Chapter Twenty-Eight and a Half
Wherein Semfeld and Liverioso
Deal with Their Fate
...Poorly
“Magicians Guild behind us and ... and ...” Semfeld realized he was no longer in the wand shop. As far as he could tell he wasn’t anywhere. In front of him, flat sands met blue cloudless skies. He turned in a small circle and surveyed his surroundings. He may as well have kept looking straight ahead because the scenery was the same in all directions- flattened sand dunes meeting blue sky. He looked up and noticed with more than a little bit of worry, that the sun was directly overhead. It was more than just overhead. It was looming overhead. It was blazing overhead. Pounding heat down upon him, overhead.
OVERHEAD.
Semfeld felt penned in by the blast of the sun and heat. On all sides, it pressed in on him. Even from below. He pulled his shirt off and stood on it. Even through his shirt he could feel the heat of the morning’s baking seeping through. He looked up again at the sun. It glared at him with the same hot hatred as that vile little Gnome had. Except now instead of glaring back, he was sweating. There was a substantial river of sweat beginning to flow down his face, and from what he could tell, it had somehow found its way to the middle of his back and continued down from there.
Semfeld sat down on his shirt and began what he believed were going to be his last few hours of existence with as much dignity as an Official Enforcer of the Magician’s Guild could muster. Semfeld began to cry.
“Never before duplicated Dithapearing Bones Trick ...” Continued Liverioso. “Wait. Thith isn’t right,” he protested. He squinted into the distance. “Thith isn’t right!” He shouted at the sand meeting the sky, miles in the distance. Hearing sobbing, he turned quickly. “Themfeld! Whath’s going on?”
Semfeld looked up from his sobbing, tears still running down his face. “We’re going to die right here.” He pointed at his shirt under him. “I’m going to die right here. You should find a place of your own.” He wiped a tear from his face. “Want to sit and die with me?”
Liverioso glowered at his friend. “Nonthense! How can WE die? You’re the Athtounding Themfeld and I’m the Mysterious Liveriotho.”
Liverioso’s inability to pronounce his own stage name had caused quite a stir within the Guild. There had been rumors that the lisp was a part of Liverioso’s act that had somehow gotten out of hand and he now affected all his speech with it. Other’s thought it was some sort of curse. Either way, it was only after threat of being (temporarily as a test) kicked out of the Magician’s Guild that it was discovered that he was completely unaware that he even had a lisp. ‘What do you mean I can’t pronounth my own name?’ was his entire argument to suggestions that he become the Great Earl instead of Mysterious Liverioso. After careful consultation of ancient texts and Guild Bylaws, it was decided (by a healthy majority) that Liverioso was, in fact, an idiot. Not only were all of his guild privileges restored, he was immediately made a Magician’s Guild Enforcer. Mainly because Enforcers never listened to reason when dealing with folks that crossed the Magician’s Guild. Even when those folks didn’t even know about the guild.
“Thay, ith’s hot out here.” Liverioso looked around. “Where are we?”
Semfeld looked to the sun, which was still beating down on him as if it were an entire gross of Ogres wielding flaming morning stars.24 “If I were to make a guess, I’d say we’re in the Great Sandy Desert east of the Kingdom of Pictistan, south of Orcistan. Hopefully really far south of Orcistan”
“Why are all of theth places called something-Thtan? I never underthood that” remarked Liverioso.
“Stan means ‘mountains’25. If you go far enough, there’s mountains pretty much all around us,” answered Semfeld. He became upset, “Who cares WHAT this place is called? Soon this place will be called Where Liverioso and Semfeld Died!” He rubbed his hands together, “Of course, no one will call it that because no one will know we even died out here!” Tears once again began to run down his face.
“I don’t like Pics. Think we’ll thee any Pics?”
“No, I don’t think Pic caravans come this deep into the desert. No one does,” he said testily.
Liverioso looked down at his partner then to the horizon and then back at his partner. “How can you be thure thith is the Thandy Dethert?”
“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE which DESERT WE ARE IN?” Howled Semfeld. He got to his feet and picked up his shirt. “I’m leaving! I refuse to die next to you!” He began to walk away.
“Wait! Don’t leave me here!” Liverioso begged as he moved to catch up with his partner. “We need to think together if we’re going to get out of here.” He moved to walk beside his partner. A worried look came across his face. “Right?”
Semfeld stopped and faced his partner. “Do you have your wand?” He asked. His tears flowed freely now.
“No.”
“Neither do I.” Semfeld wiped a tear from his eye. His cheeks were streaked where the sand had blown and stuck to the trails of tears and sweat on his face. He held up his hand and ticked off fingers as he spoke, “So we’re out here with no wands, no transportation, no food, no water, no way to call for help,” he switched to his other hand when he ran out of fingers, “no compass, no map, no idea where we are, and to top it all off, no shade.”
