The Last American Wizard (19 page)

Her sister rumbled from the other
side.

“The Hanged Man knows. Life is the
wager,

We await the
contest,

Truth both game and
savior.”

Both beasts settled like watchful cats. Steve looked at Hamilton. “I think they were talking about you. Have you got a
clue what they were talking
about?”

“Hell, no–” Jones began and then went rigid as his eyes rolled up into his head and his voice dropped again into a deep and sonorous
register.

“When the Sphinx, that singing bitch, was here, her riddle was not something the first man to stroll along could solve– a prophet was
required.”

The sphinx on the right said, “Thou hast certainly savaged Sophocles as a lion tears its
game.”

“Savages will savage,” her sister responded. “’Tis time for this prophet to prove his
claim.”

Muscles suddenly relaxing, Jones grabbed his throat– apparently the prophetic fit had passed. He said, in his normal
voice but with a definite rasp, “Damn. What’s going on? My vocal cords are on
fire.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Steve put a hand on his arm to steady him. “Just try and keep your eyeballs where they belong for a moment, will you? You’re creeping me
out.”

“What are you talking
about?”

“It’s not important. Mom always taught me not to draw attention to the afflictions of others.” Steve thought a moment. “‘
That singing bitch,’
huh?”

“What?”

“That’s what you just said.” Steve patted the increasingly distressed young man on the shoulder. “I think they’re talking about the riddle game. From what little Homer I can remember, the sphinx would ask every passerby a riddle and eat the ones who got it wrong. Which was apparently everyone until Ulysses figured it out.”

“Uh, from what I remember from high school,” Jones said hesitantly, “it was Sophocles and
Oedipus.”

“Who cares? Oedipus was a momma’s boy, anyway.” Steve turned and spoke to the closest sphinx. “Enough with the archaic language. You’ve been hanging out next to the sidewalk on 16th Street for over a century. I’m not buying the idea that you can’t speak like normal people. So, which one are you?” He pointed to the sphinx on the
right.

The creature nodded, the pharaonic headpiece swinging. “Yes, we know the argot of this withered and joyless age. I am
Power.”

“And I am Wisdom.” The monster on the other side said. “Although after having to listen to several thousand working girls ask drivers if they’d like a good time, it’s a miracle that I have any wisdom left. I mean, OMG,
WTF?”

“Let’s not go too far. I know that if I can understand teenage-girl slang, it’s automatically outdated and lame. That has to be an exponentially worse crime in your case.” Steve took a deep breath. “So, it’s the riddle
game?”

Wisdom nodded. “If you make a mistake–or speak anything but the whole truth–your mystic defense is toast. The Fool is a pure being, all of his power stems from his
innocence.”

Power added, “I’m not sure that virtuous honesty is your strong suit, Steve Rowan. You are a journalist, after
all.”

Steve sputtered. “I resent that remark!”

“Do you deny
it?”

“Umm.
No.”

“Good answer.” Power smiled, which involved a
fairly horrible display of pointed teeth. “Now, shall we get on with the riddles?”

Steve
nodded.

“And don’t even think of trying anything like ‘What’s it got in its pocketses?’” Wisdom added. “We might be stone but we’re not stupid.”

Old Howard yelled from somewhere above them, “Remains to be seen, old girl.” Both sphinxes looked up at him and
growled.

“Let me get this straight,” Steve asked. “We both get to ask riddles, right? First to get one wrong
loses.”

Power grumbled deep in her chest. “Back in the day, we didn’t allow the challenger a
riddle.”

“That might be true, but those days of a one-sided and unequal division of rights are long gone,” Steve argued. “Hell, women changed the rules; you should at least abide by
them.”

“All right,” Power said. “Nevertheless, we go
first.”

“Just like women,” Steve grumbled. “Demand equality and still want to be first through the door. Well, I’ve never won that fight with mortal women; I can’t see any reason I’d win it now. Do your
worst.”

Wisdom began to speak. “What speaks with one voice, goes
on four feet in the
morning–”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Steve interrupted. “I know it’s a battle for my life and all that but everyone knows that one. You haven’t played this game much since that Greek dude came by, right? Well, he told the entire world the answer. Humans crawl on four feet in the morning of their lives, walk on two feet in the day, and use
a
cane
in
their
old
age.
I
mean,
you
might
as
well
ask
what
a man does standing, a woman does sitting, and a dog does on three legs.”

