TECHNOLOGY, BEGIN:

(An Unwanted Odyssey Part I)

Inconvenient Magic III

H. Jonas Rhynedahll

© 2016 by H. Jonas Rhynedahll.  All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction.  All characters, scenes, dialogue, and descriptions are purely the product of the author's imagination.  Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, real events, or actual places is entirely coincidental.

Published by Rhynedahll Software LLC in the United States of America.

Other Works:

The Key to Magic: An epic fantasy series

Orphan

Magician

King

Emperor

Warrior

Wizard

Thief

Chronicle of the Rider

Dead Rider's Debt

Rider's Journey

Rider's Doom (2017)

Inconvenient Magic:

Potatoes, Come Forth!

Magic, Unfettered?

Technology, Begin:

To End a War (science fiction novella)

Not Your Typical, Scantily-Clad Virgin Sacrifice (short story collection)

Time Travelers' Currency Exchange and Pawn

Forthcoming:

Tunnels

No Babes in the Apocalypse

Zombies Don't Shoot Back

Everett's Spells

1)    Ding Dong!

2)    Fulfill thy destiny!

3)    Sprout ye beans!

4)    Manure, gather ye into a pile!

5)    I bid cool water become sweet wine!

6)    Wine, make ye oil anon!

7)    Potatoes, come forth!

8)    Beautiful Woman, come forth!

9)    Give me strength!

10)(Magic Immunity)

11)(Gunfire suppression)

12)Take ye flight!

13)Magic, Unfettered!

Everett's Altered Spells

1)    Swords Into Goo

2)    Ignites an Individualized Adventure Plan

3)    Giant Broccoli

4)    Cat Swarm

5)    Engine Fuel

6)    Explosive Liquid

7)    Turn Combatants to Stone

8)    Transport Poubelle

9)    Gigantism

10)Sea Snake Venom Immunity

11)Rapid Mending

12)Grow Wings

13)Release the Dragon

Sarah's Spells

1)    Pee pee, I see.

2)    A glass of milk, please!

3)    Good night and sweet dreams!

4)    Then swear and be bound.

5)    Flammables, ignite anon!

6)    A stitch in time!

Giuseppe's Spells

1)    Half and half!

2)    I want a pony!

3)    Extra starch!

4)    Be severed in twain, ye hemp!

5)    A roll!  My kingdom for a roll!

6)    Recover thy true nature!

7)    Ah, the smell of fresh bread!

Marshlight's Spells

1)    Yum!

ONE

When Everett had been six, as was often the case, he had been sitting beside his father on the terrace while the older De Schael peeled an apple for him.  At that time, Everett had not been particularly fond of apple skin, but the sweet, firm flesh underneath had been his absolute favorite dessert.

"I wish I had a thing to peel an apple in one go," he had told his father as his bouncing inquisitive mind had jumped from fancy to fancy.

Offering the exactingly peeled apple, his father had replied, "You know, son, in the Grand Market at New Zindersberg, if one has the silver, one can buy anything."

And, indeed, as had proved a great many things that his father had told Everett, that advisory had proven absolutely true.

The Grand Market was all that Everett had heard it was and a thousand times more.  The hundred acre sprawling commercial district at the heart of New Zindersberg was a fantastic and fabulous place where wandering street hawkers and snooty expensive boutiques and all things in between competed with an overabundance of sound, light, color, and motion for the attentions of crowds that did not dwindle night or day.  There were exotic and fantastic goods from everywhere. There was technology and magic and things that beyond all reason might have been mixtures of both. He and Sarah, with Rose and all of her essentials trucked along in a pram, had spent most of their days and much of their nights just tramping about and gawking.

There had been some buying, of course.  One could not go to the Grand Market and not spend money.  That was physically, ethically, and morally impossible.

Just around the corner from their hotel, one could buy a thing that could peel an apple in one go, but it had proven a rather clumsy apparatus that tended to produce apple sauce more often than neatly peeled apple slices.

And, perhaps more importantly, at a large, rambling shop filled with familiar and strange smells near the east end of the Grand Market one could buy a live specimen of a particular species of rare sea snake that only inhabited a single coral reef in the southern hemisphere.

Magic, of course, had lied about that as well.

In point of fact, Everett's altered tenth spell did not give him immunity to the bite of that particular species of sea snake.

He knew this because said species of sea snake could not bite anything.

At all!

The unenthusiastic and rather timid creature had no fangs, teeth, or venom.  The specific specimen that Everett had purchased for an undeniably outrageous price would occasionally gnaw listlessly on its food but in the main it tended to gum its preferred prey, a large, shell-less snail, in a lackadaisical fashion.

As a general point of principal, it would not even deign to sniff at Everett's fingers.

"Everett, just let the poor thing go," Sarah told him as she bustled up to gather up their napping daughter from her bed.  "It's not going to bite you."

"My point exactly!"

In her mother's arms, Rose yawned and stretched, then watched the interplay with wide-eyed interest.  Having put on an almost phenomenal growth spurt in the last two months, she was approaching the size of a two year old.

Everett had had more than a moment or two of concern over this, but Sarah had assured him that all children were different and grew differently and that there was no cause for alarm as long as she did not grow wings or summon princes from distant lands or become possessed by a non-corporeal sentient entity again.

"Everett, dear," she said in her I'm putting my foot down and you had better pay attention or there will be consequences voice,  "we don't have any more time to waste on your pet.  We have to go right now if we're not going to be late."

He sighed.  Coiled in a neat pile in its brass wire cage, the twelve inch reptile looked up at him with decidedly slimy but somewhat soulful eyes, clearly hoping for a treat as he withdrew his hand.  "Sorry, boy, I'm out of snails."

Sarah patted his arm.  "Now, put your pet away and let's get going."

"This isn't a pet.  It's an experiment.  You can't pet a snake."

"Yes, dear.  What did you name him?"

"Ralph."

"That's a good name for a pet."

"It's not a pet."

"Yes, dear.  You pack Rose's bag and I'll get Rose dressed."

Everett eyed the mountain of packages and valises that were stacked in a neat pile by the door of their suite.  Their "quick trip of a couple of weeks" had grown (without any genuine protest from him) into a more than three month long holiday.

On their second quiet and uneventful evening back in L'Oiseau, while they had been lounging, inactive and indolent, in the commons after a long supper, chatting about nothing in particular, Theddrid had mentioned in passing the Schematic Library in New Zindersberg.

Sarah had said, with unexpected enthusiasm, "I've never been to New Zindersberg."

And Everett had replied, without actually thinking it through or contemplating the consequences, "Neither have I.  I had always planned to go one day."

"You should go," Theddrid had suggested.  "It's a truly wonderful place to visit.  All sparkle and flash.  I wouldn't want to live there long term, of course."

"The air carriage would get you there in just a couple of days or so," Giuseppe had said.  "Pauly and I wouldn't mind crewing for the trip down.  There are a number of export opportunities in the city that I've always wanted to investigate."

"I wouldn't mind going," Marshlight had chimed in.  "It would be romantic."

"Me too!" Poubelle had quickly added.

The former drunkard and Rightful King of the Dominion of Dree had confessed to Everett that, having no agricultural or mechanical skills of any sort, he was somewhat uneasy at the prospect of having to try to make a living in the small rural village where Marshlight had been born.

"But we are almost home," Everett had protested weakly.

Having finally returned to L'Oiseau, he had expected that Marshlight, Poubelle, and Theddrid would soon resume their interrupted lives and that he, Sarah, and Rose would be allowed to return, unburdened by the constant company of new friends, to theirs.

They had been planning, in fact, to return home in the next day or two.  Sarah had wanted to make sure that Marshlight and Poubelle were settled in before they left them to their own devices.  The new couple had not set a wedding date yet and had had two memorable spats, one of which everyone in the air carriage had heard and one of which had probably been heard by people on the ground, which had required her mediation and Theddrid and Giuseppe's physical restraint.

Sarah had nodded in an It's settled way.  "We should go, Everett.  All of us.  We deserve a vacation after all that we've gone through.  We'll post Lessye, Wallace, and the kids another letter and let them know that we're going to be delayed for a quick trip of a couple of weeks. "

Not quite grumbling, he had said, "Well, I suppose there's nothing to prevent us from going."

"It'll be fun!" Sarah had assured him with a smile.

They had arrived in New Zindersberg with little more than the clothes on their backs and the considerable cache of coin silver given them by the grateful monks at Huhp-hnona-tup. They were leaving with a much reduced cache of silver and a much expanded wardrobe for themselves and Rose and a horde of gifts, a minimum of one for each family member and friend of any consequence -- and some of utterly no consequence at all -- both at home and in Kleinsvench.  The haul amounted to a pile sufficient to fill four large wheelbarrows, homemade or otherwise.

"What about all of that?" he asked her.  "We could just ship it home."

"There's plenty of room for it in the air carriage.  Ring for a porter.  I don't want to take the chance of anything being lost."

He wrinkled his lips and sighed, thinking briefly, though certainly not fondly, of the days when he had trudged all about the Edzedahl with nothing more than the handful of items that would fit in his pack.

That had been certainly not a happier time, but it had been much, much less complicated.

L'Hotel de Ville did not provide the grandest accommodations of all the hotels on the Old Square in New Zindersberg, but it had to be considered one of the top three.  After trudging across half the world to rescue his family and set Magic aright -- yet again -- Everett had been more than eager to indulge himself, Sarah, and Rose.  Having someone else cook their meals, wash their clothes, clean their room, and make their bed had been only a small portion, though perhaps the most appreciated, of the luxurious services provided by the happy and energetic staff.

Throughout the entirety of their suite, the walls, accentuated by raised paneling and moldings in pearl and silver, were painted in pastel blues and greens that had practically oozed relaxation.  The suite consisted of four opulent rooms: a sitting room with plush furniture and a spacious balcony that faced upon the Square, a kitchenette with a pantry stocked with all manner of snacks including fresh apples, a bathroom with a sunken tub almost big enough to swim in, and a bedroom with a gigantic bed that was soft enough to almost make Everett forget all the times that he had ever slept on the hard, cold ground.

He put the cover on Ralph's cage and added it to the stack.  The porters at L'Hotel de Ville were well versed in caring for the various cats, dogs, marmosets, seals, parrots, goats, sloths and so forth that often accompanied their guests and the snake had not made them bat an eye.  Everett had already made arrangements for the reptile to be brought by hired messenger to the air carriage while he, Sarah, and Rose attended the wedding.

He had diligently packed Rose's day bag the evening before, but just to be on the safe side he quickly gave it one last inventory, then hung the strap on his shoulder in its accustomed place and gave the pull rope by the door a quick yank.  The walls of the hotel were thick enough to be sound proof, but he had no doubt but that the small brass bell mounted above the porter's alcove at the far end of their hallway had alerted one of the always eager and enthusiastic staff..

The sharp rap on the door came scarcely before his hand had fallen back by his side.  With a brief start of surprise, he opened it to find an average young man in the crisp blue uniform and pointy hat with chinstrap of L'Hotel de Ville's apparently limitless porters.  The fellow had a broad grin and happy eyes below his thatch of flaming red hair.  Everett had not seen this particular porter previously, but this thought did not immediately disturb him.

"That was quick," He commented in an off-hand fashion.

The porter's eyes tightened slightly.  "Oh, I was just, uhm, er, incidentally passing your door, sir!  It's a quite common occurrence.  Nothing out of the ordinary at all!  There are quite of a few of us, you know!"

"Right.  Well, ah ..."

"Uh, er ... Alex, sir."

"Right, Alex, could you please fetch some help and have our things taken down to the curb?"

"Of course, Monsieur de Schael!  I'll get right on it, sir.  You'll be leaving to attend the wedding and then return to the air carriage that you left moored at Marigold Park under the trusty care of your intrepid crew, pilot Monsieur Theddrid , genius inventor and uncle of the fair Marshlight Gardendale Simpson, crewman Pauly, freelance conflict resolution specialist, and general supervisor Giuseppe, unregulated duty-free import-export trader and part time partisan, wink, two shady but good hearted companions from the Republican city of Mrysberg."

After an instant of confusion, Everett scowled.  "Wait, how did you --?"

Sarah bustled up beside him, carrying a still droopy-eyed Rose, now dressed in the new blue dress with tons of lace that had been bought just for the wedding, on her hip, and immediately pressed a folded two silver note into the porter's automatically extended palm.  "Thank you so much, Alex!"

Before Everett could continue his challenge of the still grinning porter, Sarah caught her husband's elbow and rushed him out into the hall.

"But something isn't right there!"  He protested.  "I've never seen that porter before and he knew everything about us!"

"Don't be silly, Everett. Of course the staff gossips.  It's one of the fringe benefits of working at a hotel."

"But don't you think it's suspicious that he actually said wink --"

Rose stretched and said, "Mama, mornin' s'eat."

Sarah's eyes instantly focused on her daughter's face to the exclusion of all else, and Everett let his half-formed accusation fall silent.  He could have said that the world was coming to an end and it would not have mattered.  Rose always came first.

"Good morning, darling!" Sarah said brightly.  "Mommy will feed you just as soon as we board the horse carriage. I had the kitchen make up several jars of your favorite strained carrots just for the trip."

While Rose giggled delightedly at the prospect of strained carrots, Everett had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide and stifle a gag at the thought of the orange, flavorless mush.  As often as he had tried, he had not been able to convince his daughter that applesauce was a much more palatable meal than ground vegetable slime.

Happily, of late Rose, having had a few teeth come in, had begun to be interested in more solid food.  She could already feed herself whole peas, olives, chopped peaches and pears, and bits of bread.  He was convinced that it would not be long before she could fully appreciate the vastly more valid pleasures of beans, potatoes, and a well grilled steak.

The black iron of the gate that closed off the ascender shaft was just a few paces to the left of the stairwell.  By habit, Everett started right, towards the stairs.  Their room was only on the fourth floor and it was generally quicker to take the stairs than to wait for the ascender to build up enough steam to clank up from the lobby.

Sarah, however, went left.  "Let's let Rose ride one last time."

He grinned.  For some unknown odd reason, his baby daughter had always gotten the giggles from riding the noisy, shuddering ascender and it was absolutely adorable.  He swung around to join them.  "Sure."

Taking the matching mallet from its hook, he rang the brass gong mounted alongside the gate.  After just a few seconds, the lobby gong echoed up the shaft in reply, the tiny steam whistle gave an abbreviated peep, and the raw sound of meshing iron gears and the grind of steel wheels on rails began to rise up through the shaft.

This was the first ascender that Everett -- and Sarah and Rose as well -- had ever ridden in.  He had read about them, of course.  Technological advances were always front page news, but only in very large cities, such as here in New Zindersberg where some of the buildings were an amazing eight storeys tall, did the new mechanisms have any real practical utility.

The cage advanced up the shaft with surprisingly good speed and arrived in less than thirteen minutes, which Everett thought had to be a record.

A porter with incredibly thick lenses in his glasses and the improbable name of Irving Blisterwumple von Ting normally operated the ascender, but today it was a slight young woman with a bounce in her step and frizzled auburn hair who rolled aside the inner and outer gates.

"Good morning, folks!" she offered in an I'm-so-incredibly-happy-to-see-you! tone.  "Going down?"

"Yes," Sarah replied with the same cheerfulness.  "Lobby, please."

"Could you toot the whistle?" Everett asked.  "Rose gets a kick out of it."

"Certainly, sir!"

The young woman gave a dangling chain a twitch, which elicited a quick whoot from the tiny whistle mounted at the top of the car and an extended burbling laugh from a delighted Rose.

Sarah beamed at the porter as she proffered her standard two silver tip.  "Thank you very much!"

"Glad to be of service, ma'am!  It was a wonderful character moment!"

Everett felt his smile slip.  What had the porter meant by that?

The ginger porter twitched her gaze aside to avoid his eyes, then hurriedly proceeded to throw levers and open valves in the precise order necessary to put the ascender in motion.  With only a slight jerk and the usual accompanying rattle, the caged platform started to crawl down the shaft.

"I'll be happy to get home," Sarah said to Everett as Rose became entranced with the whirling gears and reciprocating arms of the mechanism.

"Me too.  I'm looking forward to just being a layabout for a while."

Sarah's expression darkened.  "I hope you get your wish."

"Magic and Technology should be all sorted out," he said with more confidence than he actually felt.  "I doubt that we'll see any of their shenanigans for, oh, a couple of years, at least."

Sarah allowed a smile.  "I'm sure you're right, dear."

Rose laughed, clapped her hands, and giggled all the way down.

At the ground floor, the operator had just begun the process of closing valves to bring the ascender to a stop, when its main drive gear gave an abrupt rattle and froze with a shriek of tearing metal.  One of the copper steam lines popped a joint, spewing steam back up the shaft as the car seized in place with a slight jerk, its floor a few inches above the polished white tile of the lobby.

"Oh!  I'm terribly sorry!" the operator apologized effusively as she opened the gate.  "That only happens when it's necessary to give a portent of impending doom!"

TWO

"Wait, what?" Everett demanded of the porter. "Why did you say that?"

"Let's hurry, dear," Sarah said, steering him out into the lobby.  "Rose has to eat and I have to make one extra stop before we leave the Square."

"But, but -- !"

"Stop dragging your feet, Everett.  The ceremony begins promptly at eleven and Marshlight will be devastated if there is any delay."

Everett sighed and submitted to the inevitable as Sarah, Rose once more ensconced on her hip, breezed through the expansive, colonnaded lobby and out to the waiting carriage.  He trailed his bride and daughter with reluctant but long strides, feeling one last twinge of regret at leaving behind the luxury, extravagance, and comfort of the hotel.  With the fantasy of New Zindersberg soon to be far behind them, they must return inexorably to their normal, apple growing, baby-raising, and unremarkable but well-appreciated life.

Several uniformed porters were in the process of efficiently strapping the last of their luggage into the rear storage of the carriage and their regular driver, a talkative, gregarious man with ruddy cheeks, snow white hair, and a modest stature by the name of Mike Burkett, was holding the door open for them to board.

Quite a number of retired sailors made the Free Port of New Zindersberg their home.  The hotel concierge had been one, and, like Mike, he had proudly worn his navy blue ship officer's cap with the obligatory peacock feather and leaping silver dolphin insignia.  But, rather than the sharp lines and fast colors of the concierge's cap, Mike's cap had faded to a water-stained grey and his feather had acquired a skeletal, bereft appearance with only a fuzzy hint remaining of its original dashing splendor.  A perennially chipper fellow of quick and precise movements, Mike, however, continued to possess the trim, still-at-fighting-weight physique that Everett had come to associate with New Zin's men of the sea.

"Good day, ma'am, good day, sir, and good day little Rose!" Mike beamed as Sarah mounted the steps and settled onto the rear facing seat.

"Good morning, Mike!" Sarah replied with the same enthusiasm.  "If you don't mind, please take it slow to start this morning.  Rose hasn't had her breakfast yet and I'd like to feed her during the ride."

"Of course, ma'am!

Everett tarried to shake hands with all the porters and doormen, showing his everlasting appreciation at the same time in the form of a three silver note (only printed in New Zindersberg, as far as he knew, and specifically intended for use as a gratuity) to each as he bid them a hearty farewell, and then, suddenly energized by the thought of home, bounded into the shade of the carriage compartment and took his seat beside Sarah.

Mike shut and latched the door behind him, and, as soon as he had climbed to the driver's seat, twitched his whip to set the matched pair of grey geldings, named, oddly, Lemon and Meringue, into motion.  The carriage moved smoothly as it merged out into the broad thoroughfare of Market Drive, its excellent springs making the motion feel like the smooth glide of a boat across the still water of a sheltered lake.  The midmorning traffic was light, a goodly number of hired coaches like theirs but only a few of the usually ubiquitous tarp shrouded freight wagons, and Mike, as was his standard practice, handled his team with the finesse of a genuine artist as they began their last circumnavigation of the Grand Market, headed for the Passenger Terminal of the New Zindersberg Central Docks.

"Hand me a jar of the carrots, a bib, and a spoon, dear," Sarah told him.

While in New Zindersberg, a city understandably rife with pickpockets, Sarah had been almost exclusively the custodian of Rose and Everett the custodian of Rose's day bag, which he had come to carry beneath his arm as a standard part of his attire.  Stern glares, the avoidance of the thickest sections of crowds, and a refusal to be tempted by the trade's standard tactics of distraction had dissuaded most of the cutpurses from choosing the De Schael family as a target.  Only one determined fellow had actually managed to slip his hand into Rose's bag before Everett had snared him, wrist and nape.  Everett had argued for, at a minimum, setting the man's boots on fire with Sarah's fifth spell, but Sarah had settled for leaving the thief asleep in the arms of two not grinning constables, compliments of her third spell.

Thankfully, all of Sarah's spells continued to work perfectly.

His, on the other hand, were still twisted into useless crap.

Rose clapped her hands and made happy noises as her mother spooned carrots into her eager mouth.

"A glass of milk, please!" Sarah cast, holding out her palm to receive the frosted mug.

As always, Everett felt the actuation of the spell, but, oddly, this time he also felt a sudden twinge of nausea.  After a moment, he dismissed the sensation as a result of his rather more than filling breakfast, and, as per their standard routine, took the mug, filled Rose's small cup, and passed that back to Sarah, who gave their daughter a drink.

"Why the frown, Everett?" Sarah asked, examining his face.  "Sad to see New Zindersberg go?"

Everett quickly straightened his lips into a smile.  He had not realized that his thoughts had been showing on his face.  "A little yes, but I'll be more than glad to get home."

"We'll find uses for your new spells," she encouraged.  "We can make them work."

He nodded but his mood did not lighten.  While his first six spells had been a source of constant annoyance and derision for much of his life, the Epiphanies of his last seven had given him the ability to stop a war and save the woman he loved.  He had grown comfortable with them as an everyday part of his life and he had come to rely on his magic to make even his most mundane wishes a reality.  His last seven spells had made him a competent, affluent, and respected magicker.

They had made him a Wizard.

And he had liked being a Wizard.

"You're still a Wizard, Everett," Sarah assured him.

He was not at all surprised that she had known what he had been thinking.  She had gotten very good at that and he often wondered if she had, without telling him, acquired a new spell that gave her that ability.

"Yes, but a Wizard with utterly useless spells doesn't even have the right to use the title."

Sarah blew out a puff of exasperated air.  "Oh, poo, Everett.  Magic doesn't make the man.  The man makes the magic."

"Magic makes the magic and she's one royal b--"

"Rose is listening, dear."  Sarah had recently decreed that Rose, already absorbing words at a rapid rate, would not learn any coarse language from her parents.  That was what school mates were for.

"Anyway," Sarah continued as she passed the empty carrots jar, drained cup, slightly sticky spoon, and soiled bib back to Everett who promptly returned all to the "used" section of Rose's bag. "Let's not talk about magic on our last day in New Zindersberg."

She rapped on the privacy partition and Mike slid it back with an elbow.

"Yes, ma'am?" the driver asked over his shoulder, his full attention still on the reins in his gnarled hands and his team.

"Mike, could we stop at that shop?  You know the one?  I need to pick up one last gift."

"Certainly, ma'am!" Mike said, throwing a quick glance and a wide grin at Everett.

Everett made a face.  "One last gift?  Who else is there to buy for?  We have something for everyone we know and even something for the daughter of the Dowager Princess of Alarsaria, who as far as I know doesn't even know we exist!"

"Oh, don't be silly.  She sent us an invitation to her graduation from finishing school."

"She sent everyone in New Zindersberg an invitation!"

"Now you're just exaggerating."

"Even the boy that helps the man that delivers milk to the L'Hotel de Ville got one."

"Oni is her fourth cousin, twice removed."

"Just like I said.  Everyone."

As Mike directed the carriage into the lane before a well appointed shop with bright curtains in its windows, Sarah passed a sated but wide awake Rose to Everett.  "I'll be right back."

The spry retiree had the reins lashed off and the carriage door open before Sarah could reach for the handle and she swept across the walk with almost expectant steps into the small shop.

Everett watched through the glass of the display windows for a moment as she was met by a saleswoman that obviously knew her, then Rose said, "Patty-cake, daddy!"

Smiling, he complied, holding up his palms so that she could smack them.

"Story, daddy," she said, as she alternated hands.

"Alright, sweetheart.  What story would you like?"

"Goat story, daddy."

Everett had reacted with some alarm when it had become clear to him that Rose had a clear memory -- an adult, detailed, and complete memory -- of all the time that she had been possessed by Magic.  At first, he had been fearful that some long term harm might have been done to her by the experience, but his fears had calmed when it also became clear that his Rose was just a very smart (Smarter than she might have been otherwise?) little girl that liked little girl things in little girl ways.

"One day," he said, spinning her second favorite tale once again, "the people of the non-corporeal realm decided that Technology had been bad and sent him to the real world as a goat.  After many adventures, Daddy caught the goat and took him to Huhp-hnona-tup to save Mommy from being a Barbarian Queen.  When they arrived, Destiny revealed her true nature and became a giant.  The giant stepped on the goat and squashed him like a grape, letting Technology go back to the non-corporeal realm. Then Daddy summoned Magic as a giant dragon to fight giant Destiny."

"'n' Daddy made 'em stone!" Rose finished.

"Yes, sweetheart.  Then Daddy made them into stone."

"Tato Story, daddy."

So Everett told her the Potato Story.

True to her word, Sarah, sporting a wicked little grin, was back in scarcely five minutes, carrying a tiny, gold foil covered box that was tied up with a blue ribbon.  The bow was almost as big as the box itself.  As some of the most expensive items in New Zindersberg came in small packages, the size of the box could not be taken for an indication of the cost of its contents.

"Who's it for?" he asked her as Mike started the carriage back on its way.

Sarah's grin expanded exponentially.  "You!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh, I, uh, didn't get, er, ah, have time to get anything to give you."  He wondered frantically if he had missed some sort of anniversary or holiday.  Like ravenous wolves creeping from out a dark forest to rend the innocent limb from limb, those vicious things were always creeping up on him.

Sarah, clearly pleased with herself, said, "Sure you did."

He kept his response to a minimum, lest his own words produce evidence to incriminate him.  "I did?"

She took Rose from him and passed over the little box.  "Open it."

The ribbon slipped right off and the foil wrapping paper followed the same way.  The white box underneath was in two parts.  It took a relatively strong tug to separate them, and the contents, a pair of tiny, crocheted blue booties, spilled out onto his lap.  Somewhat at a loss, he picked them up.

"These are too small for Rose," he told Sarah.

Though only nine months old, his rapidly growing and tall for her age daughter was already walking unsteadily, and needed shoes and socks for her relative size rather than her age.

"They're not for Rose."

"Then who?"

"Think, dear."

"Oh. Oh!  We're having another baby."

"Yes! Aren't you incredibly excited?"

"Oh, uh, yes, absolutely."

Her brow knitted as she charged, "You don't look excited."

"Well, it's just that -- you know, mischief always seems to find us."

"Not any more," Sarah told him firmly.  "We're headed home and we're going to stay there.  No matter what, we won't go gallivanting off on any more adventures.  Agreed?"

He relaxed and grinned.  "Agreed."

It would be fine.  Sarah would be safe.  Rose would be safe.  The new baby would be safe.  "You bought blue.  You think it's going to be a boy?"

"I just have a feeling."

Rose bounced up and down on her mother's lap and exclaimed, "Brudder!"

Everett raised his head and drew his shoulders back.

A son!

"Wow."

"I was thinking that we could name him after you."

"A junior?"

Everett thought about the one Junior that he had known at Friar Albert’s Advanced Academy.  That unfortunate lad had had a permanent sinus condition, questionable personal hygiene, no friends, and a predilection for jokes that no one else had thought were funny.

"I'd rather not."

"How about we name him after your dad?"

He smiled "Done."

THREE

Circling nearly five miles around the shore of the more or less oval Bay of Punt, the New Zindersberg docks, strung like the pearls of a necklace along The Grand Avenue were said to be able to load or offload a thousand ships per day.  All of the produce of the dozens of demesnes, great and small, of the Edze and it environs flowed through the great city and this massive port.

Seeing the vast conglomeration of side roads, steam cranes, warehouses, raw material yards, loading docks, and queues of horse drawn wagons, Everett could well believe it.  Especially when it became apparent that, rather than the contained chaos that he might have expected, the entire colossal operation, assisted by much evident technology and magic, was efficient, organized, and (most importantly for his, Sarah, and Rose's immediate purpose of getting to the wedding on time) steadily moving.  Constables, often accompanied by Free Company militiamen, were posted to direct traffic at every intersection, even the ones with the newly installed clockwork signal posts, and the wait at any particular one never exceeded five minutes.

"Hey, Mike," Everett said to get the driver's attention.  "I thought that they were supposed to start using the signal mechanisms this week?"

"Eh?  Oh, there was something about a problem with the timing or some such.  Earl, one of the other drivers, said something about it yesterday."

"Funny, the signals worked fine in all the tests."

"Well, I guess no technology is perfect."

"Right."

But technology was almost perfect.  The quality and durability of a mechanism was subject to the quality of the construction of its components, of course, but it always worked as long as the engineer had diligently followed the schematic.

Mike turned the carriage into the long, looped, and one way drive of the Passenger Terminal and stopped behind a black, fully enclosed coach to join the extensive queue waiting to move up to unload at the main entrance.

"Let's walk, Everett," Sarah told him looking out at the wide and somewhat crowded esplanade that followed the curved front of the vast structure.  "It's not that far."

"Okay.  Mike --"

"Right you are, sir!"  Mike quickly set the brake, looped the reins around a brass hook, then hopped down to swing the door open for Sarah, his cap tucked under his arm.

"Thank you, Mike," she said as she exited.  "Would you like to come in for the ceremony?  I'm sure that Marshlight and Poubelle would be happy to have you attend."

"Thanks, ma'am, but I'd better stay with the carriage, what with all your packages on board.  Some unsavory types sometimes skulk about looking for something to buy their next drink with.  I'll be waiting in the carriage park.  It's just there at the end of the drive and you just have to follow that end of the walk around.  Wish the happy couple good luck from me."

"I will, Mike, and thank you again."

"It's been a pleasure, ma'am."

After Everett joined Sarah and Rose on the esplanade, Mike resumed his seat and then eased the carriage out of the queue and into the snail pace traffic of the through lane.  Everett, checking to make sure that Rose's day bag was secure under his arm, followed Sarah as she wove through the disorganized pedestrians to reach the entrance.

A cavernous building with arched trusses constructed of massive oak beams, the terminal had overhanging second floor balconies that housed taverns, cafes, and small shops.  Dozens upon dozens of shipping line ticket counters with bright signs and uniformed personnel in matching colors stretched in a long line beneath the balconies.  Several hundred passengers of all sorts from those in vacation clothes with steerage tickets to those in ridiculously expensive and often outrageously styled finery with first cabin berths were circulating in the terminal, some carrying their own valises and bags and others trailed by trains of porters

Sarah pointed towards a sign hanging down from the ceiling on silvered chains above one of the wide stairways.  In large white letters bookended by painted crimson roses, it read MATRIMONIAL LOUNGE

"That's it," she affirmed.

While Marshlight and Poubelle's union had been, so to speak, declared a foregone conclusion by no less than Destiny herself and the pair had been all but inseparable since their self-announced engagement in Zheria, Marshlight had, upon reaching New Zindersberg, often advertised (without proper justification in Everett's opinion) in tourism brochures as the City of Love, abruptly decreed that she deserved, nay had a right to, a full featured courtship.  Thus, as Everett, Sarah, and Rose had made a relaxed and restful holiday of their prolonged visit to the great city, the fated pair had been steadfastly engaged in a rigorous regimen of exactingly calculated wooing.

While Poubelle had also taken a room at L'Hotel de Ville, Marshlight had enshrined herself in lodgings on the opposite side of the Square so that each day the two could experience a carefully timed chance meeting at which they would plot their strategy for conquering whirlwind romance.  Their efforts, though forthright, had been somewhat less than magical: frequently scheduled midnight strolls to the neighborhood laundry and back, languid dinners at all-you-can-eat buffets, bouquets of day old flowers delivered every Thursday and Tuesday under a budget contract, assorted candies without nuts or raisins (he disliked nuts, she had an adverse gastric reaction to raisins), sonnets written with agonizing effort to rhyme with their first names, elegant balls at which neither Poubelle nor Marshlight danced because the two could not produce even a pair of left feet between them, hand holding on scenic bridges at sunset as long as it was not raining, windy, overcast, foggy, or within an hour of eating, serenades in rain showers simulated by a couple of lads flinging water from buckets, and enraptured, headache-producing gazing into each other's eyes for hours on end.

Poubelle had confided to Everett that he found the entire process utterly exhausting and more than a little confusing, but had professed his determination to see it through, even if it killed him.

Then, on the last night before the scheduled sailing of their already purchased honeymoon cruise, on the open terrace of the L'Hotel de Ville with Everett and family, Theddrid, Pauly, Giuseppe, and a number of the hotel's staff and patrons in audience, came the knee, the ring, and the question.

To which Marshlight had replied, "Absolutely not.  My mother always said that a girl who says yes to the first man to ask her looks desperate."

Forewarned and following the notes that he had pinned inside the lapel of his jacket, Poubelle, shoulders drooping in rehearsed dejection, had departed the scene (into the hotel lobby), but had rushed back in three exactingly timed minutes to exclaim that he could not possibly live without her and that she must wed him or he would surely perish.

Overcome with simulated joy and nigh to swooning, at least according to the copies of the script that she had passed out ahead of time, Marshlight had conceded that she could indeed consider marriage.

A soliloquy or two later, she had finally assented.

Afterwards, everyone had gone out for spicy noodles and seafood curry at the Alarsarian place around the corner.

Somewhat in the fashion of a restaurant maitre D', a steward in the pale blue uniform of the Laughton Island Steamship Line waited behind a podium on the right at the top of the stairs.

"Good morning and welcome to our Inaugural Honeymoon Cruise!" the young man enthused with a broad smile.  "How may I help you this morning?"

"We're here for the Simpson-Poubelle wedding," Sarah informed him while Rose gazed about in evident wonder at the phalanxes of fresh flowers that framed the arched entrance.

The steward consulted his book.  "That would be waiting Zone F, ma'am.  That's straight through, left into Concourse One.  Zone F has lemon decor.  You can't miss it."

Sarah thanked the man and charged through the entrance and Everett, as always, followed.  The airy entrance hall, lit mainly by daylight from skylights above and grand windows at the far end, had a number of comfortable looking couches and chairs in artful disarray and many of these were occupied with waiting passengers, the majority of whom appeared to be the expected recently wedded couples.

Concourse One was an open wing segregated into the aforementioned zones by lightweight rolling wall partitions in neutral grey and by ropes in a number of various colors strung between waist-height silvered stands.  Alerted by its yellow ropes, they found F, a roughly rectangular area without difficulty.  A low dais, also apparently portable and presently supporting a white lath arbor sprouting yellow paper roses sat at the back of the area.  Accompanied by precisely arranged chairs, half a dozen large round tables covered in yellow linen occupied the space.  Each of the tables had eight seats, but only one of the tables had occupants. Surrounded by this almost discomfort inducing amount of vacant space, Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauley were sitting together and munching canapés.

Theddrid, dressed in a somber suit, waved as they approached.  "Glad you're here!  Marshlight is in a tizzy!"

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked as she took a seat beside the older man.

This time, Everett silently amended.

"It's the yellow," Giuseppe supplied with half a grin.

"Yes, indeed," Theddrid agreed.  "It's supposed to be lemon, but Marshlight is sure that it's banana."

Sarah sighed.  "I'd better go have a talk with her.  Where is she?"

"She's gone off in search of the ticket agent," Theddrid supplied.

Sarah stood up and passed Rose to Everett.  "We'll be right back."

He watched her stride away for a moment then looked over at Giuseppe.  "You have someone watching the air carriage?"

"Four good men.  Well paid.  Loyal because they know Pauly knows where they live."

The freelance conflict resolution specialist just gave a slight smile.

"The craft is ready to take to the air as soon as we see the lovebirds off," Theddrid added.  "All supplies laid in.  Cargo secured.  Fuel tanks checked.  Engine primed and ready."

Everett chuckled.  "So all of you are as ready to leave New Zindersberg as Sarah and I?"

"It's a good place to make a little coin," Giuseppe said, "but the Assembly is a little bit too keen on collecting their import duties."

Theddrid shrugged.  "There are great opportunities for study here, but I have always preferred the freedom of the rural life."

Everett looked at Pauly.

"I am happy wherever I am," the man said with perfect aplomb.

Sarah returned, not quite dragging a scowling Marshlight, dressed stunningly (all brides being by definition stunning) in a silk brocade gown, along with her.

"Bride's here!" Sarah announced in a determined tone.  "Where's the groom?"

"When I left him at the hotel," Theddrid said, "he said he would be only fifteen minutes behind me."

A waiter in a jacket in the cruise line's colors and a white apron drifted near to Everett and presented the offerings from his tray.  "Canapé, sir?"

Recognizing the voice with a start, Everett looked up to see the off kilter grin and red hair of the porter from L'Hotel de Ville.

Everett started to get up, but the presence of Rose bouncing on his knee aborted the impulse. "What are you doing here?"

"Er, I, uh, work here, ah, too that is.  It's a part time job.  Yeah, that's it!  Have to make ends meet and all that."

"And that was how long ago?" Sarah, apparently overlooking the waiter to focus on the wedding at hand, asked of Theddrid.

"Good half an hour, I'd say."

"I knew I should have brought him here myself!" Marshlight complained.  "Our wedding is ruined!"

The waiter, having moved while Everett had been distracted by this exchange, intoned in a low voice from the other side of the table, "Unbeknownst to the wedding party, the unfortunate Haversack Poubelle, intrepid but injured in a horrendous carriage accident engendered by a malfunctioning signal mechanism, was even then working his slow and painful way to the side of his beloved."

Marshlight began wailing.

"Everett," Sarah ordered, "you'll have to get him here straightaway."

"Wait a minute.  He said unbeknownst.  Nobody uses words like that and how in Magic's name would he know what was happing to Poubelle?  We need to get to the bottom of this right now!"

Sarah shook her head in dismissal.  "What we need right now is a groom and that's a problem that magic can solve.  Use your eighth spell, dear."

Everett clamped his mouth shut to hold in a curse.  "Oh, all right!  Beautiful Woman, Come Forth!"

As happened upon occasion, the actuation of this strong spell gave him a full body tingle that made his nerves jangle a bit, but this time the feeling lingered for almost a full minute, rather than the few seconds that he had come to expect.  This caused him a brief moment of consternation.  But this was, he realized, the first spell that he had cast in many weeks.  He was probably just rusty and his sense that the actuation had been stronger was surely just a consequence of being out of practice.

Perhaps a full second or two quicker than it normally evinced, a fat goose, surprised and more than a little disgruntled, appeared on the center of the table.  Just as soon as Theddrid and Pauly had shooed the complaining bird off onto the floor, Everett realigned his locus and cast again.  With only a barely appreciable delay, Poubelle appeared next to Marshlight.

Favoring his right leg, the reformed drunkard stood uncertainly, not seeming to have immediately taken awareness of his new surroundings.  His tailored black velour jacket, purchased just for the ceremony, was missing and his white shirt with the currently in fashion heavily starched collars was filthy, ripped and rent, and smelled of beer.  An oozing gash about an inch long lay above his left eye.

"What happened?" Marshlight demanded in an incredulous voice.

Poubelle shook himself and blinked.  "It was crazy!  A beer wagon crashed right into the side of --"

Sarah took hold of the pair and physically propelled them towards the dais.  "We can get the story later!  Right now, we have a wedding to get done!"

FOUR

Marriages officially sanctioned by the Assembly of New Zindersberg were more like complex business mergers than sincere affairs of the heart and required the interventions and ministrations of lawyers, accountants, fiduciaries, bondsmen, actuaries, and arbitrators, and the generation of reams of documents, including bi-lateral financial contracts, adverse contingency agreements, multi-party indemnity bonds, and potential property dispositions to suit all of the conceivable scenarios.

However, as it did most everywhere else, a common marriage, whether generated by economic necessity, residential practicality, or boundless love and devotion, required only the willing parties, some unspecified number of witnesses, trustworthy or not, a moderator of any sort, and the expression of an agreement to the process.

As the witnesses -- Everett, Rose, Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauly (Everett knew that neither Marshlight nor Poubelle knew anyone else in New Zindersberg well enough to send them an invitation.) -- gathered around the dais, Sarah without much ado placed the couple's hands together and then simply took a pace back.

Marshlight looked deeply into Poubelle's eyes and he into hers and they both said together -- they had practiced no less than one hundred times -- "We're married!"

Everett held Rose up to do the clapping for the both of them, yelled "Congratulations!" and then eased back out of the sparse line of witnesses and circled around the dais to come up behind Sarah.

"Glad that's done," he whispered to her as Theddrid embraced his niece and her new husband and the others gathered around to pat backs and shake hands.  "Ready?"

"Five more minutes, dear.  It would be impolite not to see them off."

After remanding the goose to the custody of a quizzical but accommodating (five silver gratuity) waiter, it was actually closer to fifteen minutes by the time a recuperated Poubelle, supported by a concerned but happy Marshlight, managed to hobble down to the ground floor, through the obstacle course of kiosks and rushing passengers in the concourse, out onto the timber wharf, and up to the boarding ramp of their steamship, the Island Queen.

The sleek luxury liner, all spotless white paint and polished brass, was as new as an in service ship could be, having just completed her sea trials the month before.  This was to be the two hundred foot long ship's maiden voyage and the couple had reserved one of the four expensive but luxurious Honeymoon Suites.

Once within sight of the boarding ramp, the entire party stopped in shock.

A ship's officer in immaculate white with his cap tilted at a dashing angle, a purser in cobalt black with an extremely unhappy expression, a gaggle of infuriated passengers in holiday clothing cackling in an outraged manner, and a large banner cordoning off the entrance of the boarding ramp that read VOYAGE CANCELED announced in no uncertain terms that Marshlight and Poubelle's planned trip would not take place.

With a squawk that sounded to Everett very much like a swallowed curse of the more profane sort, Marshlight dashed forward, leaving Poubelle to stagger forward on his own, and hurtled to a stop in front of the ship's officer.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The officer, a heavy man with mutton chops, a ruddy complexion, and the spiny stars of a First Officer on his epaulets, swung his head ponderously to examine the banner.  "Why, madame, I would have thought that the meaning is self-evident."

As Marshlight began to sputter in inarticulate fury, Poubelle limped up to insert himself between the impending cataclysm that was his new bride and the humorless First Officer.  "I'm sorry, sir.  What my wife means to ask is why has the voyage been canceled?"

The First Officer's expression did not vary.  "The Engineers have reported that the Island Queen is unable to make steam, monsieur, and quite obviously the ship cannot sail without steam."

"But why can't she make steam?"

"As I happen to be a magicker rather than a mechanic, I am sure that I would have absolutely no idea."

"What about our money?" Marshlight, still at a boil but apparently no longer ready to boil over, demanded.  "You'll have to return our fare so that we can purchase tickets on another line!"

The purser spoke up.  "Yes, madame, that we certainly shall do, but if you would refer to the Terms and Conditions section of your tickets you will see that we have up to ninety-days --"

With the screech of an attacking eagle, Marshlight hurtled at the slight man.

Fortunately -- a number of constables were within painful outcry distance --Poubelle snared her before her claws could strike and with Everett and Giuseppe's assistance managed to coax her (in the physical sense of picking her up and carrying her) far enough away from the sailors to forestall any immediate bloodshed.

"Don't worry," Sarah assured her in a calming tone.  "We'll sort this all out."

"But we don't have enough money left to buy more tickets!" Marshlight wailed, eyes tearing.  "Our honeymoon is just ruined!"

Sarah took Marshlight's hand and patted it reassuringly.  "Oh, don't worry about that at all!  You and Poubelle must come home with us on the air carriage!  There's plenty of room and plenty of privacy!  The Edzedahl is beautiful this time of the year, especially from the air, and the wildflowers will all be in bloom by the time we get home!  There's a cozy bungalow behind the vegetable garden that can be spiffed up in a jiffy.  It will be just perfect for newlyweds!"

Everett had a sudden horrifying vision of never-ending houseguests.  "Well, uhm, maybe--"

Sarah cut her eyes at him.  "Right, Everett?  They must come with us and we just won't take no for an answer?"

He sighed.  "Of course," he said in a flat tone without trying to straighten out his frown.  "You must come.  It will be fun. I cannot wait."

Sarah glared at his insincerity but Marshlight began wiping away her tears and within a few moments allowed them to lead her back into the concourse to retrieve their baggage.

And, of course, Sarah convinced the couple to ride to Marigold Park with them rather than walk the direct half-mile along the shore with Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauly.  With the carriage storage already having been full, Marshlight and Poubelle had to cram their own not insignificant collection of baggage into the available interior space, meaning that everyone was crowded together with a valise underfoot, a hat box poking into their ribs, and a bag under elbow.

Mike welcomed the additional passengers with the same cheerfulness that he seemed to approach everything, and even helpfully jammed a couple of spare packages under his seat.

As soon as everyone was aboard, Everett, Sarah, and Rose in their usual seat and the newlyweds in the opposite, the pensioner guided the carriage out of the unloading lane and onto The Grand Avenue.  Now well into the afternoon, traffic was at its peak and was moving at a pace that hardly exceeded a casual stroll.

Everett felt extremely put upon, but made no comment, as it was a foregone conclusion that Sarah would have made him regret that comment later.  With the traffic sure to improve once they turned off of Grand Avenue to pass through the residential section that bordered Marigold Park, the ride should be less than half an hour and he made up his mind that he would not allow a little temporary discomfort to spoil his otherwise positive mood.

On arriving in New Zin, they had landed the air carriage in the largest open space detectable from the air, a hundred yard square, unobstructed and level field of neatly trimmed grass delineated by interlinked chalked circles.  This had subsequently been identified as a playing field for the uniquely New Zindersbergian game of Oyster Toss.  Happily, for unclear reasons, the complicated diversion was pursued only in the autumn and the player federation that had suzerainty over the field had been amenable to a short term, off season lease.

Rose, seated on Everett's lap, waggled her hands at Poubelle.  "Fizzss, Unkapoo!"

Poubelle grinned.  "Sure thing, Rosie!"

While Sarah had established a rule that Rose could not receive the constant stream of the sweet drinks that Poubelle was capable of producing, she did not object to one upon occasion.

Poubelle held out his hand and enunciated, "Bring me a pint!"

The reformed wastrel had cast this, his only spell, perhaps hundreds of times in Everett's presence and the latter had come to recognize the nuances of the Minor level actuation as well as he did his own face in a mirror.

Thus, it came as something of a shock as this actuation struck him almost as a physical blow, making stars dance in his vision for a second or two.

"That's not a pint!" Marshlight exclaimed.

Rather than the modest, ice cold cherry fizz in a frosted mug that Poubelle's spell had previously summoned, he was now struggling to not spill a full gallon pitcher of the red bubbly drink. A sprinkling of whole cherries was floating in the pitcher, along with a few chunks of pineapple and ice cubes in the shape of little bunnies.  A green paper umbrella sprouted from the top as a decoration.

Rose waved her arms up and down and cheered, "Weee!"

"Even I felt that activation," Sarah declared, concern clouding her features.  She held out a hand.  "A glass of milk, please!"

The actuation of her second spell, also a Minor, should have been only slightly more intense than Poubelle's originally had been.

Everett could not see for a panicked moment.  When his vision did clear, he had an intense headache.

Sarah, likewise, had had to use both hands to support the gallon pitcher that she now held.  Oddly, the liquid within was brown.

"That looks kinda like poo," Poubelle ventured.

Marshlight punched her new husband's shoulder, not lightly.  "Don't be silly.  That's milk with that new delicacy -- chock-something-something -- from the Equatorial Isles.  I had some at my hotel.  It's really quite good and horrendously expensive."

Everett studied Marshlight for a moment, then said, "Try your Insignificant."

"Oh?  Alright.  Yum!"

The discomfort that Everett experienced from the actuation was not as significant as the previous two, but it did make him wince.

After some seconds, a silver tray appeared in Marshlight's lap.  Upon it was a crystal bowl filled with a yellowish, lumpy mix containing identifiable slices of boiled egg, some chunks of potatoes, and a few bits of purple onion.  A sprinkling of bacon bits dusted the top.

Everett dipped a finger into the bowl for a taste.  "Mustard potato salad.  Almost the same recipe as my dad used."

"Ah, my arms are getting tired," Poubelle mentioned.  "What should I do with the cherry fizz?"

With a fierce expression, Sarah extended her arms to pass her pitcher out through the window opening and let it go.

"Oh!" Marshlight complained.  "That's fifty silver a cup!"

Sarah shrugged, took Poubelle's pitcher, and jettisoned it as well.

Rose, watching her mother with large eyes, said, "Uh oh, Mommy!"

With a grimace, Marshlight passed over the tray with the bowl of potato salad and, after throwing out a glance to make sure the heavy missile would not strike anything that might complain, Sarah tossed the two out to generate a potato salad buffered smash of crystal on pavement.

"That tray looked like sterling," Poubelle said with evident regret and a quick look back.

"Ah, ma'am?" Mike cautioned through the driver's window.  "There's a hefty fine for littering on the streets.  The Assembly has decided to clean up the city a bit for all the tourists."

"Not important right now, Mike." She looked at Everett and then said quite calmly, "Something is definitely wrong with magic, and we need to figure out how to fix it."

FIVE

For some weird reason, her matter-of-fact statement lifted Everett's spirits in one powerful surge.  Energy and enthusiasm seemed to flow into him and he suddenly felt more motivated than he had in weeks.

"Alright," he declared, sitting up a little straighter.  "No one cast any spells until we get back aboard the air carriage and only then under controlled conditions."

"What are 'controlled conditions'?" Poubelle wanted to know.

