Black and Blue Magic (7 page)

“Did you injure yourself?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, no,” Harry said. “It’s just a stubbed toe. I’m used to them.”

“I’m very sorry. I feel I am responsible.”

“It’s nothing,” Harry said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Well then, I shall attempt to explain my nocturnal call. You must be very puzzled.”

Harry shrugged and tried to look as if mysterious midnight visitors didn’t bother him a bit.

“You see,” Mr. Mazzeeck went on, “I had intended to arrange this interview at a more conventional hour; however, I have just received word from my superiors that I must proceed at once to my next assignment. As you see, I am leaving immediately.” He gestured toward the closet door, and Harry noticed for the first time that it was open and the closet was quite empty. On a chair near the closet was the small suitcase. The little table had been pulled out into the middle of the room and the big suitcase was sitting on it. The lid was down, but Harry noticed that the three heavy, old-fashioned latches were not fastened.

“Firstly,” Mr. Mazzeeck went on, “I want to tell you how very grateful I am to you. Not only for returning my suitcase to me when we first met, but also for my pleasant stay in your mother’s home. I have not been so comfortable since ... well, since I started upon my wanderings. And the food—ah—it was delicious.” Mr. Mazzeeck’s wrinkled cherub-face smoothed into a faraway look, as if he were in the midst of a pleasant dream. Harry waited until Mr. Mazzeeck reluctantly pulled his mind away from Mom’s pies and cakes and went on with his story. “I’ll have to admit,” he said, “that I have purposely prolonged my stay because I hated to leave such comfortable surroundings.”

Harry couldn’t help smiling a bit. He’d suspected Mr. Mazzeeck of hanging around longer than necessary—but Harry imagined he was waiting for an opportunity to use that sword on someone. And all he’d really been after was a few more home-cooked meals. The thought made Harry feel so good that he got generous. “Well, we’ve enjoyed having you as a guest,” he said. “We’ll be looking forward to having you stop here the next time you’re in San Francisco.”

Mr. Mazzeeck suddenly looked very sad. “Ah,” he said, “I’d like that, but I’m afraid it’s impossible. You see, the next time I return to San Francisco, you and your lovely mother will no longer be alive.”

For a minute, Harry didn’t believe his ears, and then it felt like his heart exploded in an enormous shattering thump. So Mr. Mazzeeck
was
a crazy man, after all—and he did have plans for that terrible sword. Harry got up stiffly, and started backing toward the door.

A
S HARRY BACKED AWAY
toward the door, his face must have shown the horror he felt, because Mr. Mazzeeck suddenly seemed to realize what he had just said. He struck himself impatiently on the forehead. “Wait a moment. How foolish of me. You don’t understand, of course. You must let me explain.”

Harry stopped backing up, but he didn’t come any closer.

“You must understand,” Mr. Mazzeeck went on, “that you shall not be alive when I return to San Francisco, only because my orders do not include another trip to this area until the year 2071.”

“The year 2071?” Harry gasped. “You must be kidding.”

“No, it is quite true.”

“How—er—how old will
you
be then—in 2071?” Harry asked edging back a bit into the room. He was beginning to be pretty sure that Mr. Mazzeeck wasn’t dangerous. Crazy maybe, but not dangerous.

Mr. Mazzeeck thought a moment. “Just a bit over 3,000 years,” he said. He smiled his sad little smile. “You must have guessed by now that I’m not an ordinary peddler.”

“Well, I did notice that you were—uh—not too ordinary,” Harry admitted.

“Yes,” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “You see, I am an employee of the A. A. Comus Company and, although I am no longer a sorcerer myself, I am still a member of the A.O.A.T.S., with some of its rights and privileges; among which is, of course, immortality.” He looked at Harry significantly, as if Harry should know what he was talking about.

“The A.O.A. ... what?” Harry said.

“The A.O.A.T.S. The Ancient Order of Authentic and Traditional Sorcerers. I was once a full member.” Mr. Mazzeeck drew himself up to his full height, raised his chin and for just a moment Harry thought he saw again that strange transparency that seemed to let another face look through. A face lit, this time, by a deep, glowing pride. Then Mr. Mazzeeck was himself again, only a little sadder and more worried looking. “I am now only a Peddler and Purveyor of the Finest and Most Traditional of Magical Goods.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “you mean you sell magic stuff to magicians and things like that?”