“Well, they go to the–” Wisdom began, but Power interrupted loudly. “No, you old queen! They shake
hands.”

Steve looked from one to the other. “I think I could call for an instant replay on that one, but why don’t we call the first round a draw and move
on?”

He snuck in a quick look at Ace. The statue had put all of the physical parts back together and appeared to be working on the intangibles. Well, at least that was what Steve assumed was happening as the myriad hands picked up small bits of nothing and placed them carefully into her
body.

Either way, it didn’t look like it would be long before the Ace of Swords would be back in playing condition. Steve gave Hamilton Jones as significant a look as he could manage and began to sidle closer to the reconstruction
site.

“This time I get to go first,” Steve said. “I’m going with one that everyone who’s ever tried to work for a computer company could answer in his or her sleep. A man is in a room with solid walls, floor, and ceiling. There are no doors. He has a round table and a mirror. How does he get
out?”

The two creatures both put their chins on their front paws and appeared to be thinking deeply. After a long while, they both shook their heads. Wisdom said, “The answer is that he cannot.”

“Wrong.” Steve grinned. “The man looks in the mirror to see what he saw. Then he takes the saw, cuts the table in half, puts the two halves together to make a whole, and crawls out through the hole.”

Both sphinxes leapt up and paced around the circle, roaring. When she could form human words again, Power complained, “That’s wordplay! Sheer foolery! I declare that an abhorrent
breach of the ancient
rules!”

“Oh, and ‘the creature who walks on four feet in the morning’ isn’t wordplay?” asked Steve. “Give me a
break.”

He was getting quite close to Ace now. She seemed to be in one piece and
Grief’s
movements were slowing. He could see a small puddle of glowing yellow liquid sinking into the paving stones, smoking ominously. He decided to stall a bit longer– hopefully, Ace would
awaken.

“OK, if you’re going to be big crybabies about it, I’ll give you a turn. Go ahead; hit me with your best
shot.”

“I’ll ask this one,” Power said with a warning glower at her sister. “It’s quite recent–written only a couple of thousand years ago.” She drew herself up. “It’s better in the original tongue but I’ll be excruciatingly fair and sing it in your harsh modern
manner.”

“I am a wonderful help to women. The hope of something good to come. I harm only my
slayer.

I grow very tall, erect in a bed. I am shaggy down
below.

The lovely girl grabs my body. Rubs my red
skin.

Holds me hard, claims my head. That girl will feel our meeting! I bring tears to her
eyes!”

What am I? Steve thought. …wonderful to women…erect in the bed…rubs my red skin…will bring tears to her eyes. It all seemed fairly clear to
him.

“Obviously, it’s a
man’s–”

A sharp blow to the inside of his knee buckled his leg and he fell to the ground next to Ace. Without opening her eyes, she muttered, “It’s an onion, you fat-headed
pig!”

Steve said loudly, “As I was saying, the answer, obviously, is an
onion.”

Both sphinxes flapped their wings and rose up into the air, screaming curses. Clearly, losing hadn’t been in their plan. Steve frantically stood and tried to put more energy into the shield, which, oddly, seemed to grow stronger only if he put less power into it. He put that thought in the back of his mind for later consideration.

A booming voice began to declaim in the distance. “Lucifer, the Morning Star! Is it she who bears the Light, and with its splendors intolerable, blinds feeble, sensual, or selfish souls?
Doubt it
not!”

The sphinxes fluttered in
confusion.

“Return to your places! The sanctuary cannot be so long unguarded.” The voice continued. “Would you have the people say that the city has lost both Wisdom and
Power?”

It struck Steve that most people believed that wisdom and power had fled Washington long ago. A man–or more accurately, an eleven-foot-tall statue of a man–was approaching with giant strides from the direction of the Old Soldiers’ Graveyard. He had a full beard and hair down to his shoulders framing a smiling face with eyes that seemed to gleam with
mischief.

The statue brandished the book he held in his right hand at the sphinxes. “Get ye home, brainless fowl!” The two stone creatures wheeled, screaming angrily, and fled south at great
speed.

“Well, if it isn’t the
dis
honorable General Pike,” Ace said. Steve spun around to see that she was now standing up and brushing off the back of her jeans. “Confederate general, adulterer, libertine, philosopher, Masonic leader, and Washington
celebrity.”