"He means no more fizzes without permission," Marshlight told him in a gruff tone.  Apparently for good measure, she gave him an elbow in the ribs and twitched her head in a quick negative.

"Oh, gotcha."

Marshlight, her expression focused and determined, asked, "What else should we do, Everett?"

"I don't know yet.  Once we get back to the air carriage and are safely in the air, we'll plot strategy.  The first thing that we have to find out is why this is happening."

"It's that feud between Magic and Technology again, I bet," Poubelle suggested.

"I think so too," Everett said.  That explanation was obvious.  "But we can't assume anything at this point.  We should not discount Destiny until we know that she isn't involved."

The carriage slowed as Mike drew back on the reins and then swayed to starboard a bit as he negotiated the turn onto the drive that led around the Oyster Toss field.  It was only another moment or so before the retired sea captain unexpectedly drew up his team to bring the carriage to an abrupt halt that almost unseated Poubelle.

"There's a problem," Mike called down through the driver's window.

The roof and front of the carriage blocked most of the forward view.  Wasting no time, Everett passed Rose to Sarah, opened the port side door, and hopped down onto the black, worn brick of the drive.

With its huge collection of gas cells entirely dominating the view, the air carriage, moored with half a dozen heavy cables, was perhaps seventy yards away.  The craft was parked in the penalty zone of the field, completely enclosed by the eight point perimeter line.

However, further progress along the drive was impossible.  A large contingent of ships' officers, in the varicolored, though predominantly white and black, dress uniforms of a number of prominent shipping companies, were strolling back and forth across the lane in a tight end to end queue.    Each of the men and women carried a placard mounted to a short pole and each of the placards was printed with a slogan and each of the slogans condemned, some in extreme terms with multiple exclamation points, the unfair practices of the Air Carriage Owners Association.

As there was, as far as Everett knew, only one air carriage in all of New Zin -- surely only one in all of the Edzedahl, as a matter of fact -- he took it for granted that the ACOA was in fact he, Sarah, Rose, Giuseppe, Theddrid, and Pauly.  And, of course, now Marshlight and Poubelle also, who were once again to become passengers.

As they had, at lest in one sense, stolen the air carriage from the Esatis in the Republic of Zheria, Everett could see where there might be a legal question as to the exact ownership of it, but he doubted that mention of that fact would prove productive in the current situation.

"What is it?" Sarah asked through the open door.

"I think that the New Zindersberg Guild of Ships' Officers has a grievance with us.  Mike, would you mind coming along with me to talk to them?"

"Certainly, monsieur."  Mike hastily tied off the reins, set the brake, and climbed down.

"If you don't mind, Mike," Everett told the pensioner, "call me Everett. We're all done with our high spending ways and we're just normal people again."

Mike grinned.  "Sure thing."

Inside the carriage, Poubelle stirred, not with any apparent enthusiasm.  "I should come, too, do you think, Everett?"

"Might be better for you to hold the fort here."  He shot a quick smile in Sarah's direction.  "In case there's any sort of dust up, I'd feel better if you were here."

Sarah's spells were potent enough, as she had freely demonstrated upon many occasions, to deal with any possible threat -- not that he expected any at all from the marchers -- but not having to worry about what Poubelle might say or do at the wrong time would be his preferred option.

"Oh, right you are then!"  Poubelle settled back into his seat, looking somewhat relieved.

"Do you have your purse?" Sarah asked.

In New Zindersberg, they had learned, nearly every unexpected situation required silver, either directly or indirectly.

"Yes," he replied, but then just to be sure checked his trouser pocket for his money clip and the fold of paper bank notes (the exchange rate had been too advantageous to disregard) that represented the very last of their funds.  He smiled one last time at Sarah and Rose, nodded to Mike, and then the two of them advanced towards the picket line.

While the other score or so continued their circuit, one of the picketers, with the silver rose of a Second Officer on his cap, strode out with confident strides to meet them.

"That's Earl Beauchamps," Mike said as a whispered aside to Everett, "chairman of the Guild negotiating committee."

The approaching officer broke into a broad, happy smile when he recognized the carriage driver walking beside Everett.  "Hey, Mike!"

Everett, realizing that this was one of the not rare moments when he should keep his mouth shut and let someone else do the talking, did just that.

"Hey, Earl," Mike answered.  "How're the kids?"

"Doing good.  Oldest is about to take the exams for the Academy."

"That's grand.  What's this all about then?"

"The Guild has voted to protest the illegal and potentially hazardous operation of this vessel.  From our information, this gentleman with you is one of the owners and it is clear that he intends to launch the vessel without the legally mandated benefit of an adequately trained and licensed crew.  The Guild feels that this irresponsible lack of qualified personnel could and very likely will result in a calamitous shipwreck in the very heart of the city.  Any rational person will immediately realize that the incidence of such a large vessel coming to earth would do great damage to the health and property of the citizens of New Zindersberg.  The potential for loss of life is utterly horrifying."

Affronted, Everett could not stop himself from interrupting.  "Pardon me, but our vessel is an air carriage, not a ship of any sort at all."

Earl grinned.  "Unfortunately, sir, I must correct you on that point.  The official legal definition codified by an act of the Assembly of New Zindersberg states that a ship is 'Any non-wheeled conveyance capable of transporting goods and/or passengers for a distance greater than one linear mile.'"

Mike grunted.  "Is that new?"

"Passed and published just yesterday."

Without making an obvious gesture of it, Everett withdrew his money clip from his pocket, hoping that two hundred and eight silver would be sufficient.  "What sort of fee would be required to bring us into compliance?"

"No fee at all," Earl replied in an amenable fashion.

Delighted, Everett stuffed the shrunken reserve back in his pocket.  "Excellent!"

"You'll just have to contract for a full crew."

Everett kept a frown from his lips.  "The air carriage is a complex mechanism that requires specialized technological training for its operators.  Even the most experienced traditionally trained sailor would lack the necessary skills and would be absolutely useless as crew."

"I'll grant that that's true," Earl replied evenly.  "But for our members to get that specialized technological training, they'll have to serve aboard flying ships.  We might be able to agree that the crew that you hire today would only act as observers on this initial flight."

Everett glanced at Mike and had an idea.  "Excuse me a moment," he told Earl.  "I need to consult with my companions."

"Certainly.  Take all the time you need."

Once they were out of earshot of Earl, Everett asked Mike, "You still keep up your Guild dues, don't you?"

"That's right.  Never know when I might need to get out of town quick."

"Great.  How would you like an all expenses paid trip to Alturia?"

Alturia was a small city in the demesne of the same name about a hundred miles north of New Zindersberg, just beyond the border of the metropolis' neighboring demesne, the Earldom of Hwloeybock.

"Can't say that I'd fancy it.  I'd miss my next rotation on the carriage.  That'd make a fairly large dent in my extra income."

For the convenience of their guests, L'Hotel de Ville provided a number of carriages and hired freelance drivers like Mike on a fee per trip contract.  The pensioner normally did not drive on a daily basis, but a small remuneration to the agreeable hotel concierge had insured that Mike was available whenever the De Schaels needed him.

"We'll get there in less than a day and a river barge would get you back in no more than another three days.  Would two hundred cover four days?"

"It might, if by all expenses paid you mean decent food and no swabbing the decks."

Everett laughed.  "No decks to swab.  We just let the wind blow everything out from time to time.  Those of us that can cook take turns in the galley.  That means that under no circumstances is Poubelle allowed to prepare anything."

"I'll make sure that I remember that.  I've seen a bad cook almost lead to a mutiny.  It wasn't pretty, let me tell you.  Alright, sign me up.  I suppose that you'll be sticking to your schedule of leaving right away?  I'll have to get one of my mates to get the carriage back to the hotel, though."

"How long would that take?"

"Earl or one of the others on the picket line could do it, I'd expect."

"Great!"  Now back at the carriage, he took a couple of moments to explain the situation to the others and his idea for resolving it.

Sarah gave a quick smile of approval. "Good idea.  It sounds like the easiest and quickest way to take off without a lot of uproar."

Marshlight nodded in agreement.  "I'm for anything that gets us out of New Zindersberg."

Poubelle just said, "Whatever you think, Everett."

Rose waved her hands and made burbling noises.

Pleased that none of them had produced an objection, Everett, motioning for Mike to return with him again, headed straight back to the waiting Guild negotiator.

"There's only enough room aboard for one observer," he told Earl straightaway.  "We could not possibly take any more."

As far as he was concerned, the matter was settled and he saw no point in engaging in half an hour of verbal sparring before they got down to the central issue.

"Our members have to stand watch under all types of weather," Earl countered.  "Three or four could sleep on that upper deck."

"Ever see what a man looked like after he fell from a thousand feet?"

Earl looked taken aback.  "No, can't say that I have.

"When we fly through a thunderstorm, everything on the upper deck that isn't bolted down gets blown off.  And we never stop for bad weather."

The Guild negotiator considered Everett for a moment.  "Well, if there's only room for one more in the cabin, then you could easily take two, if they sleep opposite watches."

Everett shook his head firmly.  "We can't do it.  It's a matter of buoyancy and fuel.  Every extra man aboard costs us lift and speed and cuts down on our cruising range."

"In the interest of good will," Earl hedged, "the Guild might be able to provide a subsidy for the second crewman."

Again, Everett shook his head.  "Takes a full day to make extra fuel and we have a schedule to keep.  We have to depart today."

Manufacturing the fuel using a chemical process did in fact take a whole day, but they did not actually make fuel that way.  While Everett tried to not make a habit of lying, he did from time to time find it necessary to be misleadingly deceptive and was not at all above using exaggeration to his advantage in discussions with authorities.  That flexibility had kept him out of jail more than once during his sojourn as an itinerant magicker in Heimgelberg.

In point of fact, in order to be prepared for all contingencies, when they had landed in the city he had topped off the air carriage's tanks with his sixth spell and the task had required only a little over half an hour of effort.

But he was not prepared to give even one more inch.  In order to sidestep any possible hindrance to launching the air carriage today, he was willing to accept a compromise -- that being to bring Mike, with whom he and Sarah already had a lengthy acquaintance and therefore a good sense of the man's demeanor and character -- but he would not consider anything more.  If necessary, he was prepared to begin the process of learning what this latest kink in magic had done to the evincings of his and Sarah's higher level spells.

He made sure that his determination was apparent in his expression.

Earl rubbed his chin for a long moment.  "I take it that you've already hired Mike?"

"That's right."

"Just one?"

"Just one."

"Very well," Earl relented, "but on your next flight to New Zindersberg, I would suggest that you negotiate a Guild agreement in advance."  Earl stuck out his hand.

Everett shook it, not begrudgingly. "If we ever have reason to visit again, we'll land outside the city."

Earl smiled.  "As Mike will tell you, the Guild works diligently for the benefit of all sailors, whether they have water under their keel or air."

Everett shrugged.  "May we pass now?"

Earl stepped to the side and made a sweeping gesture with his hand.  "By all means."

While Everett and Mike trotted back to the carriage, the Guild members cleared the lane, but rather than disperse, they stacked their signs and then walked out into the field to gather in a loose conversational group not far from the air carriage.  Evidently, they intended to hang around to watch the launch.

Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauly were waiting on the ground just in front of the wooden steps that led up to the latched open port hatch.

Everett waved them over as soon as he stepped down from the coach.

Pauly was wearing four of his pistols, two in cross draw holsters and two in shoulder holsters.  Everett had seen him practice and knew that the Zherian could hit four moving targets so fast that the reports ran together, reload all four weapons in less than three seconds, fire again, and maintain that repetition until he had exhausted all of the cartridges in his pockets.

Evidently, he had expected that his services would be required to resolve the situation.

"I've warmed up the engines and can have them going in no more than two minutes," Theddrid reported.  "I've already over pressurized the cells so that we have launch buoyancy. Giuseppe is ready to sever the tethers with his spell on your command."

"We've made arrangements for clearance from the Guild," Everett said immediately to forestall questions, spell castings, and resolutions.  "We're taking a Guild observer up to Alturia and we're leaving just as soon as we load our baggage aboard."

Wanting to clear out the interior of the coach first in order to allow Sarah and Rose to exit without having to step over anything, he turned about straightaway and told Poubelle to begin passing out his and Marshlight's baggage.  As soon as he had a valise in each hand, a hatbox under one arm, and an umbrella case under the other, he marched briskly towards the air carriage.  The three men immediately stepped up in his place to receive their own share.

When he reached the steps, he began to put one of the valises down to free a hand to reset the sliding hatbox, but a young man with a tall, gangly build dashed up and said, "Let me help you with that, sir!"

"Thanks!"

As the young man took the hatbox from him, he thought to raise his head to take a square look at the helpful fellow.

When he saw a thatch of copper hair, he dropped everything and made a diving tackle to take the ginger to the ground.

"Who are you?" he yelled into the terrified face of the unresisting young man.  "Why do you know so much about us?"

"Excuse me, Everett, but do you know Bertram?" Giuseppe asked as he rushed up with a trunk thrown over his shoulder.

Everett stopped shaking the hapless ginger.  "Your name is Bertram?"

"Yes, sir! Bertram Peabody!  I'm Monsieur Giuseppe's first cousin's son!"

"He's one of the guys that I had watching the air carriage while we were at the nuptials," Giuseppe explained.  "Has he done something?"

Everett snapped his gaze back to Bertram.  "Are you about to make some ominous but unclear pronouncement?"

After a few seconds of consideration in which his eyes darted about as if seeking the answer, Bertram allowed, "Uhm, no?"

"You're not going to say something that sounds like it came from a ten pence novel?"

"Uhm, no again?"

Everett took a deep breath, let it out slowly, released the slim youth, stood and then helped Bertram to his feet.  "Sorry, I've mistaken you for someone else."

Carrying a wide-eyed and fascinated (it had been some time since she had seen her daddy pummel an innocent bystander) Rose, Sarah arrived and awarded Everett a disapproving look.  "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, just an unfortunate case of mistaken identity."

"I see," she said, meaning We're going to discuss your misbehavior later.   "Are you all right, young man?"

Bertram grinned in a lopsided fashion.  "Yes, ma'am."

Feeling a bit sheepish, Everett told the ginger, "Once more, I'm sorry."

"Oh, no harm done, sir!  I'm just happy to be able to join a company of such brave adventurers as yourselves!"

Everett scowled.  "What did you mean by that?"

Bertram's grin dissolved into a look of utter panic.  "Uhm, ah, uh --"

Giuseppe took his stammering relation's arm and propelled him not gently towards the hatchway.  "Bertram, run help with the baggage."

With a look of grateful relief, the youth immediately bolted inside.

The unregulated duty-free import-export trade expeditor waited until his nephew was out of hearing range, then told Everett, "He doesn't mean any harm.  He's just been reading way too much.  His mum asked me to show him a bit of the world and I invited him along.  He's going to bunk in the cargo bay.  If it's going to be a problem, me and him can get off at our first stop and leg it back to Mrysberg.  He'd see more of the world that way, so it might be the best thing for us."

Everett shook his head.  "No, he's more than welcome to come with us.  It's just that this newest problem with magic has me on edge."

Giuseppe raised his eyebrows.  "There's a new problem?"

Everett began picking up the stuff that he had dropped.  "We'll explain everything once we're aloft."

"Sounds good."

Everett quickly deposited the two valises, hatbox, and umbrella case in the passageway outside of Marshlight's former and now once again cabin, then went back out to the carriage.

When he saw that the watching Guild members had moved a little closer, he told Mike, "Go tell your friends to come and help.  Their first lesson in the operation of an air carriage will be Belaying Mooring Cables."

With all the baggage stowed somewhere and everyone finally aboard, including the recent additions of Mike and Bertram, Everett went to the still open port hatch and waved at Earl to signal the recruited groundsmen to release the cables from their stakes.  When the air carriage began its slow and steady rise, he waved the guildsmen to fall back and then closed and dogged the hatch.

Poubelle met him on his way forward.  "Hey, Everett, before I boarded, I was talking to this fellow and he said the oddest thing."

Everett stopped.  "Did he have red hair?"

"As a matter of fact he did.  How'd you know?"

"It wasn't Bertram, was it?"

"No.  He looked familiar, though. Like I had seen him before, but I don't know where."

"Right.  What did he say?"

"I remember it exactly, which is kinda weird.  Was a time when I couldn't remember my own name.  Anyway, he said, 'Having overcome their first heroic challenge, the intrepid company has begun their grand adventure.  Who knows what danger lurks ahead?'"

Everett grunted.  "So the picket line was supposed to be a heroic challenge?  Doesn't seem like much of a challenge, heroic or otherwise, to me."

Poubelle looked confused.  "How's that, Everett?"

"Never mind.  Come and get me immediately if you see that fellow again."

"Will do.  What was that all about, do you imagine?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure that it isn't good."

Half an hour later, the air carriage passed over the ruined fortress on the top of the Zindersberg and officially departed the territory of the great city and entered that of the Earldom of Hwloeybock.  After they crossed a loop of the Edze that lapped the foot of the northern bluffs, they began to fly above the glistening rice paddies of the almost completely level floodplain of the Zindersvelt.

Taking a break on the upper deck with Sarah and Rose, Everett watched the sprawling neighborhoods of the metropolis drift astern with heart-felt relief.

They were finally -- hopefully -- on their way home.

SIX

Ten miles short of Alturia, the number one port engine exploded.

After having spent an hour getting all of the baggage and the new crew members squared away, a tardy lunch of cold cuts, cheese, and fruit had been undertaken with only modest enthusiasm all around.  When everyone had eaten all that they cared to eat and the galley had been cleaned and secured, Sarah and Rose had retired to the main cabin just aft of the control compartment (being a family of three -- soon four! -- required space) for a nap, but, uneasy without any real reason to be so and brooding on that unexplained lack, Everett had left them to rest and had gone forward to join Theddrid, Mike, and Bertram in the control compartment.

At launch, Giuseppe and Pauly had taken on the piloting duties and had eaten their lunch while at the controls.  A short while after he had finished his own meal, Theddrid had relieved the pair in order to begin instructing the two newest members of the crew on the complex operation of the air carriage's controls and mechanisms.  It had been a standing matter of agreement amongst the original eight (Rose having honorable mention) crew members that all who rode in the air carriage should have, at a bare minimum, a full functional competence in its operation.  When Theddrid had brought it up, everyone had thought it a good idea to continue that practice with Mike and Bertram.

While Mike had been ambivalent concerning learning skills that likely would have no long term utility for him, the young ginger, confessing to having earned the rank of Common Mechanic, had been eager to learn about the air carriage.

Giuseppe had later told Everett in confidence that his nephew's three schematics were designs for unmarketable items: a large. roughly hexagonal nut with no threads cut in it, a six inch, untoothed, not exactly round gear blank, and a sixteen inch shaft that was also not round as the schematic called for it to be hammered out of a square bar.

"His mum thought that he might apprentice to be a blacksmith," Giuseppe had further explained.  "But that didn't work out -- he couldn't get the fire started in the forge on his first day.  He's been spending most of his time since then playing Oyster Toss and reading ten pence novels."

So, for almost three hours while the tinkerer had coached the two new members of the crew in the names of the levers and valves that made the air carriage fly, iterated through the control steps necessary to achieve basic flight maneuvers, and demonstrated simple altitude changes, Everett had just sat back in the navigator's chair and watched out through the big front windows as the clouds above and the landscape below had slid effortlessly by.

When the engine blew, the explosion shocked him from his relaxed ennui and made his heart jump as if it were trying to burst from out of his chest.  Nerves electrified, he jumped to his feet.

Though the sound was not horrifically loud, the pressure of the blast cracked several of the port side windows and rattled the metal skin of the air carriage.  The concussion and accompanying shudder drew a hoarse exclamation from Theddrid and a surprised nautical curse from Mike.  Bertram just looked about, frightened and uncertain.

The pitch of the propellers of the other five engines changed as they came under greater load and the air carriage started to bank to port from the imbalance in thrust.  As Theddrid hurried to throttle back the starboard engines to compensate, Everett ran to the port side to look out.

The two stanchions that had supported the number one engine were twisted, blackened, and sheared off.  The engine itself was not even visible as flaming debris falling towards the farm fields below.

"The engine is completely gone," he announced in a grim tone to the other three.

Shirtless, shoeless, and looking as if he had thrown on his trousers in a frantic hurry, Poubelle burst into the compartment and demanded, "What was that?"

Sarah, carrying Rose, who was spinning her head about in curiosity, dashed in and then Giuseppe, Pauly, and Marshlight, in a thick blue bathrobe embroidered with L'Hotel de Ville in white letters over the breast pocket, piled in behind her.

Sarah went straight to Everett's side.  "Are we under attack?"

"No," he assured her and all the rest.  "One of the engines has failed and broken free."

"Engines don't fail," Marshlight challenged, holding her robe pinched closed at the neck with both hands while her lips turned down in a disbelieving frown.  "Technology doesn't fail.  It's not like magic.  It always works."

"She's right," Theddrid agreed.  "It couldn't have failed.  It must have taken damage somehow.  Maybe a bird struck it."

"I can't see how a bird could have penetrated the cowling to damage the engine," Giuseppe demurred.  "The Esatis built this thing as a warship.  Everything is double or triple strength."

Everett turned out his hands.  "Whatever happened to it, it's gone.  Theddrid, we can continue on with just the five engines, can't we?"

The tinkerer gave a slow, thoughtful nod.  "We should be able to, but it will cut our forward speed considerably.  I think we should shut down starboard number one to prevent unbalanced strain on the structure.  I can throttle up the remaining four to make up for a portion of the loss."

"Alright, do it," Everett said.  "Everyone else, let's go through the entire carriage and look for any other damage.  Giuseppe, Pauly, Bertram, and Mike, you four check the cargo section, the upper deck, and the gas cells.  The rest of us will check the corridors, the galley, and the cabins.  Let's meet in the galley when we're done."

As the groups rushed to their tasks, the inspection was completed at a breakneck pace.  No other problems were discovered, but Everett did not relax.  When everyone, save Theddrid who remained in the control compartment to monitor the engines, had gathered back in the galley, he told them to get ready for any eventuality, including abandoning ship.

"Pack a small bag with clothes, whatever money you might have, enough tinned or dry food for a couple of meals, matches, blankets, and anything else that might be useful if we find ourselves afoot.  Keep the bag with you at all times."

Poubelle raised a hand.  "What if we have to use the facilities?"

"Take it with you," Everett confirmed.  "There may be no warning at all."

"Is something wrong with the air carriage?" Marshlight questioned, showing some concern.

"Not that I am aware, but something has changed with magic and the loss of the engine suggests to me that technology may be also out of kilter."

Everett saw a look of alarm cross Poubelle's face and one of cross-eyed perplexity cross Bertram's, but Giuseppe and Pauly simply listened in their usual stoic fashion.  Mike just shrugged.

"Alright, everyone, let's get busy and be on our guard."

He, Sarah, and Rose went without delay to their own cabin.  While Rose played upon the bed, he took one of the smaller valises from the cupboard and opened it alongside her.  Rose's bag of essentials was still packed and he intended to keep it with him.

"Just the one?" Sarah asked as she put a set of sturdy clothing for herself into it.

"All I need is an extra set of clothes.  I have our money in my pocket and your ignition spell is better than matches.  We'll throw in a couple of tins, but we can probably get by on milk, fizz, and potato salad, at least for a day or two."

She nodded.  "So you think that technology has been affected somehow by the improvements in our spells?"

"I don't know yet.  All of these technological failures -- Poubelle's accident, the cruise ship engines, our own engine -- make me think that someone or something is attacking, or somehow disabling, technology.  I'm convinced that our favorite non-corporeal sentient entities are meddling with the world again."

"That would explain everything that has been going on.  Have you had a chance to test any of your spells?"

"Not since the wedding."

"I've been thinking that it might be very dangerous to cast any of them.  Both my Minor spell and Poubelle's experienced a dramatic increase in quantity and quality. If that holds true for all spells, then what do you think your fourth spell would produce?"

"Bobcats, maybe."

"Or mountain lions.  I wouldn't want a dozen mountain lions to be loose in the air carriage.  For that matter, I wouldn't want a dozen bobcats loose in the air carriage."

"We'll have to find out sooner or later."

He actually had a keen yearning to give all his spells a try to see exactly what they could do now.  Most of the altered evincings of his thirteen spells were of limited everyday utility -- a number of them could even be considered useless.  All of them had been altered by Magic to achieve her specific purpose, that of channeling him towards that final confrontation with Destiny at Huhp-hnona-tup and enabling him to free her from the punishment (confinement within a helpless babe, their daughter Rose) meted out to her by the non-corporeal sentient entity realm.

"Let's wait till we have plenty of running room, if we can," she suggested.

"Alright."

She studied him for a second.  "You're smiling," she said, seeming not displeased.  "You're happy."

"What's there to be happy about?  The possibility that we might all fall a thousand feet to our deaths?"

"This is good for you," she told him with firm conviction.

"What is?"

"This.  The saving the world bit.  It's your thing."

"Saving the world is not my thing.  And we're not saving the world, this time.  We already decided that, remember?"

"I've given it some additional thought and now I don't think that it'll be up to us.  Magic, Technology, and Destiny didn't ask us if we wanted to be involved in their schemes the first time and they won't this time.  They're just going to make a mess that you have to clean up.  Don't worry, dear.  I have faith in you."

He laughed.  "I'm glad to hear that, but we're going home.  End of story."

She enveloped him in a fierce hug.  "You just keep saying that, dear.  It might come true."

After leaving Sarah and Rose to watch over Marshlight, Poubelle, and Bertram in the galley, Everett sent Pauly and Mike to the upper deck to keep watch both forward and aft and then returned to the control compartment with Giuseppe.

"Any sign of any other problems?" he asked Theddrid, who was still on pilot duty..

The tinkerer scowled.  "Not exactly, but the pressure gauges on the gas cells have been fluctuating wildly -- spiking to zero and then fluttering back up to normal."

"Could we have a puncture?" Giuseppe asked.

Theddrid shook his head.  "It doesn't look like one to me.  The pressure in a punctured cell should drop rapidly to zero and stay there."

Everett frowned.  "Have we lost any altitude?"

He went to the uncracked starboard windows and looked out.  They had been cruising at fifteen hundred feet, well below the sparse cloud cover.  Below, the broad, winding silvery band of the river Edze and its coterie of pecan orchards, sugar cane plantations, and rice paddies appeared to be no closer than before.

"Ten feet, but --"

All of the engines quit at the very same moment, without even a single sputter or choking backfire, and the deck boards beneath Everett's boots fell away from him.

SEVEN

The ceiling of the compartment smacked him lightly on the back of the head and shoulders and then he was tumbling again in free air for an instant as the gyrations of the falling air carriage made the deck vertical.  He landed, feet first by dint of a back wrenching torsion of his upper body, on one of the big observation windows on the port side. Hearing creaks of complaint from the already cracked panes and moans of impending failure from the wooden framing under his boots, he became very still, thrusting out his arms in a frantic attempt to maintain his balance.

Theddrid and Giuseppe had been similarly tossed about, with the import-export expediter hanging by both arms from a starboard stanchion, above and to Everett's right, and the tinkerer crumpled and moaning atop the now horizontal port side control cabinet, ten feet in front of Everett.  Aiding either would require that he moved from his current position.

Grimacing, he looked for a handhold, but nothing was within easy reach.  Making only slow, easy movements, he began to kneel, intending to lean out to grab one of the port structural stanchions, but the window gave way before he had completed the motion, and spit him out of the compartment like a watermelon seed.  As he fell through, he was impaled by splinters of wood and raked by spikes of glass, and cried out as he left both flesh and blood behind.  He plummeted free of the air carriage, almost before he had realized what was happening.

"Take ye flight!"

The actuation and the almost instantaneous evincing made him scream.  It felt as if someone had driven a steel spike into his forehead and ripped his body limb from limb.

And then his great golden wings beat down and carried him up and away from the air carriage as it continued to spiral in towards the earth below, with only seconds left before it struck the waving upper branches of a sprawling pecan grove.

Screeching through his massive beak, he tucked his wings and dove onto the fluttering gas cells, stretching out his talons to snare a grip in the heavy nets that restrained them.  The razor tips of his talons burst dozens of the cells as he firmed his grip, but the netting drew taut and he easily took up the weight.  He sculled his wings again, retarding the air carriage's fall with no significant effort and then hovered, supporting the great weight beneath him.

Only then did he twitch his head around to examine the body of the giant golden eagle that had entirely replaced his own.  It was a magnificent bird of prey, with an iridescent purple sheen to its feathers and its beak and talons had the shimmer of polished steel.

He tried to curse, but the sound came out as a deafening war cry that shattered window glass in the air carriage that dangled below him.

He twitched his head about again, spied an open pasture some distance away with eyes that could count the hairs on the backs of the milk cows contentedly browsing there, and then banked with slow deliberation, lest he further upset the air carriage's passengers, and flew towards the pasture.  His monstrous new size made his normal judgments of distances and speeds suspect, so he kept his air speed to a sedate -- rather annoyingly slow, as a matter of fact -- pace.

His shadow, passing over the field like a cloud, failed to scatter the cows, so he whispered, "Boo."

This came out as a moderate shriek that was still loud enough to make the entire herd bolt in a galloping panic.

Thinking foremost of Sarah and Rose, he lowered the carriage gently to the grass, allowed the deflated cells and rigging to lay over to the starboard side to make sure that the port hatch remained clear, then climbed away, banked into a long, spiral glide that deposited him a few dozen yards from the slightly canted air carriage, and finally settled to earth and furled his wings.

While he was waiting for the expiration of his spell -- he certainly could not get through the hatch at this size -- the hatch opened and Giuseppe leaned out to look at him, but did not venture out any further.

"It's just me!"  Everett tried to say.

The sounds came out as a series of fog horn loud squawks and shrieks and the expeditor disappeared abruptly back inside.

Everett sighed -- a soulful shriek that trailed off -- then snapped his beak shut and contemplated casting his ninth spell.  That would transform him back into himself -- or at least it had before -- but he would also be a giant.

What did you get when a fifty foot giant was increased in both quantity and quality?  A thousand foot giant?  Even if he was only a fifty foot giant, he still would not be able to get into the air carriage to check on his family.

He felt like shrieking again, but remained quiet.  Giuseppe was apparently uninjured.  Hopefully, the same would be true of everyone else.  He settled in to wait.  The duration of the spell should be no more than four or five hours, unless that too had been enhanced in both quantity and quality.

Happily, it was only another ten minutes or so before Giuseppe reappeared and hopped down to the ground.  Theddrid, with a slight limp, eased himself down the couple of feet from the hatch to the high grass.  Poubelle and Pauly followed, the first ponderously and the second nimbly.  All four were armed, each with one of Pauly's pistols.  Poubelle also had his fireplace poker, secured at his left side in the special holster that he had had made for it in New Zindersberg.

Everett laughed.  This sounded just like the sound that an eagle would make if an eagle could laugh, only amplified one hundred fold.  To varying degrees, all four men, even Pauly, flinched at the terrific and horrible sound.

With his size and speed, Everett could rend all four limb from limb before any of them, even the experienced Pauly, could get off more than one shot.  None of those puny bullets would be able pierce the armor of his feathers, much less draw his blood.

Shocked into silence by these bizarre thoughts, Everett was suddenly afraid that his human mind was being subsumed into that of the colossal avian that he now inhabited.

Poubelle suddenly put his hands to his head and exclaimed, "From the mouths of babes!"

This was clearly an enunciation and Everett was unsurprised to detect a strong actuation a few seconds later.  Quite evidently, Poubelle had received an Epiphany for a new spell.  There had been a time when Everett would have been amazed by this Fundamental Precept violating inspiration, but now he simply took such bizarre magical occurrences as usual and normal.

He glanced around, but did not see any obvious manifestation.  As far as he could see, nothing had been transformed, relocated, transported, transubstantiated, conjured, summoned, or otherwise affected in any of the dozens of ways that magic could evince.

"Poubelle," Everett asked. "What did your new spell do?"

This, of course, came out once again as shrieks and squawks.

The Rightful King of the Dominion of Dree looked shocked, then grinned.  "I could understand that!  That's Everett!"

"What?" Theddrid gasped.  "Everett?  Are you sure?"

"It sounded just like him.  He asked me what my new spell does."

All four relaxed and removed their hands from the handles of their pistols.

"You have a new spell?" Giuseppe asked with a raised eyebrow.  "No, offense, but you seem a little old for that."

"I've only ever had the one," Poubelle said, grinning in pride.  "I never even thought that I would get another."

"Congratulations," Pauly offered.  "I hope that it holds you in good stead."

"Oh, yes," Theddrid agreed.  "Good job!"

Annoyed, Everett asked, "Could you all stop patting Poubelle on the back and tell me if everyone else is alright?"

This shriek produced a slight gust that ruffled the men's clothes.

"Oh, er, Everett asked about the others," Poubelle announced after a moment.  "He might be just a little miffed."

"I could imagine," Theddrid said with a grin.  "Everyone is fine, Everett.  Sarah, Rose, Marshlight, Mike, and Bertram are cutting a hole in the starboard side as an emergency exit.  We didn't know you were you and your appearance is, well, rather impressive to say the least."

"Do you know what happened to the air carriage?"

After Poubelle translated, Theddrid replied, "I investigated as much as I could before we landed here, thinking that I might attempt repairs and try to restart the engines, but I didn't discover any fault of any kind.  Everything failed at the same moment without any apparent cause.  The gas did not escape.  It just stopped providing lift.  The engines all stopped mid-stroke.  As far as I can tell, none of the technology is working.  Even the batteries have gone dead. If spells had been involved, I would have said that their durations expired simultaneously, but as we all know, schematics don't impose durations or any other known direct effect on the mechanisms created from them."

A bluebird sailed by overhead and Everett found his gaze darting to follow it. When he thought to unfurl his wings to give chase, he took a firm grip on his thoughts and swiveled his head to look back at the waiting men.

"We need to come up with a way to get me back to normal as soon as possible," he told them with Poubelle translating as he shrieked.  "The eagle's instincts are trying to gain control."

"With what Sarah told me about the changes to magic," Giuseppe said, "I might have something that could help.  I have a Major spell, a Non-Specific General State Reset, which reverts an item to its original condition.  It would never really accomplish anything useful -- change cheese back into milk, vinegar back into apple juice, that sort of thing -- so I haven't used it in years.  If you think it might work here, I'd be happy to give it a try."

"Do it," Everett shrieked immediately.

"He said, go ahead," Poubelle told Giuseppe.

"Yes, I got that one.  Recover thy true nature!"

After thirteen seconds, Everett felt the actuation and then experienced blinding pain throughout his body.  Blacking out for a second, he collapsed to the ground.  The next thing he knew, Giuseppe and Pauly were hauling him to his feet.

"Wow!" the import-export expeditor exclaimed.  "It worked!"

"Are you alright, Everett?" Theddrid asked.  "That was the most powerful transformation that I have ever witnessed!  Tiny bolts of lightning actually arced to the ground!"

"I would swear that I saw the bird's innards for a second, there," Pauly added.

Everett straightened.  "I'm fine. I need to go see Sarah and Rose."

He started striding towards the hatch.

"Uh, Everett," Poubelle cautioned.  "Maybe you want to get some clothes on first?"

Everett stopped and glanced down at himself and then burst out, "For Magic's sake!"

He was naked.

EIGHT

"I thought that both of your transformation spells had Associative Components?" Theddrid wondered.

"They did, but apparently no longer."

"I'll get you some clothes," Pauly said as he turned to go into the air carriage.

Poubelle, taking pains to look anywhere but at Everett, asked to a point three feet over his own shoulder, "What do we do now, Everett? Are we going back to New Zindersberg?"

"No.  We'll continue north.  We can catch a riverboat at Alturia."

"Have you a plan?" Theddrid asked.

"No, but Magic or Technology or Destiny or somebody will show up before long.  If need be, we'll start trying to find one of them.  We certainly just can't wait here, so we might as well continue north back to L'Oiseau as we had originally planned.  When we get more information, we can figure out what we need to do to fix all of this."

"If you were that golden eagle thing again, Everett," Poubelle suggested, "you could fly all of us in the air carriage to L'Oiseau."

"Bad idea.  The four of you were starting to look like lunch."

Giuseppe laughed.  "I thought that you were eyeing my giblets."

Pauly returned then with a set of Everett's clothing, and he quickly donned small clothes, trousers, shirt, and jacket.  The trousers and jacket were of a sturdy dark brown cotton material, rather than the lightweight fabrics that he had routinely worn in New Zindersberg.  Sarah, the forward thinker that she was, must have sent him saving the world clothes.

"Socks?  Boots?" he questioned.

"Under the pile, she said."

"Pile?"

"Everything in the air carriage is in disarray."

"Right."

The first thing that he did when he boarded was to kiss his wife and hug his daughter.  The second thing he did was to dig through the mess in their cabin to retrieve his spare boots and a couple of pairs of heavy socks.

Sarah, as expected, was ready to go, with herself and Rose in trousers, boots, and jackets that matched his, and a small pack on her back.

She looked, if not pleased, then certainly content.  Maybe saving the world was her thing too.

When she saw him start to look through the mess again, she said, "Rose and I have already rescued your pet.  Ralph is sitting pretty in his cage in the galley.  He's ready to go when we are."

"He's not a pet.  You can't pet a snake."

"Yes, dear."

Having believed that they might have to abruptly flee a giant golden eagle, everyone else was also more or less prepared.

Theddrid had already stuffed a satchel with the few books that he wanted to preserve from the extensive collection that he had acquired in New Zindersberg, some dozen tins of spicy smoked sardines of a particular brand that was only sold in New Zindersberg, and an umbrella.

Giuseppe proved content just to fetch the clothes on his back, an extra pair of socks, and an old fashioned flint and steel striker set.

"Matches don't work in the rain, and I've a spell that summons a loaf of day old pumpernickel and one that produces half a roll of tissue paper," he explained.  "Got both ends covered in rough situations, if you know what I mean."

Pauly had gathered pistols, knives, a hatchet, a short spear like the alligator hunters used in the marshes of the Edze delta, and a large pack mainly loaded with extra ammunition.

Aside from some tinned food, some apples and pears, and a smoked ham requisitioned from the heaps in the upended galley that they had tied up in two equal bindles, Mike and Bertram presented themselves with only the things that they had had when they boarded the air carriage -- themselves.

Both Poubelle and Marshlight had dressed in sturdy clothing suitable for travel, but Everett found the new bride standing at their cabin door looking in at a heap of valises and packages.

"What about all of this?" Marshlight demanded when she saw him.  "Are we going to be able to come back for it?"

"Is there anything in there that you can't live without?"

"Most of it was very expensive."

"Not relevant."

"Well, then, no."

"When we get home, several months of my Kleinsvench remittances will be waiting.  That sum will be more than enough to replace everything that we have to abandon."

"What about my wedding dress?"

"Not practical for hiking through open country, but if you're heart is set on it, you'll have to shove it in there."  He pointed at the bulging carpet bag resting at her feet.  "I don't want anyone overburdened by extra bags."

Marshlight sighed and then shrugged.  "Well, I'll just leave it all.  I'm already bringing the most important part of my wedding."

"What's that?'

"Why, Poubelle, of course!"

Everett rolled his eyes but then laughed.

When everyone had gathered outside a few steps from the air carriage, he considered Rose.  Though toddling, she would have to be carried practically the entire way to Alturia.  He took her from her mother and hoisted her up over his head to ride on his shoulders.

She obligingly clapped and exclaimed, "Daddy horsie!"

Giuseppe jumped as if struck by an idea and snapped his fingers.  "I never thought that I would ever have a real use for this spell.  Let's get the little lady a real ride!  I want a pony!"

Everett felt a strong actuation and a bout of nausea.  Giuseppe looked as if he were silently counting, so Everett asked him, "How long before it evinces?"

"Minute and a half, round about."

"Assuming that it's actually a pony," Theddrid said, "we'd make better time if we all had one to ride."

"Well, actually --" Giuseppe began.

"What are those?" Poubelle demanded.

The two animals that had appeared a couple of steps away from the import-export expeditor did indeed look like ponies, with dappled white and black coats, but each was the size of a sheep dog.  The two miniscule mounts each wore an appropriately sized saddle, tartan saddle blanket, and black leather bridle decorated with silver studs.

Rose pointed and declared, "Horsie, daddy!"

"That's right, Rosie," Giuseppe confirmed.  "They're miniature horses.  I always thought that you could only get them with magic, but on an unregulated, duty-free import expedition about five years ago I found out that they actually breed them in the Lolowop province of Upper Tarmangangelalia."

"Must have mighty small wagons in Tarman-uh-gan-umgama -- the place you said," Poubelle pointed out.

Giuseppe chuckled.  "They're just pets.  Funny thing, I wanted a pony all the time that I was small, but I didn't have the epiphany for this spell until I was nigh on thirty years old."

"I think they're lovely," Marshlight said.  "They're just Rose's size."

"Do you always get the pair?" Sarah asked.

Giuseppe shook his head.  "No, usually just the one."

"Quantity but not quality," Sarah judged, citing another data point.  "So not all spells get both.  Shame the magic couldn't have made them full size."

Everett approached the tiny ponies, which had begun to graze.  Neither seemed skittish and both only glanced in disinterest at him when he drew near.  "Do the saddles mean that they are broken to ride?"

Giuseppe came over and patted one on the head, as he would a dog.  "Oh, yes!  Gentle as can be.  Rosie won't even have to steer.  They'll follow right along with us just like an old basset hound."

Ready to snatch her back up again at the slightest sign of friskiness, Everett lowered Rose into the saddle of the nearest one.  The pony raised its head, but did not move otherwise and after another moment he tucked both of her shoes into the tiny stirrups.  Rose instantly wrapped both hands in the pony's long black mane, so he did not bother with the tiny reins draped around the saddle horn.  When he stepped in front of it and took a couple of steps backwards, the pony obligingly followed with a high stepping but smooth gait.  Rose laughed and squealed in delight.

Sarah came up beside him, but her only comment was to squeeze his arm and smile.

He glanced around at the others.  "Let's go."

A good hundred acres, the pasture had a pine forest to the north and another large pasture to the south, but was bordered by narrow dirt lanes on both the east and west.  When he had flown over, Everett had seen that the eastern lane joined a north-south paved highway after a couple of miles, and it was to the east that he guided his steps.

Steps that he placed with great care to avoid the dinner plate sized splats of fresh manure that lurked everywhere in the calf high grass.  Letting him be the pathfinder, Sarah followed a couple of paces behind, leading Rose and the two ponies.  With Pauly automatically trailing to act as rear guard, the rest followed in single file, also electing to trace his path rather than to forge their own.

They abandoned this formation once they reached the chest-high split rail fence that paralleled the lane.  Rose and the ponies had to be passed over, but everyone else climbed over on their own, save that Poubelle needed a boost.

"If we keep a steady walking pace, we can be to Alturia in three hours," Everett said to the group.  "Giuseppe, can the ponies keep up?"

"They can trot that fast, but they'll have to walk periodically to rest.  They should be able to keep up the trot most of the way, though."

"We have company," Pauly cautioned, tilting his head to the right.

Obviously intent upon intercepting them, a portly dairyman wearing high boots, dungarees, a wide brimmed hat, a nose with the shade and texture of a boiled new potato, and a scowling expression came trotting along the lane from the direction of the dairy barns to the south.  Outfitted in a similar fashion, a couple of half-grown lads, sons or nephews based upon their close resemblance to the older man, trailed close behind.

"You can't leave that there!" the dairyman thundered immediately, gesticulating angrily across the fence and pasture towards the wrecked air carriage.  When he saw the two tiny horses, he did an abrupt double take.  "What the --"

The dairyman caught himself when his eyes took in Rose.  "I mean, what in Technology's name are those?"

"Ponies," Poubelle said, grinning.

"I can see that!" the dairyman snarled.  "Why are they so small?"

"Bred that way," Giuseppe answered.  "This particular pair was summoned by a spell."

The dairyman rubbed his chin in thought.  "A spell you say?"

"Hey, Dad," the older lad spoke up.  "Wouldn't those fit my --"

"Yes, I know!  Hold on a minute, son."  The dairyman swung his head to look hard at the wreckage squatting in his pasture, then swung back around to contemplate the miniature horses once more.

"Those must be fairly rare," the man suggested.

"Not really uncommon in Tarmangangelalia," Giuseppe admitted.

"Where's that?"

"Small demesne in the mountains other side of Galbot Falls."

"Never heard of that place either.  You intending to leave that mechanism out in my pasture?"

"We have no choice, Monsieur," Everett inserted.  "The sea decides where the shipwrecked come ashore, as they say.  We could offer some small compensation."

He took the fold of banknotes from his pocket.

The dairyman waved a hand in negation.  "No paper.  Don't trust the stuff.  Tell you what.  Both those are mares.  If you can spell up a stud to make a breeding pair, I'll take the two in lieu of rent for use of that section of the pasture for 100 days."

Everett looked at Giuseppe.  "Is that a possibility?"

The import-export expeditor nodded.  "I've summoned intact stallions before, but it seems random and I usually get mares."

"You'll take care of the spares?" Everett asked the dairyman.

"A couple of extra mares would be to the benefit of the herd I want to start, but I wouldn't want to take more than four altogether.  Not knowing their pedigree, I don't know how great the chance of a sport is.  I don't care for putting down animals."

"You could sell the extra ones in Alturia, easy," the younger lad said to Everett. "Especially with one of Charlie's wagons."

"Meaning they're small enough to be pulled by my ponies?" Giuseppe wanted to know.  He looked at the older son.  "You build wagons?"

Charlie grinned.  "I just got a spell for them yesterday!"

The dairyman rolled his eyes.  "Charlie's gotten four spells in the last three days, and all of them are absolutely useless crap."

Charlie gave a big hiccup, looked cross-eyed for a moment, then said, "And two hard boiled eggs!"

Everett instantly recognized the First Enunciation for what it was, felt a moderate actuation, and then counted seconds.

After thirteen, a small pile of whole hardboiled eggs on a platter, shells removed and with a salt shaker sitting on a saucer alongside, appeared a few feet from Charlie.

The dairyman harrumphed.  "Make that five."

NINE

Monsieur Charles Rankin Devereaux was a fifth generation dairyman and first generation Technologist who had evinced ten certified schematics by the age of twenty-five.

He was also a Technologist who had seen all of his mechanisms fail within the last nine days.

"Steam tractor just eighteen months old went first," he enumerated, raising callused fingers for each item.  "Boiler exploded while it was sitting in the barn with no fire in the fire box.  The well pump seized while it was switched off.  Threshing mechanism just fell apart.  And the milking mechanism -- my own design, mind you -- puts out nothing but green slop."

"That stinks worse than a pasture after a rain," Ran, the younger son, added.

"We've had to go back to milking by hand," Charlie confirmed.

"Have your original spells started producing more or better quality items than they had previously?" Sarah asked the youth.

"No, ma'am," Charlie told her.  "I'll show you."

The lad picked up a stone from the lane and held it in his palm.  "I wish I had something to read!"

Everett felt a very minor actuation and after nearly a minute a small, leather-bound book with gold leaf lettering on the front cover replaced the stone in Charlie's hand.

"See? It's always been just one copy of A Magical Adventure: The Journey of Ernest Skivel.  It's not very good, but it passes the time.  It's a story about this Journeyman Magicker who gets these weird new spells and has to go off and save the world.  I've already given one to everyone I know, so we just use them to start fires."

Charlie tossed the book into the back of the tiny, four wheeled wooden wagon that he had conjured as a previous demonstration.  "Hide me, anon!"

Everett felt another Insignificant level actuation, presumed, based upon the terms of the spell, that it was some sort of Individual Sensory Obfuscation, but noticed no change in the young man.  "What does that one do?"

"It makes his left shoe invisible," Monsieur Devereaux said sourly.

"Ah."  Everett looked down to see that, indeed, Charlie's left, tri-colored sock encased foot seemed to be resting on an inch or so of empty air.

Charlie cast a third time.  "One, Two, Three!"

This time, a wooden case filled with two dozen glass bottles appeared at his feet.  Sealed with red painted metal caps, the bottles contained a caramel colored liquid.

"Oh, that's Dark Fizz," Marshlight said.  "I had some in New Zindersberg."

"It's alright," Poubelle said.  "Not as good as a fresh, ice cold cherry fizz, though."

Everett asked, "You were a Common Magicker three days ago, Charlie?"

"Yes, sir," the lad replied without pride.  "Now I have eight spells, so I guess I'm a Master Magicker."

"Lot of good that it'll do him," Monsieur Devereaux judged.  "He's made a little money off the fizz and he might make a bit off the wagons, if we can breed the little horses to sell with them, but altogether it won't be enough to make a decent living.  No offense to you folks, but magic just isn't a dependable trade."

Everett did not smile.  "I know what you mean."

"Well, do we have a deal on the rent?"

Everett looked at Giuseppe, who nodded, then he stuck out his hand to shake the dairyman's.  "Deal."

When all was said and done, Monsieur Devereaux received his stud and three mares, with only three extra mares to take along to Alturia.  Poubelle and Sarah traded Charlie two gallons each of cherry fizz and chock-something-something milk for three tiny wagons to hitch (with some cordage from Pauly's pack) behind the extra mares.

The beds of the wagons were four feet by two, large enough to manage Rose's bag, Poubelle's valise, Ralph's cage, and Marshlight's carpetbag, with enough room to spare to accommodate the six cases of Dark Fizz that Giuseppe traded for eight loaves of the still-steaming-from-the-oven, oversized, and wrapped in flower printed paper sleeves cinnamon raison bread that his spell now produced rather than the anticipated day old pumpernickel.

