magnus perked up. “Then thou’tt certain we can return, Papa?”

  Well, Rod had been, until Magnus mentioned it—but he wasn’t about to say so. There were times when it came in handy, being telepathically invisible, even to members of his own family.

  Damn few, though. And there were so many times when it was a curse, almost made him feel excluded…

  He shrugged it off. “Of course we can get back! It’s just a problem—and problems are made to be solved, right?”

  “Right,” all three children shouted, and Rod grinned in spite of himself. They were handy to have around, sometimes. Most times.

  “Tell us the manner of it!” Magnus demanded.

  “Oh… I dunno…” Rod let his gaze wander. “We don’t exactly have enough information to start building theories. We don’t even know where we are, in a manner of speaking, or what materials and tools are available—which might be handy to know, ‘cause it might come down to building our own time-machine. For that matter, we don’t even know if there’re even any people!”

  “Then let us go discover it!” Magnus said stoutly.

  Rod felt the grin spreading over his face again. “Yeah, let’s go!” He whipped out his dagger. “Blaze trees as we go, kids—we might want to be able to find our way back here. Forward march!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I trust you had a pleasant journey, Father Uwell.”

  “As usual, Your Grace.” Father Al dug gratefully into a pile of asparagus that appeared to be fresh. “Aboard ship, it was very pleasant—ample time for meditation. It was getting to the ship that was the problem.”

  Bishop Fomalo smiled thinly. “Isn’t it always? I believe my secretary said you
were from the Vatican.” The Bishop knew that full well; that’s why he’d invited Father Al to dinner. Not to impress him, but because that was the only half-hour open in the Bishop’s schedule.

  Father Al nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “But I have no official standing, Your Grace. An informal trouble-shooter, you might say.”

  The Bishop frowned. “But we have no troubles in my diocese—at least, none that would merit the Vatican’s attention.”

  “None that you know of.” Father Al tried a sympathetic smile. “And it’s debatable whether or not it’s in your diocese.”

  Bishop Fomalo seemed to relax a little. “Come, now, Father! Certainly the Vatican knows which solar systems my diocese includes.”

  “Lundres, Seredin, and Ventreles—I believe those are the colonists’ names for the stars. I’m afraid I don’t know the catalog numbers.”

  “I’d have to look them up, myself,” the bishop said, with a thin smile. “There are colonies on the third and fourth planets of Lundres, one on the fourth planet of Seredin, and one on the second planet of Ventreles.”

  “But they haven’t begun to branch out to the moons and asteroids yet?”

  “No, the planets are enough for us, for the time being. After all, Father, we scarcely total a million souls.”

  “So little as that? My, my. I trust that doesn’t indicate a disaster?”

  “Scarcely.” The bishop tried to repress a smile. “But when you begin with a colony of a few thousand, Father, it does take a while to build up a sizable population, even with sperm and ova banks to keep the genetics stable.”

  “Yes, of course. I hope you’ll pardon my ignorance, Your Grace—I’ve never been so far from Terra before. And distance is the factor—with so few people spread over so many light-years, it must be an Herculean task to stay in touch with them.”

  “It is difficult,” the bishop admitted, “especially with so few vocations. But we do have hyperadio now, and of course we’ve had a dozen pinnaces with FTL drives all along.”

  “Of course.” But Father Al’s eyes suddenly gleamed.

  The bishop shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “About this trouble you mentioned, Father—on which colony is it?”

  “A Lost Colony, Your Grace, about two-thirds of the way between Seredin and Ventreles, and thirteen light-years away.”

  The Bishop relaxed again. “Well, that is out of my diocese. What colony is this?”

  “Its people call it ‘Gramarye,’ Your Grace.”

  “Troubling.” The bishop frowned. “The word refers to sorcery, does it not?”

  “Well, magic, certainly, and it does have occult connotations. The term’s also used to refer to a book of magical spells.”

  “I can see why the Vatican would be concerned. But how is it I’ve never heard of this Lost Colony, Father?”

  “Why, they wished to stay lost,” Father Al said, lips puckering in a smile. “As far as I’ve been able to make out, they deliberately set about cutting themselves off from the rest of humanity.”

  “An ominous symptom.” The bishop’s frown deepened. “All manner of heresies could break out in such a situation. And they’ve been there for several centuries?”

  Father Al nodded. “The colony was founded just before the Interstellar Dominion Electorates fell to the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra’s coup.”

  “At least they were founded under a democratic interstellar federation. I take it they saw the totalitarian rule of PEST coming, and went off to try to keep democracy alive?”

  “Not really; they established a monarchy.”

  “Why, I wonder?” The bishop rubbed his chin. “How did the Vatican learn of them?”

  Father Al heard the indignant echo under the words; what business did he, an outsider, have coming in here, telling the bishop there was a nearby trouble spot he hadn’t known about? “You might say the information was leaked to us, by an agency associated with the interstellar government.” Which was true; but the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal didn’t know about the association.

  “I see.” The bishop’s face cleared. “It’s good to know there are still some concerned citizens. Was your source Catholic?”

  “I believe his name’s Irish, but that’s all I know.”

  “That’s indication enough.” The bishop sat back in his chair. “I assume he gave you the coordinates. How will you get there?”

