by Max Anthony
“Ladies and Gentlewizards,” the host began. “Welcome to the 462nd Wizards’ Convention, held this year in the great city of Hardened!” There was much cheering at this and thumping of feet on floor.
“Before we begin, can I please ask that everyone turn their defensive wards off, so as not to disturb the people around you?” A number of wizards were seen scrambling at their robes.
There was more preamble, which Skulks became rapidly bored with. His ears performed an excellent trick of transforming the words into a low background droning sound, which he was able to mostly ignore. Ryanda Tremble had told him that Tiopan Lunder had some kind of insect repelling spell that he was determined to show off at the awards ceremony. Skulks assumed that the wizard was hoping to win a prize, but didn’t have any idea which categories Lunder might have entered.
The background droning noise faded, becoming more akin to recognizable words and Skulks realised his ears had identified that it was time for him to pay closer attention. The first award category was being announced, which was “The Gourmet Wizard”. Skulks watched in fascination as the five entrants stood in front of a long table, evidently required to give a demonstration of their spell. A meat pie was before each wizard. Arms were waved, words were mumbled and before the very eyes of the astounded audience, pies were magically altered into something different. One pie appeared on a rough plank of wood, with a couple of sea shells around it. There were fried potatoes adjacent to it, artfully arranged in a stack. Another pie became surrounded in a chill mist, with the top crust turned into some sort of foam, whilst another pie was turned inside out, with the crust inside the filling. And so it went on, with each humble pie being given an artistic twist. Skulks scratched his head, for he liked his pies golden and warm, with the filling reaching to the top of the crust. He had no idea what to make of these newfangled pies.
A round of voting began, with each wizard of the audience raising a numbered stick into the air to show their preferred winner. It was a truly democratic process, though Skulks decided to exercise his rights as a conscientious objector and abstained.
“And the winner is,” the host paused for dramatic effect. “For his deconstructed pie.” There was another pause. “Umbert Umberto!”
The happy winner stepped forward to claim his prizes, these being a set of embroidered blue robes and a matching hat.
“I shall wear them with pride!” claimed Umberto, before launching into his winner’s speech. “A lot of hard work went into this spell, and I should like to thank...,” Skulks’ ears proved their worth again by converting the words into a mildly irritating humming while Skulks himself maintained an artificial half-smile to give the impression he was enjoying it all immensely.
The afternoon wore on and Skulks found that each category was accompanied by a similarly lengthy speech, delivered by a similarly dull wizard. He’d heard them gossiping in the taverns and, though he didn’t like to admit it, many of them were capable of interesting, even riveting conversation. So why, he wondered, were all the boring ones winning?
Eventually, the afternoon’s awards drew to a close and Skulks was eminently relieved, for he had found his head drooping on more than one occasion. It wasn’t the best atmosphere in which to locate and un-mask a powerful and hostile wizard and Lunder wasn’t exactly parading around wearing robes with a large “I am Tiopan Lunder” sign stitched onto the back.
As Skulks dutifully filed out of the main auditorium along with the other wizards, he saw Captain Honey waving at him from the foyer. He was happy to see her face and went over to enquire what she was gesticulating so urgently about.
“I thought you might like these,” she said, handing him a paper-wrapped parcel. “To help you fit in a bit better tonight.”
Skulks opened the parcel and withdrew a set of smart new black trousers and a new black tunic. To accompany these was a thick, black robe and to top it all off there was a black hat with a modest point on the top. “I don’t know what to say!” he said. “Every time I try to find some new clothes I end up looking like a fool.” He looked sheepish. “Did you hear about the hat?” Captain Honey nodded in sympathy.
“It’s tied to the roof of the Chamber Building now,” she told him. “To see if it conducts lightning.”
Skulks hurried into the privies to get changed into his swanky new togs and emerged looking brooding and menacing as he swirled the cloak around his shoulders with aplomb. His dagger-sheaths were hidden away from sight.
