The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

"Interesting." Michael took the jar from me, wrapped it in a green silk cloth with several magical symbols inscribed on it in pigeon's blood. "When must you have results from the analysis?"

"Yesterday would be good," I said. He laughed the small, polite laugh of a man who not only doesn't have the best sense of humor ever hatched but also has been besieged by importunate clients more times than he cares to remember.

I went on, "Seriously, if I can have this tomorrow some time, that would be great. The stuff is suspected of being involved in an apsychia case, and may be linked to several others up in the Valley."

"Ah, I see. This tells me what I need to set my priorities for the coming work." Michael Manstein is too compulsively precise'to get sloppy with the language and say things like prioritize.

"That's nice," I said. Whatever his priorities were, the potion wasn't at the top of them. He went back to scribing his circle. I turned to go; trying to hurry Manstein is like faying to make the sun rise faster. Then I had an afterthought.

"Whose sorcerers tools do you use, Michael?"

He finished the circle before he answered; one thing at a time with Michael Manstein. "I order them from Bakhtiar's," he said at last. "They've always given me good results."

Back before the Industrial Revolution, a wizard had to be his own smith, his own woodworker, his own tanner. If he didn't make his instruments himself - sometimes right down to refining the ore from which a metal would be drawn - they wouldn't be property attuned to him and would give weak results or none at all.

Modem technology has changed aH that Correct application of the law of contagion allows thaumaturgical tools to keep the mystic links to their original manufacturer even when someone else uses them, while the law of similarity permits their attunement to any wizard because of his likeness to the mage who made them. Some firms take one approach, some the other, some seek to combine the two.

Michael asked, "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because I thought you used Bakhtiar's tools," I answered,

"and because Bakhtiar's may be somehow connected to the jar of potion I just gave you. What I know is that Bakhtiar's dumps at Devonshire, and there may be an involvement between the Devonshire dump case and this stuff. Its a circumstantial link if its there at all, but I figured you ought to know about it"

"You're right Thank you," Manstein said. "I have a spare set my father brought with him when he came here from Alemania after tile First Sorcerous War. I'U use that to make sure there's no conflict ofsorcerous interest"

"Makes sense," I said. "And Michael-"

"Yes?"

"Be careful ofwhats in that jar. I have the bad feeling it's really vicious."

Tin always careful," Manstein said.

The phone yelled at me. I felt like yelling right back. I'd spend most of Ae morning trying to put together a panel to investigate the thecological status of the Chumash Indian Powers, and I wasn't having much luck. Half the people I'd talked to seemed convinced in advance that the Powers were extinct and good riddance to them. If you listened to the other half, you'd move eight million people out of the Barony of Angels so the Powers could have free rein as they did in the days when the Chumash lived here.

"David Fisher, Environmental Perfection Agency."

It wasn't any of the thecologists, for which I thanked God. It was Michael Manstein. He said, could you come down to the laboratory, please? I'd like to discuss the specimen you brought me for analysis."

"Okay, if you want me to." As soon as I'd heard his voice, I'd picked up a leadstick and a pad of foolscap. "But can't you just tell me what's in it over the phone?"

"I'd really rather not," he said. Judging somebody's tone on the phone is always risky, and Michael wouldn't be anything but mild and serious even if Ae world started coming to an end around him. But I didn't dunk he sounded cheerful.

Some new safety symbols were up around the lab, but I didn't pay them any particular attention. Like any wizard worth his lab robe, Manstein was always fiddling with his protective setup. Technology changes all the time; if you don't keep up, it's your soul you're risking. Michael Manstein wasn't a man to take risks he could avoid.

"What do you have for me?" I asked as I came through the door. He'd arranged more amulets inside the lab, too; a lot of them featured the feadiered serpent. I made the connection. 'Is it as bad as that?"

He stared at me. His eyes had a slighdy unfocused look I'd never seen in them before, as if he'd gone fishing for minnows and hooked the Midgard Serpent. On his lab table stood the ex-tartar-sauce jar I'd given him. Around it was scribed a sevenfold circle. Let me put it like dris: they only protect the intercontinental megasalamander launch sites with eight. It wasn't "as bad as that," it was worse.