The Lost Mage

by Difar, Amy

  “No!” Darakin said a bit too quickly. “No mousies for me, thanks.”

  Okay, but you don’t know what you’re missing.

  Darakin wanted to protest that he did know, but instead he asked, “So, what’s the plan for today?”

  Well, that all depends on what you want. Are you looking to stay here? Or are you trying to get back to your dimension?

  “Getting back would be great, but I have no idea how to do that. The idiots that brought me here clearly thought they were summoning a demon from a hell dimension and couldn’t send me back, even if they were so inclined, which they weren’t.”

  The cat looked sideways at the mage. But, I mean, if you were able to go back, would you have room for, I mean would you want, aw never mind.

  “Would I want what?”

  Nah, it’s nothing.

  “Are you asking if I’d want you to come with me?”

  Ahem, no, no I mean it’s not my world there. Do they even have cats there?

  “They do and I think I could get used to having company. I’d take you along as long as you’re willing to travel with me.”

  No, that’s okay. I got a good thing going here.

  “Actually, it would be a favor to me. I don’t have any close friends back home. I’m a traveling mage and I admit that I’ve never had a traveling companion before, but I think it would be great.”

  Oh, well, if it’s a favor, sure I’ll go with you.

  “Excellent. But until I find out how to get us home, how can I get some currency to score you some milk? Is that how you say ‘buy’?”

  Nah, it’s kind of a slang thing. And the only way, I mean, the only legal way to get currency is to get a job.

  “Then that’s what I shall do. Where does one go to procure employment here?”

  Oh boy. This is gonna be tough. The cat shakes his head. Look for signs in shop windows. They put signs up if they need anyone.

  “How do you know this? You cannot read, can you?”

  No, but the family I used to live with told their son about the signs in the summer when he was off from school. I followed him around while he looked for a job.

  “Ah, I see.”

  Can you read?

  “I think so. The translator spell should let me.” The mage looked up at a street sign to check. “Yes, I can read.”

  Good. Um, would you mind carrying me? It’s a long way and sometimes I get kicked when I try to walk on the sidewalks.

  “Of course.” Darakin picked up Mrowley, who quickly settled into the mage’s arms.

  The cat took Darakin many blocks away to the downtown area of the city. Here the streets were lined with small shops and pubs. As they walked, people stared. The fact that he was carrying – and talking to – a cat only seemed mildly strange when compared with Darakin’s odd appearance. His cape and his long, glistening, silver hair blowing behind him were what caught most people’s attention. Fortunately, most didn’t notice the large dagger tucked into his belt.

  Darakin either didn’t notice the stares or didn’t care to acknowledge them, instead studying the windows of all the shops for one of those Help Wanted signs that Mrowley had described.

  Unlike Darakin, Mrowley took the opportunity of being carried rather than kicked for a change to yell at the passersby who stared. What? You never saw a mage carrying a cat before? Go have a hairball. Stick your opposable thumb up your –

  “Okay. Hush now, kitty. We’ve no quarrel with these folks.”

  Speak for yourself, dude. These people have been kicking me and shooing me away for years.

  “Ah, I see. I apologize. Proceed.” Mrowley continued to hurl insults as they made their way downtown.

  After walking many blocks, they finally happened upon an old-fashioned looking pub. Darakin immediately liked the look and feel of the pub. It reminded him of home. In its window sat a small sign that read, “Help Wanted.”

  “Here,” Darakin said to the cat. “I shall work here.”

  Whoa, dude, you need them to hire you first.

  “How do I get hired?”

  You gotta go in and talk to the boss, I think.

  “Very well, I shall. Are you coming?”

  Cats aren’t allowed inside. I usually get kicked if I try to go into a shop. I’ll just wait in this little corner here.

  “Okay.”

  Darakin was about to enter the bar when Mrowley spoke up. Oh, dude? You might want to lose the cape.

  “I have very few possessions, cat, and I’d prefer not to lose any of them.”

  Not literally lose, I mean take it off.

  “But this cloak signifies my rank within the Kakdali.”

  Not here it doesn’t. Here, it just makes you look kind of weird.

  “Very well.” Darakin removed his cloak and folded it under his arm. He started toward the door when Mrowley stopped him again.

  Dude? That knife thingy? I don’t think you’re allowed to have those here.

  Darakin put his hand to the dagger at his waist. “No weapon? How do people defend themselves here?”

  Well, there are the police, for one, but I don’t think you want to run into them. They might think you’re not right in the head.

  “These police protect all of these people?” Darakin spread his arms to indicate the busy streets.

  Yep.

  “How many of these police are there? It would seem that an army would be necessary to protect this many people.”

