The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War (9 page)

Dracula’s Castle

Mount Izvorul Călimanului

Călimani Alps

Transylvania, Romania

Saturday 10:24 a.m. EET

January

S
even of them
in the room. Only seven.

The most powerful people in all of the world.

The greatest wizards of
Errabêlu
.

All of them, together, constituted the most privileged, the
most exclusionary and supreme ruling body on the face of the entire Earth.

The Conclave of Magi.

They were gathered in the Hecate Room, which was the
Transylvanian Castle’s State Room, named after the Greek goddess of magic
herself. The State Room, only marginally smaller than the Great Hall, was the
room reserved for entertaining the most distinguished, the most eminent of
guests and nobles. Designed to impress, the Hecate Room was extraordinarily and
lavishly furnished and decorated with thick Oriental rugs on most of the polished
wooden floor, an abundance of ornately carved furniture and with several
elegant and intricate tapestries, striking paintings, and plaques and crossed
swords draped or hanging on the walls. On one end table sat a large walnut
hourglass, on two others baroque candelabrums, their small flames flickering in
the room’s still air. The south wall consisted entirely of huge stained glass
windows, depicting scenes drawn straight out of the Middle-Ages, with kings,
queens, knights on horseback, and flying fire-breathing dragons. In the wall
opposite of the windows was the large open hearth of a great fireplace, lined
on the outside with massive granite-gray stones, and on the inside with
fire-bricks blackened by centuries of soot. Above the solid six-inch thick oak
beam that served as the mantel for the fireplace, hung an enormous maple-wood
carved picture frame in which was mounted a highly elaborate sigil—a magical
symbol—from The Lesser Key of Solomon. In the fireplace, a roaring fire cackled
brightly among a huge pile of hickory logs, casting dancing shadows throughout
the room while at the same time heating the room to a toasty temperature.

In a semi-circle in front of the fireplace was arrayed a
wide variety of large wooden chairs, seven of them in total, each one
personally selected, furnished and occupied by a wizard of the Conclave.

Oliver Jacob Clarke,
Errabêlu
of the United States,
was tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, made exclusively of American
Ash. His was the center seat—his current right, as the ruler of the world’s
most powerful nation. Of medium height, trim but of athletic build, he was a
distinguished looking man with long jet black hair and a hint of gray at the
temples. Wearing a simple Western style business suit, Clarke’s appearance was
more of a mid-level diplomat or a corporate businessman.

Born in England in the year 1435 and acquiring his powers at
a young age, Clarke had very early on recognized the potential in the new lands
of the Western Hemisphere, the ones discovered by Columbus and his other
contemporary explorers. Despite the empty wilderness and the primitive nature
of the inhabitants thereof, Clarke had promptly immigrated to the New World,
staking his claim to all of North America. He had, without delay, established
himself in full and total control of the small governments both in New York
City and Kingston, Ontario. And his gamble had eventually paid off, though it
had taken centuries to bring his efforts to full fruition.

In the seat to Clarke’s right sat Oleg Nevsky, the
Errabêlu
of Russia. Oleg held the distinction of being the oldest person in the room—indeed,
even one of the oldest of the wizards of all the Earth, though his age and
appearance seemed to be more equivalent to that of a typical forty-something year
old male. Sporting wide shoulders, a heavily muscular build and a stern visage,
Oleg was staring into the fire, his mind obviously somewhere else at that
moment. He had come from very humble, impoverished beginnings, born of peasant
parents in a small Slavic village in the eleventh century. Struggling all his
life, he had fought tirelessly and ruthlessly to establish a stable but
powerful government among the Russian peoples, using every method available
(including revolution, war,  and murder) to accomplish his goals.

On Clarke’s left side, Yuan Wu, the
Errabêlu
ruler of
China, held out his goblet to the Oni who was serving the room’s occupants with
liquid refreshments. Wu was the youngest member of the Conclave, only assuming
a seat thereon in 1952, usurping the
Errabêlu
wizard of Pakistan. Since
that time, he had steadily advanced through the decades to occupy the third
most powerful chair in the Conclave. Wu was, even for a wizard of
Errabêlu
,
extremely brutal and ambitious. No one else on the Conclave doubted Wu’s lust
for power, his ambition driving him toward the goal of gaining control of both
the Conclave and the world.

