Hamilton Swoop, Wizard of Green Ridge (17 page)

"Come over here,” Hamilton called to the men.

They arrived and the taller of the two spoke, “Twelve foot deep, it is. Now where's our money? Seven royals each. Five fer the hole and two fer the waitin'."

Hamilton examined the pit. “A fine hole it is. Now fill it in."

The shorter of the two looked at Hamilton incredulously. “Fill it in? Are you daft? We just spent hours digging it."

"And, as I said, you did a fine job. First rate. And if you can get it filled in within the next thirty minutes, you each get ten royals instead of seven."

The tall man looked at Hamilton suspiciously. “Let's see the money first."

Hamilton produced four five royal coins from his purse. “Five now and five when you're done.” He gave each man a coin.

The tall man examined the coin. “It's real, Boff. Come on, let's get this thing filled in and get paid before they come an’ take this guy to the loony bin."

While the men were pushing the dirt back into the hole, Hamilton ambled over to where Thalia stood. “You did well."

Thalia smiled up at him. “I'm glad that you're back and safe, but I don't understand. What's going on? Dig a hole. Fill it in. Why? Were you testing me?

"Testing you?” Hamilton was about to explain everything to her, but her last question reminded him of Topaz's actions. “No, what you did was necessary. Absolutely necessary. All will be revealed soon enough, but right now, I'm exhausted and am in desperate need of sleep. You must be tired too. Have you been up all night?"

"Uh huh. After Boff and Mildew finished digging the hole, they wouldn't let me leave ‘til they got paid."

"Did they harm or threaten you?” A bead of anger raised Hamilton's voice.

"No. They weren't mean to me or anything like that. I could have paid them with the money you left with me, but if I had, I fear that they would not have remained."

"Well, then I'm proud of you. Believe me when I tell you that there was a very good reason for all of this."

After another two hours passed, Boff and Mildew, both drenched in sweat, joined Hamilton and Thalia. “All done,” Boff said.

Hamilton walked to where the hole had been, followed by the two men. They had done a good job and only a small mound indicated that anything had been done there. “Excellent, gentlemen. Here's the rest of your pay."

They accepted the coins and then Boff spoke. “I still thinks yer a bit crazy, mister, but anytime ya wants a hole dug again, jes look us up. Come on, Dewie, let's git outta here.” And with that, the two headed back towards the city.

Hamilton returned to Thalia. “Time we left too.” He mounted Bethesda and then stretched out his arm to Thalia and hauled her up to sit behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist with her chest pressed hard against his back. Bethesda trudged though the mud in the direction of the inn while Hamilton breathed in the lingering sent of Thalia's sandalwood.

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Hamilton awoke with Whiskers’ tail tickling his nose. “Get your ass out of my face. What time is it?"

What's time?

Hamilton considered trying to explain the concept of linear time to the cat, but instead glanced up at the clock on the wall. It read 2:30. Sunlight streamed in the window. For a moment, he was disoriented until he remembered that he had been up all night.

He climbed out of bed and, still in his night shirt, stalked out into the main room. Thalia was asleep on the sofa. He considered letting her sleep for a while longer, but Whiskers followed him in and exclaimed,
You said that you'd get me something special to eat.

Thalia stirred having heard the cat as well.

"Yes, I suppose that I did. What would you like?"

Cow. Raw.

Thalia sat up on the sofa. She brushed a few dark strands of hair from her face.

Hamilton looked at her. How could someone wake up looking so beautiful? “Beef for the cat then, what would you like, my dear?"

She yawned covering her mouth with her hand. “I don't know. It doesn't matter. All the food here is good."

"Breakfast or dinner?” asked Hamilton.

"A bit of each, I guess. What time is it?"

"Mid-afternoon. Let me go put some clothes on and I'll go downstairs and put in an order."

In the lobby, Thackeray worked the desk. Hamilton ordered the food. When he turned to return to his room, the manager called, “Master Citrine, I received a message for you but, since you came in so early this morning, I didn't want to disturb you.

Hamilton strode back to the counter. “I appreciate that."

Thackeray reached into one of the small cubby holes behind the counter and retrieved a small brown envelope. He handed it to Hamilton.

