The Magic Coffins

The Magic Coffins

Book 3 of the Wizards’ Inn Series

By Rob Summers

Copyright 2013 by Rob Summers

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my nieceling Genevieve

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Keep Your Vacation Plans Flexible

Chapter 2: Reserve Plenty of Time for Packing

Chapter 3: Stay Together

Chapter 4: Stay Only in Safe Areas

Chapter 5: Sample the Night Life

Chapter 6: Acquire a Qualified Tour Guide

Chapter 7: Avoid Disturbances

Chapter 8: Experience the Ease and Speed of Air Travel

Chapter 9: Visit Historical Sites

Chapter 10: Consider Extending Your Stay

Chapter 11: Find Romance

Other Titles by Rob Summers

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Chapter 1: Keep Your Vacation Plans Flexible

A flaming fire, ymixt with smouldry smoke

And stinking sulphure, that with griesly hate

And dreadful horrour did all entrance choke,

Enforced them their forward footing to revoke.

—Edmund Spenser

It had almost always been poison until now. Though she loved poison and had used it so often, Igraine the Sorceress had longed for some new and more exciting method of murder. And this time the Queen had made it clear to her and to all the other damsels of the school that only fire would suffice. Poison, Queen Morgan Le Fay had explained, was unequaled for dispatching a single victim, but if several must be killed, then its drawback was apparent. As soon as one victim showed symptoms, the others would look suspiciously at their plates. An attack on the house with knives, or even with guns—weapons unfamiliar to Igraine—Morgan also declared unwise. Police would come, neighbors might interfere, and worst of all it was expected. Careful, my dears. A Mage was in that home who, if she could perceive an enemy, was able to curse with death in an instant. But no one can curse fire, so fire it would be.

Ben Cooper, now at Igraine’s side, had provided the bombs, wonderful and sophisticated little things procured from some century far in the future of this place, this Philadelphia of 1939 A.D. Ben had been born far in the future and so knew about such devices. Round, flat, and made to be hand tossed, just one of the bombs was said to be sufficient to set a large room ablaze instantly. Furthermore, they were self-destructive—would leave no trace of themselves. Investigators of the blaze would find no clue of its origin. Each of the damsels was carrying several of these incendiaries in her handbag and would race along a side of the house in the darkness of this sultry evening, arming the little things and dropping them into the open windows.

This was to be the end of the Destroyers. Once there had been four of them, unusually powerful Magi, or wizards, who had smashed the Palace of the rogue time travelers called Nineveh’s Rebels. Two Destroyers remained and must be dealt with. For they, like all the Magi of the Orb Pendragon, had been fellow workers with the now fallen Merlin, and no friends of Merlin should be allowed to breathe. Though the Destroyers had never declared outright enmity toward Queen Morgan, she feared them and had laid her plans to eliminate them.

First, the Queen had subverted and enlisted one of them, the one called Deirdre the Damned, after the girl had lost her Mage power and had wandered away from the protection of the Magi. Once under Morgan’s guidance, Deirdre had murdered her fellow Destroyer Anna Rollins in her bed and had in turn been terribly wounded by one of the Magis’ innkeepers. Oh, yes! Turn them on each other, that was the way. Deirdre was said to be still alive and living here in Philadelphia among Magi, but even if this was true, it was possible that she remained with the wizards only in pretence of loyalty. That would be the way of the dark sisterhood in which she had been initiated.

Queen Morgan’s chief disciple Vivien Wizardbane, a tall and beautiful former Mage, had murdered with poison another Destroyer named Gorgon. So all was going well, and it was the goal of this little quest to finish the matter. Young Bis Boland, the most deadly of them, must certainly be killed, and Deirdre too, if she proved to have survived her wound and if she had foolishly abandoned her allegiance to Queen Morgan. But if Deirdre lived and was still one with the Darkness, then better yet would be to use her to make sure of Bis. Morgan had taught Igraine to think this way.