Liverioso thought for a moment. “You said you knew where we were,” he countered. “So, that means we don’t need a map.” He snapped his fingers. “Hah!”
“Hah? If we’re in the middle of the Great Sandy Desert, and on foot, we’re weeks away from anyone and anything.” Semfeld held up his hand and waggled his fingers. “There’s still a whole hand of things we really need.” He held up his other hand and wiggled a finger, “And there’s still the little mater of not having any shade.”
“We thtill have each other.”
Semfeld jumped on his partner knocking him to the ground. “What good does that do us?” Every time he said a word, Semfeld hit his partner’s head against the sand. “We are still going to die!”
Even though the sand was fairly soft, Liverioso saw spots in front of his eyes, “Thop that! You’re going to kill me!”
“We are both going to die anyway. You might as well go first!” Semfeld continued to accent his yelling by hitting Liverioso’s head on the sand, although not with every word. The heat was getting to him. “You lisping buffoon!”
“Hey now” countered Liverioso, “thath’s getting perthonal.” Although he did not think he had a lisp, he had accepted the fact that most people thought he did. He considered it a widespread delusion.
“I agree.”
“Yeah! Thee? He agreeths too,” agreed Liverioso.
Semfeld looked over his shoulder. The sun was blocked out by a wrinkled face. The haggard, wrinkled face was attached to a haggard, wrinkled man dressed in rags. Semfeld let go of his partner and scrambled to his feet. “Who in all the Blue Blazing Lands are you?” He grabbed the wiry man by the shoulders and shook him. “Are you a mirage?”
The man slapped Semfeld’s face. “Get a hold of yourself. And let go of me.” He shrugged out of Semfeld’s grip and took several steps back. “What are you two doing here?”
Liverioso stood. “Whath are you doing here?” He demanded as his haughtiness returned since he now had a target for it.
“I live here, of course.” The man said matter-of-factly as he turned to leave.
“Live here?” Asked Semfeld. “Why would you live here?” He looked around and still saw nothing except sand and blue sky in all directions. “Where did you even come from?” He called to the man’s back. “Here?”
The old man trudged along. “You deal with what’s dealt to you,” he called over his shoulder. He moved at a slow and steady shuffle so he had not moved very far. “I was banished here by the Magician’s Guild because I was behind on my dues and still doing Gigs.”
The Magician’s Guild had worked long and hard on finding an appropriate way to desc
ribe their work. For a long time, it was referred to simply as ‘Doing a Gig’ but there were those that felt that did not convey the grandeur that was the life of a Magician and hurt recruitment efforts. At several meetings (and one Jamboree), ‘Performing’ was suggested, but the Mime Guild put an end to that (one just did not cross the Mime Guild). Due to ominous threats from the Wizarding Guild, ‘working Magic’ was also dropped from the list of contenders. After one extremely late running meeting, where everyone was hoping someone would make a motion to adjourn, a lone Magician suggested ‘Practicing the Trade’- he even suggested the capitalization to add emphasis. Another Magician, who was not paying attention, thought that a motion to adjourn had been made, so he quickly seconded it. The President of the Magician’s Guild (local 232) also was not paying attention (it was a very long meeting) and announced that the motion carried. Everyone left, grateful that the meeting was finally over. It was not until the next meeting when the minutes were read that it was discovered that ‘Practicing the Trade’ was the new approved phrase to use. That had happened over six years ago.
The fact that the man did not know current terminology was not lost on Semfeld; it was a very long time to be living in the Great Sandy Desert. “You’ve been out here for over six years?” He gaped.
“I tell you, if I ever come across one of them Enforcers, I’ll kill them and use their bones as straws,” said the old man. “That would let me die a happy man.”
Both Semfeld and Liverioso took a step back from the man.
“So what are you two doing out here?” The old man asked again. “Did you get banished too?”
“Yes,” said Semfeld quickly.
“Whath? Banithed?” Began Liverioso, “Noth on your life! For your informathion, I am ...”
Semfeld quickly moved over to his partner and hit him in the arm, “What my friend means is, ‘yes’. We’ve been banished and we’re stuck here.” He squinted up at the sun. It was still overhead and pounding. “What rotten luck, right Liverioso?” His partner started to open his mouth in protest again but he cut him off, “Oh, I’m the Astounding Semfeld and my traveling companion is the Mysterious Liverioso.” He held out his hand. “And...”
“I’m the Great Garibaldis.” Hyperbole was unknown among Magicians. He assumed a proud pose; hands on his hips, nose to the sky, “Prestidigitator to the High Court of Pic, Advisor to the Emperor of Iranistan. I’m also available for birthdays, anniversaries, and funerals.” He paused for dramatic effect, “Cradle to grave services.” He looked hopefully at the two Enforcers. “You in the market?”