“I, Taniel the Skulktastic, will astound these wizards with my prowess!” Honey laughed at his mock bravado as well as the fact that his hat was on back-to-front. Skulks doffed the hat, executed a monumental bow and then flounced off towards the buffet, pleased as punch to be wearing new clothes. In truth, he’d been getting increasingly concerned about his appearance, with his old clothes being patched dozens of times. He felt that as Hardened’s premier thief, he should put at least a bit of effort into his dress, but every time he went into a clothing shop, he came out looking like a nincompoop, irrespective of how much money he invested in resolving the problem.
The buffet was in a huge room at one end of the Heavenly Snouts. This room had high ceilings and a hard-wearing carpet with a pattern designed to hide stains and trodden-in sausages. There were four long tables, groaning under the weight of food and drink. Other, smaller tables allowed the wizards to sit in groups of their preferred company. Even though he’d consumed four pies and several boxed lunches, Skulks was hungry. This was far from unusual for him even when he’d not used his Wielding and it was sometimes a wonder how he managed to stay so trim.
It wasn’t long until Skulks had a sandwich in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. If he’d had a third hand it would have been holding the glass of fruit punch he’d had to reluctantly set down upon the table. Nearby, there were several bowls of creamy-looking dips, into which Skulks thrust the chicken leg. A wizard further along the table frowned at this breach of etiquette. He frowned even more deeply when Skulks took a bite of the chicken leg and shoved it back into the same dip, sharing traces of his saliva with the next unsuspecting dipper. Soon the first chicken leg was gone and a sausage took on the task of finding the tastiest dip on the table. Skulks felt a tap on the shoulder.
“I say! Taniel the Skulktastic! Jolly glad to see you here!”
It was his companions from the night before, Pook and Trumpy. Inside Skulks, a tiny hammer struck gently at a vast, thick wall of intolerance as he realised he was pleased to see them. Though they had started off with boorish tales of bravery and had questionable views on government, they had been otherwise agreeable company. Both of them were showing signs of bruising from the festivities at The Wizard’s Repose, and Trumpy was missing both eyebrows, presumably burned off.
“Good evening to you, gentlemen!” said Skulks. “Are you enjoying the Convention?”
“It’s splendid!” replied Trumpy. “And look at this Pook. Our Taniel here has come dressed to impress.” He elbowed Pook in the side and winked. “Maybe he’s got his eye on a lovely lady wizard, eh?”
Skulks made a few noises to indicate pleased modesty that his clothes had been noticed.
“Or maybe, he’s looking to win that prize eh? A new staff, wasn’t it?”
“It’s funny that you should mention it, but I have a question that one of you two may be able to answer, given that I am a mere junior in the world of magics,” said Skulks.
“A question, is it? Fire away, young man!” instructed Pook, not knowing that Skulks was by several centuries the older of the two.
“I have a friend who has perfected an insect-repelling spell, but I’m sure I can’t recall which award category he said he was going in for. Perhaps you could suggest which one it might be.”
Trumpy and Pook went silent for a moment before Trumpy spoke. “The Most Practical Application of Wizardry. That’ll be the one. It’s tomorrow.”
“You could have entered your Wizardly Wealth Depletion spell, but I
have no idea what category that would fall into. You’d have to speak to the organisers.”
“I have another spell that I may be able to enter into the Most Practical Application of Wizardry category,” said Skulks, musing. “Perhaps I shall do just that.”
“It looks like our Taniel is a man of many talents,” said Pook, snatching back his handkerchief just as Skulks raised it to his nose.
“Indeed I am,” said Skulks, chuckling at Pook’s quick retrieval of the stolen hanky. “Is there any way I can find out who has entered a spell into this category?” he asked.
“Goodness gracious, no!” exclaimed Trumpy. “That would be very much against the rules. Why there could be all manner of nobbling and underhand behaviour if we knew who our rivals were!”
“Quite true, Trumpy,” said Pook. “They changed the rules over one hundred years ago, after six categories went entirely uncontested because jealous wizards had killed each other before the Convention. We’re much more civilised now,” said he, burping and scratching vigorously at an armpit.
