Shea had no interest in Quixote's philosophies. The puppet show was beginning.
Trumpets blared, kettledrums beat, and a small boy called out: "Now see the true tale of the lord Sir Galiferos who freed his wife Melisendra, who was captive of the Moors."
The show started with the puppet of Sir Galiferos playing backgammon in the square, until his father-in-law, King Charlemagne, came and told his idle son-in-law to go rescue his daughter. Shamed, Galiferos got his horse and armor and charged off for the Moorish city, found his wife, and, in broad daylight, carried off a daring rescue right under the nose of King Marsilio.
Shea was enjoying the play greatly until he suddenly realized that there was something wrong about the puppets. He stared, watching the tiny characters move about the stage, and it dawned on him that no matter how hard he looked, he could not see the strings that animated the marionettes. "Doc," he whispered. "Can you see the strings on the puppets?"
Chalmers leaned forward on the bench and squinted. "No," he said finally. "What's more, Melisendra looks just like Florimel, and Galiferos looks like Malambroso." Chalmers then tapped Quixote on the shoulder and whispered something to him, and Shea saw the knight lean forward and stare, too.
The play had just gotten to the part where the Moorish cavalcade, led by King Marsilio, streamed out of the city after Galiferos, when Quixote leapt to his feet. "I know you now, Freston," he shouted at Master Peter, "and you as well, knavish Malambroso." He stood and drew his sword and pointed it at the stage. "Hand over to us the Lady Florimel, or all will go ill for you!"
The stage seemed to grow, along with the characters in it, until horses, actors, and the Moorish city backdrop were all life-sized. Shea loosed his saber in its scabbard and charged to his feet. Chalmers ran beside him, while Sancho Panza dropped back and looked for a safe place to hide.
"Florimel!" Chalmers shouted.
Florimel, seated ahead of Malambroso on his horse, looked at her husband with dazed and uncomprehending eyes. "She can hear you, Chalmers, but she doesn't know you," Malambroso snarled. "All she can think of is me." The sorcerer bared his teeth in a hideous parody of a grin, and pressed his knife against the base of Florimel's neck. "If I slit her throat right now, she'd die loving me for it," he added.
Florimel turned her head enough that she could look at the sorcerer, and her rapt expression seemed to bear his brag out. Chalmers snarled, "I'll kill him. I swear I will."
Shea said, "Only if I don't do it first, Doc. He and Quixote charged the sorcerer with weapons drawn, and Chalmers ran behind, trying hard to come up with a spell to destroy the two evil enchanters.
But the Moors, who had been so vigorously pursuing Malambroso in his guise as Galiferos, arrived and surrounded Quixote, Shea, and Chalmers instead. Most of the horde aimed their weapons at their three captives. A few of the Moorish warriors dismounted and bound the captives' wrists. Quixote was separated from Shea and Chalmers by force, and made to mount a saddled ass backwards. Shea and Chalmers, apparently judged less of a threat, but also less worthy of humiliation, were chained together at the waist and inarched at spear point to face Malambroso. Quixote, backwards on the donkey, was brought beside them an instant later. And just minutes after that, the Moors dragged Sancho Panza, kicking and biting, from his hiding place, knocked on the head and draped over another donkey.
"Now I have you all. Bound, you cannot use weapons against me," Malambroso gloated. "And as for magic, by all the demons of Hell and their servants on Earth, you shall cast no evil spell against Freston or against me." Malambroso waved to the Moorish warriors and bellowed, "Bring them back to the city, and tonight we shall feast on the livers of our enemies."
Their captors let out a cheer.
Freston, no longer in the guise of the puppeteer, cantered through the throng, straight up to Quixote. "I don't want your liver, sir knight. I intend to eat your heart."
Quixote smiled gently, and said. "A coward can derive no greatness from eating the heart of a great man. My heart will only poison you with envy, that you are puny and despicable and without honor."
Freston reddened and spat in the knight's face. "Brave words. You'll repent of them soon enough."
The Moors, with wild ululations, started their captives marching toward the nearby city. The prisoners, surrounded, marched helplessly.
Shea tried an easy spell against Malambroso, just to see if it would work. Nothing happened. He groaned and leaned back slightly to whisper to Chalmers, who was tied behind him, "We're doomed, Doc. I tried a spell to make Malambroso sneeze—and nothing happened,"
"Don't worry. I have a spell I think will work," Chalmers said. He whispered a bit of doggerel to Shea, and grinned. "Well—?"
Shea shook his head. "That's sweet of you, Doc, but I don't see the point."
Chalmers chuckled softly. "Trust me. All you have to do is remember the words and repeat them with me."
Harold shrugged. "I guess it can't hurt."
"Precisely, my dear boy. Precisely." Chalmers laughed, and said, "Begin."
"By God and all the angels, and all that is good—" Shea intoned.
"And by Satan and all his minions, and all the dark powers of hell—" Chalmers seconded.
"That's vile poetry, Reed," Shea said after they'd finished. "Pointless, too."
Chalmers snickered. "Hardly. Just watch."
Shea watched. Behind the two sorcerers, little clumps of flowers were springing up. Harold Shea rolled his eyes. "Aw, how sweet. Malambroso has posies trailing in his wake. I hate to say this, Doc, but I think you've gone round the bend."
"The flowers were just to let us know the spell was working. Give it a few minutes for the rest of it to fall into place," Chalmers insisted, but refused to say any more.
Shea looked around. Nothing seemed to be happening, except that the road started looking like the Moorish Ladies Home and Garden Club had gotten hold of it. And then he happened to rest his eyes on a Moorish warrior just as that warrior's clothes changed. They ceased to be threadbare and ragged, and became rather nice—well-cut and of good cloth. Odd, Shea thought. An instant later, that same warrior's horse became a considerably better horse of similar appearance. Startled, Shea looked around at the other warriors. All of them were becoming progressively better and better dressed, but always in tiny increments. He looked down at his own clothes, and found that they were of the finest linen, beautifully embroidered and quilted. As he watched, they changed again, and he caught the glimmer of jewels and gold in amongst the silk threads. The rope around his wrists suddenly untied itself and fell to the ground. He looked at Don Quixote, and saw that the knight was now riding face-forward, unbound, and on Rosinante. Prudently, he kept quiet.
"See," Chalmers whispered. "Isn't this nice?"
"Very," Harold agreed. "I think I see what you were aiming for."
"Not yet. You will very soon now, though. You must realize that the effects of our little spell are being felt, not only here, but all over this planet—perhaps even all over this universe."
Harold Shea shrugged. "I'm sure everyone is thrilled."
Chalmers snickered again. "No, I don't imagine everyone is."