Too Many Magicians (ld) by Randall Garrett

Author:Randall Garrett [Garrett, Randall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf, sf_fantasy, sf_history
Publisher: Doubleday
Published: 1966-09-13T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Master Sean O Lochlainn stood near the closed door of the murder room and surveyed its entire contents. Then he turned to Journeyman Sorcerer Lord John Quetzal who stood next to him. “Now, d’ye understand what we have to be careful of? We are not yet ready to take the preservative spell off the body, so we have to be careful that none of the spells that we’re working with inside the room interfere with it. D’ye understand?”

Lord John Quetzal nodded. “Yes, Master, I think I do.”

Master Sean smiled at him. “I think you do, too, my lad. You followed through on the blood tests beautifully.” He paused. “By the by, d’ye think you could do them by yourself next time, should you happen to be called upon to perform them?”

Lord John Quetzal glanced sideways at the little sorcerer. “The blood tests? Yes, Master Sorcerer, I think I could,” he said firmly.

“Ah, good.” Master Sean nodded with satisfaction. “But” — he raised a warning finger — “this next one’s a little tougher.

“We’re dealing here with psychic shock. Now, whenever a man’s hurt, or when he dies, there’s psychic shock — unless, of course, he just fades away in his sleep or something like that.

“But here we’re talking about violence.”

“I understand,” said Lord John Quetzal.

“All right. Now, you’re going to be my thurifer. The ingredients are laid out on the table. Now I’ll ask you to prepare the thurible, seeing as how it’s you that’s got to use it.”

“Very well, Master,” said the young Mechicain nobleman, with the tiniest trace of uneasiness in his voice.

On the table near the door sat the instrument which Master Sean had taken from his symbol-decorated carpetbag. It was a brazen pot with a perforated brazen cap, which, when assembled, would swing from the end of a clutch of chains some three feet long. Now, it was open, on the table.

Lord John Quetzal took several tools from his own carpetbag. Under the watchful eye and sharp ear of Master Sean O Lochlainn, the young sorcerer prepared the contents of the thurible.

After placing the brazen pot on an iron tripod, he fired up several lumps of charcoal in the bottom of it. Then, from the row of jars and bottles which had been lined up on the table, he took various ingredients and put them into his special golden mixing bowl, using a small golden spoon. With his own pencil-sized golden wand, he cast a spell over each ingredient as he added it, stirring it into the mixture.

There was frankincense and sweet balsam, samonyl and fenogreek, turmeric and taelesin, sandalwood and cedarwood, and four other lesser known but even more powerful ingredients — added in a precise order, each with its unique and individual spell.

And when he had finished the mixing, and cast the final spell, the journeyman sorcerer lifted his head and turned his dark eyes to the tubby little Master.

Sean O Lochlainn nodded his head. “Very well done. Very well done.” He smiled. “Now I’ll not ask you if you know what you’ve done.

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