by Galen Wolf
"Pardon?" he said.
"I said 'what should we do now?'," said William.
Zventibold again seemed to be having some trouble speaking. "Erm, well, I can go and see about the god-emperorship tomorrow, I supposed. We'd better go and find somewhere to stay."
William agreed that this was a good idea and soon their search had led them onto a small side street. It was very narrow but in front of them, over a doorway, was a crudely painted sign which spelled Cora's Cathouse.
"Look!" said Zventibold. "There's a hotel, and if they take cats they're sure to be nice people."
William agreed silently with his master but some sixth sense told him that this hotel was more than it seemed.
Inside, an overweight, luridly painted, woman greeted them. She spoke Pirakteshi but only in the barbarous dialect of the northern mountains. Her tutor had obviously been a shepherd. When Zventibold remarked on this, she seemed a trifle put out.
"Aye," she said, "but that meks nee odds. It'll cost ye, twenty groats each and fifteen for byath t'osses. Plus extra for company, if ye tek me meanin'."
Zventibold paid her the money and informed her that they were sociable chaps and would certainly not pay for company. Even the company of cats, which is what he took her to mean. "I'm fond of furry pussies," he said, "but I find they're always wanting stroked, and sometimes licked…"
William raised one eyebrow. Zventibold noticed and said, "No, William, my stroking is legendary among pussy kind." The woman snorted and a dizzy young damsel in a revealing summer outfit led them up to their room, for it seemed that the two men were to spend the night together.
William went to sleep in the armoire where Zventibold forced him, while Zventibold got the huge circular bed, that turned lazily under a mirrored ceiling. Truth be told, William was happier in the bed as he couldn't bear to see a mostly naked Zventibold lazily turning above him all night. What with the hump and all, it wasn't William's thing. Also the sheets were stained yellow, William didn't know what with. Certainly not with any liquid that came out of a man like him. The room, smelled of something unguessable but acrid and salty. Zventibold wondered if it was kippers. He said to William, "This is disgusting. We're moving somewhere else tomorrow."
"Ar," said William faintly, from the armoire
After a nap, they went down to the bar for their supper; their first in Glittering Kharkesh, the Fabulous. The only thing on the menu was a rather unwholesome leek and donkey soup. William voiced the suspicion that the meat was not even donkey, but rather maggots. But they both agreed it was better than mangoes, for they had grown mightily weary of that luscious fruit. They had some cheescake for pudding and even Zventibold was forced to admit that it was rather good. He was put off only somewhat when he found a curly black hair in it, such as he grew himself in his secret places. William voiced another suspicion - that the cheesecake contained no cheese.
"Ridiculous, William. If not cheese, then what?"
"I was thinking smeg," answered William.
Zventibold, not knowing what smeg was, but not wishing to seem ignorant in front of his servant, grew quiet.
It was just at that moment that two young things came to see them and sat one on William's knee, the other on Zventibold's. One had long blonde hair and was eyeing William rather saucily. In the quiet of his own counsel, William thought he had long forgot what one should do with a young blonde thing, but he hoped against hope that it would come back to him. Soon, the blonde imp had wound her arm through his and was making him smile by telling him things so quietly that Zventibold could not hear. He thought they were probably jokes about Wamawamas as William had recently some unfortunate sectarian tendencies and jokes about Wamawamas and their silly god Franklin always made him laugh.
Zventibold felt rather uncomfortable with his young female visitor. She was stroking him seductively on his thigh. Or she thought it was seductive but in fact it brought back all the horrors of his late wife, Mavis's, more unsavoury hobbies; hobbies that invariably left Zventibold sore, humiliated and aching. He knew what this little floozy wanted and she certainly wasn't going to get it from him. He was however an aristocrat and he had manners. The girl hadn't introduced herself properly although she was blowing something into his ear. Zventibold asked her name.
"They call me Natasha," she whispered breathily.
"Oh," said Zventibold. "That's a nice name. Do you have a surname?" He asked this rather tentatively as he knew some common people didn't have them and that last thing on his mind was causing offence. In fact she didn't even know what a surname was.
"A what?" she whispered tracing pictures of poodles on his arm.
"A second name - a family name." He was flustered at her poodle pictures.
"Ah," she tinkled with laughter. "Oh yes," all the while undoing his tunic collar. "My name's Hot - Natasha Hot."
Zventibold had had enough. He jumped to his feet and rushed off to the toilet.
When he returned William was still with his girl and they seemed quite good friends. As he came up, William began, "Ar, mas'er. I never asked about this afore - but do you 'ave my pay? The pay I is owed as a doorman and now bodyguard. I ain't seen a Jell for months."
"William, I'm sorry. I didn't realise." He took out his purse and handed William three Pirakteshi Jells. Zventibold understood the situation perfectly. William had wanted to buy his little friend a drink, but had been embarrassed when he patted the pockets of his yellow Militia jacket and found no cash, only lizard bones. And they just wouldn't do to turn a girl's head, Zventibold imagined. William smiled - his old face full of gratitude and as Zventibold sat down, he got up saying, "Me an' Symona's just goin' to take the air." He winked broadly. Zventibold didn't know why but he watched in amusement as the two mounted the stairs, going to the room with the circular bed. There was no air in there for sure, thought Zventibold. Still if William was happy, he was happy. And at least that dreadful Natasha Hot had disappeared.
