Craig Shaw Gardner - Wuntvor 03 - A Disagreement With Death

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A Disagreement With Death
Verse the Third in The Ballad of Wuntvor
Craig Shaw Gardner
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.3
ONE.4
TWO..13
THREE.19
FOUR..24
FIVE.30
SIX..35
SEVEN..40
EIGHT.44
NINE.54
TEN..59
ELEVEN..67
TWELVE.71
THIRTEEN..77
FOURTEEN..83
FIFTEEN..88
SIXTEEN..92
SEVENTEEN..96
EIGHTEEN..102
NINETEEN..107
TWENTY..115
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Uh-oh. Here we are at the end of another trilogy. This time, I’d tike to thank those people and things
that made me The Way I am Today, specifically: Jay Ward and Bill Scott’s Rocky and Bullwinkle, Walt
Kelly’s Pogo, Carl Bark’s Uncle Scrooge and anything made by Chuck Jones; the writings of Robert
Sheckley, Jack Sharkey and L. Sprague de Camp (often with Fletcher Pratt); Preston Sturges’s movies;
Stan Freberg commercials (who put those eight great tomatoes in that itty-bitty can?); Danny Kaye in
Frank and Panama’s The Court Jester (a partial prototype for Wuntvor—the vessel with the pestle holds
the brew that is true); and almost anything made by those Monty Python people. In addition, much of
these books was written while listening to the recordings of Louis Jordon (“Beware, Brother, Beware”)
and Kid Creole and the Coconuts (“Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy”). You have been warned.
The usual round of thanks must also go to my stalwart and long-suffering friends, including Jeff, Richard,
Victoria and Mary (a.k.a. Team Cambridge), who critiqued mis whole thing as it went along, and the
lovely Elisabeth, who puts up with me wandering around the apartment chuckling at my own jokes. And
then there’s those New York people, like my Superagent, Merrilee Heifetz, and the entire friendly and
helpful staff at Writers House; and also my Supereditor, Ginjer Buchanan, who almost always changes
stuff back when I yell and scream, and everybody else at Berkley/Ace (Hi, Susan! Hi, Beth!).
Lastly, I would like to dedicate this, the last of the Ebenezum books, to the memory of my grandfather
Walter W. Shaw who introduced me to the world of art and a world of wonders
ONE
There is one fact that every magician must accept: Sorcery is not a stable science. Quite the contrary,
magic is ever-changing, and the nimble mage must learn to change with it. Magic is never done. It goes
on forever and ever, constantly new, impossible to categorize or summarize. The magician must never
consider a spell complete and successful until he or she sees the results. He must realize as well that every
spell has a counterspell, and, in a world where magic rules, all things are possible. Using magic becomes
a lifetime’s work, as the mage discovers that all the spells and conjurations grow together into a force
beyond the magician’s simple goals, and further join with all the other spells, of all the other wizards, past,
present and future, becoming an ever-changing tapestry beyond mortal ken, a force that no wizard can
ever completely understand. Or completely take for granted.
That’s magic in a nutshell. And that’s my final word on the matter. I think.
From Spells That Hate Wizards, and the Wizards Who Love Them, third edition, by Ebenezum, greatest
wizard in the Western Kingdoms
“Wuntvor?”
I looked up. I realized that someone was calling my name, and perhaps had been doing so for quite
some time.
“Wuntvor?” the young woman’s voice repeated. It was the voice of my beloved, the witch Norei. “Do
you want to talk?”
I shrugged. I did not care. After what had happened, I didn’t care about much of anything. My master,
Ebenezum, the greatest mage in the Western Kingdoms, was gone. He had been taken by Death. Worse
still, Death had taken the wizard because the specter could not take me, whom it wanted because of
some nonsense about my being the Eternal Apprentice, always instantaneously reborn into another
apprenticing form, forever bumbling, forever helping heroes throughout eternity, and therefore forever
beyond Death’s grasp. And for this very reason—my supposed unobtainability by the creature to whom
all came in time—Death desired me. The specter coveted my soul, and would go to any lengths to obtain
it.
Norei squatted by my side, so that her face was even with mine. She gripped my chin with her cool,
delicate fingers.
“Are you going to sit there for the rest of your life?”
When I did not reply immediately, she pulled her hand away. I blinked, glancing down at the dirt and
grass between my knees, then looked up again at Norei’s concerned expression. I sighed. I shrugged.
Death had taken my master. What did it matter?
Norei whistled softly. “Alea was right.”
“Alea?” I murmured. Had Alea been here?