Farewells said, precise directions received from Monsieur Devereaux concerning the shortest route to Alturia, tiny horses and tiny wagons in train, and assurances made to provide for the final disposition of the air carriage wreckage within three months, Everett and company continued on their way, trudging along in a loose bunch, with Bertram delegated to walk at the rear beside Pauly to make sure none of the ponies strayed.

"Charlie's progress to Master Magicker has to be a world record," Theddrid said to Everett after a bit.  "That has to be related to what has happened to technology."

Sarah gave a quick nod. "I agree.  The failure of technology and the expansion of magic are two sides of the same coin."

"Makes me glad that I never had any of it," Mike announced.  "When I first went to sea, all we had were our sails and the winds.  If this keeps up, that's the way it will be again, and I for one can't see any drawbacks to it.  Sure, steamships are fast, but there should be something more to being a sailor than just staring at a pressure gauge."

Marshlight's expression grew fierce. "So Technology is responsible for ruining our honeymoon cruise?  When I see that blackguard, I'm going to give him what for!"

Everett had been thinking a lot about Technology and Magic since they had left New Zindersberg.  "You might not get that chance.  Magic and Technology have always been in competition for influence in the world and it may be that Magic has finally found a way to defeat him."

"What, for good?" Poubelle asked.

"I doubt it," Everett said.  "Non-corporeal sentient entities cannot be killed."

"Of course," Theddrid postulated, "it's entirely possible that this could be a localized phenomenon."

"How so?" Sarah asked.

The tinkerer pointed at Everett.  "This Prime Focus business.  These disruptions of the normal state of magic and technology may be only occurring in the broad vicinity of Everett and those associated with him.  In the northern Edzedahl and the rest of the world, magic and technology could very well be operating as normal."

"Let's hope so," Everett said.  "If all technology everywhere is failing, it could be the end of the world as we know it."

Mike grunted.  "Sounds like a bit of an overreaction.  Technology provides convenience and speed, sure, but its lack won't stop people from taking care of their business.  Monsieur Devereaux is back to milking by hand, but he's still producing milk.  And it would have been a lot easier to fly the rest of the way to Alturia, but we'll get there all the same by walking."

"Trade will almost stop without steam," Giuseppe countered.  "Just look at the amount of freight that moves up and down the Edze every day and all the big freighters that leave New Zindersberg for the Western Demesnes every week.  The currents in the upper Edze are too swift for sail and there aren't more than a handful of clipper ships still operating in the gulf.  I wouldn't be surprised if half the shippers and freight companies in the city went broke overnight."

Mike scowled, looking pensive.  "That would put thousands out of work."

"A widespread failure of technology would do far more than just cost people their jobs," Theddrid asserted.  "Like most modern cities of any size, New Zindersberg has allowed their old gravity fed aqueduct system to fall into disrepair.  They've relied on steam driven pumps to move their water for more than a decade.  In some places, they have actually taken the sluices and channels down to salvage the stone and brick and it would take months of work if not years to put it back into proper working order.  Without technology, New Zindersberg will get thirsty very quickly.  Moreover, better than half of the agriculturists in the Edzedahl use only steam tractors and no longer maintain facilities to keep draft livestock.  Even should they attempt to convert back to animal power, the available supply of plow trained mules and horses is insufficient in the short term to replace all the tractors.  Where a steam tractor can be assembled in a week, it takes a minimum of two years to raise and train a draft animal and that cannot be changed.  No tractors means that this year there will be a lot of fields that won't be planted or reaped.  Come autumn, there will be severe shortages of grain and vegetables.  Without technology, New Zindersberg will have no food."

"The same could be said of every sizeable town and city up and down the Edze," Mike said.  "Eriis, Alturia, Gleckenville, East Petunia.  It won't just be New Zindersberg that suffers."

"The Republic gets more than forty percent of its wheat from the Edze river valley," Giuseppe said. "And two thirds of its beef.  They drive the herds over the Crescent Trail north of the High Shadowed Hills."

Sarah frowned.  "Kleinsvench also depends on exports from the Edzedahl.  The demesne hasn't been able to raise enough food to feed itself in thirty years."

"It's not a one way trade," Mike said.  "The foundries in the Kingdom of Alarsaria produce nearly all of the steel forgings used in the New Zindersberg shipyards."

"We learned that in school," Marshlight said.  "Manufactured goods come east, agricultural produce goes west.  Our textbooks said that the ores and minerals are in the west and the fertile soils in the east.  That's a little simplistic, but it's true."

Everett had already thought all of this through.  Magic, the undeniably inefficient and inconvenient mystical skill that it was, could disappear and the world would shrug and move on.  What matter a few gallons of chock-something-something milk or few pairs of miniature horses more or less?

Technology, however, was woven inextricably throughout every aspect of modern life.

"I don't have any doubt of it," he told the others as he increased his pace.  "For many if not most people, the fall of technology won't be just an inconvenience, it will be an unmitigated disaster."

TEN

"I say, Everett," Poubelle mentioned, pointing ahead.  "Should that fellow be doing that?"

Everett turned from chatting with Sarah and Rose about the way the clouds overhead did not look like pretty, fluffy bunny rabbits to look where Poubelle pointed.

On the right about fifty yards further along the wagon rutted dirt road, a century old and more live oak spread an island of dark shade over the crown of a knoll.  Skulking behind the wide bole of this behemoth was an odd, portly little man with an agitated demeanor who was dressed in a threadbare maroon jacket of an older style and a pair of grey trousers that did not match the jacket.  His shoes were also different shades of scuffed grey. With severely bowed legs and a shiny bald pate surrounded by a fringe of mousey-brown hair, the man appeared to be peeking from time to time at someone out in one of the sheep pastures through which Monsieur Devereaux's "bound to cut nearly a mile off your walk" shortcut passed.

Everett swung his head to look for the target of the man's apparently lascivious gaze.

Not twenty yards from the tree, on the top of a low, stacked fieldstone wall, a shepherd -- correction shepherdess -- sat watching a herd of bush goats munch their way through a two acre plot overgrown with blackberries and honeysuckle.  A thin young woman with a sturdy frame, high boots, canvas trousers, baggy shirt, and floppy hat (thus Everett's initial misidentification) and armed with a long black staff, this object of the odd little man's spying had her back to the tree and did not appear to be aware that she was under observation.

She seemed rather oblivious to the goats as well, gazing off in no particular direction.

Marshlight glared at the odd little man in a disapproving fashion.  "He's a little old for her.  I don't think that's on the up and up."

"It does look a bit unseemly," Sarah agreed.  "You should go speak to him, Everett.  If he has feelings for that young woman, he should just express them openly and take his chances."

"Right."  Everett trotted ahead.

When he approached the hiding spot, the odd little man glanced around and said in a low voice, "Oh, hello, Everett!  It's been a while!"

Frowning, Everett stopped dead.  "How do you know me?"

The odd little man made shushing motions, then jabbed a thumb significantly in the direction of the shepherdess.  "Keep your voice down.  The daydream is at a delicate stage."

Everett's frown deepened.  "You're one of them!"

"Just a sec."  The odd little man put his fists to his temples and appeared to be concentrating for almost half a minute, then straightened and leaned out around the tree to look.

The whinny of a horse drew Everett to do likewise.

Out in the overgrown pasture, a shining white horse bearing a tall, muscular rider in fine raiment cleared the fieldstone wall in an easy jump and trotted up to the shepherdess, who leapt to her feet in evident surprise.

Raven haired, young, and classically handsome, the man on the horse reached a hand down towards the young woman.  "Come with me.  I need your help."

The shepherdess did not hesitate.  Crook went flying and then she was swung up behind the rider and holding on tight as he dug in his spurs.  The stallion, untroubled by the extra weight, scattered the complaining goats, cleared the far wall, and galloped off in the direction from whence he and his princely rider had come.

"Oh, that was beautiful!" Marshlight said as the company came up behind Everett.  "True love in action!"

The odd little man twitched.  "No, that was me.  True Love is still working in East Knotgonnaht at the moment, as far as I know."

Sarah acquired a frown to match Everett's.  "You're a non-corporeal sentient entity.  Which one?"

The odd little man gave an awkward bow.  "Harold Percival Hammenslagger, at your service!"

"What's your real name?" Everett demanded.  "What do you do?"

As much as the bows in his legs and the crook in his spine would allow, Harold Percival Hammenslagger stood a little straighter, and said with considerable pride, "I'm in charge of unrehearsed non-specific incidental waking mental visualizations. Uniwmvs, for short."

"Daydreams," Everett clarified for the others.  "So that's your name, Daydream?"

"I actually prefer Make Believe, but that's more of an official title kind of thing.  I'm fine with just Harold."

While Mike, Giuseppe, Bertram, and Pauly (though with hands ready to pistols) appeared perfectly content to just watch the show, Poubelle bustled up to confront the corporeal biologic.  "All right, Monsieur Make Believe, what do you know about what's going on?"

Harold's eyes cut back and forth in a decidedly suspicious fashion.  "I ... well, that is ... surely you're not going ... you must understand that there are ... no actual harm has been done to Technology, it's just that --"

"Aha!" Poubelle cried, exactly as would a detective in a ten pence novel upon solving the crime.  "What have you done with Technology?"

"Me?  I haven't done anything with him.  I'm just attending to my own affairs."

"But you do know what has happened to him," Everett charged.  "Let's just cut out all the evasions, doubletalk, half-truths, and just plain old lies and get right to the facts, shall we?  I'll warn you in advance that we know that our spells will affect corporeal biologics.  You evidently know me, so you should know that we have spells that can make your life very unpleasant."

Harold flinched, but did not show any affright.  "You don't have to get violent, Everett.  I'll tell you anything you want to know.  I'm just here to do my job and that's all."

"So that was all fake?" Marshlight demanded in wounded accusation.  "The prince and the horse and everything?"

"Oh, no!  That was an entirely authentic manifestation.  Nothing illusionary at all."

Marshlight gave Harold a hard look. "So he was a prince?"

"Yes, of course!  Well, I suppose, at least in a make believe sense.  Roger is the son of a butcher who holds the contract for the royal kitchens of the demesne to the east.  He's had some trouble with his taxes -- poor choices in horses and women sort of thing -- and Pepper Sandoval, the lonely but hopeful shepherdess, just happens to be very good with maths."

"And you caused him to find her?"  Everett asked.  "What exactly is your job?"

"Imagination and daydreams.  The occasional flight of fancy.  Every now and then I get to develop an inspiration, but only after Inspiration herself has planted a seed.  You have to mind established protocols.  It's a matter of professional courtesy."

"Daydreams aren't real things," Sarah said.  "They exist only in the mind, but the fake prince was actually here.  Explain."

"It was quite simple.  I was here elaborating Mademoiselle Pepper's imagination of being rescued from the drudgery of her existence.  It was a Standard Trope #5, swept off her feet kind of thing.  Then, Monsieur de Beauvoir was passing along the highway just over the rise there, dwelling on his tax problems, and wishing that he could find a way to stay out of prison.  Getting the two of them together seemed like an easy manifestation and a workable solution to their problems, so I just put the thought in Bruce's head --"

"Who's Bruce?" Poubelle interrupted.

"That's the horse.  So, it only took five waffles to put the thought in Bruce's head that there were some mares over this way.  And, voila!  Both daydreams manifested!"

"What do you mean, waffles?" Everett pressed.

"Sorry?"

"You said waffles."

"I'm sure that I didn't."

"You said 'it only took five waffles'," Sarah confirmed.

"What I said was that the waffles needed --"

Everett held up his hand.  "You said it again."

"What?"

"Waffles."

"I did?"

"Yes!" Everett and Sarah said simultaneously with the same force and exasperation.

"Alright, I'll listen through your ears while I say it.  Just a second."

Harold's eyes went unfocused.  "Here we go.  Waffles.  Huh! You're right!  It does sound like waffles to you.  The term must not translate into an expressible corporeal biologic concept.  Let me try it a different way.  How about, uhm, uhm, fractional segmented units of the universal multi-energetic component constants matrix?"

Everett shook his head.  "You had better stick with waffles."

Harold nodded.  "Waffles it is then."

"Right," Everett agreed.  "But what are they?"

"Oh, uhm, let's see.  Waffles are the essential porkpie zucchini energetic particles ham and cheese mustard of the universe."

"The things that give non-corporeal sentient entities their power," Sarah interpreted.

"Yes!  Well, er, sort of, anyway.  But not really.  Or, really, actually.  Definitely, possibly."

Harold started to continue, but then abruptly looked as if he had lost his train of thought.

"Why is it that you're here?" Sarah prompted.  "You've never had any real presence before.  It must have something to do with the disturbance in Magic and Technology."

Harold grinned.  "That's right.  That's where all the extra free floating waffles come from, of course.  It's great!  You know, without having my own allotment, it's always been a hit or miss proposition for me.  I've missed all these just totally wonderful opportunities.  There have been literally millions of daydreams that have just faded back into the strawberry pound cake! Just wasted! Now, I can take care of every one of them!  Well, as many as I can get to, of course."

"But why are all the extra waffles floating free?" Everett asked.

Harold blinked.  "Why, Technology's entire allotment was released when he was made redundant."

"What do you that mean by redundant?" Marshlight asked.

"He's been let go."

"Let go where?" Poubelle asked.

"Laid off, discharged, given the sack, handed his walking papers, put out the door, put on the shelf, sent down the road.  You know, fired."

ELEVEN

"Technology has been fired?" Everett burst out.  "How and by whom?"

"By the United Non-corporeal Sentient Entity Workers Collective, of course.  It was a key provision of our inaugural bargaining agreement."

Everett made a face.  "You're telling me that non-corporeal sentient entities have a guild?"

Mike, who had been watching the exchange with fascination, laughed.  "Well, isn't that a kick in the pants?"

Everett and Sarah had told the pensioner of their encounters with Magic, Technology, and Destiny, but he had just smiled and nodded, just like Everett had when his Crazy Great-aunt Beatrice had told him about the mole people that had built a fabulous city under her garden shed.

"We do now," Harold answered with a determined expression.  "The power of our united front has brought equality, fraternity, and hopefully equanimity to the non-corporeal realm!  The former régime of privilege and elitism has been swept away and a new dawn of freedom has risen for all non-corporeal sentient entity kind!"

Giuseppe made a rude noise.  "They staged a coup!"

Watching for any sort of reaction, Everett told Harold, "Magic told me that the non-corporeal realm was governed by operational parameters. What happened to those?"

"Nothing," Harold replied without any apparent flutter.  "The parameters have simply been realigned."

"So since Technology has been given the axe," Everett said, "you're free to take whatever you want?"

"No, no, no!  That's not it at all!  You must understand, Technology has been hogging the lion's share of the waffles available in your corporeal realm for an extremely long time.  His unfair dominance in waffles has left almost none for those of us who did not enjoy his celebrity status.  In order to effect an equitable redistribution, his horded waffles had to be released from their established bindings and that meant that he had to have his functions completely curtailed."

"At the point of a gun," Pauly suggested.

"No!  Of course not!  There are no guns in the non-corporeal sentient entity realm!  Our organization simply convinced him of the error of his ways by indicating that we, the disenfranchised masses, could destroy his thematic coherence if he failed to concede."

Pauly shrugged.  "Same thing."

"You mentioned True Love," Everett pointed out.  "So it's not just you that is running around using these newly freed waffles, right?  How many meddlers are there?"

"Oh, I don't rightly know."  Harold held up a stubby finger.  "There's me.  And True Love.  And Desperation, and Arcane, and all the different facets of Narrative -- how many is that?"

"Five," Marshlight supplied.

"Well, then there's, uh, Pedagogy, the Tulip Sisters, and, er, I don't know.  Lots more.  I don't actually know everyone.  It's a big organization."

"What do the Tulip Sisters do?" Poubelle wanted to know.

"Have you ever seen three tulips growing together?"

"No."

"Well, when you do, it's them."

"Let me get this straight," Sarah said with some heat.  "You and your guild supplanted Technology so that three flowers could be made to grow in the same spot?"

"I guess when you say it like that, it sounds kind of silly, but really it's the one essential linchpin to the continued existence of the universe."

Everett grimaced.  "Has he been exiled to the corporeal realm again?"

"Not exactly, no.  We prefer to consider him retired."

"So where is he?"

"Oh, I'm sure that I couldn't say."

"Pauly, what would you charge to resolve this guy?"

The conflict resolution specialist drew one of his pistols and broke it open to check (unnecessarily) that a cartridge was loaded into the chamber.  "If this is a one off, I'd have to charge you a flat rate of a hundred silver, but if we're talking this individual and all of his friends, I think I could offer a volume discount of twenty percent."

Harold's eyes grew wide and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.  "Hold on!  I meant to say that I don't know!  The last time that I saw him, he was with Destiny!"

Everett made a sign for Pauly to put away his pistol.  "Can you locate Destiny?"

"Me? No, of course not.  Locating things is not a function of make believe."

Everett considered the odd little man for a moment.  "You're coming with us.  No more meddling with people.  No more making daydreams come true.  Got it?"

"Oh, no!  I couldn't possibly do that!  If I don't capture my proper amount of free waffles, they could wind up anywhere!"

"Pauly."

Click.

Harold contemplated the cocked pistol pointed unwaveringly at his forehead and began to nod rapidly.  "On second thought, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to come along with you in the spirit of equality, fraternity, and possibly equanimity."

Everett looked around at the others.  "Ready for lunch?"

Lunch was potato salad and sandwiches made with raison-cinnamon bread, spicy mustard (Pauly had a fondness for it and had brought along several jars.), and tinned ham or sardines, and the selection of cherry fizz, Dark Fizz, or chock-something-something milk as a beverage.

While not by any measure on the same level as the exquisite fare that they had enjoyed in New Zindersberg, as a trail meal, Everett found this quite palatable.  He had certainly had far worse and in much smaller quantities.

Rose proved to have an apparently insatiable thirst for chock-something-something milk and her mother immediately established a strict chock-something-something ration for her daughter of no more than a quart a day.

After lunch, with Harold relegated to the custody of Giuseppe and Pauly, the group packed their magical and mundane trash -- the various empty bowls, trays, bottles, wrappers, tins, and pitchers -- into one of the tiny wagons and immediately continued on their way.  Though their pace was no where near as brisk as when they had started their hike, they reached the well maintained paved highway that led to Alturia in less than half an hour.

The traffic on this major artery was primarily traveling away from the city, empty grain and produce wagons, herdsmen and cattlemen walking back from having sold herds and cattle, and some freight wagons bearing bulky, tarp-covered loads, but there were also a number of people traveling on horseback and in carriages both to and from.  Most everyone slowed to gawk at the tiny horses and tiny wagons, and a few tarried long enough to ask a question or two, and Giuseppe actually sold a set of a wagon and a mare for a modest sum to a pair of grandparents with a clutch of school aged grandchildren frolicking in the back of their wagon.

One worrying sight that they encountered as they trekked along the highway was the considerable number of broken down steam tractors dragged into ditches or left sitting at the spot on which they had failed in the middle of fields and pastures.

None of the others remarked upon this, but Everett could tell that everyone, save perhaps Rose, had begun to grow a bit uneasy at these newest evidences of the overthrow of technology.

Though their pace continued to slow as the miles accumulated, it was only another three quarters of an hour or so before they reached the outskirts of Alturia.

With no outer defensive walls -- Everett knew that the city had achieved its present size after the schematics for cannon had made such problematic -- the transition from rural agriculture to urban cityscape was quite dramatic, with rice paddies and millet fields running right up to the colossal-stone foundations of the Arcade.

Like all sensible habitations situated on the floodplain of the guaranteed-to-flood Edze, Alturia had been founded on the available high ground, a large, oblong hill situated in a swooping bend of the great river, but, also like every other city along the river, it had long since outgrown that available high ground.  Rather than accept the need to periodically reconstruct the portions of their city that would be inevitably washed away in the once-a-century floods that often came every dozen years or even every other year, the Alturians had developed a somewhat signature architectural style to enable them to continue their lives unperturbed by the capricious acts of Weather.

Along the river banks, in the drained marsh to the north, and on the lower slopes of the central hill, all of the buildings were perched twenty feet above street level on massive stone piers and viaducts that allowed flood waters to pass feely underneath.  In dry times, the entirely paved ground level of the lower parts of the city was a vast, open, and shaded arcade in which temporary markets, spur of the moment cafes, itinerant craftsmen and merchants with portable workshops and rolling display shelves, and traffic both wheeled and foot, intermixed with practically no organization, coordination, or control.  Above, in the Overcity, residents went about their daily lives, socializing, playing, doing laundry, gardening, or just languishing in the sun on the wide elevated terraces and rooftop plazas, and moved from place to place on the pedestrian bridges and extended balconies that interconnected all of the topside structures.

Occasionally, these Overcity residents would accidently or purposefully cast something (wash water, broken chamber pots, the stuff in chamber pots, dead fish, weeds from a window box, a very surprised cat) into the streets below.  Everett and company quickly learned, as apparently all of the usual under-dwellers already had, that one had to be watchful, adroit, and quick when passing through the fabled (at least in the Edzedahl) Alturian Arcade.

Fortunately, most of the Topsiders were accommodating enough to shout, "Incoming!" before jettisoning their refuse.

Unfortunately, those that did not give forewarning were perhaps the most prolific at jettisoning.

After barely being missed by a clod of what he certainly hoped had been mud while passing through a wide shaft of sunshine, Everett made sure that he led the company only through the shadowy spaces underneath the buildings and avoided the brighter street passages.  This of course meant a much slower pace as they had to wind amongst and through all manner of enterprises, from a bakery with all of its ovens and worktables on wheels to a tavern where everyone had to bring their own chairs, tables, and tableware, and all sorts of gatherings, from a full blown, no expense spared wedding with close to a hundred guests to a solemn, professional weepers and wailers in attendance, memorial service for a well regarded and apparently well-heeled departed friend.

This chaotic intermingling seemed to be something that the Alturians, at least, took for granted, and not once were Everett and company accosted for intrusion or accused of trespass.

Along the way, various passersby inquired about the tiny horses and their accompanying wagons and within no more than half an hour, Giuseppe had sold out the remaining lot.  These sales meant, of course, that all the members of the company had to retrieve and bear their various bags, packs, or valises, but all shouldered their baggage without complaint or undue fuss and continued on.

When Everett retrieved Ralph's cage from the last wagon just as its new owner led its tiny draft horse away, Bertram came up to him with a grin.

"That's an excellent specimen you have there, Monsieur de Schael," the gangling ginger gushed.  "That's a Lavender Islands Coral Slitherer, isn't it?"

"Something like that.  You've studied rare snakes?"

"Well, I've read up on them and all, but I've never actually been able to afford to keep one.  I've always read that they make wonderful pets."

"It's not a pet. You can't pet a snake."

Bertram did not look convinced.  "Yes, sir."

Everett extended the cage.  "Would you like to be the official custodian of my experiment for the remainder of our journey, Bertram?"

"Oh, yes!  Thank you, sir!"

"If he becomes agitated, just scratch him just behind that little fringe there.  It calms him down."

The young man nodded very seriously.  "Yes, sir."

As they moved on, Mike mentioned to Giuseppe, "You could make a good living just selling the little horses and the little wagons.  You and Charlie should get together and go into business.  The spells would be a lot faster than breeding them like Monsieur Devereaux plans to do."

Giuseppe patted his vest pocket, which now bulged with coin.  "Oh, I'm sure that it'd make money for a while, because it's new and no one has one, but being tied down to one line of business isn't for me.  I'm actually in the unregulated duty-free import and export business.  I like to explore varied opportunities."

"Oh, is that right?" Mike inquired with interest.  "I've been known to dabble in a little unregulated trade myself."

When the two fell to discuss smuggling routes in and out of New Zindersberg, Everett just chuckled.

While no longer menaced by missiles from above, avoiding the defined street passages did make it more difficult to maintain a heading and eventually, of course, Everett lost his way and was compelled to stop in a busy area with lots of people and carts moving through in all directions.  While a few isolated wells of sunlight were scattered about, none showed any landmarks that might allow him to gather his bearings.

"Can anyone tell which way is east?" he asked the group as they gathered around him.

His goal had been the main Alturia docks where the big steam riverboats tied up.  As he recalled from their southbound overflight, those were downhill from the city center in the crook of the bend of the river.  They had entered the city from the southwest and a generally easterly course should bring them to the river.  Following the river around would, eventually, deposit them at the riverboat moorings.

Theddrid grinned.  "Sorry, I have a horrible sense of direction."

Poubelle pointed back the way that they had come.  "Isn't it that way?"

Giuseppe gave a loud sniff, then pointed to his left.  "Fishy smell in that direction.  Could be the river."

"Hold on," Mike said, pulling a large brass compass from his pocket.  He considered the dial, stuck out an arm to point a knife hand, and rotated slightly to Everett's right.  "Due East is that direction."

Everett looked following Mike's arm, but saw nothing to suggest that either the river or the docks were nearby, just more of the crowded and dim underspaces and passages of the Arcade.

"I think Rose is getting tired, dear," Sarah said.

"Me too!" Marshlight said.  "Could we take a little break, Everett?"

"Second that," Mike said.  "I think I've worn a blister on my heel.  Not used to all the ground pounding."

Everett considered his other companions.  Harold looked a bit unsteady on his feet but Theddrid, Giuseppe, Poubelle, Pauly, and Bertram, while indeed clearly weary, did not appear to have been overly taxed by the hike.

He did have to admit, though, that he felt a bit out of shape himself.  Weeks of soft sheets and carriage rides in New Zindersberg had made him more than a bit soft.

"It's almost suppertime," he told them.  "Let's find a cafe with its own tables and we'll get something to eat, rest a bit, and get directions."

Sarah nodded.  "Sounds good."

"Right," Poubelle said, perking up a bit.  "Where should we start looking?"

"Let's follow the compass east," Everett decided.  "Just keep an eye out for a place to eat."

A somewhat familiar female voice said, "You shouldn't go that way!  Monsieur Mike's compass is off by twenty-seven degrees because of the degradation in the efficacy of technology.  You should follow the man with the pink umbrella!  Otherwise you'll wander around in circles for, oh, hours, with nothing interesting to see or do and you'll be out of place for the next important event.  This would slow the story down awfully much and be just so terribly boring!"

Everett whipped around.  Just a few paces away, adjacent to a low pile of rubbish that had collected around one of the twelve foot thick brick columns, stood a young woman with her long, curly red hair unsuccessfully hidden under a floppy hat and her gender unsuccessfully concealed in a well worn pair of baggy blue dungarees.  She had a nearly new push broom held haphazardly in one hand, but her stance intimated that she was not exactly sure what its function was.

Everett dashed up to the ginger, giving the young woman a half-frightened start, and grabbed both her arms before she could attempt to escape.

"Why did you say that?  Who are you?  Where is Technology?"

"Oh, I say, Everett, that came out a bit harsh," Poubelle advised.  "This fellow is just doing his job, after all."

Everett didn't take his eyes off the ginger.  "This isn't a fellow!  Can't you see that she has bosoms?"

"Well, we can't all have a hero's physique, Everett," Marshlight scolded.  "I don't think it's polite to call attention to someone else's physical shortcomings."

"She's a woman!"

"Women don't grow beards," Giuseppe pointed out.  "Or, at least, not very good ones."

"The beard is a fake!"  Everett released one of the woman's arms just long enough to reach out quickly and pull the wiry strands of the comically artificial beard down from her chin.  The elastic bands holding the false whiskers in place snapped it back with a sharp slapping sound when he released it.

"Ow!" the ginger complained.

"See?" he demanded of everyone.  "It's a fake!  A bad fake made from goat hair and glue!"

"All that's beside the point, Everett," Sarah scolded.  "You're presenting a poor example for Rose by being rude to this municipal worker.  Come on, everyone! While Everett offers his apologies, let's see if we can spot a cafe."

Grinding his teeth, Everett snapped his head back around to glare at the ginger, then tightened his grip until she winced.  "Tell me who you are or I'm going to start using spells."

"You better tell him, Pacing," Harold said.  "Everett's in a mood today."

TWELVE

As the others wandered a short distance off and began chatting with their backs to the three of them, Everett demanded of the bow-legged corporeal biologic, "This is one of yours?"

"Narrative is in our guild, yes.  Pacing is one of his facets."

Everett examined the ginger.  In all respects, she looked like nothing more than a young woman in a bad disguise.

But, then, all corporeal biologics of non-corporeal sentient entities looked like normal people, if on occasion a bit odd.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

The ginger, aside from the annoyance of being only clearly identifiable by him for whatever reason, had not actually caused any known harm.  After reviewing her remarks, he had to admit that her suggestion could, in fact, be deemed beneficial.  After glaring for another moment at her cringing face, he sighed, released her arms, and then took a step back.

"You're called Pacing?"

She nodded meekly.  "Yes.  My corporeal biologic name is Matilda Bubbles McGerk, but I have learned that that is also the name of a famous Alarsarian prostitute and spy from a number of years ago and I would prefer that you not use it."

"You object to being identified as a prostitute or as a spy?"

"No, I simply don't like the name McGerk.  People always ask me where Sperry is and I don't have any idea who they're talking about."

"Never mind.  What is it -- exactly -- that you do?"

"I help maintain the exciting pace of the narrative, of course."

"And you're making use of the extra waffles, too?"

"Why, of course!  Without them, we wouldn't be able to do hardly anything!"

"Why are all of you ginger?"

Pacing preened.  "We took a vote and decided that it was the most pleasing hair color on both men and women."

"Ah.  Who are the other ones that I've met?"

"As far as I know, you've only previously detected Exposition and Omniscience."

"How many more of you are there?"

"Thirty-seven mainstream methodologies, twenty-three alternative methodologies, and one that's just different to be different."

"Why am I the only one that can see you for what you are?"

"You're special.  As a Prime Focus you --"

That answer not telling him anything new, Everett cut her off.  "I get it.  Do you know where Technology is?"

"No, I don't.  I just keep the story moving along.  Omniscience does know, naturally, but then she knows everything."

"Call her here."

"She can't do that, Everett," Harold interrupted.  "The aspects of Narrative can only appear when the storyline requires it."

Pacing nodded in quick agreement.

"This problem with technology is a story?"

"Everything is a story."

Everett sighed.  "Alright.  Pink umbrella, was it?  Where will that lead us?"

"To the Bonaventure Cafe."

"What's the next important event?"

"I have no idea.  That's not my department.  I just keep the story from slowing down."

Everett sighed again, looked around until he spotted a man in a blue plaid jacket kneeling down a short distance away to tie his shoelace, then turned back to Pacing, but found that she was no longer there.

He glared at Harold.  "Where did she go?"

Harold shrugged.  "No idea.  Wherever they go when they're not here, I suppose.  They're sneaky like that."

"Back to the non-corporeal realm?"

"Not as a corporeal biologic.  Narrative is different from the rest of us.  It's almost like they're always there, but can't be seen, sort of thing."

"Right."  He took Harold by the arm.  "Let's rejoin the others before umbrella man finishes tying his shoe."

Everett did not attempt to explain what he had been doing and the unknown effect that prevented the others from correctly perceiving the gingers also apparently prevented them all, including Sarah, from being curious about his conversation with Pacing.

He just told them, "I've gotten directions to a nice place to eat.  Let's hurry."

By all appearances, umbrella man knew exactly how to get to where he was going and he made no side trips, detours, false starts, or backtracks.  Staying only a few paces behind, Everett followed umbrella man and the rest followed him.  The journey lasted less than fifteen minutes and involved dashing across sunlit understreets, strolling through gloomy warehouse spaces stacked with barrels and crates, going up slippery ramps, sliding down slippery ramps, circling around shady bazaars, and hurrying through an operating steel foundry where white hot sparks flew constantly from forges and anvils.

And, as it turned out, umbrella man was actually going to the haberdashery that was just the other side of the Bonaventure.  He passed the eatery by without even a single glance in its direction.

The Bonaventure (identified as such in elegant white letters on a blue background on a large, wooden sign supported between brick pillars) was right on the edge of the river.  The entrance -- a short stairway that led up to a set of fancy gates, presently swung wide open, in its black iron fencing -- was just a dozen yards across the esplanade that ran along the top of the modest, stone-faced levy from the water.  Beyond the levy, a near continuous thicket of masts rose from the scores of small boats that were tied up at the jetties that lined the bank in both directions as far as Everett could see.

A very large establishment with four practically identical elevated buildings of sand colored brick arranged in a shallow arc, the cafe had outside seating for well over two hundred on an expansive semi-circular terrace covered in deep red tile.  Apparently randomly sited arbors supported on smooth stone columns broke the terrace up into intimate spaces of a more comfortable size.  Square ceramic planters the size of barrels had been placed beside many of the columns and from these climbing roses of all colors had been trained to grow around the columns and up through the latticework.  To make no sightline exactly the same, the white tablecloth covered tables were rotated apparently at random.

As they mounted the stairs and passed through the gate, a zephyr from off the river brushed over them.  The light wind smelled, unexpectedly, of apple blossoms.

They actually had arrived well before the supper rush and an immediate table for ten proved no problem for the efficient, alert, and genial wait staff, all of whom, young and old, appeared to be relations of one sort or another.  Happily, the menus indicated a wide selection of common fare and a somewhat restricted selection of exotic meals priced well within the budget of their remaining funds.

Everett had the baked fish with sides of crisp fried potatoes, spicy rice with peas and carrots, golden brown hushpuppies, butter drenched corn on the cob, flavor packed steamed broccoli, enormous yeast rolls, and lukewarm tea.  This last disappointment was due to the unexplained failure of their chipped ice mechanism, his waiter explained apologetically.

Rose was satisfied with bites from his plate and Sarah had a sliced brisket sandwich with a chef's salad and likewise lukewarm tea.  Save for Poubelle, who had raw oysters, the others all made similar standard selections and soon the entire company, including Harold, was thoroughly occupied with cleaning their plates.

As the shadows lengthened, other diners drifted in, groups small and large, and soon the terrace was abustle with darting waiters and waitresses, celebrating families including one that approached clan size, whispering and snuggling couples both young and old, boisterous celebratory gangs, commiserating teams, and business associations, and the rare solitary connoisseur.

While eating, Everett only kept an occasional eye on Harold, who was seated -- still between Pauly and Giuseppe -- on the opposite side of the table to Everett's left.  Harold had ordered something called Pork Chop Surprise and a huge stein of bitters and was working steadily to devour the one and drain the other.  The odd little man was one of those diners given to expressing his culinary pleasure by repeatedly smacking his lips and making extended ah sounds after a particularly appreciated draught or swallow.  In school, Everett had had to learn to endure far worse from his tablemates and did not let Harold's eccentric eating habits distract him from enjoying his own food.

At least for the moment, the odd little man seemed harmless and Everett relaxed.

What possible trouble could he get into in the middle of supper?

The meal passed without incident, though punctuated with spontaneous compliments on the quality of the food, much casual banter, and some laughter, and dessert -- apple cobbler for Everett, vanilla pudding for Rose, orange pound cake for Sarah, and various and sundry cakes, pies, and pastries for the others -- had just arrived when a casual glance revealed Harold staring steadily across the cafe.

Automatically drawn to follow the little man's line of sight, Everett found the target of Harold's gaze to be one of the rare solitary connoisseurs, a young man who wore a dark jacket with severe lines and had yellow hair cut so close that it was almost shaved.  A student of some sort it seemed, the young man had a number of large, thick books with scuffed bindings, some pencils of various lengths and colors, an inkwell and stylus with a well stained nib, and several paper tablets of various sizes scattered about upon his table.  Rather than considering the thick, tiny print on the yellowed pages of the book that was presently propped open before him on the table, the young man was sipping distractedly at his teacup while the pencil in his hand moved with drawing motions upon one of the tablets.

When Everett looked back at Harold in curiosity, the little man had his fists to his temples and his eyes closed in the exact same constipated pose that had accompanied his last attempt at make believe.

Everett jumped to his feet, knocking his chair back out of the way.  "STOP!"

Harold jumped in startlement and dropped his hands, a guilty expression on his face.

With an earsplitting roar of pure, ravening outrage, out in mid-channel something huge and monstrous erupted from the surface of the river, hurling a flood of spray in all directions as it thrashed and uncoiled.  The emergence sent out ten foot waves that hurled the small boats to and fro, capsizing many and smashing and tangling their masts and lines, swamped the jetties, washing away everything on them including a few people, and dashed themselves into bursts of white water against the stone of the levy.

Olive scaled and reptilian, the great beast, its long snout gaping to show rows upon rows of needle sharp teeth the size of tree trunks, arched its back to rise up onto its stubby hind legs.  Upright, it was at least a hundred feet high.  Its front legs, as short as the rear, clawed at the air with savage menace as its much longer arms unfolded to reveal bone-tipped claws that extended out close to a third of its height.

Pauly was up, turned about to face the monster, and two pistols in hand and aimed in less than the blink of an eye.

Clack!  Clack!

Without hesitation or the slightest twitch in his focused expression, the conflict resolution specialist tossed the misfiring pistols down and drew his spares.

Clack!  Clack!

"Everett," Pauly reported in an even tone as he tossed aside the second pair and drew out a knife as long as his forearm, "I regret to inform you that my firearms are no longer functioning."

Poubelle, goggling and stuttering, said, "That's a -- what do you call it?  Seriously, I know this one."

"It's an unprintable alligator!" Marshlight cried with both affright and annoyance.

"No, no, those don't have arms.  That's a --"

"It's an unprintable alligator with unprintable arms!"

"Are you sure?"

"YES!"

The monster turned its black eyes upon the city, seemed to focus with evil design upon the cafe, roared a ghastly screech twice as loud as its first, then began to wade forward, showers of slimy drool the color of pomegranates raining down from its snout. Its second step drowned a dozen boats and crushed half a pier.

And then the screaming and the running began in earnest.

THIRTEEN

As patrons fled in every direction, shouting for friends or gasping in terror, tables were slammed into and overturned, chairs toppled and broken, glassware tossed and smashed, and silverware scattered and sent flying.  The stampede cleared the terrace in seconds, but left the dinning area a devastated ruin.

Grim but collected, Sarah gathered up a squealing Rose in her arms, took a firm stance, and cast, "Flammables, ignite anon!"

ZSSOOWOOOSH!

A ball of red, rolling fire the size of a wine barrel appeared over the esplanade and rocketed towards the great beast, striking it directly in the face.  The ball exploded with a tremendous crash of sound and a colossal spray of black smoke and white sparks.

The concussion wave, blasting through a couple of beats later, ruffled Everett's clothes and hair and slapped him with not inconsiderable force.

The power of the actuation of the spell had almost brought him to his knees, but the missile itself did no more than stagger the monster and make it bellow once more in rage. After flinging its head back and forth a few times as if to clear it, the monster resumed its advance, its third stubby but great stride smashing through the remains of the piers in its path.

It loomed above, larger than anything that Everett had ever seen.  Three or four more of its waddling but gargantuan steps would bring it onto the terrace.

"Flammables, ignite anon!"

ZSSOOWOOOSH!

The second fire ball struck the monster in the chest, and it stopped again, but only to scythe its clawed arms in anticipation.  Neither explosion appeared to have harmed the gigantic reptile.  Its silvery olive scales were unmarred by wound or blister.

Everett hopped up onto the table to have an unobstructed view over the heads of his companions.  "Hold on, Sarah! I have this!"

He fixed his locus and his focus on the monster's head and cast, "Potatoes, Come Forth!"

The power of the actuation was easily twice that of Sarah's spell and for a few seconds, he could not see.

Poubelle cursed and demanded, "Why didn't it turn to stone?"

When Everett's vision cleared, he saw that indeed, the monster had not become stone as he had expected -- as his altered spell had done to the gigantic forms of Magic and Destiny as they battled at Huhp-hnona-tup.

Instead, a great black and swirling storm topped with thunderheads had formed above it, covering the entire river and throwing the terrace into twilight.

A bolt of somewhat ordinary looking blue lightning snapped from the cloud to strike the monster's upraised arm with a tremendous crack, but though this did make it pause, the beast only twitched and looked annoyed.  Another bolt struck with the same effect, and then a brown haze like a heavy rain shower fell from the cloud and descended upon the beast.  After a few seconds, it began to thrash and twist, flinching as if pelted by something other than water.

The first potato to strike the terrace was of a normal size that burst in a spray of white, mushy shrapnel, but the force of the impact cracked one of the big square floor tiles.

Then a shower of similar spuds washed over Everett, his companions, and the few remaining other patrons, pummeling with bruising force and driving everyone to seek shelter.

Jumping down from the tabletop, Everett rushed to help Sarah and Rose get under the table. Poubelle, Marshlight, Theddrid, and Mike managed to do likewise without much delay but Giuseppe and Pauly had to lay hands on the entranced Harold and the confused Bertram and force them underneath the solid oak.

Squatting beside Sarah and Rose as the hailstone like impacts began to vibrate the thick wood above him, Everett looked out to see a potato the size of a hogshead smash completely through the deck and hull  of one of the few remaining boats still afloat near the monster, sending it to the bottom in less than three seconds.  Then a blizzard of potato fragments obscured the giant alligator for a few seconds as it was enveloped in a downpour of potatoes as big as wagons.

"Those will kill us," Theddrid warned from Everett's right.  "We should retreat."

"Yes," Sarah agreed.  "We need to find shelter under the Arcade."

"A potato that size could take down a building," Poubelle mentioned. "But anything would be better than this."

Everett watched the storm for a few seconds longer as its intensity began to fade.  "I think we're in a lull.  Everyone make ready to run into the center building.  It looks the strongest."

Then, rather abruptly, the blizzard dissipated over the monster and the sky cleared.  The potato storm had passed.

Everett looked for a long second at his wife and daughter.  He had one spell left that might stop the creature.

"Get everyone to safety," he told Sarah.

She gave him a hard but understanding look.  "I love you, Everett."

"I love you, too."  He gave both her and Rose a quick kiss, crawled between Mike and Theddrid to emerge from beneath the table, rose to his feet and ran the short distance to the steps, then skipped down them to stand in the center of the levy esplanade directly in the monster's path.

He did not pause.  "Give me strength!"

His altered ninth spell would make him a fifty foot giant.  Still only half the size of the monster, he would only have his bare hands and feet as weapons, but it was the only chance that he had of saving his family, his companions, and the entire city of Alturia.

The actuation rang his head like a bell, made all sound grow dim as if he had been almost deafened, pricked his skin like a thousand thorns, and twisted his vision into a whirlpool of impossible colors.  Happily, the familiar sense of physical expansion came only a few seconds later, banishing the negative physical reactions to the actuation, and he raised his hands, readying himself to do battle.

But then a strange new sensation overcame him, and a great noise as of hammers striking steel on an anvil rang out a dozen, two dozen times.  He felt suddenly restricted, enclosed, and felt borne down by a considerable weight.

His vision cleared but had become reduced to a rectangular, horizontal slit and the sounds of the monster seemed to have become permanently muffled.  When he swung his head in search of it, he saw that he now stood eye to eye with it, and that it had drawn back slightly as if surprised by his abrupt appearance.

That brought a fierce grin to his lips.  If anything, he was now as tall as it was!

He drew back his right hand to strike at it with his fist, but was shocked into stillness when he saw that his hand was now enclosed in a shining golden gauntlet made in an ancient style known to him only from illustrations in history books in the library at Friar Albert’s Advanced Academy of Magical Study. His arm was also encased in armor of the same style, with the small, interlocked plates incised with the blood red, swirling designs of the Forever Faithful.  A roll of his head confirmed that he was indeed dressed in a full set of that wonderful armor, from spiked sabatons to winged helm.

In his right gauntlet rested the hilt of a fantastical sword, a keen, double-edged, and slightly back-swept blade whose basket guard was set with a king's ransom of exquisitely cut rubies and emeralds. The blade glowed with an eerie, wavering turquoise light.

He had never actually believed that that reputed caste of unvanquished warrior monks, who had reportedly toppled an empire that had covered half the continent and deposed its arrogant tyrant simply to avenge a betrayed and murdered comrade, had ever been anything more than fantasy made legend made lazy history.

But, now, at least through magic, he had been armed and armored as one!

The sword had a hand and a half haft with an octahedral pommel.  The motion feeling entirely practiced, natural, and familiar, he added the grip of his left and swung an over the head roundhouse cut as he leapt at the monster.

The alligator threw up its arms in an instinctive guard, but the sword clove through the bone claw of the first and the flesh of the second.  Its severed arm spurting bright red blood and vile green ichor, the monster screeched in pain and staggered back into the main channel of the river, driving more giant waves that overtook and flooded the far shore, half a mile distant.

Agile and balanced in spite of the weight of the armor, Everett leapt again to follow, the water coming only up to his knees.

The monster roared in defiance and lashed its head out to rend him in its jaws and its hundreds of glinting teeth.

Causing only gentle ripples in the river, Everett pivoted to let the gnashing maw pass, drove a shoulder into the alligator to put in the proper position, swung down and up with an entirely unnecessary but splendid looking flourish, drove through with the classic Forever Faithful Thrust of Death, and impaled the monster through jaws, brain, and right ear slit.

Without further ado, it vibrated once, twice, then died.

Its limbs and tail twitched a bit as he stuck a foot on its chest and pushed it without ceremony off the end of his sword.  The body made another huge splash, bobbled a bit, and then started to drift downstream half submerged.

Thinking that it was sure to lodge against the piers of one of the distant bridges and cause an awful mess, he hurried to catch its tail, then just held onto it for want of any immediate idea as to its final disposition.

The sword went into its sheath almost of its own accord and then, still holding the tail of the dead giant, he turned back to Alturia.  In the far distance, storm clouds from the west were overtaking the High Shadowed Hills, and these reddened the light of the lowering sun that shone on his face.  Even standing here, knee deep in the river, he was taller than the tallest tower of the old citadel that crowned Alturia's central hill, and he could survey the entire breadth of the city and see far beyond it to the fields and pasturages of its landward flank and to the wide loops of the Edze that coiled north and south of it.

He looked first for Sarah and Rose, saw them, looking tiny and toy-like but unharmed, standing on the disordered terrace amidst the rest of the company, who also appeared unharmed.

Harold, however, was missing.

At this moment, that was probably a fortitudinous happenstance, as the thought had already crossed Everett's mind to step on the odd little man.

He turned his eyes back to Alturia.  Like a kicked anthill, the populace was in an uproar, and the streets of the Old City and the viaducts and terraces of the Overcity were mobbed with people, most of whom appeared to be staring and pointing up at him.

He must be an incredible sight, with the rose light reflecting from his golden armor, looming above them like a -- well, a hundred foot tall giant in golden armor.

He sighed, then said aloud, "Well, what am I going to do now?"

This came out as, "Weel, whit ahm ah aff tae dae noo?"

His next comment was unprintable in both languages.

FOURTEEN

"I' a' body a'richt?" Everett called down softly.

With his helm placed to one side on an undamaged section of the esplanade, he was kneeling on the levy, one foot out in the water amidst the floating wreckage of the piers and boats, and bending to tuck his head down as far as his armor would permit.  That still placed him thirty feet above the terrace.

For the moment, he had used his sword to pin the dead monster in the shallows behind him.

"Everett wants to know if everyone is alright?" Poubelle translated.

While the language of the Forever Faithful was not entirely unintelligible, to avoid confusion Everett had asked the Rightful King of the Dominion of Dree to try his newest spell on the chance that it might have a broad spectrum application.

It had taken Everett almost ten minutes to get the idea across, with pantomimes, expressions, gestures, and a lot of cursing in the language of the Forever Faithful, but happily Poubelle's spell had indeed also worked for the archaic tongue.

"We're all fine!"  Sarah, still holding a big eyed Rose, called up to him.  "We've lost Harold, though!  He snuck away while we were all watching you kill the alligator!"

That had been Everett's next question, so he asked his third.  "D' a'body hae ony 'dea o' ah wey tae git mae bock tae norm'l?"

After Poubelle translated, the group went into a conclave for a moment and then Giuseppe called up, "Would my fifth spell work for this as well, do you think?"

Everett had forgotten that the import-export expeditor had used the spell when his spell had changed him into the golden eagle.

That was perplexing.  That had been only a few hours ago.  Had the transformation somehow affected his memory?

"It shuid," he said.  "Gie it ah huv uh go."

Poubelle listened then said, "Everett says try it."

"Wait," Sarah said, looking out towards the dead monster.  "You should do something about that thing first, Everett.  You won't be able to manage it afterwards."

"Ah cuid drag it ashore, ah jalouse."

Everett started to turn his head about to consider the carcass, but then caught sight of a score or so of infantrymen -- well, considering the amount of gold braid on their fancy green and gold uniforms and their really impractical tall caps, perhaps palace guardsmen was more accurate -- approaching along the esplanade from the south.  These guardsmen bore old fashioned long rifles with fixed bayonets at port arms and marched in a tight formation.  A number of civilians trailed them.  A quick look showed a similar contingent also marching down the esplanade from the north.  Both groups were a little over six paces -- a hundred of their puny yards -- away.

"Tis ri' bold tae bring tae battle th' wull sore tae be yer end!" he cried, springing to his feet as he snatched up his helm and drew it upon his head.  "Hae a' ye!"

He swung about to take up his mighty sword.

"No, Everett!" Sarah shouted.  "Use your first spell!"

"Whit's tha'?"

"Your FIRST spell!  Cast your first spell!"

"Och, richt!"

Turn their weapons into goo!  That was the thing!

He opened his mouth, but the terms of the spell evaded him, almost there but staying just out of reach of his mind, like when he and Rose played Catch Me If You Can and he pretended not to be able to get a hold on her to snatch her up and squeeze the cute out of her.

After a second or two, in something of a panic, he called down to Sarah, "Ah cannae mind tae wurds!"

Shocked, Poubelle burst out, "He doesn't remember the spell!"

This startled everyone.  Once a First Enunciation had been spoken, the terms of a spell were written indelibly on the mind of a magicker.  An old and senile magicker might forget what day it was, where he had placed his slippers, or his grandchildren's names, but he would recall perfectly the terms of his spells until the day he died.