Semfeld did not want to get into a lengthy discussion on the pros and cons of ‘Practicing the Trade’. Especially out in the sun. “We’re not here to hire you for a gig,” began Semfeld, “we’re stuck here and we need to get back to Aution.”
“Aution?”
“Yes; Aution.”
“Never heard of it,” said Garibaldis as he began to shuffle away again. “I’m fried. I’m getting out of the sun.” He didn’t look to see if the other two followed.
“Just keep quiet about being an Enforcer,” hissed Semfeld. “That man is our ticket out of here!” He started to walk after the old man pulling Liverioso with him. Semfeld easily caught up with the man who was still moving at a slow, energy-conserving shuffle. “So where do you live?”
The man stopped walking and looked at Semfeld. “I live here, of course.”
Semfeld narrowed his eyes at the old man. “Yes. We’ve established that you live in the desert. Has your brain been baked?”
The old man stared at Semfeld for a moment then bent down. As he did Semfeld jumped back. Garibaldis pushed aside some sand to reveal a metal ring. He gripped it with both hands and pulled up a small trap door. Semfeld leaned over and peered into the darkness. Cool, welcoming air greeted him from below. Garibaldis pushed past Semfeld and began to climb down the hole.
There were footholds carved into the shaft at regular intervals. After he disappeared from sight, Semfeld hit Liverioso in the arm, “Now control yourself and this old fool will get us out of here” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Semfeld started down the hole. Looking down he was unable to see the bottom. He looked up and saw that his partner had started down as well. Liverioso pulled the hatch closed as he entered it, cutting off the light completely. Semfeld worked his way down the shaft in total darkness. When the foothold he expected was not there, he panicked. He gripped tightly with his hands and tentatively felt out with his toes. There was ground under him. “I’m at the bottom” he called up. He stepped away from the shaft, still surrounded in darkness. “Garibaldis” he called, “where are you?” Semfeld reached out with his hands and shuffled his feet, hoping he did not encounter another shaft.
Off to his right, a light flared up- it was a Bulls-Eye lantern. Garibaldis was holding it. “This way, you two,” he said as he put the lantern down to guide the way. Semfeld waited for his partner and then the two moved toward the light. The passage was rough- hewn through the bedrock and barely wide enough for the two of them side by side. As they approached the lantern they heard clattering of pots.
They rounded the corner into a carved-out chamber. At the far end was a ramp that angled up toward the surface. Semfeld sniffed. “Did a Shambler die down here?”
Garibaldis turned from the pot he was stirring. “Die? No. Live? Yes.” He pointed over his shoulder to an alcove that had a rope strung across it. “Three of them in fact.”
“Wait a grain of thand,” said Liverioso, “you’re telling me you have animalths that you could ride out of here on and you don’t?”
“All they do is teleport me back here, those stinking Magician Guild Enforcers. Three times so far. They’re all a bunch of pompous blowhards. I hope they all die slow horrible deaths.” He spat on the floor.
“Oooohhh!” Shuddered Liverioso.
Garibaldis looked at him curiously.
“That’s his way of saying he agrees,” interjected Semfeld. “Those stinking Enforcers!” He spat as well.
“Ooohhh!” Replied Liverioso as he shook his fists.
Garibaldis went back to tending his pot. He rolled up his one remaining sleeve and pulled a wand from his pocket. Gesturing out of habit he showed that there was nothing in his hands. He waved the wand over the pot mysteriously
Presto Antipasto!
he declared.
A small puff of smoke came from the white tipped, black wand. With a flourish, he put the wand away and tilted the pot for his guest’s benefit. “Once again, the amazing feat of lunch has been accomplished for all to see.” Showmanship was paramount when it came to Magicians.
Semfeld glanced at his partner who still had his fists clutched. His eyes were trained on the sleeve where the wand had disappeared. As he moved closer to the pot, he nudged Liverioso’s shoulder and gestured toward a hanging frying pan. Liverioso nodded. “That was some show Garibaldis,” he started, “very nice buildup. I especially liked the way you waved your wand. Very mysterious.”
“Thanks,” said Garibaldis. It was nice to be performing for an actual audience again. “It’s nice to be performing for an actual audience again.” He affirmed.
“Say, can you show me something else” he looked around the room quickly. “Maybe with one of those pots?” He pointed to several pots that were behind him. “That would be a treat; to watch a true professional in action.”
Garibaldis beamed. It had been years since he had done a Gig. “Sure, sure.” He looked over his kitchen. “I have a Stir Fry trick that’s really worth the effort.” He examined the pots to find the best one for the trick.
Semfeld flailed his arms wildly. Nodding, Liverioso stealthily glided up behind Garibaldis. He raised the frying pan high over his head and brought it down quickly. A resounding -GONG- accompanied the strike. Garibaldis fell in a heap. “Hah! Take thath mithter thmarty breecheth!” He bowed to an audience that was not there.
