Hamilton Swoop, Wizard of Green Ridge (15 page)

"Don't cha even think about it.” Hiram said. “C'mon, Izzy. Let's get outta here. It'll be late when we get to the city."

"But you didn't finish your beers,” Hamilton called to the men's backs as they hurried toward the stable. There was no reply.

Hamilton went back inside, sat down at the big deserted table and sipped his Pinky's in silence. A small smile graced his lips. The Thermite plan was taking shape.

After another bottle of Pinky's, Hamilton returned to the stable and prepared Bethesda for the second leg of their trip.
Could we go a bit faster this time?

"Faster than before? You were flying! Going faster than any race horse."

I know. It was wonderful.

"We'll see.” Hamilton mounted Bethesda and once more they headed for Green Ridge.

Along the way, Hamilton discovered two things about the speech spell that Thorn had put on his horse. While he now could communicate with it, there was little reason to do so. Whiskers’ intelligence had been moved several notches up the scale. Bethesda's had been moved up only enough for communication. In other words, though he could communicate, he had little to say beyond the scope of a normal horse.

While they flew along inches above the road, Hamilton kept an eye out for Topaz. He kept watching the road for tracks. Though Hiram and Izzy's horses’ prints were clearly visible, there were only brief indications, at long intervals, that anyone else had been on the road. As the sun started to set behind them, Hamilton and Bethesda neared the outskirts of Green Ridge. Hamilton tapped his horse with his wand and the pace slowed from super race horse to draft animal as Bethesda's hooves made contact with the ground again.

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After dropping off his horse at the stables, Hamilton strode up Dissention Boulevard to his shop. The last light of day was fading. When he arrived at his shop, he checked the wards he had placed. They were weakened, but still functioning. He looked about outside his shop for any unfriendly eyes. He noted several pair, as various people in the neighborhood watched him, but that was to be expected. There was no sign that any had particular malicious intent. A wave of his wand permitted him to enter while still maintaining the wards, but before he unlocked the door, he remembered a spell and spoke the trigger phrase. His detect spell revealed a spider web of putrescent yellow light surrounding the frame. Someone had put a rat catcher spell on it. He knew if he opened the door, the spell would be triggered and someone would be aware that he was here. Worse, there was no way to override this type of spell. He paused, trying to remember a spell that could get him in without using the door. Several came to mind, but none that would help in this circumstance as all required additional materials, which he did not have at hand.

"That you, Swoop?” came a voice from behind him.

Hamilton spun around and then relaxed when he recognized Morty Constance, the owner of Mortimer's Mortuary and House of Last Repose, located next to Hamilton's shop. “Hello, Morty. How's business?"

"Makin’ a killin’ like always,” Morty said. Then as he got a good look at Hamilton, “Cripes, Swoop, what happened to you? You look twenty years younger."

"Then I got cheated. The wizard I did the deal with promised I'd look thirty years younger."

"Well 20 or 30 years, you look great. Where ya been, anyway? Ain't seen you around for a while."

"Center City. Had some business to do there. Anything going on?"

"Not a whole lot. My business has been boomin'.” Morty scratched his head. “Come ta think of it, there was some weird lookin’ guy outside yer shop jest a couple of hours ago, though. Saw him through my window, I did. He was flailin’ his arms somethin’ fierce fer a while. After he stopped, he looked madder'n Hell."

"Weird lookin'?” asked Hamilton.

"Yeah. His face was all boney ‘n yella."

"Was he wearin’ a black cloak?

"Black cloak? That's him. Ya know him?"

Hamilton frowned. “We weren't introduced, but he came into my shop about two weeks ago."

"Disgruntled customer?"

"No, he didn't buy anything, but I learned that's he's a wizard. Bad news from what I hear."

Morty looked at Hamilton. “I hear it's not a good idea to git on the bad side of a wizard. How come he's lookin'n fer ya?"

"I don't know. He wanted to buy a trunk, but I didn't have what he was lookin’ for."

"My customers never complain.” Morty laughed. Then he looked up at the dark sky. “Anyway, I gotta get back inside. Got a funeral soon and the body's still a mess."

"Anyone I know?"

"Alice Crayven?"

"Fat Alice? From Sticky's Treats?"

