“Hey, that’s my spell,” Saul objected. The bowl didn’t seem to mind, it blurred as the view tilted up, then steadied on a face that was frowning upward, searching the sky, a very ordinary Berber face, mostly African but partly Arabic, though not as dark a brown as some, with wide brown eyes and a small, neatly trimmed mustache and beard. “I shall remember you,” Mama promised the image. The sorcerer’s frown didn’t change, but he waved a hand across his face, and the bowl went cloudy. When it cleared, it was only water again. Saul sat back with a sigh. “You were right. The real commander is a sorcerer disguised as a minor officer. He knows we’re on to him now.”
“Much good may that do him.” Mama smiled. “But it will do far more good for us.”
“Just what are you planning?” Saul asked warily.
“Female magic,” Mama answered “Good day, Saul.”
Saul watched with trepidation as she went back into the castle. He watched with even more trepidation an hour later, when she came out wearing a gown that was officially demure and modest, with a high neckline, long loose sleeves, and a hem that brushed the toes of small cordovan slippers… officially demure, but clinging to her figure in ways that should have classified it as a lethal weapon. “Lady Mantrell!” Saul exclaimed, shocked. “What are you doing?” After all, everyone knew that mothers weren’t supposed to be sexually attractive, especially mothers of grown sons. “Only what I have done every day since this siege began, Saul,” she told him, “patrolling the battlements and encouraging our soldiers.”
Well, she certainly raised the morale of the soldiers, even though her manner was far from alluring… but between sentry posts, she moved with a languid grace that would have made Saul feel like baying at the moon, if he hadn’t had a wife of his own. In a panic, he wondered what duty he owed to Matt. Sure, he was supposed to protect Mama from the Moors… but was he really supposed to protect the Moors from Mama?
Stegoman dropped them at sunset and went off to hunt. Matt stretched. “At this rate, I’m going to have saddle sores.”
“Yes, and you don’t even have a saddle.” Papa smiled “Was it not pleasant to have so uneventful a flight?”
“Seems that’s what I always said whenever I reached O’Hare Airport. But it was kinda nice not to see any genies trying to swat us out of the air.”
Callio looked up from his own stretching, alarmed. “Yes, I had expected at least one such run-in,’ Papa admitted. “Do you suppose Lakshmi and her associates have spread the word to leave us alone?”
“That wouldn’t matter to lamp slaves and ring slaves. They have to do as they’re told, no matter what.”
“True,” Papa said thoughtfully. “Perhaps the word has also run to the sorcerers who hold the lamps and the rings, and they are holding back for fear of having the genies freed.”
“That could be a really well-earned fear, for some of them,” Matt agreed. “There might be a genie or two wanting revenge.” He shuddered at the thought of a maimed and dying sorcerer, then reminded himself sternly that one less enemy shouldn’t bother him… should it?
“Are we truly apt to be attacked by a genie?” Callio quavered.
“It happened yesterday,” Matt told him “and another time before that, too. Look, you don’t have to come along, you know.”
“Oh, but I wish to!” Callio developed a faraway gaze. “Perhaps I am fortunate in not having met you sooner.’
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Matt sighed. “Well, down to practicalities How are you at lighting a campfire?”
The thief answered with a mirthless smile. “I have done it more nights than not, Lord Wizard.”
“I knew there was a reason we brought you along. How about lighting up for us, okay?”
“My delight!”
“Always like to see a man doing something he enjoys.” Matt turned to Papa. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in hunting?”
Papa shrugged “There is always the… “
Puffs of dust shot up from the ground in a semicircle around their feet Matt stared at them “Now, what do you suppose that could be?”
The wind brought them a sound like a string of firecrackers blowing. “Enemy fire!” snapped Papa. “Get down!” To emphasize the point, he swung a leg, knocking Matt’s feet out from under him, then fell beside him… just in time, for bullets kicked up dust behind them.
“What evil magic is that?” Callio asked, facedown in the dirt.
“A rapid fire spell!” Matt shouted.
“Roll into the streambed, quickly!” Papa cried. They did, with bullets kicking dust about them, following them, reaching them only as they fell into the little trench. Callio cried out in pain and fear.
“Let me see it.” Matt crawled over to him and took his arm. The blood oozed out over Callio’s homespun sleeve. “Only a flesh wound. Here.” Matt tore off the bottom of the man’s tunic and wrapped it around the arm. “We’ll fix it when we’ve chased away the, ah, enemy sorcerer. How’s the pain?”
“I can bear it,” Callio whimpered, “but how shall I steal with only one hand?”
“Very carefully,” Matt told him, and slapped him on the other shoulder. “Buck up… we all have setbacks.” He squirmed over to Papa, reflecting that maybe he wouldn’t have to check his wallet every fifteen minutes from now on. He came up beside his father, who had found a stick and wadded bulrushes about it. “What kind of gun is it?” Matt asked.
“An automatic weapon of some sort,” Papa answered. The wad of bulrushes was about as big as his head now; he stuck it up above the bank. Puffs of dirt exploded all along the bank. Finally the wad blew apart.
A few seconds later, they heard the chatter of the shots. “An assault rifle, from the sound of it,” Papa said, “and although he’s not the greatest marksman in the world, he is good enough.”
“How do you define ‘good enough’?”
“By whether or not I stay alive,” Papa said grimly. “I did not know that gunpowder could work here.”
“It can’t,” Matt said, then frowned. “No, come to think of it, I’ve never tried gunpowder itself, without a spell to help.”
“But it will work with a spell?”
“Empty cartridges will work, with a spell.” Matt’s eyes lost focus. “Come to think of it, maybe even without cartridges…”
“Catch up on your research and development later,” Papa told him. “For now, let’s see if we can’t find a way to stop the dunderhead.” He started to crawl along the streambed.
“Wait.” Matt reached out and touched his shoulder. “Let’s figure out what we’re up against first. If it’s an assault rifle, how did it get here?”
“Yes, the weaponry is a little advanced for this universe,” Papa said, frowning, “though as you’ve just pointed out, it may not be a real assault rifle… only a local imitation.”
“It still means that whoever made it copied the design from our universe,” Matt said. “That kind of limits the possibilities.”
“Why? We know this Nirobus of yours doesn’t do the actual dirty work himself… he sends others to do it for him. Why couldn’t he teach some local peasant how to handle the weapon?”
“That would account for the marksmanship,” Matt agreed. “Even if Nirobus imported the sniper from New Jersey, though, he’d be unfamiliar enough with the territory so that he wouldn’t be sure what to shoot at.”
“And would therefore shoot at anything that moved,” Papa said grimly. “I shall have to go very carefully.” He turned away.
Matt caught his arm. “Hold on. My universe, my risk.”
“You have more of your life left to live,” Papa objected.
“You have plenty, too, though, and some unborn grandchildren left to see. I’m pulling rank, Papa… youth before beauty.”