Showcase: The Wizard
Times Past, 1953
Things that Go Bump
by Dan Swanson
Part 1: Trouble in paradise
Warden Welducci had known from the start that the new prisoner was going to be trouble. He should have gone straight into solitary, but the rules said that as long as he behaved, he had to be treated just like all the other criminals. Didn’t matter what he did outside – in here, he was just another con, and he got treated just like all the rest. Welducci mostly agreed with that sentiment – but this guy was a super-villain, for Pete’s sake! – Yup, gonna be nothing but trouble. Why did they send all the super villains to the Federal Penitentiary of Maryland, anyway? Sooner or later, one of them was going to escape – and that black mark on his record would shoot his pensions all to hell. He hoped his transfer request would be approved soon.
In an observation room high above the prison dining room, protected by windows of bulletproof glass, he watched the cons file in for dinner. He’d posted extra guards with special riot-control weapons tonight. Trouble often started at dinner, when several hundred sullen, angry, mostly violent men were forced into close proximity in a single dingy, smelly room and fed the same old unappetizing prison food. Most of them were already spoiling for a fight, and the new prisoner was sure to generate resentment. The warden gave it 15 minutes, max.
None of the cons could fail to notice the new guy. While most of the prisoners shuffled along, hanging their heads or glaring sullen hatred at all around them, drab in their gray prison coveralls, the new man strode arrogantly into the room, straight and tall, with a haughty regal demeanor that was guaranteed to antagonize everyone else in the dining hall. The muttering started immediately.
His attire didn’t help matters any. While the rest of the prisoners were dressed in ill-fitting threadbare prison uniforms, he was wearing a magnificently-tailored midnight blue tuxedo with tails, so dark it was almost black, a grandiose opera cape of the same color, and a blue-black top hat. Combined with his haughty demeanor, his aura of personal power, his immaculately trimmed black beard, and his frightening all-white eyes, the Wizard was a charismatic and almost awe inspiring figure. And those prisoners around him resented it.
“Hey, screw!” one of them shouted at a guard. “Why’s the fop, there” he pointed at the Wizard “get to dress like a phony stage magician?”
“Shut up and eat, or you won’t get nuthin!” the guard responded. He had been wondering the same thing.
“Yeah, like I care if I miss this slop!” the con responded. The Wizard must have overheard, but he ignored that conversation and the muttering of the other cons.
“As if we have a choice!” the Warden snorted. “Every time we put him in a prison uniform, it somehow changes into that same damn costume.”
They had even tried forcing him to go nude, but within a couple of hours, he was magically clothed again. But the other cons didn’t know that, and he couldn’t tell them, didn’t dare let them know that this prisoner was defying him. Let them think he was getting special treatment. That way, they would direct their anger at the Wizard, rather than wondering if they, too could get away with defying the Warden..
The Wizard picked a table and sat down with his tray. The Warden winced. The Wizard had unerringly selected the table favored by the half dozen meanest, toughest hard cases among the prisoners. It couldn’t be an accident. Was the man _trying_ to start trouble? Probably.
There was a well-defined pecking order among the prisoners, and it was never violated with impunity. When it happened, there was always violent trouble. Rarely did a new bully boy reach the top of the prison food chain. Much more often the challenger ended up in the prison infirmary, crippled for life – or worse. It was too late for him to intervene. Besides, the Wizard had already started to grate on his nerves. The Warden hoped the other cons would take the Wizard down a notch, though he doubted it.
The Wizard ate alone, as nobody quite dared to join him at his newly selected table. This set off a chain reaction as the chief bully boys forced others away from their own tables, and those others in turn, displaced still others. The muttering grew louder.
The final straw was probably the Wizard’s obvious appreciation of the slop the prisoners were served as food. He relished every bite, as if it were part of the finest repast served at the finest table among the rich and privileged, and he savored the warm, flat tap water as if it were the finest wine. Long ago, he had decided not to waste his time with anything less than the very finest foods, and he had crafted a permanent spell that worked on the food he ate. He saw, and ate, nothing but the finest, regardless of what was served him, as his innate magic transformed it before he consumed it. His appreciation for the food and drink was unfeigned. But the same spell kept the other inmates unaware of the transformation. (The spell also neutralized any poisons or toxins that might have been laced in his food or drink, a useful side effect when one constantly dealt with the criminal element).