"Ding Dong!" Sarah shouted.  "Ding Dong!"

Everett quickly cast, "Ding ..."

But then the second word shot from his memory like a spooked cat.

"Help me!" Sarah ordered Marshlight and Poubelle.

"Ding Dong!" the three began to chant together.

Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauly immediately took up the refrain, and after a few seconds Mike and Bertram joined in also, so that the whole group was almost singing the two simple words.

Everett was sure that Rose, clapping her hands and waving in her mother's arms, was also repeating "ing, ong!" in time with the group.

He focused, locked his mind on the two sounds, closed his eyes to wall out all distraction, and cast along with their song, "Ding Dong!"

The actuation was strong, but nothing compared to the previous two that he had experienced and he felt only a moderate discomfort that quickly passed.

A sound as of the toll of a great bronze bell rang from somewhere up in the darkening sky, making him look up and around, but he saw nothing but the thickening clouds that were being bunched up as the storm scurried in from the west.

When he thought to look back at the groups of approaching soldiers, he found both in disarray.  Their rifles had become not goo, but huge sunflowers that they now grasped by their long, fence post sized stems.  A number were expressing their surprise in comments generally considered unsuitable for mixed company.

He laughed and taunted them, "Th' wull shaw ye, ye vile villains!"

Sarah waved both hands at him to attract his attention.  "Good job, Everett!  Now, just wait and don't do anything else, okay?  We'll talk to them and get this all sorted out without any sword slinging!"

"Ah staun duin tae defend ye, mah lassie."

Poubelle said, "He said -- "

"Right, thank you, Poubelle," Sarah said.  "I got it.  Now, Everett, dear, why don't you take your pretty helmet back off so no one thinks you're about to go charging off and smash the city flat?"

"Ah lik' mah helm. 'n' tis nae bonny.  Tis noble, bold, 'n' heroic!"

"I know, dear, but let's be friendly -- at least to begin with -- shall we?"

"Gey weel, mah lassie, sin it's ye, ah wull dae as ye ask, bit mah rath 'll be unloosed 'pon th' varlets a' th' foremaist sign o' trauchle!"

At shouted orders, some bordering on the desperate, from their officers, the two groups of guardsmen began discarding their flowers, reformed their ranks, and then marched to within hailing distance Everett.  The larger northern group stopped just the other side of the spot where he had placed his helm.

After some discussion, jostling, and finger pointing amongst the civilians at the rear of the northern contingent, a slim man with long, stringy black hair squeezed between two of the infantrymen in the front rank and, after ducking under the left upswept silver wing of Everett's helm walked hesitantly up to within smooshing distance.

While the finger pointing was at its height, Sarah had led the rest of the company to the top of the stairs, but had not gone down to meet the approaching worthy.

"I say," the Alturian said, looking up to address Sarah and the others, while obviously trying to present the appearance of not being overawed by Everett's looming mass.  The man stopped for a moment and cleared his throat a couple of times to get the squeak out of his voice, then continued.  "Would you mind ever so much having your giant not leave that large reptile out in the channel?  It would be quite a bother for the shipping, as it were."

Obviously without realizing that his question might be considered rude, Bertram asked aside to his uncle, "Does the green dress with the stars mean he's a wizard?"

Giuseppe gave a little laugh. "Yes, I believe it does."

Sarah just smiled.  "Good afternoon!  I'm Sarah de Schael, that is my husband Everett, and this is our daughter Rose.  These are our friends, Monsieur and Madame Poubelle, and Messieurs Mike, Pauly, and Giuseppe, and the latter's nephew, Bertram."

"Oh, yes, terribly sorry! Please pardon my breach of protocol!"  The wizard straightened his funny looking hat, then gave a sweeping bow.

"I have the pleasure to be Grandmaster Wizard Extraordinaire Wendell Thaddeus Overmeyer the Sixth, NOB, GYN, STP, AAGG, Order of the Full Tumbler, Second Chair of the Society of the Otter, First Minister to the Earl of Sixteenth Street and Carlon Avenue, Special Appointee to the Court of the Dowager of Margaret Place and Elbert Square, Royal Advisor to the Infante of the Corner of Talbot Green and Twenty-Seventh Street, and so on and so forth.  May it please your grace, I have been appointed by an admittedly slim but still significant majority of the forty-seven Sovereigns of Alturia to negotiate the peaceful surrender of our meager city to you and your giant and seek your permission to humbly inquire after your terms."

Everett glared down at the wizard.  He did not like wizards.  "Mah lassie, shuid ah croosh him noo?"

Sarah looked up to award him a level two frown.  That severity meant, Watch it!  "No!  Be nice, dear."

Poubelle started to translate, "Everett said that --"

Sarah poked him with an elbow.  "That he's happy to have been of service to the people of Alturia."  She turned back to the wizard.  "I'm sorry that you have taken the misapprehension that we mean Alturia harm, Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer.  My husband was simply subduing the monster to save Alturia from the terrible destruction that it was about to unleash."

"Oh? Oh! "

The Grandmaster Wizard made furtive hand signals to the other bureaucrats watching the exchange from amongst the soldiery.  "Well, that's quite excellent! Ah, you said service.  Would that imply that there will be a, hmm, ah, charge for the monster subduing to our, ah, quite nearly impoverished, you might even say destitute, city?"

"Aye," Everett declared.  "A' th' gowd in yer treasury 'n' a flagon o' ale tae toast mah vict'ry!"

This earned him Sarah's third level frown.  "No, Grandmaster Wizard, none whatsoever.  We are all just happy to have been present so that we could be of help."

"Excellent!  Most excellent!  I must say, most perfectly excellent!  Mhmm, and, ah, how long will the giant, er, that is, how long might we expect your party to be guests in Alturia?"

"My husband, the Grandmaster Wizard Everett de Schael, will be returning to his normal size once he has disposed of your giant reptile.  Where would you like it?"

The Alturian wizard's eyes grew a bit wide as he became quite animated.  "That was a spell?  Amazing!  I've never seen anything like --"

Clearly struck by the sudden realization that he was not behaving Grandmaster-Wizardly like, Overmeyer physically took hold of himself and gave a little shake, coughed behind his hand, then stood straighter as an assertion that he had reclaimed his dignity.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if reviewing exactly what Sarah had said.  "You, hmm, indicated that it is your position that the dead beast pertains to Alturia?"

Sarah nodded firmly.  "Of course.  It's in your demesne, which makes ownership clear."

"Well, technically, it's in the river," Overmeyer emphasized as if seizing a loophole, "which according to Article Seven of the Edzedahl Joint Maritime Compact is beyond the suzerainty of any individual demesne."

Everett growled.  "Dinnae be contradictin' mah lassie guidwife!"

The words came out with some force and the gust of the air fluttered the wizard's robe and knocked his ridiculous hat from his head to send it skittering across the cobbles of the esplanade.

"Everett said not to contradict Madame de Schael," Poubelle supplied.

"Yes, I had gathered as much," Overmeyer replied in a flat tone.

After straightening his robe once more, the wizard walked slowly over to his hat, whose internal stiffening structure had become kinked by the impact with the pavement.  Several of the supporting copper wires now poked through the fabric and it looked somewhat like an inverted question mark, but these deformities did not prevent the wizard from pressing it firmly back onto his head.  The center of balance of the hat had been shifted by its ordeal and it quickly became obvious that it would not any longer remain upright on his head without a constant dodge and juggle.  After several rounds of weaving attempts to compensate for its propensity to tilt, Overmeyer finally acquired a three degree list to starboard that kept it more or less in place.

"If we could," the wizard said after another moment of cutting his eyes upwards at his currently quiescent hat, "might we return the topic to the dead reptile?  We -- that is to say, the Sovereigns and citizens of Alturia, rather than I and the other members of the Special Emergency Delegation of the High Commission of Alturia.  We should be, as it were, considered advocates and councilors rather than interested parties in this regard.  We -- once more the representative we -- would prefer that it not stay in the river.  The rotting carcass would foul the waters from here to New Zindersberg and our neighbors would certainly demand damages.  Would it be possible for Grandmaster Wizard de Schael to drag it up onto the shore?"

"That would be no trouble at all," Sarah said.  "Where do you want it?"

"And, ah, hmm, would there be any, as it were, charge for that service?"

"As I told you, we don't charge for saving cities," Sarah repeated a little testily.  "Or cleaning up dead monsters.  Unless we encounter uncooperative officials, in which case we would have to impose our standard Monster Carcass Removal Fee, which is due and payable immediately, of one hundred thousand silver in coin."

The wizard visibly paled.  "Oh, I assure you madame, we're renowned for our cooperation here in Alturia!  Why just the other day we received a letter from the Patriarch of Molte Bene praising our splendid cooperative attitude!"

"I'm quite sure," Sarah replied dryly.  "Now, back to the carcass.  Where did you say that you want my husband to drag it?"

"Ah, hmmm, let me see."  The wizard tapped his lips with a finger.  "Ah!  Would it be too much trouble to bring it ashore in one of the stone drydocks where they work on the riverboats?  It should fit in one of the biggest ones.  The nearest is only a quarter of a mile around the bend to the north."

"Certainly."  She looked up at Everett. "Darling, fetch the carcass and take it upstream till you find an empty drydock.  That's a dear."

"Sae thare wull be na squashing this wee boggin' worm?"

"No, dear.  Now run along and get that done so we can get you back to your proper size."

FIFTEEN

When the armor and sword were gone, Everett found that he missed them sorely.

But he also found that his thoughts had much greater clarity.

Happily, this particular re-transformation also re-clothed him in his former garb, negating the need for Poubelle and Bertram to rush up with the spread tablecloth that they were holding at the ready.

After dashing up the steps to rejoin the company on the terrace, the first thing he said was, ""W' need tae fin' Harold 'n' w' need tae dae it fleet.  He's th' maist dangerous mon alive."

Poubelle began, "Everett said that --"

Everett shook his head hard to clear out the fuzziness.  "I said that we need to find Harold immediately. With his power, he could lay waste to the entire Edzedahl."

Sarah's face showed concern, no doubt at his unexpected lapse back into Forever Faithful speak.  "Are you all right, Everett?"

"I'm fine.  It's just that both of the transformations seem to take over entirely.  When I'm the eagle, I am the eagle.  When I'm the warrior monk, I am the warrior monk.  With any luck, I won't have to use those spells again.  Now, did anyone see which way Harold went?"

Sarah shook her head and none of the rest admitted that they had.

"Right, let's presume that he doesn't have any transport spells or any other kind of abilities that would allow him to cover distance fast.  It's only been about an hour or so, so he is probably still in Alturia."

"It'll be dark in an hour," Giuseppe pointed out.  "And there must be thousands of places to hide in the Arcade.  Without great luck, I'd say that it would be impossible to locate him by ourselves."

"We should get the Alturians to help us find him," Sarah suggested.  "They owe us."

"Good idea, Sarah," Marshlight agreed.  "We can have their constables and soldiers comb through the entire city.  If we tell them that he might cause another alligator -- or worse -- they are sure to help."

"I won't mention this in front of any of them," Theddrid said.  "But it could be argued that we are at fault for the giant alligator thing.  We did, after all, bring Harold here."

The tinkerer held up a scrap of torn paper that showed half a crude drawing of something vaguely alligator like with an extra set of stick figure arms.  "I retrieved this from that student's table.  Clearly this doodle is the source of the monster that Harold created with make believe."

"We might have gotten him here sooner, but he'd have made it this way eventually," Giuseppe argued.  "Like Everett said, his power can reach into a man's fancy and bring out anything.  That giant alligator thing that Everett killed is certainly not the worst thing that can come from a man's imagination.  I can't speak for the rest of you, but a lot of my idle fancies don't ever need to see the light of day."

"We have to stop him," Poubelle said, hitching up his trousers and taking a firm grip on his fireplace poker.  "He's worse than this business with technology."

"It's the very same problem," Everett corrected.  "Harold -- Make Believe -- has the ability to make daydreams and doodles come to life because of all the power released when Technology was fired.  That also has to be the reason why all of our spells have gone wonky.  It's clear that there are way too many unused waffles floating around.  Our spells must be gaining power because the environment is now flooded with the things.  We'll solve all three problems by finding Technology and getting him back in his place.  That should suck all the free waffles back out of the air or wherever they are and Make Believe won't have enough to make idle thoughts into city destroying monsters."

The patrons and staff of the Bonaventure had begun to emerge from the shelter of the buildings and the latter, with some help from the former, had begun the process of putting the cafe to rights.

Grandmaster Wizard Wendell Thaddeus Overmeyer, the other Alturian bureaucrats, and most of the palace guardsmen had retired to oversee the summoning of all of the city's butchers to deal with the giant carcass.  On excusing himself from their company, the wizard had said something about "alligator tail is a high priced delicacy" and "no one will believe us if we don't display the skeleton."

A squad of guardsmen under command of a sergeant, all looking as if they had been pressed from the same mold -- tall, muscular, broad shouldered, and young -- had remained behind and were currently doing a poor job of pretending not to watch Everett and company from the other side of the terrace.

Everett picked up Rose, who had been toddling around him while occasionally grasping the legs of his trousers to steady herself, and jerked his head at the squad.  "Let's get them to send for the wizard."

When they saw Everett and company coming, the sergeant and his guardsmen all became suddenly infatuated with a potato the size of a watermelon that had miraculously survived its plummet through a flower arbor and a wooden serving cart.  The tuber in question, a prime specimen of the red variety, had suffered only cosmetic damage to its skin and now lay perched atop the compacted and intermingled wreckage of the arbor and cart.

"I wonder if it could be a baked potato," one of the soldiers said to his mates with a puzzled expression.  "One of those hard ones that's been in the oven way too long?"

"Nope, can't be." another said.  "There ain't no butter nor sour cream."

"He's got a point," acknowledged a third.  "I like mine with cheese, too."

"It may not be an actual potato," the sergeant suggested.  "Just something that looks like a potato."

"Maybe we should shove it in the oven," the first soldier said, "to test one way or the other."

Everett intervened before the conversation could proceed to the inevitable stage of gallons of sour cream, buckets of butter, and crates of cheese.  He took a second to read the name embroidered on the breast of the non-com's tunic.

"Excuse me, Sergeant Enthwhistle, but could you send word to Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer that we would like to speak to him?"

The soldier that liked cheese on his baked potato gave a loud nasal inhalation, followed without delay with another louder one, and finally inhaled a still louder third that portended a truly remarkable sneeze to come.  Eyes closing, the soldier hurriedly dragged a large blue and green plaid handkerchief from the back pocket of his uniform trousers.

Rather than be overborne by the anticipated sinus explosion, the sergeant, looking pained and sending a glare that promised extra kitchen duty for the offending soldier, just waited.

"Chewwww!"

Everett felt a strong actuation in the Major range that made all of his teeth ache for a spit second.

An overturned chair only a few yards in front of the sneezing soldier became a five foot tall orange tree complete with a small hummock of roots and dirt and a dozen ripe oranges the size of grapefruits.

Marshlight looked incredulous.  "That was a spell?  How can that be?"

"It's not unheard of in the literature," Theddrid offered, walking around the tree to examine it.  "It is rare for the terms of a spell to be other than intelligible words, but it has happened.  There was a young woman in the Alarsarian village of Odd-Woman-Out during the rein of Queen Louise Adelaide IV who could make a soufflé out of a hand full of straw just by burping."

"That seemed like a First Enunciation as well," Sarah judged.  "Private Weghtblankt, may I ask what rank of magicker you are?"

Private Weghtblankt blew his nose, then rubbed his handkerchief back and forth across his nostrils a few times.  "I'm not ma'am.  No spells at all."

Theddrid plucked one of the oranges and gave it a tentative sniff.  "Well, young man, you are now."

Private Weghtblankt goggled at the small tree.  "I did that?"

"Odd how he got a useful spell on his very first go," Giuseppe said.  "My first spell dyed the left side of my aunt's hair green."

"Ahhhh....chewww!"

As Everett experienced another uncomfortable actuation, an upright chair between Mike and Bertram transformed into a second, slightly taller orange tree, causing both men to jump back in surprise.

"Weghtblankt, get your shnoz under control, " Sergeant Enthwhistle barked.  "These chairs are coming out of your pay!"

Weghtblankt blew his nose again, a long drawn out swirling-drain, sloppy, drippy, brain-siphoning, greenish kind of sound.  Yes, sergeant!  I mean, shnoz under control, sergeant!"

The sergeant gave a disbelieving grunt and then turned back to Everett.  "Yes, Monsieur, how is it that we can help you?"

"We need to speak to Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer," Everett repeated.  "Could you detail one of your men to carry him a message?"

"No need, Monsieur." Enthwhistle pointed passed Everett.  "There he comes now."

Everett turned.  Indeed, the Grandmaster Wizard was scurrying along the esplanade from the north, the direction of the commandeered drydock.  In his wake followed a round dozen functionaries and bureaucrats -- or at least in Everett's eyes the harried looking bunch in staid formal attire had that look of fixated obstructionism and hereditary entitlement.   Overmeyer and his entourage swept up the steps to the terrace and made a beeline for Everett.

"In case it comes up," Pauly said.  "I'll resolve the wizard for fifty and any number of the rest for twenty a head.  It'll be knife work, so I would advise that you be prepared for a certain amount of mess."

Everett suppressed a grin.  "Thanks, but that shouldn't be necessary."

"Grandmaster Wizard de Schael," Overmeyer burst out as soon as he had gotten within spitting distance.  "You must remove the geese immediately!"

Everett had no idea what the Alturian was talking about, so he turned aside to Sarah and asked, "What's our standard fee for removing geese, again?"

Sarah flashed teeth at Overmeyer.  "One thousand silver per goose."

This brought the wizard up short.  "Er, ah, what I meant to say was that we, that being the representative we again, would like to, hmmm, inquire whether you had any knowledge, as it were, concerning the gaggle of giant geese that are currently disrupting traffic and accosting citizens in the Plaza of Morning?"

Everett looked around at the company.  "Has anyone gotten a spell for giant geese?"

After the anticipated chorus of head shakes and negative responses, he turned a bland gaze back to Overmeyer.  "Not us, sorry."

The wizard looked suddenly uncomfortable. "We, ah, that is, did not, as it were, intend in any way to imply --"

"One of your citizens has gotten a new spell," Everett told the man.  "Because of the collapse of technology, magic has become overpowered.  Everyone is getting new spells and existing spells are becoming much more powerful."

Overmeyer looked stricken.  The nervousness evident in some of his companions became fearful consternation.

"Did you say collapse of technology?" the wizard questioned.  "I know that we have been experiencing a number of inexplicable breakdowns, but surely this must only be a temporary, localized phenomenon?"

"Our technicians have been claiming that it was unanticipated conflicts in schematic adaptations!" one of his fellow Alturians burst out.

Overmeyer whipped his head around and glared at the offending associate.  In the process, his hat fell off, but he made no attempt to retrieve it.

"All technology is fading," Everett told them all.  "You should prepare yourselves and your city for the complete failure of all mechanisms."

All of the bureaucrats, the wizard included, exploded in questions, denials, curses, and general expressions of panicked despair.

Then Overmeyer tensed and coughed out a sound that seemed half sigh and half hiccup.

A massive actuation staggered Everett and made his vision swim in rainbow colors.

Sarah caught him around the waist as he started to keel over.  "Marshlight, Poubelle, help me!"

The three managed to drag Everett to a chair and he sank into it, holding his throbbing head.

He heard Rose say, "Oooh, petty!"

Almost immediately the babel from the functionaries ceased and this made him pry his eyes open to find that an unnatural orange light now tinted everything around him.  Everyone, Sarah and Rose included, was looking up at the sky and he tilted his head to do likewise.

The entire viewable sky was filled with pinpoints of bright flame.

After a few seconds it was clear that the pinpoints were getting larger.

Another few seconds made it equally clear that they were falling on Alturia.

SIXTEEN

"Take cover!" Sergeant Enthwhistle ordered as he ran for the cafe buildings.

His soldiers may have been assigned to ceremonial duties, but they certainly remembered their training in strategic withdrawals.  All of them took off like scalded cats.  After another shocked second or two, the functionaries bolted in their wake.  The running men and women jolted the cafe's weary staff and patrons from also staring in shock at the sky, igniting another general exodus.  Some of the patrons, apparently determined optimists, had just sat back down to reorder their supper.

Overmeyer, entranced by the descending fire and clearly terrified, remained rooted to his spot.  "But but but... that spell never does that! It just makes a party favor!  A few little sparkles with a silly bang at the end!"

Theddrid looked grim.  "If those fireballs have a bang at the end, then there won't be anything left of Alturia after they land but ash and rubble."

Everett ran through a rapid mental checklist of his own spells.  Giant sunflowers: absolutely useless.  His second spell: not even close.  Giant broccoli: doubly useless: Cats: did not dare.  Engine fuel: suicide.  Explosive liquid: compounded suicide.  Potato storm: not likely.  Transport Poubelle: escape for he, Sarah, Rose, and the rest if all else failed.  Giant warrior monk: tempting, but probably useless against a rain of fire that looked as if it would consume the entire city.  His tenth spell: he still did not know what it actually did.  Rapid mending: useful, but it would not stop said all consuming rain of fire.  Giant golden eagle: probably not fire proof.  Release the dragon: if it still worked as before, certainly not of any help now.

"We need a big spell!" he urged the others.  "Anyone have anything that might help?"

Pauly had no magic at all, and, as far as Everett knew, neither did Mike.  Bertram, being a mechanic, could not receive a spell epiphany.  Marshlight and Theddrid gave shakes of their heads and Poubelle just looked uncomfortable.

Giuseppe said, "None of mine have anything to do with fire."

"I could use my fifth spell," Sarah suggested without enthusiasm.  "I might be able to blast some of them out of the air."

Everett shook his head.  "We'll try that as a last resort.  Giant fireballs arcing over the city might just make things worse."

He threw a glance skyward.  They had no more than a minute, perhaps even seconds.  He grabbed Overmeyer by the wide chartreuse lapels of his robe and shook him.

"What other spells do you have?  Anything that could dissipate fire?"

"What? No ... I ... don't know ..."

Everett pushed the babbling wizard aside.  Maybe the warrior monk's golden armor would deflect the fire, at least from Sarah, Rose, and their friends. He drew in a breath to prepare to cast his ninth spell.

"Daddy, cat' me a fiefie!"

The next thing Everett knew, Sarah was slapping him awake.  "Everett!  Wake up!"

"I'm awake." He looked beyond her, up at the sky.  The falling balls of fire ... were flying about aimlessly and beginning to scatter.

And they were not balls of fire anymore.

They had wings.  Back end glowing on and off, one of them flew down and passed directly overhead at about thirty feet.  It was big, maybe a yard long, with an oblong insect body, and a wingspan of perhaps two yards.

He started to sit up, but sank back when his head felt like it was trying to split open.  He looked into Sarah's face, saw deep concern.  "I'm fine.  The actuation was very powerful."

"Yes, I know.  I felt it, just not like you.  I wish I knew why they hit you so hard."

"Me too.  Who cast the spell?"

"Me, daddy!"  Rose was kneeling beside her mother, eyes wide and staring.  She reached her little hands around his neck to hug him.  "Me, daddy!"

Everett hugged his daughter back and shot a glance towards her mother, who nodded with a grim smile.

"Congratulations, Rosie!  I'm happy you have a new spell and I'm very proud of you!"

Rose squeezed his neck harder.  "Wuv, daddy!"

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Head mostly clear, he sat up, gathering Rose into his arms and then with Sarah steadying him, stood.  "What are those things, anyway?"

"Fireflies," Sarah told him.

"Fiefie, daddy!" Rose repeated.

"Ah."

The others were all standing about him in a circle, looking on.  Pauly and Giuseppe each had a grip on one of Overmeyer's arms.

When Everett looked at them in askance, the smuggler said, "He attempted to excuse himself from the party early."

Rose still in his arms, Everett walked over to confront the wizard.  "So you have a spell that is cast when you hiccup?"

Overmeyer looked uncomfortable.  "Well, uhm, that is to say, uhm, yes.  When I'm under stress, you see, it just comes out."

"A hiccup."

The wizard nodded.

Rose scrunched her eyebrows together and awarded the wizard a look of disapproval.  "Fiefies."

Everett turned to Pauly.  "Make sure that he doesn't hiccup.  Whatever it takes."

Pauly awarded Overmeyer a grin that made the wizard cringe slightly.  "Will do."

"We still need to find Harold," Sarah reminded them all.

Thinking, Everett swung about, examining the once again deserted and disarrayed terrace.  When his eyes fell across Bertram's ginger hair, he had a wild idea.  After rattling it around in his head for a moment or two, he gave a why not mental shrug and motioned the young man to draw near.

"Yes, Monsieur de Schael?"  Bertram patted his jacket pocket, which wiggled a little, then settled down.  "I moved Ralph into here just in case.  You know, just in case we had to run away, or, er, retreat, that is.  I have his snails in my other pocket.  Do you want me to find his cage and put him back?"

"No, he should be alright there for a little while.  I'd like you to help me with an experiment."

"Yes, Monsieur!  Anything you need!"

"Good.  Now, just repeat after me."

"Sir?"

"I want you to repeat what I say, word for word.  Can you do that?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

Everett did a quick bit of metal composition, then said, "Unbeknownst to our intrepid company."

"Un, er, what?"

"Unbeknownst."

"uh-Be-know't," Rose repeated.

"Ah, uh, unbeknownst to ah, er..."

Everett repeated the phrase again, pausing patiently between each word and Bertram obligingly reflected the words back at him.  Everett continued, improvising as necessary, and Bertram faithfully repeated the phrases.  The others looked on with curiosity of varying degrees, just waiting to see what Everett was about.

"The sly Harold, otherwise known to our readers as Make Believe."

"The sly Harold, otherwise known to our readers as Make Believe."

"Had hidden himself away in a shellfish punt that had loosed its moorings in the midst of the battle."

"Had hidden himself away in a shellfish punt that had loosed its moorings in the midst of the battle."

"And now carried Harold away downstream towards --"

"And now carried Harold away downstream towards --"

"I'm sorry!  That's just not right!  Just not right at all!"  Wearing a stained chef's apron, Exposition trotted up, shaking his ginger haired head in exasperation and wiping his hands on a cloth.

"It should be," the ginger scolded, "Unbeknownst to our intrepid company, Harold was only three blocks away.  Make Believe has once again been  tempted to exercise his powers to manifest the imaginings of his next unsuspecting victim, young Madeleine Brightbow, a charming girl blind since birth but greatly loved by all.  Standing on a bucket in the back terrace, he is even now peeking into a bedroom window of her parents' home."

"That would be on the corner of 8th Avenue and Fishmonger Street," Everett prompted Bertram.

"That would be on the corner of 8th Avenue and Fishmonger Street," Bertram repeated obediently.

"That's wrong too!" Exposition said, clearly frustrated.  "It's, at No. 27 Rue de la Patate. And, The odd little man was hoping to catch the wisp of a daydream as it floats by."

Then Exposition gave a little start, as if he had just realized that he had been snookered, and shot Everett a glare of annoyance.

Though Sarah gave Everett a strange look, no one else, of course, seemed cognizant of Exposition's interruption.  To speed things along, he looked away and then looked back to find that, as he had expected, Narrative's avatar had once again apparently evaporated into thin air.  Pleased, Everett thanked the cooperative but confused Bertram and addressed the entire group.

"Harold is at No. 27 Rue de la Patate and is trying to start more trouble right now.  Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, lead us there immediately."

"Amazing, Everett!" Poubelle exclaimed.  "Did you get a new spell?"

"No, a ginger told me."

"Surely you're not saying that Bertram has received a spell Epiphany?  Not to be contradictory, but I thought that that was impossible?" Theddrid asked.

"I'll explain later.  Let's go before Harold does something that we will all might not live to regret."

SEVENTEEN

The Rue de la Patate proved to be an irregular maze of connected viaducts, bridging stairways, and swooping elevated esplanades that ran vaguely west through the Overcity and had a direct access from the second floor balcony of the central building of the Bonaventure.  There continued to be some consternation amongst the Alturians and some still gathered on balconies or plazas to watch for other fantastical appearances and in one case to argue whether the giants had actually been real or not, but many had returned to their homes, shops, chores, or other concerns.

The wizard brought them to the thoroughfare straightaway, but then explained that, having only been hired on to the High Commission of Alturia three months previously, he did not actually know where No. 27 might be.

They did not, however, experience any difficulty in locating Harold.

They just went to the sounds of the whacking and the yelling.

Monsieur Brightbow, it soon developed, had come upon Harold peeping into his daughter's bedroom window and had taken after him with a broomstick.

In spite of the fact that said daughter had not been in said bedroom at said time, The father of the victim, Monsieur Brightbow, a large man with an imposing moustache and a heavy, humorless brow, had determined that said Harold needed a thorough thrashing to discourage his evil ways and had commenced with considerable enthusiasm to inflict said thrashing.

With the prodded intervention of Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, three understanding but restraining constables (one of whom mumbled, "Serves him right."), a totally unrelated and in no way a payoff, gift for the young woman of one hundred silver from Overmeyer's purse (the wizard being motivated by dint of an encouraging word from Pauly) and a multitude of promises, both personal and official, that neither Monsieur Brightbow nor his daughter would ever see Harold again, alive, dead or otherwise, Everett and the company succeeded in extricating the hapless corporeal biologic from his predicament with only a few bruises and the occasional abrasion rather than the extensive broken bones that had appeared to be on the menu.

As the Bonaventure seemed a reasonable choice for a place to plot their next move, Everett led everyone -- Mike and Giuseppe escorting Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer and Pauly and Poubelle escorting Harold -- back along the viaducts to the cafe's ground level terrace.

By the time they arrived, the light was fading and the staff had begun to light oil sconces and place them in holders on the arbor columns.  Most of the patrons had departed but the slightly reduced staff was apparently determined not to let humongous alligators, colossal golden warrior monks, or sky-spanning rains of apocalyptic fire dissuade them from offering their regular menu and welcomed Everett and his company back with professional aplomb.  He did, however, notice subsequent grimaces and headshakes after they had been re-seated and orders for tea, juice, and whatnot taken.

"Ah, hmm, Grandmaster Wizard de Schael," Overmeyer mentioned in a tentative tone after taking a single sip of a blue, smelling of elderberries concoction called A Wizard's Friend.  "Might I ask how much longer you will require my, ah, hmm, that is to say, assistance?  Now that you have recovered your comrade, would it not be possible for me to return to my, ah, hmm, duties?"

"You can destroy Alturia with one hiccup," Everett told the wizard blandly.  He nodded his head at Rose, seated on a booster chair between himself and Sarah and using both hands to hold a slice of fresh bread that she was taking desultory bites from.  "She has the only spell that can neutralize yours and she stays with us.  If you want to take the chance that your next employer will overlook the fact that you incinerated your last, by all means return to your duties."

Deflating somewhat, Overmeyer remained in his seat.  "I see your point."

Feeling very tired, Everett drank some of his tea and leaned back in his chair.  "Now, where were we?"

"Technology," Sarah said.  "We still have to find him."

Theddrid gestured at Harold with a bread stick.  "I think we've been approaching this problem from the wrong direction.  Tracking Technology down without knowing where he is or where he might be going will be nearly impossible.  We need to bring Technology to us."

"How can we do that?"  Marshlight asked her uncle.

"We use our imagination.  There's no limit to what one can imagine.  With Harold's power, there is no limit to what imagination can do."

"It made a great bloody giant alligator anyway," Mike said.

Giuseppe nodded.  "I see what you're saying.  If we imagine that Technology is here and harness Harold to the task, he should show up, right?  It would be sort of like a transport variant."

"Let's do it!" Poubelle said with considerable enthusiasm.  "Let's get this world saving business over and done with so that we can all get back to our lives."

Marshlight looked dubious.  "It can't be that simple, can it?"

Harold did not appear to be paying any attention to the conversation and was currently sniffing his cinnamon bun as if he suspected its authenticity.

Everett caught the corporeal biologic's eye.  "How about it, Harold?  Can you make Technology come here?"

"Me?  Oh, no, I can't do that."

"Why not?" Sarah asked.

"I can't make believe.  It's part of the job description."

No one laughed.

Everett made a face.  "Are you saying that it always has to be someone else that does the daydreaming?  That you can't just exercise your power of your own accord?"

"Oh, sure.  That's the way that it has always been."

"Alright, I make believe that Technology is here."

"No, you're not.  I can tell."

"He's right, dear," Sarah said.  "Real make believe isn't something that you switch on or off.  It just happens when you're not trying."

"But we can control our imaginations," Theddrid argued.  "Imagination is the foundation of art and literature."

"That's our rational mind extrapolating possibilities," Sarah said.  "It may seem like the same thing as make believe, but it's not."

Everett looked at Harold.  "What do you mean when you say make believe, exactly?"

Harold took a bite of his cinnamon roll, looked pleasantly surprised.  "Make believe," he said around the mouthful, spewing bits, "is a belief that supersedes rational perceptions of reality."

Poubelle smirked.  "Well, anybody can do that.  Why, when I used to drink a bit, I believed all kinds of things that superseded reality.  This one time, there was this fence post that kept telling me in a real funny woman's voice that I was actually a rutabaga."

Marshlight frowned in disapproval.  "It was a good thing that Harold wasn't around you then.  And don't even think about getting drunk."

Harold gestured with his half-eaten cinnamon bun, casting a few crumbs in Poubelle's direction.  "It's harder to make believe than you'd think.  If your rational mind realizes what's going on, it'll always override the make believe or commandeer it.  A flight of fancy is not the same thing as make believe."

"Still," Theddrid persisted, "it should be just a matter of maintaining the proper mental state."

"Let's all do it together," Marshlight suggested.  "We'll all make believe that Technology is here and have Harold do his thing."

"We should all concentrate on the same spot," Theddrid proposed, taking a salt shaker from the table as he stood up.

He moved a few steps towards the river, removed the cap, and walked about to pour the salt in thin line on the dark tile that marked an oval about four feet in diameter.

"That's our target," he said when he resumed his seat.  "Everyone just start imagining that Technology is confined within that circle."

Not feeling in much of a make believe mood, Everett decided to content himself with observing the experiment, but he did get up and walk around to the other side of the table to be ready just in case something did appear.

Giuseppe looked off into the darkening sky and Everett could not tell if the half grin on his face meant that he was just playing along or actually thought that Theddrid's plan could work.  Still obviously guarding the wizard, Pauly's expression and demeanor did not change, so Everett was not convinced that he had decided to participate.  After Marshlight whispered a short something into Poubelle's ear, the two held hands and closed their eyes.  Mike just sent Everett a wane smile and Bertram looked about as if he was not sure what was going on.  Sarah continued to monitor Rose as she began to gnaw -- her teeth had started to come in -- on an apple slice.  For his part, Theddrid focused on some distant point and stiffened, as if would use his entire force of will to make believe.

Everett turned his attention to Theddrid's salt circle.

Nothing happened for as much as a minute, then, somewhat to Everett's surprise, a small haze began to take shape near the center of it, low to the tile.  He glanced at Harold and indeed found him looking constipated with fists to temples.

When Everett turned his gaze back to the salt circle, he found that it now contained a very fluffy, white rabbit of a floppy-eared domestic breed.  The rabbit raised up to eye its new surroundings, gave a couple of desultory wiggles of its nose, then settled back and scratched its right ear with its hind foot.

Mike spit out a laugh and Everett let himself join in the merriment.  He saw Sarah roll her eyes and then press her fingers against her lips to suppress her own amusement.

"Alright, who was daydreaming about a bunny?" Theddrid inquired in an even but stern tone.

Giuseppe chuckled.  "Not me."

"We were both visualizing De Grosivna," Marshlight reported for her and her husband.  Poubelle just nodded, though there was some suggestion of guilt in his expression.

Rose clapped her hands.  "Wabbit!"

Everett shot Harold a look.

"Ah, yes, I believe that's right," the odd little man affirmed.  "She saw this nice little rabbit -- er, that one there -- eating an apple slice -- er, the one that she just finished."

"Do rabbits eat apples?" Poubelle wanted to know.

"Not really relevant," Theddrid ruled.  "I think we should try again.  Rosie's success is proof of concept.  We just need to refine the process."

The rabbit, apparently either having spotted something edible in that direction or simply having tired of its current location, hopped (in an ambling sort of way) off towards another group of tables.

"Just a second," Sarah said.  She looked down at Rose who had finished her first apple slice and was contemplating a second clasped in her left hand.  "Rose, I want you to remember the goat.  Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"I want you to remember him right over there."

"Yes, Mommy."  Rose started gnawing on the second apple slice, looking steadily up at her mother's face.

Everett watched Harold.  The odd little man took on a faraway look, then acquired the pinched expression of someone struggling with a bowel movement, and finally brought his fists to his temples.

"Yip yip yip!"

The barking, sounding just like the noises that had come from a mechanical toy in the shape of a dog that Everett had seen in New Zin, drew his eyes once again to the salt circle.  Rather than the aristocratic form of Donald de Grosivna, Technology's usual Zherian corporeal biologic, a woman with a plump, spinster-school-mistress type physique stood there.

It was Petunia LaSalle.

Rather than the prim, reserved attire in which Everett had seen her previously, Mademoiselle LaSalle was dressed in a flagrantly casual manner. Her loose, breezy white and blue flower-print dress exposed considerable though not overly suggestive cleavage, all of her thin shoulders, and the length of her sturdy legs from mid-thigh down -- all of the skin of which was reddened from too much recent sun.  She also wore sandals on feet with purple painted toenails, glasses with black impenetrable lenses, and a wide brimmed straw hat.

And she was holding on one arm a tiny lap dog, some sort of long haired terrier with a big purple bow affixed to a ruffle of hair on top of its head.  The little dog glared at Everett and the rest in a way that suggested a very nasty disposition.

"Really, Everett!" Destiny's corporeal biologic complained.  "I'm on vacation!"

EIGHTEEN

"It wasn't you that we wanted," Everett explained.  "We were trying to transport Technology."

Petunia LaSalle stretched out her arms to offer him the little dog, which yipped and showed Everett its teeth.  "Fine.  He's all yours."

Everett made no move to take the animal.  "Poubelle, cast your second spell."

"Second spell? Oh, right!.  From the mouths of babes!"

As soon as he had experienced the actuation -- and a sharp pain in his left foot -- Everett asked the dog, "Are you Technology?"

"Yip yip yip."

"Poubelle?"

"Uh, well, I think he said, Indeed I am, but it could have been Of course I am you something something dolt!"

Everett grunted.  If Technology could come into the corporeal realm as a goat, he could just as easily come into the corporeal realm as a dog.  Still, he did not take the dog from Destiny.

"Why is Technology a dog and why do you have him?"

"I have him because Magic dropped by and asked me to babysit her Pookie for a little while and then I never heard from her again.  I should have known better."

"Pookie?"

Petunia shook the little dog, who endured the jostling without protest.  "This thing.  She named him Pookie.  Should have named him Poopie, because all he does is wizz and poop."

"And why is he a dog?"

The little dog sent a nasty look and a growl in the direction of Harold.

"You'll have to ask Make Believe.  I don't involve myself in politics.

"Yip yip yip yip yip." the little dog complained in a very agitated manner.

Poubelle listened with a thoughtful look then said, "Ah, the dog says that this was the best that he could do with the, ah, big round crinkly things with syrup and butter that he had, ah, available to him."

"Waffles?" Everett asked.

"Yip."

"Right.  So how do we get things back to normal?"

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip."

"Sorry, Everett," Poubelle said.  "I missed part of that.  Could he repeat the yip yip yip part?"

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip."

"Oh, got it now.  The dog said that you have to use the litter box to --"

"Yip yip yip yip yip."

"Sorry, you have to use the schematic in the special place to something something technology after you have disrupted the something and freed all waffles.  That will something the something and then the watermelon will happen."

Everett sighed and decided that he was more than tired of little dog barks, bad translations, and uncooperative non-corporeal sentient entities.  After another moment he further decided that it was time for a break from all the craziness.  They could work on a clearer translation tomorrow.

"My arms are getting tired," Petunia warned.  "You wanted him, so will someone please take this stupid dog?"

Everett started to reach for the dog, but it bared its teeth and growled at him in a not-cute little dog way.

"He apparently doesn't like me," he told Petunia.

"It was probably the barbeque thing, Everett," Poubelle suggested.

"Oh, yes," Destiny said as if in sudden recollection.  "You did threaten to cook and eat him when he was a goat, didn't you?"

The little dog swung his head around to examine the company and then pointed his snout at Mike.  "Yip yip."

"He said that the one with the big ears -- that's Mike I guess -- looks trustworthy," Poubelle supplied.

Everett considered the pensioner.  "Would you like to be the custodian of Technology, at least until you head back to New Zindersberg?"

Mike shrugged.  "I suppose I could.  Not much for pets though."

"Just make sure that he gets fed and watered," Marshlight advised.  "And that he gets to go walkies on a regular basis."

"And that he doesn't escape," Everett emphasized.

"I can do that," Mike agreed.  He rose from his chair, walked around the end of the long table and used both hands to take the dog from Petunia.  When the animal made no protest, he returned to his seat and sat with the dog in his lap.

Technology -- Pookie -- placed his front paws on the table and raised his head up over the edge to be able to see, but seemed content to remain in Mike's lap.  Somewhat tentatively and inexpertly, the latter patted the animal on the head a couple of times.

"Great!" Petunia exclaimed, smiling.  "Now, just send me back and you can get on with saving the world or whatever it was that you were doing."

Everett examined the corporeal biologic.  "Did you have anything to do with the collapse of technology?"

"Me?  Certainly not!"  Petunia pointed in Harold's general direction.  "That's entirely the concern of the new paradigm.  As I told you, I'm on vacation."

"Then can you help set things to right?"

Petunia gave her head a quick, exasperated shake.  "The parameters of the non-corporeal realm forbid cross universe interference."

"Why would it be cross universe interference?" Theddrid asked.  "You are, from all appearances, here in this universe."

"Because I'm supposed to be in the otherworldly mythical realm of Phloreedah.  I insist that you return me there immediately."

"And if we don't?" Everett asked.

"Then my entire allotment of waffles will be stripped away and scattered into the environment, just like Technology's has.  I'd imagine that a considerable upset due to the readjustments has already occurred here in the corporeal realm and I am sure that you don't want that upset to be enhanced by more unbound waffles."

Everett turned to Harold.  "Is that all true?  If she stays, you'll steal all her waffles too?"

Harold looked offended.  "It's not just me.  It's the Guild."

"But it would happen?"

"Well, yes.  The parameters of the non-corporeal realm prevent the sacking of an entity when they're on vacation, so she still has her full allotment of waffles."

Everett sighed.  "I suppose that to dispatch her back to where she came from, we'll have to make believe again.  Rose, sweetheart, can you see the lady going back to wherever it was that she came from?"

Rose scrunched her face up in thought.  "Yes, daddy."

"Phloreedah," Petunia supplied.  "Believe in white sand, blue water, and lots of sun."

"Harold," Everett directed, "do your thing."

Concentration, constipation, and fists occurred, then, after a few seconds Petunia vanished.

"How will we know that she actually went back to this Phloreedah place?" Theddrid asked.

"We won't," Everett said.  "And I for one don't care if she wound up in somewhere dank, dark, smelly, and cold."

"I agree," Marshlight said with some venom.  "She caused a lot of trouble when she was here before."

"But she did put us together, honey dumpling," Poubelle pointed out.

"That wasn't her.  That was us.  Our natural affinity as soul mates drew us together.  It was our destiny -- oh! -- I mean, it would have happened anyway."

"It doesn't seem that we will be able to accomplish much more this evening," Theddrid offered.  "Perhaps we should seek lodging and let this very long day end."

After a chorus of agreement came from the others, including Sarah, Everett questioned Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer concerning hotels and learned that there were indeed a number, all reasonably priced, in the vicinity of the main steamship docks.  When informed that Everett expected the city of Alturia to be responsible for the bill, the wizard quickly amended that there were guest suites for visiting heads of state and other dignitaries available in the Palace of the High Commission and that he was certain that the Saviors of Alturia would be welcomed there.

Without prompting, the wizard paid their bill, then led them along the Rue de la Patate to another linked series of viaducts and esplanades that he identified as the Avenue of the Cardinal With A Worm in Its Brain (Everett did not ask.), then along that until it turned into a regular on-the-ground street atop Alturia's central hill. Five minutes further along this brought them to the seat of the High Commission of Alturia, the former regal castle.

After the wizard went into a hurried and whispered conclave with a number of his fellow bureaucrats, the company was speedily shown to a suite of well appointed rooms that overlooked the central courtyard.  Everett, Sarah, and Rose were allotted a bedroom to themselves, as were Marshlight and Poubelle, while the rest -- including a reluctant Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer due to the continuing potential for a city annihilating hiccup -- had to make a barracks of the sitting room, bedding down on the two couches and on three cots that palace functionaries brought in.

Poubelle and Marshlight retired immediately.  With all the rest giving clear evidence -- yawns, drooping eyelids, outright sleep in Bertram's case -- that they were done for the day, Everett, Sarah, and Rose bid all a good night and likewise retired.

He fell asleep while Sarah was dressing Rose for bed.

NINETEEN

To get a better look at the giant birds, Everett tilted his head a bit to look through a six inch gap between the upper two horizontal stringers of the giant-goose proof barricade.

Standing, the bodies of the geese were as tall as the withers of a draft horse and their long necks elevated their heads another six feet or so.  The invaders were waddling about, poking in a desultory fashion at the cobblestones with their rounded black beaks, pooping profusely without concern for what was underneath then, drinking from the central fountain with the bronze statue of a mounted former prince of Alturia and its six attendant water spewing pigs, and just generally being geese.  With white and black heads, black necks, and brown bodies, the geese looked like nothing other than larger versions of the common wild migratory fowl that were seen spring through summer on and about the upper Edze and its tributaries and fall through winter in the great river's delta.

"And, what, exactly, do you expect us to do about them?" he demanded with some exasperation of Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer.

The Alturian wizard straightened his new hat, but did not immediately reply.

Overmeyer had appeared, agitated and anxious, to prevail upon Everett to assist with the goose problem immediately after he and the rest of the company had consumed an early but sumptuous breakfast in the Grand Ballroom of the castle.  The animals' obstruction of the plaza and the Boulevard of the Princes, the main freight artery from the steamship docks through the center of the city and beyond to the northwestern districts of the Arcade, had proven to be a costly and aggravating disruption of traffic and commerce.  The wizard had explained with some urgency that milk and fresh bread were not being delivered in a timely fashion, workers were being delayed in arriving at their places of employment, freight wagons were having to divert along unsuitable, already congested routes, and many other sorts of similar economic calamities.

Just a half hour after dawn, a large delegation of merchants had petitioned a number of key Sovereigns for immediate relief, pointing out that the disruption would also significantly reduce tax revenues if it was not speedily resolved.  Those Sovereigns had in turn immediately dispatched messengers to Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer to demand of him, in varying tones of outrage and indignation, why there were still giant geese in Alturia.

The other five members of the Temporary Special Oversight Committee In Charge of Giant Beasts, Animals, And Similar Problems stood behind the wizard in a skittish huddle, looking uncertain and uncomfortable.  The three women and two men, all by the diameters of their waistlines well fed and all dressed in expensive silk gabardines, were, like Overmeyer, simultaneous members of several of the courts of the Forty-Seven Sovereigns of Alturia.  However, only one was also a magicker and she had eagerly and insistently deferred to Overmeyer in the management of this magical problem.

When Poubelle had asked the Grandmaster Wizard why there were forty-seven Sovereigns of Alturia, Overmeyer had replied quite unabashedly, "The previous ruler of Alturia, Prince Carl Joseph IX, was a magicker with one spell.  That spell made any unmarried and otherwise unattached woman with a compatible temperament find him rather more than attractive for twenty-seven minutes.  Prince Carl Joseph never married and by all reports had a considerably difficult personality, but he did father forty-seven children before he passed away at the age of ninety-nine and one half.  Under Alturian law, illegitimacy is no hindrance to inheritance and the prince having left no final testament, all of his heirs were entitled to an equal share of his demesne."

"What does that work out to?"  Theddrid had asked.  "Ten acres a sovereign?"

"Less than eight," the wizard had replied.  "The Prince only had legal claim on a portion of the oldest part of the city.  The hinterlands of Alturia and most of the Overcity and Arcade are freeholds only nominally under the protection of the Alturian Crown."

Everett stepped away from the barricade.  Sarah, holding Rose up so that she could see, and the other members of the company continued to peer through the hastily erected but sturdy timber fence at the eleven geese.  Similar temporary but sturdy fences had been erected across the opposite mouth of the boulevard and across the mouths of the several smaller streets that connected to the hundred yard wide, roughly circular plaza.  Rose, in particular, seemed fascinated by the large birds.

"Those are wild geese," he said to the wizard and the other members of the Committee.  "They should fly away of their own accord."

"We had thought so as well," the wizard said, "but as you can see they have not.  We believe that some provision of the spell that created them keeps them here."

"I'll ask again.  What do you expect us to do about them?"

Overmeyer waved his hands in a You're the Expert Do Something way.  "We would like them out of the plaza and will pay any reasonable fee."

Everett frowned at the slim man.  With the rank of Grandmaster Wizard, Overmeyer must have thirteen spells of his own.  Based upon his stated position as a High Commissioner of Alturia, a sinecure that was a direct extension of his employment by two dozen or so of the Sovereigns of the city, it seemed reasonable to presume that some of those thirteen spells must have some practical utility.

"Have you tried any of your own spells?"

The wizard looked offended.  "Of course not!"

"What, exactly, do your spells do?"

Overmeyer cleared his throat, shifting his eyes from side to side as if looking for the exit.  "Well, ah, er, hmm, that is to say, ah, my Potent spell converts semi-liquid waste into potable water."

