"Twenty years as a mage, without a single miscast," he muttered, satisfied at the outcome of the spell. The casting of this same spell on the previous night had cost him a considerable amount of energy, thanks to the presence of the two Questors; against six mere Seculars, it had proved easy.
Now came the more complex part. Perfuco lowered his voice to a deep, rumbling basso profundissimo, to enhance its effectiveness. "You may return to full awareness when I clap my hands twice," he began.
You have been told by the General to surrender the mages to me; all of you were present when this order was given. You are happy to do this," he said, adding with a smile, "due to your extreme, execrable incompetence."
Perfuco might have been Pacified, but he was not bereft of all initiative, since Quelgrum had not dared to tamper with the structure of his brain.
"You will not discuss this order with anybody, including the General himself, on pain of death. You will remember that the General has given you these orders in person; you will not question them, and you will not consider them at all unusual.
"You will take this subject back to the secure ward and sedate him," he said, indicating the comatose Questor lying on the gurney. "You will then return here, and remember only that you acted on General Quelgrum's direct, secret order. You will take no further action against the subjects, and you will say only that the conditioning is progressing well if anybody, including the General, asks you for details of the Pacification process; vile traitors may be listening."
Perfuco's brow furrowed. Now he had spoken them aloud, the General's orders no longer seemed as reasonable as they had. If Armitage really was a traitor, Quelgrum would have arrested him at gunpoint.
Why all this elaborate deception? he wondered.
His mind searched for a reasonable explanation for the bizarre orders, but his thinking was coloured by his enforced faith in the senior officer, and he supplied his own answer.
Of course! The General must be worried that Armitage has a coterie of spies and traitors at his command, and he wishes to flush them out by his own means. It would not do for the Professor to give away the game by acting in an odd manner. General Quelgrum is indeed a wise man, and it is not for me to guess his motives.
"You all trust me implicitly, as the General's faithful advisor," the magic-user said, now ad-libbing to his own advantage, "and you owe me homage only second to that which you owe him. You will report knowledge of any and all traitors within this compound to me in person, and you may do this whilst you are in this trance state, although you will remember nothing of having done so afterwards."
Perfuco felt a glow of pride at his initiative, and he waited for details of Armitage's beguiled agents to fall into his lap without any extra effort on his part, but only silence greeted him. Long moments passed, as the Professor and his acolytes stood mute and motionless.
This damned Technologist must have blocked such knowledge from his mind by some cursed, scientific means; no wonder the General is so suspicious of the man! The mage felt new respect at his employer's insight and ingenuity.
Realising that, with traitors to hunt, he could ill afford further magical expenditure on his mighty spell of Compulsion, Perfuco acknowledged partial defeat and clapped twice, after adding one, final remark.
"If you ever call me 'wizard' again, Armitage, you will suffer agonising pains in your entrails, which you will ascribe to your gluttonous diet. It will depart when you accord me my correct title of 'mage', or you address me as 'Colonel'."
After the mage clapped his hands, Armitage and his assistants blinked and shook their heads. Perfuco knew he had to fill the void in order to activate the Compulsion.
"So, if you would be so kind as to take this Questor back to the secure ward, Armitage, I will take charge of the prisoners," he said, as if making an arrangement with an old and trusted friend.
"Er, yes, that's right, wizard… OW!" Armitage doubled up, clutching his ample gut. His assistants appeared amused, rather than concerned, as awareness flooded into them.
"My title is 'Colonel', or 'mage', as I have told you, Professor Armitage," Perfuco said, in a soft voice. "Forget it at your peril."
With his sweaty face contorted in agony, Armitage gasped, "I'm sorry, mage."
In an instant, his face cleared, and he drew himself erect, puffing his cheeks out as he did so.
The Professor blinked, shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about that, Colonel. Must have been something I ate; I must go on a diet, someday soon! Yes, that's quite in order. I've really lost my touch with these guys, so I'm only too happy to let a man of your competence take over."
He turned to one of his assistants. "Shemmur," he barked, "take the subject back to the secure ward, and get an IV into him; point-five percent Thorazine in saline; as usual."
"I heard the order well enough, Sir," the tech whined, grabbing the handles of the gurney. "I'm not deaf!"
"That's enough of your lip, sonny," Armitage snapped. "This is Colonel Perfuco, a senior officer. Try to show him you're some kind of soldier, even if you're not."
The boy let go of the trolley, and snapped into a pose of attention worthy of any parade ground, and he gave a perfect salute.
"Yes, Sir!" he shouted, looking straight at the mage. "I apologise for my insubordination, Sir!"
"Carry on, Private," Perfuco said, returning the salute and suppressing a smile. The boy stiffened even further under the Mentalist's stern gaze.
"Yes, Sir!" he cried, giving another flawless salute and clicking his heels. He even managed to make pushing the gurney look like a regulation parade-ground exercise, and the thaumaturge had to fight to keep his expression neutral.
It was nice to be in charge for a change!
Still, the mage had an important task to fulfil; he had traitors and renegades to unmask.
"Remember, Professor; not a word to anybody," he said, as he picked up his precious case. Noting a red gem on a silver chain on one of the tables, from which he sensed a heavy magical exudation, he picked it up, unopposed. His Mage Sight fastened onto the jewel, and he analysed it.
"Hmm… this is a gem of Missile Reversal, if I am not much mistaken," he said. "If you do not mind, Professor, I will take it with me."
"I don't mind at all, Colonel," Armitage said. "Feel free; it's no good to me."
****
Swift as a frightened rat, Thribble scuttled from the bag and regained the relative safety of the underside of the gurney.
After the trolley was wheeled into a white room, after a long journey, the imp noticed several occupied beds arrayed along the back wall, and no obvious exit; this must be his goal. As the private hoisted Grimm onto a bed with little ceremony, Thribble scuttled underneath. Agonising moments passed while the junior soldier fussed and fiddled around with straps and machines. The grey demon hunkered down, careful to avoid notice.
After what seemed like an age, the gangly youth finished his administrations, and he sauntered out of the room, swinging the empty gurney from side to side as if it were a dancing partner. Thribble was alone with a group of five drugged humans, with no idea of how to proceed. Once he was certain that no intrusion was likely, and that there were no guards present, he clambered up onto Grimm's bed, searching for the 'ivy' of which he had heard.
There was no horticulture in evidence, but the demon saw a clear, flexible tube that seemed to be inserted into Grimm's elbow, just after a leather strap. The tube ran up to a bottle held on a rack. The flask was full of what looked like water, but Thribble guessed that this must be the 'Thor scene', of which he had heard Armitage speak. He had no idea of what this substance might be, but he guessed it was the cause of Grimm's continuing torpor.