Christopher Stasheff - Warlock 10 - The Warlock Insane

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The Warlock Insane by

Christopher Stasheff

Chapter One

"Yeah, but you don't have to shovel it!"

"Oh, come, husband." Gwen tightened her grip on his arm, mouth

pursed in amusement. " Tis beautiful by moonlight, naetheless. And thou

hast no need to clear it by main force, in any event."

Rod smiled, watching the kids frolic up ahead, carefully avoiding the

well-cleared road and slogging through the snowbanks, where they could

get nice and wet. Geoffrey had started a snowball fight, and Magnus was

retaliating with enthusiasm.

"Gregory's trying, anyway."

"He is merely distracted by watching the snowballs' trajectories, Rod,

instead of their targets." The voice of the great black horse behind him

sounded through the earphone implanted in his mastoid process. "He is a

son to be proud of."

"Yes. He certainly is, Fess—he certainly is." Rod smiled down into

Gwen's eyes, and she radiated back up at him. "They all are—each in his

own way." He looked up with a sparkle of mischief in his eye. "Or hers."

Cordelia was standing by, watching her brothers with her nose in the

air, pretending to be above such things— while she packed a snowball

behind her back, waiting for a clear target.

The moonlight was lovely, throwing the shadow of the castle's turrets

before them, glinting off the piled snow to either side of the hilly road, and

frosting the village below. Not that Rod could admit that, when he was in

the middle of a perfectly good banter with his wife. "But as to the

shoveling—you're the one who's always saying we shouldn't use magic for

daily tasks."

"Indeed we should not," Gwen said with prim rectitude. "Yet thou hast

stalwart lads for the task, and thy lass…"

"Swings a mean broom, yeah. Okay, you win—I have to admit I like it.

Of course, I'm still suffused with the glow, of Twelfth Night. Tuan and

Catharine throw a great party!"

"They are a most excellent host and hostess, aye—the more so on a feast

day."

"Feast day is right! Talk about a royal banquet. You nearly had to roll

me home." Rod smiled with nostalgic fondness, remembering the

goose—and the ham, and the sausages, and the trifle… "Sorry there wasn't

anything for you, Fess."

"On the contrary, Rod, there was a plenitude of oats and hay—and I had

to pretend to eat, to avoid making the grooms suspicious. Still, there was

ample interest in observing the infinite variation in their customs."

Rod frowned. "I would have thought you knew every habit of every

groom in Gramarye by now."

"Knowing is one thing. Understanding is quite another."

"Oh." Rod pushed his tongue into his cheek. "Learn anything new?"

"There were some fascinating variations on courting rituals…"

Rod grinned. "That's right, it was a holiday for them, too, wasn't it? Of

course, the banquet was over four hours ago." He frowned at the thought.

"Y'know, I could've sworn I'd never have an appetite again."

Gregory came charging up, eyes and cheeks aglow. "Papa, Papa! A

beldame doth linger by the roadside yon, hawking hot chestnuts! May

we?"

"Oh, please!" Cordelia pleaded, appearing just behind him.

"I was talking about being a mite peckish, wasn't I?" Rod fished in his

purse and pulled out a copper. "Okay, kids— but save a few for us, will

you?"

"Thou shalt have the half of them!" Gregory snatched the coin and shot

off, Cordelia hot on his heels.

"Glad we could do something." Rod could see the old lady now,

shivering by the roadside in her shawl, popping chestnuts into Cordelia's

kerchief.

"Aye." Gwen snuggled closer. " 'Tis beastly to have to stand in the chill."

"Tuan and Catharine have brought prosperity to the land," Fess

observed, "but they have not succeeded in eliminating poverty."

"No one else ever has, either—all they do is redefine it. But at least she

has a brazier—and I must say her wares are in the proper holiday spirit…"

"Thine!" Gregory popped up in front of them again, looking like a

chipmunk. Behind him, his brothers and sister were cracking shells and

gobbling goodies with more verve than neatness.

"Gee, thanks." But Rod was talking to air; his youngest was already en

route back to his siblings. He sighed. "Well, left holding the bag, as usual.

Care for one, dear?"

"I thank thee." Gwen accepted the chestnut, broke the shell the rest of

the way, and nibbled at the meat.

Rod popped the whole kernel in his mouth and chewed.

His eyes widened. "My heavens! I didn't know chestnuts could taste so

good!"

"They do, in truth." Gwen's eyes lost focus. "There are spices added to

this. Let me see—there's rosemary, that's for remembrance…"

"Odd combination—but very good, I have to admit." Rod swallowed and

took the last chestnut. "Share?"

"Aye." Gwen dimpled. "Three for us—and how many for them?"

"Half a dozen each, at a guess. Maybe we should buy some more." Rod

looked up, just in time to see the old lady kicking snow onto her fire and

turning away down the hill, pot in hand. "No, I guess we got the last of

them."

"She had good custom, I doubt not, with all the folk of the village

coming home from the castle."

Rod nodded. "Plenty of apprentices, and a ha'penny each adds up. Glad

we happened by before she folded—it lent the perfect touch to a wonderful

day."

