Morrison was not particularly surprised when, late one night, he found the work camp deserted. He had expected the men to make a move. He sat back in his tent and waited.
After a while Rivera came in and sat down. Gonna be some trouble, he said, lighting a cigarette.
Whose trouble?
The natives. The boys are going up to that village.
Morrison nodded. What started them?
Rivera leaned back and exhaled smoke. You know this crazy Charlie? The guy whos always praying? Well, he swore he saw one of those natives standing beside his tent. He said the native said, You die, all of you Earthmen die. And then the native disappeared.
In a cloud of smoke? Morrison asked.
Yeah, Rivera said, grinning. I think there was a cloud of smoke in it.
Morrison remembered the man. A perfect hysteric type. A classic case, whose devil spoke conveniently in his own language, and from somewhere near enough to be destroyed.
Tell me, Morrison asked, are they going up there to destroy witches? Or psi supermen?
Rivera thought it over for a while, then said, Well, Mr. Morrison, Id say they dont much care.
In the distance they heard a loud, reverberating boom.
Did they take explosives? Morrison asked.
Dont know. I suppose they did.
It was ridiculous, he thought. Pure mob behavior. Dengue would grin and say: When in doubt, always kill the shadows. Cant tell what theyre up to.
But Morrison found that he was glad his men had made the move. Latent psi powers You could never tell.
Half an hour later, the first men straggled in, walking slowly, not talking to each other.
Well? Morrison asked. Did you get them all?
No sir, a man said. We didnt even get near them.
What happened? Morrison asked, feeling a touch of panic.
More of his men arrived. They stood silently, not looking at each other.
What happened? Morrison shouted.
We didnt even get near them, a man said. We got about halfway there. Then there was another landslide.
Were any of you hurt?
No sir. It didnt come near us. But it buried their village.
Thats bad, Morrison said softly.
Yes sir. The men stood in quiet groups, looking at him.
What do we do now, sir?
Morrison shut his eyes tightly for a moment, then said, Get back to your tents and stand by.
They melted into the darkness. Rivera looked questioningly at him. Morrison said, Bring Lerner here. As soon as Rivera left, he turned to the radio, and began to draw in his outposts.
He had a suspicion that something was coming, so the tornado that burst over the camp half an hour later didnt take him completely by surprise. He was able to get most of his men into the ships before their tents blew away.
Lerner pushed his way into Morrisons temporary headquarters in the radio room of the flagship. Whats up? he asked.
Ill tell you whats up, Morrison said. A range of dead volcanoes ten miles from here are erupting. The weather station reports a tidal wave coming thatll flood half this continent. We shouldnt have earthquakes here, but I suppose you felt the first tremor. And thats only the beginning.
But what is it? Lerner asked. Whats doing it?
Havent you got Earth yet? Morrison asked the radio operator.
Still trying.
Rivera burst in. Just two more sections to go, he reported.
When everyones on a ship, let me know.
Whats going on? Lerner screamed. Is this my fault too?
Im sorry about that, Morrison said.
Got something, the radioman said. Hold on
Morrison! Lerner screamed. Tell me!
I dont know how to explain it, Morrison said. Its too big for me. But Dengue could tell you.
Morrison closed his eyes and imagined Dengue standing in front of him. Dengue was smiling disdainfully, and saying, Read here the saga of the jellyfish that dreamed it was a god. Upon rising from the ocean beach, the super-jellyfish which called itself Man decided that, because of its convoluted gray brain, it was the superior of all. And having thus decided, the jellyfish slew the fish of the sea and the beasts of the field, slew them prodigiously, to the complete disregard of natures intent. And then the jellyfish bored holes in the mountains and pressed heavy cities upon the groaning earth, and hid the green grass under a concrete apron. And then, increasing in numbers past all reason, the spaceborn jellyfish went to other worlds, and there he did destroy mountains, build up plains, shift whole forests, redirect rivers, melt ice caps, mold continents, dig new seas, and in these and other ways did deface the great planets which, next to the stars, are natures noblest work. Now nature is old and slow, but very sure. So inevitably there came a time when nature had enough of the presumptuous jellyfish, and his pretension to godhood. And therefore, the time came when a great planet whose skin he pierced rejected him, cast him out, spit him forth. That was the day the jellyfish found, to his amazement, that he had lived all his days in the sufferance of powers past his conception, upon an exact par with the creatures of plain and swamp, no worse than the flowers, no better than the weeds, and that it made no difference to the universe whether he lived or died, and all his vaunted record of works done was no more than the tracks an insect leaves in the sand.
