[Author's note: Fiction Friday! again, with the fourth chapter of our novel, Bob the Mage, which I wrote some years ago and am reviving now for your reading... perhaps pleasure is too strong a word. When last we saw our hero (in chapter 3, here, and before that in chapter 2, here, then 1, back in April) he was stuck alone in the scrubland wilderness with no food, the Gallstone of the Gods having been stolen from him along with his rations by fellow loser mage Lefro. Bob has no idea how to get to civilization before he starves to death...]
Bob the Mage
By Frederick Key
Chapter 4
It’s never a good day when you’re considering willful death
by monster. Then I thought of an old exercise my old master, Simon the Unsteady,
used to make me do.
Bob,
lad, he’d say, magic is a force of
nature, like lightning and magnetism and gravity. It emanates from the spirit
of the world itself. All creatures have the potential to use it, but the more
intelligent the creature, the more he can shape it to his will. This is why you
see very few wombat magicians. Now, most people don’t have the aptitude to
access this potential, so they never even get as far as you. Follow me?
No,
I’d say.
So,
since it emanates from the world, you can concentrate on it and tune in with
it. Focus, Bob. Feel it turning beneath you, feel the molten rock shifting,
feel the water sloshing about, feel the life in distant cities. It’s a nifty
trick and impresses the babes. Now you try it. Then he’d cuff my ear and collapse
into a stupor often as not.
I’d tried the tuning in bit many
times, frequently when I was studying under Simon, occasionally since if I was
bored and had nothing going on, but all I ever felt was the floor under my
butt. I always figured that my failure was one reason I never amounted to much
in the mage game. Oh, sure, card tricks, juggling, and larceny, but they
weren’t real magic and they couldn’t help me in this current predicament. I
decided to try the tuning in thing again.
Eyes closed, mind blank. Quiet,
peaceful. Concentrate. Calm, cool, mind… drifting…
I’m
gonna die out here, I’m just gonna die, I’m gonna starve to death, just
suffering the whole time
Stop that! Mind BLANK! DRIFTing,
peaceful, calm… calm…
and
some jackal will come along and eat me while I’m still alive and I’ll linger
under the blazing sun and
CALM, COOL, peaceful, an oasis of
serenity, soul filled with light, mind bla—
gonna
die gonna die gonna die die die
Just calm down, now, mind, coooool
down those racing thoughts, STOP WITH THE THOUGHTS ALREADY, just cool calmness,
calm coolness, cool calmosity, calm coolification…
die
die die die die die die
If you don’t knock it off, I will die, you stupid mind; now stop
thinking and let me reach for the earth, the winds, the rains, the living
things
the
dying things, the dead things, die die die
tuning in now, getting myself so
calm I’m almost asleep
DIE
om
DIE
ommm
DIE
ommmY GOD I’m GONNA DIE
(city)
Wait, what was that?
Nothing,
you were busy dying
(city)
I had done it! I felt a slight
tingle of thousands of human beings congregated in a living, active city, and I
knew where it lay to the north as certainly as if I had been grabbed by the
chin and pointed toward it. I knew it was not that far, and I wouldn’t have to
climb a bunch of mountains to get there, either. I jumped up, did a little jig,
told my subconscious to pound sand, and headed in the direction of the city.
It was tough going, especially in those army boots, which still were not broken in. Thinking about that made me realize that I was officially deserting the Tegoran army, but it didn’t worry me much. I thought I’d paid plenty for my crimes, whatever they thought, and they’d probably figure I was dead unless Lefro admitted he’d seen me alive. If Lefro survived the trip back to Tegora to claim the reward, he’d probably concoct some story about being the last survivor of the party, nobly fighting through to bring Maximo the Gallstone. That’s what I would have done.
It was tough going, especially in those army boots, which still were not broken in. Thinking about that made me realize that I was officially deserting the Tegoran army, but it didn’t worry me much. I thought I’d paid plenty for my crimes, whatever they thought, and they’d probably figure I was dead unless Lefro admitted he’d seen me alive. If Lefro survived the trip back to Tegora to claim the reward, he’d probably concoct some story about being the last survivor of the party, nobly fighting through to bring Maximo the Gallstone. That’s what I would have done.
A new city awaited me, and that put
lightness in my heart. Someplace with food and drink, bored citizens in need of
magical entertainment in the form of light prestidigitation and tricks
nefarious, with big fat purses, who didn’t know my reputation. Rapture!
But first it was a three-day walk
over the wastes, three hungry days that I managed to survive with some tips I
learned in Basic and with sneakiness. My travels with the Tegorans taught me a
few plants that could be eaten without death, and I caught a couple of prairie
dogs for lunch with a Zap Vermin spell (usually used for rat-catching). The
weather was dry, but I encountered enough watering holes to keep going.
Fortunately I encountered no monsters, and nothing tried to devour me.
I arrived at the gates of Purgor
just as the sun set. Two towers, each with one guard, bounded the gates.
