Hamilton Swoop, Wizard of Green Ridge (20 page)

So what are you going to do?

Hamilton shook his head. “Good question. I'll get back to you on that in the morning."

Whiskers put her head down in Hamilton's lap and purred herself to sleep. Hamilton tried closing his eyes, but for him, sleep was more elusive.

Morning arrived earlier than normal. The sun had yet to break the horizon when Hamilton's snooper spell awoke him with buzzing sound in his mind. He sat bolt upright in the chair he had fallen asleep in. Awakened by the sudden movement, Whiskers leapt from his lap.

Hamilton got up, went in to the bedroom and reemerged wearing the green cloak.

Why the outfit?
Whiskers crouched under the table.

"The Runemaster said it would afford me some protection. I'd feel a bit more confident, though, if he could have been more specific as to what type of protection.” He paused for a moment as he tuned to the snooper spell. “He's outside."

He walked to the window and, standing beside it, peaked out into the darkness. A flaming crossbow bolt shattered the glass and flashed through his cloak between his arm and his body. Hamilton jumped back and stared down at the smoldering hole in his cloak. He beat out the flame that was just starting and then frowned at the blackened cloth. “Well, maybe the Runemaster was wrong,” he mumbled under his breath.

Think so?
Whiskers retreated to the bedroom.
Let me know when it's over. And, if I don't see you again, thanks for the fish.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, cat.” He pulled the bolt from the wall and blew out the flames. Two more flaming bolts followed the first in rapid succession. Hamilton splashed water on them to dowse the flames.

"That's it!” thought Hamilton coming to a decision. He sent out a detect spell. It pointed to a room on the second story of the building across the street. “Old killer,” thought Hamilton, “Prepare to meet your destiny.” He made an elaborate gesture in the air before him and then, with he arm pointing directly at the target provided by his detect spell, he shouted, “Conflagorimus Extremus!"

There was a loud explosion followed by a scream. Smoke and flame flashed out of the window of the room across the street.

Hamilton sent out his detect spell again. This time it returned nothing from the room. He turned from the window, elated and exhausted and dropped into the large chair. “You can come out, cat. Zip Cardin is no more.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Looks like I've still got it."

Whiskers walked slowly from the bedroom. “Got what?” She sniffed the air. “Something's burning."

"That would be Zip Cardin."

The cat jumped to the window ledge and looked out.
Old Man, what did you do? You've set the town on fire!

"What?” Hamilton got unsteadily to his feet. His legs felt like rubber as he braced himself on the arm of the chair. He turned and looked out the window. “No, I, ah ... Oh, rat feces.” He made a gesture with his free hand and mumbled a spell. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the flames began to die beneath a deluge of sudden rain. Within seconds, the flames fizzled into oblivion leaving the building across the way a smoking ruin. The rain ceased just as the first rays of dawn lit the eastern sky.

There was a banging on the door. “Master Citrine! Master Citrine! Are you all right?” came Roscoe's voice from the hallway.

"I'm fine, lad. What happened?"

"It must have been lightning, sir. It ignited the barrister's offices across the way. The fire is spreading. You must leave.” There was the sound of a thud from the hallway.

"Relax, boy. The fire is out. Come in and see for yourself.” Hamilton freed the locking bolt and then turned the knob on the door.

As he did, the snooper spell screamed a warning in his ear. At the same time, the door burst inward revealing Zip Cardin. The assassin's face was blistered on one side and most of his hair was gone. His face was red both from the fire and from rage.

Hamilton drew his wand from his belt as he backed from the apparition. “But, but, you're dead."

"And you're an idiot. Don't you think I knew that you were a wizard? Don't you think that I took precautions? And now,” he shouted, “you're dead.” He raised a dagger and slashed at Hamilton's chest. Hamilton backed and ran out of space. His calves banged into the chair behind him.

The dagger struck just above Hamilton's heart with a loud clang and then bounced off the green cloak leaving it unmarked. The force of the blow toppled Hamilton backwards into a chair. The chair overturned. As it went over Hamilton's foot arched up to catch the assassin between the legs. Cardin's feet went out from under him and he fell on his back writhing in pain. Hamilton recovered first. He ran around the chair, desperately looking for a weapon.