"That's her. Keeled over into a vat of caramel last week. Looked like a giant candy apple by the time I got her. Well, see ya ‘round. That wizard did a great job on ya. Maybe ya could give me his name sometime."

Hamilton nodded and Morty returned to his business.

Alone once more, Hamilton turned to the door of his shop and sighed. There was no way around the rat catcher.

After planning the steps he would take, he unlocked the door and entered. He turned on the lights and went to the trunk. He dragged it to where it was beneath one of the overhead lights, opened it and peered within. The trunk was empty, as expected. The inside surfaces of the trunk were smooth and there were no runes. The inside of the lid was bare.

Hamilton waved his hand invoking a detect spell. Still nothing. “Damn,” mumbled Hamilton. Then he examined the outside of the trunk. The runes on the lock plate were glowing red from the spell, but that was all.

He walked to the wall and turned off the lights, preparing to leave. With his hand on the knob to open the door he hesitated. He moved back to the trunk and stared at it. Frustrated, he kicked the trunk with the heel of his boot and for an instant, as the edge of the trunk lifted off the floor a tiny bit, he saw a flicker of red light.

He rolled the trunk on to its side. There, on the bottom, glowing in red from the detect spell, was the fourth set of runes. These looked quite different from the other runes he had found. In addition, there were more of them, pretty much covering the bottom of the chest.

Squatting on the floor, he stared at the runes for a full minute memorizing them. Then he rose, got the hammer from his tool kit, and destroyed the base of the trunk. He picked up the pieces of broken wood and climbed the stairs to his apartment where he pitched the wood into his fireplace. He poured a few ounces of pine sap on the wood, opened his flue, and then set the pieces on fire with his flint stick. The spell's red light faded quickly as the wood was consumed. When the flames had burned down, Hamilton took the poker from the rack by the fireplace and broke up the larger remaining pieces.

He sat in front of the fireplace enjoying the dissipating warmth for another few minutes. Then he got a pot of water and doused the ashes. When there was no more smoke, he closed the flue and went downstairs. Half way down, he shuddered. His Kinsian ward was once more defending his shop. The wave of weakness passed. “Drat.” he thought to himself.

Hamilton took a moment to review the offensive spells he had learned so long ago. The defensive spells required no review as Obsidian forced him to defend himself so many times that they were almost instantaneous. He collected some more cash from his cash box and shook his head at the small amount that remained. He took a deep breath and headed for the door. Although unsure about the outcome of facing Topaz, he opened the door and stepped out.

The invader was not Topaz, but rather a huge beefy man with pure white hair who Hamilton did not recognize. The man confronted Hamilton exclaiming, “Who the hell are you? Where's Swoop?"

Hamilton spotted a large knife in the man's right hand. “Who the hell are you?"

The big man raised his knife, “You answer my question first. “I'm da one with the knife. Where's da old man?"

"And quite an impressive knife it is.” Hamilton then muttered, “Calorium magnus,” under his breath.

The knife in question glowed with yellow heat. The man looked at the tendrils of smoke coming from his hand a half second before his hand told his brain what was happening. He dropped the blade, yelped from the pain and stared at his blistered palm.

Hamilton muttered, “Calorium exitus” and bent to retrieve the now cold blade. “You mean this thing? Well, as I am now the one with the knife perhaps you might answer my question. Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing here?” He waved the blade in front of the man's face. The man cowered as he blew cold air onto his hand.

"C-chalky, name's Chalky. Some guy paid me a hunert royals to grab some old geezer named Swoop and to get rid of him."

"And do I look like some old geezer?"

"Er, no."

"Where is this guy who paid you the hundred royals?"

"Can't tell you that. Assassin's Guild contract. You know da rules."

Hamilton ran his left hand through his beard and released the tip. “Do I? What did he look like?"

"Contract. Didn't you hear me? I ain't tellin’ you nothin'."

"Calorium mangus.” The man's boots began to smoke.

He squealed with pain as he dropped on his butt while trying to pull off his boots. “Stop. Stop. I'll tell ya."

"Calorium exitus. You were saying?"

The man managed to remove his now cold boots. “I don't know his name. His face was kinda yellow an’ he was wearin’ a black cloak. Honest, that's all I know."

"Where did you meet him?"

The man hesitated.

Hamilton frowned. “Your hair burns next."

