CONJURE WIFE
By Fritz Leiber, Jr.
Illustrated by Kramer
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Unknown Worlds April 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I.
"I keep wondering if she knows about Us," said the woman with blackbutton eyes. She played the queen of spades.
The queen of hearts trumped the queen of spades. "You can put your mindat rest," said the silver-haired woman sweetly, gathering in the trick."She doesn't. Tansy Saylor plays a lone hand. Like most women, shethinks she's the Only One. Co-operation such as ours is rare."
"But I'm afraid of her. Oh, I know she hasn't upset the Balance, anduses only Protective Procedures. But she isn't our kind. Neither is herhusband. They don't belong."
The silver-haired woman nodded primly, peering through her thickglasses at the dummy with the empty chair behind it. "I agree. TheSaylors are a disgrace to the Hempnell faculty. Modern. No sense of thetraditional decencies."
"Yes, and she wants to make him president of Hempnell. She wants him todictate to our husbands. She wants to condescend to us."
"This talk gets nowhere," broke in the stout, red-haired woman gruffly."The point is that her Protective Procedures are effective—many thingswould have happened to the Saylors during the last ten years if theyweren't. And she hasn't made the mistake of upsetting the Balance. Sowhat can we three do about it?"
"Oh, the Balance!" said the woman with black button eyes, throwing downher last two cards. "Sometimes I think we ought to upset it ourselves."She evaded the shocked glance of the silver-haired woman. "We've ourSounds, and our Pictures, and our Numbers, and our Cards. We couldfinish the Saylors in a whiff. There's such a neat trick with cardsI've just learned. Here, let me show you—" She slipped a dozen shinypaste-board oblongs out of her purse. They had the conventional backs,but their faces bore representations of a cryptic sort.
"Stop that!" The silver-haired woman stretched out fluttering hands.
"Put them away!" ordered the stout woman harshly. She glanced at thedoor. "Quickly!"
But the eyes of the little man who ambled in were not inquisitive.With white beard and amiable smile, he looked almost benign, in anabsent-minded sort of way.
"I don't suppose you played much bridge while I was gone," he observedwith mild joviality.
The silver-haired woman's laughter trilled sweetly. "It's his littlejoke. He always pretends that all women are fearful gossips. Well, atleast I made the contract, dear. Four hearts."
His eyes twinkled. "Very commendable." He settled himself in the emptychair. "Still I imagine the three of you managed to find time for somevery dark and devious plotting—" He chuckled innocently.
Norman Saylor, professor of ethnology at Hempnell College, was not thesort of man to go snooping around in his wife's dressing room. That waspartly the reason why he did it. He was sure nothing could touch thesecurity of the relationship between him and Tansy.
The house was very quiet. Spring sunshine and balmy air were sluicinggently through the bedroom windows. It wasn't five minutes since hehad put in the final staccato burst of typing on his "Negro Recruit"brochure for the War Office. It looked as if for once they would have alazy evening to themselves.
Tot