Wiz wondered what Danny’s mother would make of getting letters on parchment, but he decided not to ask.
“All right. Get those letters written and get them back here before it is time to leave. We’ll see they get sent.”
“I hope I’m not going to regret this,” Wiz said after the pair raced out of the room.
“I wouldn’t lay you odds,” Jerry told him.
Again the programmers—less two—gathered in a tight knot inside the circle inscribed on the chantry floor. As the sundial’s shadow shortened, they chattered among themselves and called goodbyes to the friends who had come to see them off. Wiz, Moira and Jerry stood on the dais next to Bal-Simba and waved back until the shadow reached its mark and the wizard motioned them to silence.
Once again the six-part chant welled up and the air shimmered and twisted about the group in the center of the room. The voices grew stronger and the people grew fainter until at last there was nothing but emptiness where they had been. The chant itself died away and nothing was left but the echoes.
In unison the wizards dropped their arms and at Bal-Simba’s dismissal stepped away from their places. As the others filed out of the chantry the huge black wizard stepped down from the dais and ritually defaced the circle with his staff.
Wiz, Moira and Jerry remained for a couple of minutes more, looking at the place where their friends had been.
“Well, come on,” Wiz said finally. “We’ve got a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“How do you feel?” Moira asked Wiz as they walked hand in hand back to their apartment.
“Tired, hungry and very glad it’s over.” He frowned and sighed. “Only it isn’t over. We’re going to have to arrange some sort of meeting with the non-mortals to work out a treaty, and we’ve got a pile of work to do on the software.”
They came to the door and paused. “But at least it’s over for today and yes, I’m very glad of that.” He bent his head down to kiss her and she responded enthusiastically.
“But first, food,” he said as he pushed open the door to their rooms with his foot. “What’s for dinner?”
Moira smiled mysteriously. “Something very special.”
“Special or not, I hope there’s a lot of it. I’m starved again.”
“Sit down and I will bring it to you.”
Wiz plopped himself down at the table and poured out a large glass of fruit juice from the pitcher sitting on it. He tasted it and then added several dollops of honey.
“Here it is,” Moira said as she came through the door with a large flat box in her hands.
“Pizza!” Wiz said lovingly, caressing the cardboard as she set it on the table. “A real pizza from Little Italy!”
“I got it when I visited your world,” Moira told him. “I have kept it hot and fresh by magic since we returned.”
Wiz opened the box and breathed deeply. “Pepperoni, sausage and mushrooms. With extra cheese! This is wonderful.”
“Best of all, the cooks say that now that they know what a pizza is supposed to be, they can make them.”
“Wonderful,” Wiz said, concentrating on separating a slice of pizza without losing the toppings.
“I thought you would be pleased.”
“Oh, you have your compensations, wench,” he said mock-loftily as he lifted the steaming slice to his mouth.
Moira smiled sweetly, waited until just the right moment and jabbed her elbow into his ribs—hard.
And Wiz Zumwalt—mightiest sorcerer in all the World, conqueror of demons, twice victor over the Dark League and keeper of the World’s balance—tried to breath tomato sauce through his nose.
THE END