Hamilton examined it. His name was written on it in block letters, but that was all. “Who delivered it?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. Roscoe accepted it and the one who delivered it was gone by the time I took over this morning. I could wake Roscoe and find out if you wish."

"No. That won't be necessary.” Hamilton headed back to his room.

By the time he returned, Thalia had combed her hair and changed her clothes. If anything she looked even better and thoughts crossed Hamilton's mind that he hadn't felt in years. He scolded himself for being a dirty old man and let the thoughts slip away.

"Food will be up in a few minutes,” he said, still gazing at Thalia.

What's that?

"What's what?"

The envelope
.

"Oh, it's a message someone left for me."

Well?

Hamilton tore open the envelope and extracted a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and read aloud, “You are in danger. The Assassin's Guild has received a contract to do you in. It is a silver contract.” There was no signature.

Who did you cross, Old Man?

"No one that I'm aware of unless..."

Unless what?

"Well, when I was in Green Ridge, I had a disagreement with a Guild assassin, but that wouldn't merit a silver contract. Besides, all Assassins Guilds are autonomous. What happens in Green Ridge ... well, stays there."

"What's a silver contract?” Thalia asked.

"It means that the assassin either accomplishes the contract or he forfeits his life."

"But that's terrible. You have no protection here. You must hire bodyguards."

"And who's to say that the bodyguards won't be the assassins?” Hamilton flopped down into a chair. “No. Bodyguards would only get in the way, but who ever runs the Assassins Guild has made a bad mistake."

Why's that?

"One Guild does not attack a member of another Guild. It may be an unwritten law, but I have never heard of it being broken."

"Why not?"

"Because no one in their right mind would want to start a Guild war.” Hamilton dropped the note and envelope on the floor.

Thalia asked, “Who do you think sent the note?"

"I've got an idea. I don't know a whole lot of people here. Actually, I don't know anyone though I've met a few. As to who paid for the contract—if it's real, I'd be willing to venture a guess that he wears a black cloak."

"Master Topaz!"

"Or whatever his real name is but yes, that would be my guess as well. However, if that's true, perhaps he isn't as great a wizard as Diamond seems to believe. That's at least some good news, but he is a wizard. I felt what he did to my wards. He does have the talent."

A knock at the door. Hamilton got up, made a magical hand gesture and then, satisfied, said, “It's Roscoe with the food.” He let Roscoe and his cart into the room.

As Roscoe wheeled the cart in, Hamilton asked, “Who delivered that note for me this morning?"

"I'm sorry, Master, but I did not recognize the man. He just gave me the envelope and left without saying a word."

"That's OK. Here.” Hamilton gave the boy a royal. “If anyone, I mean anyone, asks about me or is just seen loitering around the hotel, I want to know about it. Moreover, please tell Mr. Thackeray that he is not to give out my room number to anyone."

"Yes, Sir,” acknowledged the boy. “It there something wrong, sir?"

"Apparently, someone has contracted with the local Assassins Guild to have me removed. Nothing I can't handle. Now, off with you."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Roscoe left.

Nothing you can't handle, huh? You sure about that?

Hamilton shook his head. “No. Jump up here, cat,” Hamilton indicated the top of the food cart.

I prefer mine down here.

"And I'll give you your food down there, but first, I want you to smell and taste everything on this cart. Your nose is better than mine."

Prettier too. What if I refuse?

"Then I'll get a dog. A big dog. They have a better sense of smell, are more loyal, and they don't talk back."

Okay. No problem, boss,
Whiskers said in mid leap.
But if I die, I swear I'll come back to haunt you.

Whiskers sniffed. Everything passed her sniff test until she came to a bowl of broccoli.
I wouldn't eat this if I were you.

Thalia's forehead wrinkled. “Is it poisoned?"

Poisoned?
Whiskers sniffed it again and made a face which was quite a challenge for a cat.
No. I don't think so. It just stinks, but then I'm not big on vegetables.

