“I’ll have to pull in favors,” he said.
“Probably a good many,” Winchester agreed.
“Why are you really doing this?” Whizzfiddle said.
Winchester shrugged. “Right thing to do.”
“Doubtful,” Whizzfiddle scoffed. “It’s a valid idea, nonetheless.”
“Excuse me,” Orophin spoke up. “I don’t want to interfere in this delectable conversation, but how about letting us in on the secret.”
“Afterlife,” Whizzfiddle answered and then took another swig.
“Hell damn.”
“As in where people go when they die?”
“No,” Winchester said. “As in where people go when they ascend. People who die go somewhere else,” he added vaguely.
“Where?” Gungren asked.
“Depends on which of the damn Twelve you follow,” Zel answered and then he snatched Whizzfiddle’s flask and took a gulp.
“I are not following any.”
“Then ye’ll not be after going anywhere,” Bekner said.
“Oh.”
Whizzfiddle took his flask back and pointed at Zel sternly. The pills didn’t really cure the knight’s issues, they just made him an jerk.
“Can we skip the religious discussion for a minute?” Winchester said. “Whizzfiddle, you can get us there.”
“You need something, Winchester,” Whizzfiddle accused.
“So do you.”
“True,” Whizzfiddle agreed. “Okay,” he said as he pulled himself up, staggering a bit. The booze was infiltrating nicely. “This is only going to work if we all agree.”
“To die?”
“Yes, Orophin.”
“Not me,” Gungren said. “I want be a wizard.”
“Not going to happen without a master,” Winchester said. “The guild won’t accept you.”
“I go if Whizzfiddle agree.”
“No,” Whizzfiddle said immediately. “I will not take on a new apprentice.”
“Then I not go.”
They were in a stalemate, listening to the rustling of leaves and the distant shouts of the townsfolk. The juxtaposition of nature and man’s destruction was humbling.
Whizzfiddle saw a walking path and headed toward it, putting his hand out to stop the others from following.
“Stay put,” he commanded them. “I need to think.”
He could force the little giant, with a little help anyway, but his ethic forbade such an action. He could accept Gungren as an apprentice, with a lot of booze, but his lack of work ethic jolted at the concept.
He stopped walking and leaned heavily on the staff. Maybe it was time to retire. His bones had been creaking for two-thirds of his life. They weren’t any worse now than six hundred years ago, but they weren’t exactly great then. He’d seen it all in the magic world, too. No, he’d not run every type of quest, but it was simple enough to get the gist of any type of magic. The name “Whizzfiddle” didn’t appear all that often in wizarding circles anymore either, except as an example of what not to do on certain occasion. There was no fire for the profession, only fear of losing it.
“Yes,” he said aloud. “Maybe.”
He had more than enough money. Enough to last him hundreds of years anyway. That would give him time to find a new profession or to invest in such a way to extend that money even further.
The troop was arguing in the distance. Try as he might, he couldn’t shut them out.
Maybe the giant would make a good apprentice. It was possible. Gungren could be the first giant to ever become a wizard. That was something to hang your hat on, assuming you didn’t have a head of mood hair. “You’re the Master Wizard that trained the giant?” People would say. Then they’d probably kick his rear end and ask what he had been thinking.
“Nice chap,” Whizzfiddle said to the tree he was admiring. “Brighter than any giant I’ve ever seen.”
On the face of it that wasn’t saying much.
Then he added, “Brighter than most humans too.”
“Someone is smart,” the tree said.
“Yes,” Whizzfiddle agreed. “Likable too, though he’s a bit annoying.”
“Everyone is.”
“Likable?”
“No, annoying.”
Whizzfiddle nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a sneeze. He failed.
“The Twelve has your back,” the tree said in normal sneeze-response etiquette.
“Thank you, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you are a talking tree.”
“Many people just assume that they’ve gone off the deep end,” the tree said.
“I’m sure it’s the booze,” Whizzfiddle argued. “In my years I’ve talked with rocks, trees, water, and even my toenail, though he hasn’t spoken to me since I told him he looked to have a fungus problem.”
He tipped back the alembic and drained the final drops.
“Sad, really. We used to have the best debates.”
“Toes can be formidable,” the tree said. “Or, uh, so I’ve heard. Hard to say, you know, not having toes and all.”
Whizzfiddle sat down and leaned up against the tree.
“Mind?”
“No,” the tree said. “I have little other purpose than standing here all the time. Thank you for not watering me though.”
Whizzfiddle chuckled and closed his eyes.
He missed the days of going on a bender to gain enough power to make inanimate objects start up conversations with him. It was scary at first. So much so that he’d considered giving up drinking entirely. But the conversations were good and enlightening, and the debates, though heated, unfolded interesting tapestries of thought that he was shocked to learn he’d possessed.
“So what will you do?”
“Hmmm? Oh, I don’t know,” Whizzfiddle said. “I suppose I’ll have to take that little pain in the rump on as my pupil. Hate the thought, but I can’t let the others down like that.”
“Good,” the tree said. “I...they will be happy with that.”
“I don’t know about that. Dying isn’t very fun.”
“Done it?”
