"Sorry about the interruption," Jerry said as he came back to the wizards. "Now, let me show you what you came to see."
"I think we have seen enough of this—this circus!" Petronus said.
"Quite enough," Bal-Simba agreed amicably. "My Lord, could you create a demon so obedient to your commands as the ones we saw when we first came in?"
Petronus froze. "I would not demean myself…"
"But if you wished to, could you?" he shook his head. "I could not, I know. Have you ever seen a demon so instantly responsive?"
"No," Petronus finally admitted. "No, I have not."
Bal-Simba turned to Jerry. "And how long did it take to create that swarm of demons?"
"Hey Danny," Jerry called out, "how long did it take you to write that air combat game?"
Danny stuck his head around the corner of his cubicle. "Jeez, Jerry, you always assume…"
"How long, Danny?" Jerry said inexorably.
The young programmer shrugged. "Oh, maybe four hours."
"You see," Bal-Simba said to his fellow wizards. "In less time than it takes us to frame a moderately complex spell, this young one created a dozen demons whose subtlety we cannot match. This shows the worth of the effort, I think."
Petronus snorted. "Trinkets. A handful of magical trinkets."
Bal-Simba shifted his bulk and the bench teetered alarmingly. "You would rather they write their spells large for practice? Or released them outside the confines of this building? No, I think their wisdom in making trinkets is manifest."
"Well," said Malus, looking longingly down the table toward the spot where the "user interface" had been, "they are certainly accomplishing something."
"It is obvious they are accomplishing a great deal," Bal-Simba said. "I think their work should continue unhindered."
Petronus looked from Bal-Simba to Malus. "Oh very well," he said at last. "I only hope we do not regret this afternoon’s work." He rose and bowed to his colleagues. "My Lords, if you will forgive me, my own work presses." He turned and stalked the length of the Bull Pen without a backward glance.
"I too must be gone," said Malus. "Unless you have another demonstration?" he asked hopefully.
"No," Jerry said firmly. "Thank you for coming, Lord." Malus bowed and followed his colleague out.
"Thanks, Lord," Jerry said to Bal-Simba as the dumpy wizard pulled the door shut behind him.
"Petronus is firm in resolution, but not subtle in debate," Bal-Simba said, smiling to show off his filed teeth. "He gave me an opportunity and I took it." Then he sobered. "Besides, I was afraid of what might happen if we stayed within a moment longer."
"You and me both, Lord," Jerry agreed fervently.
Bal-Simba rose and Jerry rose with him. "I admit I had some misgivings, but it did not go badly, I think."
"I had a few misgivings myself. Uh, we really are making progress. I can show you if you want."
Bal-Simba chuckled. "Oh, I believe you, Lord. And no, it is not necessary to show me. I trust you and I doubt I would understand half of it."
Jerry followed the huge wizard to the door lost in thought.
"You look as if you have something pressing upon your mind," Bal-Simba said as he held the door for him.
"Well, yes Lord," Jerry said as they stepped out into the courtyard. He sighed. "Look, I know this is a new environment and it’s a completely different culture and all, and I know that even the laws of nature are different here." He stopped and for an instant looked as if he might cry. "But Lord, this place gets weirder every day!"
Bal-Simba nodded and looked back at the Bull Pen. "My thought precisely," he said in a bemused tone.
Wiz eased his way down the corridor, hugging the wall and keeping a tight grip on his rusty halberd head. Somewhere off in the distance he could hear the faint drip, drip, drip of water. Dripping water meant running water and running water was likely to be cleaner than the foul musty slop he had found so far. So in spite of his misgivings, Wiz pressed on. It was so cold his breath hung in puffs before him. Short, sharp puffs because Wiz was panting from fear.
The corridor was utterly still and completely empty. Save for the soft dripping and the even softer pad of his own feet there was no sound at all. When he stopped the quiet pressed in around him like a smothering cloak.
Most of the lanterns in the stretch still worked, albeit dimly, holding the dark at bay and leaving the shadows as patches in the corners, to writhe threateningly each time the lamps flickered.
At first Wiz thought the patch ahead of him was another shadow. But it did not shift or vanish as he approached. In the dim light he was almost on top of it before he realized what it was.
In the center of the corridor lay a bloody heap of dark robes wrapped about a thing which might have been a wizard. The head had been smashed like a melon and there was a smear of blood and yellowish brains on the wall beside the corpse. The arms and legs stuck out at impossible angles and the torso was bent backwards as if it had been broken like a dry stick over a giant knee.
Wiz gasped and shrank back against the wall. There were killers aplenty in the ruins, he knew, but nothing he had seen or heard that had the power to take a wizard—or the sheer ferocity to do this.
Then Wiz looked more closely. There was steam rising from the sundered torso, steam from the shattered skull as the corpse gave up its body heat to the surrounding cold. There were even faint wisps of steam coming from the pools of blood surrounding the remains. The wizard had been dead for only minutes. Whatever had done this had to be nearby.
Wiz turned and ran, all thoughts of fresh water forgotten.
Nineteen: Half-Fast Standard Time
Putting twice as many programmers on a project that is late will make it twice as late.
"Good morning," Karl said as he walked into his makeshift classroom.
The faces of his pupils showed they didn’t think there was anything good about it. Their expressions ranged from grim determination to equally grim disapproval. He didn’t know what methods Moira and Bal-Simba had used to round up the dozen or so blue-robed wizards who were sitting at the rows of tables in front of him, but he had heard hints of everything from cajolery to blackmail.
Well, Karl thought as he turned back to the blackboard. At least I don’t have to worry about this bunch throwing spitballs. He turned around to face the grim-looking men and women in their magician’s robes. Lightning bolts maybe, but no spitballs.
"Okay," he said. "Let’s go back and review some basics."
"You sent for me, Lord?" Jerry Andrews asked as he knocked on the door of Bal-Simba’s study.
The black wizard looked up. "I did. Please come in and close the door."
Uh-oh, one of those meetings! Jerry thought as he complied.
"I wanted to find out if there was any way you can speed up your project," Bal-Simba said as soon as Jerry sat down.
"Lord, as I told you at our first meeting, this will take time. We have accomplished an amazing amount, largely because you have been willing to let us alone to get on with it. We’re way ahead of any reasonable schedule on this project, but we’re still only about forty percent done. It just takes time, Lord."
"I know," Bal-Simba said. "But there have been some, ah, changes since our first meeting. You know that we face the possibility of war with the elves and others?"