“Damn, if you like this slop so much you can have mine” came an angry shout from another table – and a plate of prison food flew through the air. It was virtually impossible to see who had thrown it, but the plate came from the direction of the table of the (former) head bullies. Someone apparently wanted to cause trouble between the old and new rulers of the dining room- and maybe kill two birds with the same stone.
“Crap, that rips it all to shreds!” the Warden yelled as he reached for the alarm. Clearly, even with all the precautions the prison authorities had taken, the Wizard still retained some of his power. This could be a slaughter.
Part 2: Solitary Confinement at last!
The flying plate never reached its intended destination. It acted as if the air around it had thickened, slowing rapidly and spewing its contents across the men seated at the intervening table. Most of the flying food splattered directly into the face of Boss Neuertski, the current de facto king of the prison inmates.
At that same instant, the Wizard rose from his seat and spoke. The stunning power of his booming voice actually shook the solid cement walls. “I AM THE WIZARD!! THE MAN WHO VANQUISHED SUPERMAN!!” He was about to say more, when chaos broke out.
The man who threw the plate made a break for the closest of the 3 inmate exits. A bare instant later, most of the rest of the cons also stampeded for the exits, yelling and screaming. They knew what would happen next. In the observation room, the Warden tripped the alarm switch, and repurposed World War II air raid sirens blared painfully, even louder than the augmented voice of the Wizard. Tear gas began seeping through vents in the walls.
Under cover of the confusion, the Boss dispatched one of his lieutenants on a deadly mission. “Stones! You’se follow da ‘Topper’ dere” referring to the Wizard’s top hat “and innerrduce him to yer shiv!”
He could have Stonalli off the plate thrower later, but the Wizard was an immediate threat to his power. This riot was a stroke of luck – in the frantic crowds around the exits, more inmates than just the Wizard would be injured or killed – and not a few of them with crude daggers similar to Stonalli’s. No one would be able to pin the Wizard’s death on him. And if Stones did get caught, he wouldn’t say nuthin’.
Unnoticed by almost everyone, the Boss then approached one of the guards, who handed Neuertski his own gas mask and lead him out of the chaos through the guard’s entrance. What was the use of having power if you didn’t use it for your own benefit? One of the other guards noticed, however, and he filed this incident in his mind for future reference. He then walked up to the Wizard, who had returned to his seat and was eating. The mage seemed unaffected by the gas or the chaos nearby.
“Not bad, Mr. Garth, for a guy wit no magic!” The guard’s voice was muffled by the gas mask, but his tone was pleasant. He was a very big man and he moved with surprising grace. The Wizard was in a good mood and he responded pleasantly.
“I may be without my magnificent Wand of Glastonbury, but the Wizard will never be totally without magic again. Would you care to join me for dinner” he peered at the guard’s uniform “Captain Strickland?”
The guard shuddered. “I don’t know how anyone can eat that crud. Mr. Garth, da rules say that anyone what starts a fight goes to solitary. Please come wit me.”
The Wizard was anything but displeased. But he shouldn’t appear eager. So he bluffed anger. “I had nothing to do with this fight, Strickland!”
“Save it, pal. You ain’t tellin me you choose dis table by mistake? Or dat plate dropped on da Boss by accident? I ain’t no fancy over-dressed big talker, but I been guarding cons for 25 years – and I know all da tricks.” There was a little anger in the guard’s voice as well. “Besides, big shot, it’s mostly for your own good. You may tink you’se hot stuff, but to the cons here, you’se just another stiff. In fact, one of ‘em’s already lookin’ to stick a shiv in your back.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Captain. I retain more than enough magic to protect myself. On the matter of solitary, I demand a meeting with the Wa”
He never finished. Almost faster than the Wizard could perceive, the guard kicked his chair out from under him, grabbed him from behind in an arm bar, immobilizing both his arms, and swept a plastic spoon from the table, holding it to the Wizard’s throat with his free hand.