It was at that point another young hussy in a revealing strapless bodice appeared. Unable to face this new insult to decorum, Zventibold got up and went in search of more congenial company.
Outside the night air was spiced with adventures. Bright light sprayed across walls forming grotesque shapes before it vanished. Zventibold recognised the multi coloured Prism Bomb spell and smiled. He was amongst his own kind - people he could understand - sorcerers. He turned the corner and walked into the babble of a tavern's open door. Strange music with swaying rhythms greeted him. The tavern was dim, but the half light was interrupted by flashes from various spells and strange mystic illusions that floated across the room, accompanied by the laughter of sorcerers. He sat down on one of the stools. All around him hump-backed men in arcane robes sat drinking or smoking their long curved pipes. Zventibold did not know what they sucked - but it made their eyes roll.
When he had been sitting for some three minutes, taking in the atmosphere, he reached the point that he felt his eyes must spin round of their own accord. It was just at that moment that he felt a tap on his hump.
"Hello," said the newcomer. "My name's Turgid Zakron. I'm a student at the wizard school. That is I start there tomorrow.Ha ha ha ha," he laughed nervously. "I've just arrived here and I don't know many people, ha ha ha." The lad seemed lonely and so Zventibold held out his hand. "Hello, Turgid. I'm Zventibold."
They talked and chatted for some time. Zventibold had a strong urge to be nice to this lonely youth, but really he was rather boring. Just when Zventibold thought he could take no more of the boy's bantering inanities, a mage vomited at least a pint of multi-coloured liquid over Turgid's feet. The boy seemed impressed. "Wow!" he exclaimed.
It turned out that Turgid was three thousand years old but had been the victim of a cruel sorcerer's Village Idiot spell. Only now was Turgid getting over its effects thanks to a Perpetual Youth spell placed on him by a good wizard. This allowed him to outlast the Village Idiot spell and still remain a youth of sixteen. Turgid was regaining his sen
ses but it was a slow affair.
Zventibold's eyes were really rolling now, but he managed to keep upright long enough to ask, "Who is the present head of the school, Turgid?"
"That's Maccabeus Wencleslas Brown. He's a really powerful mage. Ha ha ha ha." The boy laughed nervously. Noisy wizards began to dance and chant boorish wizard songs. They teased the buxom barmaid by undoing her dress with spells and charms. One of them fell backwards and tripped over Zventibold. But Zventibold, unused to the heavy odours of the tavern was already unconscious.
When he came too, he was neatly tucked up in bed, his clothes folded over a chair and his pointy toed boots were polished and sitting under the dressing table. The room was small but clean and there was a wholesome smell coming in through the door. He lay there for a while, dozing, half asleep - the only thing he was aware of was the throbbing in his head. The door opened and in came a strange youth. He was unfamiliar to Zventibold at first, but then he remembered the events of the previous night. It was Turgid. Turgid was carrying a plate of ham and eggs and in his other hand was a steaming infusion of Bark Infusion which Zventibold knew by his wizard intelligence, to be a local delicacy.
"Hello, Zventibold. Ha ha ha ha," said Turgid. "I had you put to bed. Ha ha ha ha."
A thought crossed Zventibold's mind and it caused him fear, but he could not pin it down so he dismissed it. "Hello Turgid," he said. "I hope I didn't put you out."
"Oh no, I slept on the floor. I didn't mind and the landlord doesn't live in. Ha ha ha."
Zventibold could not understand what Turgid found so funny about the situation but then he remembered that Turgid laughed all the time and he put it down to nerves. When Zventibold had drunk the first mouthful of his mug of Bark Infusion, he had a thought - where was William? His thoughts often strayed to his grey haired old chum, but this time he was worried. He jumped up and pulled on his dirty under-shift. "Thanks for the breakfast, but I must run. William will be wondering where I've got to, and I wouldn't want him to think I've been doing anything dirty with you Turgid. I have a lady love you see..."
"But Zventibold you haven't been doing anything dirty."
"No, but William worries and I respect his opinions."
"Oh, I see. Ha ha ha ha." Turgid's voice rang with loneliness. "And I shall see you both afterwards?" he said.
"Well, it's possible." With that, and without a backward glance, Zventibold ran down the stairs.
Zventibold finally came upon his manservant in the very place he had first expected to find him - in the stained bed. William appeared unconscious at first and it took him a while to register the presence of his master in the room. When he did, he muttered something but Zventibold could not at first understand it. Then it appeared to him that William was complaining about his age. He was a sorry state, enveloped in the yellowed and stinking sheets. Zventibold averted his eyes as the cadaverous doorman dressed himself. Zventibold too was subdued. He did not want to have to admit that he had spent the previous night with a strange three thousand year old village idiot. He hoped that William would be courteous enough not to ask where he'd been and William, for his part, did not.
