The Wizard That Wasn't (Mechanized Wizardry) Read Free

trembling with fear.  Sir Kelley looked down at them coldly, sliding his baton into a sling low at his hip.
    Sir Mathias clenched his teeth in pain as he stepped forward.  “Looters, Sir Kelley,” he reported.  “Thanks for your help.”
    “If you really needed it, you should be ashamed of yourself,” the senior Petronaut said in his clipped voice.  He pulled a flat disk from a pouch on his belt and tossed it in the air.  It burst seconds later in a cluster of white sparks.  The conventional troops they were traveling with would be here soon to cage up the subdued looters.
    “Any sign of the target?”  Sir Kelley asked.
    “We’ve cleared the last of these houses.  Still nothing.”
    “Then that lake house on the island is the only one place left to look,” Kelley said, flicking his visor up.  His green eyes were hard. “Get a messenger back to Lundin, and let’s put an end to this.”
     

 
    Lundin was preoccupied with his thoughts as he pulled open the brocaded flap to the Viscount’s pavilion.  He ducked his head to enter, nearly bumping the thin-faced captain trying to exit.  They both stopped short. Lundin waited for her to pass, and she expected him to plow forward; but when each saw the other hesitating, they started forward again simultaneously.  This time, Lundin’s muddy boot scraped the captain’s foot, leaving a brown streak on her dark armor. 
    “After you, please,” Lundin said, raising his hands and taking a huge, embarrassed step backwards.  The tent flap, which he was no longer holding, swung into the captain’s face.  He lunged forward to catch it, overreached, and stubbed his fingers on her heavy shoulder guards.
    After scrabbling for a proper grip on the tent flap, the captain swept the heavy black-and-crimson fabric aside and stormed forward, her helmet askew.  Her blazing eyes judged him top to bottom in a single glance, and Lundin immediately felt ten centimeters shorter.  “Sorry, sir,” Lundin said weakly.
    “If you people had a uniform, you’d be a disgrace to it,” she spat.  “Now salute your superior.”
    Lundin saluted frantically.  The captain stormed away.  Lundin followed her with his eyes, holding the salute with a wavering hand.  When she was out of sight, he lowered his hand and very gingerly pulled the tent flap open, checking both directions before ducking inside.
    A spherical oil lamp, suspended from the beams in the ceiling, cast orange light over the dozen men and women in the Viscount’s pavilion.  It was whale oil burning up there, and in the lanterns hanging closer to eye level.  The meager supply of petrolatum requisitioned for this simple campaign was needed for more important things than light, like operating the man-sized computing box in the corner.  Lundin was cheered up to see his fellow technician, Samanthi, in her usual sprawl at the base of the machine, unscrewing a defunct vacuum tube as the Abacus continued to whir and click.   A black-and-gold officer with a dark beard stood over her with his arms crossed, trying very hard not to look befuddled.  Lundin smirked at the sight.  The Petronauts might not have uniforms , he thought, but we’ve got toys nobody else even knows how to play with.
    Lundin wrinkled his nose as a truly unique smell assailed his nostrils.  The wizard—Jelma?  Jilmat? he couldn’t remember—was hard at work on the other side of the pavilion.  ‘Work’ for a wizard, of course, involved drawing shapes on the floor in colored sand, kneeling inside your artwork, lighting some incense, chewing some suspicious mushrooms, and muttering to yourself for upwards of twelve hours.  Occasionally, you might wail, stomp your feet, or remove an article of clothing.  (Jellmap here was down to a filthy vest, tiny cloth shorts, and about six bracelets on each tanned, wiry arm.) A wizard’s real work began when, after half a day of spellcasting with no concrete result to show from it, you had to feed your