Chapter 10

I had wanted to be up early, to confront the elderly wizard who had assisted me yesterday evening at the Mall reflecting pond before his daily morning seminar in the courtyard, but I overslept, and didn’t regret a moment of the sack-time. It was well past eleven-thirty before I could crack open a bloodshot eye to examine the time. The shock of the lateness of the hour didn’t provide me an iota of ambition and I rolled back over without the slightest bit of regret. I was three-quarters of the way back to blissful snoring again when I felt Sean’s voice poking between my ears somewhere inside my brain.

My response was immediate, loud, and so excessively profane that I’ll decline to repeat it for any sort of posterity.

Sean hissed something like, “Get going ... he’s been waiting for you,” and somehow, rather against my body’s immediate preference for further sloth, I soon found myself sitting up in bed, and then (most grudgingly) putting one tired foot in front of the other towards the tiny bathroom of my guest room. Like everything else in the residential wing, the plumbing fixtures were old and decrepit, and I repressed a churlish urge to conduct some impromptu interior redecoration. Burning down the entire wing of the embassy would undoubtedly be a laudable achievement in the eyes of architects everywhere, but regretfully, I was short for time. It was now less than a half hour before the instructional group would break for the day at lunch and, if as Sean had insinuated, the wizard did want to confer with me, then I’d need to hurry.

I only barely had time to accomplish the three S’; a shit, quick shower, and a hatchet job that somewhat resembled a shave. Then I threw on my only pair of formal robes and took the stairs two at a time down to the lobby. With the help of the brief exercise, I began to gather at least some of my wits, and roughly sketched the outline of a mental plan involving choking the ever-loving shit out of the elderly senior conjurer until he coughed up some satisfactory answers to a half-dozen or more of my long burning questions!

My name was almost on the invitation list for the fancy dinner circuit back in Austin. Junior adepts, especially ones that are out of GWA and in private practice, like I was, don’t rate the fancy treatments. Even if invited, I never bothered attending any of the regular fancy dress shindigs, or even the Austin office annual BMA Christmas party (mostly because it always had a pay-bar) so I only owned one set of formal adept robes and I’m still not sure why I’d bothered to pack it up for this cross-country journey from hell. Not even a butler could have done much now to make this already tired garment presentable. The trip had been hard on my entire wardrobe, and this formal robe was more than a bit charred, singed, and terminally smudged from when our private rail passenger car (and my luggage) had exploded. Sean might have saved all the important stuff, like Sebestyen Dénes’ rather exceptional private booze collection, but preserving my mundane crap, like this once half-way respectable garment, had rather been a sort of afterthought, done at the last moment.

The effect was not inspiring and frankly I looked like someone who’d been clobbered about a bit and then hung up and smoked like a Virginia ham for a month or two. I looked exactly like what most of my old bosses back in Austin thought I was - an embarrassment to the entire Great Western Alliance! Looking at myself now ... I was beginning to understand their point of view.

Frankly, I didn’t much care anymore ... I was sick and tired of being constantly pissed off (and being sick and tired) and now I was going to do something about it. If my own government didn’t like it – tough! From the roof upstairs last night I could make out the Potomac River and the Atlantic Ocean not far away and I was just spitting mad enough to try and swim both bodies of water, should the necessity arise.

The primary target for my ire was there in the grassy courtyard, as usual, lecturing to a small assembly of eight junior adepts and wizards, including Miranda. When I walked out into the garden, near enough to hear the elderly wizard’s low spoken words, my young apprentice turned for a moment and saw me and gave me a faint smile, but she immediately turned her attention back to the lecture. Undoubtedly it was much more interesting than I was, so I decided to bide my time and have a seat on one of the rear benches to wait without disturbing the class.

Some of what the old fool was babbling about, the natures of the Elder Water Elementals, was actually both educational and informative ... especially since we had both dealt with one yesterday evening. The venerable old magician even reminded me of a thing or two about them that I’d quite forgotten. Well ... at least the entire morning wouldn’t be a total loss.

Really, I quietly muttered to myself, there frankly wasn’t much that I had taught Miranda during our time together that I also hadn’t hastily relearned myself! Just what the fuck had I been doing back in school? I must have been doing some studying in those younger years, because I certainly wasn’t having much luck chasing teenaged girls. There probably wasn’t a young student seated here this morning who probably couldn’t already match my entire meager accumulation of book knowledge!

This was not the sort of self-confidence I wanted to project, facing down a likely very formidable elderly wizard who’d certainly forgotten more real magic than I’d ever bothered to learn.

The lunch chime soon rang, and the gaggle of young students gathered up their notebooks and scurried off. None of them paid me even a glance of attention, as clearly I wasn’t anyone of importance to be worth the curiosity of lingering behind to hear what I wanted the grand old man for. Miranda started to stay behind and even blurted out my name before the wizard briskly (but not unkindly) interrupted her and told her to hurry along to lunch and catch up with me later. His tone suggested that it wasn’t a hint or a suggestion; the old wizard wanted our first formal meeting to be entirely private.