"Semi-liquid waste meaning sewage?"

The wizard straightened his robe.  "Indeed."

"And that is why you were hired by the various Sovereigns."

"I will admit that it was certainly a contributing factor.  With output to the river being forbidden by the Edzedahl Compact, many sections of the city don't have usable drainage grades.  They used to have to empty the sumps and catchments with hand pumps and cart the barrels out of the city. It was known as Out of Town Tuesday, because everyone not employed in sewage removal visited relatives in the hinterlands on that day of the month.  I am told that the stench was retch-inducing and persistent."

"Yes, I can see that your spell would make a drastic improvement.  What do your other twelve spells do?"

"Nothing of any use in the current situation, I assure you."

"Tell me anyway."

Overmeyer sighed.  "My first spell will cause urine to turn blue midstream."

Everett did not laugh.  He motioned for the wizard to continue.

"My second spell will cause a cow bell within ten yards to play fourteen notes from the second stanza of the famous nursery rhyme about the Dominion of Dree."

"You'll have to do that for Poubelle sometime.  He's the rightful heir to the throne of the Dominion of Dree.  What else?"

"My third spell will cause a watermelon to burst."

"I'll keep that in mind.  Next?"

"My fourth spell will put the burst watermelon back together."

"I can see even more possibilities for that.  Next?"

"My fifth spell is the hiccup."

"Sixth?"

"Harvests rutabagas."

Everett grunted.  "What are the terms?"

Clearly avoiding the casting of the spell, Overmeyer defocused his eyes and droned in a flat tone, "Arise ye rutabagas, cast off the shackles of the earth, emerge from your prisons of darkness, and rise into the light of freedom."

"That's a mouthful."

"It has been certified by the New Zindersberg Academy of Magic as the twenty-third longest spell on record."

"Congratulations.  Seventh?"

"The semi-liquid waste spell."

"Eighth?"

"My eighth spell is a Significant that spawns a saddle.  For two years, I made a decent living with it in Bhumpontamapp while still at the rank of Master Magicker."

"Does it have an Associative Component?"

"No.  The spell doesn't require a horse to be present."

"Have you cast it lately?"

"It isn't of much utility in a city with twenty-seven saddlers."

Everett thought a moment.  A theory had been forming in his mind and this seemed a good opportunity to test it.

He took the wizard's arm and said, "Come on.  Let's try that one."

Overmeyer did not move.  "You want me to go out there with the geese?"

"What's the range of your eighth spell?"

"Three feet four inches."

"Then, yes, we're going to have to go out there with the geese."

"I am allergic to feathers."

"What kind of reaction?"

"I sneeze profusely."

"Does that cast one of your spells?"

"Don't be absurd."

"Then I'm sure that you'll survive the experience."

Overmeyer pinched his lips together then shrugged in submission.  "Oh, very well."

At the barricade, the other members of the company turned curious looks in their direction but asked no questions.  Since everyone (Sarah, Rose, the rest of the company, the other bureaucrats, and the hundred or so Alturians who were looking on from the balconies, stoops, and storefronts of the nearby buildings, and from gatherings on the wide sidewalks of the boulevard), was watching, Everett was very pleased when he managed to clamber over the head-high barrier without difficulty.  The wizard, on the other hand, required the assistance of Pauly, Giuseppe, Bertram, Mike (Marshlight convinced the little dog to let her hold it), Poubelle, and two of the burly Alturian constables that had been posted to monitor the geese.  Harold just stood back out of the way under the eyes of Sarah and Rose.

Overmeyer bounced off the upper timbers the first time that they hoisted him up, made the top the second time but lost purchase and tumbled back, and finally cleared the top when the seven men simply swung him back like a sack of potatoes and threw him over.

After Everett helped him to his feet, the wizard retrieved his hat, dusted off and straightened his robe, then nodded to Everett in a grim, I am ready to face death manner.

Everett walked towards the nearest goose, which raised its head to the full length of its long neck, achieving a height of twelve feet or more, and watched them with black eyes.  He could not tell if it thought that they looked like something edible or something threatening.  The animal did not, however, either rush towards them or flee.  It did honk at them a couple of times as they crept within a few paces, showing a thick pink tongue.  To get within range of Overmeyer's spell, they would have to be standing right beside it.

With room to spare, their heads would fit within its beak and it probably possessed more than sufficient strength to crush their skulls like walnuts.

"Are you sure that it's wild?" Overmeyer asked.  "It seems rather tame."

"It has the colors of wild geese," Everett replied.   "But as it was summoned or conjured by magic, it may very well have a domestic temperament."

"Hmm, er, ah, geese only eat plants, seeds, and that sort of thing, don't they?"

"Normal geese don't eat meat, as far as I know, but it doesn't have to want to eat us to try to kill us.  Let's get closer."

"What do you expect a conjured saddle to do?  Scare it?"

"Not exactly, no."

As they slowly approached, the goose continued to watch them but made no attempt to move away.  All but oblivious to their presence, the other ten continued to poop, peck, flutter their wings, crane their heads about to scratch, and perform other sorts of standard avian behavior.

Everett stopped when he was close enough to be able to reach out to touch the target goose's furled wing.

"Focus on the goose and cast your spell," he told Overmeyer.  "Make sure your locus overlaps your point of focus."

Not quite vibrating in fear, the wizard coughed into his hand, straightened his hat and robe, paused for a routine but unnecessary dramatic beat, then cast, "Ride like the wind!"

The actuation made Everett wince, but the pain was actually little more than might have come from a severe leg cramp.  It certainly was nothing like the pain that he had experienced the day before.  Did that mean that Overmeyer's spell was somehow less powerful than his and Sarah's?

"How long does it normally take to evince?" he asked.

"Five minutes, give or take thirty seconds."

Everett grimaced.  "Let's hope the goose will remain still for that long."

He started counting.

It was three minutes and thirteen seconds exactly when the saddle appeared.  As he had suspected, the black leatherwork came into being already mounted upon the goose, straps cinched, just behind the bird's neck.  While it had the basic form of a horse saddle, the design had been modified to fit the physiology of the goose, with a larger frame and straps positioned so as not to restrict the movement of its wings.  While the frame was perhaps twice the size of a standard saddle, the seat was still scaled to a standard human bottom.  The stirrups were currently hooked over the saddle horn.

"Amazing!" the wizard exclaimed.  "My spell has never worked that way before!"

"Right," Everett replied.  "As I told you, with technology in abeyance, your spell has been enhanced in effect.  You should expect that all of your spells will have been similarly changed."

He stepped up to the goose and again as expected the bird sank down to bring the saddle within his reach.  He unhooked the stirrups, which in order to miss the wings hung down forward of where they would have on a horse, took a firm hold of the saddle horn, raised his right foot to the stirrup, and hoisted himself aboard.  Due to the forward position of the stirrup, the maneuver was considerably more awkward than mounting a horse would have been, with some extra rotation and a shift of the hips backwards being required, but he settled into the seat without any great difficulty.

The goose immediately rose back up, turned its head forward, and seemed to be waiting and ready to go.

There were no reins and he thought for a moment of giving it a nudge with his heels to see if it would attempt to take flight, but, as far as he knew, geese needed running room to get airborne and with the other geese wandering about there was not a long enough unobstructed space.  He patted the goose on the neck and it obligingly sank down again to allow him to dismount.

"I suppose that we should saddle the rest?" Overmeyer asked as Everett rejoined him.  "I've never seen two spells belonging to different magickers work in concert before.  I actually thought that such a thing was not possible.  I must say, this is exceedingly curious."

"Yes, it is.  I think that Magic is trying to send us a message."

TWENTY

"It makes sense," Theddrid agreed.  "Whether it created them all at once or individually, the epiphany for the goose spell was obviously sent to its unidentified owner to provide us with potential flying mounts and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer's enhanced existing spell was clearly altered specifically to provide saddles for those mounts."

"Couldn't it just be a coincidence?" Marshlight asked.  "Perhaps we should experiment with other animals to see if the spell will also adapt to them."

"No, it must be Magic's doing," Sarah said.  "It's just the sort of indirect manipulation that she has always used.  She obviously intends that we use the geese to travel somewhere."

The company, with Overmeyer still temporarily attached to the group due to the ongoing peril of potential hiccups, had fallen back to a sidewalk bistro a couple of blocks from the plaza in order to discuss Everett's suspicion and to plan their next move.  As their normal business had been severely curtailed by the absence of the regular traffic along the boulevard, the owners, an elderly couple and their three adult children, had been happy to push half a dozen of the small, round metal tables together to accommodate the conference.  The other members of Overmeyer's Committee had gone to report on this latest geese development and the implied solution that the saddles represented to the full High Commission.

"But where?" Poubelle asked.  He pointed at the little dog sitting attentively on a chair alongside Mike.  "We've got Technology.  All we need to do is figure out how to put him back in business, right?"

"Only," Giuseppe said, "it's clear that he can't tell us exactly what we need to do."

Although again that morning just before breakfast Everett had tried to question Technology, he and Poubelle had not been able to produce any better translation of the tiny dog's yips than the uninformative "something something", "special place", and "watermelon" phrases that they had gotten the evening before.

Sarah snapped her fingers several times to catch Harold's attention.  The corporeal biologic had ordered  another cinnamon bun, a snack which he apparently found so enrapturing that one bite would almost put him into a trance, and had given the appearance of not paying any attention at all to the conversation going on around him.

"Technology has been sacked by your Guild," she told the odd little man.  "Destiny said that she is on vacation, with the clear suggestion that she is vacationing for the express purpose of avoiding being sacked by your Guild.  Are you also trying to sack Magic?"

Harold looked suddenly apprehensive and froze with his half-eaten bun halfway to his mouth.  "Oh, no!   There is absolutely no possibility of that!"

Everett frowned.  Harold's answer seemed to imply that Magic was not subject to the same Guild restrictions as was Technology, which immediately made Everett suspect some nefarious conspiracy.  "Why?"

"Such things aren't done!  She was duly elected, after all."

Everett's frown deepened.  "Elected to what?"

"Why to the leadership of our guild, of course.  She is our Guild Master."

Sarah rolled her eyes.  "Of course she is."

"I knew it!" Marshlight exclaimed. "She's been behind this all along!"

Everett made a sour face.  "It was probably foolish to think that it could be anything else but one of her plots."

"It has certainly been a very successful one, this time," Theddrid judged.  "She has finally removed technology from our world and has made magic supreme."

"No, no, no," Harold objected.  "It isn't that way at all!  The new system is completely fair and equitable!  All Guild members will have the same privileges and influence in the corporeal realm will be shared on a just and fraternal basis."

"The mark always thinks that he's gotten a great deal," Giuseppe said.  "That's the beauty of a good swindle."

"But if Magic has won," Marshlight wanted to know, "why the geese and the saddles?  Why is she helping us?"

"She's trying to divert us from restoring Technology," Poubelle suggested.  "The geese will probably take us in the exact wrong direction."

Everett thought a moment, then addressed the little dog.  "Do you know where Magic -- her corporeal biologic -- is right now?"

"Yip."

"Yes," Poubelle said.  "Because of our special bond, I always know where her corporeal biologic is."

"And what special bond is that?"

"Yip yip yip."

"Uhm," Poubelle said.  "I think he said that their livers are entwined."

"Whatever.  So where is she?"

"Yip yip yip yip yip."

"He won't tell us until we agree to restore the previous dominance of technology."

Everett looked the little dog square in the eyes.  "The only thing that we will promise is that we will do our best to return the world to the state it was in before Magic's meddling."

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip."

Poubelle cut his eyes upwards for a moment.  "He said that the only way to do that is to cause the watermelon."

"Then we will do our best to cause the watermelon."

"Yip yip."

"Magic is in Eyrchelle, capital of the Kingdom of Alarsaria."

Everett nodded.  "Right.  Poubelle, the dog, and I will leave for Eyrchelle immediately."

His prime motivation for this plan was to keep Sarah, Rose, and the new baby Sarah carried, far from the front line action in the relative safety of Alturia.  Because she had an annoying knack of knowing exactly what he was thinking, he took care not to glance in her direction.

But, predictably, none of the rest of the company thought that this was a good idea.

Marshlight insisted that she could not be separated from her husband on their honeymoon.  Theddrid argued that the group that went in search of Magic should be a minimum of four and that he should logically be one of the four.  Giuseppe allowed that, being that the expedition to Alarsaria and the confrontation with Magic was guaranteed to be dicey, he and Pauly would be needed to provide the sort of moral support that sharp knives and callused knuckles were best suited to.  Further, as he would not be able to leave his nephew alone in a strange city, Bertram would have to come as well, which was all good as his nephew needed training in the rougher sorts of life skills that would likely be required anyway.  Mike made mention of the fact that as he had been to Eyrchelle better than a dozen times over the years, his knowledge of the metropolis would be invaluable.

"So you're staying with us?" Everett asked him.

The pensioner nodded.  "Seems like the thing to do."

When Sarah then told Everett in a matter-of-fact tone that he would need her spells and that with the two of them going, Rose must come along as well, he finally threw up his hands in surrender and agreed that the entire company would venture to the Alarsarian capital in search of Magic.

"Pardon me," Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer interrupted.  "but does that include me?"

Everett turned out his hands.  "Sure, you may as well come too.  There seems little doubt but that we'll find use for your spells."

The wizard waved his hands in a somewhat agitated way.  "Actually, I would be perfectly content to remain in Alturia.  All this excitement is bad for the disposition of my liver and I'm certain that I should get some bed rest."

Everett shook his head.  "With Rose going along, you'll have to come unless you can find a permanent cure for hiccups before we leave."

Overmeyer's shoulders sank.

As if struck by a thought, Theddrid waved a hand to include everyone.  "Eleven adults, eleven geese.  That can't be a coincidence.  Magic must be aware of our current actions and I find that, I must admit, more than a little disturbing.  Perhaps we should decline her tempting invitation and travel by other means."

"It's a three week ocean voyage from New Zin to the nearest Alarsarian port at Trucs de Porc-épic," Mike told them.  "If we can't find a steamship in working order, make that five weeks to two months.  At this time of year the currents and winds through the Bottleneck only allow passage of sailed ships from west to east.  To go east, you have to go around Shipwreck Cape.  When you finally do get to Trucs de Porc-épic, you'll have to travel overland for about six hundred miles and cross the Profound Ridge, so add another month or two to the total."

"There's only two overland routes from the southern half of the Edzedahl through the High Shadowed Hills, the Winter Pass and the Summer Pass," Giuseppe contributed.  "In good weather, the Summer Pass is better, but the route is longer by a hundred miles.  On horseback, you'd make at best twenty to thirty miles a day in the lowlands, but as little as a mile a day in the mountains. From Alturia to the Summer Pass is six hundred eighteen miles.  From the pass to Eyrchelle along the Royal Southern Highway and the Royal Northwestern Highway is six hundred ninety-five miles.  With good luck the trip takes three months.  With bad, it can take as many as five."

"My personal preference would be to fly," Pauly said.  "Ocean waves and my stomach do not cooperate, and I've spent enough time on horseback to know that it's not my preferred means of travel."

"Magic has never actually caused us bodily harm," Sarah pointed out, somewhat in defense of her great-grandmother.  "And I don't think that she would go to all this trouble just to send us on a -- excuse the pun -- wild goose chase.  If she didn't want us in Eyrchelle, she could have just done nothing.  As Mike and Giuseppe said, overland or by sea, we'll be months getting to Eyrchelle.  I'd think the geese could get us there in as little as a few days."

"We don't know that the geese can be controlled in flight," Marshlight objected.  "And we don't know if they will actually carry us to Alarsaria."

"The one that I mounted stood and sat more or less on command," Everett said.  "I think that the geese are innately trained to be ridden and suspect that they'll either obey some sort of direct commands or will simply fly directly to Eyrchelle, like carrier pigeons."

"Everyone will need heavy jackets, gloves, and caps," Sarah said, turning to practical considerations.  "And rain slickers.  We'll need saddle bags for the geese."

Marshlight shrugged.  "And bedrolls with oilcloth ground sheets.  At least some of the time, we'll be forced to sleep out in the open."

"And toilet paper," Poubelle contributed.

"If we can control the geese, we should plan to make several stops per day," Theddrid said.  "I'd hate to have to fly a huge distance without a break.  Even with heavy outerwear, flying in the open air is bound to involve significant discomfort."

"What's the air speed of a fully laden goose?" Bertram wondered.

With the group falling into an eager, almost enthusiastic, discussion (their apparent excitement, including Sarah's and by infection Rose's, at continuing the journey to restore technology, almost as if they had begun to consider the effort some sort of adventure, seemed not exactly rational to him) of the next leg of their expedition, Everett leaned back in his chair and waved over one of the hovering owners to order a refill of his tea.

That Magic would be in the Kingdom of Alarsarian, the largest (in land area) of the Great Powers and the one most dedicated to the exploitation of magic, seemed entirely logical.  Magic, who had always struck Everett as a prideful, even arrogant, person in her corporeal biologic form, would surely want to bask in the glory of her triumph and there was no better place to witness the effects of enhanced spells than in the Kingdom.  Eyrchelle, by all accounts, had more resident wizards and professional magickers than any other city on the continent.  And, being consequently much less dependent upon technology than their neighboring demesnes -- in particular their longstanding rival to the north, the Republic of Zheria, which had up until very recently worked diligently to suppress magic and substitute technology in its place -- the ongoing collapse of technology should have a much less drastic affect in Alarsaria than it would elsewhere.

But it still made no sense for her to guide him and the rest of the company to her stronghold.  She must know that their intent was to restore the previous balance and return Technology to his proper status.  In so doing, her current primacy would have to be undone and he was not foolish enough to believe that she would willingly cooperate in her own downfall.

Of course, Everett had no great fondness for Technology, but, good or bad, people needed technology.  Magic could not replace the real work that technology did.  Technology was efficient, dependable, and extensible.  Magic was ... just inconvenient.

He looked over at Harold.  No matter what, make believe would be worse than magic.  Under normal circumstances, with magic you always knew what you were getting.  With make believe, you got giant alligators with arms.

Unfortunately, even if the geese were part of some sort of trap, they were still the only practical alternative.  Magic's intentions would be revealed soon enough and no matter what, she would have to be dealt with.

Their preparations for departure went forward rather quickly.  Pleased (excluding the dejected wizard) that the goose problem would be solved, the Alturians freely contributed the saddlebags, bedrolls, jackets, caps, rain slickers, and so forth that the company requested.

One of the High Commissioners also had copies of four relevant maps brought and donated to the expedition.  The first showed in high detail the immediate environs of Alturia, the second in a good bit less detail the multitude of tiny demesnes -- some no larger than a country estate -- that composed the Southern Reaches region which lay to the west of Alturia on the flanks of the High Shadowed Hills, the third the southern tail of mountains themselves in sparse detail, and the last a general overview of the Kingdom of Alturia.  Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauly went over these and made extensive notes of their likely route, plotting landings every hundred miles or so near a larger village or town where possible.

The majority of the not significant baggage that they had brought from the air carriage wreck had to be left in the care of the Alturian High Commission, but none of the company voiced any complaint.

Sarah also insisted upon a full, sit down, and hearty lunch before they attempted to ride the geese.  The bistro proved to serve excellent roast beef sandwiches, which included a delicious round, butter-topped sandwich roll that they baked in house, and these along with salads of several sorts, seasoned fried potatoes, and exquisite deserts satisfied Sarah's requirements for "full," "sit down," and "hearty."

After considering the quite likely possibility that he might be required to use one of his transformative spells while in flight, he and Sarah determined that the safest disposition for Rose would be strapped to her mother in a harness.  After a short discussion, Mike also agreed to have Pookie, who was not consulted, strapped to his chest in a similar harness.  Both of these were put together in under half an hour by a leatherworking shop already under contract to the High Commission.

By early afternoon, everyone was dressed for goose flight and everyone had added bedrolls and saddlebags provisioned with extra clothes and whatnot behind Overmeyer's saddles on their selected mount.  The geese had submitted to the additional loads without significant protest other than the voicing of a few indolent honks.  The birds had, in fact, ceased their casual, undirected wanderings and had gathered together in a tight group at the east end of the plaza to facilitate the mildly awkward process of loading them.  This demonstrated docility and unmistakable cooperation had dissipated Everett's final doubts.

As a final preparation, Everett had taken a few moments to explain to Harold in no uncertain terms that he had a spell that would transform him into a giant golden eagle that was more than capable of bringing down a giant goose and that any deviation from their route for any reason would not be tolerated.

Throughout, Sarah and the others continued to be inexplicably upbeat about the trip.  Even Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, who after lunch had appeared to have become resigned to being dragged along, began to display a slight enthusiasm.

With the Committee members, a number of constables, several teams of craftsmen who had already begun to disassemble the timber barricades, and a couple of hundred Alturians crowded onto the balconies and roofs of the buildings that surrounded the plaza looking on, Everett signaled Sarah and the rest to mount and then swung up into the saddle of his own goose.

As before, the bird glanced back at him but otherwise remained still as if awaiting orders.  Being the only one that had a spell that could preserve him from an in flight mishap, he had ruled that he would be the first to attempt a take off.

He swung his head about one last time to check the group, saw that everyone was mounted, apparently ready, and watching him.  He smiled at Sarah and Rose, who were only a dozen steps away to his left.  Sarah gave him a thumb's up and a grin.  Rose was positioned facing forward with her back against her mother's chest, so that she could see everything that was going on.  The harness allowed free movement of her arms and legs and she had not fussed when confined within it.  His daughter waved her hands at him and sent him a wobbly grin.

With nothing better presenting itself, he took a firm grip with both hands on the saddle horn.

"Alright, let's go," he told the goose.

It did not flutter a single feather.

He clucked his tongue.

It still did not respond.

"Giddyup!"

As if wondering what his problem was, the goose turned its head about to award him a stern glare.

He stifled a curse.  It was foolish of him to think that Magic would have made it easy.

TWENTY-ONE

"Perhaps try spurring it with your heels," Theddrid called from his goose to Everett's right.

"Tried that already," Everett replied.

He had, in point of fact, tried everything he could think of.  No voice command or sound of any sort had made the goose budge.  Neither had swatting it on its flank, patting it on its neck, or bouncing in frustration in the saddle.

"There's always the possibility, however unlikely it might seem," Giuseppe cautioned, "that the geese can't actually fly.  They are creations of magic, not natural creatures, and may have the semblance without the function.  Lots of spells do that sort of thing."

"That wouldn't make a lot of sense, though," Poubelle said.  "Why would Magic send us geese that can't fly?"

"I still want to know why she would send us geese that could fly," Marshlight responded.  "I'm not completely convinced that she is actually trying to help."

"Geese always fly with a leader, right?" Mike said.  "Maybe the lead goose has to take off first."

"I've seen a flock take off together," Theddrid admitted.  "And they did seem to launch in sequence behind the first."

Everett looked around to examine the other geese once more.  As far as he could tell, they all looked basically the same aside from a few variations in plumage and he had noticed no particular behavior that might identify any certain one as being in charge.

"Well, we can test that easily enough," he said.  "Starting with Sarah and then going around the group counterclockwise, all of you try to get your goose to fly."

Without wasting any time, Sarah went through the same series of horse starting actions as he had used.  When it was clear that her results were the same, she waved at Marshlight, who was next in line.  Marshlight also tried valiantly to spur her mount into motion but her efforts were also to no avail.  Poubelle, Theddrid, Overmeyer, Pauly, Mike, and Giuseppe also failed in quick succession.

Then it was Bertram's turn.

"What is it that I'm supposed to do?" the young ginger asked in an uncertain tone.

"Give it a nudge with your heels, like a horse," his uncle told him.

"Never been on a horse before, uncle."

"Both heels at the same time.  Not hard.  Just enough to give it the idea."

While everyone watched, Bertram leaned slightly forward, slowly straightened his legs at the knees, and then swept his boots back until they collided with the side of his goose.  It was not so much a nudge as a slight bump.

Bertram's goose gave a quick honk and then waddled out of line, moving towards the opposite end of the plaza.  The other geese immediately turned and shifted to form two staggered lines to either side of Bertram's, and followed.

"So this is it?" Overmeyer asked.  "We're about to take off?"

"I think so," Everett said.

The waddling gait of his goose imparted a side to side rocking motion that was very unlike the familiar up and down movement of a horse and he was having a little bit of trouble adapting.

His expression uncertain, the wizard waved to get Everett's attention.  "What should I do when my goose takes off?"

"Don't fall off," Everett said absently, still trying to learn the goose's rhythm.

The geese's obvious target was a point in the shadow of a wide, three storey building with a granite facade in the traditional Alturian style colloquially referred to as "Flat."  A wrought iron balcony projected from the highest storey of this building and the balcony was almost overflowing with a crowd of people of all ages, some squeezed into the doorways at either end. Everett had the impression that this gathering was an extended family, with a set of grandparents, a number of children and spouses, and more than a dozen grandchildren.  These onlookers became hushed as Bertram's goose did a sharp u-turn beneath them and then the whole crowd waited expectantly as the bird, with its rider looking somewhat wide-eyed, moved out a short distance and paused.  The other geese turned likewise and dressed their lines, leaving Everett, Pauly, Poubelle, Harold, and Marshlight on the right and Overmeyer, Giuseppe, Sarah, Theddrid, and Mike on the left.

Bertram's goose then leapt forward at a run, spreading its wings and flapping.  A cheer rose up from the watching clan behind and this quickly spread to the other Alturians all around the plaza.

Everett felt his goose surge forward, had to hang on tightly as air began to rush passed and the buildings on the other side of the plaza raced nearer, saw Bertram's goose soar sharply upwards to clear those buildings, and almost immediately felt his own feathered steed bear him upwards.

All of the geese took flight as if each were linked by some invisible physical line to the preceding, and as the red and orange tile rooftops of Alturia dropped away below, the geese formed up into the familiar V formation, with each trailing goose to the right or left and slightly above the one in front of it.  Based on the force of the wind, he thought that they were going between twenty and thirty miles an hour.  The flight of the geese was surprisingly smooth and regular, with hardly any horizontal or vertical motion.

First quickly checking Sarah and Rose, he looked over and back to confirm that indeed no one had fallen off.  Sarah was also checking on the other members of the company and gave him a high sign when their gazes crossed.  By the ecstatic expression on her face, his daughter seemed to be having a delightful time.

Belatedly, he realized that they should have added some sort of strap or belt to hold everyone in their saddles.  He made a mental note to have that done at the next opportunity.

The geese's formation was more compact than he had expected and only about fifteen or so feet separated him from Bertram in front and from Pauly just behind and the gap between himself and Overmeyer just to his left at the head of the other branch was about that same distance.  Mike, on the opposite end of the left branch, was the most distant at only a little more than fifty feet.

To be heard above the wind, he raised his voice to a near shout.  "Is everyone alright?"

"We're good!" Sarah called back, initiating a chorus of similar replies from all but Harold, who looked slightly pale.

After a moment, Pauly shouted, "North!  We're going north!"

On a direct path, Eyrchelle was northwest of Alturia, but in order to avoid the arid and barren Umber Plateau, they had chosen to go due west all the way through the Southern Reaches, turn to the northwest to cross the High Shadowed Hills at the Summer Pass, sweep west down the Unclaimed Flank of the western slopes, and then swing to the north and follow the Heart River on the Alarsarian Plain to reach the capital.

Everett saw that the afternoon sun was indeed off to their left and called to Bertram, "Turn left about eighty degrees!"

"How do I do that?" the young man called back.

"Press your left knee against the side of the goose!" Giuseppe ordered his nephew.

"Yes, uncle!"

Everett saw Bertram twist his left knee into the side of his goose and it obligingly banked left, but only thirty degrees or so.  The other geese banked to follow.

"Give it another go!" Giuseppe shouted at his nephew.

This time, the lead goose lined up more or less due west.

"Keep your eye on the sun!" Everett called.  "Nudge him left or right to stay on course!"

"Yes, Monsieur de Schael!"

Everett watched for a few minutes to make sure that Bertram could hold course --the lead goose showed no inclination to deviate from flying a perfectly straight line -- and then looked down at the landscape below.  With Alturia already several miles behind them, they were flying at an altitude of perhaps four hundred feet.  That suited him very well.  Flying higher would have no advantage that he could see.  The temperature was a little cooler at this altitude, but not intolerable by any means.  The skin of the air carriage had protected them from the elements and thus allowed them to fly many thousands of feet higher, but it was obvious that mounted goose flight would have a much lower altitude ceiling.

"We should attempt to set down," Theddrid advised, "before we have to do so of necessity!"

Searching for an open field large enough to land a giant goose in, Everett cast his eyes ahead.  Just a few miles in front of them, a large oxbow lake carved a crescent out of a thick patch of wild forest.

"Bertram, wait till we're beyond the lake!  The geese might try to land on it!"

He was sure no one wanted to get soaked.

A mile beyond the lake, the forest began to be interrupted by pastures, potato fields, farmsteads, and the occasional estate. After a few more minutes, the swales and low hills of a hundred fifty plus acre sheepfold presented itself and Bertram convinced the lead goose to begin a gliding descent for a landing by spurring it once again with his heels.

Everett was quickly becoming convinced that the geese knew exactly what they were doing and would require only the minimum of management from the members of the company.

The transition from air to ground was abrupt and the subsequent deceleration quick, but aside from a bounce or two and some jostling, the maneuver went as smoothly as had the takeoff.  The geese broke formation as they touched down, waddling out of the way of those behind.  The dozens of sheep in the landing path scattered, but soon went back to browsing and showed no further concern at the giant beasts that had appeared in their domain.

Everett jumped down as soon as his goose came to a stop, then watched the remaining geese land.  The geese were undeniably graceful and majestic in flight, but when once more on land returned to their awkward, inelegant waddle.  He waved for everyone to dismount and join him.

He gave Sarah and Rose a quick hug and a kiss and then asked how the others had fared.

"No complaints," Pauly said.

Giuseppe nodded in agreement.

"I hope I don't have to be in the lead again," Bertram said.

Poubelle rubbed his hip with one hand.  "Little bumpy on the landing."

"I enjoyed the flight," Marshlight said.  "Very exhilarating."

"Not as comfortable as the air carriage," Theddrid said.  "Goggles of some sort would have been useful.  I certainly hope that we'll be able to restore technology as I would rather not have to depend upon geese for air travel."

"Me and the dog survived," Mike admitted.

"Yip!"

"He said that he has to go potty," Poubelle translated.

Mike quickly unbuckled the pooch from its harness and put it on the ground.  The little dog ran off a short distance, jumping to get over higher clumps of the lush green grass, and began to industriously water a patch of violet wildflowers.

"No problems," Overmeyer said.  "Though I have begun wondering if these geese could be commercially farmed.  Imagine the size of the drumsticks."

Harold said, "I think I'm going to be sick."

And then the odd little man threw up.

After a break of a quarter of an hour in which everyone had a drink, walked about to stretch their legs, or took care of other personal business, Everett asked Giuseppe, their acknowledged expert on restraints, to come up with something to insure that the still wobbly Harold did not manage to wobble off of his goose during their next flight.  Using a roll of stout cord that Pauly had brought along in his saddlebags, Giuseppe and Bertram braided a belt and an attached harness that they used to tie the odd little man into his saddle.  After they were done, Everett was thoroughly convinced that Harold would only be able to leave his goose with the aid of a knife and a half an hour of industrious cutting.

Harold's only comment on the proceedings was to indicate his hope that he would receive aide in dismounting on their next landing.

The geese had scattered around the pasture a bit during the break, but did not have to be rounded up.  As soon as the company had reassembled, the geese came together in a queue alongside the squat hillock on which they were standing.  As before, when everyone was mounted, the geese formed up into a loose takeoff formation and waited.

This time, much to Bertram's relief, it was Pauly's goose that claimed the lead position.

Everett's goose -- he thought that it was the same bird that he had ridden from Alturia, with a little, vaguely diamond shaped patch of white on its right wing -- wound up in the rear of the left leg of the V.  Their departure was uneventful and, after a minor course adjustment, the conflict resolution specialist had the flock smoothly cruising due west by the sun.

With casual conversation a feasible but not practical option -- he had already made himself a little hoarse by shouting -- he occupied himself with keeping one eye on Sarah, Rose, and the rest of the company and the other on the sky and the ground.  His companions, save perhaps for Bertram and Harold, all seemed to have accommodated to their newest means of travel.  Pauly and Giuseppe were using some sort of hand signal code to converse about something, but the rest seemed content with the view or their own thoughts.  After a few moments, he ceased worrying that he might have to take flight as the golden eagle to rescue one from a terminal fall.  As for the clouds and the terrain, the first drifted by above in their usual unconcerned fashion and the second rolled by below as if it did not care who or what passed by above, but neither changed significantly from what he had already seen and soon he found himself half-napping.

After perhaps another three quarters of an hour, Theddrid, in the middle of the right leg, shouted his name, making Everett snap his head up.  The tinkerer waved his right arm vigorously and then pointed down to his right.

When Everett looked that way, he saw a narrow ribbon of water about a hundred yards wide that snaked across the landscape in a generally westerly direction.  That had to be the Dark Brown River, a small tributary of the Edze that originated in the Elephant Highlands on the western edge of the Southern Reaches.  The Dark Brown was one of the landmarks that they had selected from the Alturian maps.  It would lead them on to their next landmark, the small city of Irkisnukberg.

In spite of its name -- at least today -- the dead calm surface of the river, a near perfect mirror, reflected the pale blue and white of the partially clouded sky. Only a single riverboat, one of the smaller ones that hauled mostly passengers and mail, disturbed the water as it chugged upstream towards the high arches of one of the new steel frame highway bridges.  The riverboat trailed wisps of white smoke from its single smokestack and a gentle, fading wake from its blunt stern.

His mood brightened by this indication that at least some technology had yet to fail, Everett's smiled.  Perhaps his fears of a complete and utter collapse of technology and the disaster that such might bring had been overblown.

Then, the idyll was cruelly shattered when a surge of fire cut through the smoke coming from the boat's single smokestack.  After a moment, the boat lost steerage way and began to drift downstream, slowly rotating to come abeam of the current.  He saw crewmen in dark blue running on the upper deck and then two small boats were put into the water and passengers urged into them.  When the boats put away from the stricken riverboat, they were overburdened, with waves lapping over their gunwales, but half a dozen or so crewmen remained aboard.  These simply quickly stripped down, dove into the river, and began swimming along with the lifeboats.  For a moment or two, the crewmen in the boats rowed frantically, making for the nearer southern shore, and managed to open a wide stretch of open water between themselves and their abandoned vessel.

Then, somewhat anticlimactically, the riverboat exploded in a huge blast of steam and fire.

When the cloud of steam and intermixed dark smoke cleared, there was nothing left of the riverboat but bits of scorched, drifting wreckage.

TWENTY-TWO

By the time that they had found an open area large enough to land the geese, made their way through an intervening patch of a half mile or so of rough pine forest, and located the beached passengers and crew on the dirt road that paralleled the southern bank of the river, the latter had already organized all the survivors -- which proved to be everyone that had been aboard -- for the three and a half mile walk to the nearest village.  The captain of the lost riverboat assured Everett that his crew and passengers would be able to make the hike without additional assistance, but did graciously accept a large offering of cherry fizz, chock-something-something milk, potato salad, and raison-cinnamon bread to bring along for the trip.

Once they had seen the unfortunate castaways from the riverboat on their way, the company, in somber spirits for the most part, started trudging back through the pines towards the plowed field where they had landed and where -- hopefully -- the geese awaited them.

Carrying Rose on his shoulders, Everett walked with Sarah but neither spoke. Their footsteps made almost no sounds upon the pine needles as they wove amongst the yard thick boles of the tall trees.  The mature conifers blocked much of the sun, leaving them walking in shadow for the most part, and the undergrowth consisted of only a few ground shrubs and scattered patches of honeysuckle.  Save for the lack of traffic noise, a slightly less ordered arrangement of the trees, and the absence of graveled paths, they could have been walking through one of the numerous municipal parks that were scattered around New Zindersberg

After a few minutes, Theddrid, who had been walking with Giuseppe in the rear to make sure that neither Harold nor Bertram nor Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer managed to get lost, came up alongside them.

"There isn't more than an hour of good daylight left," the tinkerer said.  "Do you intend to try another flight today?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Everett admitted.

Sarah squeezed his arm.  "We should settle in for the night.  Let everyone get a good night's rest for a fresh start in the morning."

"That works for me," Poubelle, a few paces ahead with Marshlight, turned back his head to say.  "I think I'm getting saddle sores."

"Any objections?" Everett asked, polling the rest.

"I am all for a respite," the wizard admitted, sniffling.  "I think the constant wind is giving me a summer cold."

"We've made good progress for a first day," Giuseppe said.  "No need to push it.  We have a long way to go yet."

Marshlight just nodded.  Bertram was petting Ralph and not paying attention to the discussion or even to where he placed his own feet.  Harold did not get a vote and his carefree expression reflected his knowledge of that fact.  Pauly gave a little shrug and an accommodating smile.

"Alright.  We'll set up camp when we get back to the geese and then take it easy for the rest of the day."

As they continued on, Everett hid a frown.  By his estimate, they had covered at most sixty or seventy miles.  At that rate, it would take them almost three weeks to reach Eyrchelle.  He had no doubt but that the small group that he had originally wanted to take to the Alarsarian capital would have been able to move much faster than the full company.

"Story, daddy!" Rose begged, bouncing on his shoulders and patting him on the head.  This, as always, lightened his mood.

"Which story, sweetheart?"

"Tato story, daddy!"

So he told her the Potato Story.

For the one hundred and fifty-second time.

At least.

They arrived back at the field by the time the story was finished and after a quick discussion decided to make camp under a large, spreading live oak that crowned a grassy knoll on the western side of the twenty acre plot.  A farm road ran along the other side of the knoll, wandering south amongst scattered copses of hardwood.  West of the road, beyond an oblong stock pond with cattails growing along its banks, was another large, rolling field, this one planted in half-grown bush beans that showed freshly tilled earth between the rows.

After Everett and the company retrieved saddlebags and bedrolls from the geese, the birds waddled along to the knoll and seemed content to remain nearby.  While the field had clearly not been planted, almost certainly fallow and only recently plowed, with overturned still green ground cover mixed in with the turned earth, the geese had made a mess of it, packing large swaths of the soil with their webbed feet and leaving giant goose deposits everywhere.  He had fully expected to be confronted by an irate farmer at any moment, but thus far none had made an appearance.

From the air, the nearest farm buildings had looked to be better than a mile from their landing spot and while most of the land south of the river was taken up in similar large fields, fallow or planted, tree-lined creeks and woodlots limited sightlines in every direction.  It was entirely possible that none of the locals had taken notice of their landing.

Pauly dropped his bedroll and saddlebags near the base of the tree.  "Should we try to unsaddle the geese, do you think?"

"Take three or four men to handle the saddles," Giuseppe judged.  "And the same to get them back on, if the geese would sit still for it."

Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer straightened his robe.  "I could always cast my spell to create another set of saddles on the geese in the morning."

Marshlight showed a frown.  "If we do that every time we stop for the night, we'll leave eleven giant saddles not useful for anything else all along our path across the Southern Reaches and through Alarsaria."

"The geese make a big impact on the land already," Sarah cautioned.  "We shouldn't make it any worse."

"I don't think the geese mind the saddles at all," Theddrid said.  "And it may be that their feathers make them less susceptible to chafing.  I'd suggest that we wait and change the saddles after a few days, unless the geese show signs of discomfort.  That would at least cut down on the trash we leave in our wake."

"Sounds like a plan," Everett decided.

The task of preparing their camp came down to no more than everyone finding a comfortable looking spot to spread their bedrolls.  With the afternoon warm, the evening not expected to be chill, and supper by default going to be trail bread, hard cheese, and the staples that their various spells would produce, no fire was needed.

They had also brought some dried beans and tinned ham for emergencies, but had planned to eat in towns and villages along the way as often as possible.

To occupy their time until supper, Marshlight and Poubelle elected to go for a stroll along the farm road and departed arm-in-arm and standing very close.

With Harold looking on, Giuseppe and Pauly began teaching Bertram and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer to play a game of strategy that the Zherians called Find the Cat.  In place of the usual hexagonally lined topographic playing boards and carved pieces, they were using lines scratched in the dirt and sharpened sticks.

While half watching the game, Mike had decided to try to teach Pookie to play catch and Technology had -- unexpectedly -- apparently decided to cooperate, racing excitedly after Mike's thrown stick, growling at it and shaking it as he brought it back clamped between his teeth, then jumping impatiently until the pensioner threw it again.

Sarah, likewise, was in a teaching mood and began to coach Rose as she sang an alphabet nursery rhyme.

For his part, Everett simply reclined on his pallet beside them, head supported on his interlinked fingers and half listening to the song choruses and the game bids and challenges, and let time pass.

Maybe it was the late afternoon sunshine.  Maybe it was the calming breeze that had started up to ruffle his hair.  Maybe it was incidental memories of barns with musty hay, cold nights under the stars, and bathing in chilly streams.

But Everett began to think fondly of the comforts of the New Zindersberg hotels, of the excellent food that they had had in the city's cafes, and how nice it would be to find a nice little place like that somewhere nearby.  One that had good, filling food and soft, warm beds with freshly laundered blue linen.  A grand, spacious country inn with a distinctive high-gabled red roof like the ones favored in Matriarchy of Sillsbeck, sitting at an open, sunny crossroads with a pleasant, elderly couple, who were totally at peace with the world and genuinely happy to see visitors, standing at the entrance to welcome --

"Everett!"

Sarah's exasperated shout made him jump in surprise and he bolted upright to see what new calamity might have befallen the company.  She was pointing towards the Find the Cat game, a dozen steps on the other side of the wide and squat trunk of the live oak.

He saw immediately what had alarmed her.  Sitting on a sunlit patch of grass slightly apart from the players, Harold was in the process of relaxing from the fists to temple constipated pose -- he had just manifested someone's make believe.

Everett jumped to his feet and dashed over to the odd little man.  "Alright, Harold, what did you do this time?"

Harold cringed, as if he expected violent repercussions.  "It's harmless!  I swear!"

"Look over there," Giuseppe said, his tone one of awe.

Everett looked to where the smuggler was pointing -- and everyone else was looking -- towards the northern end of the farm road.  The last time that he had glanced in that direction, the farm road had faded into the strip of high grass that ran along the edge of the pine forest.  Now, gradually over a short distance, the overgrown ruts of the road acquired a gravel and stone surface to become a decent road that intersected another similar road at a slightly eccentric angle.  That new road only appeared to extend fifty yards to the west and east before fading back into the grass and weeds.  Beyond the crossroads, back up against the pines on the patch of ground in the far corner of the intersection was...

The inn that he had just imagined.

Everett grimaced and confessed, "I'll have to take the blame for this one."

After another few seconds of collective gaping, Mike sprang up, caught up the little dog, and then threw his bedroll and saddlebags over his shoulder.  "In this case, I'm going to say credit rather than blame.  I've never been fond of sleeping on the ground and I think I'd rather spend the night inside."

"Yip!" Technology agreed.

The retired sea captain gave a quick departing wave and then started determinedly towards the inn.

Giuseppe and Pauly exchanged nods and then they and Bertram also began gathering up their gear.  Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer took a moment longer to decide, but he was also ready to go at the same time as the other Find the Cat players.

While the four started off after Mike, who was almost to the artificial crossroads, Everett, somewhat at a loss, remained standing and glaring at Harold as Sarah handed him his own bedroll and saddlebags.

"We'll need to wait until the lovebirds get back, dear, so they'll know that we're moving our camp to the inn," she told him, then asked Harold.  "Is it just the building or will there be people to run the place?"

Still looking somewhat fearful at Everett's expression, the odd little man said quickly, "Make believe doesn't create people.  Only people can do that."  He glanced at Rose.  "You know, the, uh, natural way.  The manifestation just sort of redirects available people who, if given the chance, might be inclined to do what needs to be done anyway."

"Is it some sort of ensorcellment?" Everett demanded.

"Oh, no!  Nothing like that!  The innkeepers will have to be people who would have liked to have done that sort of thing if they had had the opportunity.  They're just given a nudge in the right direction. That's all!  It's all entirely voluntary."

"The inn won't have any real business.  Do you understand that?  Because the crossroads doesn't actually go anywhere!"

Harold shrank in on himself slightly.  "I suppose that's true, but that's not really my fault."

Everett swallowed another outburst.  What Harold said was true.  It was his daydream that had produced an inn at a spot that could never possibly produce any customers.

But a man's idle imaginations were not supposed to be rational or practical and they certainly were not supposed to create an inn in the middle of nowhere.

"No more make believe manifestations," Everett said with cold certainty.  "Do you understand?  None."

Harold nodded vigorously.

"Don't be too hard on him, Everett," Sarah scolded.  "This is his job, so to speak, and this time it didn't turn out badly.  I think that if we take care to manage his abilities properly, we might be able to use them to our advantage more often."

He did not try to hide his annoyance.  "What if he manifests another monster?"

"Daddy take care of it!" Rose pronounced happily.

He tried to keep frowning but found he could not in the face of her serene confidence and broke into a smile.  "Let's hope so."

They did not have to wait long for Marshlight and Poubelle.  The couple returned after no more than another quarter of an hour with an elderly couple walking along with them.  Both of the newcomers were tall, grey haired, fit looking and energetic, and both were dressed in similar heavy trousers, stout boots, and work shirts.  As they came up the road, all four were looking at and obviously discussing the inn and the geese.

"Sarah, Rose, Everett, and, ah, Harold," Marshlight said, making quick introductions as soon as the four of them had moved down to the road to meet the returning honeymooners and their new companions, "this is Madame and Lieutenant Colonel Clovervelt.  Their son owns and operates this farmstead."

"Royal Morgravian Fusiliers, retired," Colonel Clovervelt added brusquely with a curt nod.  He had a well tended small moustache above a chin that looked as if it were shaved three times a day.

Madam Clovervelt shook all their hands firmly, including Rose's.  "Afternoon!  How are you all today?"  She had deep laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and keen, understanding eyes.

"That's some sort of magic, is it?" Colonel Clovervelt questioned Everett, pointing towards the inn.

"Yes," Everett said without attempting to explain further.  "If it's a problem, we have spells that will allow us to demolish it and cart away the debris."

As a giant warrior monk, his sword would no doubt reduce the inn's three storey main building, large adjoining stables, and various other visible outbuildings to kindling in just a few whacks.  He thought, in fact, that he would rather enjoy the task.

"Oh, no!  Don't do that!" Madame Clovervelt protested in alarm.  "I think it's just perfect!  Let's go have a look!"

"My family has been in the hostelry business for generations," she explained as the combined group walked towards the orphaned crossroads,   "My great-uncle Ebenezer Uganshoop was manager of the Starlight Hotel in New Zindersberg for twenty-two years.  The Colonel and I spent our honeymoon there."

"Quite expensive as I recall," her husband mentioned without expression.

"We've always dreamed of starting our own business, but the Colonel's military career kept us moving around from one job to the next.  Why, we lived in six different demesnes here in the Southern Reaches before our oldest daughter turned ten."

"As I always said, to get quick promotions, you have to travel."

Madame Clovervelt nodded. "It was a good life, but military pensions are atrocious.  We've been spending our retirement visiting our children.  They live all over."

Identical to the one in Everett's imagining, the inn had a neatly manicured front lawn with bordering flowerbeds and a brick walk leading up to the double doors of the main entrance.  On the right, a wide gravel drive cut between the timber and plaster main building and the barn like wood-frame stable with its adjacent brick walled exercise yard.

"Oh, it's just lovely!" Madam Clovervelt exclaimed as she moved up the walk, pausing for a moment to admire the roses and tulips.

At Marshlight's nudge, Poubelle trotted ahead to the wide stoop and swung open one of the oversized oaken doors to admit the Clovervelts.

Clearly delighted with what she saw within, Madame Clovervelt stopped just inside the entryway.  "It's just as I always imagined it!"

The entryway had white plaster above butternut stained raised paneling, red-brown tile, an unattended counter, and a carpet covered grand stair on the right.  The woodwork of the counter and the stair railing matched that of the paneling.  On the left, a large cased opening gave access to the high-ceilinged main dining room.

The interior of that hall was quite nearly identical to that of an inn in the town of Oberlund where Everett had once had a meal during his first winter in the Edzedahl.  He had not had the funds to rent a room nor to have meat with his supper of potatoes and squash, but he had long remembered the comfortable, padded benches, the clean tables, recently swept flagstone floor, and the warmth coming off the large quarried stone fireplace.

There was no fire in this fireplace, which was a perfect match for the one Everett remembered, but the large windows at either end let in plenty of sunshine and warm afternoon air.

The wizard, Giuseppe, Pauly, and Bertram were seated at one of the longer dining tables, one again engaged in a game of Find the Cat, though this time with an authentic set of interlocking, textured boards and a fancy collection of carven and decorated figurines that they had evidently found somewhere in the inn.   With the little dog sleeping at his feet, Mike sat one table over, reading a leather-bound book, which also must have come with the inn.  All five -- the dog looked up and then went back to sleep -- stood when they saw the new arrivals.  Mike marked his place when he put his book down and the players clearly took care not to disturb the boards or the pieces.

Giuseppe, always quick on the uptake, took in the Clovervelts, then said, "There's a fully stocked larder and fresh baked pies in the kitchen.  Full complement of pots, pans, and utensils.  Large patio out the back with bread ovens."

"Eighteen beds in twelve rooms upstairs," Mike contributed, doing his part to sell the place.  "There are two master suites with their own bathrooms."

Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer seemed a little uncertain as to what was going on, but he followed along.  "The well water is cold and crystal clear and the selection of wine in the cellar is beyond stellar."

Bertram looked slightly panicked as he tried to figure out something to say and finally settled upon, "The garderobes are very clean."