What is it? Lerner begged.
I think the planet didnt want us any more, Morrison said. I think it had enough.
I got Earth! the radio operator called. Go ahead, Morrie.
Shotwell? Listen, we cant stick it out, Morrison said into the receiver. Im getting my men out of here while theres still time. I cant explain it to you now I dont know if Ill ever be able to
The planet cant be used at all? Shotwell asked.
No. Not a chance. Sir, I hope this doesnt jeopardize the firms standing
Oh, to hell with the firms standing, Mr. Shotwell said. Its just that you dont know whats been going on here, Morrison. You know our Gobi project? In ruins, every bit of it. And its not just us. I dont know, I just dont know. Youll have to excuse me, Im not speaking coherently, but ever since Australia sank
What?
Yes, sank, sank I tell you. Perhaps we should have suspected something with the hurricanes. But then the earthquakes but we just dont know any more.
But Mars? Venus? Alpha Centauri?
The same everywhere. But we cant be through, can we, Morrison? I mean, Mankind
Hello, hello, Morrison called: What happened? he asked the operator.
They conked out, the operator said. Ill try again.
Dont bother, Morrison said. Just then Rivera dashed in.
Got every last man on board, he said. The ports are sealed. Were all set to go, Mr. Morrison.
They were all looking at him. Morrison slumped back in his chair and grinned helplessly.
Were all set, he said. But where shall we go?
The Accountant
Mr. Dee was seated in the big armchair, his belt loosened, the evening papers strewn around his knees. Peacefully he smoked his pipe, and considered how wonderful the world was. Today he had sold two amulets and a philter; his wife was bustling around the kitchen, preparing a delicious meal; and his pipe was drawing well. With a sigh of contentment, Mr. Dee yawned and stretched.
Morton, his nine-year-old son, hurried across the living-room, laden down with books.
Howd school go today? Mr. Dee called.
O.K., the boy said, slowing down, but still moving toward his room.
What have you got there? Mr. Dee asked, gesturing at his sons tall pile of books.
Just some more accounting stuff, Morton said, not looking at his father. He hurried into his room.
Mr. Dee shook his head. Somewhere, the lad had picked up the notion that he wanted to be an accountant. An accountant! True, Morton was quick with figures; but he would have to forget this nonsense. Bigger things were in store for him.
The doorbell rang.
Mr. Dee tightened his belt, hastily stuffed in his shirt and opened the front door. There stood Miss Greeb, his sons fourth-grade teacher.
Come in, Miss Greeb, said Dee. Can I offer you something?
I have no time, said Miss Greeb. She stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo. With her gray, tangled hair, her thin, long-nosed face and red runny eyes, she looked exactly like a witch. And this was as it should be, for Miss Greeb was a witch.
Ive come to speak to you about your son, she said.
At this moment Mrs. Dee hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
I hope he hasnt been naughty, Mrs. Dee said anxiously.
Miss Greeb sniffed ominously. Today I gave the yearly tests. Your son failed miserably.
Oh dear, Mrs. Dee said. Its Spring. Perhaps
Spring has nothing to do with it, said Miss Greeb. Last week I assigned the Greater Spells of Cordus, section one. You know how easy they are. He didnt learn a single one.
Hm, said Mr. Dee succinctly.
In Biology, he doesnt have the slightest notion which are the basic conjuring herbs. Not the slightest.
This is unthinkable, said Mr. Dee.
Miss Greeb laughed sourly. Moreover, he has forgotten all the Secret Alphabet which he learned in third grade. He has forgotten the Protective Formula, forgotten the names of the 99 lesser imps of the Third Circle, forgotten what little he knew of the Geography of Greater Hell. And whats more, he doesnt want to learn.
Mr. and Mrs. Dee looked at each other silently. This was very serious indeed. A certain amount of boyish inattentiveness was allowable; encouraged, even, for it showed spirit. But a child had to learn the basics, if he ever hoped to become a full-fledged wizard.
I can tell you right here and now, said Miss Greeb, if this were the old days, Id flunk him without another thought. But there are so few of us left.