The three of them made small talk for a time, before Skulks excused himself and drifted back towards the food. The fruit cocktail appeared to be surprisingly well fortified, so Skulks drank it sparingly in order that his senses not suffer befuddlement. His earlier forays into the dips had resulted in a small blob of oily cheese and kipper sauce dribbling onto his new robes, much to his horror, so now he kept his attention on the drier foods. He chit-chatted to a few of the friendlier wizards and cold-shouldered the snooty ones, stealing a monocle and a pair of brass binoculars in the process. All the while, he was watching out for signs of Lunder and listening out for undisguised Rhultian accents and staring at the dumpier, bearded wizards in case they were his veiled foe.
Usually Skulks was more than happy to overstay his welcome. Or rather, he was too thick-skinned to realise when it was time to leave. Tonight was an exception, for he was now quite sure that Tiopan Lunder was not at the gathering. Showing signs of some ill-breeding, Skulks shoved food into a paper bag and left the auditorium. Shortly thereafter he arrived home and fell asleep without bathing or changing.
Twenty-Three
On the second day of the 462nd annual Wizards’ Convention, Tan Skulks overslept. He rarely felt a sense of urgency and even though he was determined to capture or kill Lunder, it wasn’t sufficient to prevent his body sleeping until the hour of ten. Skulks yawned, squinted out of the window, cleaned his teeth with a finger and dug a couple of dry, curling sandwiches from his paper bag. Munching stolidly, he left the house and hurried to the Wizards’ Convention.
Day two was more of the same. There were follow-on lectures hosted by celebrity guest wizards and awards in the afternoon. The biggest and best awards were on day three and Skulks had heard that this was when fireworks were most likely to occur, as rivalries spilled over into outright warfare. It was for this reason that day three was the most anticipated. All mages liked a good scrap every now and then.
Determined to catch the follow-up to the previous lecture, Skulks let himself into the lecture room mid-way through, weathering the stares and harrumphing sounds of the offended audience. The speaker, who had introduced himself previously as Frotch Ten Ton Blam was not unduly upset and paused kindly while Skulks found himself a seat. The lecturer resumed his talk on the principles of rodent summoning. Unable to prevent himself, Skulks followed the described methods and was overjoyed when a pygmy mouse appeared, which quickly fled up the robes of a lady two seats along from him.
After the lecture was over, there was another opportunity for Skulks to consume as many boxed lunches as he could lay his mitts on. He was disappointed that Captain Honey wasn’t present, not least because he wanted to express his gratitude for the clothes she’d given him. He almost felt like a real wizard in them, even though they retained the comfort of his thief’s garb.
The ushers arrived and drove the scattered mob of wizards towards the main auditorium, with Skulks elbowing his way to the front in order that he could steal his pick of the seats. He had feared there would be another afternoon of drudgery to labour through before he got to the only award he’d come to see, but luck was with him, for the Most Practical Application of Wizardry award was to be the first.
“Ladies and Gentlewizards,” began the speaker. “Until an hour ago, we had only three entrants in this category. Now we have accepted a latecomer to try his hand at stupefying you with his inestimable talents!” There was a smattering of applause, the noise triggering a small explosive ward on a wizard in row six who’d forgotten to disable it. “So, come down Rastus Tio Demon-Muncher!”
On the opposite side of the auditorium a man got up. He was of medium height, medium build, with medium-length hair and a medium length nose. Everything about him was medium, including the length of his robes. He made his way down the closest steps to join the other three wizards who were already there. Skulks stood up.
“I would like to enter this category!” he said loudly, finding his voice carrying more than he’d expected. Everyone in the room looked at him, though Skulks was not shy at the attention.
“This is most peculiar,” said the speaker below. He muttered to himself for a few seconds. “But there’s nothing in the rules against it. Come down here and amaze us. But first, tell us who you are!”
“I am Taniel the Skulktastic!” said Skulks, waving his arms around in what he thought was a dramatic pattern. A few of the more experienced wizards ducked as he’d very nearly stumbled on the gestures necessary to summon a flock of disease-bearing pigeons.
“Be careful with those arms,” the mage next to him hissed.
