He never even saw the shadow that detached itself from the gloom and brought the raised club down on his head with skull-smashing force.
Wiz never saw the blow coming, nor the four cloaked figures that came charging out of the dark. He didn’t have to. The protective spell in his ring sensed the danger and wrapped him in a stasis field, leaving him frozen in the center of the band of attackers.
The first man’s club bounced out of his numbed fingers. Before he could bend to retrieve it, a second, smaller figure twisted in and struck with the speed of a cobra. His dagger flashed down, struck the magic field, skittered off and buried itself in the wielder’s thigh. The man screamed and fell back. The other two stopped their headlong charge and stared at the motionless figure of the wizard, considering their next move.
"I’m struck down," wailed the little one with the knife. "Laid low by a cowardly wizard’s blow."
"Ah, it’s nothing but a scratch," growled the man with the club.
"A scratch?" the wounded man yelped. "A scratch?" His voice went higher and quavered. "It’s a Fortuna great wound in me leg, it is. Nigh mortal, I tell you."
"Well, stand away and we’ll finish him," said a third man. "All of us striking together." He hefted his cudgel and fitted his actions to his words.
The fourth and last assassin had a sword. The three remaining men struck Wiz simultaneously and in turns. They hit him high. They hit him low. They pounded and hammered and thrust and sliced and hacked and hewed. Wiz just stood there, frozen in time and oblivious to their efforts.
"Doesn’t seem to matter what we do," the shortest one gasped at last. "It hurts us worse than it does him." He rubbed his shoulder. "Got me bursitis going again, it has."
"We could set him on fire," the tall one with the sword said speculatively.
"Not likely he’d burn," said the third. "He’s an expert on dragons after all."
"Let’s throw him in the river then."
"Don’t look at me," the aggrieved voice came out of the shadows. "I’m wounded out of commission."
"Three of us can handle him all right. Come on boys."
The men clustered around Wiz and tried to jerk him aloft. But the stasis spell worked in proportion to the applied acceleration and Wiz would not move.
"He’s heavy as lead," one of them grunted.
"Let’s tip him, then," said the man with the sword. "Maybe we can move him that way."
By slowly tilting the frozen Wiz back on his heels and working him forward inch by painful inch the thugs got Wiz to the stone rail.
"Now," the tall one panted, "how we going to get him over the railing?"
"Maybe we could hoist him up and tip him like?" the one with the sword said dubiously.
"Won’t do any good if he lands in the mud bank," the third said, having regained his breath.
The two looked at each other and then leaned over the rail to peer down to the river.
A strong hand grasped each man by the belt and boosted both assassins up and over the rail before they knew what had happened. The third man rushed to the aid of his friends only to be seized and propelled over the stone railing after them. Three splashes from below confirmed that they had indeed been over the river and not the mud bank.
"Now," said Malkin, turning to face the fourth thug.
"No need." The man hobbled to his feet and held out a hand to ward her off. "No need. I’m going." With that he hoisted himself over the stone rail and disappeared into the darkness below.
With the threat vanished, the spell relaxed its grip and time speeded up to normal for Wiz. He blinked as his eyes refocused, realized he was facing in a different direction and then saw Malkin looking over the bridge railing.
"Something happened didn’t it?"
Malkin looked at him oddly. "Four Bog Side bullies just tried to kill you is all. I guess that qualifies as ’something’-at least for normal folk."
She strode ahead briskly. "Come on," she said over her shoulder. "Let’s get off this bridge before something else happens."
"Who?" said Wiz as he caught up beside her.
"Hired help," Malkin told him. "And not of the best, either. Seems as if someone wants you dead, but they don’t want to spend a lot of money on the project."
"Dieter?"
Malkin considered. "Mayhap. But as like Mayor Hastlebone. Or one of the others."
"Wait a minute. The mayor’s my strongest supporter."
"He’s tied his wagon to your star and that’s a fact. But mayhap he’s afraid your star will fall and wants to hedge his bet. After all, if you die accidental-like, you can’t rightly be said to have failed, now can you?"
"Hendrick?"
"Or maybe one of the common folk, who’s afraid of dragons."
"Well, if they’re afraid of dragons," Wiz said despairingly, "don’t they want me to succeed?"
"They’re likely afraid you’ll stir the dragons up to burn the town again."
"Great. Try to do them a favor and they try to kill you."
Malkin grinned. "You expected gratitude?"
Twenty-one: Fanfare For Kazoos and Dragon
Just because it doesn’t work the way you expected doesn’t mean it’s useless.
Wiz stewed about the incident on the bridge for the next three days without coming to any kind of conclusion-except that someone here really didn’t like him. Since he had known that almost from the moment he set foot in town, the information didn’t help him any.
He was still stewing when the mayor showed up on his doorstep. He was hoarse and made liberal use of the handkerchief in his sleeve, but he looked better than he had the last time Wiz had seen him.
"What can I do for you, Your Honor?" he asked once they were settled in his workroom.
"It’s this new organization," Mayor Hendrick said. "Oh, I’m sure it’s wonderful and all that. But it’s so, well, complicated, we meet and we meet and we meet and nothing ever seems to get done."
"Reinventing and re-empowering an organization does take some time to get up to speed," Wiz said. "But I’m sure once the initial formalities are out of the way you will find it a vast improvement."
"Maybe, but that’s not exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I need something to help me maintain my position."