Not a chance. Sir, I hope this doesn’t jeopardize the firm’s standing —”
“Oh, to hell with the firm’s standing,” Mr. Shotwell said. “It’s just that – you don’t know what’s been going on here, Morrison. You know our Gobi project? In ruins, every bit of it. And it’s not just us. I don’t know, I just don’t know. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not speaking coherently, but ever since Australia sank —”
“What?”
“Yes, sank, sank I tell you. Perhaps we should have suspected something with the hurricanes. But then the earthquakes – but we just don’t know any more.”
“But Mars? Venus? Alpha Centauri?”
“The same everywhere. But we can’t be through, can we, Morrison? I mean, Mankind —”
“Hello, hello,” Morrison called: “What happened?” he asked the operator.
“They conked out,” the operator said. “I’ll try again.”
“Don’t bother,” Morrison said. Just then Rivera dashed in.
“Got every last man on board,” he said. “The ports are sealed. We’re all set to go, Mr. Morrison.”
They were all looking at him. Morrison slumped back in his chair and grinned helplessly.
“We’re all set,” he said. “But where shall we go?”
The Accountant
Mr. Dee was seated in the big armchair, his belt loosened, the evening papers strewn around his knees. Peacefully he smoked his pipe, and considered how wonderful the world was. Today he had sold two amulets and a philter; his wife was bustling around the kitchen, preparing a delicious meal; and his pipe was drawing well. With a sigh of contentment, Mr. Dee yawned and stretched.
Morton, his nine-year-old son, hurried across the living-room, laden down with books.
“How’d school go today?” Mr. Dee called.
“O.K.,” the boy said, slowing down, but still moving toward his room.
“What have you got there?” Mr. Dee asked, gesturing at his son’s tall pile of books.
“Just some more accounting stuff,” Morton said, not looking at his father. He hurried into his room.
Mr. Dee shook his head. Somewhere, the lad had picked up the notion that he wanted to be an accountant. An accountant! True, Morton was quick with figures; but he would have to forget this nonsense. Bigger things were in store for him.
The doorbell rang.
Mr. Dee tightened his belt, hastily stuffed in his shirt and opened the front door. There stood Miss Greeb, his son’s fourth-grade teacher.
“Come in, Miss Greeb,” said Dee. “Can I offer you something?”
“I have no time,” said Miss Greeb. She stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo. With her gray, tangled hair, her thin, long-nosed face and red runny eyes, she looked exactly like a witch. And this was as it should be, for Miss Greeb was a witch.
“I’ve come to speak to you about your son,” she said.
At this moment Mrs. Dee hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I hope he hasn’t been naughty,” Mrs. Dee said anxiously.
Miss Greeb sniffed ominously. “Today I gave the yearly tests. Your son failed miserably.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Dee said. “It’s Spring. Perhaps —”
“Spring has nothing to do with it,” said Miss Greeb. “Last week I assigned the Greater Spells of Cordus, section one. You know how easy they are. He didn’t learn a single one.”
“Hm,” said Mr. Dee succinctly.
“In Biology, he doesn’t have the slightest notion which are the basic conjuring herbs. Not the slightest.”
“This is unthinkable,” said Mr. Dee.
Miss Greeb laughed sourly. “Moreover, he has forgotten all the Secret Alphabet which he learned in third grade. He has forgotten the Protective Formula, forgotten the names of the 99 lesser imps of the Third Circle, forgotten what little he knew of the Geography of Greater Hell. And what’s more, he doesn’t want to learn.”
Mr. and Mrs. Dee looked at each other silently. This was very serious indeed. A certain amount of boyish inattentiveness was allowable; encouraged, even, for it showed spirit. But a child had to learn the basics, if he ever hoped to become a full-fledged wizard.
“I can tell you right here and now,” said Miss Greeb, “if this were the old days, I’d flunk him without another thought. But there are so few of us left.”
Mr. Dee nodded sadly. Witchcraft had been steadily declining over the centuries. The old families died out, or were snatched by demoniac forces, or became scientists. And the fickle public showed no interest whatsoever in the charms and enchantments of ancient days.
Now, only a scattered handful possessed the Old Lore, guarding it, teaching it in places like Miss Greeb’s private school for the children of wizards. It was a heritage, a sacred trust.
“It’s this accounting nonsense,” said Miss Greeb. “I don’t know where he got the notion.” She stared accusingly at Dee. “And I don’t know why it wasn’t nipped in the bud.[7]” Mr. Dee felt his cheeks grow hot.
“But I do know this. As long as Morton has that on his mind, he can’t give his attention to Thaumaturgy.”
Mr. Dee looked away from the witch’s red eyes. It was his fault. He should never have brought home that toy adding machine. And when he first saw Morton playing at double-entry bookkeeping, he should have burned the ledger. But how could he know it would grow into an obsession? Mrs. Dee smoothed out her apron, and said, “Miss Greeb, you know you have our complete confidence. What would you suggest?”
“All I can do I have done,” said Miss Greeb. “The only remaining thing is to call up Boarbas, the Demon of Children. And that, naturally, is up to you.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s that serious yet,” Mr. Dee said quickly. “Calling up Boarbas is a serious measure.”
“As I said, that’s up to you,” Miss Greeb said. “Call Boarbas or not, as you see fit. As things stand now, your son will never be a wizard.” She turned and started to leave.
“Won’t you stay for a cup of tea?” Mrs. Dee asked hastily.
“No, I must attend a Witch’s Coven in Cincinnati,” said Miss Greeb, and vanished in a puff of orange smoke.
Mr. Dee fanned the smoke with his hands and closed the door. “Phew,” he said. “You’d think she’d use a perfumed brand.”
“She’s old-fashioned,” Mrs. Dee murmured. They stood beside the door in silence. Mr. Dee was just beginning to feel the shock. It was hard to believe that his son, his own flesh and blood, didn’t
why it wasn’t nipped in the bud – почему это не было пресечено в корне, подавлено в зародыше