Saito Masayo, of Japan, held the fourth seat, to the right
of Oleg. With templed hands, he dispassionately waited for the meeting to
start, his expression stoic and patient.

Nacci Misra, one of the two women wizards in the room,
occupied the seat to the left of Wu, as ruler of the nation of India. Cecily
Fairfax of Great Britain, who was lowering herself into her chair to Nacci’s
left, was the other female. To Saito’s right was Duncan Ruggiero of France,
leaning on one elbow, idly staring into his wine glass as he slowly swirled the
contents therein.

Clarke took a swig from his mug, nodding satisfaction to the
Oni standing near, still holding the pitcher of ale.

“Now, get out,” he muttered, idly waving a hand in the
direction of the door. The Oni backed away hurriedly, shutting and locking the
thick wooden door behind itself.

With a casual gesture of one hand, Clarke sealed the room in
terms of magic. Now, nothing could disturb them nor could anyone outside the
room listen to anything that was said.

“I hereby call this emergency session of the Conclave of
Magi into order,” he intoned in a stiff, formal voice.

“Please! Save us from stodgy protocols,” Cecily implored
with annoyance, slapping down her glass of gin and tonic on the end table next
to her seat. “The brass tacks are what we want. That wizardry high-jinks in
your country two months ago. Was that your handiwork? Have you broken the
Aleppian Accords?” she demanded to know, referring to the ancient pact of
bylaws agreed to by all the wizards of
Errabêlu
, drafted in the old city
of Aleppo, Syria several centuries previously.

“That…event…in Wyoming was none of my doing!” insisted
Clarke.

“That outburst, explosion, or whatever you call it, created
a talisman, did it not?” Nacci challenged. “All wizards know that a
super-talisman such as that event obviously created, is illegal by the
Accords.”

All seven heads nodded in acknowledgement. The wizards of
Errabêlu
very strictly adhered to those Accords. While it was perfectly permissible
by their statutes to do battle one-on-one (and sometimes two-on-one) including
murdering each other, it was not acceptable behavior to start an arms race.
Thus building a talisman far more powerful than those possessed by other
wizards was not allowed.

“Judging by the energy released and the weather disruptions,
that talisman must be fifty, maybe a hundred times the power of the talisman
all the rest of us carry,” judged Wu with a scowl. “Such a talisman must be the
size of a horse drawn carriage, perhaps larger. Not very practical. It
shouldn’t be too difficult to track down, given its nature.”

Clarke made a wry face. “Good luck on that. It’s no longer
in the United States—that much I can guarantee.”

“If you did not create it,” Saito asked, inclining his head
to one side. “Who did? The alleged rogue wizard, of whom we have all heard so
many rumors?”

“Oh, he exists, all right,” asserted Ruggiero sullenly,
staring into his wine glass again. “His name is Paul Armstead. Celeste found
him in North Africa a year ago, where apparently the Oni of the
Errabêlu
wizard of Pakistan had chased him. He said he was from California. He claimed
he was given his powers by a genie only a few days before.”

“Preposterous!” scoffed Wu with a deep frown.

“Agreed!” said Cecily with a glower.

Ruggiero held up a hand. “Celeste and I felt the same way.
We were certain that he was, uh, a spy, perhaps from a member of the Conclave—”

“Not from me!” snapped Oleg with a glare.

“Or perhaps from some other wizard,” hastily amended
Ruggiero. “That’s why we didn’t just kill him outright. We were, uh, trying to
interrogate him, in an attempt to get some answers.”

Saito pursed his lips thoughtfully. “He escaped from you, is
that it? Very unfortunate. How did he manage to escape from
you
?”

“A great question,” muttered Nacci, her look casting daggers
in Ruggiero’s direction.

Sighing, Ruggiero set his wine glass down and made himself
look back at her, hardening his expression to stone. “To be honest, I still
don’t know how he did it. The best guess I have is that he made water explode.”

Every other wizard in the room reacted in surprise. For
several seconds, they were silent as they considered the impossibility of
Ruggiero’s claim.

