Ugthak was overjoyed and swore on all the stones and ancestors and elders and the Earth itself that he would return and devote himself to strength and service. Ugthak said goodbye to the elders the very next day and disappeared into the world in search of his place.
It was many moons before Ugthak returned. Bogbug had borne five more sons before he saw Ugthak again crossing over the hill toward the cave that marked the entrance to the den. Ugthak was dressed strangely, like one of the mundane human creatures that sometimes camped in the Den’s woods for days and listened to loud music and sprayed foul things on his trees. How Bogbug hated those humans! He often watched them near the river and considered breaking his den’s rules by killing them…but Bogbug was wise and believed in his den’s strength and unity, so he left them alone.
Ugthak met with the elders at once and shared his stories with them: he had met an apothecary who taught Ugthak how to brew a potion that would let him disguise himself as a human. He went to a school and posed as a student; he earned high marks and learned quickly with the help of a magical force called “internet”. Ugthak had been accepted at a job where he could put his knowledge to work and accomplish many things.
Bogbug was quiet as he listened, silently overjoyed at Ugthak’s success, but at these last words he stiffened. “You come back now, but you leave again? You promised you would devote yourself to strength, and service to your people.”
Ugthak looked taken aback. “And I will. I simply must gain more knowledge and strengthen my mind first. Then, with my mind, I can serve my people.”
Bogbug was angered then. “You have deceived me! You will receive no Mark of Glory ever! You will go!” Bogbug slammed his table and retired from the cavern without another word. Ugthak departed at first light, and Bogbug felt a sunkenness in his heart. He had not meant to lose his temper. But he was angry that Ugthak had forgotten his duties to others. Ugthak was so selfish, strengthening his mind and forgetting about service to his people. This was dishonorable. This was action unworthy of the Mark of Glory.
It was many more moons later that Bogbug awoke late in the night to the crisp and unpleasant smell of burning leaves. As he left the cave he could see that the blaze was growing quickly. Soon the humans would be here with their big boxes full of water and would put it out. Fires were not uncommon, and they posed no danger for the Troll’s sanctuary—
—but he heard a pained scream, carried along the breeze in the trees and knew something else was wrong.
Tearing through the forest, he located the source of the blaze—one of the foul human camps had not put their campfire out, and while they slept it had caught the trees above them. Now the humans cowered near the running river, trapped between the dangerous rushing water and the creeping orange death.
Bogbug was quick, and strong, and not heartless. The humans had made a dumb mistake because humans are dumb and make dumb mistakes. But that was not a reason to leave them to die. Bogbug invoked ancient magics, and seemed to pull at the air itself, twisting it to move the fire away from the people. Next he slammed his fists into the ground and picked up large rocks, throwing them into the river near the terrified people, making a small bridge. Finally, he swept the three of them up in his arms and dashed across the rocks, clearing the river and barreling through the trees.
Bogbug did not stop, and the humans did not know what was going on. Two of them had collapsed, from the smoke and their fear—how weak. The other, a young girl, was staring up and him in awe as he carried them to the edge of the den forest, near swirling red and blue lights in the distance. He set them down near the road, just out of sight of the lights, and pointed toward the human’s metal cars. “Cry,” he growled at the child, and she immediately obeyed, letting out an ear-piercing screech that hurt the old troll’s ears.
Bogbug retreated into the tree line and watched as the dumb humans came up and started to help the people. “Three more!” one shouted, and some people in red coats came out of nowhere, it seemed, to wrap the people in blankets and put strange clear devices to their mouths talking about air and smoke inhalation. They were human medicine men with magic medicine boxes and tubes.
Bogbug was going to leave until one of them caught his eye. He was big, and muscular, and moved with a gait that carried a man filled with inner strength. Bogbug rubbed his eyes and he could sense that this human image was an illusion over a much more powerful creature beneath.