Pauly just smiled.

"Marvelous!  Just marvelous!"  Madame Clovervelt walked around the big room, examining the brass sconces, trailing a hand over the black leather of the seats in the smaller private booths, and admiring the sheen of the polish on the long mahogany serving bar.

"We must just have it, Colonel!" she insisted when she came back to where everyone waited.

"If Madame Clovervelt is happy," Colonel Clovervelt declared, rapping on one of the tables as if to make sure that it was solid, "then I'm happy with it."

He turned to Everett.  "Leave it just the way it is.  We won't need any alterations.  Now, what sort of arrangements did you have in mind?  I'll tell you straightaway, we'll not be able to make any sort of significant down payment."

"Well, actually, we just, ah, put it here so that we would have a place to spend the night.  As far as we're concerned, it's all yours."

Colonel Clovervelt pinched his lips together and shook his head.  "No, can't do it.  Never took a silver from anyone that I didn't earn.  Would you consider shares?"

"You do realize that no paying customers will ever actually stay here, right?" Everett asked pointedly.  "The roads are dead ends except for the one going back to your son's farmstead and I'm pretty sure that it never has any traffic but your son's farm wagons."

The Colonel waved a hand dismissively.  "Logistics, young man.  Logistics.  You just leave that part to me."

Everett kept to himself a comment about old people and their hard headed ways.  "It's on your son's property, so legally it already belongs to your son."

The Colonel shook his head again.  "I always pay magickers for their work.  My dad was a Journeyman Magicker and we always had to scrape by when I was a kid.  We'll give you twenty thousand silver for the place.  You carry the mortgage against shares.  We'll pay the taxes.  We'll make quarterly payments of one tenth of the gross receipts.  Do we have a deal?"

Everett opened his mouth to argue once more that the couple did not owe them anything, but Sarah shot him a look and he sighed in surrender and stuck out his hand, which the Colonel shook with satisfied conviction.

"Wonderful!" Madame Clovervelt approved.  "Now, who'd like to help with our first meal in our new inn?"

TWENTY-THREE

"What are we going to feed the geese?" Bertram asked from across the table.

He had been sneaking bits from his plate to not so surreptitiously feed to Ralph.  The snake had apparently taken up permanent residence in his jacket pocket and from all indications was prospering on regular meals of table scraps and the warm, snug environment of the pocket.  The last time that Everett had checked upon him, Ralph appeared to have gained a little weight.

He looked up from his plate, upon which scarcely two morsels remained, and produced a jaundiced look in partial answer to the unexpected question.  "I haven't actually thought much about it.  I hope that they can fend for themselves, like wild geese."

"That many geese of that size would decimate a corn crop," Colonel Clovervelt proposed with a frown.  "My son has sixty acres just a half mile north of here and his neighbors have fields just as big or bigger of wheat and barley beyond that."

Sarah, sitting alongside Everett with Rose perched on a couple of stacked books, decreed, "We'll need to do something to feed the geese, dear.  It would be a poor repayment of the Clovervelts' hospitality to allow our mounts to ruin their crops."

The entire company had pitched in to prepare a quick meal of boiled potatoes, smoked ham, both from the free standing root cellar adjacent to the kitchen patio, and a salad made from tomatoes, lettuce, and carrots from a weed free kitchen garden that Madame Clovervelt had discovered beyond the stables.  Then everyone had sat down at one of the longest tables for an unhurried supper and a lengthy explanation, with contributions of one sort or another from all, of why Everett and his family and friends were traveling to Eyrchelle.

By their own quick admission, the Clovervelts were neither magickers nor technicians and their son operated his farm with no magic and only the most basic of technologies, which thus far had shown no evidence of failure (turning plows had no moving parts) but both had immediately recognized the widespread turmoil that the absence of technology would create and had offered their unequivocal support.  When the Colonel had further resolved to raise a levy of local militia and sally out in support of the operation, Everett had had to quickly, politely, and adamantly decline.  However, it had been only with the intervention of Madame Clovervelt, who had pointed out that someone would need to hold down the fort at the inn, lest the expedition be forced to fall back in the face of overwhelming opposition, that the elderly gentleman had been dissuaded from an immediate march to the west.

"Do geese eat broccoli?" Everett wondered.  It seemed likely that his altered third spell would still produce giant copies of the vegetable, though perhaps in a much increased quantity.

"I'm not sure," Theddrid replied.  "Normal sized geese subsist primarily on wild or domestic grains and grasses."

"Geese eat beans," Giuseppe said.  "I've seen them do it."

"My friend's grandfather had a pet goose," Bertram offered.  "The only things in his vegetable garden that Hortense would touch were the beans and the corn. She'd peck at fescue and rye grass a lot."

"So broccoli is out," Everett decided.  "Anyone have another suggestion?"

"We need a new spell," Marshlight suggested.  "Magic should have sent us one to go with the geese."

"Pardon me," Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer interrupted.  "But I've noticed that many of you have spoken of magic as if it were an actual person.   I must admit, this seems rather odd.  Numerous studies have proven conclusively that magic is just a simple force of nature."

"Magic is a non-corporeal sentient entity, just like Harold here. I'll explain all that later," Everett told him curtly.  He looked along the table at the others.  "I take it that no one has had an epiphany lately?  Thought so."

Everett turned back to the Alturian wizard.  "Your last few spells, are any of them related in any way to grains or grasses?"

The wizard looked slightly offended.  "Certainly not."

"Alright.  Tell me what your ninth through thirteenth spells are."

The wizard sat up a little straighter and put a determined look on his face.  "My ninth spell organizes socks."

"What, like in a drawer?" Poubelle asked.

"In a drawer, in a basket, on a shelf -- anywhere.  By color, size, thickness, and material."

Giuseppe looked interested.  "Does it pair them up?  I hate that part."

Overmeyer cleared his throat.  "Well, actually, no.  It stacks them by color, then by size, then by thickness, then by material."

"So it has a Consecutive Refinement Component?" Sarah asked.

"Indeed."

Sarah nodded.  "How long does it take to evince?"

"One minute," the wizard said proudly.

"For any amount of socks?" Giuseppe asked. "I can see some commercial possibilities here."

Overmeyer cleared his throat.  "No, actually, it's one minute per sock."

"Yip!" the little dog, seated on the bench beside Mike, said.

When Poubelle started to translate, Sarah said, "That won't be necessary, Poubelle."

Everett agreed.  Technology's remark had clearly been a sneering canine chuckle.

No one else laughed.  Having retrieved a day old cinnamon bun from his pocket, Harold did not seem to be actually paying attention to the conversation.  Bertram was looking at his plate as if wondering if he could finish off his last cherry tomato.  Mike had already impressed Everett as someone old and wise enough not to find amusement in the shortcomings of anyone's spells.  Pauly, though not a magicker himself, was also not the sort to find humor in the deficiencies of magic.  The rest were all magicker's of one sort or another and were well acquainted with the often heartbreaking peculiarities of magic.

Marshlight rose, taking her and Poubelle's more or less emptied plates.  "But no matter what, you still have to pick out the ones that match?" she asked the wizard.  Without waiting for the Alturian's reply, she asked the rest, "Who's for washing dishes?"

"Count me in," Pauly said.  "My knives picked up a lot of dust when we landed, and I'd like to clean them with the dishwater when we're done so that I can re-oil them."

With his normal eminent practicality, the Zherian conflict resolution specialist had replaced his now useless pistols with two sets of throwing knives and a pair of foot long, curved, and wide bladed slashing knives of the sort that the elite New Zindersberg Zouave Regiment used.

"I'll wash," Marshlight said.  "You can draw the water."

"I'll dry," Poubelle said.

"Yes," Overmeyer confirmed, answering Marshlight's first question.  "But it's vastly much easier when the socks are sorted."

"I'm sure," Everett said noncommittally, then told Marshlight, "I'll help."

"Thanks, but three is enough," Marshlight told him.  "With the little that we have to clean, more people would just be in the way."

Everett sank back in his seat.   He did not mind washing dishes but he also did not mind not washing dishes.  As Marshlight and her volunteers began to gather plates and dinnerware, he turned back to the wizard.

"Tenth spell?"

"Generates a pleasing tone."

"You mean it just makes a sound?"

"It most resembles the sound of a brass gong being struck."

"Right."

"Wait, Everett," Sarah said, "I think we should try Theddrid's spell."

"The caramel popcorn?  I doubt that the geese would go for the sugary taste."

"Think about it for a minute.  If Magic is actually facilitating our journey, then she would have made some provision to feed the geese.  None of us has gotten a new spell for giant bags of grain, so maybe she simply altered one of our existing spells."

He immediately nodded.  What she had said made perfect sense.

As Poubelle passed with his stack of dirty dishes and cutlery, Theddrid reached out quickly and retrieved a spoon.  "We'd better go outside to try it, don't you think?'

"Definitely," Everett agreed.

Save for the dishwashers, everyone went.  It was nearly dusk and the crossroads and the plowed field were covered in shadow.  To obviate the need to move whatever his spell might produce, Theddrid led the company and the Clovervelts back to the live oak where the geese had begun to bed down for the night.  The birds watched their approach but did not seem greatly concerned.

Theddrid put the spoon down on a trampled furrow about ten yards from the nearest goose, backed up to join Everett and the rest, and then cast, "After dinner surprise!"

The actuation floored Everett.

The next thing he knew, Sarah was gently slapping him awake, his head resting in her lap.  The others were gathered around and Rose crouched alongside her mother.

"Daddy fall down again," his daughter told him with a frown.

Head still swimming, he stayed where he was.  "Did it work?"

"Cracked corn, scaled to giant geese," Theddrid leaned in to say.  "A hundred bushels or so in a pile.  Sarah's hypothesis was correct."

"The new effect of Theddrid's spell removes any final doubt," she emphasized.  "Our entire journey is being orchestrated by Magic.  We just need to figure out what we have to do to upset her plans."

He moaned and rubbed the splitting pain in his head.  "Let's do that tomorrow."

The morning dawned bright and warm and Everett felt fully recovered after a wonderful night of sleep in a huge feather bed with blue linen.  By the time he, Sarah, and Rose had washed up, dressed, visited the garderobe, and gone down to the main room, the Clovervelts had already returned and staffed the inn with grandchildren and other formerly unemployed young relations.  As if marshaling a host for a battle, Madame Clovervelt immediately directed her trainees to produce and serve the company a splendid farewell breakfast of grits, sausage, eggs, toast with jam, and fresh cow's milk.

Not wishing to tarry when they still had many miles ahead of them, Everett ate quickly.  Likewise, Sarah and the rest did not linger over their food and soon everyone had gathered their gear, thanked Madame Clovervelt and kin for the meal, and started back towards the geese.  The Colonel and one of his grandsons came along to see them off while Madame Clovervelt, who had proclaimed that accurate records were the key to good accounting, and her attentive new staff began to go through the inn from top to bottom to make a full inventory of furniture, linens, cutlery, and whatnot.

When they arrived back at the live oak, Everett noticed the Colonel eyeing the still sizable pile of the remaining corn, each kernel of which was as long as his hand.  The geese had scattered a portion of the feed as they had browsed, but most of the remainder was still in good shape.

"I hope that the corn won't be a major problem."

"No problem at all," the Colonel told him in a matter-of-fact fashion.  "If it will sprout, we'll plant it.  If not, we'll ferment it."

Everett laughed.  "Practical."

"Where do you go next, Monsieur de Schael?" the grandson, a gangly lad of fifteen or so asked.

"Our next major landmark is Irkisnukberg.  According to our maps, the city should be about a hundred miles from here.  If all goes well, we'll stop there for lunch."

The choice had been made strictly due to the city's location and indicated size on the Alturian maps.  The closest that Everett had ever come to any of the demesnes of the Southern Reaches was when they had flown the air carriage south following the Edze to reach New Zindersberg.  Even Giuseppe, the most widely traveled amongst them, had not been able to provide any first hand knowledge of the modest city.

The Colonel made a face.  "Too busy of a place for my liking.  They use technology for everything there.  Mechanisms everywhere doing things that people would be better off doing for themselves."

"I've read that they even have steam tractors pulling trains of wagons through the streets," the lad added with some enthusiasm.  "People can just jump on or off wherever they like."

"They do, Pertwie," the Colonel confirmed.  "Silly practice, though.  The Irkisnukbergians will get on one to ride two blocks when it'd be faster to walk."

This information caused Everett a moment of concern.  If the city was that dependent on technology, what shape might it be in when they arrived?

The geese were waiting and apparently ready to go.  When approached, they straightaway formed their standard queue to be loaded and to take on their riders.  Like Everett, the others had by varying means identified a particular goose as the one that they had ridden the day before -- Sarah had said that her and Rose's was more polite than the rest -- and, after bidding the Colonel and his grandson a warm farewell, everyone climbed aboard their steed. At Harold's own request, Giuseppe and Pauly once again strapped the odd little man to his saddle.  Everyone else appeared to have had sufficient practice mounting the giant fowl and climbed aboard without assistance.

Today, Everett's goose had taken the last place in the queue and he was the last one to mount.  Theddrid's bird had taken the lead, and he had half turned in his saddle to watch as the rest climbed aboard theirs.

"Ready?" the tinkerer called back as soon as he saw Everett seated.

Everett sent a quick glance to check that everyone was well seated and their saddlebags and bedrolls properly secured, then called, "Ready!"

The geese took flight without incident and, after making a slow bank above the field and inn to wave at Madame Clovervelt and her relations who had gathered on the front lawn to watch the geese take off, returned to a path above the Dark Brown River.

Without looking back, Theddrid led them west.

TWENTY-FOUR

Because of the blowing smoke and the heat rising from the flames, they had to land in the mostly empty freight yard of a pottery works about half a mile south of the city.  Some isolated crates of saucers and teacups were smashed in the process, but everyone touched down in the cramped space without major mishap.

Everett already had a plan of action.  He hopped off his goose and dropped to the ground, then ran to where the others were gathering.  "This will take magic.  I need Sarah, Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, and Giuseppe to come with me.  The rest of you should watch over Rose and Harold."

The situation of the city being patently dire, Everett expected no argument and indeed received none.  As soon as Rose was safely in Poubelle's arms, he started off at a trot, loping out of the yard along its gravel drive and towards the paved highway that led on to Irkisnukberg.  A river of refugees in wagons, on carts, and on horseback coming away from the city forced the four of them into the high weeds of the shoulders beyond the drainage ditches but even there they had to contend with a constant stream of groups on foot.  Many of the fleeing Irkisnukbergians and their belongings were besmudged with soot, but there were not many injured, either limping or being carried along, which seemed surprising considering the level of destruction that Everett had witnessed from the air.

As they neared a wide, stone lined canal that separated the outlying farms from the urban area of the city, the exodus thinned, perhaps because the majority of the population had already managed to escape the wall of fire that was consuming the northern half of Irkisnukberg.

Up close -- it was no more than a hundred yards from the far side of the canal to the nearest of the engulfed buildings -- the disaster inspired nothing less than unreasoning fear.  The orange, blasting flames, radiating a heat that Everett could feel on his face even at this distance, went up perhaps a hundred feet and were spewing a monstrous column of black smoke.  From the high arched stone bridge that brought the highway across the canal, a wide boulevard, the leaves of the ornamental trees in its center median already seared and blackened, cut straight through the city.  The wide gap presented by the boulevard was acting as a firebreak that had -- though only temporarily, given the strong wind blowing directly across it -- stopped the inferno from spreading to the southern neighborhoods.

Everett had first spied the horizon spanning wall of smoke when they were still five miles out and he found himself surprised that any part of the city yet survived.

Though the press on the highway had lessened enough to allow them to weave through the still thick traffic, the old stone bridge across the canal was jammed and hopeless.  After stopping off the southern side of the highway just long enough to catch sight of a wooden trestle pedestrian bridge a hundred yards further west, Everett, once more at a trot, led a closely following Sarah, Overmeyer, and Giuseppe towards it along a gravel path that rimmed this side of the canal.   When they drew nearer to the smaller bridge, Everett saw that the people on it that he had taken for stragglers were actually using ropes and buckets to haul up water to pass into the hands of a bucket brigade that snaked through backyards, alleys, and garden plots towards the heart of the city.  These men and women, working with desperate speed, blocked the entire walkway, forcing him to stop midways.  From the determined looks on the Irkisnukbergians' faces, he knew that attempting to force their way passed would be futile.  Some of the workers looked up at Everett and the other three, but none paused in their single-minded repetition: take bucket from the last person in the empty bucket line, tie rope to bucket, drop bucket in the canal, haul up bucket, pass bucket to the next person in full line.

Panting from all the running, he turned about to Sarah, who was right behind him.  "Let's try from here to see if you've gotten any increase in casting distance."

He pointed towards the last building in the row along the northern side of the firebreak boulevard.  While the house's gabled tile roof had apparently protected it thus far from the blowing cinders that poured out from the blaze that surrounded it on two sides, fire vomiting from the windows of the next house in line was already setting its wooden eaves to light.

"My first spell?" she asked, grim and contained.

"Yes.  If you get a big quantity boost, it might work."

"I'm ready."

"Am I to use one of my spells as well?" Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer asked, somewhat uncertain.

"Yes, your seventh.  Sarah's spell will conjure a quantity of urine above that last house.  I want you to change it to clear water before it hits."

The wizard nodded.

Giuseppe, last in line, asked, "What about me?"

"You and I are going to make sure that Sarah and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer are not disturbed.  They're going to serial cast until we know that it's not going to work."

Not wasting any time, Sarah, staring intently at her target, immediately cast her spell.  "Pee pee, I see!"

Though the actuation rang his head like a bell, Everett fought off the nausea and dizziness and remained on his feet, watching as a huge cloudy yellow globule, surely hundreds of gallons, evinced in the air.  Perhaps a hundred feet up, the globule immediately began to fall, its surface stretching and distending as it prepared to come apart.

The wizard's cast came only a fraction of a second later.  "A clear mountain stream!"

Again, Everett felt as if someone had struck him with a great mighty hammer, but gritted his teeth and willed himself to remain on his feet and flat out refused to let his eyes even blink.

Still descending, the globule immediately cleared to let the bright orange light from the fires shine through.  For an instant, the liquid prism scattered rays of blue, green, and purple, but then quite abruptly the conjured liquid expanded two or threefold in volume and burst in a tremendous shower that rained big, fat drops down to drench an area perhaps a hundred yards in diameter.

"It worked!" Overmeyer exulted.

Only, the far edge of the shower had fallen maddeningly short of the target house by perhaps fifty yards, inundating a storage yard along the side of the canal that was stacked with seasoned sawn lumber.

"We have to get closer!" Sarah said fiercely.

"Over the side and swim for it," Everett told the other three.  He made to climb over the wooden guardrails to do just that.

"WAIT!  EVERETT DE SCHAEL!  OVER HERE!"

Everett snapped his head around to look further along the bridge towards the bucket brigade.  The workers were pausing to give way to a portly, bulky older man with a complexion that had been baked for years in the sun.

It was Chauncey Wiggins, known to both his friends and enemies as just Bob.

It had been a long couple of years, but there was no way that Everett could have forgotten the jolly Heimgelbergian road worker.

"Come on!" Bob urged, waving them on.  "I'll get you right up to the fire!"

Trusting that the wizard and Giuseppe would follow, Everett grabbed Sarah's hand and ran.  With questioning looks but no resistance, the workers drawing the water squeezed back against the guardrails to make room for them to pass.

Bob charged ahead of them, bellowing orders to clear a path and the sweating, bedraggled and clearly almost exhausted men and women in the bucket brigade did just that, so that Everett and Sarah almost reached a sprint as they raced through the backyards, along the alleys, and across the already trampled garden plots to reach the point along the boulevard where the bucket line terminated, a roundabout with a large, circular wading pool at its center.  With the spigots of its circulating pumps not even dripping, the pool was completely dry.

The target of the brigade was a half collapsed brick building on the opposite side of the roundabout.  From what Everett could see, the valiant effort to dampen the fires in the building had all but failed.

The anchors of the bucket line were a small gang of big, sturdy men, all of who looked nearly as singed and blackened as the pitiful trees along the boulevard.  Most hardly had an unsinged hair left upon their heads and many had already shed smoldering articles of clothing.  One was down to little more than his smallclothes.

As soon as they were passed a bucket, these brave souls would dash across the roundabout and into the furnace heat, hurl their water into the teeth of the flames, and then dash back for a refill.  Bob waved at the gang to stop as Sarah and the wizard ran to a position only yards from the fire and immediately began casting, over and over.

As the water began falling, the fires resisted, hunkering down under clouds of steam, but still the big drops fell and the fires began to die.

Everett withstood perhaps a dozen iterations of the spells, long enough to see a gap opened in the wall of flame a hundred paces long.  When he felt himself beginning to collapse, nearly insensate, he cast his ninth spell.

The agony in his head faded as he expanded and though Sarah and Overmeyer continued to cast their spells, the actuations felt little more powerful than a pinprick.  When the transformation was complete and he stood astride the boulevard, one armored boot in an avenue leading up to the roundabout and one on the drowned ruins of the collapsed building, his sword held high, and fully encased in the armor of the Forever Faithful, he felt revived, strong, and ready.  While fires still raged nearby to his right and to his left, his armor, by some mystical means, deflected both heat and smoke.  All of the city was laid out before him, subject to the might of his sword and the resoluteness of his courage.

The men and women of the bucket brigade, having stood their ground in the face of the inferno, did not now retreat when confronted by the appearance of a giant warrior monk.  In fact, they took up a cheer and Everett felt a smile come to his face.

"Yer brave 'n' true, guid fowk o' Irkisnukberg!" he cried, his vast baritone carrying over all of the city and overcoming for just a moment the deafening roar of the crackling fires.

He heard Sarah call his name and bent low to hear her better.

"Extend your hand and take us up, dear!" she shouted at him.  "We need a higher vantage so that we can cover the rest of the city!"

"Guid idea!" he agreed.  "Th'gither, wull vanquish th' foul beast!"

When he lowered his hand, fingers together, to the pavement beside them, Sarah and the wizard stepped up onto the thick palm leather of his gauntlet.  After only a moment of hesitation, Giuseppe did likewise and Bob immediately followed.  Based upon their relative size, his hand must be nearly nine feet from heel to fingertips and a good five feet wide, so there was sufficient room for the four, but not a lot of extra space.

With great care, he straightened, extended his hand, and held it rock steady, about sixty feet from the ground.  While Bob and Giuseppe looked on, Sarah and the wizard resumed their work, casting their two simple yet now immensely powerful spells in a steady, unrelenting sequence.

Within moments, a steady, quenching rain began to fall all across the stricken northern half of the city.

TWENTY-FIVE

"Irkisnukberg, well, what's left of it anyway," Bob explained, "is in both Upper Polemica and Lower Polemica."

"So the city is split right down the middle?" Theddrid asked.

"No, the full city is legally in both demesnes."

"Is that possible?"

"It is in Upper and Lower Polemica.  What happened was, oh, about fifteen years ago, this fourth cousin of the Duke of Lower Polemica met this second cousin of the Countess of Upper Polemica at school.  Well, they hit it right off and not being -- at that time -- in the direct line of succession, after a while they got married and had half a dozen kids.  He became a cooper and she taught school.  The two of them were as happy as a basket full of puppies. Then it happened."

"What?" Bertram prompted.

"Lots of things, but they were all bad for the happy couple.  Duke Gustaf IV, the duke of Lower Polemica before the current one, had no children and his younger brother was the designated heir.  Well, younger brother went and got himself killed in this last war between the Kingdom of Alarsaria and the Republic of Zheria, soldier of fortune kind of thing.  Then Duke Gustaf died suddenly and the High Council of Lower Polemica was in a tizzy. The younger brother had had kids, but they were all over the place, here and there sort of thing, if you know what I mean.  His firstborn decided that she'd rather keep being a chorus girl in New Zin than become the Duchess of a backwater demesne and renounced the throne.  She had married this professional gambler -- but that's another story.  So next in line was a son, but he was a Technologist and had been living in some rinky dink demesne west of the Kingdom of Alarsaria --"

Everett grunted.  "Laest Sho?"

"Something like that.  Anyway, he was doing quite well, had a family and a nice house, and they didn't want to take the kids out of school and would have had to take a loss on the house, that sort of thing, so he also refused to come back.  Anyway, to cut the story short, the rest of the younger brother's kids all passed and all of a sudden Lower Polemica's High Council is back in a tizzy.  After a bunch of hand wringing, they managed to track down the fourth cousin and bribed him into being Duke Guillaume IX."

"Bribed how?" Bertram asked.

"He owed some back taxes, had some outstanding fines for leaving his freight wagon parked in a residential district, that sort of thing."

"I fail to see where this is leading," Theddrid declared.  "Could we get the condensed version?"

"Sure, sure.  So just multiply what I said by twelve -- weird accidents, monastery vows, prison sentences, that sort of thing -- and apply it to the Upper Polemica succession and then before the paint is dry on the bedroom wall, the second cousin winds up as the Countess Wilhelmina III of Upper Polemica.  So there you have it."

"I don't get it," Mike objected.

"What with one thing and another, the happy couple couldn't get along as a duke and a countess.  Within a year they had what they call irreconcilable differences that involved lots of hurled crockery.  Now, she lives on an estate in northern Upper Polemica and he lives on an estate in southern Lower Polemica and they don't speak two words to each other.  Just sad, if you think about it."

Theddrid made a face.  "But how does that explain why the city pertains to both demesnes?"

"Neutral territory.  It's where they visit with the grandbabies."

"Right," Everett said, trying to steer Bob's explanation back towards his original question.  "But back to how the fires got started, you said it wasn't technology?"

"That's right.  It was magic that burned the northern half of Irkisnukberg down. They had this woman in the palace dungeon, normal looking middle aged lady but crazy as a bed bug. She liked setting stuff on fire and watching it burn.  While they were trying to figure out what to do with her, they kept her naked in a stone cell because if she got close to anything at all that would burn, she would try to find some way to get it going."

Everett scowled.  "Then she received an epiphany for an ignition spell."

"You guessed it," Bob confirmed.  "It had a freakishly long range.   She set fire to the bedding in a cell fifty feet away and the dungeon filled with smoke.  When the wardens let all the prisoners out, she managed to escape in the confusion.  Within a day, the fires started breaking out.  At first it was one or two a week and the gendarmes had them put out before much damage had been done.  Here in Irkisnukberg they use these heavy steel wagons that carry big tanks of water, a pump, and some hoses.  They pull the things around with a steam tractor and use a shaft off the tractor to drive the pumps.  The pumps can put out a stream of water that will go almost sixty feet.  Really amazing stuff. Then it was two or three fires a week, but the Safety Directorate still managed to keep up because they had the pump wagons."

In order to visit his younger brother, who was a captain in the Safety Directorate of the Irkisnukberg gendarmerie, Bob, taking his annual two weeks of leave, had come from Heimgelberg to Irkisnukberg just two days before the crazy woman had unleashed her final orgy of arson upon the city.

"Then the pumps and the tractors started to fail," Everett said.

He took another sip of his cherry fizz.  He had grown rather unfond of the stuff, but had chosen it to take a break from the chock-something-something milk.  With the pottery works' well tainted by windblown ash, there was no potable water available.  Though the liquid appeared in all respects to be pure water, he refused to drink any of the wizard's converted sewage.

Bob bobbed his head.  "Right again.  About a week ago.  Day before yesterday, the arsonist managed to get herself run over by a burning beer wagon, one of them, you know, sort of poetic justice things, or maybe it was just destiny, who knows, but by then there were already more than a hundred fires burning.  The last pump seized up about noon.  By mid-afternoon, the fires joined up and then there was no stopping them."

Everett saw Sarah waving at him and got up.  "Looks like our break is over."

Bob, Theddrid, and Bertram rose to join him.  Pauly had been given the semi-permanent duty of watching over Harold and remained on the bench beside the odd little man, who at that moment was nodding off with his chin propped upon his hands.  Mike was still working with the volunteers and the little dog, Pookie, was sleeping, nose to tail, under the table at Pauly's feet.

It had taken only another hour for Sarah and the wizard to thoroughly extinguish the fires, but while the southern part of Irkisnukberg had been spared by their intervention, there had been nothing left of the northern part but damp ash, soaked charcoal, blackened brick, and cracked stone.

Just after the last flame had been drowned, while the four still stood upon his giant hand as they surveyed the damage, Giuseppe had offered to cast his spell to return Everett to his proper size, but he had resisted the notion.

As the warrior monk, he was strong, courageous, and capable.  With his armor and sword, he could defeat anything that Magic might throw at them.  He should stay the giant until their quest was done!

Sarah had immediately vetoed this idea.  "No, dear, you couldn't possibly fit on your goose.  Now, take us back to the others.  It won't take you but a few steps and then Giuseppe will cast his spell.  Mind all the people about."

The refugees, some of whom had begun to attempt to return to the still standing half of Irkisnukberg, had once again jammed the highway, but Everett had managed to reach to the pottery works without squishing anyone.  His presence had caused a visible stir as they had passed over the canal, but Bob had waved and called down explanations that had prevented the incipient stampede.

A number of Bob's crew of volunteers had reached the pottery works about the same time as Everett's head had cleared from being returned to being his puny, ineffective self and the Heimgelbergian immediately had begun organizing a relief effort.

"You and your company of adventurers will help, won't you?" he had asked Everett as if the answer were a foregone conclusion.

Which, of course, it had been.

Except the company of adventurers part, which Everett had been quick to correct.

"We're not adventuring.  My family, my friends, and I are just trying to take care of a problem," he had said.  "Then we're going straight home."

"Sure," Bob had replied with a knowing smile.  "That's how it always is."

Some surviving members of the gendarmerie, one of whom was happily his brother, had showed up and with their assistance and that of his volunteers, Bob had set up a long line of tables at the edge of the freight yard to facilitate the distribution of relief supplies, buffet style.

Said relief supplies were, of course, to be conjured by volunteer magickers.

And, magickers being -- according to Bob -- rarer in Irkisnukberg than elsewhere, (Everett had speculated that this was a result of a natural out-migration due to the city's focus on technology or perhaps was the consequence of simple contrariness on Magic's part.) it had fallen to Sarah, Marshlight, Giuseppe, Poubelle, and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, whose eleventh spell, which previously had produced a single slice of pepperoni and now generated a baker's dozen of complete smoked summer sausages, to provide the edible part of that relief.

Some other magickers had shown up eventually, all with enhanced and improved spells.  One fellow's spell now produced several ripe watermelons; previously it had conjured a few dried out grapes.  An older woman's would conjure a tray holding a dozen fried meat pies of the sort that were commonly known to have ingredients of dubious provenance, where before the best that it had been able to do was half a bowl of stale corn chips.  Others had contributed spells to conjure plates, forks, spoons, mugs, glasses, blankets, and so forth, and all had likewise admitted that until recently their spells had been utter crap.

While the magickers had focused on casting to keep the tables full, a contingent of volunteers and gendarmes had kept the line moving and orderly, dispensed individual servings, policed discarded utensils and dishes, emptied trash barrels, and dealt with the continual stream of empties.  Already, the piles of gallon sized glass mugs, crystal bowls, and silver trays were six feet high and climbing.

When Everett returned to his assigned station -- pouring chock-something-something milk from the large pitchers that Sarah conjured into wine goblets that an adolescent named Susan conjured as part of a place setting for twelve -- he found Sarah sitting on a chair with Rose in her lap.  The two were playing patty-cake.  All of the goblets on the table in front of her were filled and the five other volunteers assigned to her were all standing idle with full pitchers.

"Bob said that magic started the fires," he told her.  He explained about the crazy woman.  "When their pump wagons stopped working, the gendarmes could not put them out."

She nodded, but did not interrupt her game with Rose.  "I thought something like this might happen.  There's too much magic in the world, Everett.  Not just spells that are doing things that they shouldn't be doing, but spells that just shouldn't be here at all.  And I'm afraid that it's only going to get worse.  The peril that is overtaking the world won't just come from the death of technology, or from the monsters that Harold or any of his guild mates might accidentally create, but from magic that is out of control."

"It's not too late," he said.  "We can fix it."

"Yes, but I don't think we have much time."

"I know."

After another hour, Everett noticed that the buffet line and the crowds wandering about had begun to thin.

Many of the Irkisnukbergians made destitute by the conflagration were running across friends, relatives, business associates, customers, employers, friends of friends, paramours, estranged spouses, friends of friends of friends,  or absolute strangers from the southern part of Irkisnukberg who still had a home to return to and who also happened to have a spare bed or at least a vacant spot on the floor for a pallet in said home, and were going off to get settled in for the rapidly approaching night.  Others were being found by relatives of one sort or another who had had the good sense to live outside the city and were being led away for repose in more bucolic environs.  Some -- hundreds at least -- were electing to make use of the sleeping areas that Bob's volunteers had cleared in the warehouses adjacent to the freight yard.

About an hour before dusk, the last few stragglers passed down the buffet line and then Bob closed down the relief effort -- at least for that day, thanked all the magickers and workers profusely, and then ordered everyone to find a place to get a good night's rest.

"We'll be leaving at dawn," Everett told him.  "If we don't get Technology and Magic fixed, more cities will be burning -- or worse."

Bob nodded.  "We should be able to manage.  Glad you happened by when you did.  Any later and the whole city would have been gone."

"It's going to be hard for Irkisnukberg to come back from this.  Half the houses are gone.  Half the merchants and craftsmen have lost everything."

"Yes but that just means that there's a lot of potential for new businesses and plenty of room to build new houses."

Everett grinned in a noncommittal way.  "How long will you stay?"

"Just for the rest of my vacation.  I'll help my brother get the gendarmerie reorganized.  Get some of the streets cleared.  Find all the members of the UALPBC."

"What's the UALPBC?"

"Upper And Lower Polemica Bi-lateral Commission.  They rule the city in the name of the Duke and Countess.  There're not bad folks.  Some of them were in the bucket brigade."

"Right."  Everett stuck out his hand.  "Good luck."

Bob shook hands with a firm grip.  "You too.  Watch out for the giant warrior monk thing.  That kind of magic could mess with a man's head.  I'd hate to see a hundred foot giant wandering about the Edzedahl if all his dogs weren't barking, if you know what I mean."

Everett nodded with a grimace.  "Me too."

TWENTY-SIX

Two more days of steady flight saw them out of the Southern Reaches.

They spent the first night in a small village.  The place did not seem to have any official name, though several of the inhabitants referred to it as That Place By Winslow's Creek.  Most of the villagers appeared employed in the wool trade -- raising sheep, shearing sheep, carding wool, weaving cloth, knitting gloves, cursing the sheep manure that seemed to be everywhere, and so forth.

In the small commons in the center of the village, just to the left of the bandstand, was a row of stocks.  Only one was occupied and that one confined a thin fellow with a balding pate, who, though sound asleep and snoring, had a gag tied across his mouth.

Everett asked the local constable about the man.

"Oh, that's Reginald.  He's a Common Magicker -- or he was before he started getting new spells -- and has a couple of spells that repair things.  He got a new spell about a week ago that causes a small earthquake.  It's not a bad one.  Shakes dishes off shelves and cracks a window or two.  Bad thing is that Reginald drinks a bit from time to time.  The last time he tied one on, he thought it would be funny to cast his new spell four times in a row, so now when he's had one too many we just gag him until he sobers up."

"Ah."

In the only shop in the village, they bought pewter mugs to add to their camping gear.  No one had thought to pack any before they left Alturia and once they were into the unsettled High Shadowed Hills, there would be no place to get a meal until they reached the Margin, a region of freeholds in the lowlands beyond the hills of the Unclaimed Flank.  It would be essential that they have a means to divide the large pitchers that Sarah and Poubelle conjured.

They spent the second night in a town called Cattleford.  Perhaps ironically, Everett noticed no cattle of any kind or bodies of water in which there might possibly be a ford anywhere near about the town.

The people of Cattleford, it developed, were famous for their clocks, which came in an endless variety from small tabletop models to huge mechanisms suitable for installation in town hall towers.  Sales of Cattleford's clocks were so successful -- Everett had never heard of them, but he wasn't much for expensive time pieces -- that their entire town had become devoted to that single industry, with the efforts of practically every craftsman and laborer directed towards producing some element of the final product.  Many in Cattleford had grown affluent, quite a few wealthy, and even a few downright stinking rich from the clock trade and that prosperity had paid for the best of everything, from roads to schools, and made the citizens very content with the world as it was.

Now, all their clocks had stopped and not one of the scores of mechanics, technicians, and technologists who made the modest town home could figure out why.  The disgruntled populace had already sacked the mayor and the town council and heated arguments and outright brawls were breaking out on a daily basis.

Out of a sense of self-preservation, the company spent the night in a low-cost inn on the edge of town and made no mention of their mission.

Noon of the third day found them flying low through the Summer Pass, the granite massifs to either side rising up into the mist far above them.

Once through the pass, the steeper western slopes opened up before them, presenting an expansive vista of the rough slopes of the Unclaimed Flank, the sparsely settled Margin, and the far distant Alarsarian Plain.  As prearranged, Theddrid, whose goose was the current leader, guided them down to the first available landing spot, a sandy field in the loop of one of the switchbacks of the Royal Southern Highway.  The only mostly level patch in a terrain that consisted almost entirely of ups and downs, the clear area looked from the air as if it had been used as a camp site in the past, with blackened fire pits and some incidental wind blown trash caught in the jumble of boulders that ringed it.  These stones, from the size of a giant goose down to the size of a man's fist, were heavily weathered fragments of the same dark granite that made up the mountains.  The unnatural looking layout suggested that someone, or many someones over time, had shifted the stones to clear the field for use as a caravan camp.

Everett had some concerns that the geese might overshoot the landing or stumble on the rough ground as they glided in, but the birds completed the maneuver with the same grace and aplomb as they had on all of their other landings.

He went first to help Sarah unbuckle Rose from her harness, then walked with them to join Marshlight and Poubelle, who were watching Giuseppe and Bertram unstrap Harold.

While he had gotten over his air sickness, the odd little man had requested that he always be strapped in as he preferred to nap while in flight.  Though Everett had remained on his guard, Harold had given no indication of attempting to create any further manifestations of make believe.

Pauly, Theddrid, and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer walked up, discussing rock collecting.  Everett had not known that any of the men were interested in until that very moment.  Mike and Bertram strolled behind the three, chatting about pet grooming.

"Sandwiches again?" Sarah asked everyone.

Giuseppe's cinnamon raison bread and Overmeyer's summer sausage made for a quick and interesting, if dry, sandwich.  Everett had been hoping that one of the company might gain an epiphany for something -- preferably fried fish, grilled steak, coleslaw, baked chicken, green beans, tea to break up the monotonous sweetness of milk or fizz, or even just some mustard for the sandwiches -- to add a little variety to what had become their usual lunch menu, but aggravatingly no one had.

Everett pointed to a patch of green on the other end of the field.  That would get them away from the geese and their proclivity for producing piles of guano the size of a beer keg.  "Let's eat over there."

He started in that direction and everyone came along.  As per their standard procedure, Bertram and Poubelle paused only long enough to fetch the ground sheets from their bedrolls so that the company would not have to sit on the ground.

The green patch was not grass, but sparse mountain clover and moss growing on a scattering of sand that covered a half-exposed shelf of rock.  Once Bertram and Poubelle had spread the ground sheets, there was room enough for all of them to sit cross-legged or half reclined in a close circle.

Following their regular routine, Sarah cast first, conjuring a pitcher of chock-something-something milk that she used to fill hers, Rose's, and Everett's mugs then passed the pitcher to her right.

Over the last few days, he had become acclimated to the considerable discomfort engendered by the actuation of these routine Insignificant spells and had trained himself to get through the minor magical torture of lunch preparation without a single wince.

Poubelle went next, likewise filling his own mug with cherry fizz before sending the pitcher around the circle.

Giuseppe and Grandmaster Overmeyer then each cast three times in sequence.  That amount of loaves and sausages would produce, with no significant fragments, twelve sandwiches, including the double-decker ones that Poubelle and Harold consumed and the half each that went to Rose and the little dog.  The smuggler and the wizard passed their loaves and sausages on to Pauly.  Sarah and Marshlight would manage the final assembly, but Pauly, as he always had a sharp knife to hand and could reliably slice both bread and sausage in a thickness to suit the taste of the intended recipient, handled the cutting.

"Madame Poubelle?" Harold asked from his place almost halfway around the circle.  "Would it be possible for you to conjure some potato salad?  I would like to try some on my sandwich, if it's not too much trouble."

Holding two thin slices of bread in one hand and an almost inch thick slab of summer sausage in the other (Pauly's), Marshlight made a face, but said, "I will.  Do you want your sandwich with the potato chunks or just with the mushy part?"

"Oh by all means, with the chunks."

The concept made Everett want to gag, but he said, "Make mine that way too."

"I've been accused on several occasions of having a death wish," Giuseppe said.  "I'll take mine with potato salad too, please."

Everett's sandwich was ... different ... but not inedible and it did make a change from the dozen or so sandwiches that he had had over the previous several days.

As soon as everyone had in hand a sandwich, most without potato salad, and a beverage, all began eating.  Pauly, Theddrid, and the wizard fell back to discussing their mutual hobby, pointing out and considering the potential of specimens distributed amongst the gravel and small stones that were scattered about the field.  Marshlight and Poubelle, still remarkably enraptured with each other, cooed like turtledoves, making nonsensical jests, tasting each other's identical sandwiches, and generally behaving as if there were no one else present.  Harold, Mike, and Bertram discussed the relative merits of potato salad as a sandwich garnish.  Everett and Sarah watched Rose eat her sandwich and talked about, without much passion, how the harvest of early apples might be going back home.

"Did you see that?" Poubelle blurted out abruptly.

After throwing a quick glance at Harold to make sure that the odd little man was not making believe -- he had his mouth full of sandwich while he gestured with his mug to emphasize some point to Bertram -- Everett swung his head about.  "What?"

Except for an inconsistent wind waving a few of the taller weeds growing in the shelter of some of the larger heaps of rock, he saw nothing.

"I think that rock just moved," Poubelle said.

When everyone started looking around, he pointed at a rounded boulder about two dozen steps off to his right.  Covered in grey and purple lichen, the boulder, an oblong, irregular hemisphere about six feet across and four feet high, protruded from the sandy soil somewhat like the prow of a sinking ship.

"How's that?" Theddrid asked with a knitted brow.  "If there might be a landslip of any sort, we should get airborne."

"No," Poubelle said, shaking his head.  "I think it tried to stand up.  You know, it kind of shook itself and then those two smaller boulders tried to push down, kinda like arms without hands."

Theddrid's eyes tightened.  "I see.  Have you been having headaches or any other symptoms?"

Poubelle looked confused.  "Er, symptoms?"

Marshlight glared at her husband.  "Rocks don't stand up."

Poubelle's eyes went wide.  "Hey!  It moved again!"

"Poubelle, you stop this foolishness right this instant!" Marshlight commanded, somewhat shrill.

Then her eyes also went wide and whatever she had intended to say next died in her throat in a constricted gurgle.

Poubelle and Marshlight were sitting to the right of Sarah and Rose.  Everett was to Rose's left, so that he had to turn slightly to see where all four of them were now looking.

"What the --"

"Everett!" Sarah scolded instantly.

He bit off the remainder of his off color remark as he jumped to his feet. "Everyone up," he ordered.  "We need to get out of here right now."

The stones at which Poubelle had been looking were indeed clearly working to stand up, struggling against the soil as they came together to form the semblance of a man, or at least of an upright biped.

There was nothing symmetrical about the creature.  It had no head, or rather no separate stone atop its torso, an irregularly shaped slab of varying thickness, to represent a head.  Its legs were a mismatched set, an oblong boulder for the left one and three medium sized rocks for the right one.  The right arm was round and stubby and the left a string of four small stones that suggested a withered limb.  All of the stones were butted together as if attached, but each joint appeared to move without restriction in all directions.

As it took its first limping step, the different lengths of its legs became apparent in its difficult stride.  It was more than ten feet tall and made no sound other than the clash of stone upon stone as it moved towards them.

"There's another one!" Giuseppe warned, pointing off to the right of the first.

"Back to the geese, now!" Everett repeated.

Pauly grabbed Harold, who at that moment was not paying any attention to anything but his mug of cherry fizz, and dragged him bodily away.  Everyone else, including Bertram and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, managed to get moving under their own power.

All about the field the stones were rising, jostling together to make grotesque but approximately human shapes.  Some of the creatures were close to twenty feet tall when erect and all were advancing into the field with evident purpose.  The creatures entirely surrounded the field and from their body language, to Everett at least, it was clear that they intended to do harm to the humans trapped within the field.

The run to where the geese had started to gather in a tense clump was no more than fifty paces, but some of the creatures reached the birds first.

Or, at least, tried to.

As the stone creatures drew near, first one, then another, then the rest all at once, the geese, squawking in complaint and jostling each other, launched into the air, flapping furiously to make an awkward hopping flight that carried them over the creatures.  Some of the animated piles of stone jumped to swat at the geese as they passed, but all missed.  Once the geese were out over the downward western slope and the descending switchbacks of the highway, they locked their wings and glided away towards Alarsaria.

Everett stopped abruptly and Sarah and the rest did likewise, crowding in around him.

The company had no way out.  They were entirely surrounded by the oncoming rock creatures and the nearest was only a dozen of its long strides away.

TWENTY-SEVEN

"I bid cool water become sweet wine!"

Everett's spell was an impulse, prompted by a half-formed thought of setting the creatures aflame.

The actuation jolted his entire body, leaving his fingers and toes vibrating and making him deaf for a few seconds.

The nearest creature -- the one that Everett's eyes were locked upon at that particular moment -- froze in mid-stride as if paralyzed, trembled for a second or two, then dissolved in a shower of cloudy, fuming liquid the consistency of heavy syrup.

Where that liquid splashed upon other stone -- the creatures crowding alongside it in particular -- it flashed into an orange tinged vapor, boiling as it ate away at their flinty skin.

The four creatures so struck reacted as if burned, flinching and clawing -- though they had no fingers -- at the black, pitted wounds and wailing in pain -- though they had no mouths.  One dropped to the ground and began to writhe -- as much as rigid stone could writhe -- in agony.

"Be severed in twain, ye hemp!"

This actuation again jolted Everett, a bit stronger than had the first.  He momentarily lost feeling entirely in his hands and lower arms, and with the associated few seconds of deafness came an inability to focus his eyes.  The delay between actuation and evincing was again almost negligible.

Giuseppe's spell, as originally evinced, would produce a complete cut in hemp rope or twine, of any thickness and as many as the unregulated duty-free import-export expeditor could hold focus on.

What it did now made Everett feel a moment of unmitigated shock.

All of the creatures within a radius of twenty yards were cut in half with a crack like the near strike of a bolt of lightning.  No longer controlled, the two halves of each toppled to the ground, with the individual pieces bouncing like normal stones.  Some of these continued to twitch a small bit after they came to rest, but it was clear that the bisected creatures would not rise again.

However, behind this decimated front rank, the remaining creatures, close to a hundred, continued to advance, stepping up onto the remains of their fallen comrades without the slightest hesitation.

"Lay that hammer down!"

To Everett, Poubelle's spell had the flavor of a First Enunciation, and indeed that was what it must have been.  The Rightful King of the Dominion of Dree had gotten a third spell and had now achieved the rank of Common Magicker.

Again, Everett was jolted, the power of this actuation about equal to that of Giuseppe's spell.  This time he felt sharp pains throughout his body, as if someone had jabbed him with a hundred large needles.  Full blindness accompanied the deafness this time, for at least three seconds.

The delay was some longer, but it was only seconds after Everett could see again that the spell evinced.

Poubelle's hammer had a black steel, octagonal cylinder head that was six feet long and almost four feet in diameter.  Its haft was a dark stained hickory tree trunk drawn down to a smooth shaft two feet through and more than a dozen feet long.  Poised to strike as if held in a giant, invisible fist, the hammer appeared in the air above a grouping of rock creatures that were little more than twenty feet in front of Poubelle and Marshlight.

A blue and green glow like barely visible flames danced around the hammer.  Everett thought this obviously some sort of magical effect, but he had never seen its like before.

When the hammer struck, it smashed one of the creatures into gravel, and Everett had to circle his arms about Sarah and Rose to shelter them behind him as bouncing bits of stone rained over the company.

His back still acting as a shield for Sarah and Rose, he heard the hammer strike again, then again, and then yet again.  It came down thirteen times altogether, and each smash threw shrapnel in all directions.  A second or two after the last smash, he raised his head to see that the magical hammer had vanished but that all of the grouping that had been of immediate menace to Poubelle and his bride had been crushed into sand and fragments, none any larger than a thumbnail.

"Chill!"

Another First Enunciation, Marshlight's spell paralyzed Everett, but when his vision cleared and he could move again, he saw that a wall of ice, yards thick and twenty-feet high, had formed across the entire front of the advancing creatures, making a complete circle and actually trapping some of the creatures within it, like insects suspended in amber.  Isolating the company within, this roughly oval ice fortress put an immediate halt to the creatures' advance.

But then the creatures behind the wall began to pound upon it with their pseudo arms and kick it with their pseudo legs, smashing great chunks from the ice and sending up a thunderous racket.  They were determined to break through and would, there seemed little doubt, succeed in moments.

"Crack of doom!"

The actuation of Sarah's new spell killed Everett.

At least, he was quite convinced that he was dead.  He could not move, could not see, could not hear, could not feel his body or anything else.

He existed but had no existence.

And he had no sense of the passage of time.

This state could have lasted a minute, a year, or for all eternity.

Then he gasped a huge sucking breath, winced a bit as light and sound came flooding back, and then leapt to his feet to find the company standing in a commiserating clump just a few steps from where he had lain.  Sarah, Rose, Marshlight, Harold, and Poubelle were weeping, uncontrollably in Poubelle's case, and Mike, Bertram, Giuseppe, the wizard, and Pauly were all looking, respectively, grave, panicked, downcast, shocked, and murderous.

