Off to Be the Wizard Page 15

  “Which bastards?” the priest asked.

  Phillip said, “Uh, I think he means The Bastards, they’re sort of a gang. Only the leader Kludge and a few of his buddies are really scary. Most of them are just kids who hang out playing and listening to bad music.”

  Finally, Mrs. Melick asked Bishop Galbraith and Phillip, “What do you think? Is our Donnie possessed by a demon?”

  Martin shook his head. Bishop Galbraith said, “Yes. I’m certain of it. Your boy is host to a demon.”

  Martin had expected as much. When Phillip opened his mouth, Martin anticipated an argument.

  Phillip said, “I agree.”

  The shed was about thirty yards behind the main house. It looked small and leaky. Mr. Melick led the priest and the two wizards across the yard, past an impeccably-manicured vegetable garden, to the shed. When they arrived, Mr. Melick abruptly opened the door.

  A voice from inside the shed yelled, “I told you to knock!”

  Mr. Melick yelled back, “And I told you it’s my bloody shed and my bloody door, and I don’t need nobody’s permission to open it. Stand up straight, boy. You got visitors.”

  Donnie came to the door. He had lank, greasy hair and an impressive collection of blemishes. His general bearing said that he didn’t want to see anybody.

  Mr. Melick invited Martin, Phillip, and Bishop Galbraith into the shed over his son’s protests. He started to come in as well, but Bishop Galbraith stopped him.

  “What transpires within these walls is not for your eyes.”

  “Why not? They’re my walls, and the boy is my son!”

  Bishop Galbraith was firm. “We cannot proceed if you remain here. Terrible forces will be unleashed. If you stayed, you would see things you could never forget, things that would shake you to your very core.”

  Donald Senior turned to go back into the house, but stopped after one step. He turned back to face Bishop Galbraith. His eyes softened and his eyebrows arched, making him look both concerned and puzzled. “You … you lot aren’t going to hurt my boy, are you? Look, I know what I said, and I meant every word. I don’t want to be so hard, but it’s a hard world, and I … I don’t want to see him hurt.”

  The Bishop put a reassuring hand on Donald Senior’s shoulder. “I give you my word; we will not hurt the boy. Now, please leave us to it. Go back to your home and keep the ladies in there as well. We’ll let you know when it’s over.”

  Phillip made a show of producing a jar of mystery dust from his hat and then sprinkling the dust on the ground in front of the shed. Then he waved the figure made of sticks in his left hand and the dead frog in his right. Mr. Melick watched for a moment, shook his head and went into the house, shutting the door behind him. The Bishop turned to Phillip and said, “Please see to it that we’re not disturbed.” Phillip dropped the frog and the stick figure on the ground. He walked to the nearest exterior corner of the shed, put his back to the corner, took three large paces, planted his staff firmly on the ground and said, “Nevidebla barilo timiga.” He then walked the perimeter of the shed, maintaining his distance, and every few yards planting his staff again. When he had walked a full lap of the shed, he planted the staff again and repeated, “Nevidebla barilo timiga.” Martin understood that Phillip had created a boundary of some sort. He asked if it would hurt anyone who tried to cross it.

  “Heavens, no,” Phillip said. “The shed will glow and they’ll hear a random combination of screaming, growling, and chanting. The closer they get to the shed, the louder and brighter it will get.” He told the Bishop it was done, and they all went back into the shed, closing the door behind them.

  From the outside, the shed looked tiny, but it felt noticeably larger on the inside. It helped that it was practically empty. There was a pile of straw in the corner that served as a bed. There were some stout, roundish chunks of firewood that served as seats, Martin guessed. The boy’s meager possessions, a knife and a candle, were on a broad, flat hunk of firewood that was acting as a bedside table. Along one wall, two chunks of firewood supported a rough wooden plank, on which there were a couple of interesting looking carved pieces of wood. Martin figured that firewood served the same purpose as stolen milk crates or mail bins in his friends’ bachelor apartments back in his own time. Martin felt at home in the shed. It was like a modern teenage boy’s room, only much more flammable. The boy, Donnie, had retreated to his pile of straw, folding up his arms and legs in an attempt to disappear. He looked out at his unwelcome guests through a screen of his own greasy hair.

  “Hello, Donnie. It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry about the circumstances,” Bishop Galbraith started.

  The boy grunted.

  The priest continued. “I don’t know if you’ve met Phillip or his apprentice. They’re wizards.”

  The boy’s eyes flicked quickly to Phillip and Martin. He grunted again.

  “Mind if we sit?” The priest asked.

  “You’re gonna anyway.” The boy said, in a surprisingly deep voice.

  “No. This is your home, and we won’t sit until you invite us to.”

  They all stood in silence for a few moments, then the boy said, “Sit if you want. I don’t care.”

  The three men each found a piece of wood and had a seat. They sat in a vague triangle, the Bishop closest to the boy, Phillip behind the Bishop on his right and Martin slightly further back to the left. Once they were all sitting, there was another silence, which was broken by the boy.

