Off to Be the Wizard (16 page)

Martin stopped, and in his calmest, most serious voice said, “Your son will be fine.” He followed Donald Senior out the back door.

As Mr. Melick opened the back door a hot wind blew in. As they stepped out of the house, the wind was strong enough to make walking difficult. The wind seemed to be coming from the shed, along with horrible growling, howling noises. Every crack in the shed’s structure seemed to ooze a harsh, red light. Under the other sounds you could just make out both Phillip and Bishop Galbraith yelling, the priest in Latin, Phillip in Esperanto. Mr. Melick stopped for a moment, shielding his eyes from the wind and light, then he ran into the wind toward the shed.

Martin shouted, “Wait! Wait! Let me go first!”

Donald Senior jerked the shed door open, and for a moment he was blinded. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Donald Junior floating in the middle of the shed, a full foot off the ground. He seemed to be struggling mightily. His limbs were flailing. Red light was coming from his eyes, nose and mouth. He was throwing his head around as if he was yelling, but the only sound was an inhuman, animal roaring. He was enveloped in a glowing energy field coming from Phillip’s staff. Bishop Galbraith held his crucifix toward the boy. A beam of white light shot from the crucifix, hitting the boy in the heart. All three of them looked at the door as if they were caught doing something naughty. They saw Donald senior frozen in terror. The whole world seemed to pause for a moment, except Martin, who gently took the jug from Donald Senior’s hand and stepped well back.

Donald senior gasped, “Son?”

The red light dissipated from the boy’s eyes, nose, and mouth. He saw the concern in his father’s face. He said, “Dad!” Then, the red light came back, the boy opened his mouth and projectile vomited with enough force to cover the distance between father and son without a single globule hitting the ground. Mr. Melick tried to run, sliding on the muck with which he was drenched. He ran straight for the back door of the house. He darted inside, and as the door slammed shut behind him, Martin heard the sound of four women shrieking.

The priest lowered his crucifix. The beam of white light did not lower with it. “Well, that went better than expected,” he asked.

As Martin came into the shed and closed the door, Phillip said, “Fino program,” and all of the mystical light and sound faded away. Donald Junior gently lowered to the floor.

Martin looked at a patch of the fake vomit that had splashed off of Donald Senior. He looked at Phillip. “Stew?” he said.

Phillip shrugged. “It’s what Monty Python uses.”

Bishop Galbraith took the platter from Martin. “Well done, everybody,” he said. “Particularly you lads. You both did well for your first exorcism. Now we move on to the most important part.” Phillip took four of the pieces of fire wood that passed for furniture and arranged them in a rough diamond in the floor. Then he took three more pieces, and arranged them in a triangle pattern inside the larger diamond. Bishop Galbraith placed the platter on top of the triangle, and put the jug of cider on the platter. The Bishop sat on one of the four chunks of wood that formed the diamond. He beckoned Donald Junior to sit opposite him, and Martin to sit to his right. Phillip sat to the Bishop’s left and removed his hat. He reached into his hat and one by one produced four drinking glasses.

“The Bishop and I are now going to teach the two of you,” Phillip said, reaching into his hat one last time, “how to play Pinochle.” Phillip pulled a deck of cards out of the hat.

Chapter 18.

“If you’re going to make macros and use the shell,” Phillip said, “I suppose you’ll need a computer you can do real work on, not that
phone
that has more computational memory than every computer at MIT the year I graduated combined. Perhaps you should pop back to your time and get your computer.”

“I can’t,” Martin said. “The last time I saw it, it was being dismantled by federal agents.”

“And it only took you a week to get into that much trouble?” Phillip asked.

“All the trouble happened in the last two days. I spent the days leading up to that setting myself up for failure.”

“Preparation is the key to success, or, in this case, the opposite,” Phillip said. “I guess you’ll have to get a new computer.”

“Drat. I do hate buying brand new computers,” Martin said in a sarcastic monotone.

“I know, right? It’s just a burden you’ll have to bear,” Phillip responded in kind.

Martin opened the settings dialog on the smartphone app. It felt like he had lived a lifetime since he created it. Back then it had seemed like an unnecessary detail to allow himself the ability to change where and when the phone was broadcasting from on the fly, but now he was glad he had gone to the trouble. He set the phone’s time for a week before he fled his own time, applied the new settings, and opened the Amazon.com app.

Walter and Margarita Banks stood in their living room, trying to understand what was happening. Their son Martin was acting very strangely, there were sirens blaring from their yard, and someone had just pounded rather insistently on the front door. They looked at the door, then looked at each other, then looked at Martin when he stuck his head out of his bedroom door and said, “Hi. Just checking, what’s the capital of England?”

Margarita answered, “London.” Martin slammed the door shut again.

Whoever was pounding on the front door yelled, “We are federal agents! Open this door immediately!” Walter went to open the door, but only made it a step before Martin burst out of his bedroom again.

“Don’t open the door! Not yet!” Martin said.

Walter froze.

“Have any packages been delivered for me?”

“Yes. You got two boxes from Amazon yesterday. They’re in the kitchen,” Margarita replied.

