From that point on Treneth had endeavored to keep his life cloaked, which explained why he had visited her the first time. He needed to find out how well his protection spells held up against someone viewing him.
When Treneth had first met her he had assumed she had been alive since the dawn of time. The gray streaks in her ratty nest of hair alone made her look ancient, but it was her missing teeth, and lack of dentures, that really gave her that old hag look.
The fact was that Treneth was twice her age.
Regardless of her lacking visual appeal, Teggins was out of the picture, so Treneth had to choose between being blind about Whizzfiddle’s progress or to cheat a little. He finally came to the conclusion that he would not sleep well without some ongoing status.
“Xarpney?” Treneth said.
“That’s what I am reading, yes.”
“Why would they go there? Why would anyone go there?”
“Best deals,” Madam Slaygun said. “Brutal place, yes, but they have everything. What they don’t have, they can get.”
Treneth thought about that for a moment. It was true. Whatever you needed, someone in Xarpney could hook it up. Or could they?
Wizard spells were tricky things, Treneth mused. They were tied directly to the caster, except in certain circumstances where a third-party has requested that they be the owner of the spell, which is a rare instance and usually involves a cheating spouse and some sort of chastity device. Spells the magnitude of transfiguration could not be placed onto another, unless the other was also a wizard of similar aptitude. Further, this type of spell was permanent if not undone in time. The lifeline of the casting wizard became moot because those suffering the morphism learn to accept the new identity. That accession acts as a binding agent.
Still...
“You don’t know of any wizards down there powerful enough to counter transfiguration, do you?”
“To take on someone else’s undoing spell?” She replied. “I think I would have caught a rumor or two over someone like that.”
“My feeling too,” Treneth said. “Can you see what’s going to happen next?”
“You of all people should know that’s not allowed per the rules of the guild.”
He nodded.
“I lost the connection,” Madam Slaygun said. “Xarpney is a hassle because of the constant stream of TalkyThingy signals flowing this way and that.”
Treneth leaned back.
“No matter,” he said. “I at least know where he is for now. I shall come back in a few days to check on him again. If you can keep tabs on him, I will make sure you are well paid.”
“No, I don’t think I can do that.”
“I assure you I can afford—”
“It’s not about the money, Treneth,” Madam Slaygun said. “It’s about what you’re doing with Master Whizzfiddle. He’s a friend of mine and I know what you’re up to. Everyone knows what you’re up to.”
Treneth stood up and tightened his gloves. He walked to the door and stopped.
“According to the guild rules a wizard must endeavor to serve those in need, Madam Slaygun.”
“According to the very same guild rules, a seer is not afforded the classification of wizard. If I’m not mistaken, that was entered into the books on account of one Treneth of Dahl.”
“You must still follow the rules of the guild!”
“Only those rules specifically denoted for seers,” Madam Slaygun replied with a smile. “Do note I am well versed in what can and cannot be condemning to my position. For example, I am allowed to have relations with an apprentice in the guild, so you may by all means have young Rimpertuz pay me a visit any evening that you wish. It is one-hundred percent allowed, according to guild rules, and it’s one-hundred percent desired, according to me.”
Treneth was in complete shock. He could not contain the look on his face. Had she somehow broken through his shields? He had spent weeks toiling through books, concoctions, and incantations to protect himself.
“So it’s true that you set Muppy up,” she said, giggling. “I’d heard the rumor, but I wasn’t sure.” She stopped. “Ah, you probably thought I was spying on you, knowing your paranoid little mind. But, my dear, that would be illegal unless I had been paid to do so, and I assure you that I was not.”
His mouth was still hanging open as he closed the door.
WHAT DID YOU GET?
Whizzfiddle left the presentation feeling numb. He almost found himself missing the guild meetings in comparison. Even one of Zotrinder’s speeches could have soothed his aching ears at the moment.
Everyone else was in the waiting room, which meant that he’d held out the longest. It was obvious the moment he saw them that they had all succumbed in one way or another to the pressure.
