The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  “You got it, buddy. But the ground protects it, buffers the extremes. Leaving it out like that will age it fast. Degrade your service.”

  “Thank you for informing us, sir.”

  “No drilling.” The guy said it as if confirming the fact.

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Well, all right.” He shrugged. “Where do you want this connection made?”

  “One moment. I’ll fetch the key, sir.” Roger closed the door and retrieved the key from the key safe in his quarters. The installation tech waited patiently on the back stoop. “This way, sir.”

  The guy followed behind Roger as he opened the door and flipped on the lights. He stopped cold as soon as he got into the garage and saw the cars. “Holy sh—” He bit off the word but Roger knew the feeling. “Are those real?”

  “No, sir. Holograms.” Roger kept his face as straight as he could.

  The guy looked at Roger, one eyebrow raised. “You just make a joke?”

  “Yes, sir. They are quite real.”

  The guy gave a soft whistle and shook himself. “Where you want the box?”

  Roger indicated the wall beside the cellar door with a broad gesture. “Anywhere in that section of wall will be fine.”

  “You know we can install it in the house itself,” the guy said.

  “Without drilling, sir?” Roger asked.

  “Well, we need to get the connection inside the house somehow.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re aware of that, but drilling through the wall is not permitted.”

  “So? Are you going to be setting up a terminal out here?” He looked around as if trying to figure out where there might be a desk. “Gets drafty in the winter, I bet.”

  “Hot in the summer, too, sir.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he asked.

  “Are you familiar with the concept of ‘need to know,’ sir?”

  “Like for security clearances?” The guy’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, sure. Everybody knows that.”

  “Then you’ll not take offense when I suggest that you do not have a need to know, sir.”

  The guy frowned. “Okay, okay. I got it. Top secret. Forget I asked.” He pulled out his smart phone and took a picture of the wall. “Right there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. I’ll go look up the nearest hub. Can you leave the garage unlocked?”

  “No, sir.” Roger looked at the vehicles parked in the bay. “Would you?”

  The guy paused a moment, glancing at the cars before shaking his head. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

  “I’ll stand by if you need me, sir.”

  “It’ll be a few minutes.”

  “I understand, sir. Ring the bell again when you need my assistance.”

  The guy went out to his van and pulled a well-provisioned tool belt from the back, strapping it around his hips and checking the pockets before shouldering a big coil of black coax. He walked down the tarmac and turned right at the alley. Roger closed and locked the garage door. The wet heat wrapped around him until he got back inside Shackleford House. He wasn’t sure how far the guy would have to go but he felt pretty certain that coil of coax wasn’t going back in the van.

  He put a pitcher of ice water and a tumbler on a tray in preparation for the worker’s return. Hydration was so important.

  Almost thirty minutes passed before the back doorbell rang again. Roger poured the tumbler full of ice water and took the tray to the back door. The neatly dressed cable installer looked a bit the worse for wear. A stream of sweat flowed down one cheek on his reddened face. His uniform showed damp patches at the armpits.

  Roger offered the ice water. “Some water, sir?”

  The guy looked at Roger and then the tray. He took the tumbler and poured it down his throat, gulping loudly. “Oh, man. Thank you,” he said, gasping before placing the glass back on the tray.

  “My pleasure, sir. One moment.” Roger placed the tray on the laundry table. He went back outside. “Did you find your junction box, sir?”

  “Yeah. About a quarter mile down the road.” He went to the far corner of the garage, where the last few turns of cable lay on the tarmac. “I laid it out on the grass in as straight a line as I could get but used up almost the whole coil.”

  “I’ll just open this door for you, sir.” Roger went into the garage and pressed the door opener for the empty bay at the end. The motor whined and lifted the door, letting the afternoon sun in to wash out the competition from the overheads.

  The installer brought the cable in tight around the door frame and popped a staple into the inner wall near the floor. “That should hold it,” he said, straightening and looking down the length of the garage. “I’m gonna need to get another coil.”

  Roger nodded. “Of course, sir. Would you like more water?”

  He wiped his forehead with a sleeve and nodded. “Yeah. That would be terrific.”

  “I’ll be right back, sir.” Roger went into the house and took the pitcher to the sink to refill while he grabbed a tray stand. When he returned. the tech stood staring at the cars. “Beautiful, aren’t they, sir?” he asked, setting the stand up by the door and placing the tray on it.

  “Incredible. Blast from the past.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  The tech shook himself and headed for his van, and came back with some boxes and another coil of cable. “This should do it,” he said, placing the boxes near the wall and spooling out the cable along the front wall of the garage. “This would be a lot easier if I could just put a hole in the wall back there. Less cable inside.”

  “Drilling is a problem, sir. Not the exposed cable.”

  The guy shot Roger a look, but shrugged. “Your house.”

  Roger had to admire the speed and efficiency of the man as he added connectors and joined the two cables together. He secured the line against the wall, running it up beside the door frame and across the top, threading it over all the garage door rails to staple it neatly to the wall near the ceiling line. Clearly a man with a great deal of practice.

  It took next to no time for the technician to secure the box to the wall after getting a final nod from Roger on the placement. A few moments later, he had attached a handheld unit to the wired and powered box.