Norei nodded, more to herself than to me. “When she told me that she had embraced you, and nestled
her cheek tenderly next to your own, and promised you she would do anything, anything at all, to break
you from this mood, and that, to all of this, you showed not the slightest reaction, I doubted her. Until
now.”
Alea had done what? I did not remember an embrace, and Alea was the sort of person, what with her
long blond hair and trim actress’s figure, with whom an embrace would be memorable. And there had
been cheek nestling as well? And she had promised to do anything?
Anything? Well, not that I would have done anything, because, after all, I was promised to my beloved
Norei. But still. Anything?
And I didn’t remember any of it?
Norei frowned at me. “There must be some way we can get you out of this state.”
I frowned back at her. I hoped that there was. Obviously, from what Norei had told me, the depression
I was in was more serious than I had thought. I furrowed my brow, but the memory of Alea was lost to
me.
Anything?
Norei reached out her arms to me and clasped me firmly.
“I think this calls for drastic action,” she whispered, a grim half-smile upon her lips. She leaned in my
direction.
What was she doing? My master was gone! I didn’t have any time for such foolishness. Her full lips
were much too close. I wanted to turn my head away.
For some reason, I did not.
I closed my eyes, and we kissed.
The kiss lasted for quite some time. I felt a tingling warmth in my chest, which spread outward as the kiss
continued, until it heated me from the top of my head to the ends of my toes. And the true center of the
warmth emanated from Norei’s soft lips, the sweetest lips anyone had ever kissed.
The kiss ended at last. I gasped for breath. I opened my eyes.
Perhaps, I reconsidered, there was hope, after all.
“Now,” my beloved said again. “Would you like to talk about it?”
I nodded, not yet able to speak.
“Ebenezum is gone,” Norei summarized. “Death has taken him. But Death really wants you.”
I nodded again. I marveled at my beloved. How could she be so clearheaded after such a kiss?
“And Death would be glad to trade your soul for Ebenezum’s?”
I sighed. “I’m afraid so. That is, if we can trust Death. The specter is too fond of its games and tricks. I
fear that, instead of releasing Ebenezum from its kingdom in exchange for me, Death may try to take us
both.”
“Humans!” an excruciatingly annoying voice exclaimed behind us. “Don’t you know anything?”
I whirled to see the truth-telling demon Snarks, attired as usual in his monkish robes of somber gray;
robes that, despite their neutral hue, still seemed to clash with the demon’s bright green complexion.
I glared at the smirking Snarks.
“How long have you been here?” I demanded.
“Oh, long enough. Your kissing’s not bad.” The demon nodded pleasantly at Norei before turning back
to me. “After we’re alone, of course, I’ll be glad to give you one or two pointers to improve your
technique.”
“Snarks!” I began, pointing back toward the clearing where the rest of our party rested. “If you
don’t—“
But my beloved put a restraining hand upon my elbow, stopping my tirade before it could properly
begin. “No, no, let the demon be. I believe he has a point.”
Snarks nodded his agreement. “Actually I have a number of them, but they’re covered by my robes.”
I was horrified. Norei and Snarks agreed about me? I could barely bring myself to look at my beloved
as I asked: “You mean he’s right about me having to improve my technique?”
Norei laughed softly. “No, no, your technique needs no improving whatsoever. Not to say that we both
couldn’t benefit from additional practice, whenever and wherever we can find the time.” She kissed me
gently on the cheek. “But I think he is correct when he implied that there might be more than one way to
fight Death.”
I didn’t remember Snarks saying that. Still, after a prolonged bout of kissing, I had a tendency not to
remember much of anything. What would my master have done in a case like this? After a moment’s
consideration, I nodded sagely and waited for one of the others to continue.
Snarks waved a sickly green finger at Norei. “The young witch is very perceptive, especially for a
human.
When I came upon this cozy little scene, you were bemoaning the fact that Death seemed to control the
situation. Typical limited human thinking.” The demon paused to shrug his heavily robed shoulders. “But
then, you were not blessed with an upbringing spent in the devious byways of the Netherhells. One’s
thoughts flow much more freely when they’re covered with a bit of slime.”
I listened intently to the small demon, for, although Snarks somehow always managed to phrase things in
the most irritating manner imaginable, still much of what he had told us in the past had been of great use.
The small demon had developed an odd clarity of vision, based in large pan on his overwhelming
compulsion to tell the truth in all things—a reaction, apparently, to an experience Snarks had while still in
the womb, when his mother was badly frightened by a group of demonic politicians.
