"That fat man was a Djinni," said Jim.
Hob was suddenly on Jim's shoulder clutching him tightly around the neck.
"I didn't know," he whispered in Jim's ear. "I thought he was just a dog and lying. He's here, you know."
"Here? In the castle?" asked Jim.
"No, not in the castle—not since he tried to come in and they chased him all over the place and he couldn't find anywhere to hide," said Hob. "He was being a dog then, you know. But is he really a Djinni? Oh, dear!"
"Don't be frightened," said Jim. "He won't hurt you. He wouldn't want to hurt you for fear of offending me."
"Is that true?" Hob's grip on Jim's neck relaxed. "I feel much better, then. Anyway, as I say, he's not in the castle. He's around someplace, probably in the village or near it or something. But those men down there don't seem to know. A demon, right there amongst them. And I never knew it, either."
"He's not a demon," said Jim. "He's a Natural. Like you."
Hob bounced from Jim's shoulder back onto a waft of smoke that appeared unexpectedly about two feet in front of Jim's face.
"He's not like me!" said Hob, staring at him.
"Well, I mean, he's a Natural, as you are. Like you only in that sense," Jim said, "just like trolls, and naiads and sea devils, and all sorts of others are Naturals—as opposed to people like Angie, Brian and me."
"But demons are full of bad magic, the men down there say; and—now that I remember—the dog-Djinni not only changed himself into a fat man, he made that chest with all the colored stones in it appear. The chest you didn't want."
"He has some powers that are like magic," said Jim. "Lots of Naturals do. They'll have a special power or two, or even more, but they don't have a lot of control over them. They can only do certain things—sort of turn them on and off—like the way you ride the smoke. That would seem like magic to anyone who had never heard of hobgoblins."
"Is that magic?" said Hob. "I never thought it was anything special. You mean I could be a demon?"
"No," said Jim. "As I just pointed out, you're a Natural. Naturals aren't demons, and demons aren't Naturals. Demons belong to a different kingdom than Naturals."
"Oh, that's good," said Hob with a deep sigh. "For a terrible moment there I thought I'd have to be afraid of myself."
"Well, there's no need," said Jim. "But this is valuable information, what you tell me about these attackers being afraid of demons. Are they particularly afraid of demons just because they're here?"
"Maybe," said Hob doubtfully. "I know they know there's a great magician in the castle—that's you, m'lord. I don't know how they know, but they do; and they think maybe magicians and demons go together."
"I can assure you," said Jim, "they don't. Different kingdoms, absolutely. But now I think, for the first time, you've given me the beginnings of an idea for doing something about this situation here. Tell me one more thing, Hob. Is there some way you could move smoke from the castle's chimneys into the far end of each of the two boats touching the shore in front of the castle here? I'd like it to look as if there was a fire going on back there in both boats."
"Move smoke?" said Hob. "Oh, certainly. I'd just do the same thing I do when I move the smoke to carry me along."
"Bingo!" said Jim.
Chapter Fourteen
"Bingo?" echoed Hob, staring at him.
"Never mind," said Jim hastily. "That's just a word that means I'm pleased."
Hob's small round face with its tiny sharp-pointed chin broke into a wide smile.
"I'm happy you're happy," he said. "I'll be glad to move the smoke for you, m'lord. When? Now?"
"You can do it in the daytime?" asked Jim.
"Oh, yes," said Hob. "I'll just bundle the smoke up small, then ride a waft of it high up, so people won't see me take it far out over the water. Then I can come down very low some distance away out to sea and ride the smoke back just above the waves. Then I'll slip into the boats when nobody's looking, bundle the smoke in with me and tell it to rise up the way I want it to. The way you want it to, m'lord."
"Thank you, Hob," said Jim. "Now, there's something else to be done first. Will you be where I can get you quickly if I call for you in a fireplace? I've got to go and talk to a couple of people. Then we'll come back here to talk; and you can listen."