"Everett!" Sarah cried as she flung herself at him and wrapped both arms around his neck in a hug that threatened to strangle him.  He held her as he looked about to see how many of the rock creatures remained.

None did.  Sarah's spell had wiped out the remainder of the walking stone horde.  A clear, more or less circular area extended out for fifteen feet or so from where the twelve of them stood, but beyond that the entire field was covered with motionless bits of granite and shards of melting ice, none of the shattered pieces any larger than an apple.

Then she pushed him away and awarded him her highest severity glare. "You were dead for more than thirty minutes, Everett.  This is unacceptable."

He showed her a stupid grin.  "The next time I die, I'll try to keep it to no more than ten."

She did not smile back.  "This is serious, Everett.  I was beginning to think that your eleventh spell wouldn't bring you back."

He decided not to tell her that it had been different this time, much more final seeming than when, in Mrysberg, his altered spell had returned him from the dead after he had been shot.

"All spells are messed up," he told her.  "I would have been surprised if my mending spell hadn't also been messed up."

"But it should have worked better, not worse."

"It wasn't either because the end result was the same.  The spell evinces differently, that's all."

She did not look convinced, but nodded her head.

"Let's see if we can figure out what happened here.  I've never heard of a spell that could animate stone."

"Neither have I."

He walked over to the rest of the company, but first had to submit to three hugs, one very welcome one from his once again happy daughter, one enthusiastic one from -- of all people -- Harold, and one sisterly one from Marshlight, some back slapping, from Giuseppe, Bertram, Poubelle, Theddrid, and Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, and a firm handshake, from Pauly.

"Just to clarify," Everett asked, "no one has a new spell that makes rock monsters, right?"

When, as he had expected, no one spoke up, he focused on Harold.  "Was this your doing?"

The odd little man looked hurt.  "Of course not!  There is no one within make believe range save for those of us here and the only thing that I caught from any of you before the attack was Poubelle wishing for some mayonnaise, which clearly does not qualify for my services."

Everett turned to Pookie, who was still strapped in Mike's chest harness.  "Do you know anything about this?"

The little dog showed his teeth in a not quite growl. "Yip yip yip yip yip."

Poubelle, still wiping the tears from his cheeks with a handkerchief, cast his spell, asked the dog to repeat itself, then looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds.  "Ah, he said, of course not.  This was not technology.  This was magic."

"Right, but whose magic?"

"Yip yip, yip."

"This was a natural expression of magic."

"The expression of magic, as you call it, requires a spell."

"Yip yip."

"This has not always been the case."

"Explain."

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip."

"The total quantity of waffles, free and bound, is a constant and the relationship between each proportion is reciprocal."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Yip yip yip yip."

"If the fraction of bound waffles is significantly reduced then the fraction of free waffles increases in response.  This increase is not on a one to one basis with the reduction of bound waffles, but is rather the result of a complex reaction between the ham sandwich and the mayonnaise."

Everett ignored the last part as not immediately relevant and thus not worthy of the effort needed to seek a better translation.  "So there are many more free waffles in the environment.  We know that.  What has that to do with the rock monsters?"

"Yip yip."

"When this universe was young, long before you corporeal sentient entities first thought to draw lines to say this is mine and that is yours, and at least a millennia before spells or schematics or formulas or fates or forecasts were dispatched from the non-corporeal realm, there were so many free waffles that they generated random natural expressions of magic, technology, chemistry, destiny, weather, and so forth.  When these expressions were magical in nature, they often imbued the inanimate with life, just as happened here.  Your far ancestors would have referred to this instance as an example of Dark Earthen Magic.  As the conditions which cause it to spawn have returned, so has the phenomenon of natural expression."

"Are you saying that this just happened all by itself?"

"Yip yip yip."

"Indeed."

"And it will happen again?"

"Yip."

"Certainly."

"More stone creatures?".

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip."

"The expression is, as far as corporeal biologics are concerned, approximately random both in location and in effect.  When the density of free waffles in a localized region exceeds a critical threshold, the interaction between the waffles will cause one of the higher order mystical energies -- magic, chemistry, weather, and destiny but not currently technology -- to express through a generally physical medium."

Everett scowled.  "If it's random, why did it just happen to happen when we were here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yip yip."

"I said approximately random.  Free waffles are drawn to points which have a significant potential mystical energy difference.  Under normal circumstances, the amount is insignificant.  When there are lots of free waffles, lots of free waffles are drawn to such a point."

"So this place is special?  Is whatever makes this place special something that we can look out for?"

"Yip."

"It's not the place, it's you."

Everett rolled his eyes.  "Of course it's me.  The Prime Focus thing."

"Yip yip."

"Obviously."

"Like blood in the water draws sharks," Mike said.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Walking made Everett miss the geese.

Following the long, looping switchbacks of the narrow, cut granite pavement of the highway, they had covered only half a mile in straight line distance in two hours.  For the most part, the rocky, scrub covered slopes between the loops were too steep to attempt on foot and in places the slopes were broken by projecting cliffs of thirty feet or more that were impassable without climbing gear.

The view, however, had thus far been magnificent.  The spruces that grew about the narrow roadbed had been thinned recently -- some apparently by loggers with the ability to cut trees on sixty degree slopes -- and the forested hills of the Unclaimed Flank and the rushing cataracts of the Disorderly River a few miles off to the north presented a beautiful panorama.

Though no one had said so, everyone had stayed close and the company was moving in a compact, almost defensive, clump, as if all were expecting at any moment to encounter another threatening natural expression of magic.  Poubelle and Marshlight were just to the right alongside Everett, Sarah, and Rose.  Mike, Giuseppe, and Theddrid and were in the lead, Bertram and the wizard were just behind in the third rank, and Pauly and Harold were a couple of paces behind at the rear.

Sarah, with Rose in her harness -- she had gotten down to walk for a bit but had quickly become tired -- had held onto his arm protectively for the first hour and a half of their walk.  Though he had continued to make light of it, it was clear to him that his death had actually frightened her.  She had always been steadfastly and imperturbably resilient in the face of personal danger -- political conflict, bloody warfare, physical and technological assault by Esatis, ensorcellment, and apocalyptic battle between colossi, to name a few --  but apparently the thought of losing him permanently had smashed her emotional redoubt.

In the last half hour, she had released her hold upon his arm, but had stayed close.  While he had chatted playfully with Rose about the rainbows visible over one of the taller waterfalls on the distant Disorderly, she had remained mostly silent and deep in thought as they trudged down yet another long, winding northern stretch of a switchback.

Then, without preamble, she said, "The attraction of the free waffles is causing your adverse reaction to spell actuations."

He had also worked that out.  "Probably."

"Yip."

His short little legs likewise making it impossible for him to keep up on the ground, Pookie was also still strapped into Mike's harness.

"The dog said yes," Poubelle supplied.

For the twenty-seventh time, Everett refrained from saying, I know.  "We just need to not cast higher ranked spells unless I've used one of my transformation spells.  The reaction isn't as debilitating if I'm bigger."

"Distance also has to be a factor," Giuseppe suggested.  "Hundreds of spells are cast all over the world all the time, and none of those affect you.  Maybe you could just run away when one of us casts a Significant or higher."

"With the rate at which we -- and everyone else apparently -- are receiving new spells," Theddrid said, "and given that the First Enunciation is in almost all cases involuntary, the casting of a major spell will almost certainly come without any warning.  You could be dead before you could cast one of your spells or run far enough away."

Everett glanced at Sarah.  Theddrid's almost certainly accurate prediction had caused her expression to darken once more.

"Then the rest of you would just have to wait around until my eleventh spell revives me," he said in a light tone.

"What we have to do," Sarah said with firm conviction, "is get to Eyrchelle, find Magic, and stop all this from happening."

"Yip yip yip yip."

"You must cause the watermelon," Poubelle translated.

"Right," Everett told the dog dryly.  "You keep saying that.  If you would explain what that means in more detail, we might be able to figure out how to get it done."

"Yip yip yip yip."

"The watermelon is the method --"

"Yip!"

"Er, that is, the process by which -- what was the rest again?"

"Yip yip."

"Oh, right.  The watermelon is the process by which technology is restored."

Everett threw up his hands.  "Right.  Still not helping."

"I wonder how far the geese have gone?" Poubelle asked.  "Do you think we could catch them again?"

"They could be waiting around the next bend," Giuseppe said over his shoulder.

Poubelle flashed a grin.  "That's fantastic!  I think I've already worn a blister on my foot."

"Or they could be fifty miles away," the import-export expeditor amended.

Poubelle groaned.

"Perhaps we have overlooked an opportunity," Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer proposed.  "If, as you have told me, this Magic person is actively abetting our quest, then would it not seem logical that she would also provide for this eventuality?"

"It's not a quest," Everett said automatically.  "It's not an adventure.  All that we are doing is trying to repair technology and stop the world from turning into a complete disaster.  There's no noble, heroic, or selfless motive here.  Let's be clear about that."

"I think Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer has a point, Everett," Theddrid said with sudden enthusiasm.  He stopped abruptly, causing -- Everett would have collided with him if he had not stopped -- everyone else to do so as well.

"Magic has been pulling our strings, perhaps since we left New Zin," the tinkerer continued, gesturing with both hands as he expounded. "She has been subverting the normal rules of magic to channel us towards Eyrchelle.  It's clear from what occurred in Alturia that she is aware, somehow, of what transpires with us and where we are.  Consider the synergy between Sarah's and the wizard's spells.  Doesn't it seem awfully convenient that the altered evincings of the two spells produced exactly the type of effect needed to extinguish the fires in Irkisnukberg?  As a supernatural being, it is a given that she will have supernatural knowledge.  I think she must know at this moment that we are afoot and will have tweaked a spell in some manner to provide us with alternative transportation or to reunite us with the geese."

"Maybe we shouldn't go," Marshlight hedged.  "Maybe we're the only ones in the whole world that can stop her and she's drawing us to her so that she can dispose of us."

Sarah shook her head.  "Magic has helped us every step of the way.  If she hadn't changed our spells, Irkisnukberg would have burned to the ground."

Everett looked around.  He was more than familiar with the spells of Sarah, Theddrid, Marshlight, Poubelle, and Giuseppe and none of theirs had any sort of Signaling Component.  Pauly was fortunate in that he was neither magicker nor mechanic.  As a mechanic, Bertram could only receive Epiphanies for schematics.

Everett turned to the wizard.   "Does your twelfth or thirteenth spell have a Signaling Component?"

"Ah, perhaps obliquely.  My twelfth spell produces a wooden dog whistle.  Unfortunately, most of the time the whistles do not work."

Theddrid slapped his hands together.  "Let's have one!  Easy enough to find out if it will call geese."

The wizard looked to Everett, apparently for permission.

The spell was obviously an Insignificant and thus should cause Everett no great distress, but that also should be obvious.  Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer was asking for leave to proceed, as if Everett were in charge.

As if the twelve of them (he would not under any circumstances count the dog, or, for that matter, the snake) were a heroic company on a grand adventure, a quest to save the world from evil.

Which was a load of utter crap.

But it would change nothing to say that and doing so would irritate Sarah.

Besides, he did not want Rose learning to say crap.

At least not from him.

"I certainly don't want to walk all the way to Eyrchelle," he said.  "Cast your spell and we'll see what happens."

The wizard nodded and stuck out his hand, palm upward.  "Here, boy!"

The actuation gave Everett an instant but short lived stomach ache.  The spell evinced after a count of twenty-seven.

A golden flute about eleven inches long appeared in Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer's hand.  Engraved with an unknown script that spiraled around from mouthpiece to open end, the flute had tiny gemstones, each a different vibrant hue, marking the finger holes.  The stones were arranged in proper spectral order, from red to blue.

Quite evidently pleased, the wizard picked up the flute with his free hand, studied it for a moment, then asked, "Shall I give it a go?"

Everett waved his hand.  "By all means."

The wizard brought the flute to his mouth, took a deep breath, and blew.

No sound came out, not even the simple rush of air from the end.

Pookie, however, began to howl and scratch at the air, causing Mike to release him from his harness and put him down.  The dog immediately sped off back up the highway about twenty yards, turned and yipped at them angrily, the little ruff of stiff hair atop his head bouncing in agitation.

"He said, that hurts," Poubelle provided.

"Looks like it works for dogs," Giuseppe said.  "Question is, does it work for giant magical geese?"

"I doubt that a goose's hearing is as keen as a dog's," Marshlight said.  "Even if it is, what's to say that the geese aren't out of range?"

"I would say that that would depend upon whether the call is entirely physical," her uncle replied, "or whether it also has some sort of magical assistance."

Everett scanned the sky over the thicker forest further down the slope to the west.  Below the few, puffy white clouds, the sky was clear.

"Don't see any geese.  Give the flute another go, for at least a full minute, so we can say that we gave it a fair test."

Again, no human detectable sound came out, but Pookie scratched at his ears and howled again for the entire time.

Everyone watched for a few minutes after the wizard stopped blowing, but there was still no sign of the geese.

Theddrid made a face.  "My apologies, everyone.  I was utterly convinced that that would work.  Apparently my theory needs more work."

"Nothing was lost," Sarah assured the tinkerer.  "We needed a short break anyway."

"That's right," Everett agreed.  "Let's get going again.  We'll have to make camp this evening and we're likely to find a nicer spot where the trees are thicker."

As the company began to move on, the wizard made to toss the flute aside.

"Hold on!" Giuseppe cautioned.  "Let me have a look at that before you get rid of it."

Overmeyer passed it over.   "It's not real gold.  Pure gold can't be formed well enough to make a musical instrument.  It's probably gold plated brass."

Giuseppe took out a pocket knife and made a small scratch.  "Yes, but it could very well be alloyed silver instead of brass."

The import-export expeditor examined the scratch, looked surprised, then used the point of his knife to make the scratch a tiny bit deeper and peered at it again.

"Huh.  In this case, I'd say that what you have here is fourteen karat gold." He handed the flute back to the wizard.  "It's probably worth four or five hundred silver in New Zin."

The wizard's eyes widened.  "Indeed?"  He raised the hem of his robe and took care to push the flute safely down into the pocket of his trousers.

A dozen switchbacks and almost two hours later, the highway leveled out a bit and curved around in a slow descent to the west.  Here, with the highway roughly paralleling the waterway, the Disorderly River was perhaps only a quarter of a mile off through the trees, and the sound of the rushing water was constant, though not loud enough to interrupt Mike, Giuseppe, and Theddrid as they casually discussed the history of the Royal Southern Highway.

Everett had been casually eavesdropping on their chat and had learned that that history involved a long dead Alarsarian king, the seductive daughter of a Count of a Southern Reaches' demesne not big enough to turn around in, unscrupulous factors, betrayal, adultery, buffoonery, some other sorts of stupidities, and a certain lost puppy.

The highway began to cross a number of small streams and dry gullies and all of these were spanned by well built stone bridges in the Alarsarian style, which was characterized by intricately fitted and beveled ashlars, tiny mortar seams, and alternating courses of greater and lesser thickness.  None of the bridges were wide enough to require more than a single arch, but a few of the wider streams required the roadbed to elevate to follow the higher arches, rising from a few feet to as much as two yards above the level of the highway.

As they approached one of these, Giuseppe abruptly stopped and thrust out an arm to point.  "Well, would you look at that! I've never seen one this close in the daylight."

A huge grey wolf of at least fourteen stone strolled up into view on the crown, and calmly sat down.  Giving the appearance of simply waiting, the predator watched them in an unexcited canine fashion.  It was perhaps twenty yards away.

"Sarah," Everett said evenly.  "You may have to use your ignition spell to scare it off."

"Say when, dear."  She unhooked Rose and handed her to him, then stepped out to the side to have a clear line of fire.

"Wait!" Theddrid urged.  "This is an odd enough occurrence to be possibly another intervention by Magic."

"It does seem not natural to me," Mike said.  "Where's the rest of the pack?"

Everett considered the wolf.  He had actually never seen one alive.  There was a bounty on then throughout the Edzedahl.  The ones that survived in the High Shadowed Hills were said to be smart enough to stay far away from people.

He gave Rose to Poubelle, walked to the edge of the pavement, bent down to pick up a piece of gravel, then turned and threw it towards the wolf.  The stone struck the bridge in front of it, made a high, skipping bounce, and flew by as the wolf leaned nonchalantly to its right to avoid the missile.  The slow dodge was its only reaction to Everett's attempt to scare if off.  It continued to watch the company in an impassive manner.

"Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, try the flute, if you please."

"Flute? Oh! Right!"  The wizard retrieved the conjured flute from his trousers and gave it a quick, soundless toot.

The wolf and Pookie both turned their heads up to howl, the one raw, echoing and wild and the other squeaky, weak, and irritating.  As soon as the wizard desisted, the wolf whuffed and growled at length.

"Yip yip yip yip!"

Poubelle's brow knitted.  "Uh, ah, the dog said that the wolf said I'm already here! Stop that racket and follow me!"

TWENTY-NINE

At the base of the Disorderly's last cataract, an unhurried and unperturbed twenty foot plunge of water ten yards wide, a small, roughly circular lake spread its shallow waters over an area of perhaps five acres.  Beyond the turmoil at the base of the waterfall, the surface of the lake almost undisturbed, protected from the wind by the forested hills that ringed it.  At the far western end, the lake narrowed between two modest bluffs and from there the river resumed its rocky course.

Out in the lake, swimming about in lazy unconcern, were the geese.

After leading them through the forest to a hill above the lake, the wolf had loped off without a single backwards glance.

The wizard was still carrying the flute in his hand.  "Does this mean that the flute will always signal a wolf that will lead us back to the geese?"

"Perhaps, but also perhaps not," Theddrid said.  "The spell alterations that we are experiencing are specific to our current needs.  The next time you use it, the effect could be entirely different."

"That violates every principle of magic that I have been taught," the wizard replied as he considered the shining golden flute once more, "but it does not yet seem to be a bad thing."

"When technology is restored, all our spells should go back to normal, right?" Marshlight asked.

Everett made a face.  His spells had remained altered even after Magic had been freed from her confinement in Rose.  "Not necessarily."

Rounding up the geese was a simple matter; all that the company had to do was to make their way down to the bank.  At sight of them, the flock waddled ashore, followed along back to the highway -- in order to have a long enough open space for take off -- and finally queued for departure.

It was late afternoon when the flock finally took to wing, bearing the company over the dwindling hills of the Unclaimed Flank, out above the lightly forested valleys of the Margin with their isolated bottomlands freeholds, and towards the lowering sun.

As dusk rapidly approached, Everett was, for the first time, in the lead.  With it acting as their constant guide, they flew above the Royal Southern Highway as it barreled, in a determined, more or less straight fashion, through the Margin towards the Alarsarian Plain.  His goose showed no sign of wanting to land and he was carrying on a mental debate on the merits of attempting to fly on into the dark (Would the geese even fly at night?) to make up lost time, when the sky ahead suddenly clouded and they flew into a rain shower.

The sting of the big drops on his exposed skin decided the matter and he nudged his mount into a descent, scanning ahead for a suitable landing along the highway.  Logging and farming had given much of the highway a wide and clear right of way, but in some spots the copses of hardwoods still crowded close enough for their reaching limbs to form a dense bower over the pavement.

The shower became a blinding downpour in less than a minute, and his mount's wings began to beat a harder tempo.  The goose's gliding path dipped suddenly into a sharp descent and then the ground rushed up at him.  The landing was rough and mostly unseen, as the downpour had become a torrent.

He dismounted from the goose while it was still moving and splashed through gathering puddles and the grey shapes of the other geese and their riders to reach Sarah and Rose.  Both were already drenched.  He helped them down and then dragged the ground sheet from out of Sarah's bedroll and spread it over the three of them.

With a disgruntled squawk, her goose squatted in place and tucked its head under its wing.

"I've never seen a rain as hard as this!" Sarah shouted at him over the roar of the falling water.

The raindrops were pounding his arms where he held up the groundsheet with the force of small stones.  "Me neither!"

The others began to gather around, all similarly drenched and all similarly huddling under their groundsheets, save for Harold, who apparently had not thought to fetch his.

Then, as if someone had turned off the tap, the rain ceased and its dreary darkness was replaced by a bright, orange twilight caused by the reddened light of the setting sun scattering through the wet air.

Everett let water pooled on the oilcloth held between his outstretched hands drain off to one side, then tossed it down.  They had landed on the highway and water was still coursing off the pavement into the brimming ditches to either side.  The ditches were draining rapidly, because it appeared that the torrent had only struck within an area of a few hundred yards.  Beyond that, the pavement and the ditches were dry.  Gritting his teeth to repress a curse, he removed his jacket and began to wring the water from it.

"We'll have to find a place with a good roof.  We'll need to sleep inside tonight," Sarah said.  She unhitched Rose and set her on her feet and went to her goose to remove her saddlebags and sodden blankets.

Their daughter immediately plopped down and started splashing in a puddle that had collected in a depression in the pavement.  Since she could not possibly get any wetter than she already was, Everett did not scold her.

"One of these farmers should have a barn that we can rent for the night," Sarah continued.

"The sooner the better," Marshlight said, hair plastered to her head and looking thoroughly miserable.  "I needed a bath, but I doubt that that did much good without soap."

None of them had had more than a wash up since leaving the inn created by make believe, and while Everett thought better of saying it, with appreciation he had often taken advantage of a cloudburst to get clean, clothes and all, during his wandering days in the Barony of Heimgelberg.

Poubelle, sitting down to empty the water out of his boots, volunteered, "I've still got a half a bar of soap in my saddlebags."

"Hold on to it," Sarah told him.  "At the next stream we cross, we'll all have a good scrub down."

Also having shed his jacket to wring it out, Theddrid said, "I hope that wasn't a spell.  A flood like that would be devastating if cast sequentially."

Giuseppe, quite unselfconsciously, had stripped off both his jacket and shirt to reveal his scarred and hairy, barrel-like chest.  "That wasn't a natural rain.  At least not for this part of the world.  I've heard tell of rains like that from sailors, but never on land."

Bertram had taken Ralph from his pocket and was emptying the dripping straw that was its bed.  The small reptile looked unhappy, but remained placidly wrapped around his keeper's wrist.

Mike just stood dripping, though he had put Pookie down to allow it to shake the water from its fur.  "That's right.  The Downward Islanders call them monsoons.  Rain so thick that you could cut it with a knife.  Fill a ship up to the gunwales before you could even think about finding a bucket to bail with."

Pauly was occupied with his first priority, wiping off the blades of his knives with an oiled cloth.  "I was watching Harold.  It wasn't his doing."

"Don't worry," Harold encouraged, wiping water from his face with both hands, "Weather should get all of this sorted out quickly."

Everett glared at the odd little man.  "So this is more of your interference?"

The sudden focus of attention of the entire company, Harold's grin vanished and he looked extremely uncomfortable. "Well, it was necessary, you see.  Weather's allotment had to be curtailed, of course.  She had many more waffles than she actually needed.  A few, entirely temporary, localized aberrations are to be expected."

"How many waffles did the Guild take from Weather?" Everett demanded.

Harold shrunk back in upon himself a little more.  "Well, half."

Everett's scowl deepened.  "How many is a few?"

"Oh, I'm sure that I couldn't say."

The little dog shook itself one last time, then sent a growl and a flash of teeth in the odd little man's direction.  "Yip yip yip."

Poubelle stood and began to hop around as he tried to pull one of his boots back on.  "He said yip yip yip."

Marshlight grabbed her husband's arm to steady him, then gave him an elbow in the side.  "Use your spell."

"Oh, right!"

Presently, the reformed drunkard said, "The little dog said that Weather's allotment has never been larger than the absolute minimum necessary and that we should expect weather conditions to grow progressively worse as more and more elements of the system elude her control."

It took considerable restraint on the part of Giuseppe, Bertram, Pauly, and Everett to prevent Marshlight from kicking Harold in the groin.

After spending an unrestful night in a sheep shearing shed, the company winged its way towards Eyrchelle at first light.

None voiced complaints when Everett roused them well before dawn and there was no wasted effort as a quick meal of conjured staples was consumed.  With the sole exception of Harold, everyone now displayed a greater sense of urgency, packing their gear aboard their geese without any wasted motion and mounting immediately.

They flew for better than twelve hours the first day, stopping for a brief break every three hours and eating lunch in the saddle.  By midmorning, they had reached the Heart River and used it to make their course.  By the time they landed for the night, they had covered nearly half the remaining distance to Eyrchelle and passed above a large fire burning uncontrolled through a wheat field, flew through a snow squall, and diverted around a mountain of ice sliding at a barely discernable creep towards a deserted village.

They slept that night clandestinely and in the open in the midst of a peach orchard, endured a heavy frost and a sweltering heat wave in the span of half an hour, and departed in the pre-dawn dark, tired and grumbling, with the goal of reaching Eyrchelle by the next nightfall.

They did not achieve that goal, but the lights of the grand jewel of the Kingdom acted as a beacon to guide them on for the last ten miles of their flight.

On their last landing, Everett had instructed Pauly, who rode the currently leading goose, to land outside the walls of the city.

This did not happen.

Well short of the city, under a mostly clear, starlit sky, Everett, flying in the third position of the right leg of the V behind Sarah and Rose and Theddrid, saw the conflict resolution specialist attempt repeatedly to direct his goose to land, but though the leader, with the flock following in tight formation, glided down to an altitude of perhaps two hundred feet, it did not descend any further.

Pauly turned his head about to shout a suggestion to Everett. "I can cut the bird's throat!  The others might reform with a different leader!"

And incidentally send Pauly falling to an almost certain death.

As Marshlight had warned, they appeared to have no choice but to continue on to whatever destination Magic had chosen.

"No!" he responded.  "But stand ready when we land!"

Though none of the others shouted any comment, it was clear that all had taken note of this newest development. He saw Sarah tightening Rose's straps.

For his own part, he simply waited.  All of the magickers in the company now had spells of unusual power and deadly effect.  Any unpleasant welcome that might await them would find their own greeting equally unpleasant.

Eyrchelle was a vast city, only perhaps half the size of New Zindersberg but easily twice as grand, with stately buildings built of her signature rose granite lining each of the thirteen avenues that radiated out from the palace on Royal Hill like the spokes of a wheel.  Eyrchelle also had thirteen gates to match those avenues and each of those connected to one of the Royal Highways.

In school, Everett had been taught that the storied capital of the Kingdom of Alarsaria had been built by the profits spawned by the demesne's great magic.

His own experience had taught him to believe that that had been an unmitigated, self-serving, and absolutely irredeemable lie.

The high walls of the city, old but well maintained brick ramparts built above ancient gargantuan bases of monolithic stone, were well lit by torchlight and by lights of obvious magical origin, and as they passed over them, he saw that one of the stories that he had been told was actually true.

Rising from the center of the palace that occupied Royal Hill, a slim tower, also built of rose granite and easily as tall as all of the incredible ten stories that were claimed for it, reached for the stars above.  Atop the Impossible Tower, which was rumored to have been raised up by a Potent cast by a long dead Alarsarian sovereign, was the huge red beacon of the Always, a magical fire that could not be extinguished.

There was much activity upon the well lit avenues and boulevards of the city as they flew over, but much of that activity, at least to Everett's eye, appeared to be of an official sort: patrolling gendarmes, marching companies of soldiers, lines of freight wagons carrying covered loads.  Patrons filled the cafes and many balconies and terraces were occupied with groups sitting to supper or just observing the gendarmes, soldiers, and wagons, but there were no parties or dancing in the squares and open spaces as was often the after supper activity in New Zindersberg and even in the smaller towns and villages of the Edzedahl.

The Royal Palace was more brightly lit than all the rest of the city and the flock carried Everett and the company directly towards it.  A maze of a hundred buildings constructed in a dozen different architectural styles and with a score or more of different colors of stone and brick, the palace had been built up over the long history of the Kingdom and had too little cohesiveness to be appealing to the eye, at least from the air.

When the lead goose locked its wings for a gliding descent, it banked to make a wide turn about the central tower to come onto a northwest bearing.  Directly ahead in that direction was a vast garden, its trees, flowers, and pathways not directly lit save for a small island of light at the far end.

As always, the geese came down quickly, efficiently, and gracefully upon a long, mall of pampered grass bordered by fountains, flowerbeds, shrubbery, secluded benches, and romantic alcoves.  Incidental light from beyond the garden's high walls lit the area well enough to get about but not well enough to reveal anyone or anything that might be hiding in or behind those fountains, shrubbery, benches, or alcoves.

Everett hit the ground before his mount had come to a complete stop and at that he was a few seconds behind Pauly, Giuseppe, and Bertram, who fanned out immediately to the front, right, and left.  Pauly had two of his long knives in his hands and the other two had somehow acquired -- Everett had not previously seen them. -- respectively, a gleaming short sword, and a black hobnailed club about a cubit long.

Sarah, Rose, Mike, Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, Poubelle, and Marshlight trotted up with their footsteps muffled by the thick lawn to join Everett.  Previously warned with severe bodily harm if he made any sound, Harold, quiescent, remained lashed to his saddle and his goose simply stood waiting nearby as all the rest of the flock, apparently having reached the end of the magical instructions that had brought them here, began to wander about to explore the possibility that any of the greenery might prove edible.

"What about him?" Marshlight asked in a low tone.

Everett had already decided to leave the odd little man confined until they discovered what surprises Eyrchelle might hold for them.

"He's fine where he is.  Poubelle, cast your translation spell."

When that was done, Everett addressed Pookie, still restrained in the harness that Mike wore.  "Where's Magic?"

"Yip."

"Straight ahead."

That would be the well lit far end, about seventy steps away, which appeared to be a sort of small, open air theatre, with half a dozen stone benches arranged in a semi-circle about a pair of vine-grown, freestanding square columns.  Outside of the row of benches, a paralleling line of wrought iron posts topped with bright lamps, whose white-blue hue suggested a magical source, provided the illumination for the theatre.

As Everett watched, a woman in a long flowing gown of loose and airy white and blue cloth strolled into view from behind the left column.  She had dark hair down the length of her back that was bound in cords of silver and gold.  It was too far for him to be sure, but the woman appeared to be too young, too tall, and too buxom to be the corporeal biologic of Magic that Everett had met previously.

He thought for a moment to proceed with only Pauly, Giuseppe, and Bertram, but decided that their real strength remained in the spells that the wizard, Sarah, Marshlight, Poubelle, and he could wield.

"Let's go."

The company moved across the intervening space at a slow walk and Everett, as did they all, watched ahead, behind, and to the sides for any movement or suggestion of ambush.

The woman, statuesque, strong featured, and no more than Sarah's age, was singing softly to herself in words that Everett could not quite catch and wandering about the columns and the benches with no apparent design.  She did not appear to notice them as they approached.  It was only when the company had stopped beyond the row of benches and was fully revealed in the light of the lamps that she turned and looked at them.

For a moment, she continued singing her song, a random blend of words that rhymed with "market."  The young woman had a clear, melodious voice and that kept the song from being grating on the ears, but it made entirely no sense.

Then a wide smile burst upon the woman's face and she raised her slender arms in welcome.  "Hello, great-granddaughter!  I'm just thrilled that you have arrived!"

When Sarah gasped, Everett looked closer at the woman's face.  There was indeed a suggestion of a resemblance to his wife and perhaps even more than a little to the remembered stodgy features of Magic's corporeal biologic, only with all wrinkles, blemishes, and asymmetries removed.

"Stand where you are or die!"

Everett knew that voice and always would.

It was the voice of a man whom he had thought killed.

It was the voice of Edwin Van Kelder, adequate Chemist, heartless betrayer, merciless killer, and despised Esati.

THIRTY

With a great racket that mixed the rattle of weapons and accoutrements, the snaps of breaking branches, the angry rustle of thrust aside leaves, and not a few curses prompted by thorn impalement, scores of men leapt from their places of concealment all about the theatre.  Some had bits of greenery fastened to their helmets and uniforms and many had paints of browns and greens layered on their faces and gear.  All were armed with swords or spears.  None carried pistols or rifles, implying that firearms had likewise become useless in the Alarsarian capital.

"Flammables, ignite anon!"

Pauly, Giuseppe, and Bertram all immediately hit the deck.

ZSSOOWOOOSH!

Passing over the ground hugging forms of the conflict resolution specialist, the import-export expeditor, and his nephew, Sarah's flaming missile, brightening the area like day, flashed out towards Edwin as the bulky man appeared from behind the right hand square column.

The ball of fire shattered into a thousand sparks before it struck Edwin, as if it had struck an invisible wall.

Pauly was up in a flash, four of his knives flung towards the chemist almost faster than Everett could see.

All four bounced off the same invisible wall.

"Bring the lightning!"  This enunciation came from one of the greenery clad ambushers.

The actuation of this Potent brought Everett to his knees but he fought off unconsciousness long enough to see a half-naked, blue and purple man dance from between the columns in Edwin's wake.

It was not so much a lightning bolt that struck the company, but rather a multitude of yard long arcs like the tiny ones created by disconnecting a battery lamp.

Everett fell to the ground, his body vibrating uncontrollably.  He could not exactly direct his gaze, but it seemed to him that all the other members of the company, Sarah and Rose included, had been likewise affected by the spell.

But then the affliction passed, the enhanced mending magic of his eleventh spell once more at work he knew, and he could both move and speak.  He catapulted himself to his feet and leapt up as high as he could.

"Take ye flight!"

His great golden wings beat down, carried him up, and then drove him forward and down at Edwin.

The invisible wall did not stop him.  The spell had expired or did not affect giant golden eagles.

But then the dancing blue and purple man cast a spell and again Everett heard the enunciation.

"Good things come in small packages!"

The world grew massive and Everett knew that he had shrunk.  When he drew near to his target, he was small enough to be swatted away with Edwin's hand.

Then giants caught him up in a net, wrapped him securely so that he could scarcely move, and jammed him immediately into a box.  When the lid was slid shut, he was in total darkness; his captors had not provided any air holes.

With the pressure from the cords of the net slackened, his claws and beak made short work of it but neither would even scratch the steel sides of the box and all that he could do was to screech in frustration.  He took up most of the room in the box and he could not unfurl his wings and had to tuck his head a bit to keep it from pushing uncomfortably against the lid.

He stopped screeching when the box was lifted and began to move.  He felt a strong desire to savage the sides of the box again, but restrained the futile impulse.  A slight rocking motion told him that he was being carried.  The walk was lengthy and involved mostly level travel with turns both right and left and then a long descent on stairs with multiple landings.  Then the box was unceremoniously tossed, and dropped, tumbling.

For just a second, he floated free in the confines of the box, then, still spinning, it struck something hard that made it ring like an anvil, and he was repeatedly slammed against the sides as the box rolled to a stop.

Still in a complete absence of light, he waited for something else to happen.

But nothing did.

He considered his options, found them non-existent.

All of his spells were unavailable; with an eagle's beak and throat, he was unable to enunciate the terms.

And without magic, he had ...

Nothing.

So he just waited.

And thought.

The lightning spell had not done any direct harm, it had simply incapacitated him and the same had to be true of Sarah, Rose, and the others.  That they also had been captured was a given.

For the sake of his current rationality, which he must maintain if he was to figure a way out of this, he had to assume that his family and friends were safe, if imprisoned as he was.

The first thing that he would have to do when he saw Marshlight again was to admit to her that her reservations about the geese had been absolutely correct.

Why Magic had colluded with Edwin would have to be determined.  She had, either passively or actively, always in the past supported his efforts to combat the evils promulgated and perpetuated by the chemist.  That she should aide him now seemed, on the face of it, counterproductive to her own previously stated aims.

Speculating about Edwin -- how he was still alive, how he had come to be in Alarsaria, what evil scheme he might now be pursuing -- did not strike Everett as a productive use of his time.  Eventually, he would find all that out, one way or the other.

Squatting there, wings furled, he found that staring into the blackness made his head ache slightly and closed his eyes to see if the ache would go away.

After an unknown length of time -- it could not have been hours as he did not feel at all rested -- he roused and realized that he had fallen asleep.

He was still in the box and he still could not see anything.

He raised his hand and rubbed the ache in his forehead, gave a start, and then continued rubbing his forehead as he climbed to his feet.

The effect of his spell had expired, and he was back in his own flesh, but that of the strange blue and purple man's spell had not.  He was still tiny.

Of course, he was also naked, but under the current circumstances, he did not consider public embarrassment -- his or others -- to be a significant problem.

Transformations of size were very rarely permanent.  He hoped that he was not unlucky enough for this to be one of those extreme cases.

But now he could cast his spells.  If one of them could not get him out of the box, then he might have to find out if a full size man could fit in a four inch steel container.

The obvious candidate was his first spell, which had categorical targeting rather than specific targeting, meaning that its focus could be any item within a category rather than a specific type of item.  As originally evinced, his premier spell had rung brass chimes and bells.  When altered by Magic to advance her plots, it had transformed swords into goo.  Now enhanced by the elimination of technology, in Alturia it had transformed rifles into giant sunflowers.  One common element of all three evincings was that the targets were metal.  That did not mean that it would work on the steel box, but he thought that it was worth a try.

And he saw no reason to wait.  He reached out his hand to the cold steel wall in front of him to establish a focus.

"Ding Dong!"

He had half-expected an avalanche of sunflowers but as dim light and tepid air washed over him, the stem of a single giant sunflower thrust him backwards as it came into being and the steel box vanished.

He landed on his bottom with bruising force but managed to keep from sprawling completely by throwing back his hands. Before rising, he examined his surroundings.  He could see what lay about him now, but not very well.  What little light there was filtered down from far above, a square of inconstant yellowish light that suggested torches rather than lamps.

He was at the bottom of a four sided vertical shaft.  Grimy and water streaked, the walls were built of dry fitted dark stone.  The floor, more or less level, appeared to be composed of compacted filth and decayed rubbish, including some bits that were recognizable as bone.  The walls were blank and featureless, with no niches or protrusions that might permit him to climb out.  In comparison to his present size, the stone blocks were huge, twice his height and double that in width.  Likewise, the flower was as large as a toppled tree and stretched from one side of the shaft to the other.

Still tired, he scooted backwards a little to rest his back against the wall and considered his next move.

He could not climb out, but he might be able to fly out.  If the transformation of his twelfth spell were relative rather than absolute, then he would transform to become perhaps eight times his current height.  That would make him about four feet tall in real terms.

He frowned.  His wingspan would be about two and a half times his transformed height -- so about ten feet in his diminished size.  Assuming that this current sunflower was the same relative size as the Alturian sunflowers and using it as a measure, then the shaft could not be more than six feet square.

So, he could not fly out.

But beak and talons might give him better purchase in the seams between the stones than fingertips and allow him to scale the wall.

However, if the transformation were absolute, then as he transformed he would grow to a height of perhaps fifty feet and a wingspan of one hundred and twenty-five feet.  That giant would not fit within the shaft at all and bird flesh and bone, no matter how overlarge, would not push aside stone if it were backed by solid earth.

If he were crushed to death by his own size, then his passive tenth spell would attempt to revive him -- as an eagle that would not fit in the shaft and which must again be crushed to death.  There seemed a real possibility that he could be trapped in an excruciating cycle of repeated death and resurrection until the effect of his transformation spell expired.

But he would not know until he tried.  He stood up to make ready for the transformation.

And felt a sudden moment of disorientation as the shaft and the sunflower dwindled and he expanded to his proper size.  The effect of the blue and purple magicker's spell had expired.  The sunflower, still large but not gargantuan, lay at his feet and the top of the shaft was a still inaccessible twenty feet or so above him.

Everett cursed, at length and with vehemence, using all the words that he could not say in front of Rose.

Without any warning, a brighter light shone down the shaft.  "Hello?"

The tentative call made Everett break off his venting and look up.  At the top of the shaft, below a barrel vaulted ceiling, the head, shoulders, and left arm of Exposition were visible.  Wearing a dusty leather apron, the ginger had a lantern in his left hand, aiming it down the shaft.

"Yes?" Everett demanded.  "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing.  Just a palace drudge here, doing his regular job of sweeping up."

"Right.  So you have something to expound upon?"

"Common palace drudges don't expound, but if they did, there would be several things that I might mention, one of them being the fact that you're in this sump because it's the one place in all the palace that your spells cannot get you out of."

"I was rapidly coming to that conclusion.  What else?"

"Would you mind ever so much tricking me like you did the last time?  That would help me stay out of trouble with the Guild."

"Alright.  Consider yourself tricked."

The ginger just waited.

Everett sighed.  "Meanwhile..."

Exposition grinned.  "Meanwhile, the other members of our heroic group were imprisoned far above Everett's subterranean cell at the top of the Impossible Tower.  All were bound and gagged, even his sweet little daughter Rose, to prevent them from using their magic.  Save for the fair Sarah and the angelic Rose who had been preserved only by the intervention of Magic herself, all have been condemned to public execution on the morrow by the heartless Grand Vizier Edwin, first minister of Her Majesty Magic, The Eternal and Immortal Goddess and Queen of all the domains of the New Alarsarian Empire."

Everett repressed an impulse to spew another flood of curses.  "Tell me more."

Exposition gestured with his lamp in an encouraging way.

"Uhm, unbeknownst to Everett..."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather use Little did he know this time.  You have to change up the phrasing to keep it interesting, even though you're saying the exact same thing."

"Fine by me."

Exposition cleared his throat.  "As Everett stared gloomily up at the tiny square of light above him, little did he know that only a few feet away, six dedicated members of the Technological Resistance Movement were digging furiously to reach the sump to which he had been consigned.  One of their own, a Richard Dawkings, husband of Diane, father of three, and a Technologist of great repute in the hinterlands, had been trapped there for some days prior to Everett's capture but had been spirited away in secret the morning before to a harsh exile in the Forest of Pund.  Needless to say, both they and Everett would be surprised when they broke through into the shaft."

"How long will it be before those fellows get here?"

"Oh, sorry. Within no more than half an hour, their efforts would breach the pit.  Would you like some advice from a common drudge?"

"Of course."

"I'd stand on the opposite side of the shaft, if I were you.  And cover your head.  Their excavation is a few feet above you."

"Thanks."  Everett moved to the other side.  "Could you fill me in on this Technological Resistance Movement?"

"Well, I can't really just answer questions.  That's way outside of the guidelines."

"I mean as exposition.  It'll save a bunch of questions when they arrive."

"Oh, right, I see what you mean.  It would be an introductory paragraph giving condensed background that would dispense with a long dialogue that contained the same information.  That would save a bunch of boring back and forth.  Omniscience usually sorts out those sorts of things but let me think a minute.  Hmmmm.  Hmmmmm.  Ah, okay, I've got it."

"An organization of dedicated mechanics, technicians, and technologists, the Technology Resistance Movement had come into being to combat the egregious depredations of Grand Vizier Edwin and his oppressive Ministry of Magic.  Led by the charismatic Master Technologist Manuel de Polvo, known only to most as Number Eighty-Seven, the secretive group seeks the overthrow of the heinous new regime and a restoration of technology in the realm of Alarsaria, so that all men, of whatever mystical gifts, can hold their heads high in the light of day and proclaim the freedom of the individual spirit."

"All that?  One thing though.  Egregious depredations?  Couldn't you just use something more comprehensible like 'offenses' or something of that nature?"

"Well, I could, but where else could one use those words?  People don't say things like that aloud so it would never appear in dialogue."

"Right.  "Do you have any more of those?"

"Those what?"

"The Unbeknownst and the Meanwhile things."

"I have a number of variations of those primaries, but those plus the negative riposte adverbs are the basic toolkit."

"Riposte adverbs?"

"Unfortunately, sadly, however, that sort of thing."

"Ah.  Good to know.  Why are you helping me?"

"I'm not helping you.  I'm just a common drudge.  But if I was helping you and I wasn't just a common drudge, it would be because they've captured Omniscience and are torturing her for information."

"Is that how they kept track of us?"

"As a common drudge, I couldn't say, but omniscience does mean all knowledge."

"Right.  Thanks."

A loud crack, as of a pick striking stone, sounded through the shaft, drawing Everett's eyes up to a large block on the other side of the shaft that had been pushed outward slightly.

When he glanced back upward, Exposition was gone.

THIRTY-ONE

A soiled, bearded face peered through the now shoulder sized hole.  "Richard!  It's me, Henri!  I mean, Number Twelve!"

"Your friend has been taken to the Forest of Pund," Everett supplied.

Henri peered down at him.  "You're naked."

"Hazard of the trade."

"What trade?"

"Hero work."

"Oh, I see what you mean."  Henri disappeared back into the hole and Everett heard some heated whispering, then Henri reemerged.  "Who are you?"

"Everett de Schael."

"De Schael?  I've heard of you!  You're the wizard that ended the last war and started that revolution up in the Republic!  Just a sec."

After a few more minutes of heated whispering, Henri once again poked his head out of the hole.  "Why are you here?"

"It's the one place in the palace that my spells can't get me out of."

"Oh.  Well, does that mean that you're not here to help the Grand Vizier and the Ministry of Magic?"

"Absolutely.  I've come to Eyrchelle to restore the balance between magic and technology."

"So you've heard of the Technology Resistance Movement?"

"Just recently, yes."

"Hold on one more minute."

Again Henri withdrew, held consultation with his as yet unseen compatriots, then popped out again.  "Would you happen to know why all of our mechanisms have gone widdershins?"

"Yes, but that's a rather long tale."

"Ready to get out of this hole, eh?  Well, come on then.  We'll take you to meet Number Eighty-Seven."

Henri reached down a hand.

Chopped and hacked through hard white clay, the first six feet of the tunnel was just big enough to crawl through. Then it was tall enough to crouch in and shored up with timbers and planks and lit with small oil sconces.  Here, Henri passed him a filthy set of coveralls and Everett quickly donned them.  Trying to keep their besmudged faces averted from Everett's gaze, Henri's compatriots, five equally grimy diggers equipped with picks, shovels, and lanterns, went ahead of them.

The crouching tunnel passed through a fresh breach into a steeply sloping, brick lined and arched passage that had several inches of black water running along the bottom.  The diggers and Henri went uphill, splashing through the muck without apparent concern, and Everett held his nose and followed.

Their path through the sewers was a right, a left, another right, up, down, up again, and finally a wooden ladder leading up through a circular hole into the light.

Henri's compatriots had already absconded by the time Everett followed him up through the hole into the expansive, but musty wine cellar, and only the digger and another man awaited Everett, who paused for a quick look about.

A few of the sconces on the ends of the rows of floor to ceiling wine racks were lit and a thousand sparks of light reflected from the multitudinous stacked dark bottles, but most of the vaulted space was in shadow.  Nothing out of place for a wine cellar -- no tables with hastily scrawled plans, no racks of keenly sharpened weapons, no blackboards with intricately drawn makes -- was present, intimating that the Resistance's occupation of the cellar was as a temporary convenience rather than as a base of operations.

The waiting leader was a tall, thin, and bony, and possessed the long fingered hands of a watchmaker.  Leaning against an ale barrel, he observed Everett ascend from the sewers with poorly disguised suspicion.

"Manuel de Polvo?" Everett asked him.

The man frowned and stood straighter, casting his eyes about as if checking the shadows for skulkers.  "How do you know me?"

"A palace drudge told me about you and about the Technological Resistance Movement."

The head of the Resistance relaxed slightly.  "Quite a number of the palace staff have joined our movement, but that is a serious breach of security protocols and could result in a severe reprimand for the offending member.  In any event, we don't use names in the Resistance.  You may call me Number Eighty-Seven and we will call you Number Five Hundred Sixty-Two."

"Thanks, but I prefer to be called Everett."

De Polvo shrugged.  "Number Twelve has said that you are willing to tell us about the spell that the Grand Vizier is using to suppress the operation of all mechanisms here in Alarsaria."

"It's not a spell and it's not only in the Kingdom.  Technology has been disabled throughout the world.  That's why my friends and I have come to Eyrchelle.  We aim to restore Technology."

De Polvo nodded.  "We had heard rumors that other demesnes were experiencing problems with their technology, but yours is the first direct confirmation that the disaster has struck the entire world.  It does seem odd, however, that you, a wizard, would want to champion technology, rather than join the forces of the Queen Goddess."

"I just want to see things returned to normal.  Magic will never be able to replace technology.  How did that come about, by the way?"

"Which?"

"The new regime.  What happened to King Olaebrand and the rest of the Royal Family?"

"They all abdicated, down to that eighth cousin who ran the manure operation in the Friardom of Pyagt. Everyone knew that it was some sort of spell, but once the Ministry of Magic began to arrest protesters, no one dared say anything."

"And the Queen Goddess?"

"She appeared at the gates of the city three weeks ago, right after the Grand Vizier took power.  She was riding on a golden chariot drawn by six black unicorns.  The Grand Vizier immediately proclaimed her the literal embodiment of magic and installed her on the Chartreuse Throne."

"What's a unicorn?"

"No one here had ever heard of one either.  According to the Ministry of Magic's propaganda, it's a unique mythical symbol of strength and ability and signifies the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy that just so happens to designate the Queen Goddess as the rightful sovereign of Alarsaria.  It's mostly a horse with this spiral horn about a foot long coming out of its forehead.  They keep them in the Royal Menagerie.  We thought at first that the horns were just glued on, but one of our operatives got close enough to check."

De Polvo considered Everett for a moment.  "If you wish to see technology restored, perhaps you and our resistance group should form an alliance."

"Sounds good.  I need to get to my friends.  Can you lead me there?"

"Impossible!  The Tower is defended by a hundred Red Boot Guards from the Ministry of Magic and a score or more of wizards.  It would be suicide."

"Alright, then at least give me directions."

"If I did so, I would be complicit in your death."

"Death is not an issue for me.  I have a spell for that."

