“Please, Wooly! I've been trying to workout watching wrestling shows. I do things during commercials to make me stronger, but I don't think that's really a workout. You must know at least a little about working out.” Alfred looked at Wooly with pleading eyes. He wasn't necessarily big or strong looking, and he wore strange, over-sized, loose-looking workman's clothes. He looked like he could fit in at a mechanic's shop. All he was missing were some prison tattoos. The scarred face and greasy overalls were perfect.
“Okay, okay, let me figure it out, and I’ll let you know,” Wooly huffed.
“Oh great! Excellent! I need it! Okay, we'll talk later. Get it ready. I'll tell my mom. Thanks! See yah!” Alfred took off.
Wooly's shoulders slumped.
Alfred entered his apartment. His mother was already there.
“You're home early,” Alfred said.
His mom had just bought some cheap makeup and was looking at the instructions. She quickly hid it under the plastic bags. Alfred's eyes glared at the bags. He could tell she was embarrassed, so he let it go.
“Uh, I'm going to my room, lots of homework!”
She nodded.
“Oh, and Wooly is going to workout with me! Hope that's okay?”
“Fine, fine, maybe...” she said as he closed his door.
Alfred threw down the books and rubbed his hands. He had so much to study again. As he read, one thing that interested him the most was the diagrams and old drawings of smelting kilns and chimney furnaces. These were used to heat up, soften and melt down iron ores. There were different designs that were developed, age after age. He re-drew some of the better ones. They looked like oversized vases.
They dug up iron ore in the mines and then put them at the top of these kilns. At the bottom was a fire which was filled with burning charcoal that melted the ore. Charcoal burns hotter than normal wood. Medieval folks realized this as they cooked. So they'd make bonfires of wood, then as it burned down to charcoal, they'd cover it with sand to put it out, saving what was left as charcoal. The ore melted through the heated vase. The impurities, also called slag, would pass through as a hot liquid while the iron would form a chunk of hot metal dropping to the bottom, called a bloom.
He then learned that after that, to make steel, they mixed in charcoal and a mixture of limestone and sand called flux in a carefully measured way. Forgers of old figured out how to lay iron blooms in this mix in a second kiln and smelt them again!
Another essential step for iron and steel smelting was pushing in a lot of air. Forgers used push-bag bellows to blow in air to get the fire temperatures much hotter. This caused the ores to reach an exceedingly hot melting point. Smelting also took a long time. A whole day and on into the night could be spent pushing air into a fire, to maintain a high temperature. All of these long arduous steps made it seem almost impossible to discover how to make steel.
Alfred didn't understand everything he read. He focused on the key points, so he could discuss them with Broggia and Boggin and then get them to experiment. The few pages of information he had learned and was going to teach Broggia and his son Boggin, took a long line of medieval smiths hundreds of years to figure out by trial and error. They had to understand that the concept of creating steel was very simple but required a long tedious and precise process.
Then Alfred realized something odd. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. He was hungry! He looked at the TV tray. There wasn't any food on it. That was strange. How was he going to eat? He remembered how food got there. His mother put it there. Oh yeah! He went out to his mom to ask where the food was.
He opened his door and walked out. It was now evening. He had been so engrossed in his studies that he became unaware of the passage of time. His mother was sitting there in front of a small mirror, brushing stuff on her face. There was a pile of wiped tissues and open containers of makeup all around. She had big plastic boxes of them, all from the 79-cent store. She looked up at Alfred, blinking, with a clownlike face. Alfred very well knew what she was up to. He wasn't sure he wanted this, even after thinking he'd like his mom to be like the other moms.
“Yes, Alfred?” She smiled with blinking eyelashes and a pouty lipstick smile.
“Is there any food?” Alfred asked.
“Oh...oh, yes, sorry, just a moment.” She leapt up, frantic.
Alfred couldn't stop staring at her. Well, he couldn’t stop staring at the grotesque caked on makeup anyway.
She smiled and pulled out some leftovers from the fridge. “Yes, Alfred. Here you are. Do you notice anything different?”