“So here we are,” the demon continued, “in the middle of a brand-new game, and Death appears to be
holding all the cards.” Snarks smiled. “But I think that the game we’re going to play won’t use any cards
at all. Who says we have to play by Death’s rules? You have a crowd of allies only a few feet away,
some of whom have very interesting powers. I think that, with a little thought, we will come up with a
game that will actually put Death at a disadvantage.” The demon clapped his hands enthusiastically. “We
can win this!”
“That’s right!” a tiny, high voice said from the vicinity of my ankles. “You can’t help but win with
Brownie Power!”
Snarks paused mid-clap to make a face even more unpleasant than usual, as if something he had eaten
recently was interfering with his digestion. He had also managed to turn an even deeper shade of green.
“Then again,” he added a moment later, his stomach apparently once more under control, “perhaps there
are some of your allies who might be better excluded from further assistance.”
“Nonsense! Brownies need no rest. We thrive on conflict!” Tap the Brownie performed an impromptu
tap dance as he spoke. “Especially if that conflict has something to do with shoes!”
“I’ve got you there!” Snarks replied triumphantly. “I don’t think Death has anything at all to do with
footwear!”
“Nonsense! A being of Death’s stature, not wearing—“ Tap paused, doubt spreading across his tiny
face. “Oh, my. The specter’s robes are rather long, aren’t they?”
Snarks nodded triumphantly. “There’s no way to tell if Death wears shoes. There’s no way to tell if
Death even has feet.”
Oddly, the dismay seemed to vanish from the Brownie’s countenance, replaced by a faraway look in his
eyes. “Then Death may have spent millennia wandering the cosmos shoeless?” Tap spoke in a voice
barely above a whisper. “Then—could it be—the first pair of shoes Death wears might be made by me?”
“Indeed,” I interjected, for the conversation seemed to have wandered a good distance from our original
topic. “Perhaps, before we consider Death’s footwear, we should give a little more thought to the
predicament of my master—“
“Exactly what I was going to do.” Snarks interrupted, “before this shoe fanatic butted in.”
“Shoe fanatic!” Tap blurted. “Well, if caring passionately about one’s footwear makes one a fanatic—if
it makes a difference to you about the proper heel size, and the quality of the leather, and the aesthetic
roundness of the toe, and the elasticity of the laces, and the color of the leather, using of course only true
browns from nature, and the correct eyelet placement, taking into account the proper mathematical
proportions, and the absolute best angle for stitching the seams, and—well, ten or twelve other factors
equally important, then I guess you could call me—“
I tugged on Snarks’s sleeve, drawing him a bit farther away from the declaiming Brownie.
“My master,” I repeated.
Norei walked up behind us. “We must find out what Death has done with him. If the creature will tell
us.”
I smiled back at my beloved. Discussing my predica- ment with her and Snarks seemed to be restoring
both my confidence and powers of thought.
“Why not?” I replied. “Death feels above us. I am sure we can get it to boast of my master’s capture
with no bother at all.”
A green, scaly hand patted me briskly on the back. “Thinking worthy of the Netherhells!” Snarks
exclaimed. “If you keep up this clever planning for—say—another three or four weeks, I may have to
revise my opinion of humankind.”
“But to make Death’s shoes!” Tap shouted behind us. “I’d go down in the Brownie Hall of Fame! I can
see the plaque now, made of that fine silver we use for our very best buckles: ‘First footwear for Lord of
the Dead, with heels designed to walk upon a billion souls. Designed by the humble—ME!’ “ Tap
applauded his conjecture. “His Brownieship would have to forgive me then!”
Snarks looked back at the Brownie with some distaste. “Perhaps we should move even farther aside,”
he remarked, “say, to an entirely different clearing?”
I chided Snarks for his remark. After all, our tiny Brownie ally had been through a lot lately, what with
his somewhat impetuous actions coming under criticism by his Brownie superiors, simply because he
forgot he was supposed to wait for one of those superiors, and rushed to my aid instead. Now the head
Brownie of them all, His Brownieship, was making noises about disbarring Tap from all future Brownie
activity, which meant no more making shoes. In a situation like this, Tap was bound to be distraught. He
deserved a little understanding.
Snarks nodded grimly when I was done. “Oh, I understand him all too well. But do I have to listen to
him, too?”
The Brownie walked petulantly toward us. “You may scoff, but my whole future is at stake. I can’t wait
to meet Death and discuss footwear!”
In that instant, the sun disappeared behind a cloud. A wind sprang up from nowhere to remind us that
summer was almost gone. And then the wind, too, was gone, replaced by a chuckle drier than a stone in
a desert after a thirty-year drought.
“Somebody called?” the newcomer’s voice rasped.
Tap began to tremble as he looked up at the newcomer’s rotting robes. “On second thought, I might
want a little more time to prepare for my discussion—“ He paused as he backed hastily away. “Say,
forty or fifty years?”
