Witch Doctor - Wiz in Rhyme-3 (55 page)

The poet looked up, startled. "Which ... Oh! My angry verse Igainst the walls built by wealth and might, to pen the poor!"

"Yes, and the refrain about tearing down the walls-I think you even made some references to Joshua and Jericho."

"I can only trust in you for such," Gilbert said slowly, "but if you say it, Master Saul, I am sure it shall be done." My heart sank. I hated the idea of having people depend on me-it resulted in responsibility, and responsibility involved commitment. But there wasn't much choice, now.

A shout went up from my "army." Looking up, I saw a double file of soldiers coming over the ridge a quarter of the way around the valley, at least a mile distant, with knights at their head and rear. Their armor and weapons clashed and clattered, and their chanting came to us faintly over the distance too faintly to make out the words, but I went cold at the sight of them. "Just what we need-enemy reinforcements!

"And more coming in all the time, I doubt not." Frisson said, very nervously. "What e'er we are to do, Master Saul, 'twere best if

'twere done quickly."

"Yet where are we to find these skilled soldiers you spoke of,"'

Gilbert asked-and, with a sardonic smile, "Have you a receipt for such an one?"

'Receipt'?" I frowned-then I remembered that it was an old word for "recipe." I could feel inspiration strike-or in this case, memory, of an evening watching Gilbert and Sullivan's Patience. My grin grew.

"Yes, now that you mention it, I do." And I began to pantomime taking ingredients off shelves and mixing them in a bowl, as I recited:

"If you want a receipt for that popular mystery Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, Take all the remarkable people in history, Rattle them off to a popular tune."

I proceeded to do so, running quickly through the first verse, and putting in a quick chorus:

"Take of these elements all that is fusible, Melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible, Set them to simmer and drain off the scum, And a heavy dragoon is the residuum!"

"Aye, guy'nor!" a beery voice said two feet above my head. My buddies drew back with a moan, looking up. Even Gruesome muttered with nervousness.

There he was, chestnut stallion and all-six feet plus of resplendent dress uniform and ferocious mustache.

"Just in time!" I grinned. "Assault the enemy-they're down below you! Cut me a way through to the gates of the city!"

"As you sye, Capting!" the dragoon bellowed, wheeling his horse toward the nearest footman. "God save the Queen!" And he rode full-tilt down the slope and into Suettay's infantry, laying about him with his saber. Gilbert shouted and galloped to back him up.

I would have, too, but I knew the enemy was too many for only three men and a troll, even if one of those men was a dragoon. I signaled Gruesome to wait, and before Gilbert even hit the first rank, I chanted: "Let us have a thousand like him!

Appear here now, his taste to cater!

Multiply him; thousandfold, By ditto, Spirit Duplicator!" They appeared with a huge shout, charging after their prototype with flourishing sabers, and slammed into the enemy with a crash like the meeting of two tidal waves. Gilbert churned back out of the press, looking dazed. Somewhere at the front, a joyous Cockney voice bellowed, "Just like Waterloo!"

Gilbert came panting up along their back trail. "They have no need of me. A most amazing company, Master Saul!"

"Sure are." I grinned. "Forward the heavy brigade!" The enemy soldiers were trying to rally their men, but the explosions of the dragoons' muskets had them spooked. They drove into the press, clearing the way in front with musket blasts, then widening the path with their sabers. Pole arms reached for them, pikes stabbing and halberds slashing, but the dragoons mowed through the shafts as if they'd been butter, and their horses struck out with steelshod hooves. A few arrows found their marks, and a few dragoons fell, but not many. Then, suddenly, they were almost to the gate. The press of dragoons began to part, leaving a clear path paved with fallen pikes.

"Time to move," I pointed out, and Gruesome bellowed and wad died forward. I turned to Gilbert. "Let's go!" He bawled to our peasants.

The dragoons cleared before us to my shouted commands, and Gruesome plowed through to take the point with Gilbert just behind and to his right, a dragoon just behind and to Gruesome's left. They bored into the enemy army like a diamond bit, fire and armor, and the dragoons carried away the military detritus they churned up. It as a mad quarter hour, with the enemy pulling back from Gruesome's roars and teeth and trying to cut in from the sides, only to meet Gilbert's and the dragoons' blades, before the dragoons pulled in to chew them up. My head filled with shouting and the clash of steel ... Then, suddenly, we were through, with the city gates in front of US.