Cardin struggled to get up. He looked about the floor, spotted the dagger he had dropped and reached for it. Hamilton, terrified, grasped the only thing he had, Obsidian's wand. Holding it in both hands, he raised it over his head, then brought it down, point first, with all the force he could manage. The wand slid deeply into the assassin's chest. Cardin's face filled with a look of pain and surprise. He made a weak attempt to swing the dagger that he had just grasped. It slipped from his hand as his expression of pain faded from his face. He fell back to the floor. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lifeless mouth.

Hamilton dropped to his knees breathing heavily. Whiskers emerged from beneath the table and looked at Hamilton and then at the dead assassin.
So, he was a vampire, huh?

With a confused expression, Hamilton asked, “What?"

A stake though the heart finished him, right? He must have been the living dead since you already killed him once. Remember?

A muffled groan emanated from the hallway. Hamilton rose to his feet and peeked out the door. Roscoe sat on the floor against the wall, rubbing the back of his head. There was a dent in the wall. Then he spied Hamilton, “What happened?"

"It's all right, boy. Here.” Hamilton offered his hand to Roscoe and helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir. I think so.” He seemed somewhat unsteady on his feet and winced. “What happened?"

"A gentleman wanted to get in my suite. I'm afraid that he must have hit you."

"A man, sir?"

"Actually, a guild assassin. I believe his name was Zip Cardin."

Roscoe's eyes bulged. “Zip Cardin? Wow, Zip Cardin. But you're still alive?"

"And he isn't. Please awaken Mr. Thackeray. Tell him there's some trash in here that requires removal. Oh, and have him send up some food. And coffee."

And a bowl of fresh fish
, added Whiskers, but Roscoe was already down the hall and out of sight before Hamilton could pass on the order.

After closing the door, Hamilton got down on his knees to examine the dead assassin. He was amazed as he extracted various weapons from the assassin's coat. From a myriad of pockets, he removed three knives of various types and lengths, a garrote, four vials of different colored liquids and a small bottle of fish oil with an attached flint igniter. In addition, he found several hundred royals in twenty royal notes and an Assassins Guild membership card. Hamilton put the weapons aside. He pocketed the notes and the card, then looked at the wound from which his wand protruded. He bent closer as the body, although still quite dead, seemed to be reacting to the wand with little bubbles and wisps of vapor at the entry point.

Hamilton's stomach felt a bit queasy as this was the first man he had ever killed. He did not, however, feel guilty about it. Shaking his head and averting his gaze, he grasped his wand.

Trying to reanimate the vampire?

"What are you talking about, cat?” Hamilton still looked away from the body. He pulled hard on the wand and it came free with a sickening slurp.

When you remove the stake, the vampire can ... I've never seen that before.

"What before?” asked Hamilton. He looked back at the dead assassin. Then he noticed his wand, and almost dropped it as he held it at arms length. “What?"

That was what I was hoping you could answer. Pretty strange, isn't it?

Hamilton stared at the wand. The part of it that had penetrated the body was black, but somehow the expression “black” seemed to be a gross understatement. It wasn't just black. It was the blackest black he had ever seen. It reflected no light whatsoever. He brought it closer to examine it. Even up close, there were no features visible at all save for a few blood spots that seemed to float above the surface. No texture, nothing. The base of the wand that had not been in the body still looked normal. Willow, rubbed dark by years of handling.

Hamilton scratched part of the willow base with his fingernail. The paint peeled away revealing the unfathomable darkness beneath. He dropped the wand on the hard wooden floor. It pinged like a tuning fork when it hit.

Well, Mr. Wizard, what is it?

"It's a ... a myth."

Looks pretty solid to be a myth
. Whiskers inched toward the wand. She batted at it with her paw.
Feels pretty solid too. What myth?

Hamilton picked it up, holding it by the remaining willow painted base. “When I was in school, it was said that there was a substance from which the original magic sprung. It was called darkonium."

Darkonium? You've got to be kidding. Besides, magic has always been around. It didn't just appear.

Hamilton swung the wand through the air. It emitted a faint whistling sound. “Damn."

I said magic's always been around.