“I’ve never heard of a magical spell that can do that!”
insisted Oleg, banging down his tankard of Kvass on the end table next to his
chair and crossing his burly arms over his thick chest.

“There isn’t any such spell,” Cecily contended.

Ruggiero shrugged but didn’t argue the point.

Saito leaned forward. “Back to my question. That business in
the American west. Was this rogue wizard responsible or not? Does anyone know
for sure?”

There was more silence in the room as each waited for
another to speak first.

Clarke broke the impasse. “It would seem that no one really
knows. But I personally have no doubts that it was him. Especially considering
what I
do
know about this rogue wizard.”

“Which is?” Nacci asked, raising her eyebrows.

“MacDougall and Hamadi have both been taken out,” Clarke
responded, before taking a sip of ale from his mug.

Wu looked up sharply. “So that rumor is true also?
MacDougall is missing?”

“It would seem that he is dead,” Clarke admitted ruefully. 
“So McNamee, in Australia, has told me. McNamee—well he gave me a story of how
McDougall showed up, chasing Armstead to the outback of Western Australia. It
gets rather wild after that.”

“How wild?” asked Cecily, eyebrows raised.

Clarke responded with a solemn expression. “It involves the
launching of a homemade spaceship.”

Ruggiero took a quick gulp of his wine. “Yes, that’s pretty
wild.”

Saito grimaced. “There were stories, even pictures of a so
called alien spaceship in the Middle East. Was that the same craft?”

“McNamee says not,” Clarke informed them, shaking his head
sadly. “A totally different ship. But that ship in the Middle East was probably
from Armstead too. You see, right around that same time, was when Hamadi
disappeared.”

“Ah!” hissed Oleg, slapping a knee with the flat of his
hand. “That explains why that little war brewing in the Middle East fizzled so
quickly.”

“Is Hamadi dead too?” Wu asked pointedly.

Clarke shrugged. “No one I’ve talked to has any idea.”

Saito nodded slowly. “So, this rogue wizard, if he could
build working spaceships, make water explode, take out two of our number and
stop a war in the Middle East, then why can’t he do other impossible things?”

“Such as creating a super powerful talisman,” Cecily said
sullenly.

“Exactly,” Wu said, nodding in agreement.

“If he can create talismans a hundred times more powerful
than ours, then he is incredibly dangerous,” Wu said, stating the conclusion
everyone else in the room was thinking.

“We must get rid of him, obviously,” Oleg firmly declared.

“That might prove to be difficult. There has been no sign of
him since early November,” Clarke said with a heavy sigh. “We can’t catch him
if we don’t know where he is hiding.”

“Then we must know more about him, learn his weaknesses.
Perhaps draw him out into the open.” The old Russian glanced around at the other
wizards. “Who has the answers?”

“He does have a weakness,” Ruggiero declared with a grim
smile. “He’s a Normie lover, you know.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” agreed Saito, glancing at the fire
thoughtfully. “It’s why he used that spaceship in the Middle East to stop the
war, to save the lives of Normies.” He jerked back around, raising his eyebrows
and looking at Clarke. “And last summer, at the Olympics, was it he that rode
that bomb into the stadium?”

“So it would seem,” Clarke concurred, with a furrowed brow.
“Which makes Ruggiero’s point a very interesting one.”

Cecily nodded vigorously. “Yes, I agree too. We can use that
against him, as has been suggested, to draw him out into the open and into a
trap.”

“An excellent idea,” Wu conceded with a small smile. “We
need something like a disaster of some type, or possibly a war, something that
is killing a lot of Normies, in a place that we can surround with several
wizards and lots of Oni.”

Clarke leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to one
side as he considered the options. “The current hotspots in the world are the
Middle East, Afghanistan, several countries in Africa, Turkey, Ukraine, and
Mexico. There are lesser conflicts scattered all across the globe, of course.
Pick one.”

Nacci chuckled in evil delight as a thought hit her. “The
trap would be more effective if it was killing his fellow countrymen. He would
care even more about them than the deaths of Normies say in Somalia.”

“An excellent suggestion,” remarked Oleg with a grudging nod
in her direction. “Yes, something that is killing or puts a lot of American
lives at risk.”