“Who goes there?” yelled one of the
guards. They were way up high.
“Bob!” I shouted.
“Bob of what?”
“Bob of necessity but not of
nature.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“What do you want in Purgor?”
“I wish to put my hand to noble
work, helping society in any way I can.”
“Got any money?”
“A few coppers… Oh, and gold! Yeah,
pile of gold. Almost forgot.”
“How much?”
“Uh…”
“Can we have some?”
“Um… I may have exaggerated—”
“Just let him in, Jerry, before he
bores us to death. He looks harmless.”
“Useless, you mean, Murk.”
“Oh, he’d be the only one in town,
huh?”
Purgor was a lush seaside town, by
which I mean it had wild pigs to eat the garbage. It had colorful manses high
up on a hill in the town’s center, whitewashed huts in rings farther down,
happy and fat citizens, and lively exchanges of gold and silver. The only seedy
part of town I could see was the waterfront. I headed there immediately.
I quickly found lodgings with a Mr.
Homer S. Uncouth, proprietor of the Pig & Snorkel. A kindly old codger was
he, whose cherubic smile and sweet disposition did little to dispel his
reputation for stabbing lodgers who were late with rent as they slept. His wife
was a piece of work, too.
“I run a respectable inn, young
man,” he said, cleaning his nails with a long dagger. “No loud music, no late
liaisons, no busting the furniture, no fighting, no wailing and gnashing of
teeth. Friday is rent day, first week up front, two meals a day served by my
lovely bride, no bleeding in the dining room. Do not be late with the rent. Am
I understood?”
I had just enough coppers from my
army pay to get the week paid with one whole copper left over. That would be
enough to get me a stale bun. I hoped his wife was a good cook, but I had my
doubts. Her permanent resting sneer could curdle butter.
After a brisk walk through the slum
to soak up the local color, I settled down to dinner. The beefy Mrs. Uncouth
served up some mouthwatering gruel, with four crackers to a man, some watery
beer, and a small blob of meat, the origin of which was of some spirited discussion
among the lodgers. After months of army food and three days of prairie dog it
was—well, it was still pretty bad, but it didn’t kill me.
My fellow lodgers, however, looked
like they might. Two elderly peg-legged and hook-handed sailors sat alongside
me; across the table were four assorted cutthroats; and at the head of the
table was a ratty dwarf.
“Hey,” I said by way of
conversation, “I haven’t seen many dwarves in these parts.”
“With food like this, it’s no
wonder,” he said.
He seemed okay, but the cutthroats rubbed me the wrong way. They seemed like the kind who would sneak into
one’s room and pilfer one’s possessions, and use up all one’s aftershave.
Worse, they seemed like the kind whose own possessions weren’t worth pilfering,
and whose taste in aftershave was lousy. I was on my guard.
Despite my caution, I was able to
rest up for a couple of days at the inn, recovering from my adventures and not
getting fat on Mrs. Uncouth’s comestibles. Then I decided it was time to make
some cash for next week’s expenses.
I proceeded to the marketplace
where I set to the usual, juggling, telling jokes, making things disappear, and
I did well. My hopes for the city were met. I got coins from an appreciate
audience, and if there were any wary ones who expected I was a distraction
while an accomplice picked their pockets, they soon realized they were wrong. I
could handle that all on my own, and no one caught me at it, either. Soon I had
enough to get a decent pair of boots and replenish my magic supplies. You’d be
amazed how much Eye of Newt can run in northern cities. Yes, things seemed to
be looking up for Young Bob, which should have been a sign that they were about
to fall apart. They usually do.
Sure enough, halfway through the
next week, I was doing the dagger shtick for the last crowd of the day when I
found myself in a headlock. The daggers fell around me, and I nearly said
good-bye to a few toes.
“Is your name Bob?” asked the
ruffian who had grabbed me.
“Gik.”
“Come on. No funny stuff, now.”
Funny stuff is hard to do when
you’re being dragged along in a headlock by someone twice your size who doesn’t
much care about your ability to breathe. It was a Purgor guardsman, but that
was not apparent initially. They dress them cheap; you can usually only tell by
the red feather in the helm, which I couldn’t see from my current position. He
dragged like a cop, though, and I figured I’d gotten away with one
shenanigan too many and was about to get horsewhipped, or wind up drafted into
the Purgor army. Once again my life’s calling had ended in trouble. Or so I
thought.
The Purgor guardsman base is
located on the waterfront, which showed efficient planning all around. It’s a short,
squat building that nevertheless has plenty of cell space to hold scoundrels until
they can be sent somewhere even worse. I was brought to a room with a small,
square window and stale, hot air, and thrown on the floor.
“Is this the man?” growled my
captor.
I looked up to see my accuser, and
my heart stopped. Before me were two Tegoran soldiers who held a beaten and
chained Lefro. Normally I’d have been thrilled to see his cuts and bruises, but
not now.
“That’s the one!” Lefro squealed.
