100

A WIZARD IN ABSENTIA

“You just had one,” the guard informed him. “It’ll take effect in a few minutes, but time’s the only thing that’s going to wipe out the aches from the punches you took. On your feet, spacer—you’ve got company.”

“Company?” Magnus looked up, frowning, then clamped his jaw against the urge to cry out as the guard yanked him to his feet. He almost slumped onto the man’s shoulder, but managed to catch hold of the bars and hold himself upright.

Bars?

Magnus finally looked up at his surroundings—

bare plasticrete walls, uncovered toilet, sink, and freshener. “I’m in prison!”

“Jail,” the guard told him. “Just the drunk tank—

for prison, you get a trial first. Not that you won’t, if anybody gets serious about those brawls last night.

Let’s go see your guest, now.”

Magnus stared. “I’m a stranger! Who’d want to talk to me?”

“About a dozen lawyers, considering how many brawls you wound up in, and how much furniture and glassware got wiped out. Don’t worry, though—

the bookies will probably put up your bail.”

Magnus let the man lead him out of the cell, be-fuddled. “Bookies?”

“You aie green, aren’t you? Every time you got in a fight last night, the bookies laid out odds and took bets. As the night went on, they had to give higher and higher odds in your favor, but they started betting on you themselves. Oh, they made a pile off of you, all right, up until the last fight—and even then, 101

they won, because you downed the guy who started the fight with you, before his friends piled in and swamped you. Not that you were alone—everybody who laid their bets on you piled in on your side. It was one hell of a brawl, from what I hear,” he said reverently. “Wish I’d been there.”

Magnus decided that the people of Ceres City were very, very strange. So was the Castor oil—it was taking effect, and the pain of his bruises was dulled, the pounding in his head almost gone. “Who is this who wishes to speak with me?”

“Dunno,” said the guard, “but she’s one hell of a looker. If that’s what they sent every time you got drunk and disorderly, there wouldn’t be a man in Ceres City who wasn’t in jail.” He opened a plain metal door. “In you go, spacer. You sit in your chair, she sits in hers. Don’t try to go over to her, or you’ll trigger the alarm in the force-screen. Good luck.”

Magnus stumbled into the blank, featureless room, started to turn back toward the guard with a protest on his lips—then out of the corner of his eye, saw the woman who was waiting for him, and the protest died aborning. He turned slowly, staring—

she was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, save one. Of course, he had been saying that about every woman who had caught his fancy in the last few months—but it had always been true.

How unfair of the women, to keep becoming more and more beautiful! How was a man to hold himself back from them?

But even at the thought, he could feel the shield closing about his heart. It still ached at the loveliness 102

of long blonde hair, retrousse nose, huge dark eyes, and full red lips—but he could contain himself; his heart stayed in his chest, not on his sleeve, and he was able to hide his feelings behind an imperturb-able mask. He bowed slightly. “Good day, madame—or mademoiselle.”

“Mademoiselle.” She smiled, amused, and her voice was a husky breath of sensual speculation.

“You’re very formal, spacer.”

“Until I have been introduced, or we come to know each other well.” Magnus’s knees were trying to turn to jelly—hopefully only from the aftereffects of his night on the town. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” The woman waved to the chair facing her, surprised. “You certainly are rigidly formal!”

Magnus frowned as he sat; he didn’t consider good manners a matter of rigidity—but, then, he had grown up with them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He regretted the word “pleasure” as soon as it was out of his mouth, and rightly—the woman caught it and smiled lazily, her eyelids drooping. “I hope it will lead to … pleasure … for both of us—even though I don’t know how to address you. What is your name?”

Magnus opened his mouth, but caution made him hold back his real name. He substituted the first one that came to mind. “Ed…” he started, then realized it was the initials over the guard’s pocket he was giving. But it was too late to change now, so he finished,

“… gar.”

“Ed Gar.” The woman nodded, but didn’t write it down. Frowning, Magnus looked more closely at her.