“Some of the boys here are almost as fast as I am” Strickland said in a mild tone, as he released the stunned mage. “And deys’s not a nice guy like me. No matter how hard we look, sumna them got shivs, and dey’ll use ‘em, too.”
The Wizard was more than a little shaken up. If this guard had meant to kill him, he would likely be dead now, regardless of the magic he retained. He struggled not to show his fear. “Thank you for a very graphic and convincing demonstration, Captain Strickland. As you suggest, solitary might be just the place. Please lead the way.”
“Since we’se such good friends now, why doncha call me Stork like everyone else?” Strickland asked. “I need to cuff you -just for show, of course.” He did, and led the Wizard out the door Neuertski and his pet guard had just used. Stonalli, who hadn’t dared approach the Wizard while Stork was nearby, plunged into one of the yelling, struggling mobs at an exit, taking out his frustration by cutting a half a dozen other inmates.
********************************************************************
Solitary wasn’t very interesting, but then, it wasn’t designed to be. The cell was a simple steel box with extremely primitive furnishings all seemingly extruded from the floor or walls. Finger food arrived 3 times a day through a small hole, about large enough for a squirrel, on small paper plates with no utensils. The sink doubled as a bubbler, the toilet as the waste receptacle. He knew he was monitored by a large array of sensors, but he didn’t care. He was well pleased to be away from prison ‘society’. With no responsibilities and no distractions, this was a perfect opportunity for meditation, reflecting on his recent setbacks, and making plans for the future.
Captain Strickland had bragged about this escape-proof cell. “Dis here cell was designed by an expert on super criminals. It held Dr. Doog and da Rival, and it will hold you, too. Count on it.” Doog and the Rival had both escaped from this prison in the past, which was why the new Warden was so jumpy – but neither from solitary, and only with outside help. So he would just have to be the first.
Very early the next morning (shortly after midnight, though he didn’t have a clock), the Wizard awakened. There was someone or something in the cell with him! He held himself still as he listened intently. If it was a man, his breathing was inaudible. There was some kind of periodic high-pitched whine, barely audible – could it be the ventilator? He could detect no magic. How had anything gotten into this sealed cell?
The furnishings in solitary didn’t run to a light switch. The Wizard concentrated all his remaining magic on creating a light. A dimly glowing blue globe sprang into existence near the ceiling, revealing his visitor. Sitting on the rim of the toilet, staring at him intently, was a bat the size of a collie!
Past 3: Batty!
Unlike many people, the Wizard had no superstitions about bats. He knew that not all bats were other-form vampires, and that most natural bats don’t drink blood. On the other hand, he had actually met live vampires, and seen them change shape from human to bat and back again. He didn’t think he had any enemies of the vampire persuasion, but in his line of business, who knew if he might have offended one? They were all very touchy, after all. Suddenly, being stuck in an escape-proof room didn’t seem quite so appealing.
The bat had not reacted to the Wizard’s magical light. It stood there, almost motionless, staring at him. He made some plans. He had to hope that this was a real bat. Without a magic wand to enhance and supplement his magic, he was no match for a vampire.
The cantrip he’d used to amplify his voice could be very useful against a bat. If he could confuse this beast long enough to throw his cape over it, he might be able to trap it and stomp it to death. He was using the cape in place of a blanket, so he didn’t even have to move to grasp it. It was a feeble plan, but all he had.
“I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL WIZARD!” He grabbed the cape in both hands, rolled to his feet, and flung his cape over the giant bat, then dove after it, ready to wrap it up tightly. The cape flew truly, and settled down over the beast. At least, he thought it did – he thought he saw it start to wrap around the animal, but then it simply collapsed as if nothing had ever been there! And the Wizard bashed himself pretty hard on the stainless steel column on which the bat had perched.
After he got over the worst of the pain, he carefully probed the entire room for any traces of magic. He found nothing. His visitor had not been a vampire or a magical illusion. So what was it – and how had it vanished?