Thirty minutes later Hamilton and Thalia were on the street. The late afternoon sun had dried most of the puddles left from the previous night's rains. Hamilton debated with himself over wearing the green cloak, but he decided against it. Whatever protection it afforded would be countered by the fact that it made him an obvious target. Before leaving the inn, he placed several protection spells on both himself and the girl and sent a snooper spell to orbit about them.

They headed in the direction of the newspaper. Thalia moved in fits and starts, her eyes darting everywhere at once. Hamilton looked down at her. “Don't worry. Relax. The contract is on my head, not yours."

"But the assassin might just kill us both."

"Not very likely. If the assassin kills me, the police won't touch him. A contract is a contract. But, if the assassin should kill a bystander, well, that's murder and even the Guild won't protect him."

They approached the newspaper. “Then why did you put protection spells on me?"

"Because I can't assume that the chosen assassin is either ethical or competent. Only the very talented or the very desperate would accept a silver contract."

They arrived at the Norkon Gazetteer. The door was unlocked and they went in. The boy, Stanley, was nowhere to be seen. Corey, the editor, leaned over a large table bundling some papers.

He looked up when they entered. “You look familiar.” Then he noticed Thalia who had stepped out from behind Hamilton. “And you. I never forget a good pair of ... er, eyes."

Then he looked at Hamilton more closely. “You the wizard's kid?"

"No. I'm the wizard."

"But you don't look..."

"I thought you said that you never forgot a good pair of ... eyes? Did you forget mine or aren't mine a good pair?

"Yours are fine.” Corey's forehead dampened. Then to Thalia, “Sorry, missy. No offense meant."

"None taken, sir."

"Ahem.” Hamilton drew Corey's attention back to him. “You sent me a note."

"I don't know what you're talking about. What note?"

"The one about the Guild."

"I wouldn't send anything about the Guild. They'd kill me.” The damp forehead was now wet.

"Why would the Wizard's Guild kill you?"

"The Wizard's Guild? No the...” and Corey realized that he had just put his foot in his mouth. “Pune."

"Watch it, there's a lady present.” The editor's face was now wet and flushed.

"Listen, I just dropped by to thank you, not to pump you for more information. I know the rules. You say anything about the Guild, like exposing a contract, and you die. So relax. That's one I owe you. What I really came for was to find out if you've received any response to the wanted posters you published."

Corey breathed a sigh of relief and the frowned. “Nary a word. Want me to up the offer?"

"No. That won't be necessary. The offer for the cylinder is withdrawn; however, the one for Master Topaz still stands."

"Er, if it wouldn't be too nosey on my part. How is it that you look so much younger? I mean, damn. Uh, sorry, miss, but you look, well, a lot different."

"There are some advantages to being a wizard, and no, you can't print it."

Corey looked crestfallen. “But its news."

"Perhaps, but it will be bad news for you if I see a word in print. Listen, Hendrick, you know that I'm working on eliminating the dragon, right?"

The editor nodded.

"Well, in order to do it, I need a low profile. How about this? You keep me out of print for now and when I finish my job, you get an exclusive interview. Fair?"

"Fair.” Corey grinned, then added, “You know I can't tell you that the one that's after you is Zip Cardin, right?"

Hamilton grinned. “Right. Because that could get you in big trouble. That's two I owe you."

"Just get rid of that dragon and we'll call it even."

"I don't know if I care for that man,” Thalia said after they left the shop. “I don't trust his eyes."

"He's a lecher, but I think that he's trustworthy. After all, he risked his life to let me know about this Zip Cardin. Who the hell is Zip Cardin, anyway?"

Thalia's brows furrowed in thought for a moment. “Like all Guild assassins, he doesn't officially exist, but I remember hearing about him while I was growing up. An old man I knew used to tell us stories to frighten us. Zip was the unofficial bogey man. ‘If yer bad, Zip's gonna git cha’ he would say. People say Cardin's responsible for more than a hundred assassinations, but I'm sure that the number was exaggerated. Pretty sure, anyway."

"So he's a pro, huh?” Hamilton steered them toward the bakery shop.

"Yes, but he's been around for a long time. Maybe age has dulled his edge."

"I wouldn't count on it. I was old last week and I still had my edge, but maybe it will slow him down a bit. Come on, I want to see young Mr. Beaumont before he closes his shop."