I pulled out Frisson's poem and chanted, "Really break, locks!

And really break, bolts!

And really break, gate that we come nigh!

And as we come to this double door, 'Twill break itself quite handing-ligh!"

The wood began to crumble even before I'd finished. Splinters shredded loose, then kindling-size chunks, as gravel began to fall from the great stone blocks to either side.

The Army of Evil let out a huge roar and crowded in behind us and on all sides.

The peasants were in the center, shielded by eight hundred surviving dragoons, and the medieval footmen weren't making much progress against the case-hardened steel and flashing hooves of the Victorian heavy cavalry-but for every one my horsemen killed, three more popped up in his place. Dragoons went down-slowly, but steadily. They chopped and stabbed frantically, desperately outnumbered. The stones of the walls were flaking, but slowly; glancing back, I was seized with the sudden overwhelming fear that the soldiers of corruption would wipe us out before the wall crumbled. I turned, pulling out my clasp knife for whatever it was worth, and readied myself for a last-ditch fight.

Then, suddenly, a howl of fear and disgust erupted in the distance.

"What comes?" Frisson gasped.

"If it can affront such soldiers of sin," Gilbert said, blanching,

"how can we stand against it?"

But Gruesome, looking out over the field from several more feet of height, rumbled, "Old ones come."

"Old ones?" I frowned; it didn't make sense. Then I began to hear the wailing that overrode the cries of disgust, a wailing that came closer and closer as the wall above turned into a trickle of sand-closer and closer, until I could make out words.

"The Witch Doctor! Where is the Witch Doctor? Bring us to the Witch Doctor.

"Witch doctor?" I turned to Frisson, staring. The poet shook his head. "I know naught, Master Saul. I have never heard of such a thing."

"Well, I've heard of it," I allowed. "A witch doctor is a pejorative term for an African shaman, a sort of combination priest and physician ... I1

My peasant army parted with cries of fear, pressing back against the dragoons and their horses, who were chopping gleefully at an enemy who was shrinking away. A channel opened through my plowboys, and down that corridor stumbled a pack of people horribly disfigured by disease, some doubled over with pain, some limping on crutches, but led by a dozen or more people with missing fingers, missing hands, missing forearms, hobbling because of missing toes or feet.

"Lepers!" Gilbert gasped.

And they cried, "Bring us to the Witch Doctor! We repent, we abjure our witchcraft! We will no longer serve Satan! But bring us to the priest who will shrive us, and the Witch Doctor who will heal us!"

"We don't have a witch doctor!" I bleated. "No Africans at all!

Maybe there's one in the city-I wouldn't know."

"But the priest, we have." Friar Ignatius stepped forward, and his monks came up behind him with very purposeful strides.

"Friar!" I yelped. "We're in the middle of a battle!"

"Then we shall help you win it!" a tall, decaying man cried. "We have magical powers no longer, but only shrive us, and we shall throw our bodies against their swords!"

"I don't think they'll let you get close enough to stab." I eyed them askance, then turned to Friar Ignatius. "But they might die laughing.

Brother, can you spare some time? Some way to keep it down to a minute or two?"

"Certes." Friar Ignatius stepped in front of me, calling out,

"Kneel, those of you who can!

Gruesome pointed over the ex-witches' heads, rumbling, "Sojers come!

'@Of course! The contagious cases opened a clear path for them!" I groaned. "The wicked warriors are filling it in!"

"Do you all repent your evil works,"' Friar Ignatius cried. The answer rolled forth from a hundred throats: "Aye!"

"Not queen's sojers," Gruesome insisted. "Them fight queen's sojets."

"Hub?" I looked up, thunderstruck. "Reinforcements for our side?

But how . . ."

"Never ask." Frisson's fingers bit into my arm. "The Spider King said he would summon aid."

"Ego te absolvo!" Friar Ignatius cried. "I absolve you of your sins!"

The ex-witches cheered with joy ...

... and with a roar, the gates collapsed.

Gruesome loosed one last blast and charged into the city, with Gilbert hard on his claws.

"After him!" I cried. "Nobody will want to get close to you! If you really want to help, here's your chance!"