  “Well, ah…”

  The bishop’s eyes widened. “No, Father. All my boats are fully scheduled, for the next three months. If we were to transport you, one of the colonies would have to miss its consignment of missalettes.”

  “I think the clergy could manage to find the correct readings, Your Grace. Besides, don’t you keep at least one of your craft on standby, in case of breakdowns?”

  “Yes, but what if there were a breakdown? Good heavens, Father, two of our colonies can’t even produce their own altar wine yet!”

  “But surely…”

  “Father!” The bishop’s eyebrows drew down in a scowl. “I hate to be so blunt, but—the answer is an unequivocal ‘No!’ ”

  Father Al sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that—but I was hoping to avoid having to do this.” He drew a long white envelope from the inside pocket of his cassock. “Pardon this archaic form of communications, Your Grace—but we weren’t sure what level of technology we’d encounter on Gramarye. I assure you, it’s just as personal as a message cube.” He handed the envelope to the bishop.

  Frowning, the bishop slid out the letter and unfolded it. He read with a scowl. “Aid the bearer of this letter, Father Aloysius Uwell, in any way he may request. In all matters pertaining to the planet ‘Gramarye,’ he speaks with my voice.” He blanched as he saw the signature. “Pope John the XXIV!”

  “And his seal,” Father Al said apologetically. “So you see, Your Grace, I really must have transportation to Gramarye.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They cut a particularly big blaze on a huge old willow overhanging the shore, then set off to the left, along the lakeside, heading north. After a half-hour’s walk, they came out of the silver wood into an emerald-green meadow.

  “Oh, look!” Cordelia gasped, pointing. “The prettiest cow in the world!”

  Rod looked, and swallowed, hard. The “cow,” even if it didn’t have any horns, was definitely the biggest, toughest, meanest-looking old bull he’d ever seen. “No, Cordelia, I don’t think that’s…”

  “Cordelia!” Gwen gasped, and Rod whirled, just as a miniature witch on a branch of a broomstick shot past his nose.

  “Too late!” Gwen clenched her fists in frustration. “Oh, you dare not take your eyes from them for a second! Milord, she is dangered!”

  “I know,” Rod ground out, keeping his voice low, “but we don’t dare charge out there, or we might spook it… No, put down that branch! I’ve got to stalk it…No you don’t, young man!” He made a frantic grab for Magnus’s collar, and yanked him back. “I said I’ll stalk it! One child in danger is enough, thank you! Gwen, hold onto ‘em!” And he stepped out into the meadow, drawing his sword.

  Geoffrey began to cry, but the sobs cut off quickly—Gwen’s hand over his mouth, no doubt. She was right; they didn’t dare make a sound. Rod moved very slowly, though every cell of his body screamed at him to hurry.

  Especially since Cordelia was coming in for a landing! Not right under the bull’s nose, thank Heaven—but only a few feet away! She plumped right down on the grass, though—at least she had the sense not to go running up to it.

  “Here, Bossy!” He could hear her voice clearly, over a hundred feet of meadow grass—that might as well have been a thousand miles! “Sweet moo-cow, come here!”

  And the bull was turning its head towards her!

  And now the rest of its body! It was moving! It was ambling towards her! Rod braced himself for a frantic mad dash…

  And it nuzzled her outstretched hand.

  Rod stood rigid, unable to believe it. But it
was real—it liked her! It was gentle! It was nibbling grass from her hand! A father itself, no doubt—and sure enough of its own masculinity not to be insulted by her mistake as to its gender. Thank Heaven!

  Not that he was about to stop trying to get to her—but carefully, now, very carefully; it was being gentle, let’s not upset the cattle car! And move around to come at it from the side—if it charged him, Rod didn’t want Cordelia in the way.

  But there was no need to worry about that—she was going to be on top of the situation. Because the bull was folding its legs, and lying down beside her, in pure invitation! And she was climbing on! He choked back her name, and the impulse to shout it; don’t spook the bull!

  But it was climbing to its feet, and trotting away across the meadow—with his little girl on its back! “Cor-deeel-iaaaa!”

  She heard him; she waved—and turned the bull somehow, set it trotting back towards him! Rod breathed a sigh of relief, then stiffened again. This was only an improvement, not a solution—she was still on its back!

  He pulled away, backing up toward his family, until his left hand brushed Gwen’s arm. The boy’s could teleport out, if they had to, and there was a nice-sized boulder right next to Gwen—small enough for her to “throw” by telekinesis, but large enough to knock the bull cold. He saw her glance flick over to it, and knew she was thinking along the same line.

  But about twenty feet away, the bull started getting skittish. It slowed, and slewed around sideways, prancing to a stop, then pawing the turf.

  “Oh, come, sweet cow, come!” Cordelia pleaded. “Thou ‘rt so lovely, I wish to show thee to my family! Please do come!”

  “Now, now, dear don’t push him—uh, it. We can come over—can’t we, dear?” And Rod stepped forward.

  The bull stepped back.

  Rod halted. “I… don’t think he likes me…”

  “Mayhap he is wise enough not to trust males,” Gwen suggested. “I shall try.” And she took a step forward.