  Well, since you’re not allowed to have those, the cat indicated the dagger with his paw, people aren’t too worried. Look around. Do you see anybody else with one?

  Darakin looked around and found there was not one weapon in evidence. “Fine.” He unhooked the dagger sheath from his waist and wrapped it in his cloak. He pulled on the door and entered the darkened tavern.

  He stopped and gasped in astonishment. A small box on the wall contained miniature people and landscapes. Either there was a race of miniature people native to this realm, or some powerful magic was used to shrink those people.

  He was considering leaving before he became victim to the shrinking spell when a voice called out to him, “What’s the matter? Never saw a television before?”

  He turned and looked at the owner of the voice. “No, I haven’t.” He took a step toward the large, wooden bar that ran the length of one side of the tavern.

  “Are those people okay?” He pointed at the television.

  “Them? Aye, they’re more than okay. Most of ‘em are loaded.”

  “With what?”

  “Huh?”

  “Loaded with what?”

  “Money, lad. They’re rich.”

  “Ah. Being shrunk into the box must pay very well.”

  “Sure does.” The bartender looked the mage up and down. Darakin’s white blousy shirt, suede boots and cotton trousers made him look as though he’d stepped off the cover of a romance novel. “What can I get you?”

  “I seek employment.”

  “Oh, you do, huh?”

  “Yes, I need work and you’ve advertised that you need help.”

  “What kind of experience do you have?”

  “Well, I am …” Mrowley had pointed out that there were no elemental mages here so Darakin decided not to mention that. “I have experience um …”

  “Can you lift heavy boxes?” This man’s accent sounded different from all the others that Darakin had been hearing from humans.

  “Indeed I can.”

  “Are ya legal, son?”

  “Legal?”

  “Have you a birth certificate?”

  “I need certification that I was born? Is not my presence proof enough?”

  The bartender sighed. “A green card, perhaps? Have you one of them?”

  “Um …”

  “Son, you’ll need those if ya want to work in this country. I’m sorry.”

  Dejected, Darakin left the tavern. When he looked for Mrowley, he found the cat with his fur standing on end and back
arched in the corner, hissing as two young men in their late teens were closing in.

  “Here, little kitty. We’ve got some treats for you.”

  Darakin crept up behind the two men. “Your demeanor belies your words.”

  “Huh?”

  “Methinks you mean to harm that cat.”

  “Who the hell says methinks?” the thug asked in surprise.

  “I do.”

  “Yeah? Well, mind your own business, guy.”

  “He is my business … guy.” Darakin grabbed the two young men by their shoulders and knocked them together with such force that they both crumbled to the ground. He stepped past their moaning bodies and picked up Mrowley, giving the cat a stroke on the head.

  When he turned back, the bartender was standing in front of him.

  “Ach, what the hell? I’ve already got one or two from the Auld Country, so what’s one more alien. I’ll give ya that job, after all. I’ll need you for heavy lifting and throwing the odd, disruptive customer out. You seem to have some proficiency in that area. You can start tonight. My name is Sean.”

  “Many thanks to you, Sean. My name is Darakin.” Darakin turned his attention back to the trembling cat. “Are you okay?”

  Yeah, ahem, no sweat. I had it under control. Didn’t you see me? How’d I look?

  “Ferocious.”

  Yeah, that’s what I thought. But thanks for the help anyway.

  Darakin gave the cat a reassuring squeeze. “Now to see about lodgings.”

  That’s gonna be tough without some cash … methinks.

  “Does my language sound that archaic?”

  Ark what now?

  “Archaic. Ancient. Out of use.”

  Oh. Yep, yep and yep. All those things.

  “I shall have to adapt my speech to match the patterns I hear locally then. You know, so I fit in.”

  The cat pawed at Darakin’s long, silver hair. Yeah, um blending? That’s probably not gonna happen.

  “I have noticed that everybody’s hair seems different than mine. Does nobody here have silver hair?”

  Well, the old people do. It’s a sign that they’re getting old.

  “Ah, no that’s gray hair. My hair is silver and it’s the magic that causes it. When a child is born with silver hair, a family knows that they’ve been blessed with a mage. Anyway, I have an idea.” Without releasing the cat, he went back into the bar.

  “Excuse me, Sean. You’ve been kind enough and I hate to impose any further, but you wouldn’t have a room or a place where I – and my friend – could find rest, would you? Just ‘til we find a place. We’re new here.”

  Sean chuckled. “I’ve a soft spot for the fur balls myself.”

  Hey, who are you calling a fur ball? Mrowley asked in outrage.

  Darakin gave the cat a warning squeeze.

  “Vocal little thing, isn’t he?”