"At the Blue Tiger, but he ain't there now."

"Where are you supposed to meet this yellow man, to tell him you succeeded?"

Chalky removed his smoldering socks. “I wasn't. He paid me in advance. See.” Chalky removed a hundred royal note and held it up."

Hamilton snatched the note from his outstretched hand. “Well, seeing as how you failed to get this Swoop person, I don't think you deserve this. Now, get outta here."

Chalky grabbed his boots and limped off as quickly as he could.

When he was gone, Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief. Chalky had not been a problem. Topaz would have been a different story and he admitted to himself that he didn't have a plan yet to face down a wizard. He returned to his shop. He stuffed a few other things into a leather sack and slung it over his shoulder. Then he locked up the shop and reinforced the wards.

He glanced down the street to see the lone street light on Dissention Boulevard glowing in the dark. He wanted to spend the night in his own bed, but knew that Topaz himself would be around soon enough and wished to avoid confronting him at this point. He trudged the six blocks to the only place he could stay in Green Ridge, the Royal Fuzz Inn on Stillbourne Way. He did so with some trepidation that since Fuzz was the only inn in Green Ridge it meant that there was a good possibility that they had another guest staying there as well. A guest with a yellow cast to his skin. Still, as Topaz apparently didn't know that Hamilton had lost almost thirty years since they last met, he would be safer at the inn than over his shop. He resolved to shave his beard once he got a room.

The lobby of the Royal Fuzz was less impressive than the Inn in Norkon. As few people visited Green Ridge, the inn only sported a dozen or so rooms and most were occupied by full time residents. Hamilton had only been in the inn once and that had been ten years ago. Aside from being a degree shabbier, the lobby had not changed. The same graying wallpaper, the same threadbare carpet and the same squeaky voiced clerk at the desk.

"I need a room for the night."

"That'll be two royals—in advance,” responded the clerk.

Hamilton dug the coins out of his purse and pushed them across the counter. The clerk scooped them up, examined them and then dropped them in a cash box. “Room eight—top of the stairs. Sign here.” The clerk dropped a key on the counter. Hamilton signed in and took the key, but remained where he was. The clerk asked, “Somethin’ wrong?"

"Wrong? No.” Hamilton took the key and then dropped another two royals on the counter. He placed his hand over the coins. “Do you have a guest with a yellow cast to his skin?"

The clerk looked at the back of Hamilton's hand. “Room three, but he's out right now. Wanna leave a message?"

"No.” Hamilton lifted his hand leaving the coins on the counter. “If he asks about other guests, I want to know about it. Under no circumstances are you to mention my presence to him. There'll be another ten royals when I leave if I have remained undisturbed."

The clerk grabbed the coins and replied, “No problem, Mr. er...” he glanced at the register. “...Bland."

"Any food around here?"

"Cook's off after 8, but the Munchwell across the street's open ‘til ten. If you hurry, you can still grab a bite."

"Thanks.” Hamilton yawned. He left the inn and crossed the street.

Twenty minutes later he returned. The food hadn't been very good, but his hunger was sated. He peeked in the door of the inn. No one loitered in the lobby except for the clerk at his counter. Hamilton walked in and climbed the stairs to his room. He made a long-practiced gesture over the handle on the door. Satisfied that no magic was present, he unlocked the door, entered the room and relocked it behind him.

For a moment, he contemplated putting a ward on the entrance, but decided against it. It would have been like posting a sign saying “The Wizard is In” that any other wizard would easily recognize. Instead, he braced the room's only chair under the knob.

After switching on the light, he looked around the room. “Two royals for this dump?” he asked himself. “I've been cheated.” There was a bed, a table, and the chair now bracing the door. At least the bed was made, he thought, but after removing his clothes, switching off the light, and climbing in, he wasn't quite sure what the bed was made of. The mattress was lumpy and the single sheet smelled of ... well, maybe he thought it best not to pursue that question.

Hamilton lay there for a few minutes in the dark. It struck him that he had a new problem in Center City. It didn't make any sense for Topaz to get his dragon to attack Mid-Post Station. It didn't make any sense ... unless Topaz knew that Hamilton was heading in that direction, but how could he know that since he had been in Green Ridge unless ... unless ... But before he could draw any conclusions, he fell asleep.