Vivien Wizardbane had led them through Mage portals from their own medieval time to this twentieth century. With her had come two other former Magi: the widely time-traveled Ben Cooper and a damsel named Alice. Igraine and young Lionors, both of whom had no taint of Mage background, were here not just to toss firebombs but also to keep an eye on Ben and Alice.

Lapsed Magi are not absolutely to be trusted, Morgan had said to Igraine in a private interview in the Queen’s chambers in the Castle of Maidens. Vivien, of course, has proved herself loyal again and again, but I have never been completely sure of Ben Cooper. He’s a coward and may change sides if he feels sufficiently threatened. As for Alice, she’s young and has not been with us for long. Who knows but that she might be feeling guilty about having betrayed Merlin’s trust? Watch them closely. I’m counting on you, dear, for Lionors is only sixteen and can hardly be as perceptive as you.

Igraine had been happy to receive this spying duty, while suspecting that the Queen had assigned the three lapsed Magi to watch her and Lionors just as carefully, no doubt describing them too as ‘not absolutely to be trusted.’ Such were the ways of this Queen’s court, ways Igraine had learned to like.

After the long journey by magical portals, the five travelers had converted gold to cash, had visited Philadelphia merchants, and had clothed themselves in the fashions of the land. With this preparation, and because Vivien and Ben were fluent in the English of this era, they were able to approach the fine, large house on Pine Street, the Malory Funeral Parlor, without attracting much attention. That is, they drew no more attention than might be expected by a party including four lovely young women. The irony that their victims were to die in a funeral parlor had not been lost on Igraine, but she knew that the explanation was simply that old Malory, the Time Mage, owned and ran the place. What the rest of Philadelphia did not know was that he housed and mentored young wizards there as well.

An unexpected delay occurred. When they arrived outside the home in the June evening, they saw the very ones they had come to murder driving away in one of the motor-powered carriages that were everywhere in this city. Though unfortunate, this at least provided the opportunity for the damsels to easily make a necessary inspection of the windows of the home. Though these were open in the summer heat, they discovered in them sheets of closely woven little wires. Vivien called them screens, and pointing out that they would repel the bombs, had produced a knife and had made an unobtrusive slit in each screen along its bottom edge.

During this time Alice discovered a Mage device in the alley behind the house. She came walking up to Vivien carrying a stout wooden box, about a foot square and six inches deep and with locked lid, which though apparently heavy, proved lighter than a feather. Vivien took it, balanced it on one finger, blew it off her finger with her breath, and caught it again from where it hung in the air. She commented that conjured oddities were almost always found in the vicinity of Magi, though seldom outside a house, as in this case, and seemingly lost by them. To keep it from floating about and attracting neighbors’ attention, she assigned Lionors to hold it, warning her not to touch a small lever protruding slightly from one side. Who knew what would result? Possibly an explosion. Eventually the box would be brought back to Morgan as a small trophy of their success, and Morgan’s alchemist Nog would investigate it.

Then it was necessary that they discover whether their coming had been anticipated and their prey had escaped for good, or whether the four Magi would return. Charming and plausible Ben Cooper struck up a conversation with a neighbor who somehow knew that the young people had gone to a theater, a place called the Karlton. So their departure was temporary and mere coincidence. Nevertheless, Vivien and Ben were not content to wait for the Magi to come back. Ben promptly led them to a set of rails in a nearby street, and when a vehicle rolled near on them, hailed it as what he called a streetcar. This was a whale-like metal conveyance some fifty feet long, which, when they joined the crowd within, carried them through the fantastically lighted and busy streets to where Igraine now stood. Before them was the broad and gaudy front of the Karlton.

Now she was glad for the delay. Philadelphia was superb! Folded slabs of paper called newspapers were being sold on the sidewalk, and Ben translated for her the headlines and opening paragraphs. Dated June 28th, 1939, it told of seventeen local women who had murdered their husbands for insurance money, a payment made, Ben explained, in case of accidental death. True, the wives had been caught at it, but what spirit! Other front page stories told of the persecution and arrest of Jews in Germany and of the vaunts and accomplishments of a very likely fellow named Hitler. Germany appeared to be even better than Philadelphia. But perhaps not. Did Germany have a play based on the life of Jezebel? For here on the side of the theater was a large and colorful picture, announcing a show by that name, a name that Igraine could read unassisted. The actress playing the part was named Bette Davis and looked suitably wicked and half-dressed.

