Wizard
"I try to keep track of all our men," Claerten thought. "In a case like
yours, I try harder."
"My foolishness," Jonas thought, "sometimes works to my benefit."
Claerten's thought was wry. "If you hadn't got impatient and tried to
hurry things," his voice said in Jonas' mind, "you wouldn't be back in
your cell now. There is a time and a place for your disclosure--"
"Another day in here would have driven me out of my wits," Jonas
thought.
"Better out of your wits than dead," Claerten thought.
Jonas sighed.
"However," Claerten went on, "there is still a way out for you. I have
read the situation in your mind, and your next move will have to be
rather more spectacular than usual."
"So long as it works," Jonas said, "I will be satisfied."
"It will work," Claerten said. "At least--I think it will."
Another day dragged by. Jonas put in his time alternately going over the
new plan and feeling more frightened than he had ever believed possible.
Claerten reached him once, but the contact was weak and fleeting; the
director hadn't enough strength to reach him again, at least not for a
day or so. Jonas was exactly where he'd wanted to be: on his own.
He hated the idea.
Time passed, somehow. When morning dawned, Jonas awoke to find the door
of his cell being unlocked. The bald man and the black-haired man were
both there. He looked up at them with distaste.
Then he saw what was in their minds, and the distaste changed to fear.
"You have confessed," the bald one said. "It is necessary that you
ratify your confession. Come with us."
Jonas knew what that meant: ratification of a free confession took place
under torture. He wiped his face with one hand, but he hardly thought of
escaping.
He had to go through with the plan.
The two guards came into the cell and gripped his arms. Jonas allowed
himself to be carried out into the corridor, and down it to a great
wooden door. The guards opened it, and dragged him through.
The torture chamber was brightly lit, with torches in brackets along the
walls that gave off, by a small fraction, more light than smoke. In one
corner the rack itself stood, and there were other tools of the trade
scattered around the room.
Jonas found that he was sweating.
The guards brought him to the center of the room. Knupf was standing
near him, a perfectly blank expression on his face. His voice was the
same rough rasp, but it seemed almost mechanical.
"You have confessed to me," he said, "your heresy. Now, you will be made
to ratify your confession. That done, your penalty will be exacted."
And the penalty, of course, would be death--death at the stake.
He forced himself to remain calm. Now was the time for his play. He took
a deep breath and felt the strength in him gather to a single point and
flow outward. The two men suddenly seemed to stagger; there was a second
of confusion and they had let him go. He stood alone in the room. He
turned and walked to the door, but he did not open it. Instead, he
leaned against it.
He forced his voice into the patterns of calmness and ease. "Your men
cannot touch me," he said.
"Wizard--"
"No," Jonas said. The confusion he was broadcasting kept the men from
doing anything that required even a simple plan, but he couldn't keep it
up for long. "A man like yourself, a man with a particular talent, given
by God."
"The name of God--"
"I can say that name," Jonas told the Inquisitor. "No wizard may say
it."
"It is a trick," Knupf said.
Jonas shook his head. "Not at all. I will ask you to do nothing against
the Faith; I will merely ask you to test for yourself what I say."
"You are a heretic," Knupf said stubbornly. "I can not--"
"You can pray," Jonas said.
Knupf blinked. "Pray?" he said.
"Meditate on a prayer," Jonas said. "Keep your mind open, keep yourself
ready for the gift of God. It will descend on you."
Knupf shook his head. "It is a trick--" he began.
"A trick?" Jonas said. "With the prayers of God and His Church?"
And that was the unanswerable question. For no wizard could use the name
of God, no wizard could pray. So the Inquisition said; so Knupf said, so
Knupf had to say, and so he had to believe.
Slowly, his mind opened and became receptive. The prayer hung in the air
of the smoky room. Jonas slipped in--
"Now," he said quietly.
His control slipped. The two guards came toward him, overpowered and
held him in a brief second--
"Wait," the Inquisitor said heavily. "Wait. Release him."
* * * * *
"And so," Claerten thought, "the job was accomplished."
"Naturally," Jonas thought.
Claerten's thought had an overtone of weariness. "There is no need to be
smug," he told Jonas. "After all, you did not do the job yourself."
"Unimportant," Jonas thought. "The man is convinced; he can be trained
further and join the Brotherhood."
"It will take time," Claerten said. "A few years, perhaps. But in the
meantime there will be no trials in Speyer."
"No trials?" Jonas thought. "But ... oh. I see."
"Of course," Claerten thought. "Any man who considers himself a wizard
will have his mind seen by the Inquisitor. And since there are no
wizards--at least, none we have discovered--"
"The trials will cease," Jonas finished.
"And the Brotherhood has gained a new member," Claerten said. "A member
with influence and power. It is an important step forward, Jonas."
"Of course," Jonas thought disinterestedly.
"Yet you seem bored by the matter," Claerten thought, puzzled. "I don't
see ... oh. I see the woman in your mind. The daughter. And--"
"Now, stop it," Jonas thought. "Stop it. Cut off. After all," he
finished, "there are times when even a hero wants a little privacy."
Postscript:
_In 1605-1606 (in Offenburg) there were no executions...._
--H. C. Lea, "Materials Toward a History of Witchcraft," Vol. III, p.
1148.
THE END