Death nodded at the Brownie. “Ah, yes. But we will talk, my little friend. Sooner or later.”
The specter turned to me, the skull-like face beneath its hood showing all its teeth in a perpetual smile.
“Ah, but there is no reason to be upset. This is naught but a courtesy call. As I recall, we have business
to discuss. Something to do with an exchange of souls?”
I glanced at both Norei and Snarks, then stepped forward. I would have to handle this somehow.
“Indeed.” I tried to smile, but my lips would not refrain from trembling. “Do you have a proposal?”
Was it my imagination, or did Death’s grin become even wider? “Oh, I have any number of them. But I
don’t think it’s proper that proposals should come from me.” Death’s voice quickened, rising with every
word. “After all, I am dealing with the Eternal Apprentice, the one being in the entire cosmos forever
beyond my grasp!”
It stopped itself for a minute to smooth its dark, rotting robes. “At least, that is, until now,” it added in a
much more reasonable tone. “I therefore think it only proper that the initial proposal come not from me,
but from the Eternal Apprentice.”
“Indeed?” I replied. Death was taunting me, flaunting its advantage. Looking at the specter’s smile, I felt
the fear drain away, to be replaced by a building anger. If Death was going to play with me, I would play
right back.
“You want a proposal, then?” I asked, managing a firm smile at last. “You give Ebenezum back to us
and we would forget all about it.”
Death made a strangled sound, deep in whatever it had that passed for a throat. “You dare—“ it
whispered. “When I could reach over and snuff out—“ The specter paused again and stood up straight,
regaining its skeletal composure. It laughed. “But I misunderstand. You wish to bargain. I apologize for
my outburst, but I fear I am a bit too emotionally involved in these proceedings. I will go along with your
game, of course. I am the master of games.”
Death’s knuckles clacked together noisily as it stroked its chin. “You have made an offer. It is, of
course, unacceptable. However, I generously agree to make a counteroffer; say, let’s forget all about the
foolish wizard, and allow me rather to end this nonsense once and for all by taking you and your
companions here to the Kingdom of Death for the rest of eternity.”
Snarks sidled over to me. “I don’t think this is working.”
“Come, now,” Death insisted. “I am waiting for your counteroffer.”
“Indeed?” I answered, stalling for time. What could I bargain with next? I knew there was only one offer
that would satisfy Death, and that was the possession of the Eternal Apprentice’s soul. My soul.
Tap jumped across the clearing, landing on my shoe. “You’d better speak up. I don’t think this guy is
long on patience!”
“For once, we are in agreement,” Snarks said, then added, “Why don’t you offer the creature one of
your companions in exchange for the wizard? Somebody with a useful skill, like making shoes.”
“Then again,” the Brownie reconsidered, “perhaps it is time to give this matter more thought. Perhaps
fifty or sixty years more thought?”
“I await your answer,” Death intoned. “Quickly, now! I have souls to collect!”
“Doom!” answered a deep voice behind me.
“Oh, here we go again,” Death remarked fatalistically. “The longer we talk, the greater the number of
companions to the Eternal Apprentice that will arrive. How many are there now? A dozen? Two dozen?
May I suggest that we conclude our business before there are hundreds?”
“Indeed,” I replied. “You will excuse me for a moment, but I need to consult with my fellows.”
“Doom,” the warrior Hendrek agreed as he walked forward to stand by my side.
“Of course,” Death said with a sigh. “How could I expect anything else?”
Norei walked to stand by my other side. I motioned my companions to huddle together.
“What am I do to? Death demands a bargain. But what can we afford to bargain with?”
“We could offer the creature a sharp blow to the head,” Hendrek suggested, hefting his cursed warclub,
which no man could own but could only rent. It was the weapon called Headbasher, that stole the
memories from men.
“A sharp blow to the head?” Norei frowned. “No, I don’t think that was the sort of thing Wuntvor had
in mind.”
Hendrek nodded thoughtfully. “How about two sharp blows to the head?”
“You try my patience!” Death shrieked behind me. “You know what I desire. Make me an offer!”
“How about a little song and dance?” another voice boomed theatrically.
The earth shook as Damsel and Dragon bounded into the clearing. As serious as our situation was, I
couldn’t help glancing at Alea with her long blond hair and scanty vaudevillian attire.
Anything?
But I had no time for errant thoughts. Death was waving its bony arms in the air. It was becoming more
agitated with every passing minute.
“We’ve come up with a special song for this occasion,” Alea said brightly, tossing her long blond hair so
that it shone even beneath the clouds.
Anything?