Skulks, with an eye for the sensational, made his way slowly and serenely down to the podium below. He studied the competition, as if he was the most alpha wizard trying to impose himself upon the other entrants. In fact, Skulks was trying to read their ward-patterns. His Wielder’s sight allowed him to look at the magical protections wizards placed upon themselves. Given time, he could also unravel these protections, though it was not always practical if said wizard was already casting flames his way. Skulks had seen Tiopan Lunder’s protections before and hoped he would be able to recognize them once he got up close. Mages had their habits and many of them did the same things in the same way.
Two of the wizards on the podium were weak chancers, hoping to get lucky on the day and win themselves a coveted robe or staff to tell their friends about. The other two were the real deal. The Medium Man had a thick intertwining of wards, guards and sigils, in spite of the pleas to disable the more unstable or easily-triggered ones. Skulks had already removed a couple of them by the time he stepped up onto the podium. There was another mage, equally well-guarded. She was short, slim and with long chestnut hair. Skulks recalled she had been introduced as Dramina Flotsam.
The speaker bade the first contestant to do his best and this entrant stepped forth, announcing in a shaky voice to the audience that he had a spell to hammer nails. He produced a hammer and a handful of tacks, which he laid on a table in front of him. After a quantity of mumbling and arm-waving, the hammer rose jerkily from the table and floated over to one of the nails, the latter also jerkily raising itself upright. The hammer floated uncertainly in the air, before plunging down enthusiastically onto the table, missing the nail completely. Up it came again before hitting the table once more and leaving a semi-circular dent in the wood. After several more tries, it eventually struck the nail off-centre, bending it and driving it into the table at an angle. The wizard stepped back, receiving an unenthusiastic smattering of applause.
“It’s better than hitting your thumb,” he mumbled defiantly.
“Next to amaze, it’s Taniel the Skulktastic!” announced the speaker.
Thrusting himself forward, for he was eager to impress, Skulks turned slowly around as he addressed the entire room.
“Baboons,” he began. “I am always attacked by baboons. Filthy, hairy creatures, which throw their own muck. So, I asked myself,
how can I prevent these wicked creatures from getting the upper hand in their ceaseless attempts to steal my trousers?” The audience chuckled at this, thinking Skulks to be joking when in reality he was deadly serious.
“So I set to work upon a spell that would assist me with a problem I’m sure we’ve all struggled with, that problem being ravening baboons and their wiles.” A few of the wizards were nodding their heads in agreement, though most were entirely unconcerned by baboons which were really only a problem in Skulks’ head. As he spoke, Skulks walked around the podium, staring long and hard at Dramina Flotsam and Rastus Tio Demon-Muncher.
“The problem I have here, in this auditorium, is a complete lack of rampant baboonery!” With that, Skulks turned without warning and punched Rastus Tio Demon-Muncher squarely on the nose. Skulks was very strong, but the wizard still had the remainder of his ‘tavern brawl’ wards in place from the previous evening and they prevented him from suffering serious injury.
“Hey!” he shouted in shock, with a dribble of blood coming from his nose.
“Bugger it!” said Skulks and punched Dramina Flotsam on the nose as well. This produced the desired effect, and a heat-seeking baboon appeared to defend its master. Skulks had seen Tiopan Lunder use this spell against him before and he’d hoped to draw it out to un-mask the rogue wizard.
As the baboon leapt for Skulks, a tiny ward flared up across his chest, subverting the baboon and turning it upon its master.
“Gah!” shouted Flotsam-Lunder, as the baboon turned and fastened its strong, leathery palms about his throat, strangling a spell dead before it could reach his mouth.
“So you see,” yelled Skulks, performing a smooth forward-roll as an angry Rastus threw a bolt of ice at him, missing by inches, “the baboon is turned upon its master, reflecting harm upon he who would have inflicted harm!”
By now a few of the wizards were on their feet. They could sense trouble brewing and were eager to get the best view of it. Some were clapping loudly and shouting “Bravo!” in the hope of egging the contestants along into unrestrained combat.
