"Brian?" called Jim. "By all means come in. I'll be gone when you get here, because I have things magical to do. But the demon will be waiting for you. Have you told Sir Mortimor what he may expect to see?"

"I have," said Brian. "Do you want me to step in alone, first?"

"If you please, Brian," said Jim. "If Sir Mortimor will be so kind as to wait just a moment, there are things I must say to you before I leave- things unconnected with matters here."

The door opened and Brian came through.

Jim beckoned him to come close and whispered to him.

"Brian, I'm going to use a different voice for the demon. Don't let it bother you. And you can tell Sir Mortimor that I just simply vanished after speaking a few words to you. I think that takes care of things."

"Doubtless," said Brian.

"Then let him in," said Jim.

Brian turned to the door now, and spoke to Sir Mortimor outside. The tall knight came in, saw Jim in his demon's make-up, stopped, opened his mouth, closed it again and crossed himself in the process of reaching for his sword.

"I am invincible!" boomed Jim in a voice a full octave below his normal tones and one that he tried to fill with menace. "None can stand against me; and I take commands from no one! But I will a.s.sist you in this matter. Now, you may lead me to where others like you await."

Sir Mortimor stiffened and some of the color came back to his face. Slowly, he let go of his sword.

"Then, demon," he said coldly, "come with me."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"Where the h.e.l.l," demanded Sir Mortimor of himself, but aloud, stopping them both just above the floor on which his men waited, "is Sir Brian? He was with us upstairs!"

"That great magician, Sir James," boomed Jim, for the first time making full use of the magical voice he had invented to go with his demon persona, three times as loud and a full octave deeper than his ordinary human voice, "required that Sir Brian wait outside the room. Consequently he had no chance to make his devotions before battle-as is his custom-before you arrived. He should be with us in minutes."

Sir Mortimor looked stunned-probably, Jim thought, not so much by the idea of Brian praying before fighting as by finding himself outvoiced. But he recovered quickly.

"Now, d.a.m.n it, they'll have heard you down there! Why didn't he-" Chancing to look up at his companion just then, Sir Mortimor's voice underwent a sudden change to a much milder and more pleasant tone. "-didn't Sir Brian tell me he intended that when he met me outside your door? Well, we needn't wait for him. Since they did hear you, best that we go down right now. I'll lead the way."

He moved off, down the staircase, and Jim followed a few steps behind. They descended under the ceiling that had been the floor beneath their feet a moment before, and into full view of the s.p.a.ce packed with men armed to the teeth. In spite of their weapons, at the sight of the demon these were already trying to crowd into the corner of the room farthest from the foot of the stairs.

"Rejoice, my children!" Sir Mortimor's voice rang out. "Sir James has provided us with what we need to be sure of victory. You see behind me a demon under his command, who will fight along with us; and in whose company we shall send those who attack us flying from our sh.o.r.es."

It hardly seemed possible; but by this time, the crowd of armed men below them had now managed to compress itself to three-quarters of the size it had been a moment before.

Sir Mortimor continued to descend the stairs, with Jim behind him. They reached the floor.

"Fear not!" shouted Sir Mortimor. "This demon, named Invincible, is completely under the control of Sir James, my good and loyal friend. Sir James's magic forbids him from coming with us himself; so he has sent this deputy to make sure we cannot fail. Now, outside with all of you- but quietly so as not to wake them below. Sir Brian will be joining us soon. We must watch for the first sign that their boats are on fire!"

With grateful and surprising speed, the population of the room emptied itself through the inner door to the pa.s.sageway, then the now unbarricaded outer door, on to the steep hillside. They poured out around the steps on to the stairs and slopes before the castle. Below them, the whole land and sea was monochrome, most of its color lost in the pale light of the not-yet-risen sun. No one was moving in the village. There was no sound. No more was there any sound or movement aboard the two ships; so that the repeated talking of the waves, coming up and breaking on the pebbly sh.o.r.e, came clearly to the ears of all of them.