"I'll always be right where you can get me, m'lord," said Hob.
Jim left the room and headed for the top of the stairs. He had two others to convince, and the first one was Brian. That should be relatively easy; but the second one was Sir Mortimor. The tall knight should see the advantage of what Jim had in mind, but might have some reason against it that Jim could not now imagine. But that, Jim would have to argue down when he came up against it. Brian was the easier, and the sensible thing would be to talk to Brian first.
Brian did, indeed, turn out to be the easier. He liked Jim's idea, which was in essence a sally by the full force of fighting men under Sir Mortimor's command, just at daylight, when presumably the enemy would still be either half asleep, or just beginning to wake up; and while those who had worked during the night would still be sleeping.
"I've been recommending a sally in any case, as you know—don't see how anything can be done without one," he said. "As for anything else, James, I have complete trust in your wisdom. If you think this will work, then I will ask no further assurance than that."
"Good," said Jim. "Can you leave this tower-top? I'd like you to come along with me to find Sir Mortimor, so I can suggest we talk it over in our room—yours and mine."
"I see no reason why not," said Brian. "Beaupré is just over there. I'll go have a word with him."
He stepped across to the pockmarked man, spoke quietly to him for a moment, and then came back to Jim.
"As I thought, there's no real need for me here, except in an emergency; and any emergency at the top of this tower is most unlikely. I left word with Beaupré. He will send a messenger to Sir Mortimor saying we would be honored if he would meet with us privily in the room he gave us, to talk of matters that should not be noised about. I said we would await his answer or him there."
"Good," said Jim.
They went down the stairs together and back into the room.
By this time the fire in the room's fireplace had been further refreshed with fresh fuel, and the room had a brighter, more lively look to it. There was also a jug of wine and two pewter cups now on the table. There had been time for the small cubicle to warm up slightly; and the whole place had a more comfortable air. It was even pleasant, sitting at the table with Brian and drinking some of the wine. Water had not been provided.
"Well, gentlemen," said Sir Mortimor, sitting down with them less than ten minutes later. "I understand you have something of import to discuss."
He glared at a servant following him, who hastily put another metal cup in front of his lord, and filled it from the wine jug, then ran off with the wine jug, presumably to refill it in no time at all.
"It is a plan of Sir James," said Brian. "He has been so good as to tell me of it; and within the limitations of what I know, I find it most attractive. But let him tell you, himself."
Sir Mortimor nodded; but at that moment the door opened behind him and the servant came back with not one, but two, jugs of wine, brimming, Sir Mortimor glared at him again, for his own cup had been empty for some seconds.
"Sorry, m'lord," said the servant miserably and ducked out, closing the door behind him.
"Well then, Sir James," said Sir Mortimor, taking another hearty draught of wine from his cup. "What is it you have in mind?"
"Something that'll have to be done before full sunrise," said Jim, "otherwise I wouldn't have been in such a hurry to talk to you about it."
"It's a good time to talk." Sir Mortimor sat back in his chair and took another deep swallow from his wine cup. His face was harsh with the lines of middle-age tiredness. They were all tired. "Those Moroccans have given up and gone to sleep down in the village. My men a
re sleeping too—all those who aren't required to be awake."
"That's the very reason I wanted to talk to you as soon as possible," said Jim. "Because if what I have to suggest to you is workable, we'll need to move quickly before the sun is up. It's all to our advantage that those attacking us are probably asleep right now."
"Well, well," said Sir Mortimor, drumming his fingers on the table top. "What is this you wanted to say?"
"I think there's just a chance we might drive them off," said Jim. "My problem's been I don't know these people and this part of the world as you do, Sir Mortimor. How would they react, say, if they saw smoke coming out from the seaward end of each of their two ships?"
"I've already told you two gentlemen," said Sir Mortimor, "I will not countenance a sally through my secret escape route in the vain hope of firing the ships—since the last thing I want to do is to deprive the villains of the means of escaping."