He patted the stone bench next to his and offered me a seat but didn’t utter a word to me. I know that game; it’s called ‘sweating out the victim’. He wanted me to speak first, and by darned I was ready to! Now that I was sitting close to him, I knew his face intimately. It had been framed in every classroom that I could remember since my meager talents were discovered at the age of eight and I started attending government schools. The old wizard was the legendary ‘Exalted’ John Muir, the former Chief Wizard for the entire GWA for at least fifty years - the top magical advisor to the Emperor himself, or was, at least until he had formally retired about three years ago, while I was still performing my mandatory military service. He’d shaved off his trademark long beard, but now, sitting next to him, I could immediately recognize him. For a retired old geezer who had to be pushing a full century and a half in age, he was certainly no decrepit shuffler.

His eyes were dark but brightly animated and focused, and this more than suggested that his mind hadn’t dulled a bit since his retirement. Really powerful wizards can do that, stretch their lives out, decades or even centuries, assuming that they can figure out the knack to it. Some can, but most can’t figure the trick out and conk out at the usual ages, like the rest of us. Wizardry is an extremely hazardous occupation to begin with and you can likely fill up an auditorium with a few hundred or more student magicians that fall by the wayside over the years for every wizard that becomes superannuated.

Seeing him, here with me right now, made quite a few things that had been irritating and puzzling me all too uncomfortably crystal clear now in hindsight.

“Why?“ I simply said, “Why did you, personally, send me off from Austin, where I was quite fat, dumb, and reasonably happy, on what must have seemed at the time as a completely wild goose chase? Everything that happened afterwards in Chicago, or in the wilds of Deseret controlled Montana, and later Cleveland, and then finally here ... right in the heart of darkness? Since the day I left my happy home and quiet private practice, I’ve hardly spent a day without some Deseret or American nutjob wizard trying to kill me and I’m starting to run out of pristine real estate that’s left for me to despoil. Then, once I finally arrived here, a small, but adventurous collection of GWA wizards also try to get rid of me as well, in particular, your head staff wizard, The Great Graham. And as for the events of last night... , I’m sure that somehow my being there at the proverbial ‘right place and the right time’ was all somehow prearranged, likely also by you, so the carnage that followed last night goes on your head too, at least as much as mine. Just tell me the fuck why?”

“Why you, you ask? The usual complaint of every poor Job or blessed saint that finds themselves living in interesting times, Why me, they all wail!” He sadly smiled, “because the Austin office knew that something utterly improbable was happening and that likely you were some sort of magical locus, the focal point for some very unusual magic. It was so obvious that even the local bureaucrats there couldn’t help but notice something was amiss.”

“And bizarre and perversely weird, even by Austin standards,” I helpfully added, with a scowl.

“Quite so,” he nodded, “and I only had to read the first parts of your career summary to know that you were something exceptional, or at least highly unusual. No less than three times in our national history the strongest combat wizard of our number, named as the Hand of the Emperor, to act solely on his behalf, has been slain by Shadow Stalkers. Caught by surprise, there are very few great wizards that can defeat one. You accomplished that feat as a simple adept, with meager abilities that your superiors attested were only barely worth the annoyance of dealing with you. Then, by every account, you banished a god from that movie theater in Austin, and an extremely powerful one that even I, in my prime, would have hesitated to deal with.”

He remained silent for a very long moment, to allow me to reflect upon that fact, before adding, “Upon further reflection, I could never have managed that feat, now or even a century ago, not without with every other wizard of the Senior Council by my side aiding me.” He stated this as simple fact, without a note of exaggeration. Already ... this wasn’t how I figured this conversation was going to go!

“Well,” I replied with some embarrassment, “as I think I wrote in my original statement at the time, there were two other magicians present that offered me their help, and both died or were at the least disembodied in the process of sealing that dimensional breech. Both ladies, Harriet and Henrietta, were very exceptional, in their own unusual ways.”

“But neither could have banished that ancient major deity or sealed that breech without you, or the help of your little hidden friend. After reading your report I was certain that you were a magical locus and I flew at once to Austin to secretly look you over with my own eyes. Not many wizards, even great ones, can see invisible things, like your Ùruisg. I can sense that he’s not with you now; he could sense that I’d already seen him for what he was and he’s gone elsewhere for the moment. As a very powerful magical locus you’re irresistible to their kind. I also think, just my opinion, that he’s likely as bound to you as you might be to him, and that whatever the fate the locus has for you, you’ll likely face it together. Whether that’s good or bad news for you, I can’t be certain or even venture a reasonable guess.”

“Sean, my Ùruisg ... the brownie,” I asked, already quite confused and my script for our discussion now entirely forgotten, “just what are they, really?”