  “I just need to make sure you’re on the network at this end and we’re done here. You can hang pretty much anything you want on this port.” He consulted his device and nodded. “That’s got it.” He shut off the device, collected his tools, and policed the area for trash. “You know, this thing has wireless access. You’ll need to secure it so the neighbors don’t steal your Wi-Fi.”

  Roger nodded. “I’ve got a contractor to handle that. She’ll be here in the morning, sir.”

  “Really? It’s simple, you just need a password. I could lock it for you.”

  Roger reached over and pressed the power switch. “Seems secure enough for the night, sir.”

  The tech laughed. “Can’t argue that.” He took himself and his gear out to the van while Roger closed and locked the garage. “The crew will be here in a couple of days to bury that cable,” he said.

  “Not necessary, sir. The groundskeepers will see to it.”

  “Groundskeepers?” he asked, glancing up at the house. “You have groundskeepers, too?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The guy slammed the back doors on the van and turned to Roger with the tablet. “If you’d just sign here to certify that I’ve done the installation as required? I can’t test the connectivity for you because ... well, you know.”

  “Of course, sir.” Roger took the tablet and used his fingertip to scrawl his signature in the box.

  The guy took it and nodded. “Thanks.” He paused. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You’re really a butler?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why a butler? Isn’t it ... I d
on’t know ... kinda boring?”

  Roger shrugged. “After three tours in Afghanistan and two years as an EMT here in the city, I find that my capacity for excitement has been filled, sir. At Shackleford House, I have a good boss, good pay, a safe place to sleep, plenty to eat, and nobody trying to kill me. Why wouldn’t I be a butler, sir?”

  The tech smiled. “Hooah.” He patted the back of his van. “This is my Humvee now. As rough as some of the neighborhoods claim to be, I’ve never worried about IEDs in it.” He thrust out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mulligan.”

  Roger shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for your service, sir.”

  The tech laughed and climbed into the van, started it up and pulled it out of the drive to idle in the shaded alley.

  Roger watched him for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. He realized, for perhaps the first time, that he did not want to see Shackleford House be bulldozed. Not that he hadn’t had the thought before, but shaking the man’s hand—explaining to a fellow vet? Something clicked inside him. He looked up at the house and down at his uniform. Sure, the old guy wasn’t insane. The house had pixies. He was pretty sure that the fairies would bury the cable. He wasn’t sure what would happen at the end of the year, but he was damn certain that he’d do everything in his power to prevent Naomi Patching and her money-grubbing husband from getting control of the place.

  “Hooah,” he said, for the last time, and remembered to fetch the tray and stand from the garage before going back into the kitchen. It was nearly time to prepare dinner, and he needed to call Sam about the extra printer and an installation date.

  Chapter 8

  Roger delivered breakfast to the old man at the usual hour. As soon as he walked into the library, he knew something was off. Shackleford sat in his usual chair, the straight version without wheels, wearing the coat, waistcoat, and tie—with no shirt. The black metal amulet hung on his chest, half hidden behind the tie. “Good morning, sir. Breakfast is served.”

  “Thank you, Perkins,” the old man said, not looking up from his book.

  Roger placed the tray in its customary position. “If I might suggest, sir?”

  The old man looked up at him, a scowl on his face. “What is it, Perkins? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but perhaps a shirt might be in order?”

  The old man blinked and looked down at himself, then cast his gaze around his chair—perhaps looking for the missing garment. “What the deuce happened to my shirt, Perkins? And where’s my breakfast?”

  “Your breakfast is here, sir.” Roger nudged the tray. “Permit me to fetch you a fresh shirt.” He went to the master suite and found a clean shirt in the dresser. He shook it out and hung it from two fingers. On his return, he found Shackleford stripped down to his waist and looking sourly at the breakfast tray.

  “About time,” Shackleford said, snatching the garment from Roger’s hand. “And what is this?” He nodded at the tray. “It looks like an old man’s breakfast. Soft-boiled eggs? No bacon?” He shrugged into the shirt and made a mess of the buttoning.

  Roger stepped forward and slid his hands inside the old man’s, taking over the process and lining up the buttons with the correct holes. He had to unbutton a few to get them aligned but Shackleford gave him no notice. “I’ll make you another breakfast, sir.”

  “What’s Mrs. Riggs thinking, sending that upstairs?”

  “Mrs. Riggs is no longer with us, sir.” He patted the shirt front. “What would you like in its place, sir? I’ll see to it at once.”

  Shackleford leaned forward, head down and his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. “Blast it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and blew it out. “Mulligan,” he said without looking up.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Thank you, Mulligan.”

  “Is there anything I can do, sir?”

  Shackleford’s exhale sounded like a laugh. “If you can get this cursed pendant off me, that would help.”

  “Tell me how, sir, and I’d be happy to do it.”

  “Simple, Mulligan. Kill me.” He twisted his head around without lifting it. “I could do it myself but I keep hoping I’ll find a solution.”

  “Would your memories come back, sir?” Roger tilted his head down to meet Shackleford’s gaze on an equal footing.