“Well, no,” Whizzfiddle said. “Kind of made a career out of avoiding it, but I’ve seen people that have gone through the process and it didn’t look like they would put it on their most-recommended list. You?”
“No,” the tree replied, “but I don’t fear it. Neither will the others, except maybe Zel.”
“Yes...um,” Whizzfiddle got to his feet and looked at the tree. “How do you know about Zel? I didn’t mention that name.”
“I’m, uh, you, remember?”
The voice was familiar. Very familiar.
“Yes,” he said and then cantered about in the small clearing. “It’s that damn lizard that I worry about. He’s a slippery one. Not much brains in there.”
“I beg your...I mean, why do you say that?”
Whizzfiddle grinned, facing away from the tree. “Can just tell about some people, you know? Tiny little brains. Cunning, sure, but smart? No.”
“Maybe it’s just that his aptitude is such that you can’t comprehend him.”
Whizzfiddle snickered. “I doubt that, tree. He couldn’t find his tail with both hands.”
“Jealous of him, are you?”
“Yes,” Whizzfiddle said formally. “That’s probably it. I’m jealous of him. Especially that obnoxious odor that permeates the air when he is around.”
“You’re saying that I...erm...that he stinks?”
“I could smell him from a mile away,” Whizzfiddle affirmed.
Silence.
“Well,” Whizzfiddle said after a few moments. “I guess I have work to do. Thank you for the discussion...tree.”
About thirty feet ahead Whizzfiddle saw Winchester scampering up the path, skirting the edge. No doubt the stench remark would weigh on the lizard’s mind for a bit.
The tree did not say its goodbyes.
NEWS, MUGGINGS, AND MEETINGS
> He blew up the whole town?”
It was only logical that Pecklesworthy would overdo it, but Treneth didn’t think it would be this bad.
“That’s what I’d heard, sir,” Rimpertuz said, pacing back and forth. “Well, mostly the church, but there was a warehouse and some trees too.”
Treneth hadn’t planned on that. He figured that Pecklesworthy might just disappear for a few days and leave Whizzfiddle with even less time to complete his quest. When they were younger, Treneth would see Pecklesworthy streak off into the woods after a pea pod shucking fest. Eventually, the wizard would return looking a bit disheveled and curious about what had happened.
“They said that Master Pecklesworthy was really messed up,” Rimpertuz added.
“How did you learn of this?”
“Farmer Idoon said that a pigeon arrived from Kek. The note on its leg explained what had happened.”
“I see,” Treneth said, thinking that maybe having TalkyThingy technology in the Upperworld wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“Should we tell the rest of the council, sir?”
“No!” Treneth snapped. “I mean, no. No, we should not. I would not want you to get in trouble, Rimpertuz.”
“I don’t know what to do, sir.”
“It’s a horrible affair, to be true. If the council finds out I would imagine there is a strong chance that you’d spend a great deal of time in prison.”
By this time Rimpertuz was nearly hyperventilating. The floorboard was creaking every few moments as the man continued his pacing. Treneth winced with each step, but kept himself composed.
“You know,” Treneth said thoughtfully, “it’s possible that this could be seen as merely an unfortunate happenstance.”
“It could?”
“You could say that you were simply sending a thoughtful gift to one of my old acquaintances. That was your intent, yes?”
“Yes,” Rimpertuz said, brightening a lot. “That’s exactly what happened. It was just a present! How was I to know that it would cause this problem?”
Treneth smiled. It sealed the deal that Rimpertuz identified the shipment as truly coming from his own hand. Ah, the mind of a wizard.
“Best to keep this from your new acquaintance. We wouldn’t want your dear Muppy thinking any less of you, now would we?”
“No, sir!”
He checked his calendar and then his watch. It was almost time to meet up with Ibork.
“I have to run to town, Rimpertuz. Remember to keep this little incident between the two of us, yes?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
Treneth marched off toward Gilly’s. The thought of visiting such an establishment twisted his innards, but it was the one place that the other wizards seemed to avoid, apart from Whizzfiddle, and he was nowhere near Rangmoon at the moment.
It would do to take his mind off what he had done to Pecklesworthy, though. Treneth had never even considered that the fool of a wizard would take the shucking this far. Maybe it was for the best, thought Treneth. If the man couldn’t contain himself, he wasn’t fit to serve the profession of wizard. Then he remembered that none of the wizards were all that capable in the self-containment department.
He turned his mind back to the task at hand: meeting with Ibork.
The halfling’s request of a combined front had made more and more sense as Treneth had mulled it over. Nobody liked Ibork, including Treneth. The fat little man was abhorrent, argumentative, boisterous, and self-involved. He was also somewhat gullible, and that meant Treneth could manipulate the halfling without much effort.
“Excuse me, sir,” a rather large man said as Treneth entered one of the alleyways adjacent to the town square.
Treneth studied the man for a moment, noting his rather large size and perfect hair. His choice of clothing labeled him as well-to-do, but Treneth pulled on the cuffs of his gloves to tighten them, just in case.
“Yes?”
“I would like to alleviate that weight from your hip.”
Treneth looked at his hip.
“No, the other one.”