“He abandoned the party to its fate, deserted the army, tried to steal the
Gallstone from me, caused the plagues, started the wars, brought the rats, ate
the last piece of cake, butchered my uncle Sneeve, and—”
“Lefro, you lying sack of manure!” I
would have strangled him if the Purgor guardsman didn’t have a heel on my
spine. “He’s the one who stole the Gallstone, after I rescued it from the
Labyrinth of Misery! I, the last surviving member of the expedition! I’ll bet
he never even had an Uncle Sneeve! Who names their kid Sneeve?”
“It’s a family name!”
“LIAR!”
“Enough!” shouted the guardsman,
punctuating his remark by moving his heel to my head. “They’re obviously guilty
as sin. I leave them to you guys.”
“Nice extradition statute,” I said,
“but I’m innocent!”
All right, not innocent, if you want to quibble, but I’d be damned if I let Lefro
put my head in the noose. Although I’d lost my daggers I still had my pouch. I
faked a hacking cough and slipped my hand into the pouch where the fresh Eye of
Newt awaited. Tossing it in the air I made the magic incantation: “Zippidy doo
dah, zippidy ay! Turn these suckers into clay!” Along with the appropriate
gestures, of course.
Had it worked, all four of them
would have been paralyzed for a several minutes. As it happened, they were only
slowed down a bit, and I had a feeling it would be a short bit. I got to my feet
and headed for the door.
“Sssstaaahhhpppp thhhaaaaatt
maaaaaan!” shouted one of the soldiers, and the Purgor guard grabbed at me, but
I squirted away easily and slammed the door behind me. Then I walked
nonchalantly toward the exit, smiling and whistling. Not easy, smiling and
whistling at the same time. When I hit the street I heard a regular-speed shout,
and I ran like merry hell.
It was twilight now, and although I
figured I could hide better at night, the local authorities knew the town
better than I ever would, and after my little trick they wouldn’t stop until I
swung. I just kept running and hoping for a brilliant idea.
“Psst!” I heard from an alley.
I stopped. I can be stupid like
that when I’m panicking. “Yeah?”
“Need a place to hide?”
“Umm—yeah.”
“This way.”
I couldn’t see my new best friend
well, for he was just a small shadow in the darkness of the alley, but I
followed that shadow all the same. We went down a dank and crumbling staircase,
hearing the drip of water and the scuttle of rats, and then through a narrow
tunnel that stank of dead fish and mold. We got to an iron door. He removed the
bar that sealed it and pulled it open.
Behind it was a pier, on a narrow
ledge that would be under water at high tide. As I stepped onto the slippery
rock, I was grabbed from behind, a blade poking my neck, “Be quiet!” hissed in
my ear. I was getting used to this kind of behavior, and while I should have
been terrified, I was just hoping it wasn’t the guardsmen or the Tegorans.
I would have cause to rethink that
hope shortly.
A boat, rowed by a powerful,
bearded sailor came alongside the ledge. In the boat sat a fat, ugly man with
an eye patch and a tricorne hat. The dwarf from the inn, for it was he who led
me here, stepped from behind me and said, “Got one for ya, Cap’n.”
“Scrawny,” said the fat man. “You
won’t get yer usual price.”
“Be fair, now, Cap’n! This man uses
magicks and such.”
“If he’s so mighty, what’s he doing
in your clutches?”
The dickered for a bit, but the
dwarf finally got a silver piece for me. In Tegora, that would have bought him
half a hog. I was worth half a hog.
While I was feeling depressed, the
thugs behind me slipped a canvas sack over me, and before I could tell them how
badly I got seasick, the sack was tied and I was thrown like so many potatoes
onto the boat. The sack smelled like potatoes, tell you the truth. I heard the
sound and felt the motion of rowing, and soon we reached a ship that lay at
anchor in the harbor. I was freed so I could climb the rope ladder. The swords
and arrows trained on my face and my rear end convinced me not to try swimming for it.
We reassembled on the deck.
“Welcome to me ship!” said the captain. “And don’t vomit so loud while I’m talkin’ to yeh. You’re a sickly one, ain’tcha, matey? Well, you’ll get some sea legs soon enough, or be fed to the fishes! Right, me hearties?”
“Welcome to me ship!” said the captain. “And don’t vomit so loud while I’m talkin’ to yeh. You’re a sickly one, ain’tcha, matey? Well, you’ll get some sea legs soon enough, or be fed to the fishes! Right, me hearties?”
I turned from the rail for a moment
and saw the nastiest looking bunch of sea dogs imaginable, whittling their
peglegs and picking their ears with sabers. They looked at me like I was a
perfect medium-rare steak.
I got homesick
for the Tegoran army once again.
-----------
[Bob's in the soup once again -- pressed into service on a pirate ship! Out of the frying pan and into Davy Jones' Locker! Can he survive? Can he escape? Can he swim? Can he walk the plank? Find out next week in chapter 5!]
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