Cordelia came up to them. She glanced back at the old peasant

woman's retreating back, troubled. "What emptiness is that in her eyes,

Mama?"

"Ah." Gwen exchanged a look with Rod. " 'Tis only that she is very

simple, child."

"Simple?" Cordelia frowned. "Like to Their Majesties' fool?"

"Oh, no!" Rod looked up, shaking his head. "That jester is a very

intelligent man, dear, with a quick wit and a sense of humor that borders

on genius."

"Then why," said Magnus, "do they call him a fool?"

"Because some of the things he says and does are very foolish."

"Which is to say, they are things done by a fool," Gregory protested.

"What sense is there in that, Papa?"

"A rather unpleasant sense, I'm afraid," Rod answered, and Gwen said

gently, "Long ago, lords did take the simpleminded and keep them by, to

laugh at their clumsiness and mistakes of judgement, which did amuse

their masters greatly."

"How cruel!" Cordelia exclaimed indignantly, and all three of her

brothers nodded in agreement. Rod felt a glow of pride in them as he

replied, "It was cruel—and I'm afraid it wasn't exclusive to kings and

queens. Most people have laughed at the mentally retarded, down through

the ages."

"E'en today, in a small village, thou wilt find many who do make mock

of the village idiot," Gwen said softly. " Tis vile, but 'tis done."

"So maybe it's just as well that smart people who had a gift for comedy

convinced the lords that they were more foolish than the fools," Rod

concluded.

"Aye," Geoffrey said through his scowl. "At the least, they do it

willingly."

"Yet I did hear some ladies discuss him as a 'madcap,' " Gregory said.

"Do they not mean that he is maddened, in his head?"

Rod smiled, a glint in his eye. "Very good, son! Maybe that's where the

term came from. But even if that was its original meaning, it's not

now—today it means that the man behaves insanely." Then he frowned.

"Wait a minute…"

"That he doth do and say things that make no sense," Gwen explained.

"Then one who is 'insane' is senseless?" Cordelia asked.

"Nay!" Geoffrey said. "He who is senseless hath been knocked

unconscious."

"Yea and nay," Gwen said, smiling. "The term doth mean one who doth

sleep so unwillingly, aye—yet it also doth speak of one who hath lost all

judgement."

"Or whose judgement has become so distorted that he has become

completely unpredictable," Rod added. "He's as likely to hit you as to hail

you."

"Ah!" cried Gregory. "Then that is madness!"

"Well, yes, I suppose it would be," Rod said slowly, "in the way that

Count Orlando was mad."

Magnus frowned. "I have not met him."

"No, nor are likely to, son," Rod said, amused. "Roland—or Orlando, as

they called him in Italy—was nephew to Charlemagne…"

"The Emperor of the Franks?" Geoffrey looked up, round-eyed. "He is

history, not myth!"

"Why yes, he is." Rod looked up at Fess with renewed respect; any tutor

who could interest Geoffrey in history verged on being a magician. Of

course, Charlemagne was military history… "But myths grow up around

people who change the world, and Charlemagne did. Still, there's only so

much you can say about a king, because he has to spend most of his time

governing, which may be exciting in its own right, but is only occasionally

dramatic—so the tale-tellers usually find somebody near him to build their

stories around, and in Charlemagne's case, that person was his nephew."

"He did really live, then?"

"We think so," Fess said, "though he certainly did none of the

supernatural feats attributed to him. He was an excellent focus for myth,

however, and figures largely and luridly in a fairy-haunted world that

never existed."

"And he went mad?"

"For a time," Rod said, "because he fell in love with a lady who didn't

want anything to do with him—and when he found out she had married

somebody else, he went into a nonstop rage, tearing up forests and

slaughtering peasants, not to mention the occasional knight or two."

"Are the mad truly so?" Gregory asked, wide-eyed.

"Not 'mad,' Gregory—'mentally ill,' " Fess corrected, "and there are

many kinds and degrees of mental illness. But one or two varieties do

sometimes result in people going on rampages, beating and slaying

numbers of people, yes."

"Not quite on the scale that Orlando did, though," Rod said quickly. "In

fact, I think his 'madness' was more probably a magnified version of

someone suffering from rabies."

"Oh! I have heard of that!" Cordelia shuddered. "Such poor souls do

become like beasts, bereft of reason and seeking to bite and beat any who

may cross their path!"

"Unfortunate, but true," Fess agreed, "and they are referred to as being

'mad.' "

"But they are not, Fess! Tis only a sickness in the body, brought by a

germ in the bite of a dog or rat!"

"True enough," Rod agreed, "but one of the symptoms is that the victim

stops thinking, and turns homicidal."

"There are many forms of mental illness that have physical causes,

children," Fess said quietly, "even so slight a cause as an upset in the

balance of the chemicals in people's bodies."

"Now wait, wait!" Geoffrey held up a hand, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Thou dost confuse me! Thou dost say that simple folk are fools, but fools

are men of wit?"

"It is a problem in the language," Fess admitted, "brought by people

using a word that describes one condition, and applying it to another. Let

us say that a fool is a person of poor judgement, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey looked doubtful, and Cordelia said, with hesitation, "That doth

aid me somewhat in understanding…"

"I think it might cut through some of the confusion if you tell them the

story," Rod suggested.

