Moira’s brow wrinkled. "I wish he was here too. But we cannot even get a message to him, try as we might." She shook the mood off. "It must be very hard to work with spells without having the magician who made them to guide you."
"It’s not as bad as it might be," Jerry told her. "Probably our biggest advantage is that we know all the code was written by one person and I’m very familiar with Wiz’s programming style.
"Look, a lot of this business is like playing a guessing game with someone. The more you know about the person and the way that person thinks, the more successful you are likely to be."
He sighed. "Still, it would be nice not to have to guess at all. Besides, Wiz is good. He’d be a real asset."
"We are doing everything we can to locate him," Moira said. "Meanwhile, is there anything else you need?"
"A couple of things. First, is there any way to get cold cuts and sandwich fixings brought in? My people tend to miss meals."
"Certainly. Anything else?"
"Well, you don’t have coffee, tea or cola here, so I guess not."
"Wiz used to drink blackmoss tea," Moira told him, "but that is terrible stuff."
"Can we try some?" Jerry asked.
Moira rang for a servant and while they waited for the tea, she and Jerry chatted about the work.
"We call the new operating system ’WIZ-DOS’—that’s the Wiz Zumwalt Demon Operating System."
"If this thing has a 640K memory limit, I quit!" someone put in from one of the stalls.
"As far as we know there’s no limit at all on memory," Jerry said. It’s just that addressing it is kind of convoluted."
Moira didn’t understand the last part, but her experience with Wiz had taught her the best thing to do was to ignore the parts she didn’t understand. To do otherwise invited an even more incomprehensible "explanation."
"I’m sure Wiz would be honored to have this named after him," she said.
The tea arrived already brewed. Moira, who had used it when she was standing vigil as part of her training, thought it smelled nasty. Jerry didn’t seem to notice. Moira poured out a small amount of the swamp-water-brown brew. Dubiously, she extended the cup. Jerry sniffed it, then sipped. Then he drained the cup and smacked his lips. "Not bad," he said appraisingly. "A little weak, but not bad. Can we arrange to have a big pot of this stuff in the Bull Pen while we’re working?"
"Of course, My Lord, I’ll have the kitchen send up a pot."
"I mean a big pot," Jerry said. "Say thirty or sixty cups."
Moira, remembering the effect that even a cup of blackmoss tea had on her, stared at him.
"Well, there are more than a dozen of us," he said apologetically.
Moira nodded, wondering if there was enough blackmoss in the castle to supply this crew for even a week.
Fifteen: War Warning
A jump gone awry is one of the hardest bugs to locate.
Bal-Simba was walking in the castle garden when his deputy found him.
"Lord," Arianne said strangely. "Someone wishes to speak to you."
"Who?" the black wizard asked, catching her mood.
"Aelric, the elf duke."
Duke Aelric, or rather his image, was waiting for him in the
Watcher’s room. The Watchers, who kept magical watch on the entire world, shifted uneasily at their communications crystals in the elf’s presence.
Bal-Simba studied the apparition as he mounted the dais overlooking the sunken floor where the Watchers worked. The elf duke was wearing a simple tunic of dark-brown velvet that set off his milk-white complexion. His long hair was caught back in a golden filet set with small yellow gems at his temples. His face was serene and untroubled, not that that meant anything. Elves were inhumanly good at hiding their feelings and in any event their emotions were not those of mortals.
Bal-Simba had heard Wiz and Moira’s story of their rescue by Duke Aelric and their dinner with him, but this was the first time Bal-Simba had ever seen him. Come to that, it is the first time I have ever seen any elf this close, he thought as he seated himself in his chair.
Duke Aelric seemed not to notice Bal-Simba until he was properly settled to receive his guest.
"I seek the Sparrow, but I am told he is not available," Aelric said.
"He is not here."
"Do you know when he will return?"
Bal-Simba considered the question before answering.
"I do not. He is off in the Wild Wood, I believe."
Aelric raised a silver eyebrow. "Indeed? Forgive me if I pry, but when did he leave?"
"Forgive my curiosity, but why do you wish to know?"
"Because he was on business of some urgency when he left my hold to return to your city a fortnight hence," Aelric said.
Bal-Simba frowned mightily. "He was coming straight back?"
Aelric waved a hand. "That was his plan. He left upon the Wizard’s Way to return here immediately." He looked sharply at the black Wizard.
"I swear to you he did not arrive here," Bal-Simba told him. He struck his chest. "Upon my life I swear it."
"I believe you, oath or no," the image said.
"I will also tell you that we have been trying to contact him for several days without success. Frankly, we are becoming worried."
Elf and mortal fell silent, contemplating the implications.
"It occurs to me," the elf duke said slowly, "that someone may have transgressed upon my hospitality. I do not appreciate interference with those traveling to and from my abode."
"It occurs to me that Wiz may be in dire danger," Bal-Simba said, a trifle sharply.
"I hope not," Aelric told him. "For all our sakes."
It was Bal-Simba’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
"A matter of forestalling a war between humans and other users of magic, I think," Duke Aelric explained.
"War?"
"Did you expect your drive to exterminate magical creatures along the Fringe would go unremarked? Or that your expansion deep into the Wild Wood would pass unnoticed?"
"I think that there is a great deal going on out on the Fringe that I and the Council are unaware of."
Aelric waved a languid hand. "That is as it may be. The Sparrow seemed to feel he could turn this human tide before it came to that." Then he sobered and power seemed to radiate out of him like a nimbus.
"But I tell you this, wizard. If you cannot find your Sparrow—and soon—then you may have lost your only chance to forestall a war which would rend the World asunder."
He nodded gravely. "Merry part."
Bal-Simba’s eyes widened at the usage, but he nodded in reply. "Merry meet again." And the elf duke’s image was gone.
Bal-Simba heaved a great sigh. "When an elf uses human courtesies you know you are in trouble," he remarked to no one in particular. Then the giant black wizard turned to the gaping Watchers in the pit.
"I want every Watcher we have scanning the World for our Sparrow." He turned to Arianne. "Set up a schedule so we may search day and night." Then to one of the wizards with a communication crystal. "Send the word out to all the villages and habitations at once. Wiz must be found. And order the dragon cavalry out to search as well."
"Lord, do you think he meant what he said about war?" Arianne asked.
"Have you ever known an elf to joke?" Bal-Simba said. "He was concerned enough to come to us. That is more than sufficient proof that something very dangerous is in the air."