"Ah, Sir Mortimor-demon!" said the voice of Sir Brian behind Jim and the tall knight.

He joined them, fully weaponed and ready. And stood beside them.

"Anything happening yet?" he asked cheerfully. Sir Mortimor scowled at him.

"We are waiting for a sign that the ships have been fired," Sir Mortimor said. "So far there is none."

"I have little doubt we will see evidence shortly," said Brian. "A fine, clear morning, is it not?"

This was Brian's usual high spirits before any kind of a fight showing themselves, as Jim well knew. Sir Mortimor was evidently of a different nature; and not necessarily pleased by cheerfulness over the prospect of a dawn encounter after a sleepless night that might cost him everything he owned, to say nothing of his life.

"It's taking long enough-" he began; but at that moment, a gray wisp of smoke lifted from the seaward end of the ship to their right and a second later another wisp went up from the nearby end of the ship beside it.

The columns of smoke went straight up in the still air. They thickened and darkened.

"Wake up, wake up, you blind infidel idiots!" muttered Sir Mortimor between his teeth. "Haven't you at least one h.e.l.l-bound sentry awake? Isn't there at least one of you who has to step outside for some reason or other?"

The village slumbered on, deaf to his complaints. The smoke poured up even more thickly from the seaward ends of the two boats; and now voices began to cry out from the boats themselves, yells and screams of alarm. Still, there was no sign that could be seen from the hillside of anyone moving along the visible deck portion of either one.

"All praise!" breathed Sir Mortimor; and then suddenly his voice rang out in its full force to the men around him, more than loudly enough to wake most of those in the village. "The rowers are taking alarm!

They will be slaves chained in place and fearing to be burned to death!"

Sir Mortimor's men started a cheer-and throttled it immediately as Sir Mortimor glared at them. Below, a first few figures began to stagger, still half asleep, out of the buildings below. They stared about, focused seaward, saw the boats, and began to run toward them, shouting as they ran. Other figures began to boil from the flimsy village structures.

"Wait, wait," ordered Sir Mortimor in a lower voice, one pitched just enough to reach his own men.

"Let them get well away from their weapons. Wait... wait. Now!"

"A Breugel! A Breugel-"

Shouting his war cry, he went leaping down the steps, three and four at a time.

His men streamed after him, waving their weapons. Jim and Brian followed, more cautiously until they were on less steep ground; then Brian began to put on his best speed, charging into the ma.s.s of Sir Mortimor's men ahead of him and pushing them aside.

Jim followed as quickly as he could, but matching Brian's speed of foot was impossible, let alone that of most of Sir Mortimor's fighting men; with the exception of those who were, he suspected, deliberately lagging back a little. In any case, it was only a moment or two before they were upon the stream of corsairs, headed toward the boat, and these, turning to discover an armed group descending on them and themselves unarmed except for knives, were bolting in all directions.

Sir Mortimor had reached the sh.o.r.e end of the two ships. He turned and shouted to his men.

"Turn! Turn! Back to the village!"

Those with him faced about and reversed their charge. The distance between the village buildings and the sh.o.r.e was no distance at all; and almost immediately they ran head-on into men still coming out of the buildings, some of them still half awake and empty-handed, but some, at least, now armed with swords and shields and ready to fight. By the time Jim caught up, the melee was in full activity.

Jim cursed himself internally for not having thought to have brought at least a sword. It might not have fitted with his demon image; but he would have felt a lot better right now if he had something in his hand to keep enemies at a distance. He tried to make up for the lack of it by bellowing at the top of his voice and flailing his clawed arms in the air.

It was a few moments before he realized that he was not forcing anyone to stand back from him-for the very good reason that everyone was being very careful not to get close to him without being forced in any way. That included Sir Mortimor's men. But Brian was locked in tight combat in the midst of the fight, surrounded by half a dozen Moroccans.

