You need words to cast a spell.
The dream had started out so well. There was magic in it. But then darkness fell like a cloud, as it can often do in dreams. There were screams and grunts and one roar. Epik tried to place where he’d been. A farm, a small town? He wasn’t sure. Several moments passed before he caught his breath.
Beside him, on the floor, he found the wand—or rather, the spare key to the shop. It was useless for magic. Or, Epik was useless for magic. He had spent half the night muttering things at the wall, trying to find a spell. He’d even used some of his made up words.
“Flibberty gibbet,” he said.
Nothing.
“Alakazam.”
“Bippity—no,” he said. “I bet that’s trademarked.”
Epik pocketed the wand. “I should have known,” he said to himself. “When hocus pocus doesn’t work, nothing will.”
He tiptoed out of the room, hoping Gabby was up. He wanted to tell the wizard about his dream, but Gabby lay soundly asleep in his bed. Even with the long rays of morning sunshine beaming down over his face, his mouth slack and open, he looked at peace. The scraggly ends of his beard and mustache bristled around his dry lips.
Gabby had the straightest teeth Epik had ever seen.
Epik wondered how long the wizard had stayed up that night.
Now, he remembered his task. Stacked in the corner of the wizard’s upstairs flat was a large pile of books, each volume was big enough to require Epik’s full attention. He tried to work without waking the wizard. On the second volume, Epik had landed heavily on a creaky step; Gabby stirred, sputtering in his sleep. The halfling was more careful the next time, spotting the bit of tread on the wood that came loose from the riser. He avoided it, and any other like it, making his way softly down each step.
To his dismay, none of the books were spell books, just old histories. Each a tome, one that charted the comings and goings of kings and noblemen of Dune All-En, King’s Way, Foghorn, and even some kingdoms Epik had never read about. He set the last volume on the shelf and brandished the wand, pointing it a row of cauldrons.
Gabby began to stir upstairs—a loud snore and then a cough. A few seconds later, the wizard’s feet shuffled across the floor. Caught between two minds, between wanting to learn real magic and the thought of Gabby forcing him to do more chores, Epik took the opportunity to leave. He headed out to the street where he found his mind began to splinter. His concentration was lost on even the road ahead of him as he tried to work out if Gabby would ever teach him real magic, if he could muster some way to stand up to Coe.
He was in such a fog that he almost ran into Gerdy, catching sight of her just in time and stopping short.
“Thought you might want to have breakfast, again.” She shrugged, smiling the crooked smile that Epik was beginning to favor.
“You didn’t have to walk all this way,” Epik said. “We could’ve met in the middle.”
“Next time,” she said. “But really, it’s no big deal. We city dwellers walk way more than you folks from the country. I read about it. Something called statistics.”
“I guess there are more ponies and carts in the country. Makes getting places faster.”
Epik liked this breakfast thing. He hoped it would catch on, and that maybe Myra would join them on occasion. Most halflings were fans of routine, and Epik was no exception, especially when it came to mealtime.
Gerdy took long, smooth strides, giving Epik time to pace along beside her.
Two more shops had changed to Farmacies overnight. One was a fortune teller’s parlor, a painting of a palm scratched out of its window. The signage on the other, an apothecary, hadn’t changed much at all. Both of the shops were empty, except for their clerks who stood in the doorways gawking at each passerby, expectantly.
“I wonder why we’d need so many of these?” Epik said.
“Well, I guess people might get sick. And without magic…” she trailed off, studying the rows of medicines through the window of the shop. “They’re supposed to be backed by something better than magic. Something called science. And maybe Mister I-sneeze-once-every-harvest-moon might not need them. But for us humans…” she paused. “Or half humans,” she said wearily.
“About that—”
“About being half human?”
“No,” Epik said. “About this no magic thing. It’s just temporary, right? Gabby said the king’s worried about something.”
“Yeah,” she said plainly. “About getting his head guillotined.”
