Hamilton Swoop, Wizard of Green Ridge (30 page)

Perhaps we can get together and discuss this further. I should have some more information in a few days. I sent a letter to the Alchemist at the main Guild. I believe that he can provide the trigger for your orb.

Signed, Argus, Runemaster."

Thalia looked over at Hamilton. “What's ‘post organic matter'?"

"Beats me, but I suspect that I have a map location that might help answer that question. In the mean time, let's see if we can find out the source of that smell.” He looked down at Whiskers. “How about it? Can you find it?"

"Meow!” The cat headed for the door. Carrying the lamp and sack with the orb, Hamilton followed Whiskers with Thalia bringing up the rear.

Whiskers led them to the “dungeon” which is what the wizards called the second subbasement. This large room contained a library of ancient tomes, paraphernalia, and the main blower for the ventilation system. One of the large vent panels had been removed. Hamilton stood on a rickety table and looked within. With the aid of the lamp, he spotted and removed a bucket.

After climbing down from the table, he examined the bucket which was burned on the inside. “The stuff in the bucket is what poisoned the air, but this isn't dragon spit. Whoever put the bucket in the vent spilled some of it. Hamilton displayed his finger which was covered with a black greasy liquid.

"What is it?"

He sniffed his finger. “I have no idea except that it smells very much like this.” He withdrew the lump he had collected from Argus and smelled it. “Yup. Same smell.” He returned the lump to his pocket.

Then he moved the lamp about looking for any other clues. He found a boot print on the table along with another splash from the bucket. Aside from being from a large boot, there was little remarkable about the print. Nothing else caught his eye. “Come on, let's get out of here."

"Don't you want to keep searching?"

"For what? This darkness makes me nervous and continued exposure to the gases released can't be healthy. We'd better leave."

They just made it up one flight of stairs before the lamp failed. Hamilton unloaded Whiskers from his shoulder. “OK, cat. Lead us out of here."

They followed the cat's meows through the dark. After ascending two staircases, they were in a hallway when Hamilton heard a rustling sound from one of the rooms he passed. He stopped and groped about until his hand contacted Thalia's shoulder. “Shhhh. Listen."

The silence of the Guild building was unnerving. Hamilton was about to give up after a few moments when the sound came again. Feeling the walls he found the room's open door. “Wait here,” he whispered to Thalia.

He entered the room holding the sack containing the orb like a weapon. “Who's there?” he asked, prepared to swing the sack at whomever or whatever answered.

There was another sound from his left. He readied the sack when a very small voice asked, “Master Citrine?"

"Yes. Who's that?"

"Whimper, sir. Wizard in training."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was asleep. When I woke up, I discovered I was blind. I tried to find help, but I got lost. When I heard a sound of someone moving, I called for help, but when I got near, someone hit me and ran off. Everybody else must have left. I've been in here ever since. I tried to do a light spell, but since I was blind, it didn't help."

"You're not blind, Whimper."

"But I can't see."

"That's because the lights are out."

"Get up and come with me. Thalia's out in the hall. Take my hand."

When they got out in the hall, Thalia asked, “Are you okay, Whimper? I heard what you said."

"My head hurts where someone hit me, but I guess I'm okay."

"Good! Now, let's get out of here. Whiskers. Where are you?"

"Meow!"

For the rest of the trip out, they followed the cat. Finally, the light from the high windows of the great hall came into view. A few moments later they stood outside the Guild's main entrance. The wind had let up and the air was warmer.

"I can see again.” Whimper said.

"We all can,” Hamilton said with less enthusiasm.

Thalia padded over to Whimper. “Let me see where you were hit."

Whimper pushed back the shock of hair from his forehead revealing a darkened lump. A trickle of dried blood had run from the center of the wound. Thalia removed a handkerchief from her bag and wiped away the dried blood. Then she stepped back and smiled at Whimper. “You'll be fine. It's just a bump."

Then she turned to Hamilton, “Now what?"

Hamilton looked around hoping that an answer would present itself. It didn't. Frustrated, he looked at Whimper and asked, “Did you take the topology course yet?"

"Yes, sir. I got a 92."

"Do you understand latitude and longitude?"

"Yes, sir. That was part of the course."