Alfred blinked and stared. “Just the hideous makeup?”
She froze, holding a pan of foil covered food. She froze for a long time. A very long time.…........... Then she dropped the pan and ran crying into the bathroom.
“What? It looks terrible. What did I say?” Alfred went to the door. “Um, can I still eat the food?”
Alfred hoped she could hear him above her crying. He shrugged and picked up the potatoes and slab of roast. He rinsed off the dirty parts in the sink and then put them in his mouth. They were a bit cold, so the fat was congealed. He chewed methodically and shrugged, thinking it was not all that bad, and gulped it down.
Alfred was back in his room. He wasn't sure what his mother was doing. Eating out of the pan, he watched a wrestling show.
Chapter Five: A Conversation with a Wizard
“Move mom, I can't see the TV!” Alfred whined.
“Mom? Do I look like your mother?” Tirnalth huffed.
“Tirnalth!” Alfred leapt up into his arms.
Surprised by the affection and familiarity, Tirnalth hugged back.
“It feels like a thousand years passed since I last saw you!”
“Oh ho, not even close my boy. It’s been only months, seasons if that! I have come to give you an update!” Tirnalth exclaimed.
“An update?” Alfred wondered what this meant. He sat back down on his bed, quite curious and quite anxious.
“Yes, a report on what I have learned. I am reminding me of myself! Hah! I knew my memories would be taken from me so I wrote them all down! I am a prolific writer! Yes, I am, was… that is. I wrote a lot, oh I did! Histories, thoughts, ruminations, spells, ah yes... spells Alfred! I wrote down all my abilities and spells and magical knowledge. I knew they would be taken away from me! My powers! Hidden in that vast magical library I conjured for my very self. I knew it all was going to happen! I am amazing that way – the me that knew everything that is.”
“Well, what do you know now... that you knew then, that we need to know... now?!” Alfred asked, following quite well.
“Well, you follow what I say quite well,” Tirnalth said.
Alfred nodded an affirmative thank you.
“Well then, yes, what do I know now that I knew then to teach me about now? That is a good, very good question,” Tirnalth exclaimed, waving his pointy finger and plopping down next to Alfred on his very soft bed.
Tirnalth nodded. Alfred nodded in anticipation. Tirnalth raised an eyebrow or two. Alfred shrugged in anticipation again.
“Oh yes, first, before I forget... what little I know now, before I forget this... I have a spell for you!” Tirnalth gave a smug self-impressed expression.
Alfred thought a moment of all the things from the Westfold, of Gorbogal and conspiracies, of the Lords of Silver and Merchants of Telehistine, of the mysteries of Dark Lord and the undead soldiers on giant vultures, and of the fall of his father and how the West was lost. And of all the things Tirnalth could focus on, it was none of these but a spell? Well, a spell wasn't the worst thing that Tirnalth could provide to Alfred, especially if it were a grand spell of ultimate powers or something.
“So, what is it? What spell?”
“A mouse spell!” Tirnalth slapped both knees with joy and pride. “Bet you weren't expecting that!”
“A mouse spell?”
“A mouse spell!” Tirnalth confirmed in joyous success. “Transfiga-morpha
curium rodentia!”
“Transfiga??? Okay Tirnalth, why do I need a mouse spell? And what does it do? Give me mouses... er mice?” Alfred asked.
“No no, it doesn't give you mice! It turns you into a mouse! How about that?! Ehy?!” Tirnalth was mighty proud of his gift.
“Turns me into a mouse? Why the heck-a-doodles do I.... would I.... want to turn into a mouse?!”
“Well, who wouldn't?!”
“Well me!” Alfred said.
“Pft! Of course you would Alfred! Turning into a mouse makes you small.” Tirnalth used his own form of sign language, twiddling his fingers as a scurrying mouse to show Alfred just how neat it was.
“Exactly! I'm small enough against goblins and big ole bikehnbahrs in the Dark Forest! Why would I want to be any smaller than I already am?”
“Whah?” Tirnalth raised his hands in a lazy surrender. “To sneak!”
“To sneak?”