Even Yultza looked a fair bit different. Not that she was his problem. Still, whatever it was that was different, it was good.
“Nice walking staff,” Whizzfiddle said to Gungren. “I’m surprised they had one in your size. Too bad it will be naught more than a throwing stick when you’ve returned to your normal stature.”
Gungren seemed oblivious to the remark.
“I got a new book too,” he said, pointing to a fresh copy of Master Carbigue’s Transfiguration Nation.
Orophin was no longer in his elven clothes. He now sported a dark suit with a silk fluffy shirt. Whizzfiddle shook his head.
“You should know better,” he said and then turned to Bekner. “What happened to you?”
“I tried getting around them,” Bekner said, “but they’re a crafty bunch.”
“Are you wearing a sports jersey?”
“Aye,” Bekner said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Zel. “That’s what they were after calling this thing. I couldn’t remember the name for the life of me.” He turned his back a bit. “Has me name on it and everything.”
“I see that, yes,” Whizzfiddle said. “The question is, why?”
“As to that, it seems that I’m after being one of the taller people they’ve seen. The man says he wants to be my agent or something of the sort. I don’t know what an agent is, but he said there’d be money. Gold too,” Bekner added with a smile. “Lots of gold.”
Whizzfiddle peered closer, leaning forward and examining Bekner’s teeth.
“Is that a gold tooth?”
Bekner slammed his mouth shut. “Um,” he said, shifting a bit. “Aye.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a game where you put a ball through the air and into a hoop would it?”
“Aye,” Bekner said, eyes widening. “You know about it?”
“You do realize that when you’re back here,” Whizzfiddle put his hand at about waist height, “you’ll be more useful as the ball, right?”
Bekner’s face contorted for a moment and then went back to thoughtful. Without a word, he pulled the jersey off and shoved it into one of his pockets.
Whizzfiddle turned his attention to Zel. He studied him for a few moments, but couldn’t spot any changes. If anyone was to fall to the pressure, it would be the former knight. Then he saw it. A look of discomfort. A bit of angst.
“Tight cut underwear?” Whizzfiddle said.
“Damn no,” Zel blurted with what only could be described as an angry look.
The wizard blinked in surprise.
“What did they do to you?”
“Hell damn, old man,” Zel said. “I don’t have to answer that.”
“‘Hell damn?’” Whizzfiddle looked over at Orophin. “What is going on here?”
“They gave him tough-guy pills,” the elf said.
“I don’t need you sharing my business, damned elf.”
“Watch it,” Orophin said, glaring.
Zel snuck behind Bekner, but held up the same finger that often got Whizzfiddle in trouble.
Whizzfiddle rolled his eyes.
“So he talks tough, but he’s still afraid of everything?”
“I’m not afraid of a damn thing, o
ld man,” Zel said, peeping around Bekner.
Bekner reached back and pulled the knight forward as easily as a giant could lift a pebble. He brought Zel up to face height.
“Drop the pills,” Bekner growled.
“Hell damn,” Zel croaked as the bottle struck the floor, followed by the piddle of his bladder’s contents.
Whizzfiddle marched the container over to the sales desk and threw them in the trash, muttering how the Xarpniens should be ashamed of themselves. He nearly requested an audience with a supervisor, but he didn’t want to chance another round of presentations. The pills would wear off eventually. Until then, it was time to go.
“Don’t you want to know what I did?” Winchester asked.
“Not really,” Whizzfiddle said as he directed everyone to put on their “I’ve been sold!” stickers. “It’s because of you that we now have a snazzily dressed elf, a dwarf that expects to be a famous basketball player, a giant that has furthered his desire to be a wizard, and a...knight...that uses foul language.”
“What about the great wizard then?” Winchester asked. “Was he able to refrain in stoic manner?”
Whizzfiddle huffed and pushed out the door.