"Hear me out," said Jim, sharply enough so that some of the signs of fatigue about Sir Mortimor's face vanished and his eyes narrowed on Jim. "I'm not suggesting any such thing. I asked for information. I asked how they'd react if they saw smoke coming up from the seaward end of their vessels. Would you be kind enough to tell me, sir?"
"If they saw smoke," said Sir Mortimor, "of course they would sound the alarm and all rush like madmen for the ships to put out any fire there. But I repeat—I do not want those ships fired!"
"And I have said I am suggesting no such thing," said Jim. "I'm making a suggestion that could involve my helping you with elements of my magical art."
Sir Mortimor's face changed markedly.
"And I do not want any payment," said Jim. "I would be doing this in the spirit, and only in the spirit, in which a guest helps out his host under special situations. Now if you will assist me with information and listen, Sir Mortimor—"
"I'll most gladly tell and listen, Sir James," said Sir Mortimor. "Most gladly. Forgive me if I sounded overhasty."
"Well then," said Jim, "picture all of them who are sleeping now, suddenly woken up by a shouting that there is fire in their boats. They rush to the boats to find out where the fire is. While they are all clustered around there, some of them scrambling around inside the boats and finding no fire, only smoke, they are suddenly struck by all your men, fully armed and ready for battle. Most of them will have nothing but their belt knives, or perhaps not even that; having just been roused from their slumber, and not expecting to fight men, but a fire."
Sir Mortimor's face lit up.
"We could cut them to pieces!" he said. But then he frowned. "They would have to remain disorganized, however; and all must go perfectly so that we come upon them at just the right moment. If we could only be sure they would stay alarmed, disorganized and not knowing what to do—then, I believe we could simply slay at will. Until a few woke to the fact that there was nothing here for them but death, scrambled aboard their ships and pulled away. By that time they would be too few in numbers to come back again at us. They would leave. But there is that problem. They are fighting men. They might grasp the situation, escape our first rush, get back to their arms—and, as we know, they outnumber us almost five to one."
"Don't you think they'd stay disorganized?" Jim asked. "Particularly if they saw an eight-foot-tall demon fighting with your men? They already know there's a magician with you in this castle—myself."
"How do you know that?" said Sir Mortimor. "How do you know they know you are here and a magician?"
"Because I am a magician," said Jim, in the most ominous voice he could manage.
"Oh, of course—" Sir Mortimor's features suddenly became as obliging as Jim had remembered seeing them the moment he had first set foot in the castle. "Of course. Forgive me, I do not mean to doubt your word at all, Sir James. Can you indeed produce a demon to fight with us?"
"I can," said Jim. "It will take me perhaps half an hour. But there may be a difficulty. How will your men feel, having a demon among them?"
Sir Mortimor's face, which had lit up, lost a good deal of its illumination.
"Now," he said, rubbing his chin, "that is a question. What I must do is introduce the demon to them here, in the castle before they go out. You would not be willing to change into demon form before them?"
"I did not say I would change myself into a demon," said Jim. "I said I would produce a demon to fight with you and your men."
It may have been an illusion of the firelight and the cresset-light, but Jim was almost ready to believe that Sir Mortimor's face had become slightly pale.
"A real demon?" said Sir Mortimor.
"I have said what I said," said Jim. "It does not become me to explain myself. Either you approve my plan, or not. The how and why of it involve matters not spoken of with those who are not magicians."
"No, no. Of course not," said Sir Mortimor.
He gulped from his wine cup and did not refill it.
"A half-hour, you said?" He got to his feet. "Indeed, it will be light, then, but the sun is not yet up. The best of times to strike at men who think they now can spend the morning sleeping, and have been up all night. True, our lads have been up all night too; but they will forget that once they are in the melee. Half an hour from now, then, messires, I will have all my fighting men on the lowest floor of the castle. If Sir Brian will come down first to hold the men, I will then come up to meet this demon and walk down with you to introduce it to them all. Seeing it with you will give them courage to let you close to them. But you will be with me, Sir James, will you not, when I bring the demon down?"
