Shades of Evening: Mozenrath's Books Volume 3

Jasmine woke when she heard Raja's soft growl. The tiger was looking at a figure who had just entered her room by way of the balcony. It was dressed in fairly dark clothing, and her first intimation was that it was Mozenrath. Then, when she lit and held up a lamp, she realized it was a young man, dressed in blue trousers and some strange dark green tunic. His eyes were bright blue, and his hair short and brown. He smiled at her. Raja growled, and began to slink forward on his belly. She made a soft sound, and held up a hand. The tiger made a frustrated whine, and stopped.

'Princess,' the young man said. His Arabic was odd, with strange cadences in it, but not unintelligible. His hands were placed in his trousers -- it appeared to have pockets sewn in the lining, and his attitude was casual: not the indication of someone who wanted to attack her. 'Forgive me for disturbing you, but I wasn't sure you'd be up or not. Call the guards if you must, or sic the tiger on me, but I merely intend to say something, and be gone.'

Jasmine was so startled she said nothing. She merely waited.

'I wouldn't worry about The Land of the Black Sand for a while,' the young man said. 'Its ruler is going to be a little...busy at present, so you needn't worry about Mozenrath's fiendish schemes for a while.'

'How do you know Mozenrath?' she wanted to know.

'I'm rather intimately acquainted with him, as is my patron. In fact, she probably knows more about him than I, but I manage to fake competence pretty well.' He ran a hand through his short hair, a common gesture, she thought. He's probably not even aware of it. 'He's quite intriguing, and no more so than when you've thrown a monkey-wrench into his latest plan. Nothing better than seeing him angry.

'When he tried to capture Father Tochet for example, I knew he was going to mess up.'

'You know Father Tochet?' Jasmine asked.

'Your Highness, it is not entirely exaggeration when I tell you I made him the man he is today. The good Father owes much of his sparkling personality to me. And, I'm on fairly good terms with other members of this fair city: Eden and Dondi, for example. Wonderful people. I don't know them as well mind, but they seem nice. As do you, and Aladdin, of course.'

'How do you --'

The young man spread his hands. 'Please, Princess. I would answer your questions, but I have things to do now. Later, perhaps, I'll come back and visit. Agrabah is a wonderful city, and I'd love to check it out more closely. My regards to you, your father, Aladdin, and your friends. Bonne nuit.' She was surprised to see him run forward and vault over the balcony. He vanished without a sound. She hurried to the balcony, and saw nothing. It was as if he'd never been there.

'What a strange man,' she said to herself.

'YOU DON'T KNOW THE HALF OF IT PRINCESS. SOMETIMES, I THINK HE GOES OUT OF HIS WAY TO MAKE HIMSELF SEEM UNNATURAL. ACTUALLY, IT'S PROBABLY A GIFT: DEAR OLD MUM MOST LIKELY DROPPED HIM ON HIS HEAD AS A CHILD. AND THAT'S ONE OF HIS GOOD QUALITIES, MIND YOU. HE TOLD ME ONE OF HIS TEACHERS AT UNIVERSITY ACTUALLY CALLED HIM ECCENTRIC. THE POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK IN MY OPINION, BUT HE THINKS OF IT AS A COMPLIMENT. SINCE HE NEVER TOLD YOU HIS NAME, EVIL-MINDED LITTLE MAN THAT HE IS, HE WON'T OBJECT IF I TOLD YOU. IT'S MICHAEL. LIKE THE ARCHANGEL, BUT HE'S FAR FROM DIVINE, BELIEVE ME.'

The powerful voice filled the room. Jasmine started back, but could see nothing. 'Who are you?'

'I, PRINCESS, AM THE PATRON HE MENTIONED. NOT PRECISELY A GODDESS, BUT YOU MAY CONSIDER ME THE NEXT BEST THING. YOU COULD SAY I'VE PUT THE FEAR INTO HIM.' A chuckle. 'HE IS ALWAYS SURE TO TREAT ME NOW WITH PROPER RESPECT AND REVERENCE. I MEAN, DOESN'T ALADDIN DO THINGS YOU FIND ANNOYING FROM TIME TO TIME?'

