The Wizardry Consulted (Wiz, #4)(69)

“You want another turn at it?”

“All this work. I think we’re underpaid, charging for this like a simple kidnapping. Between the hauling, the mixing and the rest I swear stone cutting’s an easier living.”

“Where is he anyways?” the third one put in. “I want to count me money and see the back of this job.”

“We’re supposed to meet him at Bottomless Gorge, and we’re still a good half mile from Bottomless Gorge.”

“And who was it who decided we’d stop and do it here, eh?”

“I didn’t decide. Here’s where the cart broke down.”

“I knew it would,” the third one said gloomily. “Overloaded it was, and as soon as we got off the main road . . .”

“It will ride lighter with nothing but him in it,” the tall one told them. “Just get that stuff mixed up good and we’ll have plenty of time to fix the cart while it sets hard. Meanwhile our client will just have to wait.”

“I dunno. Not good business practices to keep a client waiting. How’s that cement coming?”

“Still more like soup than cement.”

“You put too much water in,” the tall one said from where he held the sword on Wiz.

“I did not!” the shorter man retorted.

The third one stuck his hoe blade in the trough and watched the milky concoction run off the end. “This lot’s got chalk mixed in with it. Adulterated, that’s what it is.”

“Came right out the city warehouse, it did,” the short man said morosely. “Councilman Hanwassel’s best. You can’t trust no one nowadays. The decline in honesty in our society is shocking. Positively shocking. Me, I lay it all to the parents.”

“Me, I lay it all to you,” the tall one said acidly. “Last time I let you get the supplies for a job!”

“And who was it who was too busy nattering over his ale in the Blind Goat to go out and get the necessaries?”

“That was planning,” he answered loftily. “Something like this takes planning-and delegation. It’s up to the subordinates to fulfill the tasks delegated to them.”

“You can delegate all you want,” the short man answered sullenly. “But next time you steal the flipping cement.”

The other one started to reply, but the third man gestured them to silence.

“Hsst. Here he comes.”

Pieter strode into the firelight.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “And what are you doing here?”

“Cart broke down,” the tall one told him. “We figured we’d set him up here and then take him the rest of the way.” But Pieter had quit listening as soon as he caught sight of Wiz.

He stood in front of Wiz, arms akimbo. “So Wizard, not so high and mighty now, are you?” He followed it up with a stinging slap to the face.

At least Pieter’s hand stung. It was like slapping a rock and the young man winced in pain.

“He can’t hear you,” one of the footpads said.

“Can’t feel what you do to him either,” another one added.

“Well, wake him up then. I want him to know the author of his fate.”

“Wake him up?” the shortest one quavered. “He’s a wizard.”

“And he’s tied so tight he can’t wiggle a finger and gagged so tight he can’t utter a word. Release him, I say!”

Hesitantly the one with the sword removed it from Wiz’s ribs.

Suddenly Wiz was there again, tied up, gagged, surrounded by three armed thugs and a grinning Pieter, and up to his knees in cement. Not for the first time it occurred to him that the protection spell’s definition of “mortal danger” left a lot to be desired.

The short, balding one, whom Wiz mentally tagged “Curly,” was edging away from the reanimated wizard. The one beside him was holding his sword warily, ready to thrust it between Wiz’s ribs at the first sign of movement. The tall one was looking back and forth between Wiz and Pieter.

“Throw me out of the house, will you?” Pieter snarled and drew back his hand to slap Wiz again.

The blow never landed. Wiz was gagged, but that didn’t matter. He could form the words in his throat and that was all it took.

The spell for “loose knots” worked in part by making things self-repulsive and in part by reducing the coefficient of friction of everything in the neighborhood to something less than teflon on plate glass lubricated by greased owl shit. Which is to say that any friction fastening in the vicinity stopped working instantly.

Which is to say that everyone’s pants fell down as their belts came untied. Actually it is to say more than that. Sewing can be loosely defined as a form of knotting, so the clothes not only fell off, they fell to pieces.

That left Wiz, Pieter and his three henchmen standing there stark naked. In this crisis the thugs reverted to their natural behavior: They turned to run like frightened rats. Pieter just stood with his hand stopped in mid-air and his mouth open. Wiz spoke another word and all four of them were frozen in place.

Wiz took a step forward and nearly tripped over the edge of the tub he was standing in.

light exe he commanded and a witchfire globe cast an even blue light over everything.

It made an interesting tableau. The tall man had lost his footing and fallen to his hands and knees. The balding one was trying to scramble over the tall one’s back, which left them poised as if playing a slightly obscene game of nude leapfrog. The middle-sized one was straightening up with arms pumping, like a sprinter coming out of the blocks.