Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk

THE CURSE OF THE OBELISK 51
CHAPTER 12
Harry circled the rough-hewn wooden table. The table nearly filled the vine covered arbor next
to the hillside cottage the Great Lorenzo had brought him to last night.
Spread out atop it were several of the ordinance maps Inspector Swann had loaned him. Resting
his sore backside against the table edge, Harry traced his good forefinger along another of the
probable routes the hijackers could've taken after running the special train into the lake.
"Lake Knochen." He looked away from the map, out from the arbor. The spires of Kaltzonburg
were still blurred with morning mist far downhill. "Jennie's not dead."
"Scat!" came the voice of the Great Lorenzo from within the cottage. "Begone."
Harry sat down on one of the benches, studying a map and absently rubbing his cast.
From around the side of the whitewashed stone cottage came the magician. "Have you ever
awakened from an uneasy night's sleep to find an obese calico cat sleeping on your chest?" he
inquired.
"Once, in Estonia."
"No wonder I was dreaming I'd become Santa Claus." He wore an impressive dressing gown
that was covered with realistic depictions of gigantic orange and black tropical flowers. "You're
looking much more chipper this morning, my boy.'"
"Not quite up to chipper yet, but getting close." From the arbor you would see part of the
winding dirt road, a quarter mile off, that climbed their hillside. A leathery old farmer was urging a
half dozen shaggy goats downhill. "About my fainting last night. I—"
"Think nothing of it." The Great Lorenzo seated himself on another of the wooden benches.
"I've swooned a few times myself. The initial instance I can clearly recall took place during my
vanished youth and involved my seeing, in a nearly undraped state, the first tattooed lady I had ever
. . . Are you in the mood for breakfast?"
"Not very hungry."
"Coffee then?"
"That'd be fine."
"Haven't tried this particular magic word for many a moon. Let us see if it's still efficacious."
He lifted up one of the big maps and slid a plump hand under it. "Presto!"
The hand reappeared holding a steaming mug of coffee.
Taking it, Harry grinned. "Suppose I had asked for breakfast?"
"Presto." From beneath the map he produced a china plate holding a fat, many-layered pastry.
"Shame to waste this, now I've conjured it up." From behind his left ear he plucked a silver fork.
"Enough sugar in your coffee, my boy?"
Harry sampled it and nodded.