Later that morning, the prison psychiatrist spoke to him via the intercom. “Do you need a doctor, Mr. Garth? Tackling a fire hydrant can be pretty hard on your shoulder.”
The Wizard had not slept the rest of the night, and he wasn’t in the mood for jokes at his expense. “I thought this cell was supposed to be secure! I demand to be moved to someplace safe. That beast probably had rabies – or worse!” The mage had determined that the giant bat must have climbed into his cell through the toilet, and left the same way. The thought of a giant rabid bat, lurking somewhere below, able to climb into his room at will, was giving him the willies! He had stuffed his cape into the opening.
‘What beast, Mr. Garth? I’ve reviewed the surveillance tapes from last night – and there was never anyone, or any thing, in your room but you.”
“The giant bat, you moron!”
“Mr. Garth, we watch this cell in visible light and IR. We record every noise, with the amplification high enough to hear your breathing. The floor is a sensitive scale. Air pressure, temperature and humidity are constantly monitored. Everything was normal last night until you awakened, yelled and started practicing for the Baltimore Colts. In total darkness, yet! I assure you, there was nothing in that cell but you.”
He argued with the shrink, but they wouldn’t move him to another cell, wouldn’t let him out, not even to use a toilet in another cell, wouldn’t let him see last night’s records, wouldn’t let him talk to the Warden or even to Captain Strickland. The shrink was convinced he’d had a nightmare, caused by all the prison food he’d eaten the day before. But the Wizard knew his food transmutation spell protected him from bad food. Finally, the shrink cut him off.
“You’re into Day 2 of 60, Mr. Garth. Please try to reign in your imagination!” He shut down the intercom.
Past 4: Sleep, hideous sleep!
It was a very long day for the Wizard, as you might imagine. He couldn’t get that bat out of his mind. The psychiatrist _must_ have lied to him – he KNEW the bat had been in the room with him, and he knew it hadn’t been any manifestation of magic. If the security on this cell was so darn good, they must have recorded it. But they continued to claim he had been alone in the cell all night – even though they wouldn’t show him any of the recordings.
They must be playing mind games, trying to destroy his self-confidence again. Well, he wouldn’t fall for it! He was the Wizard, and he had vanquished Superman! But somewhere in the back of his mind, there were still whispers of doubt. Doubt had recently laid him low, stripped away his magical powers, and left him a homeless vagabond. He couldn’t give in to doubt again! But, he hadn’t had the mental resources to fight it before, and now, as his thoughts chased each other endlessly round and round, he could feel his remaining power slipping away again, and he was helpless to stop it.
And then, almost like a bolt of magical lightning, he realized that there was another possibility. His former partner in crime, the Brainwave, could create illusions with the power of his mind. No magic was involved, and the illusions only existed in the mind of his victims, so they wouldn’t show up on cameras or any of the other sensor devices. Surely Brainwave was not the only being in the world capable of creating such illusions. Just as surely, another being with such power must be working for the prison.
Certain that he knew the cause, the solution was simple. He had still magic enough to shield his mind from the telepathic illusions of others. It was a simple skill, learned in his early apprenticeship. He quickly spoke the simple cantrip, and felt a magical shield surround his mind. He had tested this shield against Brainwave himself. It was a sign of his reduced condition that he had not more quickly diagnosed the cowardly attacks to which he had been subjected.
His confidence restored, he slept easily and deeply.
At least, until midnight. Once again, he awakened abruptly, with the sure knowledge that he wasn’t alone in the cell. This time he heard rustling, near the ceiling. He called together the remaining shreds of his magic, and created a light – and screamed! There were hundreds of bats, hanging from the ceiling, all of them staring at him. His scream startled them, and they dropped and took flight, until the room was filled with swarming bats! Everywhere he looked, bats! Incredibly, none of them touched each other or him. It was an astounding display of echolocation – but the Wizard wasn’t able to appreciate it.
There was nowhere in the cell to hide. He pulled himself into a corner and wrapped into the smallest ball possible, shivering and crying. And then the lights came on, and the bats vanished!