He watched as Ugthak helped load the child onto a moving bed, asking how they had gotten out here and if there were any others. “The big man carried me!” she squeaked through tears. The young troll looked up and his eyes swept the trees searchingly. He finally spotted Bogbug, hidden near the tree, and nodded to him respectfully before resuming his work tending to the sick people.
Bogbug thought a long time as he watched his nephew expertly caring for the people as they loaded them into a big human metal box and took them away. He considered the Mark of Glory that Ugthak had sought, and likely would never receive. What dishonor! And yet…It was clear that this dishonor was not a burden on his nephew’s heart. Perhaps he had found something more important. Perhaps Ugthak had discovered his own Mark of Glory somewhere in the knowledge of the human people as one of their medicine men. Bogbug was not sure, but he had a feeling that what Ugthak was doing was important for many people beyond the den. He grumbled to himself as he trekked back through the trees, the sounds of the human boxes slowly disappearing in the woods behind him.
Chapter 11
There was a significant difference in the way I walked through the doors at 50 Thousand on my second Monday, compared to the first. For one, I was not so awestruck by the massive green-glassed building this time. I think it’s one of those things, when something awesome and amazing is under your nose for a long time, even it becomes commonplace. I’m reminded of my first time visiting the Statue of Liberty. Seeing it overlooking the New York skyline I was struck with a sense of complete awe and wonder, but some resident New Yorker friends who were there with me shrugged and rolled their eyes, having grown up with the huge green lady always there.
Second, of course, I was prepared and confident. The 50 Thousand Employee Handbook tucked neatly under one arm—I had begun to get in the habit of carrying it with me most places I went[13] at this point—and a cup of Apollo’s most caffeinated brew (“You aren’t allowed to have more than one of these in a day,” he explained, “Or you may literally explode. Yeah, you think I’m kidding, just watch”), I strode across the 50 Thousand Lobby, my shoes clicking neatly on the marble floor, and passed through the security gate with a smile plastered on my face.
I made it to my cubicle and took a seat, taking out my PC and booting up my computer. As soon as the desktop showed up on my screen I saw the blip of new notifications in the bottom right telling me I had an email. I took a gulp of my coffee (holy mother of God, if I wasn’t awake before I certainly was now) and clicked it.
From: Hampstead, David
To: LaFayette, Andy
CC: Warner, Carrie
Subject: URGENT
VERY URGENT! [14]
Please come to my office as soon as you clock in. Bring a notebook and pen. Please do not delay. Room 115-B
VTY,
Lord David Hampstead
Senior Associate Wizard
50 Thousand Consulting
I reread the email quickly before shutting the computer and grabbing my notebook and a pen. I dashed down the hall and around the corner to the rows of Wizarding offices with their glass office doors, counting as I went. I slowed right before I hit 115-B, taking just a second to compose myself and catch my breath before knocking and letting myself in.
The office was very conservatively decorated; the same greyish and green tones of the rest of the building made up the little neo-contemporary furniture in the room. Behind the glass desk sat the Wizard I had met last week who had assigned me the task of going to the Market and later paid me a compliment. His back was to me, typing
away on his laptop on the side part of the desk. I glimpsed a photo of what looked like a wife, children, and grandchildren before he turned around and I met his gaze.
“LaFayette,” Hampstead said approvingly, picking up a folder. “Thank you for being on time. Now, I have something rather important coming up tomorrow and I am going to need you to be present. Here, have a seat. Got coffee? Good.” I sat down. “I have received a summons from Most Venerable to attend his office tomorrow afternoon. Todd, the Dragon,” he added for clarification upon seeing me tilt my head in slight confusion. I nodded in understanding. “Usually this is also an opportunity to show off some of the more standout new hires. So I have a few of those. But the Dragon has also asked for you, specifically, to attend and I would like some understanding why, if you would not mind.”
My eyes went wide and I tried to think of an answer. “Maybe because of my father, Tom? I know he, um…worked for the Dragon or something like that, right?”