“Awesome!” Martin said, almost singing as he ran to the kitchen. Then he stopped. “Wait, what? Two boxes?”

His mother pointed at the floor next to the back door, and there were two boxes from Amazon. Martin could tell from the shape of the boxes which one he had ordered. The second box was a mystery.

The voice from beyond the front door shouted, “Open this door or we will break it down!” Martin decided he’d leave the mystery box for another time. He picked up his order and ran back to his room.

“What kind of trouble are you in, Son?” Walter asked.

“No trouble, Dad. Everything’s cool. Just don’t open the door yet!” Martin said as casually as he could as he ran back into his room and slammed the door behind him.

Martin rematerialized in the crystal ball room of Phillip’s shop hugging his Amazon.com box to his chest. Phillip had explained that transporting anything too large was a risky proposition. Large objects are usually just a collection of small objects held together by glue, screws, or clips, which are themselves just smaller objects. “More than one wizard has filled a suitcase with stuff, teleported, and materialized holding nothing but a handle.”

“So keep it small?” Martin had said.

“Yes, and just to be safe, try to hug it when you teleport. Surround the item as best you can with your limbs. Make more than one trip if you must.”

So hug the box Martin had, and the box seemed to make the trip just fine. Martin’s favorite part of buying a new computer was unboxing and setting up the system for the first time. This time it was even better because he was experiencing it through Phillip’s eyes, a man from 1984. The most advanced piece of hardware Phillip had ever seen, aside from Martin’s phone, was Gary’s 1994 Apple PowerBook. When Martin un-boxed the brand new 2012 laptop that looked like it was carved from a single billet of aluminum, Phillip looked like his head was going to explode. Martin couldn’t help smiling as Phillip read the specifications on the side of the box, his lips moving slightly as if he were a linguist trying to read the Rosetta Stone.

Phillip shook his head. “I understand all of these specs, but the numbers are all so large, I don’t know what any of it means. What on earth can a person do with four gigabytes of RAM?”

“Upgrade it immediately,” Martin answered.

Martin was delighted to see that the laptop had shipped with a partial charge on the battery, so Martin was able to boot it up and show Phillip how modern operating systems worked, how high-definition movies looked, what 3D games were, and how fast the computer could perform tasks. Phillip was visibly grateful, and insanely jealous.

“I could maybe get you one, if you want,” Martin offered.

Phillip sighed. “No, I wouldn’t know how to use it. I’d best stick with my Commodore. I’ll be able to get my own eventually, if I wait around long enough. That’s the beauty of being immortal. You learn to appreciate delayed gratification.”

Instead of learning the shell’s scripting language, they spent the rest of that day setting up and optimizing Martin’s new computer. Thanks to the shell, it was much easier to find the new laptop’s entry in the file. All Phillip had to do was point at it and say
Statistikoj
and the entry came up on the Commodore 64’s screen.

“
Statistikoj
? that means ‘statistics,’ doesn’t it?’ Martin asked.

“Yup.”

“Does Esperanto ever remind you of Pig Latin?”

“Yes. By the way, Esperanto for Pig Latin is
porko latina
.”

They set the laptop’s battery to constantly be full, like Martin’s phone. For internet access Martin simply used Wi-Fi to tether the laptop to his phone so he could access the phone’s 4G connection, a process that thoroughly confounded Phillip. Martin patiently talked Phillip through it as they went. He enjoyed playing teacher to Phillip’s student, instead of the other way around.

The next morning, after a bowl of breakfast stew, they set up the laptop on the table in Phillip’s house and settled in to get access to the shell. The shell was hosted redundantly on many corporate and government servers, just like the file itself. Because they knew what to search for, they found what they were looking for pretty fast. They downloaded a version of the shell interface that was designed for Windows XP. It was badly outdated from Martin’s point of view, but it worked in emulation, and was stable. The interface had large, cartoonish icons Martin could use to access the raw file, a sandbox for creating new powers and effects, a library of pre-existing powers and effects, and a graphical interface for combining them and assigning a trigger. Phillip was explaining how to stack several effects to create the illusion of a single, unified effect when Martin felt a sudden chill.

“Perfect timing, as always,” Phillip groaned.

“Huh! I’ve got goose bumps.” Martin said.

“Yes, so have I. Sit back, kiddo. You’re about to see a textbook example of how many different effects can be layered to make an impression on your audience. In this case, to give the impression that the wizard is trying far too hard to impress.”

A breeze blew through the room, seeming to blow inward from all four of the walls, converging on a point in the middle of the room. The wind formed a small whirlwind, which grew and darkened as more dust – far more than had been in the room to begin with – was drawn into the vortex. All light in the room dimmed until it looked like midnight in the dead of winter, rather than a sunny fall morning. As the light died, a glow emanated from the whirlwind, which was now the size of a man. There was a deafening sound, like a gas truck exploding but played in reverse, then the room was filled with nothing but white light and silence.