“How do you feel?” Steve asked
Ace.

“Sort of like a four-barrel Holley carburetor that’s just been rebuilt,” Ace answered. “I think I’m as good as new, but it was a disquieting
experience.”

“You were
conscious?”

“Most of the time.” Ace turned and bowed to the green statue. “Thanks for the tune-up,
ma’am.”

The cowled figure didn’t move–it just looked rather sad. Since it previously had looked incredibly sad, Steve assumed she was pleased. Thankfully, all the hands and their unsettling eyes had vanished.

Ace stretched. “Who’s the guy in the
dreads?”

“Oh, that’s Hamilton Jones.” Steve waved the young man over. “He seems to be plagued by a severe case of prophetic amnesia, but I think that’s because he’s the Hanged Man.
Hamilton, this is Master Chief Morningstar, the Ace of
Swords.”

They shook
hands.

“So, you say tall, strong, and bronze over there fought for the Confederacy?” Steve
asked.

“Yep. The only Confederate general with a statue on federal land anywhere in the nation’s capital.” Steve jumped as a voice came from right behind
him.

He spun around but obviously, the shield had disappeared as soon as he had ceased to concentrate on keeping it in place, because the voice belonged to Old
Howard.

The old marine said, “Gracious, you are jumpy. Good thing I’ve sworn off my old habits or I’d a’ stopped your
heart.”

The ghost indicated the statue. “Albert Pike. Born in Massachusetts, claims he went to Harvard, decided to take off for Arkansas one day without bothering to tell his wife, misplaced his horse out West, and had to walk five hundred miles to Taos, New Mexico. Despite this fairly clear record of unreliability, he was made a general in the Army of the Confederacy, and sent to raise the Indian tribes to fight for the Rebellion. A task he performed without notable success. After the fighting was over, he was jailed as a traitor but pardoned by President Johnson, who was, oddly enough, a fellow Mason. Pike subsequently moved to Washington, became a leader of the Scottish Rite, and wrote a book entitled
The Morals and Dogma of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry
. These days, Freemasons deny that the book is about either morals or dogma, and he’s been accused of being just about everything from a psychic to a psychotic. On the other hand, Lyndon LaRouche hates him, so he’s OK by me.”

“Don’t forget that he had Lucifer’s direct number and they used to chat all the time,” Ace added. “The Masons keep trying to explain that away as well, but I think it’s
cute.”

Pike’s statue came around the corner of the stonewall and entered the alcove where
Grief
stood. He bowed carefully to the avatar where she sat in her
chair.

Steve now thought she looked sad and disapproving, but that could have meant that she was mildly pleased to see Pike. It was
all very nuanced and made his head
hurt.

Pike said, “It’s good to see you again, General Howard.” The old ghost nodded. “And this must be the redoubtable Master Chief Morningstar–Judiciary Square is all abuzz with your exploits–and, well, I have to confess I’m stumped as to which of you is the Fool. Coyote told me that a ‘bunch of damn fools’ needed assistance, but he wasn’t terribly
precise.”

Steve stepped forward and offered his hand; the result was like being gripped in an enormous metal gauntlet. “I’m Steve Rowan and I’ve played the Fool since this
morning.”

“I’ll say,” Ace said in a low
murmur.

Steve could have responded, but to his surprise, he realized that even an insult from the sturdy SEAL was infinitely preferable to her previous
silence.

“Over here, we have Hamilton Jones,” Steve continued. “He’s the Hanged Man but the fact is that he’s generally unconscious when the card’s aspects appear, so he’s usually just Hamilton Jones.”

Hamilton Jones didn’t appear particularly eager to shake the giant’s hand, instead gave him a jaunty salute, and took off running at top speed in the direction of 14
th
Street.

“As you can see, he’s still a bit unnerved by the whole experience. You seem to be acquainted with General Howard…” Steve looked around the small plaza. “…who also seems to have disappeared.”

“You have a problem with troop retention, Mr. Fool.” General Pike laughed. “I had much the same trouble every harvest
time.”

“Well, I’m sure there isn’t anything that the Master Chief and I can’t handle.” Ace gave Steve a contemptuous look and he quickly changed the subject. “So, sir, you said you received a tip from
Coyote?”