Jezebel, as Igraine well knew, had been a member of her own order in a century long before Christ, a peerless sorceress, and a martyr to the cause of Darkness. In Igraine’s own century, she might have been put to the stake for praising this woman, but here in Philadelphia Jezebel’s story was apparently freely enacted and popular. How splendid!

Will we be able to see some of the play? she asked Ben.

He chuckled while adjusting a small flower in a buttonhole of his elegant suit jacket. Probably not, he said. Viv wants to catch Deirdre Bernard by herself and try to make use of her, and we can’t do that in the dark of the theater. But maybe we can isolate her in one of the lobbies here in front. It’s not a play, he added, it’s a moving picture.

Igraine left this mysterious saying alone. As they entered the building, they found that the few others in the main lobby were grouped at a counter that sold drinks and snacks and that Deirdre Bernard was not among them. So Vivien and her followers simply stood and waited a few minutes amidst the fountains and the Italian marble until, by the luck of the devil, the girl they wanted slipped out of one of the doors to the theater and walked alone toward the counter. Igraine knew her former classmate even in a brimless hat that hid her hair, heavy make-up, and a drab, calf-length dress. The pretty girl halted in the short line.

Vivien nodded to her group, cueing them to follow, and gliding behind Deirdre, quietly said ‘dalbanub’ (meaning ‘follow’) to her in the ancient language of Kreenspam. Deirdre turned and looked up at Vivien, who was already moving toward the exit doors as if she had said nothing. With a shrug she followed them outside.

Soon they stood in a circle in a poorly lit area of the sidewalk with no one else nearby. Deirdre seemed so calm among them that Igraine began to hope that she was still loyal to the Darkness.

The Queen calls you. Are you hers? Vivien asked in Kreenspam, a language in which all present were fluent.

"Are you?" Deirdre replied in the same language.

Is that how you answer me? Vivien said hotly. Always the same little snot, aren’t you? But for the sake of the Queen’s mission, I’ll condescend to answer. Once for a few minutes I appeared to you to have returned to the Magi. But I assure you that, whatever ruse of reform I assumed, I’ve never strayed from the Darkness.

The Dormouse thought you did, Deirdre said pointedly, and he ought to know.

Igraine knew that Deirdre referred to a Mage of great knowledge and penetration.

Vivien laughed lightheartedly. And what sorceress of any ability can’t fool a love-stricken little fellow like him? Besides he’s a Christian, and Christians always want to believe in character transformation. But enough of that. Her lovely brow knitted. You, Deirdre the Damned, must prove you are the Queen’s by remaining with us continually until the others you came here with are killed. Agreed?

Deirdre smiled and nodded.

I hope you don’t doubt we can do it? Vivien said almost angrily. We know that the old Time Mage called Malory is absent and so can’t spirit the younger Magi away from the funeral parlor by time travel. Bis Boland and the other two are unsuspecting and will die tonight unless you warn them. That’s exactly what we’ll now give you the opportunity to do. Remember that the Queen rewards her friends and never forgets her enemies. All of us but you will now walk to the far corner and wait. Nothing will then prevent you from returning to the theater and warning them. Your Mage power is long gone, of course, but if by any freak chance it has returned to you, it could make you all the safer from us. Glow, if you can, and pass through walls to them. Warn them. Come, the rest of you.

As Igraine went with the others down the sidewalk to the corner, she exulted in Vivien’s invitation. It held, she thought, just the right mixture of cold threat and iniquitous temptation. She wished she had thought of it herself. It might fail, but if it succeeded, they would have considerable confidence that Deirdre was indeed theirs. When they paused and looked back, Deirdre still stood just where they had left her. She slowly sauntered up to them, her opportunity gone.

Vivien smiled approvingly. "You are empty then, she said, referring to the girl’s lost Mage power, and still ours."