“OK. Let’s move fast,” commanded Semfe
ld. “Grab all the food and water you can, I’ll grab the Shamblers. We need to be out of here before that old fool wakes up!” Quickly the two ransacked shelves, cabinets and cupboards, filling several sacks with supplies and grabbing four water skins each. They loaded the animals as Garibaldis started to groan. Semfeld roughly reached up Garibaldis’ sleeve and yanked out the man’s wand before leaving him.
Garibaldis was on his knees as the two pushed open the trap door at the top of the stairs. Sunlight and heat poured into the chamber as Semfeld led the animals up the ramp. “Stop you two!” groaned Garibaldis. “What are you doing?”
“Hah!” Liverioso executed a deep bow. “Onth again, the Enforthers of the Magithians Guild have proven they are thuperior! Take that mithter thmarty breecheth!” He ran up the ramp. Unable to stop himself, he stopped and rendered another bow from the top. “Next we’ll take care of that louthy Drimblerod and his thupid Gnome partner!” He bowed again then turned and ran out of view.
Semfeld was already on one of the Brown-Toed Shamblers. It grunted its displeasure of being woken from its late afternoon nap. “Let’s go!” He called, “that old man may have a spare wand!” He coaxed his Shambler into a trot as Liverioso clambered on top his. The third was tied to Semfeld’s so it followed begrudgingly.
“So where do we go, Themfeld?”
Semfeld looked at the horizon in all directions as the Shamblers trudged away from the underground shelter. “Well, if this is the Great Sandy Desert, then Orcistan is to the north of us, and Aution is to the Northwest of there. We’ll keep the sun so it rises on our left and sets on our right. That should get us close enough. All we have to do is reach the Salty River then turn left.”
“I’ll get you!” Called Garibaldis who was now at the top of his ramp. He was holding another wand - this one a standard looking gnarled wood affair with a leather handle; a highly-modified Assassin’s Wand. He rolled up his sleeve, tilted his hands back and forth to show they were empty then intoned
Flowers for Spines!
Kazzam!
he jabbed the wand towards the two figures. His head still spinning from the hit, the shot went wide.
Beside Liverioso a small flower sprung from the sand. “Fath-ter!” He called as he kicked his heels into the Tan Shambler’s side. It grunted in protest but moved to a trot nevertheless. “We need to geth outh of range!”
The two Enforcers coached their Shamblers into full gallops zigging and sagging as they went. Finally, the beasts decided they had had enough and began to walk slowly. No amount of coaxing could make them speed up. “We’re fine now, Liverioso. There’s no way that old man can catch us. Let’s not kill our only mounts.” He laid back on the Shambler’s hump. “Let’s just take it easy until nightfall.”
Garibaldis stalked down the ramp, smoldering Assassin wand in his hand. “Think you’ve seen the last of me?” He scowled. “You think wrong!” He stopped, frozen in place. “Wait- Drimblerod?” He laughed evilly as he looked at the Assassin Wand in his hand. “Oh no, you haven’t seen the last of me.” He removed his clothes and folded them neatly on the table. He wouldn’t need this set of clothes again. Ever. Searching his ransacked abode, he found his trusty wrist sheath- a gift from Drimblerod for his several purchases. Finding where the Gnome had set up shop would be simple once he reached civilization. Drimblerod’s reputation as a trustworthy wand salesman ensured that someone in a decent sized town would know where he had set up shop. If not, the Gremlins could always point the way. His head was still foggy but one word caught his attention. “Aution?” He said aloud. “No, you stinking enforcers” he said, “we’ll see each other again. The Great Garibaldis guarantees it!”
Garibaldis held the wrist sheath in place around his waist with one hand since the straps were much too short to tie around him. “Not by a long shot have you seen the last of me!” He said to a non-existent audience as he raised a hand dramatically. He turned his wand hand over and back to show it was empty. “The amazing Transmogrification Spell for your enjoyment” he said to the empty room. “Enjoyment and amazement!” He waved the wand over his head.
Behold the Short-Tailed Gila!
In slow motion even.
Ta Da!
He intoned.
Quickly he placed the wand in the sheath. He slowly shrunk in size and developed a brownish pallor. As he shrunk, he tied the wrist sheath around his waist. Garibaldis dropped to all fours as his limbs shortened and he developed a tail- albeit stubby one. After a few moments, the transformation was complete. Moving to its hind legs and using its tail as balance, GaribaldisGila gave a short bow.
He adjusted the wand sheath to his back and tightened it with nubby claws.
Slit eyes looking up at the ramp, he clambered up it and into the sun. He gazed up at the fiery ball which was finally heading toward the Western horizon. Its glare and heat did not even bother him.
Tales From a Second Hand Wand Shop- Book 1: They Were the Best of Gnomes. They Were the Worst of Gnomes. Page 43