The Wizardry Consulted (Wiz, #4)(53)

It would certainly be well-illustrated bullshit. Using the spell Danny had developed so long ago and far away, he had set up an Internet connection back to what he still thought of as the “real world” and set an ftp demon to downloading graphics files from sites all around the world. He already had a library of hundreds of images and they were still coming in.

Even so, it was slow going. Wiz was the sort of programmer who had always preferred substance to form. Here the substance was that he had to use form to cover the fact that he had no substance. That meant writing a bunch of new tools. With the council meeting the day after tomorrow Wiz was going to have to bust his butt to save his neck.

Well, that worked too. As a programmer he was no stranger to all-nighters to meet tight deadlines. This was just one more all-nighter. He tried not to think about the stakes.

The day turned to evening and evening shaded into night and still Wiz toiled away, developing the routines to give a presentation that would knock the Council’s eyes out.

Anna brought him sandwiches and tea along about dinner time, but otherwise he worked undisturbed until well into the evening.

“Get your head out of your spells, Wizard,” the ghost of Widder Hackett rasped in his ear. “You’ve got a problem.”

“It’s a tight schedule, but that’s not a problem,” Wiz said without turning to look at his invisible kibitzer.

“Oh, no?” Widder Hackett grated. “Just you look at that window.” Wiz moved to open the shutter.

“No, you dummy!” the voice rasped in his ear. “Don’t want him to see you.

Look through the crack.”

Putting his eye to the crack between the shutters and peering out into the moonlit street Wiz saw they had a visitor. Or more precisely, he realized, they had a watcher. One of the Watch, the tall skinny one, was leaning against the house on the other side of the street.

“What’s he doing there?”

“Watching is what,” Widder Hackett snapped. “There’s another behind and two more at each end of the street. My own house watched by the police like some common den of thieves. I never thought in all my living days . . . I never!”

Wiz forbore to mention that Widder Hackett’s living days had ended some time before. “I’m going down there to find out what this is all about.”

Widder Hackett snorted. “What makes you think he’ll tell you anything?”

“If he won’t the council will.”

Subtlety wasn’t Wiz’s strong point and he was both too curious and too angry to be circumspect. As soon as he opened the front door the guardsman stepped back into the shadows.

light exe Wiz commanded and a sphere of brilliant white light appeared over his shoulder. The light was behind Wiz, but it shone right into the eyes of the now-revealed watcher, who squinted and turned his head away. Without a word Wiz strode across the street. The globe of light floated right with him.

“Good evening,” Wiz said crisply.

“Evening, My Lord,” the guard said, trying to shield his eyes with his hands “Uh, would you mind . . .”

“Sorry I can’t turn it off,” Wiz lied. “Now, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m ah, watching, My Lord. So to speak.”

“Watching for what?”

“Criminals, begging My Lord’s pardon. We’ve had criminals around here in this neighborhood and we thought . . .”

“ ‘We’ being the council? Is that it?” Meaning Dieter, Wiz thought. But why?

“Well, ah, as to that, My Lord, I really couldn’t say. All I know is I’m supposed to keep watch here until the thieves are apprehended.”

Thieves, eh? Suddenly it fell into place. “I appreciate your concern, but it isn’t necessary. Tell the sheriff I can guard my own property.”

“That’s as may be,” the guardsman said stolidly, “but I have my orders, My Lord.”

“Oh well, if you want to watch, I’m sure you may. But I will tell you now you won’t find anything.”

“That’s as may be, My Lord.”

Wiz nodded and returned to his house. He left the light globe on until he was back inside.

“Where’s Malkin?” he demanded into thin air as soon as the door closed behind him.

“How would I know?” Widder Hackett rasped. “Out tarting it up I have no doubt.”

“She didn’t go out the door. I would have known.”

“She usually doesn’t,” Widder Hackett said with obvious satisfaction.

With that there was nothing to do but wait until Malkin got back. Wiz went back to his programming, pausing every so often to peer through the crack in the shutters at his watchers.

It wasn’t a terribly productive evening. Between fuming over the watch, worrying about Malkin and starting at every squeak of a floorboard or rattle of a windowpane, Wiz didn’t do nearly the amount of work he had planned. Since it was well after midnight when he heard Malkin on the stairs he lost most of the night’s work.

When Wiz confronted her in the hallway she was dressed in dark trousers, dark soft boots and a dark pullover. Her dark hair was stuffed up under a dark knit cap and there was a dark burlap sack over her shoulder.

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, out and about,” Malkin said nonchalantly. She set the sack on the floor with an audible clank. “Sightseeing, you might say.”