Hampstead leaned back, considering me for a moment—and perhaps considering his words. Of all of the people who I had met who knew of my dad, this man might have more information than all of the rest combined, it occurred to me, and I immediately had to suppress the urge to bombard him with questions. “That’s right. He was the Vaultkeeper here. Your dad was somewhat of an expert on magical artifacts, and had quite the reputation for it. I know he was one of the few people ever allowed to see the Cincinnati Dragon’s Hoard—to identify some baubles of some kind, no doubt.” He shrugged. “But yes, you’re probably right. It’s likely that The Dragon wants to offer respects. Yes, that’s it.” Hampstead sounded more to me like he was trying to convince himself.
My resolve to keep myself form blurting questions failed. “What was he like? My dad, I mean? Did you get to know him?”
Hampstead tilted his head at my question, and I could almost see cogs turning in his head. “He really…he really kept to himself. I saw him once a week at Casting, but that’s all. I’m…sorry to disappoint.” He could see that I was desperate for a crumb of information and he adjusted his glasses while he formulated the words. “I remember once, I caught him at the espresso machine and he mentioned, sort of in passing, how he…regretted that he didn’t have a good relationship with his family, but he didn’t really expand on that. So for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that. For all of it. So. Anyway.” He shuffled some papers and turned away.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I took a breath while Hampstead was awkwardly collecting himself. He regretted not having a good relationship with his family? Alright, Andy, get a hold of yourself. There is work to be done. “Is there anything I need to know about meeting the Dragon? Like…protocol or something?”
“Not as much as you’d expect, given how important he is,” Hampstead said, and his voice sounded a bit more clear and decisive. “But so long as you’re polite then you should be fine. Also, if the Dragon or one of his deputies tells you to do something, you do it without question. The office of the Dragon answers to no one, so if he decided to kill you, that’d be the end of it.”
“Do what he says or he eats me?” I gave a promising smile, recalling the Dragon-related pamphlet I had read earlier.
“Exactly.” It wasn’t a joke. “Now, here’s the address—you’ll meet us there at the Lair. Note the specific time on the page, right? The Lair moves, for security, so be sure that you’re there on time. The doorway only manifests on the ground for short periods of time; the rest of the time it’s floating high up in the sky, invisible. So do not be late. OK?”
I nodded emphatically. “I won’t let you down.”
Hampstead seemed convinced. “Alright, good. Now back to work with you.” He made a ‘shoo’ motion to the door—which really would have annoyed me if I wasn’t so excited— and I headed out and back toward my desk.
I was going to meet the Dragon. I hadn’t said what I was really thinking when Hampstead asked: that the Dragon wanted to talk to me about Dad’s death. I recalled Apollo saying that the office of the Dragon was investigating it, and the idea that they might have answers—and better yet, that they might willingly be given to me—was an utterly unfathomable but exciting concept. I texted Apollo. I have an appointment with the Dragon tomorrow.
His reply came uncomfortably fast. oh my god what happened what did you do
Nothing. I’m going there with some of the new hires from 50K.
so youre not in trouble?????
No. But I think the Dragon might want to talk to me about Dad.
ok that doesnt sound bad. holy crap though, don’t scare a brother like that ok?
I dropped a thumbs-up emoji and put my phone away as I returned to the storeroom. I found the door open, and curiously I poked my head inside.
A young man and woman stood inside, both looking over a very thick folder and talking in quiet voices. They weren’t dressed like wizards. They had knocked over several stacks of files—my files!—in order to get to it, and did not appear to notice me in the doorway.
“This is insane,” she said, flipping a page over. “He’s immune to just…everything.”
“That’s what happens when you’re in charge,” the man replied. “You get the best protections. Magical immunity is really expensive. But with protections like this, well…he’d shrug off every spell we could throw at him. We’re talking death spells, master jinxes, everything.”
“What about…you know…”
“Chartreuse?”
The woman made a sound like an audible cringe. “Y-yeah.”