He was a much better swordsman than any of those around him, and his armor was good enough to turn the edges of most of their blades; but there were entirely too many concentrating on him alone for Jim's peace of mind. Jim charged in his direction, therefore, making as much noise and trying to look as fearsome as possible. It worked. Brian's attackers caught sight of him coming, and ran. Jim came up to Brian, who was now leaning on his sword, its point shoved into the beach before him, and catching his breath.

"d.a.m.n it, James!" gasped Brian. "You frightened them all away!"

The use of Jim's name was safe enough. The hubbub around them would have covered up the sound of it, even if any of those nearby had time to listen; and none had.

"Don't be an idiot yourself, Brian," said Jim, likewise gasping for breath. His magic boots, which added a couple of feet to his size, had not made running easy and he also was out of breath. "There were too many of them!"

"I did not call for rescue-" snapped Brian, then checked himself. "But there, James, I honor your thought to aid a fellow knight possibly in distress."

"A fellow knight and an old friend!" said Jim.

"I would rather believe you would have given that response to any knight in my position," said Brian.

"But there, let it be. I am sensible of your friendship, James. But look! It is all but over now. Those who were not slain, or too badly hurt to do so, have reached their ships and are putting out to sea, leaving their friends behind."

Jim turned to look. At first glance, it seemed all too easy, almost ridiculous after the undeniable alarm and concern up in the castle; but then he saw all the bodies lying around on the ground. The streets-if they could be called that-in the village, the pebbly sh.o.r.e down to the water's edge, was strewn with fallen men. Most of Sir Mortimor's warriors seemed busy in robbing the dead bodies of their enemies-also those of the near-dead.

"Brian," he said in a low voice, "I'll be glad to be out of here."

"And I also," answered Brian. "In G.o.d's name, I will be glad to be in Tripoli."

They were in Tripoli, four days later, but where in Tripoli was another question.

"Do you suppose the d.a.m.n fellow really knows the way?" growled Brian.

"The shipmaster said he did," answered Jim.

Brian grunted. What Jim had just said was of course no answer at all. Jim sympathized, but he had nothing more to offer his friend in the way of rea.s.surance. The trading ship that had brought them down from Cyprus to the port of Tripoli on what would be the coast of Lebanon-if the future of this medieval world followed the same pattern as the twentieth-century world from which Jim had come-had carried as master a villainous-looking fellow, who, however, had not overcharged them for the trip, according to what Brian's friends in Cyprus had a.s.sured them. Whether this meant he was honest in everything else, however, might be doubtful.

He was a lank-haired, shifty-eyed individual with a drooping gray-black mustache in a narrow olive-colored face; with the ample stomach of a glutton and the skinny arms and legs of a miser. He had hired the local man who was leading them to their destination, as well as the other two that were coming along behind and carrying their possessions. In their innocence, neither Brian nor Jim had any idea whether the price he had negotiated with these three was an overcharge or not; but they could not do without direction and porters, so they had no choice but to pay it.

But their guide had led them now through a completely bewildering maze of streets and alleyways so narrow in some places they literally had to turn sideways to get between buildings, the ground underfoot all but carpeted with human and animal wastes, particularly in the smaller streets. In addition, Jim-like Brian-was fully armored and weaponed, with a travel cloak over everything else, the hood of which concealed the knap-sacklike bag in which Hob rode; and Brian was similarly armed, armored and clothed. All this in a climate that was showing a warmer spring than they were used to in England. They were hot and thirsty, and their tempers were beginning to wear thin.

It did seem as if the home of a local magician, to which their guide was supposedly leading them, could hardly be this much of a distance in a medieval town, which while crawling with population like an anthill, was also crammed tightly into as small a s.p.a.ce as could be practical. On the other hand, thought Jim, the maze of streets could have deluded them with the notion they had walked farther than they thought "Yet another corner!" said Brian sharply. "That's enough! I'm going to confront the fellow. Here, you, come back here!"

The guide stopped, turned and met them halfway as they came up.

"Oh, master," he said, "thou shinest before my eyes like a flower beloved of Allah, and thy sweetness perfumes the air. In what way can I oblige thee?"

