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"What is more real than the components of magic?" He nodded at the watch. "I do not recognize your
timepiece, yet I accept that it keeps true time."
"That's not magical, though."
"No? Explain to me exactly how it works."
"It's a quartz-crystal. The electrons flow through... I mean..." He gave up. "It's not my specialty. But it
runs on electricity, not magic formulae."
"Really? I know many electric formulae."
"But dammit, it runs on a battery!"
"And what is inside this thing you call a battery?"
"Stored electric power."
"And is there no formula to explain that?"
"Of course there is. But it's a mathematical formula, not a magic one."
"You say mathematics is not magic? What kind of wizard are you?"
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"I keep trying to tell you, I'm..." But Clothahump raised a hand for silence, leaving a frustrated Jon-Tom
to fume silently at the turtle's obstinacy.
Jon-Tom began to consider what the wizard had just said and grew steadily more confused.
In addition to the firefly explosions dancing on its surface, the paste-brew had changed from green to
yellow and was pulsing steadily. Clothahump laid his wand aside ceremoniously. Lifting the crucible, he
offered it to the four corners of the compass. Then he tilted it and drained the contents.
"Pog." He wiped paste from his beak.
"Yes, Master." The bat's voice was subservient now.
Clothahump passed him the crucible, then the brass bowl. "Scullery work." The bat hefted both
containers, flapped off toward a distant kitchen.
"How's that now, my boy?" Clothahump eyed him sympathetically. "Feel better?"
"You mean... that's it? You're finished?" Jon-Tom thought to look down at himself. The ugly wound had
vanished completely. The flesh was smooth and unbroken, the sole difference between it and the
surrounding skin being that it wasn't suntanned like the rest of his torso. It occurred to him that the pain
had also left him.
Tentatively he pressed the formerly bleeding region. Nothing. He turned an open-mouthed stare of
amazement on the turtle.
"Please." Clothahump turned away. "Naked adulation embarrasses me."
"But how...?"
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"Oh, the incantations healed you, boy."
"Then what was the purpose of the stuff" in the bowl?"
"That? Oh, that was my breakfast." He grinned as much as his beak would allow. "It also served nicely
to distract you while you healed. Some patients get upset if they see their own bodies healing...
sometimes it can be messy to look upon. So I had the choice of putting you to sleep or distracting you.
The latter was safer and simpler. Besides, I was hungry.
"And now I think it time we touch on the matter of why I drew you into this world from your own. You
know, I went to the considerable trouble, not to mention danger, of opening the portals between
dimensions and bending space-time. But first it is necessary to seal this room. Move over there, please."
Still wordless at his astonishing recovery, Jon-Tom obediently stepped back against a bookcase. Mudge
joined him. So did the returning Pog.
"Scrubbing crucibles," the bat muttered under his breath. Clothahump had picked up his wand and was
waving it through the air, mumbling cryptically. "Dat's all I ever do around here; wash da dishes, fetch da
books, clean da dirt."
"If you're so disgusted, why stick around?" Jon-Tom regarded the bat sympathetically. He'd almost
grown used to its hideousness. "Do you want to be a wizard so badly?"
"Shit, no!" Pog's gruffness gave way to agitation. "Wizarding's mighty dangerous stuff." He fluttered
nearer. "I've indentured myself to da old wreck in return for a major, permanent transmogrification. I only
got ta stick it out another few years... I tink... before I can demand payment."
"What kind o' change you got in mind, mate?"
Pog turned to face the otter. "Y'know da section o' town at da end of da Avenue o' da Pacers? Da big
old building dere dat's built above da stables?"
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"Cor, wot be you doin' thereabouts? You don't rate that kind o' trade. That's a high-rent district, that is."
The otter was grinning hugely under his whiskers.
"I know, I know," confessed the disconsolate Pog. "I've a friend who made a killing on da races who [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]