Ben Cooper tipped back his high gray hat with the top of his silver walking stick and laughed. Good decision, honey, he said to Deirdre, reaching out and touching her chin. Say, you’re not still under that fairy spell, are you? That wore off?

Igraine knew that, when Deirdre had been among them in Queen Morgan’s School of Evil, the dark eyed girl had been the unfortunate victim of a fairy spell that had turned her into a hag. A second spell on top of the first had given her at that time the appearance of her youth, had made her a faitor.

Deirdre raised a hand and held it steady before Ben’s eyes. Wore off, that’s right, she said happily. See? No shaking.

He grasped her hand caressingly. Wonderful! Now you and I are back on track, he said. We’ll make that trip to the Riviera yet, won’t we?

Ben, Vivien said.

Right, Viv. To business. I’ll stroll back in the theater and tip an usher to carry a message to Bis Boland from Deirdre. It will say that Deirdre didn’t like the look of the movie and decided to walk to the nearest tavern, and not to expect her home early. How about that, Deirdre? Convincing enough?

I don’t do that sort of thing as often as I used to, Deirdre said, but yes, they’ll believe it.

When Ben returned from his errand, he hailed in quick succession two of the motor carriages called cabs.

No need to go straight back to Pine Street, he said to Vivien as she prepared to enter one of the cabs, not with the movie just started. Let’s tell our drivers to take us to the Click Club at Palumbo’s, and we’ll enjoy ourselves for a bit, eh?

Vivien somberly agreed to this, adding firmly in all their hearing that no one was to get drunk.

Slipping into the other cab, Igraine found herself beside Deirdre.

Weren’t you tempted to warn your friends? she asked the girl in a mock compassionate tone. You’ve been gone from us for so long, and they’ve been taking such care of you. I thought you would have adopted some of their values, such as compassion and gratitude.

Deirdre gave her a flat, emotionless look. I can’t ever be one of them, not since I lost my Mage power. They keep me around as a charity.

Well, isn’t that sweet of them? But really, no gratitude?

Deirdre wrinkled her nose as if smelling something foul. Have you ever been completely sick of goodness? she said.

After a pleasant two hours at the nightclub, they took cabs again. They got out at a corner several blocks from the funeral parlor, for Ben pointed out that the drivers, when they would see the newspaper accounts of the fire on the morrow, might remember passengers taken to a Pine Street address.

The neighborhood was much darker as they approached. The funeral parlor’s lights were on, and drawing closer to its open windows, they could even hear cheerful voices from within, evidence that the young Magi had returned still unsuspecting. The street was completely quiet, with no one visible even on the sidewalks. As commanded, none of them were drunk, but all were elevated. Igraine felt a thrill of anticipation.

Vivien, who knew the house, had long since assigned bomb throwing duties. She was to do the front windows and door. Lionors would take the windows on the left side, Alice the back windows and door, and Igraine the right side along a side street. Ben, Igraine understood, was simply not steady enough for such a task, and Deirdre was still under some suspicion. Their placement of the incendiaries was to be so thorough that the inhabitants of the home would find every exit filled with raging flames. Furthermore, though the house had a second story, the stories were high; it was a long jump.

As they stood on the sidewalk, Vivien whispered to them a change of plan. "Igraine, give Deirdre your bombs, show her how to arm them, and take her to the right side windows. Deirdre will deliver the bombs through those four windows. Won’t you, Deirdre?"

The girl was quiet for a moment. Why? she said.

To further prove you are one of us.

I thought I already did that.

Don’t argue with me. Choose this day whom you will serve!

All right, give me the bombs, Deirdre said. I’ll probably just burn myself up.

Once again, Igraine was delighted with Vivien’s ingenuity. How perfect to have the girl actively help to bring her former friends and protectors to a horribly painful death! And what further proof would they need of her loyalty?

When the party, except for Ben, had gone to their places, she and Deirdre were standing close by the house at its corner. She showed the other girl how to arm one of the little bombs and handed her the handbag containing the others, telling her to set them to ignite at the same time, in about two minutes. Deirdre complied.

Go. Do it now, Igraine whispered.