“Yes, to sneak, to spy, to suss out the enemy!” Tirnalth proclaimed. “Or, or, even better, to escape!”
Alfred pondered this, puckering his lips.
“What if they have you in chains?! Huh? How about that? Then you zip! Shrink! A teeny-tiny mouse! Skitter skitter pffzt pfzzt! There you go, little fella, along the cracks and crannies, escape!”
“So a giant spell would be out of the question?”
“Oh come on now, a mouse! A mouse is great! It is so you!” Tirnalth exalted... “Besides the giant spell was way too hard to learn, believe me! Buh-buh but the point is... a scurrilous little mouse is perfect for you!”
Alfred shook his head and gave a sneer.
“Trust me, Alfred. It is just the spell for you. It is small, tiny, easy for you, easy to use for one connected to magic.”
“Connected? To magic?” Alfred straightened up, interested.
“Oh yes, did I mention that? You can use magic only if you are connected, as it were,” Tirnalth ruminated.
“Whaddyamean?”
“What's that?”
“Whaddyamean? Whad-d-yah-mean?” Alfred waved his hands impatiently.
“Are you trying to ask 'what do you mean'?”
“Yes, that's what I said!”
“What do you mean? Ah yes, I mean... concerning connected – you to magic...” Tirnalth thought thoughtfully.
“Yes, me, magic... There's a connection, right? So I can cast spells?”
“Well, I don't know exactly. I do know now that magic is connected in some way, the good, the bad, and the promises.” Tirnalth stood up and began to pace in the small area. “And your family was given a promise, a blessing, a mark of magic long ago, and all who are connected, who are of the blood, can connect to this magic one way or another.”
“Gorbogal...” Alfred whispered.
“Yes,” Tirnalth turned.
“My mother?” Alfred gasped.
“Ah, your dear mother, she chose it not. She did not want it! Bless her humility,” Tirnalth said, peering out the dusty window at the dim street lights. A car passed by, its headlights streaming in and racing the shadows across the wall just as when the two first met.
“Oh, she hates you, Tirnalth!” Alfred stood up, remembering.
“Me? Why in the Westfold would she hate me? I saved her! You!”
“Yeah, but you also brought me back to the Westfold, to the land of darkness and peril. You know, the same place you saved us from, remember?”
“Mmm... but I didn't remember, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't remember. I only felt...”
“Well, you felt alright... the wrong thing to her,” Alfred said glumly.
Tirnalth was saddened by the thought that perhaps it was his fault. Did his former self, full of memory and competence, plan all this? Did his former fullness know he would feel and seek out Alfred when he was old enough – and then take him away from his mother? He wasn't sure.
“Hey wizard?” Alfred tugged at Tirnalth's robe. “How about that mouse spell?”
“Ah yes, the spell!” Tirnalth began to recite the words.
Alfred picked up a pencil and waved it.
Tirnalth began to recite:
A little mouse,
Small in size…
Then he paused. “What are you doing with that pointy object?” he asked.
It took a moment for Alfred to realize that Tirnalth was asking about his makeshift wand.
“Oh this? It's my wand.” Alfred continued to wave it about.
Tirnalth grabbed it quickly and set it down. “Anything you carry or wear will shrink down with you and become your fur, so best to keep things where they ought to be.”
“Oh, right, okay.”
“That is the beauty of magic. It has a mind of its own. It is not at all about laws and orders. Alright... here we go“ Tirnalth continued.
A little mouse,
Small in size,
Powers of might, deduce,
Minimize,
Powers of light, reduce!
“Okay Alfred?”
Alfred nodded.
“Now, let's say it together. And with conviction! You must say it with conviction. Otherwise, it is just words. You must visualize your inner mouse!”
Alfred nodded a bit nervously but shook it off.
Both began:
A little mouse,
Small in size,
Powers of might, deduce,
Minimize,
Powers of light, reduce!
A sparkling occurred around Tirnalth as he shrunk in size. Alfred watched him shrink and bent down to follow, but he wasn't shrinking himself.