"A story?"

"Tell it!"

"Aye, tell, Fess! Matters are always made more clear by a tale!"

"Not if it has any true literary value," the robot hedged,

"but a fable generally does clarify matters, since fables are teaching

stories."

"Then tell us a fable!"

"More pointedly," Rod said, "the fable of the Wise Man, the Jester, the

Fool, the Simpleton, and the Madman."

"Aye, tell!" And they all stopped in the road and gathered around the

great iron steed.

"As you will," Fess sighed. "The Wise Man said, 'Gentlemen, the world

will end tomorrow, if you do not save it.'

"The madman smiled with delight.

" '//"we do not save it?' said the fool. 'Will you not share the risk?"'

"Why, he was a fool in truth," Geoffrey snorted, "if he would cavil o'er

fairness at a time of peril!"

"Thou hast been known to cavil so," Cordelia pointed out.

"Yet surely not when danger did threaten!"

"Perhaps not when it is imminent," Fess temporized. "Then you

understand that the threat is more important than your pride—as the

Wise Man satisfied the Fool by saying, 7 will go with you, to show you

where to dig.'

"Then the fool felt shamed, and said, 'Do you really mean what you

say?'

" 7 really do,' the Wise Man answered.

"The Simpleton's brow furrowed with the effort of his thought. 'How

can so great a thing as the world, be destroyed?'

" 'There are tremendous fires within the earth,' the Wise Man

answered. 'They burn too quickly; if we do not let them out, their smoke

will burst the world.'

"The Simpleton stared. 'But how can there be anything within the

earth? It is only dirt underfoot.'

" 7f may seem so,' said the Wise Man, 'but it is truly a great ball, so

vast that we are mere specks upon it—and it is hollow, with fires within.'

"But the Simpleton only shook his head in bafflement, for he could not

comprehend the notion.

" 'How then shall we save the world?' asked the fool.

" 'We must dig a great hole,' said the Wise Man, 'so that the fires may

have a chimney.'

" 'Why, that is too much work!' said the fool."

"Too much work, and too great a folly," Geoffrey cried. "Did he not

know he would breed a volcano?"

"He did, and so did the jester, for he said, 'Nay, Uncle—it is not the

world that will be destroyed then, but us. It is bad enough to be smoked

meat, but it is worse to be fried.' "

"There is some wit in that," Gregory said judiciously, "but there is most

excellent sense, too."

"Nay, there is cowardice!"

"Well, there was sensible caution, at least," Fess said, "but the Wise

Man answered, 'If a few do not risk being burned to cinders, all will be

blown to bits,' and the Jester shivered and said, 'Alas the day, that I am

one of the few who are made to see the need of it! But I shall go, then, for

it is better to burn than to tarry.' ''

Gwen gave Fess a glare, and Rod murmured, "That's truly apauling."

Fess quickly went on. "Then they all took their shovels and followed the

Wise Man to an empty field, and began to dig where he showed them;

but the madman only leaned on his shovel and watched them."

"Is that all?" Magnus protested. "There is no madness in that, but

laziness and blindness, and lack of concern!"

"Aye," Cordelia agreed. "When did he aught that was mad, Fess?"

"When the others went to dinner, Cordelia—for then he filled in the

hole."

The children stared at him, shocked, while Gwen eyed Fess uncertainly,

and Rod covered a smile.

"Was the world destroyed, then?" Gregory burst out.

"Nay, surely not," Geoffrey said, "for we stand on it now!"

"This was only a fable, children, and it stood on nothing but

imagination," Fess reminded them. "But the world of the story was

destroyed, yes."

"Why," Magnus gasped, "he was mad!" Then he stared, surprised by

his own words.

"Why, indeed he was," Cordelia said slowly. "So that is madness!"

"But of only one kind." Gregory turned to Fess. "And thou hast said

there are many, and of differing degrees."

"I have," Fess agreed, "but they all have this in common: that people

who are mentally ill do things without reason—or at least, no reason that

healthy minds can see."

Rod nodded. "So don't worry about it, children—and do try to help the

simpleton and the madman when you can."

"What of the fool, Papa?"

Rod stirred uncomfortably. "I don't know if you can help a fool,

children, except to save him from total disaster. But remember, it won't

help any of them to go around looking gloomy."

Magnus grinned. "Aye, Papa. Let us help them when we can—but when

we cannot, let us take what joy we may."

"Well said." Rod smiled. "And just now, it's the end of a perfect day."

"Aye." Gwen rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, then looked

up at him, smiling. He returned the smile, gazing deeply into her eyes,

hoping that she was really giving the promise he read there.

"You two really should be careful of your footing," Fess observed.

"Okay, I get the message. We'll watch where we're going." Rod turned

back to the road with a happy sigh. "I can't complain, though. It's a

perfect winter's night— clear as a bell, with the stars at their brightest."

"Aye, and the greater moon nearly full."

"Yeah." Rod looked up at the silver circle through the twigs of the

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Christopher Stasheff - Warlock 10 - The Warlock Insane

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