“Honestly, I think so. Look at this. I’ve never seen an anti-hex web set up so strong. I bet it would stop anything.”
“Well, let’s get this back to the—”
I cleared my throat. “Can I help you both? I’m…in charge of this storeroom.” Sort of.
They spun quickly, slamming the folder shut. I glanced at the cover label, and spotted the title “The Dragon of Cincinnati”. I hadn’t recalled seeing that one while sorting, but then again there were a lot of folders I hadn’t gone through yet.
“Yes, of course,” the man said with a puff of his chest. “We were asked to collect this file for…” He tried to think of a name.
“…Lord wizard Caliburn,” the woman continued. “For research. The symposium. You know. Wizard stuff.”
I narrowed my eyes as the two of them very quickly swept past me with the folder and left me, confused, to clean up the mess they had left behind.
~
“Thank you all for joining me here this evening.”
The other five people at the table nodded cordially and took their seats. Red wine was poured into glasses as each settled into their chairs. Even in the dim light that illuminated the glossy wooden table, they could not hide the creeping nervousness in their expressions. The man at the head of the table finally spoke. “Greetings, Black Magisters. Lord Rathnul, give us an update on our timeline.”
Rathnul, a svelte but sweaty man, pulled out his cell phone and pulled up a document. “Well, with the loss of Magister LaFayette, we are looking at some delays. We are going to need to find a new recruit to fill the hole he left. People with his advantage are few and far between—”
“I hear nothing but excuses,” the leader said, a growing growl of threat in his throat.
Another Magister spoke up while Rathnul took a sip of his wine embarrassedly. “Lord Grimsbane, we also have the slight problem of having not recovered everything we needed from Magister LaFayette’s Estate. Our agents cleaned out his condo completely but the coin was not there. So now we are on the lookout for it. The Goblins have already been informed and they are on our side in this matter.”
Grimsbane knotted his fingers together. “Then everything is going to plan.”
Rathnul looked up, his face in shocked confusion. “Um…I don’t mean to upset you, but I feel like this is not going according to plan. Like…it’s strayed pretty far off the plan, if you ask me. If Cory hadn’t screwed up the budget in the firs
t place—”
“You will address Magister Thorne by his proper title,” Grimsbane said, his teeth nearly bared like a wolf preparing to pounce. “And expect that your lack of confidence in the way your Lord and Master conducts the execution of these plans—”
“Would you like parmesan on your salad?” the server—a pleasant-looking redhead with a badge that read “Rosie”—asked, setting the huge bowl of greenery down on the table. “And can I get you more breadsticks?”
Grimsbane gave her a polite smile. “Oh yes, please. Thank you.” He watched with hungry, vicious eyes as the spiraling strands of cheese poured out of the grater onto the Italian-spiced salad. “Yess…gooood,” he growled under his breath, making the other people at the table rather uncomfortable.
Rosie left and Grimsbane resumed his threats. “As I was saying, when Lord Grimsbane commands, it is expected that—”
“Oh, get off it, Manny,” Rathnul retorted. “And can you quit this ‘grimsbane’ stuff? We were all here when you pulled every single one of our ‘code names’ off an Evil Name Generator. None of us take it seriously.” The other people at the table nodded in agreement. “What we really need is to modify the plan in case we don’t get the coin back. We can still do it, but we need to prepare reasonable countermeasures in case whoever has it gets some silly ideas.”
Grimsbane took a large gulp of his red wine, his face flushing a deep red. “We will do that when I say we do it, Magister Rathnul, and not a moment earlier. Or have you so forgotten who it is that holds your debts?”
Rathnul’s shoulders dropped immediately. “Right, of course, Lord Grimsbane.”
Grimsbane turned to the woman at his right. “Has His Magnificence been informed of the situation, Magister La Rouge?”
La Rouge nodded politely. “I spoke to him yesterday, and he is distressed, but he had faith that we will be able to, at the least, complete the first part of the plan.”
The Wizards on Walnut Street Page 13