Mr. Dee nodded sadly. Witchcraft had been steadily declining over the centuries. The old families died out, or were snatched by demoniac forces, or became scientists. And the fickle public showed no interest whatsoever in the charms and enchantments of ancient days.
Now, only a scattered handful possessed the Old Lore, guarding it, teaching it in places like Miss Greebs private school for the children of wizards. It was a heritage, a sacred trust.
Its this accounting nonsense, said Miss Greeb. I dont know where he got the notion. She stared accusingly at Dee. And I dont know why it wasnt nipped in the bud.[7] Mr. Dee felt his cheeks grow hot.
But I do know this. As long as Morton has that on his mind, he cant give his attention to Thaumaturgy.
Mr. Dee looked away from the witchs red eyes. It was his fault. He should never have brought home that toy adding machine. And when he first saw Morton playing at double-entry bookkeeping, he should have burned the ledger. But how could he know it would grow into an obsession? Mrs. Dee smoothed out her apron, and said, Miss Greeb, you know you have our complete confidence. What would you suggest?
All I can do I have done, said Miss Greeb. The only remaining thing is to call up Boarbas, the Demon of Children. And that, naturally, is up to you.
Oh, I dont think its that serious yet, Mr. Dee said quickly. Calling up Boarbas is a serious measure.
As I said, thats up to you, Miss Greeb said. Call Boarbas or not, as you see fit. As things stand now, your son will never be a wizard. She turned and started to leave.
Wont you stay for a cup of tea? Mrs. Dee asked hastily.
No, I must attend a Witchs Coven in Cincinnati, said Miss Greeb, and vanished in a puff of orange smoke.
Mr. Dee fanned the smoke with his hands and closed the door. Phew, he said. Youd think shed use a perfumed brand.
Shes old-fashioned, Mrs. Dee murmured. They stood beside the door in silence. Mr. Dee was just beginning to feel the shock. It was hard to believe that his son, his own flesh and blood, didnt want to carry on the family tradition. It couldnt be true!
After dinner, Dee said, finally, Ill have a man-to-man talk with him. Im sure we wont need any demoniac intervention.
Good, Mrs. Dee said. Im sure you can make the boy understand. She smiled, and Dee caught a glimpse of the old witch-light flickering behind her eyes.
My roast! Mrs. Dee gasped suddenly, the witch-light dying. She hurried back to her kitchen.
Dinner was a quiet meal. Morton knew that Miss Greeb had been there, and he ate in guilty silence, glancing occasionally at his father. Mr. Dee sliced and served the roast, frowning deeply. Mrs. Dee didnt even attempt any small talk.
After bolting his dessert, the boy hurried to his room.
Now well see, Mr. Dee said to his wife. He finished the last of his coffee, wiped his mouth and stood up. I am going to reason with him now. Where is my Amulet of Persuasion?
Mrs. Dee thought deeply for a moment. Then she walked across the room to the bookcase. Here it is, she said, lifting it from the pages of a brightly jacketed novel[8]. I was using it as a marker.
Mr. Dee slipped the amulet into his pocket, took a deep breath, and entered his sons room.
Morton was seated at his desk. In front of him was a notebook, scribbled with figures and tiny, precise notations. On his desk were six carefully sharpened pencils, a soap eraser, an abacus and a toy adding machine. His books hung precariously over the edge of the desk; there was Money, by Rimraamer, Bank Accounting Practice, by Johnson and Calhoun, Ellmans Studies for the CPA[9], and a dozen others.
Mr. Dee pushed aside a mound of clothes and made room for himself on the bed. Hows it going, son? he asked, in his kindest voice.
Fine, Dad, Morton answered eagerly. Im up to chapter four in Basic Accounting, and I answered all the questions
Son, Dee broke in, speaking very softly, how about your regular homework?
Morton looked uncomfortable and scuffed his feet on the floor.
You know, not many boys have a chance to become wizards in this day and age.
Yes sir, I know, Morton looked away abruptly. In a high, nervous voice he said, But Dad, I want to be an accountant. I really do, Dad.
Mr. Dee shook his head. Morton, theres always been a wizard in our family. For eighteen hundred years, the Dees have been famous in supernatural circles.
Morton continued to look out the window and scuff his feet.
You wouldnt want to disappoint me, would you, son? Dee smiled sadly. You know, anyone can be an accountant. But only a chosen few can master the Black Arts.