  “Huh,” Shackleford said, and shook his head. “I hadn’t considered that, Mulligan.” He stared at the tray on the table in front of him. “I don’t know.”

  “You were reading a different book,” Roger said.

  Shackleford glanced over at the book that still rested on the table. “Not the one I would have picked.” He straightened up and slid into the chair in front of his breakfast. “Thank you, Mulligan. This is fine.”

  “Do you have a dislike for soft-boiled eggs, sir?”

  “I used to. I actually like them now.” He took a sip of coffee and picked up a piece of toast. “I think I still prefer poached.”

  “I’ll make a note, sir.”

  “Thank you, Perkins. That will be all for now.” Shackleford took a bite of his toast and frowned at the open book.

  “Yes, sir.” Roger left him sitting there frowning and crunching through his toast.

  * * *

  At midmorning, the back doorbell tinkled. Sam Bicker stood grinning on the back stoop, a van behind her backed up to the house. “Present time.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you got for the library,” Roger said.

  “That’s what took the most time. Custom work, you know.” She nodded at the garage. “Any problem with the cable guy?”

  “Other than he really wanted to drill a hole?” Roger shook his head. “I wasn’t going to allow it and he didn’t want to go back to the barn without the install done.” He didn’t mention the cable crew who couldn’t find the cable to bury.

  “Let’s get this done, then,” she said, holding up a box. “Got the wireless link. Garage locked?”

  “Oh, yes. Let me get the key.” Roger walked back to the key safe and pulled the garage key from its hook. His morning routine would wait for this.

  When he let Sam into the garage, she took a moment to admire the vehicles again before focusing on the equipment on the wall. She stripped the link from its packaging and held it up to the wall beside the modem. “Yes. This will work.” She handed him the device and rummaged in the packing material, pulling out a plastic mounting bracket and a zip-top bag of screws. “These are okay, I hope?”

  “I suspect so,” Roger said. “I haven’t had any complaints about the modem.”

  She pulled a screwdriver from her bag and mounted the bracket beside the modem.

  “You’ve done this before,” Roger said.

  She grinned at him, thrusting the screwdriver back in her bag. “Not this setup but yeah. Enough times that I always carry a screwdriver.” She took the link from him and snapped it into the bracket with a loud click. She rummaged in the box again and pulled out a piece of cable and a small white pasteboard container. The cable plugged into a socket on the bottom of the link and into the modem. The container held a small power supply and cord. She got everything all wired and took a half step back, looking it all over. “I think that’s got it.” She reached over and turned on the modem, waiting for the lights to stop flashing. “You ever used one of these?”

  Roger shook his head. “Not this model. I’m a ‘plug it in and hope it works’ kind of guy.”

  “This takes the cable signal, breaks out the data channels from the TV stuff, and feeds it into this ethernet port for distribution to the local network in the house.” She pushed all the loose bits of cardboard and packing material back into the box and tucked it under her arm. “Let’s go get the other side connected.”

  She went out to the van and pulled out the mate to the box in her hand, leaving the empty behind. “You okay leaving the garage unlocked for a few minutes?” she asked.

  Roger shook his head. “Not really.�
� He shrugged and locked the garage behind them. He led her into the house and through the kitchen to the broom closet.

  She pulled the link from its packaging and set it on the shelf. A minute later she had the power cord plugged in and turned the device on. “Okay. We need to secure both ends of this link,” she said. “If we’re lucky, we can get it to do it auto-magically.” She pointed to a slow-flashing yellow indicator. “It’s polling, looking for its mate.” She pointed to a button on the top edge. “If you press and hold that button, it’ll look for another device that’s also polling. We don’t want it to find just any device in the neighborhood, only the one in the garage. What I want you do to is go out there, then press this button on that unit and hold it until the light turns solid green or I come out.”

  “Press the button. Hold it until the light turns green.”

  She nodded. “If it turns green, meet me at the van.”

  “If?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Never know. Usually it works. Sometimes not.” She raised her eyebrows. “Good?”

  “Good,” he said. He left the closet, made his way into the garage, and pressed the button, holding it down. Nothing happened for several long moments. The yellow light just kept up its slow blink, blink, blink. Then the green blinked and stayed. He released the button and headed for the van.

  Just as he reached the back of the vehicle Sam showed up and pulled the back doors open. Roger spotted a collection of boxes: a few commercial packages with bright printing and pictures, and a couple of brown corrugated pieces.

  “Lemme lock the barn,” he said.

  She nodded and continued lining up the boxes at the doors of the van.

  He glanced down at the cars, just to make sure they hadn’t transformed into cardboard cutouts or something. He chuckled to himself and locked the garage. “The cable guy said we needed to secure the router, too.”

  “Yeah. We’ll do that from the inside so we’re not locked out ourselves. Here.” She thrust four smallish boxes into his hands before pulling out a computer bag and looping it over her shoulder. She grabbed a flat box with the picture of a sleek, black laptop on it. “I figured we could start in the kitchen and make sure the network comes up. There’s more room there than in your quarters. Once we have the network, you can fire up your own machine and work through the set-up process while we get Mr. Shackleford’s unit installed.”