The voice that came through the intercom was Captain Strickland. “Mr. Garth, what’s the matter? Should I call a doctor?” The genuine concern in his voice reached the Wizard. He slowly unwound himself. When he didn’t say anything for several minutes, Strickland did call for the prison doctor. When the doctor finally arrived, he looked at the recent instrument readings that showed the Wizard’s heart rate, and hurried into the cell to give the terrified mage a sedative. He was too weak to fight the effects of the drug, and as he slipped into unconsciousness, a small part of his mind gibbered in terror, helpless. he knew he would never awaken again!
He was wrong. But when he did awaken, he quickly realized that death wasn’t half as terrifying as what he was now facing.
Once again, the Wizard regained consciousness with the unpleasant knowledge that he wasn’t alone. No bats this time, and the aura he perceived was one he knew. Although he had never before sensed such anger in that aura.
“You messed with my mind. I don’t like that!” The voice was low and rumbling, like an active volcano about to explode. The voice of The Batman.
Part 5: Conclusion
The Wizard panicked momentarily when he realized that he was lying on a stretcher, with straps fastened about his arms, legs and chest.
“Sorry, just a precaution to keep you from hurting yourself until you regained consciousness.” said the Batman as he unfastened the restraints. His tone was cordial – almost collegial, in fact, but the Wizard wasn’t fooled.
The Batman positioned a chair where the Wizard could see him and sat down. The Wizard thought briefly about making an escape attempt, but quickly decided against it.
“There are lots of superheroes who are very angry with you right now, Garth. Heroes who spend their lives helping people in trouble, but your spell stopped them from helping the greatest hero of all, in the greatest trouble of his career. Heroes bearing grudges, Garth, and looking for you.” He paused, as if contemplating all those heroes, then continued, even more quietly. “Some of them respond violently to things that make them angry. Lucky for you I got here before them.”
“I don’t feel very lucky!” the Wizard thought, but didn’t say. He wondered if the Batman appreciated the irony in his last statement.
Instead: “That was not at all my intent, I assure you. That spell was supposed to insure my place as the most powerful mage in history. I wanted every hero to try to find Superman – and fail. My fame would grow with each failure, my stature with each retelling. With the world’s heroes powerless against me, the criminal element would elevate me…”
“ENOUGH!” It was spoken in a whisper. And yet, that whisper roared in his ears, and the Wizard immediately shut up. He had sometimes wondered how the Batman consistently prevailed over super-powered foes – now he understood. The Batman’s success stemmed from the intensity of his passion – and that passion was a super-power in itself, as powerful in its own way as Superman or Dr. Fate..
“It didn’t work out quite the way you expected?” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in the Batman’s voice. He wanted the Wizard to keep talking.
“Perversity Personified!” It was a rather clumsy curse, but it carried as much anger and frustration as any other curse the Batman had ever heard.
“Very powerful, complex spells often take on a kind of mysterious ‘pseudo-life’ of their own, with unintended consequences. This one apparently decided to protect its own existence by magically-enforced secrecy.” He stopped, and appeared to be brooding. The Dark Knight decided to prod him.
“So, it forced anyone with a chance to find Superman, to not even consider looking for him. And your own downfall – no doubt this living spell forced everyone to disbelieve your story.” He could sense the Wizard’s anger growing, and gave him a relief valve. “So, how did Lois Lane overcome the spell’s side effects?”
“I guess that damned Wand of Glastonbury wasn’t as powerful as legend had it! Once again, the glorious Wizard is betrayed by misplaced trust!” His voice ran down, and he continued muttering. The Batman couldn’t make out anything of sense, and he’d had enough.
“I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. I assume that since your latest spell was widely publicized, any two bit magician will be able to figure out the original?”
Disgust played across the Wizard’s face. “Once a master has parted the sea, the lesser crowd after, seeking stranded fish. Yes, of course, now that I have ingeniously created such a work of art, even an amateur could craft a mediocre, yet passable copy.”
“A work of art that has left you powerless and imprisoned – hardly an accomplishment to boast about.” the Caped Crusader thought silently. It wasn’t his purpose to strip the Wizard of the remaining shards of his pride. He actually wanted the master criminal’s help!