As Martin’s eyes adjusted he saw a marble statue of an impressive wizard where the whirlwind had been. The statue held its staff aloft with its muscular left arm. Its equally muscular right arm was flexing mightily with its hand at head height, gripping a tiny, brilliant white star as if it were a softball. The statue’s square jaw was set, and its facial expression spoke of a serene confidence and a terrible purpose. The statue’s flowing hair was blown back as if it was standing directly in front of a fan. The light in the statue’s hand pulsed orange, sending out a shock wave of fire that filled the room. Martin instinctively covered his face with his arms. Phillip did not flinch. As the shockwave dissipated, the marble burned away to ash, which fell but seemed to disappear before it hit the floor. As the ash crumbled away, it left behind a real wizard in the same pose. The arms were thinner. The jaw was weaker. The hair was limper. It was; however, the same wizard. His robes were a deep emerald green with gold trim. His staff was black, and as shiny as a piano. The figurehead was a small blue electric plasma ball, like teenage guys bought from mall novelty shops in the late 80s. In an amplified voice with too much reverb, the wizard said, “Be not a-feared! I, Merlin, have appeared!”

Phillip groaned, then said, “Hello, Jimmy,” without enthusiasm. “Would it kill you to knock?”

Jimmy smiled. “Hello, Phillip. Lovely to see you! I apologize for not knocking, but as you know, I put a lot of effort into my entrance.”

“Clearly.”

“Yes, and the whole effect would be spoiled if it was preceded by me meekly knocking on the door and asking if anyone was home. It wouldn’t be nearly as impressive, now would it?”

“Do I look impressed now?” Phillip asked.

“Why no, dear fellow, you never look impressed. That’s part of your charm.”

“What if, instead of knocking, you made three sonic booms, in the cadence of a person knocking?” Martin asked. “Then you could wait for an answer.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “That’s a genuinely good idea! You must be this apprentice I’ve heard so much about. Pleased to meet you. You can call me Merlin.”

Phillip muttered, “Or you can call him Jimmy, which is his name.”

“Yes, thank you, Phillip. I must say, Martin, I’d heard you were clever. Lots of people tell me their ideas, but I rarely hear one I like. I’m impressed!”

“Yes,” Phillip added. “Someday, when your ears are bleeding because you’re being subjected to
shave and a haircut
played in sonic booms, you’ll know you have yourself to thank.”

Jimmy and Martin shook hands. Jimmy had a firm grip and a dry hand. He grasped Martin’s right elbow with his left hand as they shook. He leaned in close to Martin’s right ear, and quietly enough that Phillip couldn’t hear, but without whispering, asked, “Is Phillip treating you all right, Martin? Is he teaching you what you need to know? He’s not making you do all of his housework or anything, is he, Martin?”

“No,” Martin replied quietly. “He’s great! We’re getting along fine.”

“Good, Martin,” Jimmy said, still shaking Martin’s hand, leaning in close and almost whispering into his ear. “If there are any problems, Martin, I want you to contact me. Will you do that, Martin?”

Before Martin could answer, both he and Jimmy were startled by Phillip leaning in very close to Martin’s other ear and grasping Martin’s left shoulder. “Martin,” Phillip said, in hushed tones, “Is Jimmy acting creepy, Martin? Is he making lots of physical contact, Martin, and murmuring directly into your ear-hole? Martin, is he saying your name, Martin, much more often than any sane person would, Martin? Martin, it’s almost as if he read a book on how to cruise chicks at a discotheque and, Martin, realized he could apply those lessons to everyone he met, isn’t it, Martin? Martin, Martin, Martin?”

If Martin had been farther from Jimmy’s face he’d have missed the look of irritation that quickly changed to a surprisingly genuine expression of amused good grace. Jimmy released Martin’s arm and took a step back, laughing lightly and spreading his arms in a friendly, expansive gesture. “Now, Phillip, if you’re not careful, you’re going to give Martin the impression that we don’t get along.”

“We don’t!” Phillip said, clenching his fists.

Jimmy quite deliberately looked confused. “Phillip, I’ve always gotten along with you just fine.”

“Yes, Jimmy, you get along with me, but I don’t get along with you, partly because you don’t recognize that the word
we
refers to more than just you.”

Jimmy laughed. “Oh, Phillip, you are a pistol.”

“I wish.”

After a profoundly uncomfortable silence, Jimmy said, “Well, I have other stops today. I’m out making the rounds, checking on projects.” He looked directly at Phillip. “The chairman’s work is never done.”

“We won’t keep you,” Phillip replied.

“No, you won’t,” Jimmy said, initiating a second handshake with Martin. “If I can be any help, don’t hesitate to ask. You’ll be a fine addition to our community, Martin, I can tell.”

Jimmy raised his staff above his head. Wind blew inward from the perimeter of the room again, converging on Jimmy, blowing his hair and making his robe flap like a flag. Jimmy spoke, but now his voice was louder, fuller, more epic. “And don’t worry about the trials, Martin. If you do, you’ll psych yourself out and fail, and that would be very bad!” The whirlwind converged and coalesced around Jimmy. There was a blinding light, a loud noise, and then silence. An idealized marble statue of Jimmy stood where the real thing had been, then it crumbled into ashes that disintegrated before they hit the ground. When the dust cleared all that was left was a scorch mark on the spot where Jimmy had stood. The scorch was in the shape of an M inside a pentagram.