phrase?-‘Idiots-and-English-majors’ simple.”
Wiz didn’t object to the characterization. In spite of the power his spell
compiler gave him, he had absolutely no talent for this world’s magic. It
had taken Moira and Bal-Simba weeks to teach him what he would have to do
today.
Wiz was much more warmly dressed than necessary for the Council chantry
where he stood. But the clothing didn’t entirely explain the sweat beading
on his forehead.
He was standing in the middle of a circle traced in white powder on the
flagged stone floor. Around him stood eight of the blue-robed wizards of
the Mighty, each of them at one of the points of the compass. Late morning
sunlight pouring in through the stained glass windows cast gaily colored
patterns on the floor and the wizards, but beside each of them burned a
pair of tall wax candles. Apprentices bustled around the edges of the room
putting the finishing touches on preparations and sometimes conferring in
hushed low tones. On the dais at one end of the room, Arianne, Bal-Simba’s
second in command, was overseeing three Watchers hunched over their
communications crystals. Next to the tall blonde woman stood a pudgy
little man in the blue robe of the Mighty, his lips moving silently and
his eyes focused far away as he maintained contact with others of his
fellows at their assigned tasks.
“Are we prepared then?” asked Bal-Simba from his spot on the circle.
“Lord, the patrols are off the beach,” Arianne told him, pushing back a
stray lock of blonde hair.
“The other wizards are standing by,” reported Malus, the wizard next to
her.
“Operation 500-Pound Parakeet is ready to go,” Jerry called from his place
at the side of the room. Everyone looked to the sun stick which cast a
shortening shadow on the marks on the opposite wall. The tip of the shadow
was inexorably approaching one of the marks.
Danny and Jerry stepped into the circle to clap Wiz on the back and wish
him well.
“I never did understand why you call this after a giant parrot,” Moira
said as they waited for the last minutes to pass.
“Parakeet,” Danny corrected. “It’s how you get rid of cats. You get a
500-pound parakeet and teach it to say ‘here, kitty kitty kitty.’ ”
Moira started to frown and then laughed as she caught the joke.
“So you call this Operation 500-Pound Parakeet.”
“They call it Operation 500-Pound Parakeet,” Wiz said sourly. “I had
nothing to do with the name.”
“Hey man, it’s gonna be easy,” Danny told him lightly. “All you gotta do
is zip back to the City of Night, off a demon who’s waiting to toast you,
and then call for the cavalry-us. We handle the rest.” He made a palm-down
gesture as if sweeping aside minor details. “Nooo problemo.”
“It is indeed simple if you remember your spells and execute them
correctly,” Moira agreed.
“I rest my case,” Wiz said sourly.
“Crave pardon?”
“Almost time,” Bal-Simba called from his place at the head of the circle.
“Make ready.”
“I mean you just proved my point. Oh well, if we’re going to do this
thing, let’s get on with it.”
He kissed Moira long and hard.
“Okay,” he said. “Places everyone.”
Moira, Jerry and Danny stepped back and out of the circle, being careful
not to scuff the chalked lines. The seven other wizards looked at
Bal-Simba and he watched the sun stick as the shadow crept the last
fraction of an inch along its track.
Then all the wizards raised their hands and began chanting. Wiz gripped
his staff and tried to breathe slowly and evenly as the chant rose around
him and the air seemed to fill with smoke. The sound became louder and
louder, then began to fade as the air around him became thick and opaque.
There was a flash of darkness and suddenly the air was so cold it burned
his lungs.
Wiz Zumwalt clung to his staff and pressed his eyes tightly shut as waves
of dizziness washed over him. When he opened his eyes he found he was nose
to nose with a wall of crudely dressed black basalt.
He turned and nearly fell when he stepped on a patch of ice in the wall’s