“Oh,” Epik said, unsure of what to say next. He’d read a book about a guillotine. It did not sound pleasant—not even for the onlookers.
They crossed the river. “The Sudden River,“ Epik said, remembering its name from his map. “It does have a lot of suds.” The water was a milky brown; it frothed at the edges.
Gerdy laughed. “No,” she said. “It’s called that because if you found yourself in it, you’d be suddenly dead. Or at least that’s what Dad says. And he hardly ever makes jokes. Well, except about death. So, maybe that was a joke.”
Epik stood there a moment looking down at it before Gerdy pulled him along over the bridge; it was hard not to suspect she’d only used the opportunity to grab his hand.
“How’s your apprenticeship going?”
“It’s not,” Epik said. “Gab just has me doing work around the shop. He did give me this wand though.” Epik started to pull it out of his back pocket.
“No,” Gerdy squealed. “Don’t whip that out here in the street. Didn’t you hear about the trials?”
“I did, but it’s just—”
“It’s just a way to get locked up. And for no reason. I know you want to be a wizard and all that stuff. But you still have to be careful. Gab’s doing a good job of laying low. And so should you if you’re going to be hanging about with him.”
They walked along in silence.
Across the stone bridge, the cobblestoned streets of Jersy, chipped and dirty, caked with mud, changed to the pristine roads of Madhattan, swept and maintained. Even the rats of the city proper kept up outward appearances, all black or gray, there wasn’t a spotted one to find.
“About the other thing, you said,” Epik started. “You know, about being half dwarf. I’ve watched—the people, here in the street. They don’t care that you’re half human and dwarf.”
“It’s not that people don’t care—per say,” Gerdy said. “It’s just the city. Folks here are only looking out for number one, as they say. Look at that purse thief, only looking at purses. And those elves over there, only worried about the packages they were carrying.”
“Oh, I guess you’re right,” he said, studying them.
Again they found the bake shop. And this time Epik picked out a croissant as big as his face. Its buttery flakes were no match for the halfling. He vacuumed them up as they attempted to cascade to the ground, without even the chance to put in a proper protest—this is not how croissants work6.
The park was green and vibrant, the morning dew just beginning to evaporate into the air. Myra stood casually by a path that led through a narrow gate and inside; she smiled at them, widely, ensuring they saw her.
With a smile like that, Epik thought, how could I not?
“How did she know we’d—”
“She didn’t, this time,” Gerdy sneered quietly in his ear. “This is actual happenstance. Coincidence, as they say.” Gerdy did not seem happy about it.
“Hi, loves,” Myra said. She winked flirtatiously at Epik, but it seemed more for Gerdy’s benefit than his own.
He found this odd, but approved. Only one girl in the Bog had ever bothered to try to make Frank Biggle jealous—Matty Tompkins, in grammar school. Once, she held Epik’s hand in class. It was the best two minutes he ever spent in that place. Frank hadn’t liked it a bit. Epik remembered how the two of them held hands—much longer than two minutes. But Matty and Frank didn’t last long after.
“Hey Mye,” Gerdy said
, in a surprisingly cordial tone. If Epik didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a quite friendly greeting. Quite the opposite from what she’d said in his ear.
“Good morning Myra,” Epik said with a flourish.
“Still showing our little friend the big city, eh?”
“The good parts.” Gerdy nodded.
Myra laughed.
“Thinkin’ we might disagree on those. Is she takin’ ya to all the touristy stuff? The Music Hall? The Triangle Garden? She hasn’t shown ya the Statue of Heraldry, has she? If you want to see the fun parts, I can show ya. Like the stocks outside the castle—always fun to see the latest criminal gettin’ their comeuppance. It's been all witches and wizards lately.” Gerdy nudged Epik in the side of the head with her elbow after he let out an audible gasp.
“Wizards?” Epik managed to say, rubbing the side of his head.
“Oh,” Myra continued pompously, “the wizards aren’t much trouble without their wands or staffs. But those witches—“ Mye’s lips curled in a smile. “One kept turning the guards into toads. Then they set her on fire!”