“No indeed. Not if you mean boxes with false backs and other gimcracks of that nature to ordinary commercial magicians. I do have some dealings with magicians, however, but only the most gifted and most dedicated, and then only after careful investigation. Your father was under consideration at the time of his death, my superiors tell me. They felt he had great talent and showed real promise. It was that fact, plus my immense gratitude, that made it possible for me to receive permission from the company to present you with a small sample of its products.”

All the fancy language had left Harry a little bit behind, but he thought it meant that Mr. Mazzeeck intended to give him something—something out of the mysterious suitcase, perhaps. “Well, gee—thanks!” he said, just in case he was right.

“Don’t mention it,” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “I feel it’s the least I can do. With your background, not to mention what I have observed of your skillfulness and reliability, I’m sure I will have no cause to regret my decision.”

“Skillfulness? Me?” Harry asked incredulously, but Mr. Mazzeeck had gone over to the suitcase and opened the lid.

“Our only problem now,” Mr. Mazzeeck said, rummaging around among the contents, “is to decide what would be more appropriate. There are many possibilities and we must make the decision with the utmost care. That is one of the major tenets of the Comus Company. All our clients must not only be deserving, but their purchases must also be carefully chosen.”

He picked out something and held it up for Harry to see. It was a ring that seemed to be made of the bodies of two little golden snakes twisted tightly around each other. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and then shook his head and replaced it in the case. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so.” He smiled apologetically at Harry. “You can’t imagine the predicaments one can get oneself into by the careless use of three wishes, if one is inexperienced in such matters. Have you ever had three wishes?”

“Well, no,” Harry said. “I don’t think I’ve had even one.”

“Ah, you see. Then we can rule out wishing rings and stones at the same time, I’m afraid, we must eliminate the various containers of genii. They are a bit more versatile than the rings, but in the hands of a beginner, the results are often much the same.”

Harry had been edging forward until now he was standing beside the table. “You mean you have real magic genii in there?”

“Yes indeed. We have them, not only in bottles,” Mr. Mazzeeck held up a small bottle of dark glass that seemed to be full of a whirling white smoke, “but also in the more traditional bronze lamp.” At that point he began to paw around in the suitcase with a frantic look on his face. “The lamp,” he muttered as if he were talking to himself. “Where is the lamp. It’s not possible I could have lost it.”

“Is that what you’re looking for?” Harry said, pointing to the oval-shaped thing that was still burning on the bed table.

“Ah! Of course,” Mr. Mazzeeck said looking terribly relieved. “I had forgotten that I used it to light my way to your room.”

By now Harry was in a position to see into the suitcase. He pointed to something that looked only too familiar. “What’s that?” he asked. The long golden sword was one of the largest things in the case.

Mr. Mazzeeck took it out and ran his hand lovingly over the gleaming blade. Harry couldn’t help taking a step or two backwards. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “Notice the careful setting of the gems in the hilt, and the intricate design. However, I’m afraid that this is not quite the gift for you either. Actually there is very little use for these in this day and age. I carry this one with me mostly for old time’s sake. One so seldom hears of dragons to be slain or multi-headed beasts to be vanquished, any more. It’s a great pity, but the demand for magic swords has almost disappeared.”

Mr. Mazzeeck put the sword back in the case and took out something that looked like a black cape of a silky material. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever had any particular desire to be invisible?” he asked.

“Well, no, but ...

“No, I didn’t suppose you would have. Truthfully, I can’t see how it would be of any great use to you. And with a mother who cooks as well as yours does, I can’t see that you are greatly in need of a magic porridge pot, or tablecloth either. Dear me, this is proving to be more of a problem than I had anticipated.”

Next, Mr. Mazzeeck took what appeared to be a rolled-up throw-rug out of the case with one hand and a strange-looking pair of high-topped boots with the other. “How about travel?” he asked. “I could let you have either a magic carpet or seven league boots.”

