He stood in front of Wiz, arms akimbo. “So Wizard, not so high and mighty now, are you?” He followed it up with a stinging slap to the face.
At least Pieter’s hand stung. It was like slapping a rock and the young man winced in pain.
“He can’t hear you,” one of the footpads said.
“Can’t feel what you do to him either,” another one added.
“Well, wake him up then. I want him to know the author of his fate.”
“Wake him up?” the shortest one quavered. “He’s a wizard.”
“And he’s tied so tight he can’t wiggle a finger and gagged so tight he can’t utter a word. Release him, I say!”
Hesitantly the one with the sword removed it from Wiz’s ribs.
Suddenly Wiz was there again, tied up, gagged, surrounded by three armed thugs and a grinning Pieter, and up to his knees in cement. Not for the first time it occurred to him that the protection spell’s definition of “mortal danger” left a lot to be desired.
The short, balding one, whom Wiz mentally tagged “Curly,” was edging away from the reanimated wizard. The one beside him was holding his sword warily, ready to thrust it between Wiz’s ribs at the first sign of movement. The tall one was looking back and forth between Wiz and Pieter.
“Throw me out of the house, will you?” Pieter snarled and drew back his hand to slap Wiz again.
The blow never landed. Wiz was gagged, but that didn’t matter. He could form the words in his throat and that was all it took.
The spell for “loose knots” worked in part by making things self-repulsive and in part by reducing the coefficient of friction of everything in the neighborhood to something less than teflon on plate glass lubricated by greased owl shit. Which is to say that any friction fastening in the vicinity stopped working instantly.
Which is to say that everyone’s pants fell down as their belts came untied. Actually it is to say more than that. Sewing can be loosely defined as a form of knotting, so the clothes not only fell off, they fell to pieces.
That left Wiz, Pieter and his three henchmen standing there stark naked. In this crisis the thugs reverted to their natural behavior: They turned to run like frightened rats. Pieter just stood with his hand stopped in mid-air and his mouth open. Wiz spoke another word and all four of them were frozen in place.
Wiz took a step forward and nearly tripped over the edge of the tub he was standing in.
light exe he commanded and a witchfire globe cast an even blue light over everything.
It made an interesting tableau. The tall man had lost his footing and fallen to his hands and knees. The balding one was trying to scramble over the tall one’s back, which left them poised as if playing a slightly obscene game of nude leapfrog. The middle-sized one was straightening up with arms pumping, like a sprinter coming out of the blocks.
Wiz shook the wet cement from his legs and considered his next move. A chill evening breeze reminded him that his first priority was finding something to wear if he didn’t want to catch cold. He looked at the piles of fabric littering the ground around them but none of them were large enough to cover much.
The cart had been outside the range of the spell, so the horse was still placidly cropping grass. Wiz pulled off the horse’s blanket and, ignoring its condition and its odor, draped it over his shoulders toga style.
Leaving Pieter frozen, he gestured to unfreeze his stooges. The three returned to awareness facing a wizard surrounded by glowing blue light and wearing a tattered horse blanket. Just then Wiz’s sartorial shortcomings meant less to them than his obvious power.
Their first act was to collapse in a heap as their momentum caught up with them. Curly covered his head with his hands and moaned.
“Stand where you are!” Wiz commanded in a stern and majestic manner-or as stern and majestic as you can be when the cold night air is nipping at your bare backside. “Go on, stand up, all of you.”