He made a direct line for the nearest portal complex as the disappointed faces of salespeople caught their “I’ve been sold” badges. It was difficult to get through the crowd of vultures until Bekner took the lead. Something about a seven-foot, thick-as-a-rock, beardless cave-dweller with a purposeful stride told even the most tenacious Xarpnien that another group of potentials would be along soon.
“What did them get?” Gungren said to Winchester.
“I didn’t get anything,” the lizard replied from atop Yultza shoulder. He pointed at Yultza’s breasts and said, “Magic.”
“She got magic thingums?”
Winchester laughed.
Whizzfiddle did not. It didn’t matter to him what Yultza did. She wasn’t part of the undoing group. Still, he sneaked a peek as Yultza cupped them and said “bigger.” Sure enough, magic boobs. The elderly wizard wasn’t as driven by such things at his age, but he could still appreciate the dynamic and made a mental note to pick up a copy of PlayDragon upon its release.
“Nice, aren’t they?” Winchester said to the wizard.
Whizzfiddle averted his attention and slammed directly into Bekner’s back. Winchester and Yultza laughed.
“See?” Winchester said as Whizzfiddle rubbed his nose. “I told you those things held power.”
Whizzfiddle moved past Bekner and worked over the console. He set the destination for Kek and verified everyone was on the platform. Soon this adventure would be over and he could go back to his daily routine. One more day, he thought. Two at most.
“What the damn hell did you buy anyway?” Zel asked with his hand firmly in the air.
Whizzfiddle’s finger hovered over the green button.
“Timeshare.”
KEK IN FLAMES
It was late afternoon when they arrived in Kek.
Something was odd about the city. It did not look as Whizzfiddle remembered it.
The last time he had visited was almost a hundred years prior, but back then it was a quaint little town that sat nestled in the hills. His memory pulled forth the picturesque vision that now blanketed the covers of many greeting cards. It had been such a breathtaking view that Whizzfiddle had commissioned a painting be made of it. The resultant portrait was now framed and hanging in his den.
“I don’t recall the town billowing smoke,” Whizzfiddle said.
“The hell damn fires are also out of place,” Zel responded.
“Is there a war going on in the north that we were unaware of?”
“No, Orophin,” Whizzfiddle said. “This is not caused by a war. This is magic.”
“How you tell that?” Gungren said.
“I have my ways.”
“Aye,” Bekner said, pointing in the direction that Whizzfiddle was looking. “He sees the guards over there carrying out a wizard, he does.”
They ran down to the guards and Whizzfiddle made out Pecklesworthy’s dangling form as he was aloft on the shoulders of angry-looking sentinels. The wizard’s arms were flopping this way and that and he was blathering something about the habitual patterns of rosebushes during the doomcupper mating season. Whizzfiddle had no idea what a doomcupper was, but it was clearly of some import to the bedazzled Pecklesworthy.
“Pardon me,” Whizzfiddle said. Everyone eyed him suspiciously. “Is he well?”
“You ever heard of a doomcupper?” one of the men asked.
“No,” Whizzfiddle replied. “Actually, I was just wondering what it was. I assumed it to be something indigenous to Kek.”
“It’s not,” another man chimed in as they kept walking away. “Rosebushes ain’t got no habits that I know about.”
Another soldier moved toward Whizzfiddle, looked over everyone, stopping on Zel for a moment, and then sat on a log and broke out a cigar.
“You Whizzfiddle?” The soldier said.
“I am. And you are?”
“Sergeant Ward,” he answered. “We heard you’d be on your way.”
“Is that so?”
The sergeant took a drag from the cigar and nodded.
“May I ask by whom?”
“You may.”
“Okay then, by—”
“Let’s just say that we try to keep tabs on portal usage in our area,” Ward interjected. He squinted and pointed at Zel. “Your man there knows what I’m talking about.”
The knight mumbled something about how hell should be damned. Soldiers kept tabs on the portals. Whizzfiddle had this memory filed away under “who cares?”