“That’s horrible!” Gerdy said.
“No,” Myra said matter-of-factly. “The fire wasn’t bad. Ended up being the bucket of water that did her in.”
“A bucket of—”
Myra laughed jovially. Gerdy found Epik’s foot with her boot.
“So where were ya last night?” Gerdy asked.
“A date, it was going well too, until I let it slip that I’m part elf.”
“Oh, it slipped did it?” Gerdy said tightly.
“These things come up.” Myra waved her hand to her face. It looked like the type of fight the two have had before. “We were talking about civic issues. About the service industry.”
“I’m sure you were,” Gerdy said.
Myra rolled her blue green eyes.
“So why did it go badly?” Epik asked, unable to help himself.
“Oh, he was the superstitious type. Cut a lock of my hair in the night.” Mye twisted a strand of her golden hair, showing them that it was shorter than the rest.
“You spent the night with him!” Gerdy said. And with Epik’s new understanding of questions, he knew this wasn’t one. Now, Gerdy’s voice was unsteady. She seemed flustered in a weird way, hardly able to speak another word.
“Well, yeah,” Myra shrugged. “Don’t know why you’re always on me about my dating life.”
“You’re disgusting,” Gerdy said. But she wasn’t angry. There was something else there.
Epik decided to turn the conversation around, the best he could.
“Why would he want hair?” he asked.
“It’s an old superstition.” Gerdy began to back away. “A lock of hair will make you fair. If golden shade, you’ll never fade.”
“From an elf’s soul, time never takes its toll,” Myra finished the reciting.
“I’ve never heard that,” Epik said. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s not lovely,” Gerdy said. “It’s a myth. A crude one. And Myra knows better than to go home with men like that.”
“He was a sailor,” Myra said. “You know how superstitious they are.”
“Come on,” Gerdy said hastily, grabbing Epik by the shoulders. “We’ve got some sights to see.”
She stormed away, dragging Epik behind her. When he cautiously looked back, Myra had put on her best face, pretending not to care. But there was definitely a bit of hurt in her stare.
“And no,” Gerdy jeered back at her, “we’re not going to the Statue of Heraldry!”
“We’re not?”
“We are,” Gerdy whispered, “but I don’t want her to follow us.”
15
All Quiet on the Eastern Front
Sergeant Todder ducked into the dimly lit tavern. Splinters of the day’s waning sun made hazy beams across the main bar. The side room was lit well enough for the ranger to play his dart and card games, but at the bar only a small gas lamp kept a man’s ass landing on a stool and not the mud-ridden floor. It had rained briefly in the afternoon; a stiff breeze gusting from the bay the storm’s only remnant. It sent a puff of fresh air into the stagnant bar.
Todder took his usual stool, and then Jed nodded to him. But before he could get his order in, the red-bearded dwarf hastened back to the kitchen and Epik floundered out.
“Good evening,” he said cheerily, his hair still damp from the rain. “Be having the stew again, I suspect?”
“The stew, right,” Todder said absentmindedly. There was something about the halfling that made him so damn agreeable. Likeable. “No, no, not the stew,” Todder said. “What’d’a ya have made fresh?”
“Ah.” Epik nodded, thoughtfully. “Believe Snow’s roasting some chickens now. Bit pricier than stew. Two silver dollars and a copper shilling.”
Epik filled a mug and slid it to the sergeant.
Todder sighed. “The stew then,” he said, grudgingly.
“Right you are,” Epik grinned, “it’s super-cali-fra—”
“Sure lad,” the sergeant cut in kindly. Though really, he thought the sound of stew was something quite atrocious.
The bar took on its familiar rhythm, its songs and smells. There was even a rendition of the Rotten Apple’s own theme song.
A drink, a drink, a drink at the Rotten Apple
Where Jed gets red when a bad word’s said. A drink at the Rotten Apple.
An Ale, an Ale, an Ale at the Rotten Apple.