“I assume that a spell of protection is easily within your majestic abilities?” He thought he might have overdone it – the Wizard looked up sharply, as if he thought he was being mocked. And quickly remembered who he was dealing with.
“In my current state, I don’t have the power. If the Wand of Glastonbury had lived up to its legend, were I to have it in my possession, perhaps.”
“I have a magical artifact of legendary power” and the Batman pulled a leather pouch, much like a very plain sheath for a short sword, or long dagger, from where it had been concealed under his belt, behind his back. The Wizard’s magical senses detected nothing unusual. Until the Batman pulled back a flap.
To his mage-sight, it was as if a sun took shape in the Batman’s hand. The Batman’s own aura was like a an out-of-control forest fire, yet next to the magnificence of this small item’s magical corona, it was less than a candle. The Wand of Glastonbury was the bursting of a soap bubble, compared to an atomic bomb. He lusted for this artifact.
The Batman was holding a narrow wand, perhaps a foot long, topped by a golden device much like a miniature lantern. Even to his unaided eyes, it was surrounded by a golden glow. He quickly turned his remaining abilities to a thorough magical examination
The Wizard was so fascinated by the mysterious artifact that he totally forgot he was trapped in a small room with one of his most dangerous enemies! He exclaimed excitedly as he divined the wand’s secrets.
“It can’t be – it was only a legend! But, it seems, the legend is fact.” He could see that the Batman was growing impatient, so he explained. “This is the Scepter of Thoth! Thoth is one of the gods of ancient Egypt, a moon god, mighty in knowledge and power. You have probably seen his representation – the body of a man with the head of an ibis. Where did you get this?”
“You have your secrets, while I keep my own” the Batman responded coldly. “The question I need answered is, can you use this ‘Scepter of Thoth’ as I’ve asked?”
“According to legend, the Scepter was forged by Thoth for use by his chosen mortal champion. It confers great power, activated by vocal command and guided by intent, when wielded by one whom Thoth finds worthy.” He reached to touch the wand – and screamed, drawing his hand back as if he had stuck it into an open fire! “Sadly, I don’t seem to be on his short list. So, no, Batman. I can’t help you.”
“I suspected as much.” If he was disappointed, there was no trace of it in the Batman’s voice. The Dark Knight returned the wand to its sheath, and the magic power was again hidden. He turned to leave – but the Wizard stopped him with a question.
“The bats! Were they real?” he wanted to know. “How did you get them into my cell without magic?”
The Dark Knight considered. The Wizard had been honest with him. “Yes, they were real. I used a science-based teleportation device, borrowed from a Martian comrade-in-arms.”
“If you don’t wish to tell me, please don’t treat me like a fool!” the Wizard responded indignantly. “If they were real, why weren’t they detected by the monitoring equipment?”
The Batman thought it was ironic that a powerful practitioner of magic, who had recently tangled with a super-powerful alien from Krypton, might doubt the existence of a detective from Mars. Oh, well. He gave his enemy with one more thing to ponder. “Who designed the monitoring equipment?”
Unexpectedly, a noise. Someone was trying to open the locked infirmary door. Startled, the Wizard turned his head in the direction of the door – and when he turned it back again, the Batman was gone. A quick check with his magical senses confirmed what he had always believed: There was no magic involved in the Batman’s mysterious disappearances.
“I HATE it when he does that!” He decided not to mention this incident to anyone.
Epilogue:
Later that day, alone in the Batcave, the Dark Knight tempted both fate and the good will of long vanished Thoth. A tool made for mortals should be easily used by mortals, should it not? “Forged by a god for the hand of a worthy mortal, commanded by word, guided by intent.” It seemed simple enough.
Cautiously, he unsheathed the Sceptre of Thoth – though he knew it by another name. He thought for a long time, and decided on simple and direct. “Ibistick, protect Superman from future magical banishment!” Would he pay for his presumption in the future? Only time could tell. He returned the artifact to its secure cache, and headed out on patrol.
The End