“So what happened here?”
“Pea pod shipment came in yesterday,” Ward said, flicking an ash. “We figured it was just the town wizard setting up for the cold season. Didn’t know he had some type of problem.”
All wizards knew that Pecklesworthy was an obsessive-compulsive. If he saw an un-shucked pea pod, he had to shuck it. He couldn’t resist. But Pecklesworthy knew well his own addictive nature and there was no way that he would have ordered a shipment of pea pods unless he was ready to end it all.
This smelled like the work of Treneth.
“How much came in?” Whizzfiddle asked.
“A few carriages full, I’d say.”
Whizzfiddle groaned and plunked down on the log. Ward offered him a cigar, but he refused and instead grabbed his flask.
Kek’s partial demise made sense now. Unable to contain himself, Pecklesworthy shucked like mad and his power overflowed until he lost his mind. Without anyone of equal strength to contain him, the poor man began to launch spells uncontrollably until he either combusted or went into the mental equivalent of la-la land.
Pecklesworthy shucking a few carriages full of pea pods would be like Whizzfiddle drinking ten kegs of Gilly’s ale. It would be amazing if Pecklesworthy ever gained his sanity back.
“How many people died?”
“Nobody that we’re aware of,” Ward said and then stood up and brushed off his pants. “Everyone was sleeping in on account of it being Sunday and the only thing that Pecklesworthy really hit was some trees, an empty warehouse, and the church. Nobody goes to the church on a Sunday.”
“Not even the preacher?”
“Especially not the preacher.”
“Oh.”
Whizzfiddle looked over the city and clicked his teeth.
“You’re welcome to stay, of course. But I sense what you’ve come for has completely lost his mind.”
“Is he going to prison?” Whizzfiddle asked.
“After blowing up the church he’ll probably be elected mayor, but that won’t happen until he regains his mind. The man is completely batty.”
“Where then?”
“There is a witch outside of town—”
“Glinayeth Noosebaum,” Whizzfiddle interjected, remembering the lady well. She was one of the best healers in all
of the Upperworld. But even she wouldn’t be able to bring poor Pecklesworthy back from such a state for many years and that meant that this little quest was in dire jeopardy.
“Gentlemen,” Ward said with a nod before he began walking back down the path to the city.
The canopy of smoke and the blathering Pecklesworthy foretold Whizzfiddle’s next thousand years.
There was no way to get these lads back to their old selves with Pecklesworthy out of commission. Treneth had succeeded. His former apprentice had to resort to destroying a fellow wizard’s capacity to contain his own drool, but Treneth won this round.
“What will we do now?” Orophin said.
“I’m sorry lads,” Whizzfiddle replied, wanting to pull out a full keg and drink enough to join Pecklesworthy.
“Sorry?” Zel said, stepping forward. “Damn hell, old man. I can’t live throughout my days like this!”
Zel’s not even shaking, Whizzfiddle thought. Interesting. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown out the pills after all.
“Since that done,” Gungren said, joining Whizzfiddle on the log. “You teach me wizard stuff?”
Whizzfiddle exhaled and shrugged. Only card-carrying guild members were allowed to master an apprentice. That, at least, was one plus of losing his status.
“We’re after having a contract,” Bekner said. “You can’t back out now.”
Winchester scuttled into the mix and shushed everyone.
“It’s not that easy, you big oaf,” he said, “and he can’t be your master if he’s not in the guild, Gungren.”
He paced back and forth, making little foot prints in the dirt.
“I have an idea,” Winchester said. “It will be unpopular, but it’ll be better than continuing your lives as you are.” He gazed at Whizzfiddle. “You’re the only one that can call on them at this point, wizard. I fell out of favor when I usurped my father’s den.”
Whizzfiddle stopped mid-drink and slowly lowered the bottle. It was an option, but not one to take lightly. Of course he was just about to drink himself into that domain anyway.
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 15