"Do you know where this is?” Hamilton withdrew the sheet of paper containing the coordinates he had gotten from the university and handed it to the young wizard along with the map he'd purchased.

Whimper looked at coordinates and then at the map. “That's the Greasy Pit."

Thalia asked, “You can tell that from those numbers?"

"Yes, Mistress. That, and the fact that I grew up in Norkon. That's where the Greasy Pit is."

"Just what is the Greasy Pit?” Hamilton asked.

"It's in the middle of Norkon. A few years ago, some contractors were digging a spot for the foundation of a new building. When they got down about 15 feet, some black greasy stuff started oozing in from the bottom. They tried to seal it, but nothing worked. In the end, they just gave up and left town with the money they'd collected. There was quite a ruckus about it because the stuff stinks, but the pit was still unsealed when I left Norkon two years ago."

Hamilton unfurled his Central City map and Whimper pointed to a location in Norkon. “It's right here."

Hamilton frowned. “Someone thinks that this black stuff is important. Does the Guild have a historian?"

"Not officially, but Master Gold, who's the Guild Astronomer, sort of takes care of the history too."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"He lives over on Creavy Street. He used to hold some of his classes there. That where you want to go?"

"Is it far?"

"About a half mile. He's pretty old so he likes to live close to the Guild."

Hamilton looked at Thalia. “Up for another little trip?"

"As long as it's not in the dark."

"Meow.” Whiskers jumped onto Hamilton's shoulder. He winced as one of the claws penetrated his coat.

"Lead on, Wizard Whimper.” Whimper set off to the north.

Bethesda whinnied. “Oops, sorry, horse.” Hamilton stroked his mane. Then to Whimper, “One moment, boy."

Hamilton untied his horse, tied the orb sack to the saddle, and then offered the stirrup to Thalia who mounted Bethesda. She looked down at him. “Thank you, Hamilton. That was most thoughtful."

"You're welcome. Too bad we have no magic. Then we could all ride."

"No magic, sir? What do you mean?” asked Whimper.

"That smell in the Guild. It killed our magic. Yours too. That's why your light spell didn't work."

Whimper made a small gesture. When nothing happened, he was shaken. “But, but ... How long?"

Hamilton stroked his stubbly beard. “I don't know. The dragon spit smoke lasted a half hour or so, but this stuff smells stronger. Pray that it isn't permanent."

Whimper dropped to his knees, praying. Hamilton looked down at him and shook his head. “I didn't mean that literally, child. Get up and let's get going."

Whimper looked sheepish as he got back on his feet. He grasped Bethesda's lead and headed west. Hamilton walked beside him. “Which god were you praying to?"

"To Ridish, god of internal medicine."

"Hathian, god of cosmic whoopee, might have been a better choice."

"Yes, sir, but Hathian is not always available."

"True,” Hamilton agreed.

They arrived at the Master Astronomer's without incident. Whimper pointed out the door and then asked if he could go home to his family. “Of course.” Hamilton then added, “And thanks for your help with those numbers."

"Get your mother to clean that wound when you get home,” Thalia said.

"Yes, ma'am, I will.” Whimper left them.

Hamilton climbed up the steps and knocked on the door. No one answered. He called out, “Master Gold. It's Master Citrine. If you're there, please come to the door."

Hamilton repeated his request, a bit louder this time. No one came to the door, but an elderly passerby immediately changed direction and headed toward Hamilton. The man approached quickly for one so old.

Hamilton spotted him as he turned to face Thalia. He tried to summon a defensive spell which completely failed. Then Hamilton noticed something about the old man's gait and the white streak of hair straight running through his darker gray hair. An old memory flashed into his brain. “Master Cobalt?"

"I thought I heard ‘Master Citrine'. Gracious me, lad, it's been, what, forty years or so? What are you doing in town? And, as I recall, didn't the Guild de-wizard you way back then?"

"Yes. They did, but they returned my powers. I've been to the Guild in town several times. How is it that I didn't see you there?"

"I'm not in the Guild anymore. Couldn't put up with Diamond's nonsense.” He looked at Thalia. “Are you the famous Thalia?"

"Famous? I'm Thalia Sprite. I'm Master Citrine's assistant."

