“Then how do you know about it, you nutcase?” demanded Magrit.
Wolfgang blushed like a schoolgirl. “Well, actually, I myself have been the subject of their inquiries. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I decided to go mad. Always a good alibi, lunacy.”
“You? Why would they go after you?” Magrit’s face expressed disbelief.
“I’m not positive, love,” responded Wolfgang, “because as soon as I found out they were sniffing around I had my first breakdown. And a doozy it was, too!” He beamed around the room. Then: “But I’ve always thought it was probably my size.”
“You are almost certainly correct,” came the quiet voice of Zulkeh. Magrit turned, gasped. The wizard had collapsed into a chair, his face pale as a ghost, a trembling hand stroking his brow.
“Are you all right?” asked Magrit.
“Yes, yes,” came the impatient reply. “A moment’s weakness, no more. It all makes sense to me, now. I should have known from the beginning! What other subject would so arouse the deepest enmity of the fiercest powers of the Universe? ‘Tis no wonder I have not been able to interpret the King’s dream!”
“What are you babbling on about?” demanded Magrit. “The both of you!”
Zulkeh coughed. “Madame, please do not take offense at what I am about to say, but—as I recall—history was never your best subject at the University.”
Magrit snorted. “Hated the stuff. Dry bones, chewed over by mangy dogs.”
An intemperate remark began to emerge from Zulkeh’s lips, was choked back. A moment later, the mage spoke:
“I will not dispute the question now. Wolfgang, it was the acronym which confused me. ‘AVEXBU’ is new to me. I assume it is of recent origin. What I mean to say—we are talking about the Godferrets, are we not?”
“Right as rain! Always thought that was a crazy expression, actually. Why should rain be right? Why not wrong rain? Or left rain, maybe?”
“Wolfgang!” roared Magrit.
“What? Oh. Sorry, dear, my mind wandered. Can’t be helped—I’m nuts. Yes, yes! Business first! Zulkeh, you are absolutely correct! We are indeed talking about the Godferrets—also known, at various times and places, as the Weasels of Righteousness, the Almighty’s Knout, the Fangs of Piety, the Guardians of—well! I could go on—and on and on. And those, of course, are the names given by admirers! Others—heretics, infidels, suchlike monsters—have preferred other cognomens: the Darkworms, the Slime of Creation, the—well! There’s a lot of names. Lot and lots of names! Not surprising, they’ve been around for a long time.”
“Yes, they have,” agreed Zulkeh. “But whence this AVEXBU?”
“Oh, that’s the new name! Modern times, you know! Separation of Church and State, rights of the individual, freedom of conscience, all that folderol. Slavering sanctimony needs a secular face, nowadays! And besides—acronyms are all the rage among the upper crust, don’t you know?”
“Wittgenstein!” bellowed Magrit. “Start the pot boiling—the big one! If I don’t get some sensible answers out of these two we’re going to have psychopath stew tonight—garnished with chopped sorcerer.”
“Right away!” squeaked the salamander, scurrying toward the kitchen. Its voice came back: “Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy I love psychopath stew! Especially the brains! Melt in your mouth like butter!”
“Madame, this is uncouth!” protested Zulkeh. Then, seeing the inevitable riposte, he held up a hand.
” ‘Tis simple, witch! This—AVEXBU—is but a modern incarnation of the oldest, and easily the most vicious, of the Church’s inquisitory agencies. Though, as Wolfgang says, the Ecclesiarchs long ago lost their grip on the leash. The Godferrets! They claim to answer to no one but the Old Geister himself. The most secret of secret societies—and easily the most powerful! Their influence reaches into the chambers and corridors of all the world’s mightiest institutions—temporal and spiritual alike. All this, devoted to one general purpose—the ruthless extermination of Joesy. And to one specific purpose—the sniffing out and destruction of Joe’s avatars.”
“Joe’s avatars?” demanded Magrit. “You mean—Joebacks?”
“That is, I believe, the popular name, yes.”
“But that’s just a fable!” protested the witch.
“Is it?” demanded the wizard fiercely. “You have, then, suddenly become an expert on Joetrics?”
Magrit snarled. “You know damn good and well I got thrown out of the University before I could qualify for the Arcanum! You should know, you rotten—”