Meanwhile his muscles were stiff, his flying leathers soaked with sweat and he stank of dragon and exertion. He turned and walked out of the aerie toward the riders’ baths.
At the door the Dragon Leader looked back and sighed. In some ways it was easier when we were at war.
” . . . and there you have it, My Lords,” Bal-Simba said finally. “That is our situation and that is what we need.”
Jerry, Karl, Bal-Simba and Moira sat around the table. They had talked the day away and a good part of the night. Moira was hoarse, so Bal-Simba had taken over filling in the background while Jerry and Karl shot questions.
The remains of dinner, bread, fruit and cheese, sat on the sideboard and a glowing globe on a wrought iron stand beside the table gave them light.
The soft evening breeze ruffled through the room and stars spangled the velvety blackness outside. Idly Jerry wondered what time it was. Their watches had stopped working at the moment of transition. After midnight, he decided.
The rest of the programmers were bedded down somewhere but Bal-Simba was eager to get started and Jerry was too keyed up to sleep anyway.
“Well, it’s hard to say until we’ve gone over the work that’s already been done,” Jerry said. If the libraries and tool kit are sufficiently developed . . .”
“I think it would be best if we left the technical details until Wiz returns,” Moira said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bal-Simba shift uneasily. “He is the only one among us who really understands them.”
“Anyway, the outlines are clear enough,” Jerry said. “As I told Moira back in Cupertino I think this is do-able, especially given the work Wiz has already put into it.”
“How soon do you need all this?” Karl asked.
“As soon as possible,” Bal-Simba told him. “Perhaps a fortnight at most.”
Jerry and Karl looked at each other.
“Well,” Karl said, “no matter where you go, some things don’t change.”
Bal-Simba frowned. “Is there a problem?”
Jerry sighed. This was the point where you usually started lying to the client. But this was a very unusual situation and an even more unusual client. Besides, there was no one on this world to undercut them and steal the contract by overpromising.
“Look,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, “the truth is, it will take us months to do this job right.”
“But Wiz put together his attack on the Dark League in a matter of days!” Bal-Simba protested.
“Right,” Jerry nodded. “What Wiz did was create a set of tools and build some simple programs, uh, spells with them. But there’s a big difference between something that an expert hacks together for his own use and a production system.”
“You need something anyone can use, right?” Karl asked.
“Any wizard,” Bal-Simba amended. “But yes, basically.”
“Okay, that means you need a lot more support, error checking and utilities and libraries. And it’s all got to be wrapped up in a neat package with no loose ends.”
The huge wizard thought about that for a minute. “How long will all this take?”
“We won’t know that until after we’ve examined what’s been done already and had a chance to talk to Wiz.”
“You can begin the examination tomorrow,” Bal-Simba said, rising. “There is no need to wait until Sparrow returns.” He turned to Moira. “My Lady, will you escort them to their chambers?”
“If you please, My Lord, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you. I will ring for a servant.”
The serving man was yawning when he arrived, but he came quickly and ushered the visitors out of Bal-Simba’s study.
“Now,” Moira said as the door closed behind them, “where is Wiz?”
“Well, as to that, My Lady . . .”
Her face darkened. “Something has happened to him, has it not?”
“Well . . .”
“Has it not?” She tried to shout but her strained vocal cords could only produce a whisper.
“We do not know,” Bal-Simba told her. “He went off into the Wild Wood and no one has seen him since.”