"Enough of that chatter," snapped Brian. "When do we get to the magician's house? How much farther is it? Answer me, fellow, and if your answer is not a good one, on your head be it!"

He put his hand on his sword hilt.

"Great lords and masters!" said the guide. "May I be blinded and cast down into the seventh h.e.l.l, if we are not upon the place right now. It is but three doors down."

"You're sure?" snapped Brian.

"It is as I've said," said the guide. "In Allah's name, it is but three doors down."

"It had best be so," said Brian.

The man turned and ran ahead a short distance through the dim alleyway they were traversing, and stopped beside what seemed to be a solid wall.

"It is here, my lords and masters!" he called. "This is the place!"

"Let's go look," said Jim. He and Brian slogged forward, and there was indeed a slight indentation in the wooden wall beside which the guide had stopped; and in that indentation was a door that probably once had been painted green, but there was very little of that color left to it now.

"Lo, I have done what was promised. Pay me and those two who carry your wealth, and let us go," said the guide.

"Wait a minute," said Jim, as Brian reached up under his chain mail shirt for his purse. "Let's get them to answer that door and find out if we actually are at the right place, first. Then we'll pay you."

"Your wish is my command, O mighty one!" said the guide. Turning, he began to hammer on the door.

He hammered for some little time, but there was no sound from within nor anything to signify he had been heard. He turned and looked hopelessly at Jim and Brian, shrugging his shoulders; but Brian was scowling now, and he quickly turned back to the door and began hammering on it again.

"Open!" he cried in a piercing, high-pitched voice. "Open, in the name of Allah, the beneficent, the all-hospitable. Two great men, beloved of Allah, the sultan and our Bey, here in Tripoli, are come to visit with abu al-Qusayr."

There still was no response, but Brian growled and the man kept up his pounding and his cries. Finally, there was the noise of bolts being drawn and bars being lifted, and the door opened to reveal a tall, stately-looking man in a rich, heavy robe of red. He was silver-haired and upright. He glared down at the guide.

"Dog of the wharf," he said. "Why do you clamor at this door? Do you not know what you risk by disturbing the mind of abu al-Qusayr?"

"Forgive me, O gracious one!" said the guide. "But with me are two great men, lords among the Franks and nasranies of the north, who are directed here by friends of abu al-Qusayr. Not for a king's ransom would I disturb so all-wise and powerful a man. But I think that these with me are expected by him."

The silver-haired man in the red robe directed his glance at Jim and Brian.

"Your names, sirs?" he asked, with a surprising change of speech to a courtly, even European manner.

"I am Sir Brian Neville-Smythe," said Brian. "With me is the Mage, Baron Sir James Eckert de Malencontri, whom your master is expecting."

"I must not claim the t.i.tle of Mage, however," said Jim hurriedly, for the eyebrows of the silver-haired man had climbed up on his forehead on hearing that t.i.tle. "I am a magician of relatively low rank; apprentice, however, to the Mage S. Carolinus, who has said that I would find friendship and direction from abu al-Qusayr, as a fellow member of the Magician's Kingdom."

The man in the doorway relaxed.

"You are expected, sir," he said-again with more of a European way of speaking than that of one of the locals. Jim wondered if his invisible translator was carrying him over what essentially was a switch from one language to another. Looking past Jim and Brian now, this man beckoned the two luggage-carriers forward and pointed just inside the doorway.

"Leave your burdens there," he said. "They will be taken care of."

"My pay! Our pay!" cried the guide. "O munificent masters, we have not yet been paid!"

Jim produced a silver coin and pa.s.sed it to the guide.

"But it was to be a gold dinar," wailed the guide.

"That's not what the shipmaster told us," said Jim.

"It was to be gold! It was to be gold-" clamored the guide.

"Cease thy clamor," snapped the man in the red robe, "and get thee hence happily with what thou hast, lest devils and scorpions follow thee to thy grave!"