"Ah, yes. Miss Sprite. The old Runemaster said that you were a fair lass. A master of understatement.” He bowed slightly to her.

"Thank you, sir.” Thalia blushed.

"Meow."

"And Whiskers, my cat."

"Whinniee."

"And my horse, Bethesda."

Cobalt grinned. “Quite a little troop, you have here, Master Citrine. What brings you to these parts?"

"We were looking for Master Gold, the Master Astronomer, but he's not in."

"Why do you want to talk to Gold? A question about the stars?"

"No. From what I was told, he's also the historian. I found something and wanted his opinion."

"Gold's an idiot. Hasn't had an original thought in over a century. Before I left the Guild, I was their historian. Maybe I can help."

"Okay. Do you know what this is?” Hamilton drew the black lump from his pocket. He offered it to Cobalt who looked at it, smelled it, and blanched. He pushed the lump back into Hamilton's hand.

"Oh, my gods! Where did you get that thing?” asked Cobalt, obviously shaken.

Hamilton was confused by Cobalt's reaction. “It belonged to a wizard who goes by the name of Topaz. Ever hear of him?"

"No, but do you know what that thing is?” he asked pointing at the black lump in Hamilton's hand.

"Not really. It smells just like that black ooze that someone burned at the Guild. It robs everyone of their magic."

"Black ooze. Oh my gods! This is worse that I thought.” Cobalt's color had not returned to his face. If anything, he looked even paler.

"What are you talking about?” A touch of fear nudged at Hamilton's spine. “What is this thing?” He held the lump in the center of his open palm.

Cobalt took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and then sat down on the steps. “The liquid is called Demonium Sangrum. Devil's blood. The lump is its source. Its use was largely responsible for the end of the old world. Wars were fought. Entire continents were laid waste. Billions of people died because of it."

"Billions?” questioned Thalia.

Cobalt looked up at her. “Yes, dear. Billions. Back in the old world there were a lot more people around than there are today. A whole lot more."

Hamilton sat down next to the wizard. “Where does this stuff come from?"

Cobalt shook his head. “It comes from under the ground. And it is made of death."

"Death?"

"Yes. It's composed of the ancient rotted flesh of countless plants and animals."

Cobalt continued to look at the dark matter. “I thought that this stuff only existed in Guild museums."

Hamilton stroked his beard. “So, if this Demonium Sangrum doesn't exist today, what's the problem?"

"The problem, Citrine, is that there still may be deposits of it within the planet. And it has a sinister draw. It can be burned to make power. Much more power than the wave generators we use today, but its use has severe consequences. For one, as I am sure that you must already be aware of, it inhibits almost every form of magic. If that was the only problem, the wizards would seem a selfish lot to try to suppress it, but there is another more insidious problem. This stuff must be burned to release its power and the smoke from burning this brew is poisonous. Not just to wizards but to commoners as well. But, like the venom of the shadow adder, it is a slow acting poison. Very slow. Its effects, in many cases, are not felt for years, sometimes decades. Because of that, people refused to believe the consequences of its use."

Thalia sat down on the stairs beside Hamilton. “But if it's called Devil's Blood, why didn't the people back then stop using it? Didn't they know?"

Cobalt smiled at her. “Some did, but either didn't care or were stifled. And it wasn't called Devil's Blood back then. It was called various things. Most of the time, they just called it “oil” but when it came from the ground, it was called sweet or heavy crude before it was made into other products."

"Sweet crud, er, crude. I know where there's a deposit,” offered Hamilton. He returned the lump to his pocket and withdrew the piece of paper he had gotten from Smythe at the university. He handed the paper to Cobalt.

The old wizard took the paper and looked at it. “What's this?” he asked.

"Longitude and latitude. Degrees, minutes, and seconds. It points to a spot in Norkon called the Greasy Pit. The numbers were written in old speak on the bottom of Obsidian's trunk."

Cobalt looked surprised. “Obsidian's trunk? Where did you find that?"

"Didn't. I bought it. In it were several things: a wizard's robe, Obsidian's wand, a Sorenson Orb, and Obsidian."

"What? Obsidian? His body? So, that's what happened to his corpse."

Now it was Hamilton's turn to be confused. “What do you mean?"