“Indeed,” the statue boomed. “We became acquainted back when I was negotiating with the Creeks and the Cherokees, and we’ve kept in touch ever
since.”

Ace said, “Must be tough bargaining with the Master of Lies and
Tricks.”

“Not really,” Pike responded. “I was a lawyer for many years. If anything, we became close because of a mutual admiration of each other’s professional
talents.”

The smartphone on Steve’s belt vibrated and he punched the speakerphone button. “Good afternoon, General,” Barnaby
said.

“Barnaby, is that really you?” The general looked pleased. “Damn, boy, I haven’t spoken to you since they moved that massive sphinx into Fort Meade back in 1973 and almost broke the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel. Where did that ugly thing finally end up?”

“Oh, it’s down in Arizona at the Military Intelligence headquarters in Fort Huachuca. I have heard they still paint her various colors every once in a
while.”

“Are they still installing those enormous
brassieres?”

“No, times have changed since the 60’s.” Barnaby sounded a bit wistful. “You can’t get away with that
anymore–”

“–particularly since anyone in Military Intelligence with a brain is a woman,” Ace cut
in.

“This is true,” Barnaby admitted. “Although, since Military Intelligence has always been the classic oxymoron, how many analysts there are of either gender with a brain remains an open question.”

General Pike laughed. “Well, tell me about yourself, you piece of fossilized FORTRAN. Are you still chasing the kooks and spooks?”

“People like you, you mean? I’m afraid so.” Barnaby’s voice lost its jocular tone. “You have noticed the
Change?”

“Well, yes. It struck me when I was about halfway here that…well, frankly, that I was halfway here. I assumed something extraordinary must have triggered my precipitous
mobility.”

“Yes. A portal was opened by one of the Old Gods after a sacrifice of hundreds of innocents. Magic has been flowing into the Capital all
day.”

“Yes, that would explain the sphinxes flying so far from home.” The statue stroked his beard. “Although the question of why they attacked you remains
unanswered.”

“Speaking of which, Wisdom and Power are from the Scottish Rite Temple,” Steve said. “We’ve already been attacked by the Illuminati–does this mean that all the Freemasons have taken sides?”

“Hell, no. I certainly wasn’t consulted,” the statue said. “I imagine that you ran into Weishaupt and his black-clad henchmen?”

At a nod from Steve, he continued. “That figures. That dumb German is enough to give global conspiracy a bad name. But still, he’s only one of many leaders, and the Masterful Guild hasn’t really agreed on anything since the 1970s. Just look at the fight over Gaudi’s Basilica in
Barcelona.”

“Or their ongoing debate over whether you’re the voice of the Divine or the Devil’s second cousin,” Barnaby said
drily.

“Exactly.” General Pike looked thoughtful. “To be truthful, I came immediately and didn’t consult with any of the Passed Masters
of
the
33
rd
Degree,
much
less
those
99
th
Degree
fellows from Memphis & Misraim. You see, I owed Coyote after the Battle of Pea
Ridge–”

“–I’ll bet you did,” Barnaby interrupted. “Your troops scalped the Third
Iowa.”

“Yes, ‘mistakes were made’,” the general said. “What a felicitous phrase. Mr. Reagan invented it, you know. One of the best I’ve learned in all the years I’ve spent standing around Judiciary Square. I can remember telling Brother Burl
Ives…”

Steve asked, “Burl Ives was a
Mason?”

“Of course. He has a museum and gift shop right next to mine own.”

“That explains so many things.” Ace sat down on the marble ledge, took out her hideaway pistol, and began to break it down for cleaning.

Pike continued as if he hadn’t heard the comment. “Clearly, some of my brothers are deeply involved, but I suspect it’s just a splinter group–The Ancient Mystic Order of Samaritans or the Supreme Lodge of the Mystic Chain or one of that stripe. I’d best be off so that I can make some pointed enquiries at the Temple– right after I give those two Egyptian harpies what
for.”

“It was good to talk to you, General,” Barnaby said. “If we need your help again, may we send up a
pigeon?”

“Pigeons, again?” The giant statue snorted with laughter as he turned to go. “A very old joke, my friend. Very
old.”

Steve watched as Albert Pike walked across the cemetery grass, stepped over the fence, and disappeared in the Soldiers’ Home Cemetery in the direction of Lincoln’s
Cottage.