  Little? Mrowley shrieked. Didn’t he see how big I looked outside with my fur up? You said I looked ferocious.

  Darakin laughed nervously. “Yes. He does seem to like the sound of his own voice, I mean meow.”

  Sean chuckled. “Okay, there’s a small room with a cot in the back. You can stay there until you get some money to find yourself someplace proper to stay.”

  “Thank you again, Sean.”

  Sean led him to the back and opened a door to reveal a tiny room with a cot and a small table. He flipped the light switch and Darakin jumped and looked around.

  “It’s just the light, son,” Sean said with a laugh, thinking that it was the noisy hum of the fluorescent fixture that startled Darakin.

  “Oh and the john is just around the corner.”

  “Who?”

  “Not who, what. The toilet.”

  “Oh, the outhouse?”

  Sean laughed. “We have indoor plumbing here, lad. There’s no peeing in the alleys. I’ll see ya later.” He left the room.

  Once they were alone, Darakin put Mrowley down on the bed. “What’s wrong with you? He’s giving us a place to stay. And you are a fur ball.”

  Yeah, well, you’re a … a … furless ball.

  Darakin laughed and stroked the cat’s back. “Relax. Look – a soft,” he pushed on the rock-hard mattress, “well, a bed to sleep on, anyway. You stay here while I work. Unless you want to roam? I did promise I wouldn’t coop you up.”

  Nah, I’ll stay in tonight. Been running around for a couple of days. I could use some shuteye. The cat yawned to prove his point.

  “Okay. I’ll try to get you something to eat, if I can.”

  Mrowley lay across the length of the bed and stretched. Through a big yawn, he said, Yeah sure, you know, if something comes your way. It’s been days since I’ve eaten.

  “What about the mouse you had this morning?”

  Was that this morning? It feels like it’s been days.

  Darakin shook his head in confusion at the cat’s strange accounting of time. “In that case, you must be very hungry. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The cat curled up into a ball on the bed and Darakin headed out to explore his new workplace, and more particularly, this toilet that Sean spoke of.

  He turned the corner and saw two doors with crude pictures of people on them. He stood in the hallway, unsure what the pictures meant.

  A patron from the bar passed by and entered one of the small rooms. Darakin caught a glance at the large room behind the door and followed the man in. Once inside, he stared at the tiled interior. Two stalls sat at the back of the room, with chamber pots mounted on platforms. Several porcelain fixtures lined the wall. Darakin hesitated, unsure of what to do.

  He watched as the other man relieved himself.

  “Dude, don’t stare at my junk.”

  “Junk?” Darakin looked around the room in confusion.

  “You know, my privates?”

  Darakin said nothing, but watched in amazement as the young man went to the sink and washed his hands. The patron then pushed the button on the automatic hand dryer shaking his head as the confused mage jumped at the sound of the machine. The young man hurried out of the men’s room, rolling his eyes at Darakin.

  When the door had closed, Darakin used the urinal as he had seen the young man do. He reached up and pressed the handle down, watching with fascination as it flushed.

  Then he turned toward the sink. A sign on the wall read, “All employees must wash their hands before leaving.”

  He reached out to touch the handle next to the faucet and pulled it forward slowly. Water started to trickle out. Fascinated, he held his hand under the stream.

  “How can this be?” He whispered to the empty room.

  After using the soap dispenser as he’d seen the other man do, he held his hands under the water again and jumped back as he got burned.

  He looked at the red circle on the handle, then over at the other with its blue circle. He reached over and pulled the cold handle forward. Then he tested the tap water again, pleased to find it was a more manageable temperature.

  Next, Darakin went to the hand dryer. Bracing himself, he pressed the button. Though he’d been expecting it, he still jumped when the air started blowing from the nozzle. He held his hands under it, amazed at how quickly they dried.

  He almost bumped into Sean as he exited the room.

  Sean looked at his face and laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone looking so shocked coming out of there. Is it a mess then?”

  “No. It’s amazing!”

  Sean laughed. “I’m not sure what that means. It’s pretty ordinary as far as bathrooms go. Anyway, I’ve brought a plate of milk for the wee furry one.”

  “Why thank you! He’ll be pleased.”

  Sean gave Darakin an odd look, “He will, will he?”

  “Yes, this is exactly what he’s been looking to score since last night.”

  “You’re an odd one, Darakin,” Sean shook his head and returned to the bar.

  Darakin went back to the room and poked the sl
eeping cat. “I have scored you some milk, guy.”

  Mrowley opened one eye and peeked. As he spied the plate of milk, he jumped up but quickly regained his composure. Let me ask you something. Where you come from, is there any slang?