A Sudden Wild Magic

“Poppycock,” said Tod. “Fish feathers. Most of all about my own good.” And as Simic then became seized of another perfect excuse and opened his mouth to begin on it, “I don’t want,” Tod said, “to know whatever lie that was going to be. I know you’re bent as a centaur’s back leg, and you know I only employ you because you’re a genius. The fact is, you’ve been using my car to go cockfighting or girl chasing, or whatever it was — and last I knew, you had two perfectly good cars of your own—”

“Sold them, sir,” Simic said sadly.

“Bad luck,” said Tod. “I hope you lost on the deal, but I bet you didn’t. How far are we from Archrest Castle?”

“About twenty miles,” Simic admitted cautiously.

Any figure Simic ever admitted to, you automatically adjusted. Make that fifteen at the most, Tod thought. In which case, this featureless but comely road was one he had raced down countless times in this very Delmo. Good. They were in central Frinjen. “How much money do you have on you?”

“Hardly any, sir,” Simic said pathetically.

“Show,” said Tod. He held out an implacable hand, and Simic, with a look of real pain, slowly produced and laid in that hand an extremely fat wallet. “Won on the cocks, did you?” Tod said pleasantly. He counted himself off a hundred in ten-shield notes, which was about a fifth of what was there, and held out his hand again. “Pen and paper, and you get the wallet back. Come on, a betting slip will do.” When Simic produced one, and a ballpoint pen, Tod handed back the wallet, laid the slip on the Delmo’s hood and wrote:

Respected progenitor, I happened back unexpectedly early and ran into Simic — you owe him $100, by the way — and have to rush south. You can probably get word of me from Michael this evening, but rest assured that I am fine, though Arth may have the law on us soon. Love to Mother.

Yrs. Tod.

August would recognize this as unquestionably from his son and heir. Tod handed the note, but not the pen, back to Simic. Given the means, Simic would infallibly tamper with the sum owed him, in an upward direction. “There. If you want your money back, all you have to do is walk to Archrest and give this to my father. Are the keys in the Delmo?”

“Yes— Walk?” said Simic. “I’m wearing my driving boots!”

“Bad luck,” said Tod. “Maybe you’ll flag a lift.”

“But it’s occurred to me, sir, that you could be rusty at driving after a whole year, sir, and if I were to take the wheel and drive until you became accustomed—”

“Nice try,” said Tod, “but you’re out of luck again. It’s only been three months over in Arth, and I’m not in the least rusty — just proved it, actually. So either get walking or get the sack. The choice is yours.”

Leaving Simic standing resentfully among the cow parsley — his boots were pointed and shiny and probably pinched every toe he had, and serve him right! Tod thought — Tod swung himself into the warm polished leather bliss of the driving seat of his own car and drove away, fast. Simic would certainly get to Archrest somehow in order to reclaim his money. Mother would worry — but then she always did. And August would be warned that Tod had broken his service. He might be furious, but he would get his lawyers onto it at once. So. Tod gave himself up to the full, throaty purring of the best car in his world.

He hurtled down to a crossroads, which proved to be one he knew well, and turned south. Shortly he turned again, into the main southbound highway, and cut in the overdrive. The unlucky Simic had provided both tanks full of fuel. The gods were good. Tod sang — rather badly — as he drove. He bore Simic no real malice. In fact, he had often thought that he and Simic were rather alike, with the slight difference that Tod had been born with gigantic birthmagic, and Simic with an equally large affinity for machines. Simic usually seemed to see it like that too, though no doubt at the moment he was calling curses down on Tod’s head.

For all his bliss, Tod was aware that this was the merest interlude. Something was urgent, there in the south. He drove faster, bypassing town after town, some of which, he had to admit, were as ugly in their way as towns in otherworld; but there were also a few places where he would have liked to stop for lunch, peaceful, picturesque places. But he did not stop. Consequently, by the time he reached the coastal marshes between Frinjen and Leathe and turned off toward Michael’s manor of Riverwell, he was feeling unreal and time-lagged and as if today had gone on for twice as long as it should. And so it had, he realized. He had been ejected from Arth in the late afternoon, arrived in otherworld in the early afternoon, where he had spent most of an evening too, and now he had had most of a day in the Pentarchy.