"I heard you the first time.” Hamilton rose and then sat down in the chair. Whiskers jumped into his lap. “Magic has been around a long time, cat, but not forever. Back, thousands of years ago, even before the Dark Times, there were no wizards, no spells, no magic. At least that's what I was taught.

And then a meteor fell. A large one. Many people died. The sky was darkened for years. When the sun returned, expeditions were sent to view the impact site but they found nothing. But something had changed. It was then that those with the talent discovered that they had powers they had never imagined. They were not welcomed and many were killed as witches and demons."

Suddenly, magic? I don't buy it.

"I didn't either. I thought it was a myth, but they said that the meteor exploded in the air and the dust it produced filled the skies. Dust produced from a substance never before seen. Darkonium."

Well, that wand doesn't look like dust to me.

"Quick Silver, a Master Wizard at the Guild 40 years ago wore a golden amulet around his throat. Even now, I remember the tiny black stone mounted in the center of the amulet. I remember how dark that stone looked. How black it looked."

So now you've got a powerful wand?

"It would explain a lot."

Huh?

"It would explain why, no matter no hard I tried, I could never best Obsidian's magic. Most wands have no power of their own. They're just, well, sticks to impress the people. The power is in the wizard."

But most wizards don't have darkonium wands.

"No, I suppose that they don't,” agreed Hamilton. He waved the wand in the air and did a make-light spell. A ball of light appeared in the room that was so bright he covered his eyes.

Make it stop!

Hamilton killed the spell, but still saw after images for several seconds. “Damn.” he muttered to himself.

There was a knock on the door. Hamilton pushed Whiskers off his lap and got up. This time he was more cautious and made a magical gesture at the door. Satisfied that there was no threat, he said, “It's Amil."

The knock came again. “I'm coming!” shouted Hamilton. He slipped his wand into the narrow wand pocket inside his cloak and then opened the door.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Sit down. I've been expecting you. I thought you'd be back yesterday. Was there a problem?"

Quinn sat down on the couch. He looked at Hamilton. “Nice cloak, but problems? Initially. That Master Wizard fellow, Diamond, was more that a little bit curious about what I had in the envelope. At first, he wouldn't let me in. I explained to him that I had no idea what was in the envelope. When I told him that it was from you, he became more adamant."

Hamilton sat down in his chair. “So how'd you get past him?"

"I've served a few warrants in my time and getting around a twerp like him was easy. I just told him that, if he wouldn't let me see Argus, I would notify you and the police. Impeding a messenger is a crime in Central City."

"It is?"

Quinn grinned. “No, but it worked."

Hamilton laughed. “You're a man after my own heart, Amil. I know it's a bit early, but would you like a beer?"

"Well, it was a long night. Sure."

"Done.” Hamilton snapped his fingers and two mugs of beer appeared on the table.

Whiskers, who had been curled up by the chair, looked up.
How about some fish, Old Man?

Hamilton looked down at the cat and then snapped his fingers again. A raw fish appeared by the cat.

Whiskers stared at the fish, her eyes wide.
Where's the bowl?

Hamilton snapped his fingers again and the fish lay in a decorated porcelain bowl.
Better?

Much,
The cat took a bite of the fish.

Amil, after watching the beer, fish and bowl appear asked, “How can you make all this stuff appear out of thin air?"

"That would be a neat trick wouldn't it? But I didn't do that. I think if you go downstairs and check with the cook, he'll discover that he's missing two mugs, some beer, a fish and a bowl."

Hamilton took the mugs off the table and offered one to the messenger. The messenger accepted the beer, smelled it, and took a big drink. He wiped the foam from his mustache. “Excellent!"

Hamilton took a sip and then asked, “How did it go with Argus? Do you have a reply for me?"

"No. You were right that it would be difficult to keep him on track. I stayed up with him half the night. He has a, well, remarkable library as he put it, but the fourth collection of runes you sent baffled him. I don't know how many books he went through looking for the answers, but it was a bunch. Around two in the morning, he found one book that suggested that they weren't runes at all, but just letters in an ancient language. He woke the Archivist, a rather gruff old wizard named Silibus who was not happy when he found out what time it was.” Amil took another swallow and then continued. “However, when he saw the runes he recognized them as what he called old speak scraptum? Scriptum? Anyway he said that it was in a language that predated the dark times. Unfortunately, he couldn't translate them."