“Feel it, Alfred, the mouse. Feel the small size! Can you feel it?” Tirnalth called up, already forming ears, whiskers and white fur from his robe.
“Wow, it’s really working on you, Tirnalth. You are getting smaller like a mouse!”
As he said this, a similar sparkling zapped him into a little brown mouse looking up. Tirnalth, still shrinking into a mouse, looked down at Alfred, the instant mouse, with a disconcerted look.
“Well, that was remarkably easy for you,” he said. Finally, Tirnalth accomplished the miraculous transformation, and both were mice.
“Wow!”said Alfred in small squeaks.
“Yes, it is remarkable,” Tirnalth squeaked back. “Isn't it?”
“We are mice alright!” Alfred looked at his paws and furry body.
“Yes,” the mousy wizard squeaked. “The magic is strong with you, Alfred. Well, try out your mouse form! Go on! Get used to being a mouse!”
Alfred scurried along the floor, in and out of books and shoes. “Wow, it’s pretty fun. I can move pretty fast. I feel like I can see things faster! I feel really uppity!”
“Hah, yes yes, that's the mouse energies alright!”
“Wheee! Look at me go!” Alfred zipped along the floor, going up and down, in and out of shoes and clothes and books and cables from the computer and TV.
For the umpteenth time Alfred's mother was wiping off and then putting on another layer of makeup. She looked at the cheap celebrity fashion magazines she had gathered and then at herself in the mirror. With her lack of training and experience, the makeup on her face seemed gaudy at best. She had bright cheeks, bright lips, thick clumpy eye lashes and black lines under her eyes. She couldn't stand looking at herself. She dropped the mirror onto the table and picked up tissue. “Why do I even bother?!”
Then out of the corner of her eye she saw it. A mouse! She couldn't believe it. A little brown mouse came out from under Alfred's door.
“Alfred!” she screamed and hopped on her chair. She threw plastic containers of makeup, nearly hitting the mouse before it scurried under the couch. Another mouse, this one white, appeared from under the door, waving its little grotesque pink hands in the air. His mother stared at it. It was looking straight at her, waving its little creepy hands. Now that completely freaked her out!
Her eyes bulged. “Oh Lord of Light, save me! Alfred!!” She tossed more makeup containers and packaging and
bottles at the creepy crawlers that squeaked and finally scurried away. She fluttered her arms and bounded hysterically from furniture piece to furniture piece, knocking her sewing work onto the floor. She was able to reach Alfred's door and yank it open.
“Alfred! A mouse! Two mouses! I mean mice! Help!” she looked in and did not see Alfred. “Oh no, he's gone. No!”
She leapt across the small apartment and ran out the door.
“Oh no!” squeaked the little brown mouse under the couch. The white mouse scurried over to him, moving over and under piles of thrown items and stacks of sewing work.
“Why did you scurry out here?!”squeaked Tirnalth.
“I don't know. I was just so excited! I couldn't help myself! I'm a hyper mouse!”
“You alright?”
“How do I turn back to normal?”
“Oh... uh...” Tirnalth tried to recall. “I don't remember. Hah!”
“What?!”
“It just sort of runs out after awhile, I think.”
“What? That's crazy! How do I know when and where I'll be or what size I’ll be?!”
“Well, I don't know. It was an easy enough spell. That's why I picked it. It doesn't have all the bells and whistles!”
“Oh sure, like turning myself back into me!” Alfred squeaked.
Chapter Six: A Mother's Loveliness
Alfred's mother rushed down the corridor and down the stairs, passing two old ladies. They peered at her gaudy made-up, make-upped face, exchanging ghastly looks.
“It's getting scary out there.”
“You're telling me.”
She ran outside and down the street and banged on Wooly's garage door. “Wooly!”
She banged again. “Wooly?”
It was night. She wasn't sure he'd be there. Just then a man approached her. He had a small bouquet of flowers and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see the man she first talked to at the school, the tall handsome one. Seeing her garish makeup and frantic eyes, he pulled back the flowers and stared at her face. She pulled back a loose hair.
Alfred 2: And The Underworld (Alfred the Boy King) Page 3