Jasmine was smiling now. 'Whoever you are, you sound like you already know the answer. Of course he does. Well, he did at any rate...'

'WE SHOULD COMPARE NOTES SOMETIME. BUT, IN MOST RESPECTS, MICHAEL'S REASONABLY GENTLEMANLY. SINCE I'VE NEVER MET HIM FACE-TO-FACE, I HAVE TO RELY ON MY OWN IMPRESSIONS. AND THEY'RE DECENT...MOST OF THE TIME.'

'He said something about Mozenrath,' Jasmine said. 'What could he want with the ruler of the Land of the Black Sand?'

'IT'S PERSONAL. MOZENRATH GOT INTO MICHAEL'S HEAD AND DID SOME RATHER UNPLEASANT THINGS TO HIM. HE GOT INTO MINE, AS WELL, BUT IT AFFECTED ME SOMEWHAT DIFFERENTLY. MICHAEL NOW HAS THIS THING ABOUT EVIL SORCERERS, AND HE'S RATHER INVENTIVE WHEN DEALING WITH THEM. SOMETIMES, I FIND IT MUCH MORE ENTERTAINING TO DELEGATE RETRIBUTION INTO HIS CAPABLE HANDS. I CALL HIM THE WEIRD AND EVIL ONE. IF YOU WANT
AN ARABIC TITLE, I SUPPOSE ONE I COULD GIVE YOU COULD BE -- HE FOUND THIS IN ANOTHER BOOK -- AL-MWAZIIB.'

'The Tormentor?'

'IS THAT WHAT IT MEANS? APPROPRIATE, AND NOT MORE THAN A LITTLE SICK. THAT SOUNDS LIKE MICHAEL, ALL RIGHT. YES, I SUPPOSE THAT'S WHAT YOU COULD CALL HIM. A LARGE PART OF HIS LIFE IS DEDICATED TO PUTTING THAT SORCERER IN WHAT WE'LL CALL -- UNCOMFORTABLE POSITIONS. AND HE'S GOOD AT IT. A MASTER OF THE UNEXPECTED.'

'What exactly does he do?' Jasmine wondered.

'DEPENDS ON MOZEY'S PARTICULAR PLAN. WHEN HE TRIED TO ENSLAVE THE CHILDREN OF AGRABAH, MICHAEL SENT AMAL TO RELEASE THE ELEMENTALS MOZENRATH HAD IMPRISONED, AND WAS USING FOR HIS MAGIC DOOHICKEY. IT WAS NO ACCIDENT, AMAL'S BEING THERE.'

'I remember that. It was quite a spectacle.'

'BIT OF A BONUS, ACTUALLY: I HADN'T EXPECTED HIM TO GET MIRAGE IN THE SAME BLAST. A NICE LITTLE STROKE, WELL-PLAYED. HE DOES LITTLE THINGS LIKE THAT. NOTHING FATAL, NOTHING PERMANENT, BUT GUARANTEED TO MAKE MOZENRATH SULK FOR DAYS. ADMIT IT: BLACK SAND ACTIVITY HAS BEEN AT AN EBB THE PAST LITTLE WHILE, HASN'T IT?'

'It has, actually. I wondered about that.'

'WELL, I MAY DISPARAGE HIM, BUT NEVER LET IT BE SAID MICHAEL DOESN'T DO HIS BIT.'

'You said he was a master of the unexpected. Like Chaos?'

'I THINK SIMILAR IS A FAIRER DESCRIPTION. MICHAEL CAN'T COMMAND THE RAW POWER CHAOS DOES, BUT YOU ALSO HAVE TO REMEMBER, CHAOS ISN'T REALLY EVIL; HE'S QUIXOTIC. MICHAEL IS MORE EVIL IN TERMS OF HIS APPLICATION: HE FOCUSES MORE SPECIFICALLY ON MOZENRATH, RATHER THAN CAUSING GENERAL DISTURBANCE, AND HE LIKES TO BE SUBTLE ABOUT IT UNTIL THE MOMENT ARRIVES. THEN --'

'Then what?'