Deirdre turned and ran from window to window, shoving the armed bombs in through the slits that Vivien had cut in the screens, and Igraine ran with her, watching her closely, making sure there was no slip or hesitancy. Then, yanking her by the arm, she drew her away to across the street under a maple where they could watch for the effect. She could see that Vivien had re-crossed the street from the front of the house and knew that the other two also would have deposited their bombs and withdrawn a short distance. They were observing the funeral parlor from all sides, while it was still undisturbed. Seconds oozed by. Igraine found herself counting.

Suddenly, with a whoosh, every window of the first story was filled with flame! She heard alarmed shouts from within. The next minutes were glorious ones for Igraine. The second story was soon afire too, the whole building was burning, and no one came out of the windows on this side. More shouting from within. Neighbors began to appear on the streets, and Igraine and Deirdre pretended that they had been drawn, like them, to see a fire that had already started. Soon they could feel the heat of the blaze as it burst out from the upper story windows and the roof. The building began to collapse.

Fire trucks came, but the firemen concentrated their efforts on saving the house next to the mortuary, on the far side from Igraine. The funeral home was a glowing hell, almost too bright to look at, clouds of smoke pouring up from it. With great crashing sounds, it continued to collapse. The onlookers had thickened into a crowd now, and police came and labored to keep them at a distance from the fire.

A little later a huge black dog appeared beside them, trotting straight to Deirdre. Deirdre patted his great head and called him Hades. Then Igraine remembered that Deirdre had had this companion with her when she had been a student at the Queen’s school. Deirdre assured her that the dog had not escaped the building. Hades, she said, had lately been spending the night in the unfenced back yard. She had not needed him in her room anymore, as formerly, to wake her if she began to sleepwalk, for her sleepwalking habit seemed to have finally come to an end.

When it became apparent that no one would be coming out the windows that she was watching, Igraine led Deirdre and Hades across Pine Street to where Vivien and Ben waited. One by one the others joined them. Alice was the last to arrive, bright eyed and either gibbering or giggling, Igraine could not tell which. All reported that no one had escaped out any door or window of the home. They exulted in the assurance that none could have survived.

Except for the thoroughness of Queen Morgan, they might have left town then and returned by portal to the Castle of Maidens with glad news. Morgan, however, had wanted them to be absolutely sure, and so they waited, living in a fine hotel, until on the afternoon of June 30 when the talking box Ben called the radio reported that parts of three skeletons had been found in the ruin. It was believed, said the report, that there had been no corpses waiting for burial in the home at the time of the fire. The skeletons were thought to be remains of young friends of the undertaker, two men and a woman, who had lived with him.

So the bones meant success! When Ben turned a knob on the radio so that it played what he called swing music, Igraine and the other girls danced with joy. Now, Igraine said to them, with no Destroyers to interfere with her, Queen Morgan Le Fay would surely feel free to carry out her plan to murder King Arthur. Igraine had already volunteered to be the one to bring the poisoned cloak to the King.

They did not remain in town for the funerals.

When old Mr. Malory returned from his trip, he grieved at first only for the loss of the building. Being a Time Mage who had often visited the future, he had known that his funeral parlor would burn sometime in the late 1930’s or early 1940’s but not exactly when. The fire was no notable historical event and was only reported briefly on one newspaper day, a report he had never seen, and in a few radio newscasts he had not heard. Instead, on a trip to the year 1943 he had simply found that the home was radically changed, and asking around, had learned that it had burned years before and had been rebuilt. The stranger who had told him this had said nothing about loss of life and perhaps had not known or remembered that people were said to have died. He only said that the authorities had never come to a conclusion as to the cause of the fire.

In his complacence Malory had guessed the fire would not come until ’40 or ’41 and had felt that it would be the result of some accident or of bad wiring. He had known he would miss the old building, but his insurance was paid up.