"No," said Jim.
Sir Mortimor paled once more.
"Oh," he said.
"I will be where I can control everything the demon does. You may not ask where."
"Wouldn't think of it," said Sir Mortimor hastily. "I was only concerned with allaying the fear of my men."
"As for that," put in Brian, "I will venture to guess that the greater their alarm on seeing the demon, the greater their courage once fighting the pirates begins."
"You are right in that." Sir Mortimor got to his feet. "I will leave you now, Sir James—Sir Brian. In half an hour, look for me again."
He went out.
"James," said Brian, "will you really raise an actual demon?"
"Not exactly, Brian," said Jim. "There's something I should tell you. I haven't had a chance to, up until now. I had a talk with Carolinus shortly before I left to follow you—about the Christmas party at the Earl's a few months back—you remember that—"
"How could I forget it?" said Brian.
"Well, I used my magic rather freely there, as you know," said Jim. "I was able to do this because I've got a special drawing account. However, afterwards, and before the assignment of wardship came to me for young Robert, I had this talk with Carolinus; and he explained something to me, for reasons which I'd rather not go into, even with you. Reasons why I shouldn't be so spendthrift with my magic. Just believe me—they're serious."
"I had not guessed this, James." Brian looked concerned.
"It's nothing to worry about," Jim said. "But because of that talk, I now need to be a miser with my magic. So, I'm not going to raise any demon—a magician's not supposed to, anyhow. I am, actually, going to make myself look so much like a demon it'll have the same effect. To do that I'm going to have to be completely alone for the next twenty minutes or so. Could I ask you—I know it's asking you to do something beneath your rank, but we're strangers here, and I don't trust the servants—would you stand guard outside the door of this room and see I'm not interrupted for that time? I think if you simply tell anyone I'm doing magic here, nobody would want to come in."
"Gladly will I do this for you," said Brian. "And I promise none shall enter."
"Thanks, Brian," said Jim.
"It is but a little thing," said Brian.
He stepped out; and Jim, left to himself, gathered his attention and visualized a make-up kit appearing on the table. It was a good deal smaller use
of magic than transforming his appearance. He visualized very clearly what he wanted, and what those things he wanted should be able to do for him. The tusks should seal to his present teeth and look natural. They and the green skin dye should disappear, the minute he visualized himself as no longer needing it. The horns should fit naturally to his scalp through his hair; and vanish as conveniently, when the time came… and so forth. Last, but most important, he should have some boots that enabled him to walk quite naturally, but extended his legs a good two feet above whatever he was standing on.
There was a moment's pause. Then the things he had ordered appeared, with a puff of displaced air, on the table where he, Brian and Sir Mortimor had been sitting a few moments before.
They were all small items, except for the boots, which looked perfectly ordinary, except that their tops appeared as if they would reach well above his knees if he tried to put them on. He decided to leave trying them on until the last.
Instead, he tried the tusks first, simply laying them against his upper teeth under his lip, at the right and left corners of his mouth so that their sharp points curved out over his lower lip, with their points almost touching his chin.
They stuck firmly. The green dye for his skin only required dabbing on the back of one hand, and it spread by itself over all the skin of his body that was exposed—and for all he knew underneath his clothes as well.
The two horns fastened themselves to his head as firmly and easily as the tusks had attached themselves. His only difficulty was with placing them so that they would be level with each other. He found himself wishing he had a mirror to look in as he worked; and then suddenly realized that with only a small extra expenditure of magic he could have one.
He visualized it. It appeared, standing on the table, eight inches high and five wide, as ordered. He stared at what he saw reflected in it. The tusks and green skin by themselves were enough to make a remarkable change in his appearance. He had not counted on the fact that the tusks pushed out his upper lip at the right and left comers, distorting the skin of the rest of his face.