'IMAGINE FIFTY ODIFERANS ALL HITTING YOU WITH HUNDRED-POUND SLEDGEHAMMERS AT THE SAME MOMENT.'

'Ouch.'

'THEN MULTIPLY THAT BY A FACTOR OF FIFTY.'

'It sounds uncomfortable to say the least.'

'THEN, MULTIPLY AGAIN BY A HUNDRED.'

'Well...'

'AND THAT'S MICHAEL ON ONE OF HIS OFF DAYS.'

'He sounds unreasonably cruel.'

'TRUST ME. YOU MET HIM BRIEFLY, DID HE SEEM PARTICULARLY MONSTROUS TO YOU?'

'Not particularly. One might think he was slightly mad, but --'

'BELIEVE ME, PRINCESS. TO THE GOOD GUYS, SAFE AS HOUSES. HE WOULDN'T DREAM OF YOU OR YOUR PEOPLE GETTING HURT. IT'S ONLY EVIL SORCERERS HE GOES AFTER WITH SUCH FERVOUR...I WISH HE'D LET ME KNOW WHAT HE DID TO DESTANE IN ARBUTUS'S GARDEN...WELL, ANYWAY. I HAVE TO CHECK UP ON HIM. SEE HOW MY WEIRD AND EVIL ONE'S GETTING ON...'

The presence faded, and Jasmine was alone again.

'MICHAEL.'

'Great One.'

'WHERE ARE YOU? THE ICQ SCRYING SOFTWARE HAS A GLITCH IN IT AGAIN. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'VE BEEN UP TO. REPORT, O WEIRD AND EVIL ONE.'

'Do you think this is Special Forces or something? I give you an update on how I'm penetrating enemy territory? I'm hanging below a Roc's nest by my fingernails, and praying to any deities in any worlds that might be listening I don't fall. Now I need to...'

'MICHAEL!'

'All right, all right. And don't wave the gender issue at me right now: I want to remain upright so badly, it holds no terror for me at this point. I came for feathers.'

'FEATHERS?'

'You suggested tickling his feet once. I'm considering it as a part of my master plan.'

'INTERESTING. BUT SURELY YOU'VE GOT MORE TO TELL?'

'I thought I might break into his library again: since I haven't written Mozenrath's Books Volume 3, I want to know what his newest additions are.'

'GOOD, GOOD. AND?'

'Then, I will carefully, and lovingly, replace every single one of his books.'

'NOT BAD. BUT THESE ARE MERELY PETTY ANNOYANCES. DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE LOSING IT.'

'Right now -- Great One -- the -- only --thing -- I'm more concerned about -- is --losing -- my -- lunch...'

'IS THAT A FEATHER I SEE IN YOUR HAND?'

'Yes, Great One. You know it is.'

'RIGHT. HOLD ON THEN.'

The sight of space and time ripping.

The smell of ozone.

The sound of someone throwing up.

The Citadel library.

'MICHAEL, I SAID I WAS SORRY. I FORGOT THAT YOU SOMETIMES GET SICK WHEN WE DO TRANSLOCATION. YOUR SHOES...'

'Why don't I believe you, Great One? Never mind, they can be cleaned. I just hope the smell doesn't give me away. Anyway, here are the books -- OOOOO!'

'WHAT?'

'A brand-new book on ceremonial magic. The blood on it is still fresh: he must just have had it stolen from a caravan. I think I should nick this one: forget about replacing it.' Michael placed it in his rucksack, turned to face the shelves, and rubbed his hands gleefully.

'And now, to make a few alterations...'

'Where is it?'

Mozenrath was frantic, scrabbling through the piles of books on his shelves. Copies of Martha Stewart Living,
Better Homes and Gardens, Macleans, The Care and Breeding of Long-Haired Tibetan Cats, I'm OK, You're OK, fluttered to the ground like dying birds.

'The book on ceremonial magic. I know I had it put here! It had a very important ritual in it that I need, right now! None of these books or pamphlets were here before. I know they weren't!' Foam flecked his chin, his eyes bulged. 'The demon I conjured...it can't stay on this plane unless the ritual is completed...and I need that book to finish it, for Iblis's sake! If I don't, the creature will...