“No one has the slightest clue,” he chuckled, “but they’re exceptionally rare, almost unique when found here on this world, and their appearance always means that something interesting and unusual is happening. In the Emperor’s own library, there is a hand-written text written by Benjamin Franklin, about the brownie that accompanied him for a great many years, several decades of companionship, in fact. Still, even when the last lines were written, that wise old wizard knew little about this rare visitor that he could swear was true. His opinion, just a guess really, was that their immensely magical race are sensitive to disruptions in other dimensions and realities, and that they act as police or firemen, to inspect and correct these magical disturbances. Entirely for motivations and reasons of their own.” He added with a bit of a laugh.

“Like procuring bacon and single malt scotch, mostly,” I muttered, “but OK, so I appeared to be the biggest bullseye that the Alliance could lay their hands on and then was pushed off towards Chicago, allegedly to be a mere consultant. But, at the time I received those orders, I was reported to be a complete burnout, without a lick of magical talent left anymore! Just what did you think, as a burnout, that I could possibly accomplish? Certainly there was a major gun-running operation there, funneling weapons to Deseret ... but this was only the small tip of a much larger iceberg of their operations up north.”

“No one running about with a brownie, even one of the much weaker ‘normal’ fae of this world, is ever a complete burnout. I was certain, when the moment of need arrived, that your powers would be at least as formidable as they were back home, perhaps much, much greater. I also noted at the time that you seem to have some sort of antique artifact melded into your arm, which possesses significant powers of its very own. I don’t think you were ever powerless, except perhaps in your mind. I was confident that your self-confidence had merely taken a very hard blow with the deaths of your friends. One of them was an old lover, true?”

“Very true,” I admitted, “I think part of her, a bit of her mind and perhaps a touch of her talent remained with me afterwards, but I’ll never be entirely sure. That whole experience dealing with the dimensional rift in the theater was extremely perplexing and surreal in a great many ways.”

“Now I do readily admit,” The old wizard grinned, “that I hoped your presence in Chicago would provide something of a spark there, but the firestorm that erupted exceeded our every expectation. Your arrival there sparked the western independence movement far more than you realize. Then, your sudden adventure in Montana and your recovery of their experimental combat car has reaped rewards far beyond the Emperor’s own personal hopes. Already, our own version of that formidable weapon is in accelerated production, so already they newest deadly weapon has been checked. If nothing else, that achievement alone has been worth all of your inconvenience!”

“The what ... the Emperor?” I blathered, already terribly confused, “Just how did he get involved in all of this?”

“Because I told him,” he casually stated, “I told him about the potential risks, that you’d find and ignite any spark of trouble that was there to be found, but that the potential rewards to us, the entire Great Western Alliance, were likely worth it. Up to and including the risk of igniting a war with both Deseret and the U.S.A., together. Yes, he knows about you and willingly allowed you to become my catspaw, dangled on a string like bait across half of North America ... and neither of us has regretted the decision.”

“Assuming that my opinion gets a vote,” I muttered, not altogether happily, “I’d have much rather remained at home. But I have to admit that the experience has been extraordinarily enlightening, in many different ways, and not just a professional study of how to turn large chunks of cities into flaming rubble. That I could managed well-enough right at home.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, “especially considering that none of our wizards had ever faced a Deseret magician of even the Third Circle and survived. Nor have any ever met those of the Second let alone their masters, the legendary wizards of the First Circle. You have faced each of those mighty perils and persevered. Sure, it was loud and perhaps a tad politically messy, at least from what I’ve heard, but you succeeded where no one else could hope to.”

“So, as a locus then, I was being used as a lightning rod, to shuttle to various trouble spots and attract attention?”

“Bluntly, yes,” he admitted, “and you handled the pressure superbly! It was under my direct orders that you now came here, to Washington. Our local Chief Wizard isn’t the bureaucratic dullard that most of the local staff thinks he is. It’s all an act that he started perfecting back when he was a schoolboy; in fact, I consider him by far my finest protégé. He was sure that local traitors here at the Embassy were lurking about in the city, scheming with our enemies. He told me of his suspicions when I arrived here about a month ago, but certain proof eluded us ... but I was certain that you, our locus, would find them – or more likely, our enemies would all panic and break concealment and scurry about madly trying to find you! So, last night you followed our prime suspect, and we, well Miranda and I, followed you ... and your invisible dragon that you acquired in Chicago.”

“So, Miranda has told you all about Trixie?” I asked with a sigh. The international magical laws are very clear on the illegality of summoning (or possessing) a dragon, and just saying ‘oopsie, I got her by accident’ wasn’t going to save my bacon.

“In full, and it was a fascinating story,” he admitted, “summoned here against her will and bound to a century of service. You defeated her, of sorts in a contest of wit and wills, and now she’s bound to you by honor, geas and convention ... and apparently friendship, as well. Regardless of the significant legal consequences, if this matter ever ends up in the International Court of Wizardry, I’ll promise to act as your defense counsel and I’m sure they’ll rule reasonably, considering the circumstances. Now, just how and where did you encounter that other, black dragon, Dragana? She’s infamous, a notorious enemy of the current government and supposedly one of the top rebel leaders for the Western Separatist movement? At least she is in her normal human form; I’ve wanted to meet her myself for at least a decade.”