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As was often the case, when Fezdon woke up the next morning he had a new solution to his problem. If he couldn't find a potion or spell to keep the dust out of the beggars' boil, perhaps the royal wizard in the castle could. He knew his chance at gaining an audience with the wizard was slim, but it was worth a try. He could explain that he needed help with something that would benefit the whole village; perhaps then the would let him in.
He left his shack and began trotting towards the castle. Before long he was in the market, side stepping through the bustle of people buying and selling their wares. He stopped when he passed by the beggars' boil. His curiosity outweighed his trepidations, so he cupped his hands, bent down, and lifted some to his mouth. It was very hot in his hands, and burned his lips a bit, but he had to admit it wasn't bad. He drank the rest of it down, getting a few morsels into his mouth. He wondered if there was any truth to these complaints as he began to chew; then he found out first hand what they had all been complaining of. With each bite, a gritty crunch of dust ground between his teeth. He spat it out upon the ground; licking the back of his hand to try and pull all the dust off his tongue. As he continued to walk towards the castle he kept finding little specs of dirt, crunching around inside of his mouth. Fezdon could see why people ate of it if they had nothing else, but it was pretty bad.
No matter how soft his steps, his feet kicked up dust as he walked. The dirt which made up the market ground was so fine that it was impossible to traversed across it without raising a cloudy trail behind you. As Fezdon neared the end of the market he saw his lovely niece and her husband selling stew. They were kind people, who had always given to the beggars' boil when they could. He waved to Helsa and Vairgar, on his way towards the castle. They waved back, but looked too busy with customers to chat, so he continued on.
Once the tall gray walls of the castle were visible, the loose dirt beneath him changed to a straight path of paved stone leading to the castle gates. The hard stone felt firm beneath his calloused feet. As he approached he saw the two guards standing on either side of the gate look up at him. Their fierce gaze only lasted a moment, as the enormous gate behind them swung open with a groan. Olfdon and Hector stepped aside, and out came a short man with a thick mustache jutting out of his face like white fluffy lightning bolts. His aging fingers were wrapped around a large brown broom which looked heavy in his hands. He passed by the guards, and then looked to Fezdon as they closed the gates behind him. The two old men continued to walked until they passed by each other. Fezdon gave the man a polite nod, and then came to a stop before the guards. He looked at Olfdon to his right, but before he could speak the guard started in on him.
"What are you doing here? Don't tell me you wish to visit the royal library again. As I recall, you have three outstanding books which have yet to be returned. So unless you come back with those, you're not getting through these gates."
He flung his spear back over his shoulder and tapped the gates with three ear splitting clangs. Fezdon put his hands to his ears and said,
"Yes, yes; this is not about that. You see I need the council of the royal magician about something which could help the whole village."
“Is that so?” Olfdon said, and then the two guards began to laugh. Hector spat upon the ground between chuckles, and then said his peace about the matter.
"The king's magician is much too busy for the likes of you. He does not have time to council common peasants. Why don't you go back to your books for answers?"
Fezdon changed his tone, willing his voice to be polite.
"Are you sure there is no way that I can see the magician?"
"Not a chance,” said Olfton.
Fezdon dropped his gaze to the ground, trying to come up with one last way to convince the guards to let him through. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Olfton clearing his throat. Fezdon started, bolting upright, and then took one last look past the gates towards the castle. He wondered where the wizard was, and what he was doing that was so important.
“You best be on your way old man, before I lose my temper,” Olfton said.
“Oh, you wouldn't want that now would you? I've seen him when he's mad, it's not a pretty sight,” said Hector.
Fezdon spun around and walked away at a clumsy rushed pace. After the first few steps however, he slowed and began to think. As he walked back towards the market his thoughts drifted to all the things people had said to him. Perhaps they were all right; maybe he was not meant to be a wizard. It might be that all he was good for was selling herbs and spices at the market. His pace had slowed even more. His head hung down, and his eyes stared blankly at his feet until he ran right into the man with the broom. The fellow had been sweeping while walking backwards; so he wouldn't dirty the work of his broom.
“Oh, I'm terribly sorry,” Fezdon said.
“That's alright good sir, no harm done.”
Fezdon got a strange look in his eye as a new thought began to form. He spoke to the man again,
“May I ask you sir, does this stone walkway serve a purpose other than a grand visual appearance?”
“But of course. As people walk towards the castle upon this stone, much of the dust from their feet comes off, as I'm sure you can see. It makes an easier job for us to keep the floors inside the castle clean. We don't want everyone coming inside the gates to track dust in with them from the market. That is why the path starts so far away from the castle. By the time people arrive at the gates, most of the dust has fallen from their feet.”
“Just as I thought; thank you,” Fezdon said.
“Always happy to talk about the castle. Good day then.”
The man nodded and got back to work. Fezdon started down the path again, but no longer in a slump. He nearly ran all the way back to his shack. He had something new to look for in his books, a potion that could produce stone.
Fezdon's Mistake Page 2
