Max Allan Collins

and mixtures, brewing colorfully over a series of oil lamps. The chemical smells that permeated the mod­est chamber were unknown to Mathayus, and sent his nose twitching like a rabbit's.

Then one of the vials cooking over a flame re­acted, minorly but impressively, creating a hisssss that turned into a pooof, spewing acrid smoke.

As we have said, Mathayus was as brave a war­rior as any; but such witchcraft spooked this excep­tional man whose only schooling was in the ways of battle, and he was looking about him for a means of escape when someone—the smoke was getting thick—began to cough.

The Akkadian spun, and as a figure emerged from the chemical fog, the warrior thrust his scimitar and stopped the man's movement. Mathayus did not cut down the eccentric-looking creature, however, rather just stopped him there, touching the tip of the sword's blade to the man's throat.

Small, with unkempt white hair, his slight frame bound up in unprepossessing robes, the little man said, 'Good lord . .. what a stench! Price of progress ... I am Philos! Can I help you, sir?'

Gazing into the odd little fellow's guileless eyes, Mathayus somehow how knew he'd blundered onto someone whom he could risk trusting. In any event, the magician ... for surely that was who this human curiosity was ... seemed no threat.

'I need a way to get of here,' Mathayus said, frankly.

But before his host could answer, a banging at the barred door interrupted, and rough voices called, 'Open up! Open up in there!'

The Akkadian swung around, scimitar poised, ready to fight.

'Oh my,' Philos said.

'Go ahead,' Mathayus said, always ready to die well. 'Open it.'

'No! No, no, no ... there'll be none of that here, no violence.... Here, come this way.'

Moments later, Philos unbarred his door and gra­ciously gestured for his callers to come in, which they did, in a rush, red-turbaned guards piling in, with the much-feared Thorak at their lead.

'Oh,' Philos groaned. 'Thorak ... must you be a brute in your every waking moment? Cannot you leave me in peace?'

'You'd rest in peace, if I had my way, magician,' Thorak said, as his men began to search the cluttered laboratory, treating Philos's precious inventions with rough disdain.

'Please!' Philos said. 'Take care with those.'

'Guard your tongue,' Thorak growled. 'My pa­tience is thin today.'

'How unusual,' Philos said under his breath.

The scarred-faced Thorak strode to a table of experiments and lifted up a dish of black powder, pinching some of the substance, sniffing it.

'Careful, there!' Philos cried. 'That's extremely dangerous! Magic powder from China!'

Thorak smirked at the magician, blowing the powder onto the flame of a nearby candle; the action made a small, not particularly impressive poof. This summoned another smirk from the massive head of the guards.

Philos shrugged. 'Well, I haven't quite ciphered the correct compound, as yet.'

Contempt colored Thorak's expression as a force­ful hand swept the dish of powder to the hard floor, where it shattered.

Then the scarred guard stepped up threateningly to the little magician until the former's breastplate brushed the nose of the latter. 'You are fortunate that Lord