  “They think I have a demon. Do you think I have a demon?”

  The Priest turned and looked at Phillip, then looked at Martin. Phillip nodded. Martin looked confused.

  “No, Donnie,” the priest said, “I don’t think you’re possessed. I think you have a father who forces the land to give him what he wants, and thinks he can force his family to do the same. I think you have three sisters who all think they’re your mother. I think your mother loves you dearly, and sees that you’re a good lad but there’s only so much she can do because she’s in the same family you are. I think you’d be happy to do your chores if they’d just leave you alone to do them. You’d likely spend more time with your family if they let you decide when. You’d probably tell them what you’re thinking if they didn’t constantly pester you to, then punish you for it when you do.”

  The boy said nothing. He just glared at the priest, not moving a muscle.

  “Do I have it right?” The priest asked.

  The boy blinked, then lunged forward. He seized the priest in a bear hug, and started sobbing violently, gibbering unintelligibly. Eventually he lost momentum and let go of the priest. Instead of going back to his pile of straw, he cleared off his end table and used it as a stool. He slumped sullenly and talked for a long time. He talked about his parents, his sisters, the other people in the village who were his age. The Bastards. Kludge’s frightening personal habits. Girls, he talked a lot about girls. Finally, he ran out of steam.

  Bishop Galbraith said, “Here’s the deal. That lot back in the house thinks you have a demon. We’re going to convince them we rid you of it. We’re going to tell them that they have to make the shed more comfortable, and knock before they come in. We’re going to tell them to tread lightly with you for a while, leave you alone if that’s what you want. But we need you to promise to make an effort to be nice to your family. It’s hard, but it will make your life easier. Any time you need to talk, you can come to me or Phillip. Tell your family that you’re thinking of becoming a wizard or a priest. They’ll like that.”

  “Can I become a wizard?” The boy asked.

  “No,” Phillip said, “sorry. You’re either born with it or you’re not. Your parents don’t know that, though.”

  “Can I become a priest?”

  “No,” Bishop Galbraith said, to Martin’s surprise, “Not yet, at least. In a few years, if you s
till want that, we can talk, but you’re too young to make that decision now.”

  Phillip rubbed his hands together. “Now that that’s all settled, it’s time for the fun part.”

  Bishop Galbraith chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is. Shall I go, or do you think your apprentice is ready to help?”

  “Oh, I fully trust him to do his part,” Phillip said. “He’ll probably be better at it than you or I.”

  Donald Junior was not comfortable with the direction the conversation was going. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m kind of wondering about that myself,” Martin said.

  “We’ll explain,” Phillip said.

  Bishop Galbraith turned back to Donald Junior. He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s knee. “Donald, the next five minutes will be very unpleasant. I think you’ll enjoy it!”

  Donald Junior’s family was sitting on their benches, looking concerned when Martin burst in the back door. He looked like he was barely staving off panic. Everyone else turned to face him, but Mrs. Melick rose instantly to her feet. Martin looked frantically around the room.

  “What do you need, lad?” Mrs. Melick asked.

  Martin darted around the room, clearly hunting for something he couldn’t find. “We need a plank, a platter. Something broad and flat. The Bishop needs it for his sacraments.”

  “Kitty!” Mrs. Melick snapped, “Fetch the good platter.” The girl seemed too stunned to move.

  “GO!” Jan Melick said, and Kitty leapt up from the bench and ran to the kitchen, which was really just a well-organized corner of the main room. “What else do you need?”

  Martin squeezed his eyes shut and wiggled his fingers in an attempted to dislodge the information stuck in his brain. “Aah, ummm. JUICE! Or cider, or something like that! My master says the boy will need something to drink. Something nourishing that will give him back his strength.”

  “We have a jug of cider, but it’s gone a bit hard.”

  “That will do.” Martin said.

  “Cider’s not cheap, you know,” Mr. Melick said.

  “It will do,” Mrs. Melick said.

  “Been saving it. Letting it harden up.” Mr. Melick said.

  “It. Will. Do.” Mrs. Melick repeated in a tone that said it would be the last time. Mr. Melick sighed heavily and told Kitty to bring the jug of cider as well.

  A moment later, Kitty had the platter (a two-foot square wooden plank painted cheerfully, with handles carved onto the ends) and an earthenware jug with a stopper in the top. Martin took the platter, but Donald Senior had hoisted himself from his bench and took possession of the jug. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “My master told you, what is happening in the shed is not for your eyes,” Martin said.

  “No, your master said very little, and it’s a good thing, because I didn’t invite him here. The Father told me, and I’m not listening. It’s my shed and it’s my cider, so I’m going to see what you’re all up to!”

  Jan Melick was furious. “It’s your son, Donald!”

  “That too. Let’s go, apprentice. Time’s wasting.” Mr. Melick started toward the door. As Martin reluctantly followed him, he was stopped by Mrs. Melick’s hand on his arm. She looked Martin in the eye, and asked in a small voice, “Will he be all right?”

  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.