A voice seemingly emanating from the Earth's core, reverberated throughout the Citadel.

'You forgot the magic words, Moze-man, and I am NOT staying! Ciao, baby. Gharna'k the Destroyer is OUTTA HERE!'

A loud crash, the smell of something sulfurous...and silence.

Totally dejected, Mozenrath beat his fist against the shelves in frustration, and stopped as something skated across the back of his neck. He whirled, but the only thing there was a piece of parchment falling to the floor. He picked it up, and looked at it.

It was not written in Arabic, but English, in a fluid, cursive script. He stared at it in disbelief.

Dear Mozenrath, Lord of The Black Sands:

This replacement of your collection was done as a public service. The Seven Deserts Reader's Advisory Committee believes your reading interests cater far too much to a): the practice of sorcery, b): the promotion of demonology, spiritualism, and devil conjuration, and c): the development of plans for world domination. We, the Committee, believe these books may be harmful to readers, and encourage the promotion of megalomania, necromancy, delusions of grandeur, and other unhealthy, antisocial attitudes.

This new collection is for you to widen your reading tastes, opening your mind and heart to the other opportunities in this great world of ours. For questions and comments about the process, as well as reclaiming your books...don't call us, we'll call you.

Mozenrath's gauntlet flared. The parchment disappeared in a flash of blue-black flame, not even leaving ash behind. He turned, rested his head against the shelves, and moaned.

The pop of displaced air turned his head again. He saw another sheet of parchment, apparently in the same hand, flutter to the floor, atop it was a soft, golden, object. A Roc's feather.

Picking up the second parchment, he began to read.

Postcriptum:

Sucker. Gotcha again. This is in fact the THIRD time I have been in your library, howd'ya like THEM pomegranates, Mozenbreath? For all your vaunted security, for all the undead and magical servants at your beck and call, one little old library student has been able to waltz in and out of here with impunity, not once, not twice, but THREE times. No magic, no genie, just the little grey cells, as Hercule Poirot would say. But then you've probably never read Agatha Christie, have you?

Even a certain street rat (you know the one) can't claim that: he's been in your house more times than you've had hot dinners, but he never made it to your library, did he?

Nya-nya-nya-nya-nya!

A drawing of a face with its tongue sticking out. Mozenrath sucked in his breath sharply, and continued:

I was going to tickle you with the feather, but we both felt that would be anticlimactic and cheap after what I just did. I think I'll go to Agrabah, and let them know how you've just been taken three times in a row instead.

And about the book? Don't waste your time. It's really not much of a read. All this dreadful stuff about demons, and giving your enemy a slow, creeping sickness so he rots into a liquescent pile of goo...you need to get out more. And considering I spend most of my time in my room reading, that's a laugh and a half right there. I don't usually destroy books, but this one was so bad, I made an exception. I burnt it. Made for some lovely green flames, too. It's a pity you didn't see them.

Mozenrath felt his jaw tighten.

And, as the birth of Christ will soon be upon us, as well as the New Year, I'd just like to wish you well and for your continuing regard over this holiday season. Despite the fact that I plan to be visiting again soon.

Visions of unspeakable tortures danced in his head. The letter concluded:

And if you're having trouble recollecting, my name is Michael, also known as The Weird and Evil One, servant and confidant of The Great One. You first saw me sitting in your throne last night, and may I say I did not use a seat protector, and am carrying a highly communicable disease for which no cure has been found.

And now that all that happy stuff is out of the way, enjoy your holidays, and I look forward to seeing you again soon, old friend. The Great One sends her regards, too.

Yours most sincerely,

M.

And below that was another drawing of a face: a yellow one with a wide smile. And below that, the legend:

Amen. Praise Allah. Have a nice day...

Mozenrath was in such a blind fury, he tore the paper to strips, placed them in his mouth, and ate them, jaws working mindlessly up and down. Xerxes, drifting in from another part of the Citadel, looked at his master, and wisely decided to say nothing.

To be Continued....