The ex-witches cheered again and charged through the gates. It wasn't a very fast charge, but it was good enough. I wiped a sodden brow and breathed thanks that I'd managed to shake them. My peasants shouted triumph and boiled through after the witches, sweeping Frisson and me along in their wake.

The citizens got out of the way fast, and our bloodthirsty boys were too bent on revenge to think about looting yet. They ran through the streets bellowing, Gilbert leading them on toward the huge turrets that rose ahead. Soldiers appeared in the streets, but they couldn't muster more than a few dozen, and our plowboys just rolled over them. I was in the middle of the mob, so I saw the results as I strode on by-dead peasants, and dead soldiers, some of them trampled. I ignored them and put them out of my mind. Time enough for remorse later. There was no way to win a battle without killing men.

But did the battle have to be won?

I remembered how Suettay had tortured Angelique; I remembered the squad of bullyboys that had tried to beat me up. I remembered the peasants ground down by the vindictive warlock-bailiff, an I knew, Yes. Suettay had to go.

Which meant this battle had to be fought.

And I could see, from the hard faces all around me, that all my peasant men had just such memories to spur them on-many, I suspected, worse than mine.

Then, suddenly, the walls of the castle were before us, and the drawbridge was rising. The walls above bristled with the home guard's pikes, and I knew crossbows were being leveled at us. Worse, I knew that the army we'd broken through was on its way to take us in the rear. We had to get into that castle, and get in fast. I had to kill Suettay before her army caught us.

"Gremlin!" I shouted.

He was there suddenly, obscene and chuckling. "Fear not, Master Saul. I have rusted the locks of the crossbows; I have blunted the heads of the arrows. The mortar that holds that wall together is parched and crumbling, and the great windlass that hauls the drawbridge chain is crumbling, even as we speak, of dry rot." Then he was gone, and my peasants started recovering their nerve. I locked my knees to keep them from collapsing and reflected that, occasionally, it's nice to have the Spirit of Snafu around-if he's on your side.

I heard a distant crack. The drawbridge halted its upward rise, poised, then came thundering back down.

My army cheered and charged into the gatehouse tunnel. The first dozen rammed scythe blades into the arrow slits. Screams echoed in the tunnel behind, and we streamed through into the courtyard with only a few arrows striking my men.

There, we met Suettay's army, drawn up and waiting. My men bellowed with joy-at last, a chance to strike out at their oppressors. They plowed into the army, and in seconds it had turned into a melee of individual combat. Military discipline didn't amount to much in that churning mob-and the plowboys turned out to be just as expert with their scythes as any soldier with a halberd. Frisson's hand bit into my shoulder. "We dare not tarry, Master Saul! Valiant though they are, these peasants will be torn to bitsespecially when the outer army finds them! " "Right! We've got to hit their central Power source!"

Frisson frowned. "You speak of Suettay?ll "Yeah! She's in there somewhere! But how do we get to her?

Air shimmered, and the Rat Raiser appeared before us. He became solid and stumbled, reaching out to catch my arm, steadied himself, and looked up, a bit wild-eyed. "The king has sent me to take you to the witch!"

"Good idea!" I turned back to Frisson. "Change us all to rats!"

"But ... but how are we to-" "Never mind; let me try!

"Wee, sleekit, slinking, skulking beasties We shall become, long-tailed and feisty!

Large rats, who scurry off so hasty, in hurrying hassle!

To run and chase through byways nasty, Within this castle!" Sudden pains wracked me-Burns' revenge, no doubt. My vision blurred, and I had a dim sight of things growing larger and larger about me. Then, suddenly, the world stabilized, and there were huge feet thundering toward me. I shouted with alarm, and raced for the wall ... only it came out as a squeak, and I was running on all fours. Running pretty well, too-but I wasn't thinking very clearly. I was only aware of my frantic fear.

Then I was up against the wall, and I turned at bay, terror churning into savagery-but none of the huge feet were anywhere near. Instead, I saw a bunch of giants duking it out, cutting each other up with huge knives. it didn't make much sense to me, so I put it out of my mind; all that mattered was getting to the evil queen, who had sicced all those cats on us.

Cats?

I looked around, fear of felines stabbing through my entrails. I relaxed with relief-there were no cats in sight, nor even their terrible reek.