“Travel?” Harry said. He still didn’t believe that Mr. Mazzeeck was serious, but you couldn’t help sort of getting into the spirit of the thing. “Well, I’m not too crazy about traveling, but I would like to be somewhere else for a while. Can you take anyone with you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. And I see now, that there would be difficulties. You couldn’t very well go off and leave your mother. It’s quite obvious she depends on you.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked, pointing to something long and thin and silvery.

Mr. Mazzeeck gave a little shudder. “That,” he said, “is a flute. Frankly, it’s not one of my favorite items. Not that it doesn’t do the job it’s supposed to do,” he added hastily. “It’s just that ... well it was this particular item that figured in my disgrace and demotion.” He picked up the long shiny flute and turned it over and over so that it sparkled in the light. “A pretty thing, isn’t it,” he said. “One would never guess by looking at it that it could be the cause of so much grief.”

“What happened?” Harry asked. “That is, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

“No,” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, it’s a relief to discuss it now and then. Get it off my chest, you might say. It’s not often that I meet someone to whom I can talk about matters of this sort. But since you have been cleared by the company ... Suddenly Mr. Mazzeeck looked at his watch and then hastily glanced at the bed and motioned for Harry to sit down. “My taxi won’t be here for several minutes,” he said. “Would you care to hear the whole story? I’m not keeping you from anything?”

Harry shook his head quickly and sat down. He was every bit as eager to hear Mr. Mazzeeck’s story as Mr. Mazzeeck seemed to be to tell it.

Mr. Mazzeeck continued to stand by the case, fingering the lid with one hand and sometimes opening it. “As I mentioned earlier,” he began, “I was once a sorcerer. And in all modesty I must say that I was an unusually successful one. I had a very choice assignment in which I was able to practice a bit of magic myself besides supplying a most distinguished clientele—the most renowned heroes of the day—all legendary now. But in my confidence, I overstepped myself and became involved in a duel with an unscrupulous wizard. This wizard—who called himself Mog—took pleasure in playing unseemly tricks on whatever victims he could entice. As an official of the Comus Company, I should have had nothing whatever to do with such a personage. But I allowed myself to become annoyed at Mog’s interference in the affairs of one of my clients, and before I knew how it had happened, I was embroiled in a contest of magical strength. The contest itself would make a long story, spells and counter-spells, conjurations, invocations and incantations. Of course, I was duty bound to avoid anything but the most honorable in the world of magic. Alas, my opponent was not so bound, and in the end, by sheer trickery, I found myself caught in an evil enchantment.”

“You mean you’re enchanted right now?” Harry asked.

Slowly and sorrowfully Mr. Mazzeeck nodded his head.

Harry’s mind raced over what he’d read about being enchanted, and suddenly he remembered the strange feeling he’d had once or twice that Mr. Mazzeeck was somehow in disguise. “You mean you used to be somebody else, and this Mog turned you into—uh—the way you are now?”

“Not exactly. You are correct in guessing that the rather undignified and inconsequential form you see before you is not my true appearance. But that is not a part of the enchantment. No, my present shape is only the company’s idea of what a traveling salesman should look like. Properly ordinary and unimpressive, but—” he glanced down at himself and shook his head uncertainly, “perhaps a bit out of date, at this point. Don’t you think?”

Harry ignored the question. He was most interested in the idea of being enchanted. “But what is the enchantment, then?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing tragic or dramatic,” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “That wouldn’t have been Mog’s style. The whole thing was so despicably handled that I didn’t even realize I’d been enchanted until after I began to make mistakes. Sorcerers are not given to error, so after several serious blunders, I investigated. Of course I soon turned up the reason, but it was far too late to fend off the curse then. As I recall, the incantation went something like this:

He whom Mog has cause to hate

Is doomed to botch and blunder.

A dunderhead, an addlepate,

He’ll bungle and miscalculate

He’ll slip and miss—until the date

This spell is burst asunder.”

Mr. Mazzeeck shuddered with remembered horror. “It was a terrible shock,” he said. “Mog was captured and finally destroyed by the company, but nothing would destroy the spell. I continued to make mistakes and errors until at last the company was forced to demote me. I was stripped of my rank and forbidden the use of any kind of magic. Actually I was fortunate to be kept on as a simple salesman. The company was not to blame, you understand. One cannot allow incompetence when one deals with a powerful and dangerous product.”