His change purse hung neatly below the edge of his vest. “Ah, this is a mugging then?”
“That completely depends on your willingness to participate. If I have to resort to violence, then it would be a mugging.”
“I find it odd that someone of your obvious command of civilized language and attendant garb would resort to such thievery.”
The man bowed slightly. “I thank you for noticing my eloquence, and I would say that you’re quite a fetching fellow yourself. Yes, rather cute indeed.”
“Huh?”
“But,” the man continued, “it would be better for you to not judge this book by its cover. I have little in the way of conscience when it comes to, as you put it, thievery.”
“Well, I would not wish to test that assertion,” Treneth said as he began to unravel the strap.
He murmured a brief incantation and then handed over the satchel. Immediately the man sank to his knees with a groan.
“It seems,” the man said through gritted teeth, “that Teggins left a bit of information out when giving me this mission.”
“What was that?”
“I am clearly tangling with a wizard of sorts.”
“Clearly,” Treneth replied. “What did you say about Teggins?”
“Teggins?” The man grunted. “Did I say Teggins?”
“I believe you did.”
“This is rather painful, you know.”
“I do so apologize.”
“Can’t be helped. One of the dangers of my profession. If you would be ever so kind as to release this pouch from my fingers, I would be most appreciative.”
“I think you’ve already gathered that I’m not that stupid.”
“You’ve my word as a gentleman that I’ll neither attack nor scamper off.”
“I’ve never known common criminality was a gentlemanly profession.”
“You wound me, sir.”
Treneth walked beyond the edge of the alley and whistled out to one of the town guards. The guard looked but didn’t move from his post. Sighing, Treneth spoke out another spell and the guard came running.
“Someone will be here to collect you in a moment. Then I’ll remove the purse from your hands.”
“I would ask that you just release me now. This way I will not hold a grudge against you. I do so have a tendency of doing that, I’ll admit.”
“I am touched by your concern,” Treneth said, “but I think I will chance it. Unless, of course, you would like to elaborate on what you were saying about Teggins.”
“Sorry, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” the would-be thief grunted.
“Did Teggins send you up here?” No response. “Your lack of response is indicative that he was involved.”
“I’ve already explained that I know of no Teggins.”
“Yet you said his name very clearly just moments ago.”
“I believe you may be hearing things, good sir.”
“No matter,” Treneth said as he heard footsteps approaching. “His message was received. There will be a time when Teggins will have need of something from me. Then our score will be evened.”
The guard rounded the corner and took to putting his sword at the ruffian’s throat. Treneth took back his satchel and the man stood up, rubbing his hand. At his full height, the thief was easily a head taller than the guard.
“What is your name?” the criminal said.
Treneth did not answer.
“This is Master Wizard Treneth of Dahl,” the guard provided.
“He already knows my name, guard,” Treneth said. “He got it from Teggins.”
“Who’s Teggins, sir?” the guard asked.
“Never mind,” Treneth answered with a wave of his hand.
“My name is Curlang Jetherby, Treneth of Dahl. Remember it well, wizard, for you’ll see me again. Mark my words.”
Treneth smiled and s
aid, “I think, to be safe, that you should be relaxed for your trip to your cell. We wouldn’t want you overpowering our fine guard here, now would we?”
He flicked his wrist and Curlang staggered a bit.
“Take him away, guard. He shouldn’t cause you any trouble for the better part of an hour. I wouldn’t dawdle, though, just in case.”
The guard walked Curlang toward the city prison as Treneth crossed the town square.
People had a tendency to bow toward him when he came through. It was one of the many perks of being a wizard. He did rather enjoy it. What he didn’t like was entering a tavern, especially not one that looked as shabby as Gilly’s.
“Hello, sir,” a gap-toothed man said from behind the bar as Treneth walked in.
Treneth sniffed and joined Ibork.
“What’ll you gents be having?”
“Ale,” Ibork said.
“Do you have any freshly brewed tea?”
“We have ale and stew, sir.”
“‘No’ would be a more succinct response,” Treneth pointed out.
“That’s right true, sir,” the barkeep said, “but when I respond in such a way, people ask what we do have. Two birds, one stone, sir.”
Treneth pursed his lips. “Nothing for me then.”
“The stew is good,” Ibork said as he patted his sweating forehead with a handkerchief.
“I have decided to accept your proposal, Ibork.”
“Excellent, I was thinking that—”
Treneth held up his hand. “There are to be some basic guidelines we will need to follow. There is no point in our butting heads in the future if we can set in motion plans to avoid such unpleasantness, true?”
“Sounds wise,” Ibork said, looking as though he had just made his first friend. Ever.
This was going to be too simple, Treneth thought. Ibork was far inferior. Even the dumbest bargainer knows better than to indulge intoxicants until after the deal is done.
No matter, all Treneth had to do was set Ibork up so that all the wizards in the land would resent him. It would be easiest with Ibork because he was already disliked. After he was taken care of, Treneth would move on to Zotrinder. One by one, he would discredit them all. That would open the stage for Treneth to take the council chair.
“It seems most prudent to me,” Treneth said, “that you should be the council chair.”
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 16