“Hit it, Hubert!” Alea called out.
“I will not allow this!” Death screamed. “I am here for negotiation, not vaudeville!”
But Damsel and Dragon had already started to shuffle back and forth. I knew a song could not be far
behind.
Unfortunately, I was correct:
“There’s something in the air that’s pretty scary, The sun is gone, the wind’s contrary! It’s quite exciting,
we must confetti; It must be time for a date with Death!”
“Say, Damsel,” Hubert remarked. “Have you been introduced to Death?”
“Not officially,” Alea replied jovially, “but I am dying to meet him!”
They launched into another verse:
“I must admit I’m feeling old, My youth is gone, the world is cold, All around me is such a meth, It must
be time for a date with Death!”
“Say, Dragon,” Alea interjected. “I’ve heard that Death is rather a cold character.”
Hubert slapped a scaly knee before replying: “Well, Damsel, you’ve heard Dead Wrong!”
“No more!” Death pleaded. “Please, no more!” The specter turned to me. “Make me an offer, please!”
“Death wants an offer?” Hubert chortled triumphantly. “See, Damsel, I knew we could win him over!
We simply have to face it. No one can resist our flashing feet and snappy patter!”
“No, no!” Death insisted. “I was speaking to the Eternal Apprentice!”
“Oh, trying to be hard-nosed about this, so we won’t charge an arm and a leg?” Hubert laughed again.
“You forget, Mr. Death, that we’ve had to face negotiators much worse than you. After all, we work in
the arts!”
“But I guess he’s seen right through us, Hubie,” Alea added. “Let’s face it, we need new worlds to
conquer. We’ve already mastered the world above with our song and dance. And now we’ve almost
finished this gig as official entertainment for Wuntvor’s quest. Hubie and I have decided it’s time to look
for limited engagements elsewhere.”
“Nothing fancy, mind you,” Hubert continued. “One- night stands, mostly; perhaps a longer engagement
in your population centers. If you have population centers.” The dragon sighed happily. “Just think, the
first song-and-dance act ever to tour the Kingdom of the Dead.”
Death stared at me even more intently. “A bargain! Quickly!”
“I have an idea!” Snarks interjected. “You return the wizard to us, and we’ll make sure the dragon and
the woman never bother you again.”
Death hesitated before it replied.
“Tempting,” it said at last. “But not enough.”
“Is this creature bothering you?” a magnificently modulated voice spoke close by my ear. I did not even
have to turn my head to know that the unicorn had arrived.
“No, no, we were only talking.”
The unicorn sighed. “Yes, I know; you will talk to creatures like this. But will you spare a few moments
for me? It is enough to try even my perfect patience. Won’t you ever find time for some”—the beast
paused meaningfully—“significant conversation?”
“It is time we got serious,” Death interrupted hastily, as if afraid of being drowned out by the
ever-increasing group of companions.
“So, you’re having a party,” yet another gruff voice commented loudly. “And you didn’t wait for me?”
It was Jeffrey the wolf. “Hey. Never mind. I’m here now. It’s amazing how a quest can come alive when
there’s a talking wolf along!”
“Or you will never see your master again!” Death shouted over the wolf.
“Doom,” Hendrek added.
“Ho hey, ho hey! And after work we play!” a number of voices rang out in song. To my surprise, it was
the Seven Other Dwarves.
“Hey!” the Brownie called. “You guys sing, too?”
“Do we sing, too?” one of the dwarves, whose name was Nasty, mimicked. “Of course we do, tiny. It’s
in our contract!”
“That is correct,” sniffed another dwarve named Snooty.
“It is one of the privileges most cherished by the Dwarve Union. Not that you’d know anything about
that!”
“Yes, yes, most certainly.” Smarmy, the leader of the dwarves, stepped forward. “Singing happy work
songs is a tradition greatly cherished by dwarvedom. Unfortunately, we are a bit out of practice, for
Mother Duck never much liked it. But with her off fighting the Netherhells, we thought it was high time
we got in a few verses.”
“You guys ever think about going into vaudeville?” Hubert queried. “We’re always looking for opening
acts.”
摘要：

ADisagreementWithDeathVersetheThirdinTheBalladofWuntvorCraigShawGardnerCONTENTSACKNOWLEDGMENTS.3ONE.4TWO..13THREE.19FOUR..24FIVE.30SIX..35SEVEN..40EIGHT.44NINE.54TEN..59ELEVEN..67TWELVE.71THIRTEEN..77FOURTEEN..83FIFTEEN..88SIXTEEN..92SEVENTEEN..96EIGHTEEN..102NINETEEN..107TWENTY..115 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS...

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