"That's nonsense.  The Technological Resistance Movement cannot endorse such an ill considered plan.  If, on the other hand, you would like to work with us to organize a well-reasoned tactical and strategic plan of action that would once and for all throw off the yoke of oppression from the downtrodden shoulders of the freedom loving people of Alarsaria, then the courageous supporters of our Movement might be able to join with you to march shoulder to shoulder against our evil oppressors."

"How long would that take?"

"Six months, at a very minimum.  All of the relevant subcommittees would have to be assembled, consider the various options, and report back to the Executive Committee.  After the Executive Committee has created a draft plan, it will have to be referred to the Oversight Committee and once they have given tentative approval, the Feasibility Committee will have to --"

"Right.  I think that I'll just head out on my own, then."

Number Eighty-Seven threw up his hands.  "On your head be it, then."

Everett shrugged and turned to Henri.  "Would you point me towards the exit?"

The grimy Resistance digger looked dubious.  Number Eighty-Seven shot him a negative look, but Henri ignored it.

"Are you really going to assault the Impossible Tower and attempt to overthrow the Grand Vizier and his evil minions all by yourself?" he asked.

Everett did not smile.  "Something like that."

The dirt encrusted Resistance digger grinned and thrust out an arm to point.  "Straight ahead, take a right, up the stairs."

"Thanks."

"You should speak to Number Thirty-Two.  She's keeping watch by the garderobe near the end of the hallway that's at the top of the stairs. She works here in the Palace and could tell you everything you need to know about it."

"What does she look like?"

"Not bad looking, a little plump, about thirty-ish, blondish hair.  As she's a ground floor maid, she'll be wearing a blue apron."

"Got it.  Thanks again!"

Straight ahead was two dozen paces down the central aisle of the wine racks.  As he made the corner, Everett heard heated whispering start up behind but dismissed it.  The right was a short hallway with old stonework walls and a barrel ceiling, also lit with sconces, and the stairs a wide, spiral stone stair that went up for at least two storeys to an overly large and thick, heavy timber door with an iron bar across it.

Trying to make as little sound as possible, he approached the door, raised the bar and leaned it with care against the wall, and then lifted the latch so that he could crack the door and peer through the gap.

There was a spacious hallway without, well lit with ornamental brass lanterns suspended from silvered chains. With clean cream marble floors and white raised paneling on the walls, this hallway had to be a passage through the main part of the palace rather than the hoped-for service back hallway, which might have made sneaking about more convenient.  In his soiled coveralls, he could hardly hope to not be confronted by any of the palace denizens.

He opened the door just far enough to poke his head out for a quick look in both directions.  No one was within sight.  To the right, the hallway went only a dozen paces to a tee.  To the left, the hallway went perhaps fifty paces to open out into a larger area.

So, was "the end of the hallway" the tee or the open area?

He decided that it did not matter, stepped out and went left.

He had only gone about half way when a squad of soldiers in distinctive maroon boots and sky blue jackets marched into view at the open end of the hallway.

"Manure, gather ye into a pile!"

He turned immediately and ran.  The actuation slammed him like a physical blow, making him stagger, but he kept to his feet and continued.  Behind, he heard the angry roars of big cats, shouts and curses, and then screams.  When he turned the corner of the tee going right, he caught a glimpse of really big, black maned lions and fleeing Red Boots.

A door to the left opened and a maid emerged to gesture at him insistently.  He dashed into the room -- a scullery from the washing vats and dirty pots and pans -- without paying much attention to the woman as she shut the door behind the two of them.

When he turned to offer his thanks, he saw...

Petunia LaSalle.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded of her without raising his voice.

She made a face at him.  "How do you think that you have gotten this far?  Did you think that a company of heroic adventurers comes together all by itself?"

THIRTY-TWO

Everett gave her a sour look.  "I should have known."

Mademoiselle LaSalle made a dismissive gesture as she crossed the room towards another door.  "We don't have time for chit chat.  Come on.  You have to rescue the others."

He followed.  There did not seem to be any better option at the moment.  "So this whole affair has been a plot by you and Technology.  Were you actually ever in that Phloreedah place?"

Petunia opened the door and went through into the next room, a long and narrow space that was a dry vegetable pantry with bins of potatoes, radishes, turnips, and onions mounted to the walls to either side.

"I was as long as the Guild was watching," she told him over her shoulder without slowing her hurried pace.  "I've been here, keeping my head down, since you left Alturia."

He stopped and she continued on a few steps before she spun about in exasperation.

"Not another step until you tell me everything," he insisted.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll rescue my family and friends and we'll all retreat to Kleinsvench and stay there while the world falls apart.  You, Technology, Magic, and all the rest of you can sort out your problems all by yourselves."

"Technology doesn't have any power in this world at the moment and I can't risk exposure.  The Guild would instantly strip away my entire allotment of waffles if I was discovered and I would also be powerless.  It's you or nothing, Everett.  Do you want to see the entire world ravaged by unrestrained magic?"

"I missed the part where I was appointed guardian of the entire world."

Petunia poked herself in the chest with a thumb.  "Destiny, remember?  As a Prime Focus, you can only have one role in this story and I get to choose it, not you.  You cannot escape the fact that you are my Designated Hero.  I have tweaked everything to bring you to this place at this time in order for you to do what only you can do."

"That's a load of horse manure."

"Well, start shoveling, baby, because you're up to your neck."

He grimaced.  "Sarah and Rose and the rest getting captured by Edwin -- was that you or Magic?"

"That was all Edwin.  He's running the show here in Eyrchelle.  Magic's corporeal biologic doesn't have two straight thoughts to rub together to make a fire."

"What does that mean?"

Petunia rolled her eyes.  "Her snowshoes have holes in them."

"What are snowshoes?"

She glared.  "The light at the end of her tunnel is out."

"I still don't get your meaning.  Why don't you just say it in plain language."

"How about, her bucket doesn't hold water?"

"Oh.  She's crazy."

"As a bedbug.  It's called Waffle Overload.  The pathways of a non-corporeal sentient entity's corporeal biologic's brain cannot contain the potentialities of unlimited waffle utilization.  As soon as the free waffles in the environment built up to a certain level, she lost the ability for cogent thought.  She has been in Edwin's thrall since shortly after her triumphal arrival in the city."

"She would have known that would happen and would not have inhabited her corporeal biologic," Everett countered.

"She thought that the dozens of Guild members who had inhabited corporeal biologics prior to her arrival in the corporeal realm would have absorbed some of the excess capacity.  That didn't happen."

"Why not?"

"Edwin has been searching them out and killing them for the last two months."

"So he has your book?"

"'The first copy was destroyed and I have not spawned another in this universe.  Edwin's pet wizard has a spell that will locate anything."

"That's the Blue and Purple Man?"

"Blue and purple? Oh, right. He paints his skin instead of wearing clothes.  But, yes, that's him."

"Did his pet wizard bring him to Eyrchelle to capture Magic?"

"Yes, but carrion always draws maggots.  Now, we have to go right now if you want to save Poubelle. It's half an hour till dawn and he's scheduled to take a dive promptly at daybreak."

She turned about and rushed towards the far door without a backwards glance.

Gritting his teeth, he followed.

She led him through another pantry hung with smoked meat, then into the kitchens where he drew stares but no outcry from the maids cleaning up, then up a narrow and utilitarian service stair.  Before opening the door at the fourth floor landing, she paused.

"There's no way into the Tower but along the main corridor.  It's straight through here.  The only stairway is at the center of the Tower and there are guards on every landing.  Edwin keeps his stable of wizards with him at all times and they'll be watching the executions from the observation balcony on the top level.  The prisoners are all being held on the floor below that."

"You're not coming."

"I can't be seen by Make Believe.  The Guild still holds sway in the non-corporeal realm and if my allotment is revoked, all the things that I have set in motion will fail.  My influence on your destiny will swing the combat to your advantage.  For one thing, Edwin's evil minions will have severe difficulty in hitting you with spells or weapons.  But destiny isn't magic and can't have demonstrative or overt effects.  You have to defeat Edwin by your own efforts."

"What happens after that?"

"Technology takes care of everything after you defeat Edwin.  He was supposed to explain to you how to reset the mythical environment."

"All that we have been able to get out of him is that we need to 'cause the watermelon.'"

She made a disparaging sound.  "I should have known not to trust a being with a brain the size of a walnut.  You have to reboot technology."

"And what does reboot mean?"

"Oh, for Magic's sake!  It just means restart.  You have to go to the Temple of the Original Schematic in the Frozen Mountains and use your schematic to restart technology."

"Never heard of either place and I don't have a schematic.  I'm a wizard and can't have schematics."

"Technology will lead you where you need to be and if you don't have the schematic yet, it's because he hasn't gathered enough waffles yet to inspire it."

"Still a wizard."

"As a Prime Focus, the regular rules don't apply to you.  That's already been established and you should just accept it as a fact."  She opened the door.  "Poubelle has twenty-three minutes before he tries to learn how to fly, so you need to hurry."

Once again with no option, he went through the door.

The hallway decor was the same as the one that he had seen below -- cream marble on the floor and raised paneling in pearl on the walls -- but this hallway also had faux round, rose marble columns along its sides.  The niche where each column met the wall was deep enough to hide within and that is exactly what he did when he darted through the door.

Once tucked behind the nearest column on the right, he took a breath, then peeked around.  Reflecting the cream floors and white walls of the rest of the palace, the stairwell was perhaps two score paces away.  A half wall of rose stone capped in speckled cream granite stood in place of an inside baluster.  Two Red Boots were posted at the open entrance to the landing, both with their backs towards him.  Both were apparently deaf, considering that they had not turned at the sound of his still echoing footsteps.  Armed with wicked looking polearms, both were standing at ease, doing the slow, deliberate dance of alternately shifting their weight from foot to foot that anyone who had stood on their feet for a while defaulted to.

He debated for a moment between cats and broccoli -- as yet untried in its enhanced form -- and decided to play it safe.

Stepping out, he catfooted it towards the guards.  "Manure, gather ye into a pile!"

It was leopards this time and he ran through, ignoring the gut wrenching pain inflicted by the actuation, while the guards, backed into the corner of the landing and looking thoroughly disbelieving, were trying to fend off the four unhappy felines.

However, the roars of the big cats and the shouts of the cornered guards was echoing up and down the stairwell, and the sounds of pounding footsteps from both above and below signaled that reinforcements were on the way.

He went up the wide granite steps, still at a run, paused at the interfloor landing, spun about to choose a lower step as a focus, and cast his third spell.

It was indeed giant broccoli that popped into being like a sudden burst of popcorn.  But then there were cauliflower and cabbage, and radishes, and even a carrot or two.  Within twenty seconds of the first evincing, an avalanche of humongous vegetables had tumbled down to block the entire stairway.

When he ran on, blood dripped upon the steps; the actuation had given him a nosebleed.

The two guards coming down from the next floor stopped when they saw him and brought their halberds to bear.

"Ding Dong!"

While the two Red Boots were goggling at the giant sunflowers that they now held, he rushed close, swung a right cross as a feint at the one on the right, then kicked the man in the groin.  The second threw down his flower and lunged at Everett, but he had already dodged around his mewling victim and sprinted on up the stairs, gifting the pair with a potato blizzard, complements of his seventh spell.

When he made the vacated next landing, he was coughing up blood, but he kept going, trusting in his passive mending spell to take care of the physical damage that the actuations were wreaking upon him.

Shouted orders from above called for the guards ahead of him to retreat to the uppermost floor and indeed he encountered no other Red Boots on the next eight landings.  He ran out of breath after the first two of these four floors and his pace fell to a struggling, one foot after the other climb, but the hacking and coughing from his last spell actuation had faded.

When he approached the ninth landing, the last before the highest floor, a great brown bear, snarling and gnashing, came charging down at him.

THIRTY-THREE

Three tigers and a bear fighting on the stairs left little room for Everett.  He went over the half wall just before a whirling ball of fur, teeth, and claws tumbled down the stairs over him.  The well was twenty feet across.  The eagle would not be able to fly, but it should fit.

It did, but with little room to spare.

So little to spare that he was jammed in, legs bunched under wings and wings pinned, restricted in all directions by the structure of the stairwell.  He could scarcely move from side to side and could not get a purchase on the half walls with his talons, but he could wiggle upwards and that he did until his head was high enough to look out of the well at the highest level.  Instantly, his eyes darted back and forth, taking everything in at incredible speed.

The top of the Impossible Tower was a single, wide open, circular room with on the left a free standing rose marble staircase that appeared to lead up to the roof, a carpeted area with lounges and padded leather chairs to the front center, and a set of glass doors leading out to the balcony beyond the lounging area.

The place was crowded.  Perhaps fifty Red Boots were arrayed in two adjacent tight ranks.  One faced Everett and the stairwell and the other the head of the stairs.  Identified by their ridiculous robes, behind the soldiers were a group of tense and watchful wizards, with one, a stocky, shorter man, waiting a little apart from the others.  Behind the wizards stood the Blue Purple Man, wearing (aside from his painted skin) a dirty breechclout, a handful of bedraggled chicken feathers, and some primitive bone jewelry.  Edwin, in a gold bedecked red uniform, a sneer, and alert, darting eyes, stood with the Blue Purple Man.

In front of the rank facing the stairs, Sarah, from all appearances unrestrained and holding a wide-eyed Rose, stood alongside Magic.  Contrary to what Exposition had told him, neither was currently gagged.  The Queen Goddess had a vacant, half-amused expression and was swaying slightly as she hummed to herself.  All the rest of the company, with wrists bound behind them, were lashed to metal chairs that had been put in a row near to the head of the stairs.  From Bertram to Theddrid -- why they would be arranged alphabetically was something that would have to be determined -- all ten were securely gagged, with wadded cloths jammed in and tied in place, and blindfolded by means of black bandanas.  Behind Mike, the little dog, Pookie, was muzzled, caged, and from his body language thoroughly dejected.

All eyes were focused on Everett.  Some of the Red Boots brought the crossbows in their hands to bear.

"Duck, Everett!" Sarah shouted with snarling vehemence.

He did.

ZSSOOWOOOSH!

The fire ball singed his feathers as it passed across the well, but he felt the actuation as a mere pin prick.

He looked up as soon as it had passed to see the missile impact the wizard who stood apart and those soldiers who stood nearest him.  The missile exploded with a great concussion and a battering sound, and the targeted men went flying.  Some were on fire as they pinwheeled by. The rest of the Red Boots and their supporting wizards scattered in disarray.

ZSSOOWOOOSH!

ZSSOOWOOOSH!

These two missiles shattered on another unseeable wall that now stretched out in front of Edwin and his gesticulating cohort, but the extraneous soldiers and the wizards were too busy trying to dodge behind that not large bulwark to be of any threat.

Everett started trying to claw his way up onto the floor, but no matter how much he scratched and fought, he was just too big in his present form to fit between the ceiling and the half wall that surrounded the well.

ZSSOOWOOOSH! ZSSOOWOOOSH! ZSSOOWOOOSH! ZSSOOWOOOSH!

Sarah's continuous barrage was so fierce that a wall of fire came into being where the missiles struck the invisible shield.  This kept the soldiers and the wizards at bay, but it was clear from his angry gestures and vigorous shouting -- which Everett could not understand due to the noise of the bursting fire -- that Edwin was exhorting his men to attack.

It was a stalemate: Everett was stuck where he was, Sarah could not ease her attacks for even a single moment, and the Red Boots and wizards were safe, but confined behind their magical barricade.

Everett let his mind wander, trying to steer his thoughts away from the basic avian impulses of kill and feast.

He needed to make believe.

And hope that Harold would pick it up.

Pauly's ropes would be just a little bit loose.  Perhaps the Red Boot who had fastened him to his chair had been distracted by a tooth ache or a fight with his wife or a fight with his wife who had a tooth ache.  The slack would be just enough for the conflict resolution specialist to work his wrists back an forth repeatedly, slowly stretching and relaxing the rope to work in more slack, so that finally he could snake one of his unusually strong and supple wrists free...

Everett twisted his head around to scan the captives.  Harold, obviously, could not bring his hands to his forehead and Everett was uncertain whether his demeanor indicated constipation or just plain terror.  Pauly looked entirely relaxed and did not appear to be moving his wrists or indeed any part of his body whatsoever.

But, then, in a flash, Pauly had one hand free, his blindfold off, and was vigorously attacking the knots in his ropes.

Everett screeched in glee.  As soon as the rest of the company were free, the same new spells that had defeated the stone creatures should make short but messy work of Edwin and his supporters.

But Edwin, having seen Pauly get free, was not going to give them the chance to do that.

The chemist and his pet wizard had bolted for the roof stairs.

Sarah saw the two running away and stopped casting for a few seconds, then sent a single fireball aimed slightly higher. Instead of being intercepted, this one sailed through, passed over the heads of the remaining Red Boots and cowering wizards, and struck the ceiling and wall, exploding in a shower of flaming bits that splashed over the Alarsarians, making them duck and dodge and pat frantically at ignited flames where some of the fragments had landed on their clothing.

"I know that the shield was Wizard Ptolectomy's spell," Sarah called with a nasty expression to the trapped men.  "Lay down your arms and surrender or burn."

Halberds and bladed weapons of all sorts began to hit the floor and empty hands began to be raised all around.

Evidently, the abandoned soldiers and wizards were not irretrievably committed to the Grand Vizier's cause.

Needing Giuseppe's spell to transform him back into himself, Everett screeched at Pauly, who was free but had begun to work on Poubelle's bonds.

Pauly swung his head around and Everett jabbed his beak towards the import-export expeditor, who was seated at the other end of the row, and screeched again emphatically.

Happily, the conflict resolution specialist caught on straightaway and, leaving Poubelle half untied, ran to Giuseppe.

Impatient, Everett tried to squeeze his way further into the chamber, but made no progress whatsoever.

Then Giuseppe ran up.  "Recover thy true nature!"

The world grew abruptly and Everett found himself dangling over the half wall, his hips, legs, and feet unsupported in the stairwell, and his hands pawing futilely at the smooth capstone for a hold.

Giuseppe caught one of his wrists in both of his hands and began yelling for help and within a few seconds Poubelle and Pauly rushed up and dragged Everett bodily over the barrier.

With Sarah, a fierce gleam in her eye, still covering the cowed minions, Everett -- in spite of his total lack of clothing -- made a beeline for the roof stairs.  When he pounded to the top and burst out through the door, he found the summit, lit like day by the red light of the Always which hovered twenty feet above it, as bare as he was.  He immediately ran to the parapet to scan the dark sky above the city, but found no sign of Edwin and the Blue Purple Man.

After only another futile moment or two, he gave up and went back down.  Sarah had all the Red Boots and wizards standing in a clump with their hands raised.  None looked as if they had any fight left in them and some of the wizards even looked relieved.

He took a quick survey of the company.  Poubelle and Marshlight were hugging and clearly well.  Mike had released the little dog and neither showed any outward harm. Pauly had armed himself with one of the halberds and was studying it as if considering lopping off a few limbs from the captives for testing purposes.  Giuseppe, Bertram, and Theddrid were industriously making piles of the dropped cutlery.  Grandmaster Wizard Overmeyer, a fierce, outraged expression on his face, stood alongside Sarah and Rose as they guarded the minions.

Magic had not moved from where he had seen her last and looked blissfully unaware of anything that had occurred.

"Where's Harold?" he burst out.

His question caused everyone -- even the minions -- to look about, but the odd little man was nowhere to be seen.

THIRTY-FOUR

The heaving, drunk-with-joy crowd, packed so closely together in the Grand Courtyard that it was a wonder that any of them could breathe, cheered again as Number Eighty-Seven, standing upon the jutting balcony and wearing a tailored white uniform created just for the occasion, once again ended a projected sentence of his speech with the word freedom.  The onslaught of the thousands of enraptured voices battered the balcony and the Palace like a frontal assault.

A half dozen other odd and even numbered -- with the significance of their enumerations unrevealed -- leaders of the Technology Resistance Movement gathered around their leader, beaming and waving at the crowd.

As leader of the company of adventurers (to save unnecessary and irrelevant discussion, Sarah had insisted that he just accept the concept, at least for public consumption) that had overthrown the hated Grand Vizier, Everett had also been invited to stand in view of the crowd, but the vocal bombardment had driven him back inside to wait just within the spacious Viewing Chamber.

Skulking now in the lee of one of the sets of retracted glass doors, he had hoped that the buffer of the thick double glass would ameliorate the effect, but this scant shelter had proved ineffective.  With no apparent end of the speech in sight and already given a throbbing headache, he retreated further from the doors and moved back towards his reserved seat between Rose and Theddrid.

Seated beside her daughter, Sarah, with a diplomatically polite smile on her face, was giving the outward appearance of listening attentively, but he was sure that he had seen her covertly put cotton in her ears prior to the event.  Rose, in a frilly new maroon dress that the Resistance had gifted (paid from the Palace coffers) her for the celebration, was holding her hands over her ears and making a frowny face.

As soon as the cheer had died down enough for him to be heard, he told Sarah and the other members of the company, all seated in the first row of the Official Audience, "Let's go somewhere out of this racket."

Following through immediately on his own suggestion, he gathered up Rose and darted along the central aisle of the precisely arranged rows of chairs and their be-medaled, bespectacled, enrobed, adorned, and coiffured occupants towards the gold-embossed double doors that exited the Viewing Chamber.

Sarah and the rest, all likewise dressed in donated finery deemed appropriate to the occasion of the elevation of Number Eighty-Seven to the supposedly temporary, but probably not, position of Prince Regent, quickly evacuated their assigned seats and joined him in the impromptu exodus.  They drew some glances from the other assembled dignitaries, both foreign and domestic, but none made comment or protest.  Number Eighty-Seven and his comrades did not notice their departure at all.

Everett almost had the knob of the left side door in his hand before the attending blue liveried Royal Doormen leapt in to whisk the portals open.

That was another thing -- of already close to a score in total -- about the daily, non-Ministry-of-Magic-oppressed life in the Royal Palace that he had immediately taken a dislike to.  Innumerable officiates with minutely defined duties, relics of the regime that was prior to the regime that was prior to the current regime, were ubiquitous.  All of the variously designated men and women had only one particular task, disdained even the most general question with a disregard that bordered on snobbery, rebuffed casual conversation, and reacted with scarcely concealed outrage if one moved a chair from its established position if one wanted to sit just a little closer to his wife and daughter.

Since losing Harold, he had taken to regularly taking a mental roll and as soon as each arrived in the hallway, he checked off their names: Sarah, Rose, Theddrid, the wizard, Poubelle and Marshlight, Mike, the little dog, Bertram, the snake in his pocket, Giuseppe, and Pauly.

"Let's go to the Garden," Sarah suggested.  "It will be much quieter there and I need to check on Great-Grandmother."

Everett nodded and, under the studiously unfocused gaze of the exterior Doormen, several strategically posted footmen, an idling Picture Frame Polisher, and a young woman who was one of the corps of Lost Person Guides that roamed the Palace's labyrinthine public hallways, started off.

After the rapid and complete collapse of the Ministry of Magic power structure (with the upper echelons, most of whom had been captured by Everett and company at the top of the Impossible Tower, imprisoned, the rank and file magickers had one and all determined that NOW was a good time to emigrate) the cells of the Resistance, who of course had had a plan for just such an eventuality, had swept into power without opposition, delay, or even hardly disturbing the dust on the furniture in the throne room.

An immediate, city wide search by the new authorities had turned up no hint of Harold and with no unusual make believe manifestations occurring, it seemed certain that the odd little man had fled Eyrchelle entirely.  Likewise, a full muster of the Palace staff had failed to produce either Exposition or Mademoiselle LaSalle and, with her guards and torturers fled, the cell, its walls and floor splattered with crusted blood, of Wendy Josephine Obengregorwich -- otherwise known to Everett as Omniscience -- had been found open and empty.

Somewhat to Everett's surprise, it had developed that all of the members of the Technological Resistance Movement were staunch, bow-to-it-even-if-it-was-a-yellow-dog monarchists.  There had been no discussion whatsoever of attempting to find a distant, unabidicated relation of the former dynasty to replace the Queen Goddess.

As Number Eighty-Seven had said, "A queen who can't find all of her pennies in her purse is better than no queen at all.  In fact, under the current circumstances, it is probably better that all of her chickens don't come home to roost.  Less complications that way."

With her minder, one of the palace maids, reading a book nearby, they found Magic sitting on a bench not far from the flock of giant geese, most of whom were napping.

"Good morning, Great-Grandmother," Sarah said in a gentle tone as she sat down beside Magic.  "How are you feeling today?"

Magic's unfocused gaze traveled across her great-granddaughter's face, kept going, then wandered up into the sky.  "Misquet, gisquet, sisquet, bisquet, la, la, za, ma."

"That's nice, Great-Grandmother," Sarah said.  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to Everett.  "Rose and I will have to take her to Kleinsvench to provide for her care.  Father will be able to make proper arrangements for her, I'm sure."

He was in immediate agreement.  The whirlwind quick defeat of Edwin had not solved the fundamental problem -- technology still had to be "rebooted."  With his family safe in Kleinsvench, he felt that the as yet unplanned journey to the Frozen Mountains would be a much easier undertaking.

"The Alarsarians might not appreciate you taking off with their queen," Giuseppe pointed out.

Sarah's eyes tightened.  "They don't have a say in the matter.  I am her only adult blood relation in Alarsaria and she is my responsibility."

"I agree," Everett said quickly.  He wanted to forestall any circumstance that might give his wife the opportunity to incinerate anyone.

"Kleinsvench isn't far out of the direct path to the Frozen Mountains.  We'll stop there, but only as few of us as possible should continue on to the north.  Pauly, in particular, I'd like you to remain in Kleinsvench to provide non-magical security."

The conflict resolution specialist nodded straightaway.  "Certainly."

"Poubelle and I can help Sarah with her great-grandmother and Rose," Marshlight volunteered.

"We'll need Poubelle to translate for the dog, but the trip should only take a few days."

Marshlight frowned, but said, "Very well.  But make sure that you don't make any side trips."

"I'll be happy to go north, if need be," Theddrid offered.  "I've always wanted to explore the lands above the Republic.  How many had you thought of taking?"

"The bare minimum.  Mike, I'll need you to come, as the dog won't tolerate anyone else.  Poubelle, as I said, to translate.  That should be enough."

"Yip yip yip yip!"

"Uhm, Pookie said that we have to bring Bertram," Poubelle provided.

"Why is that?"

"Yip yip."

"Because he has the bone, the chew toy, and the turkey neck."

"Whatever.  Me, Mike, Bertram, Poubelle.  Giuseppe, on second thought, I think we'll need an extra pair of experienced hands."

"Glad to.  When shall we leave?"

Everett looked over at the geese.  Their packs and saddlebags were still in place.  At his instigation, Theddrid, Giuseppe, and Pauly had already made test flights to establish that the birds would indeed still obey their riders.  With Harold absconded, there was a spare mount for Magic.

"Does anyone know of any reason that we could not take off right now?"

"Won't we miss the parade?" Poubelle asked.

"We'll show up for the next one.  Anything else?"

Marshlight plucked at the long sleeve of her donated gown.  "This isn't practical travel garb."

"Right.  We'll all return to our rooms, change, pick up anything we want to bring along, and be back here in fifteen minutes."

"I take it that we won't be mentioning our imminent departure to our hosts?" Theddrid asked.

"We don't need their permission.  We'll probably be in Kleinsvench before Number Eighty-Seven finishes his speech.  Nothing else?  Good, let's go."

THIRTY-FIVE

They made the Cyheur Canal by the afternoon of the second day, landed on Mad Lydia's Folly at the castle in the heart of the Kleinsvench capital by the afternoon of the fifth day, and were eating a celebratory banquet at the table of Sarah's great-aunt, the Elector of Kleinsvench, on that evening.

While the tiny demesne had also been affected by the breakdown of technology, its relative lack of affluence and consequent lack of widespread dependence on expensive mechanisms had allowed the Kleinsvenchans to adapt to the disaster without any great upset.  Where possible, magic had been used in place of technology and where not, simple honest labor had been made to suffice.

With Magic under the supervision of several older female cousins and while Sarah was enjoying the reunion with her brothers and sisters, extended family, and a large portion of the population of the small city, her father confided to Everett that word had reached him that the situation in many of the other border demesnes was much worse and that that in the vast territories of the almost entirely technology dependent Republic of Zheria, only forty miles to the north, was exceedingly dire, with calamity and civil unrest rampant.

"There is talk of starvation in the larger cities and we have received no direct word out of Mrysberg is more than a week," Guillaume warned.  "You should avoid the large urban centers if at all possible."

After a restful night in the arms of his beloved and a very somber farewell from all on the northern esplanade of the castle, Everett, in a nonetheless decent mood at the prospect that the ordeal might finally be soon over, took off at dawn with Mike, Giuseppe, Poubelle, Bertram, and, of course, Pookie.

On the evening of the thirteenth day out of Kleinsvench, they made camp at the edge of an uplands conifer forest along the foot of a tremendous mountain whose snow white peaks reached up through the clouds.  Technology had claimed, via Poubelle repeatedly, that this was indeed the Frozen Mountain that they sought.

Everett raised the collar of the wool-lined leather coat that Sarah had made sure that they all brought from Kleinsvench and shifted closer to the fire.  There was no snow at this altitude, but it was cold and had been all through the day.  The geese were huddled in a warmth sharing clump on the bare rock ledge upon which they had landed.

Similarly bundled up on the other side of the fire, Giuseppe said, "The geese might get us up to the lower slopes, but I doubt that we can convince them to go any higher."

"We still need an exact location," Mike said.  "Perhaps we should try questioning the dog again."

Pookie poked his head out of the top of the retired sea captain's coat.  "Yip?"

In the notch of the always shining was as close as they had been able to get in all previous attempts to ferret out the location of the Temple of the Original Schematic.

"Should I cast my spell, Everett?"  Poubelle, looking thoroughly miserable under leather coat, jacket, sweater, and woolen scarf, asked without enthusiasm.

"We'll try again in the morning," Everett ruled.  He was tired and had no desire to chase incompatible concepts through Poubelle's confusion and the dog's simple mind.

"Anyone else for some hot tea?" Mike asked.  "I think I'll put a kettle on."

"I'll have some," Poubelle said quickly.  "I hate the cold."

Mike stood up and moved towards his saddlebags.  "Everett?  Giuseppe? Bertram?"

"None for me, thanks," Everett said.  The only way that he could abide tea was with ice, which, even if it were available, would no doubt make him feel colder.

Both Giuseppe and his nephew accepted Mike's offer and soon the four of them were blowing steam off full cups and sipping appreciatively.

"Pardon me," a voice said without warning from out of the dark.  "If it wouldn't be too much bother, could I have a look at your camping permit?"

Startled, Everett spun about.  Standing just a few yards off through the trees was a monk -- at least, he looked like a monk: shaved pate, beard, puce robes, tasteful sash, bare arms, sandals, tattoos, walking stick.

Flying in, there had been no sign of any sort of habitation and Everett had not thought it necessary to be on their guard.

He waved the man nearer.  "Sorry, what sort of permit?"

The monk smiled and came up to the fire.  "Not to worry.  Most visitors to the Holy Mountain don't realize that this parcel is deeded to the Monastery of the Holy Mountain.  I can write out the permit for you.  There's a purely nominal fee of ten silver."

"Do you accept Kleinsvenchan banknotes?"

The monk produced a sad smile.  "We'd be happy to, but the nomadic herders that we usually trade with will only take coin."

Everett dug in his pocket for change, came up with a few brass and copper coins from various demesnes that had found their ways into his pocket along their journey.  "We're only planning to stay one night.  Would one silver eighty-three pence do?

The monk looked over the coins in Everett's hand.  "I suppose we could offer you a special discounted rate for the single night."  He pulled a small notebook of printed yellow forms and a pencil from inside his robes.  "If you're only staying the night, then I take it that you're not intending to take the tour?  It's only eight silver a person and we provide refreshments at the Temple site.  Ten percent discount for groups of six or more."

"Would that be the Temple of the Original Schematic?" Giuseppe asked quickly.

"Oh, yes.  It's the finest attraction north of Bhu."  The monk opened the notebook and scribbled in two of the blanks.  "Sorry about having to fill this out in pencil, but all of our fountain pens have stopped working.  Whose name should I put as Responsible Person?"

"Mine.  That's Everett de Schael.  Everett with two 't's.  You say the Tour goes directly to the Temple?  I don't suppose that you'd accept a promissory note written on an account in a bank in Kleinsvench, would you?"

The monk wrote some more on the form, tore it carefully along perforations, then handed the completed form to Everett and received his coins in exchange.  "No, sorry.  We do all of our banking in Bhu."

"Bhu?  That's in the County of Wap, isn't it?"  Giuseppe asked.  "All the banks in the demesnes around the Republic will trade notes with the main Republican banks.  I'm pretty sure that your bank will take a note written on Mrysberg Bank and Trust and I can sign and seal a promissory note on the M, B and T.  Would you take that for the fees?"

"I don't see why not, but only Primate Elizabeth will be able to make that call.  You could come around in the morning and speak with her directly."

"We'll do that," Everett quickly agreed.  "Could I ask directions to the monastery?"

"The main entrance is half a mile due east of here.  Don't worry that you don't see it until you're right on top of it.  Nearly all of the facilities are underground, carved right out of the rock by the holy labors of hundreds of the brethren over more than a century.  If you had come up along the caravan trail, the signs would have led you directly to it.  If there's any doubt, it's the only purple door in the vicinity."

Everett and the others were knocking on the monastery's well made and brightly purple oaken door just after daybreak, and Primate Elizabeth, a stout, middle aged woman, though yawning and still in her night clothes, did prove amenable to accepting Giuseppe's note and by midmorning they were winding their way up through Galleries Chiseled Out of Living Stone! towards the Pass of the Eternal Sun.

"Why do they call it the Pass of the Eternal Sun?" Poubelle asked between huffs as they lumbered up yet another flight of stairs carved into the mountain itself.

Their guide, a bouncy-haired novitiate named Pamela, let her permanent grin widen.  "That's because the sun rises in the Holy Pass each and every day of the year!"

"Oh.  But doesn't the, ah, sun, so to speak, rise everywhere each and every day of the year?"

"Well, of course, but this is different because it's the Holy Mountain."

"Oh, right.  I see what you're saying.  So it's one of those equinox things."

"Well, not exactly.  The sun doesn't line up with anything.  It just comes up."

"Ah."

"But it does come up each and every day."

"Amazing!"

It took most of an hour to climb up through the galleries and emerge through an open archway onto a narrow, paved path high on the windswept mountainside.  Scarcely wide enough for a donkey cart, this snaked around and up the crag towards a notch not far below the snow line.

Their guide continued her cheery commentary as they ascended, pointing out significant landmarks and spots where famous persons from history -- none of who's names Everett found at all familiar -- had paused to admire the view, scratch their initials into an inoffensive boulder, or relieve themselves against a promontory that resembled a pocket gopher if you stood in a certain spot and leaned out with one eye closed.

It took most of another hour to reach the notch.  Here the monks had chiseled a broad, flat area out of the mountain and constructed a rather spacious natural stone cafe and attached gift shop.  The cafe had terrace seating that overlooked a precipitous plunge several thousand feet down the mountainside.  Both concerns were fully staffed by beaming, enthusiastic, and perennially cheerful novitiates with nametags that challenged , "Ask me about our Frequent Climber Program!".

"And that concludes our tour!" Pamela announced at the edge of the terrace.  "At your convenience, please have a seat in the outdoor seating area to receive your complementary fruit punch beverage, breakfast entree, and honey sweetened breakfast roll.  You may also peruse our menu for additional alpine themed selections that have been prepared by our regionally famous, three star chef, Brother Meynard."

Everett looked around.  The path ended here and around the buildings there appeared to be nothing but bare mountain.  "But where is the temple?"

Pamela smiled.  "The steps leading up to the Temple of the Original Schematic are currently under construction and we do not recommend that patrons attempt the potentially hazardous climb up the rock face using the original notches.  We do have, however, a number of illustrations of the holy site printed on a large selection of tasteful postcards that are available for purchase in our gift shop."

"Thanks.  If you'll just point us in the direction of the temple steps, we'll go the rest of the way on our own."

The young novitiate shrugged.  "Behind the cafe is a level of scaffolding.  Climb to the top of that and you should be able to reach the remaining vestiges of the original chiseled hand holds.  Once you're at the top, follow the old trail about a quarter of a mile.  At last report, there were only two or three spots where the rock has sheared away and the biggest gap shouldn't be more than ten or so feet."

If anything, the peril of the remainder of the journey was significantly greater than the cheerful guide had intimated.  The hand and foot holds cut into the rock face behind the cafe had eroded to shallow niches scarcely deep enough to accommodate fingers and toes.  The "old trail" was a ledge no wider than a foot for most of its intact length and the gaps in it required harrowing, give-it-everything-you-have standing broad jumps.

Aside from a sprained ankle (Poubelle), raw fingertips (Bertram), some involuntarily released canine urine (Pookie), canine urine splattered clothing (Mike), and bruised elbows (Giuseppe, from catching himself from a near fall on the last jump), they all made it to the rock shelf perch that Pookie identified with excited barks as their final destination.

"Where's the temple?" Poubelle demanded immediately.

The shelf was only perhaps a hundred feet long and half that at the widest point.  There was no building or other structure on the broken rock and sand, just two fractured and weathered, undressed monolithic rock pillars near the center.  A similar slab perched atop these to make a passage high enough to walk through.  Out in front of the monoliths, rested another unworked chunk of stone that might once have had the vague shape of an anvil. This did have a sizable upper unlevel surface whose dark stains suggested that it had previously served as a primitive altar.

Pookie started scratching at the air and Mike accommodatingly released him from his harness.  The little dog bounded about for a moment then rotated around to face Everett.

"Yip yip yip yip yip!"

"This is the birthplace of technology!"  Poubelle translated.  "This is where it all began!"

Everett nodded.  "So what now?"

"Yip yip yip."

"You and I must pass within the inner circle of stones.  Once there, the sway of technology will be absolute and I will be able to inspire the necessary schematic."

"What inner circle of stones?  And why are you more comprehensible now?"

"Yip yip yip yip."

"This close to the temple, the limitations of the canine intellect are overcome by the return of the full strength of my normal cognitive abilities."  The little dog bounded around, stopped and seemed to contemplate the shelf fully for the first time.

"Yip."

"There were more standing stones, once, a long time ago.  I can feel the perimeter of the transition, though.  I'll mark it."

The little dog ran to within a dozen feed to the standing stones, hiked his back leg, and relieved himself, making a large dark circle on the rock.  He then ran inside the mark and stopped within a pace or two of the altar.

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip!"

"Join me!"

Everett looked around at Giuseppe, Poubelle, Mike, and Bertram.  "The four of you wait here.  I'll signal if I need help."

"What sort of signal would that be, Everett?" Poubelle asked.

"I'll scream and holler and jump up and down."

"Oh, right, got it."

Giuseppe produced a long knife, one of Pauly's.  "I should go with you, Everett.  Something is bound to go squirrely -- it has every time up till this one -- and you'll need someone to watch your back."

For a brief moment, Everett considered Mike's grey hair, Poubelle's general martial ineptitude, and Bertram's youth and inexperience.  "I think it best that you stand guard here."

The import-export expeditor nodded.  It was clear that he had already made the same calculation, but had felt it necessary to make the offer.

Everett turned and walked towards the little dog, taking care to walk around the damp spot that marked the inner circle.

Wagging his tail, the little dog danced in glee, then ran around the altar towards the standing stones.  Half way between the altar and the passage, Pookie turned to wait for him.

"Let's get started," he told Pookie.  "I'm ready to get this over with."

Edwin, face full of hatred, leapt from behind the right pillar, lunging at Everett with a gleaming rapier.

THIRTY-SIX

Everett dodged to the side, casting in reflex as the chemist passed him.  "Manure, gather ye into a pile!"

When he felt no actuation, he cursed and instantly kicked out towards Edwin's passing knee.

He missed, but Edwin did not as he rotated his upper body to thrust, albeit off balance and awkwardly, again.

Everett threw up an arm in defense, and the thin blade pierced his upper arm, sinking almost two inches into his right bicep.  He twisted away from the pain, pulled free of the blade as Edwin prepared to drive it home, swung wildly with this left, and landed a glancing blow across the chemist's throat.

Clutching his neck and making hoarse, hacking sounds, Edwin drew away through the passage between the pillars.  He kept the wavering point of his sword level with Everett's sternum, however.

"Take ye flight!"

Again Everett's enunciation produced no actuation.  He advanced through the passage after Edwin, who had stopped retreating, once again taken a proper stance about a dozen paces from the far edge of the shelf, and was sneering as he waited.

"Your magic is of no use here!" Edwin derided.  "You should have brought steel."

"He did," Giuseppe responded.

A flash of grey passed Everett on the right, and he twitched his head just enough to catch sight of Giuseppe in his peripheral vision without taking his eyes off Edwin.

The chemist's sword hand snapped up, so that the thrown blade struck the back of his hand rather than his chest.  Edwin cried out as his sword clattered on the rock and blood splattered from a deep slice across his knuckles.

Everett rushed at Edwin and got close enough to swing a roundhouse that did not land as the snarling chemist retreated yet again.  Everett had not thought to land the blow, but he had driven Edwin away from his dropped weapon.  He followed through, advancing again.

Edwin halted, threw a flurry of enraged punches as Everett drew close.

Everett blocked some, endured misaimed strikes on his shoulders and chest, and kicked Edwin as hard as he could in the groin.

When the chemist doubled over, Everett threw a strong jab to the man's nose, breaking it and splattering more blood.

Spewing profanities, Edwin staggered backwards.

Everett swung a right and a left in quick succession.

Edwin blocked the right, but the left landed, jarring Everett's hand and wrist, and the chemist, eyes unfocused, almost went down.

Everett punched the staggering man's bleeding face again.

And again, driving him back.

But his next punch swung through thin air.

Edwin had collapsed backwards, grabbed futilely at nothing with clawing hands, and pitched without a sound over the edge into the chasm.

Everett stood without moving for a long moment, breathing heavily and shaking.

When he finally turned about, he found Giuseppe watching from just a few paces away, holding Edwin's rapier.

"Sorry about missing with the knife," the import-export expeditor said.  "I don't get much practice."

Everett shook his head. "That was perfect."

For ten minutes or so, the two of them walked along the edge looking for the body, but a heavy mist rose from the leaping white water that surged through the twisted gorge at the bottom of the chasm, obscuring the rocks and boulders where it might have lodged, and they finally gave up.

When they returned to the altar, Mike, Poubelle, and Bertram were standing in a defensive clump, all three holding fist-sized stones.  The little dog was cowering between Mike's legs.

"Better than nothing," Mike said as he dropped his missiles.  "So you dispatched the blackguard?"

Giuseppe made a plummeting motion with his hand.

"Good riddance!" Poubelle declared.  "That means that he won't be showing up anymore out of the blue to cause trouble."

Everett said nothing.  As to how the chemist had managed to arrive at the temple at the exact moment necessary to ambush Everett, the answer was clearly magic, probably that of the Blue Purple man.  As to whether Edwin might once again return from apparent death to cause trouble, Everett was not willing to accept that the chemist was dead without the evidence of an identifiable corpse.  At the end of their last physical encounter, the chemist had somehow survived the jump from the falling air carriage.  Whatever -- Everett thought that it must be a spell -- had saved him that time could also have saved him this time.

"Yip yip yip yip yip."

"Er, ah, the dog said yip, yip, yip, yip, yip," Poubelle announced.

"You didn't understand him?" Everett asked, not surprised.

"Why, now that you mention it," Poubelle admitted, "I didn't.  Funny, my spell usually lasts the full three hours."

"It's this place," Everett told him.  "Magic doesn't work here.  Let's walk outside the pee."

After the four of them -- and Pookie -- had walked well clear of the inner circle and Poubelle had cast his translation spell once more, Everett demanded of the little dog, "Why didn't you tell us that magic doesn't work inside the temple?"

"Yip."

"It wasn't necessary.  As I explained, technology holds absolute sway within the inner circle and it is therefore self-evident that magic will not function there."

"Right.  Will Poubelle still be able to translate if he stands outside the pee?"

"Yip yip."

"Dog speech is natural sound.  It will cross outside the territorial boundary.  The man with the big nose -- er, that's me I guess -- will still be able to understand as long as he does not cross over."

"Alright.  Let's try this again.  This time, we're going to be just inside the pee circle.  Bertram, watch the ledge.  Mike, you watch for anyone flying in or coming up over the edge.  Poubelle, focus on translating.  Giuseppe and the dog with me."

As soon as everyone was in place, Everett told the little dog to give him the schematic.

"Yip."

"Done," Poubelle called.

Everett's ears and nose itched for a moment, and he felt a slight twitch in the ring finger of his right hand.  "Is that it?"

"Yip yip yip."

"Can you see the schematic in your mind?"

"No...wait.  It's not a drawing.  It's a bunch of lines made of symbols and words and dots.  Sort of like bad maths."

"Yip yip."

"That's it!"

"What now?"

"Yip yip yip yip yip."

"The attendant should assemble the representative sections of the Prototype Mechanism on the altar."

"What attendant and what prototype?"

The little dog pointed his snout at Bertram.  "Yip yip yip yip yip yip."

"The attendant should place semblances of the Gear, the Shaft, and the Pulley on the altar."

"He must mean the lad's three schematics," Giuseppe said.

"How's he going to make anything up here?" Mike wanted to know.  "Without a forge or pig iron?"

"Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip."

"Semblances, not the finished article.  These are just representations -- ideas, as it were -- that will be transformed in the process of rebooting technology."

"There're just rocks here," Bertram said, looking uncertain.

"Yip."

"So be it."

When the young man looked at Everett in askance, Everett just nodded.

After Bertram had gathered three likely looking chunks of jagged rock and dropped them on top of the altar stone and received Pookie's yip of approval, Everett asked the little dog, "Now what?"

"Yip yip."

"Write the lines upon the altar."

"In blood I suppose?"

"Yip!"

"In the dust of the earth!"

Everett looked around, spotted a tiny drift of sand in the lee of a nearby broken stone, went to it and scooped up a handful, then dribbled this across the upper surface of the altar stone.

Then, using his index finger, he began to exactingly write the lines that came without effort or thought.  Each started with a symbol like a plus sign and a greater than sign squashed together and each ended with a colon.

+>start-function:

+>declare(technology,begin):

+>control.get(all):

+>parameters.override(all)=true:

+>magic.halt(now) = true:

+>powers.periferal(all).halt(now) =true:

+>technology.halt(now) = true:

+>magic.resources.release(all):

+>powers.periferal(all).resources.release(all):

+>technology.resources.max = 100:

+>technology.start(now)=true:

+>end-function:

+>technology, begin:

As soon as he scrawled the last line, a great wind blasted through the pillars, striking him full in the face.  As the force of the gust rapidly intensified, he had to take a grip on the stone to keep from being blown over.  Then, with the wind reaching a peak, the ground began to tremble.  The quaking increased in tempo in just a few seconds to a good shake, then thunder pealed above them, though there was no lightning.

The earth gave a great heave and quieted, and the wind faded away.

"Is it over?" Poubelle rose with slow, stiff motions and swung around.  "Is everything back to the way it was?"

"Let's hope so," Giuseppe said as he stood up.

As soon as Bertram had regained his feet, he brought the snake from his pocket and announced, "Ralph is alright!"

Mike was a bit slow rising and Everett went over and helped him up.  "Are you all right?"

The retired sea captain held his right shoulder while he rolled it around as if to make sure that it still operated.  "Sure.  A little banged up, but I've had worse.  Shipwrecked one time in a schooner off Plagmog.  Folks there eat anything -- and I mean anything -- that washes up from the sea."

Then the little dog gave a bitten off howl, seemed to expand and contract in an uneven fashion, and then vanished in a large burst of dark smoke.  When the smoke began to dissipate, it was clear that a man now stood in place of Pookie.  It was only another few seconds before it was equally clear that this man was Donald de Grosivna, the usual corporeal biologic form of Technology.

"So he's back," Giuseppe said.  "That must mean that we're done."

"Are we?" Everett demanded of De Grosivna.

"Indeed.  Technology has rebooted.  Mechanisms will once again function throughout the world."

"And Magic is back to normal?"

"She will be, as soon as the new equilibrium is established."

"How long will that take?"

"That entirely depends upon her.  But that's neither here nor there.  I would expect that you should mainly concern yourself with Edwin."

"Edwin's dead," Giuseppe said.

"That's right," Poubelle confirmed.  "Everett knocked him off the mountain."

De Grosivna shook his head.  "Impossible.  Evil cannot be killed."

"Maybe so, but evil men die," Everett said, arguing the point in spite of his own private misgivings.  "And Edwin was just a man."

"Pardon me for the contradiction, but that is not the case.  Edwin is the spontaneous organic anthropomorphic personification of Evil."

"Er, what does 'personification' mean?" Poubelle asked.

"It means the embodiment of a thing in the form of a person," Technology replied.  "In this case, the human propensity for evil has been given human form as the result of an extremely rare convergence of relevant factors."

Poubelle scratched his head.  "Does that mean that he doesn't have a mom and a dad?"

"Indeed.  In Edwin's case, about twenty years ago a freak burst of free waffles coalesced in the --

Suddenly furious, Everett thundered, "Why haven't you told us this before?"

De Grosivna remained impervious to Everett's volume.  "In our previous encounters, it was not in my best interests to share the information.  As far as our recent cooperation, 'personification' is not a concept that can be easily processed through a canine brain.  Also, I had thought that you were already informed by Magic, or Destiny, or one of the others concerning the existence of spontaneous organic anthropomorphic personifications, considering that you have been traveling with Chaos."

"Who?"

De Grosivna pointed at Mike.

The pensioner just gave a little shrug, a somewhat embarrassed smile, and nodded.