Now, after an overnight stay with a kind neighbor, and on the second morning after the fire, he tried to think nothing of the building and to concentrate on prayers of thanks that the four young Magi whom he mentored must have easily escaped death. If he had not prepared such an escape for them, he would not have dared leave them in order to make the visit to his old friend Mr. Char, the Wisdom Mage. Queen Morgan Le Fay, he had known, might try to murder his pupils, particularly Bis Boland, and so they must have constant protection. So using his time power, he had cast a spell on a central, windowless room on the ground floor, turning it into a Time Shelter. At the first threat of danger, the young wizards needed only to run into this room in order to be in the same house but in the year 1859. Furthermore, he had taught them how to break the spell once they were all in, so pursuers would enter only the 1939 version of the room. His pupils had dubbed it the 59 room and knew that they could be as safe in it as if he had remained with them.

Still, he was nervous and would not be really at ease until he had gone back to 1859 and made sure of them. As he approached the ruin, he saw a fireman standing by, watching for any fresh outbreak of flame. Several city workers were clearing away charred wreckage. They would not accidentally enter into the Time Shelter, he knew, for though he had forgotten to remove the spell, it would have disappeared because of the burning of the room it was based in.

Still at a good distance, and before any of them turned to look at him, he stood still, noting the exact placement of his feet on the sidewalk and the position of his arms. He intended to shortly return to this same moment and did not want to startle anyone when he did. As for not startling anyone by his arrival in the time he was going to, he was in a hurry and would take the chance.

Now he willed himself back 80 years and—suddenly—there stood the house again. On this handsome 19th century street of two story homes, it was not a funeral parlor but the residence of lawyer James Rollins. The neighborhood trees were bare, the street empty. The date was February 19, 1859, and the time 1:55 p.m. Shivering in the sudden cold, he went to the front door and knocked.

Presently, he was admitted by a maid who led him back to a study, and there his old friend greeted him warmly. Mr. Malory was in the habit of time travelling to visit Mr. Rollins, for James’s deceased wife had been a very important Mage, and the widower was a friend of the Magi, one who featured in important plans. If all went well, Mr. Rollins would help the wizards in a crucial effort during the 1860’s. Mr. Malory took an offered chair and declined a cigar. Soon he had explained his errand.

You mean, said Mr. Rollins, that Bis and the others will come running in here? Soon?

Through that door, Mr. Malory said, indicating the very door he had entered by, from the year 1939 and smelling like smoke. I’m surprised not to find them here already, he added anxiously, looking at his pocket watch. I calculate that they should have arrived a few minutes ago unless something detained them.

But what could detain them in a burning house?

Nothing, nothing. Malory stood up, feeling even more anxious. I beg your pardon, but would you allow me to bring the rest of the house, excepting this room, forward to the time of the fire so as to have a look? This room will be safe.

I hardly understand what you mean, but go ahead.

Malory thanked him, and the lawyer followed him to the door and stood beside him. Malory concentrated for a moment. Suddenly, they could hear through the walls around them the sound of the fire—and shouts. Malory stepped to the door and threw it open. Just beyond the threshold was a powerful and nearly blinding blaze. They were squinting through it at the smoke-filled interior of the 1939 house, and several yards beyond the flames, could see three young Magi—Bis, Mark, and Nate—looking back at them.

We can’t get through! shouted Mark. Mr. Malory, what should we do?

Malory answered in shock and without thinking. You must get out another way!

The three ran out of view. Smoke was entering Rollins’ study in a cloud and with it a few flying sparks, so the lawyer hastily closed the door. Malory moved to a chair and sat down heavily. He willed the rooms outside the study to return to 1859, and the sounds of the conflagration ended.

Malory, will they die? Rollins said beside him.

No, no, but I must get in there and get them out. When I’ve collected myself, I’ll go down the hall a bit, to beyond where the fire will be, and go forward to 1939. It will only take a few moments to collect them to me and whisk them back to here, to your time.

So for three minutes he rested and prayed. Then, thanking his friend, he went to the hallway and willed himself to 1939, to the time of the fire. Instantly, he was wheezing from smoke and enduring the tremendous heat. He moved quickly around the first floor, calling for his pupils, while observing that the fire was blocking every window and door. The way to the basement was open, but there was no exit from down there except a