Where the food is rude and the men are lewd. An ale at the Rotten Apple.
Good mead, good mead, good mead at the Rotten Apple.
Where the suds all flow and the only girl is Snow. Good mead at the Rotten Apple.
Some wine, some wine, some wine at the Rotten Apple.
Who drinks wine? Only women and swine. Some wine at the Rotten Apple.
Then the ranger showed up, and everything soured, even the stew—this time before it hit the sergeant’s colon.
Epik carried an arm full of mugs to Coe’s table. Coe just eyed him with contempt while his friend Rotrick and the dwarves were jovial. Nice, even. The three squat fellows sat there playing cards. Epik had learned all of their names by now. Wellspoken, the most well-spoken, was black, black bearded, and fine looking. Two-finger, a red bearded dwarf, was less so. Billy, the last, and one-eyed, with a black patch over the other, was the furthest from fine looking of the bunch.
Collus made trick shots at the dart board, all finding the bullseye that had eluded Epik for the better part of the afternoon.
In the Bog, there had only been the one tavern, the Hog’s Toot, and Epik had gotten used to the idea of regulars. But even then, you didn’t see them every night—even Fatty Cheapskate had a wife to keep him home and nag him about the money he was wasting at the bar. Her nickname was Boney Tightwad, but her real name was Penny Pincher.
In a city with hundreds of bars to choose from, Epik wondered: Why did the ranger have to choose this one? He set the drinks down and turned to leave the room. Then Myra and her father walked inside. She smiled at him, giving the halfling a little wave.
Epik smiled back, widely.
Jed came around from the bar with Snow in tow; a shawl pulled around her shoulders. “We’ll be calling it an early night,” he said to Epik. Then he turned to Gerdy. “You sure you don’t want to come home with us?”
“You’ve never given me a night off before,” Gerdy said testily. “I’ll help Epik.” She eyed the ranger. “And make sure no one gives him a hard time.”
“Aye,” Jed said. “Myra wants to stay too. Epiman says yer to keep her close. Don’t let her go wanderin’ off tonight.”
“How am I suppose—“
“Don’t let her!”
There’s a look that a father can give his daughter when he’s serious, and that was the look Jed was using now.
“Yes, Dad,” Gerdy said, eyeing Myra’s table. Soon enough, Epiman was gone too.
The light of the day had completel
y faded. Epik served more drinks. Gerdy broke up two fights. And again, the wizard was absent. What good was having a wizard as a mentor anyway? He hadn’t taught the halfling anything—yet. Still, Epik found himself fiddling with the wand in his back pocket. He’d still need to complete his end of the bargain. Then he could learn real magic.
“There’s our little friend,” Coe said. “And I do mean little.”
Epik eyed the dartboard. And then it came to him.
“I want you to stop this,” Epik said.
“You do?” Coe grinned. He liked being menacing.
“Is there anything I could do to…“ Epik trailed off, losing a bit of nerve.
Coe shrugged. He wasn’t impressed by the halfling’s show of fortitude. Fortitude that was beginning to dwindle.
“I could play you for it,” Epik said, pointing at the dartboard. And to make it interesting, “we can make it a drinking game.” Epik remembered Gerdy explaining how humans liked to play for drinks.
Coe grinned.
The whole of the bar began to take notice of the confrontation. Well except for the sergeant, at the bar, taking wary bites of stew.
Gerdy got involved.
“No,” she sighed, “that’s like a week’s wages. You won’t be able to pay your rent.” She looked at him knowingly. “Or buy those croissants you love.”
“It’s okay,” Epik said, knowing it wasn’t.
“You’ll play me?” Coe scoffed. “For your honor?” He looked at the halfling suspiciously. “How do I know you aren’t some dart master? You’re not hustling me, are ya?”
“I assure you,” Gerdy said. “He’s not.”
She didn’t seem happy about this prospect at all.
“Well I’d wouldn’t usually take the word of a lady, but you’re not—“
Hero in a Halfling Page 10