Soon they were out on the streets and hot on the trail of Maccabeus Wencleslas Brown, the chief sorcerer and town clerk of this fabled city of Kharkesh, whose glitter was somewhat muted this morning. The town was deserted. It seemed that the mages and their hangers-on were night birds and rarely saw the light of day before the late afternoon. They asked the way to the School of Sorcery from a passing leper who was glad to tell them its whereabouts. They found trouble after that in getting rid of him. He was a persistent fellow. His ambition was to infect them with leprosy as (despite helping them with directions) he hated humanity and thought it would be a laugh. It would be far from it. William finally ditched him by throwing a penny into a passing refuse cart, which, to his credit, the leper followed, hobbling on his stumps until he had disappeared out of sight.
Soon they had found the brass name plaque of Dr Brown at the front of an impressive building that they assumed to be the Mages' Academy. Zventibold walked in. There was a desk and a hideous craggy faced old witch sat behind it.
"Erm, I'd like to see Dr Brown please," said Zventibold.
The old hag was not impressed. "Are ye a student then?" She enquired, rudely picking her nose with the end of her goose quill pen.
"Well, no, I'm not. But it's rather important."
"Ye'll have to have an appointment."
"Well, that'll be alright," said Zventibold, looking at the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling.
The old hag looked at her book. "The earliest he can fit you in is next May."
Zventibold was astounded. "Next May?" he said incredulously. "But that's preposterous. That's seven months! He can't be that busy."
"Look, it'll be next May or not at all." The hideous old witch seemed firm and unyielding and Zventibold was just about to give in when a tall, aristocratic figure in a sky blue smoking jacket came into the room. He had a short dark hair and a pencil thin moustache. He eyed Zventibold elegantly. "And what can I do for a fellow mage? I am Maccabeus Wencleslas Brown - head of this famous school, and of course town clerk." His voice was as cultured as his jacket and for the first time Zventibold noticed the cunningly disguised hump on the tall man's back.
"Dr Brown, how glad I am to meet you. My name is Zventibold Berok. Perhaps you knew my father, Turvius Sullius?"
Dr Brown was taken aback. "You are Turvius'ss son? Yes, I can see it in you! Oh you'll never know what little Turvius did to me. He made my heart sing - my sinews warble. Yes, I was very close to Turvius." The arch-mage was smiling now - a contented smile; a smile that beamed gratitude. "Come," he said. "Come into my study." And leading Zventibold by the arm, they went through a large oaken door.
Outside William had found some roundish pebbles and was playing marbles by himself in the dust. He liked to win and it was a quiet, meditative game that allowed him to forget his inadequacies of the night before.
The room Zventibold entered was stylish, studious and totally right for a man such as Dr Brown. It had panache. Dr Brown gestured for Zventibold to sit and asked for news of Turvius. Zventibold cleared his throat and then, with a tear in his eye, began to recite the tragic history. Dr Brown listened enthralled and then he too began to weep. He wept copiously. Unashamed of his weeping, the tears ran down his cheeks onto the desk. His heart was truly broken. "I told him not to go, you know. I told him to stay here with us where he was happy. I said 'revenge is for fools and children' but he would have none of it. He had to go back and face Axtos and now he has paid for it! Oh Turvius, how often would I have gathered you unto me and cuddled your small form. If only you had stayed. If only…"
"I have come to ask you for aid," interrupted Zventibold.
"You may have anything you desire, lad. For I was very close to your father you know."
Young Zventibold's eyes travelled around the study. It was walled with shelves and they were full of magical scrolls and tomes. He thought that if any man living could aid him, it would be this Maccabeus Wencleslas Brown. He wondered too why he was called 'Brown,' for his hair was black and his jacket too. It was true that his shoes were brown but it seemed ridiculous that someone could be named after the colour of their shoes. Later, he had asked William for his opinion. William had scratched his scabby head and said simply, "it is because he's a shit?"
But now, Zventibold paused. If Dr Brown thought it was because he was pondering the offer long and deep, then as we know, he was wrong. For Zventibold's head had merely been full of trivial nonsense about names and shoes. As he watched Zventibold preparing to talk, Brown smiled encouragingly.
"Yes, I desire aid from thee oh mighty sorcerer."
"I know Zventibold and please don't be embarrassed. I can let you have fifty Jells here and now and if you give me time and something in the way of security, I could let you have fifty more by tomorrow."
"Nay, sir. It is not aid of that nature I
desire, but sorcerous aid - magical help - arcane support."
"Hmm. I don't know if I can help you there Zventibold. You desire revenge I know and my principles will not let me allow you to go to your death in the same way your dear father did."
It was at that moment that William and Turgid broke into the room. William was brandishing Deathbringer and Turgid had a bottle.
"Be you alright, mas'er? Be this perfumed poncy fellow botherin' you in any way? I mean by 'is 'ands wanderin'? I met Turgid who said he met you last night, but gave few details. 'Owever, he said you was in danger an' that this fellow's nickname be Maccabeus the Molester. I couldn't take the chance."
"No, William. There is no danger."
"I'm sorry Mr Molester," said William, bowing.
"Ha ha ha ha," laughed Turgid nervously.
Dr Brown seemed upset. "My proper title is 'doctor'. Please would you address me properly, knave."