The Seed of Evil

He inspected the body that had finally formed around his presence. He found it to be a handsome specimen of the species inhabiting Earth, sturdily built, a little over average height, clad in a grey check suit. His skin was swarthy; bushy mustachios grew on his upper lip. An unusual feature, for this city, was the headgear he wore—a fez, which he believed was currently more characteristic of the Egypt he had previously visited.

Wizard Wazo walked along the crowded pavement, requiring all others to make way for him. He did not falter when he came to a road junction but sauntered across it with the same confidence, sensing the oil-driven vehicles as they surged around him and knowing that none would strike him.

Here, now, was something of interest. A small, crouched man in a scruffy white gown dispensed dollops of frozen confectionery scooped into wafer cones from a trolley. Wizard Wazo was reminded of the iced drinks that had been available in ancient Egypt, and it brightened him to see that the art of making ice had not been lost since then.

At any rate he decided to sample this delicacy. Halting by the trolley, he pointed to a customer just leaving and nodded his head. Slowly the vendor filled another wafer cone, avoiding Wizard Wazo’s eye and pursing his lips calculatingly.

“Forty pence,” he said peremptorily as he held out the cone.

After a pause Wizard Wazo reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a leather folder. He found therein some pieces of richly engraved paper which he divined were notes of currency. Drawing out one bearing the legend “Ten Pounds”, he handed it over, receiving in exchange the ice cream cone.

Ostentatiously the vendor rummaged in a tray of metal discs. “Ten, twenny, firty, sixty, there y’are then, that’s all yer get,” he said, throwing coins into Wizard Wazo’s hand. Dismissively he turned away. Wizard Wazo did not move. He looked into the pinched, hostile face of the ice-cream vendor.

Then, knowing already what he would find there, he looked into the man’s mind.

Yes, this wretch had attempted to cheat him! Had taken a note of large denomination and had given trifling tokens in exchange, leaving an enormous discrepancy between them and the proper price of the delicacy! And why? Because he hoped, from Wizard Wazo’s foreign appearance, that he would not know the value of the local currency!

“Thief!” Wizard Wazo thundered. “Give me my money this instant!”

The vendor’s response was aggressive. “Yer’ve ‘ad yer lot, mate, don’t come ‘ere wiv yer bleedin’—”

Wizard Wazo bridled. One word from him and the contents of the ice-cream tub would turn to a vilely stinking mass. But he did no more than throw down the cone he had purchased and, with a gesture of disgust, continue on his way.

Further down the street he stopped again and peered through the plate-glass window of a somewhat shabby restaurant. Within, men and women sat at bare board tables, drinking tea and coffee, reading books and newspapers, talking to one another, wasting time. The man he sought sat alone in a corner, sometimes watching those around him, sometimes reading a book he held in one hand. From outside, Wizard Wazo read the title: Flying Saucers: The Conspiracy of Silence. The man was lantern-jawed, with straight black hair, and had an air of unsettled energy. He puffed nervously on a cigarette, which he put down from time to time to sip coffee from a cup in front of him.

In keeping with the etiquette between magicians, Wizard Wazo refrained from scanning the other’s mind. He moved into the restaurant and made his way to the corner table.

The man barely glanced up at the stranger who sat down opposite him. Wizard Wazo leaned forward. “I am in the presence of the Master of the Order of the Secret Star,” he stated. “That much I know. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wizard Wazo, Mighty One of the Galactic Observance. I am here to recover my words of power, left in safekeeping with you.”

Arnold Madders drew on his cigarette with a sucking sound and looked blankly at the swarthy-faced individual, vaguely oriental-looking with his hypnotic eyes and eccentric hat, who accosted him. He coughed, shook his head, and waved Wizard Wazo away. Though slightly disconcerted, Wizard Wazo tucked in his chin, and in a quiet, confidential tone, uttered a series of thrilling syllables.

“Abaradazazazaz.”

He chuckled when the vibrations had died away. “You see, I know the secret word of your order. Was it not I who gave you this word? Now we must repair to a private place. You will gather your adepts, those who have the words of power, and they will give them up to me.”

Madders did not look up from his book. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said tonelessly. “I haven’t got anything of yours.”