The Reign of the Brown Magician. Lawrence Watt-Evans

      “All right,” he said, “I want them to arrive quietly, without throwing away any more ships, without attracting a lot of unwanted attention. Can you do that?”

      “Well, sir,” the scientist said, “I don’t see why we couldn’t put them in space suits, with a simple anti-gravity unit to get…”

      “Anti-gravity doesn’t work there. What else have we got? Isn’t there any way to fly without using anti-gravity?”

      The scientist blinked.

      “Um,” he said.

      “Care to be a bit more explicit?” Bascombe let the sarcasm drip from his words.

      “Well, we…I mean, AG is so cheap and convenient, that we…there were experiments, but…” His voice trailed off.

      Bascombe decided the time was ripe for a suggestion, to get the man thinking positively again. “Why can’t we just make the warps come out at ground level?” he asked.

      “Oh, because…well, we were sending ships before, and the control isn’t fine enough, and solid matter…the interaction…it’s not safe.”

      “So we have to make these holes in mid-air, and let our men just fall through?”

      “Well, I—” The scientist stopped dead this time, rather than trailing off.

      “You what?”

      “Well, there’s no reason they couldn’t climb through. With ropes.”

      “Ropes?” Startled, Bascombe considered the idea.

      It seemed very obvious now, so obvious that he wondered how they had missed seeing it sooner. Maybe because it was too simple—getting to another universe involved huge machines, vast quantities of energy, super-science of all sorts; plain old rope didn’t fit the image.

      They could even have saved most of Carson’s group, if they had wanted to.

      But then, Bascombe remembered, they hadn’t particularly wanted to.

      “Ropes,” he said.

      * * * *

      “At least they didn’t cancel my credit cards,” Amy said, glancing up as she continued to pull wads of newspaper out of her new purse. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have all of them with me.”

      Prossie nodded, then looked down at herself.

      Amy had had to guess at the telepath’s sizes to some extent, since Imperial standards did not use the same systems as J.C. Penney, but the clothes seemed to fit fairly well.

      Prossie didn’t look very enthusiastic about the outfit she wore, though.

      “Is something wrong?” Amy asked, putting down the purse. She had deliberately gotten something simple and casual for her guest, since Prossie was obviously not ready to go looking for a white-collar job here on Earth, but maybe that had been a mistake.

      “It’s just so strange,” Prossie said. “I’ve worn a uniform since I was six; except on Zeta Leo III, I’ve never seen myself in any color but purple.”

      Amy shuddered at the mention of the slavers’ planet. She asked, “Even off-duty? Didn’t you ever have, you know, a furlough or something?”

      Prossie stared at her as if she were mad, then apparently caught herself and looked apologetic.

      “No, of course not,” she said. “I’m a telepath; I had to wear full uniform at all times, so that people would know I was a Special.”

      “So this makes you think of when you were a slave, back there?” Amy asked, with a wave at the blue jeans and black sweatshirt.

      Prossie hesitated, then glanced at the tattered, filthy remains of her uniform, lying in a heap on the couch.

      “I was always a slave,” she said.

      * * * *

      The first wizard through the door prostrated himself, to Pel’s surprise; the man dropped to his knees, then flung his arms up over his head and practically fell forward, until his palms were flat on the floor and his nose was at most an inch above the stone.

      The others, with only an instant’s hesitation, followed their comrade’s lead—even Taillefer, who had met Pel before, when Shadow was still alive. Pel was glad to see that Taillefer was one of the group.

      He was not glad that Taillefer’s familiar face was plastered to the floor. “Oh, get up,” Pel said testily, and inadvertently let the matrix amplify his voice into an angry roar.

      The four wizards scrambled hastily to their feet.

      Pel stared, looking them over—and doing so while well aware that they probably couldn’t see him through the glare of the matrix.

      If anyone could see through it, wizards could—but somehow, Pel didn’t think these people could.

      Physically, they didn’t look all that impressive, despite the long robes and fancy embroidery they wore. They were just people, three men and a woman, and not in the best of shape. Taillefer was fat and soft, the woman was bony and unattractive, one of the others had the red scar of an old burn marring one cheek from jaw to eyebrow.

      Through the matrix, though, Pel could see that there was a sort of patterning, a power, an inward light and structure to them that the ordinary people he had met since acquiring Shadow’s magic did not have.

      But it was very weak and faint, like a dim copy of a tiny corner of the great matrix.

      He could also see that the wizards were able to sense and touch the matrix in a way no one else had, and he remembered how Valadrakul had been so enthralled by it that he had doomed himself.

      None of these four were reacting in quite that way, though they were all certainly fascinated by the flickering tangle of interwoven magic.

      “You’re wizards?” he asked.

      “O great one,” the man who had first flung himself down said, “I am Athelstan of Meresham.” He bowed deeply and theatrically. “And you, I take it, are Shadow’s successor, Pelbrun?”

      “Brown,” Pel corrected automatically. “Pel Brown.”

      “Brown Pelbrun, then,” Athelstan agreed.

      It wasn’t worth arguing. “You’re a wizard, Athelstan? I know Taillefer, but not you others.”

      Athelstan cocked his head to the side as if puzzled.

      “Aye,” he said. “I am a wizard, after a fashion—can you not see as much?”

      Pel could see the woman and the unidentified man cringe to hear Athelstan speak so boldly; it certainly was an abrupt change from his first obeisance.

      Or had that perhaps been mockery?

      “I can see that you can touch magic,” Pel said. “But that isn’t exactly what I meant.”

      “Ah.” He nodded. “I’truth, O Pelbrun, neither I nor my companions can sense the true patterns, nor shape them; we draw only upon what power we find to hand. Thus, I am neither matrix wizard, nor pattern wizard, but only wizard, plain and simple. Is it this you would have us say?”

      “Not exactly,” Pel replied. “Look, I can use a matrix, obviously—I’m holding the one Shadow built, and I can use it. I have the innate ability that you don’t. But I don’t know how to use it properly, so what I’m asking is not if you have the talent of a wizard, but whether you have the knowledge of a wizard.”

      He saw Athelstan glance at the others, who exchanged furtive glances amongst themselves.

      “I know enough to fry you all, though,” Pel warned. “Don’t think I don’t.”

      “O Brown Magician,” Athelstan said, bowing again, “ne’er did I doubt