by S. V. Brown
Magician Interrupted
Career Interrupted Series
Copyright 2016 S. V. Brown
Smashwords Edition
V1
For the jarheads
Warning: This story is politically improper
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, re-spelled or given away to other people or magical animals. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Do not magically copy it. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy or you may turn into a toad.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Paris, the Magician.
(and Path, the cat)
Notes
This awesome work has been proofread by an elderly magician. The author emphasizes that any mistakes found are due to a few changes in spells and additions made after the proofing potion was applied and before a decent cup of tea.
Please Read
Thank you for reading this fantasy slash science fiction slash military slash comedy. It contains characters, and cats, who represent all walks of life and echoes many issues that are currently found on Earth today. If you haven’t read this—I’ll cast a spell on you. So there.
Oorah!
Table of Contents
Spell One – Escape Act
Spell Two – Rabbit on a Stick Act
Spell Three – Rats in a Hat Act
Spell Four – Transformation Act
Spell Five – Disappearing Act
Spell Six – Cat Act
Spell Seven – Defying Gravity Act
Spell Eight – Token Act
Spell Nine – Lunatics Act
Spell Ten – Healing Act
About Magician Brown
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Spell One - Escape Act
Paris hated life.
He wanted a new job but he had no credits to go to school. Everything he did was supposed to be for free. He was supposed to just accept his life. Well, screw that! He wanted to get off world but he couldn’t get permission to leave the village, let alone the planet. He wanted a girlfriend but most girls shied away from him when they saw or found out he was a magician. In most worlds being a magician would be cool but here it was as if he walked around with a big sign “I’m a nerd” on his head. Life sucked. He threw a stone and listened as it bounced down the canyon until he couldn’t hear it anymore.
Around him the trees stirred with a chilly wind that swept down the mountains from the west. He pulled his nerdy cloak around his bony shoulders and hunched down. Hopefully no one would know he was missing. His predecessor told him how important his position was blah, blah, blah. He had to be respectful to the magistrate and his preening purring daughter. He had to respect those younger and those older. That just left his own age. But he had no age. He was ageless. To make things worse everything about him was average. No one average got to do fun stuff. The problem was he was a part of a very small community and an even smaller magicians’ conclave.
While he was in a venting mood he resented the need for a Trinity. As the Spell Caster he had a vast supply of wealth within his mind to give the beautiful and usually dignified O'rah, the Magnifier. “His Magnifier” or would be if she wasn’t so insanely stupid. She alone could magnify his spells to be directed on a path of useful magnitude. He had vied for her affections only to discover, embarrassingly, that she had already promised herself to the weak link of the Trinity, Gareth, the Binder. After twenty-seven years he was still trying to purge his embarrassing public offer of marriage out of his mind. O'rah and Gareth hadn't told him of their growing romance, which had been years in the making, and for that reason he had considered himself betrayed. The Binder! What did Gareth have that Paris didn't have? A big willy?
Her words still burned in his mind. “Oh, Paris. How could you not know we were in love and smitten with each other?”
Hormones. Yes, Paris blamed his hormones.
They’d created some kind of blinker that only allowed him to see what he wanted to see. Somehow in his mind, even bringing the years before his humiliation to light, O’rah was always on her own. Next to her was a smudgy spot that had been Gareth, insignificant, a pesky fly. But he had to face it now, Gareth was more than just a smudge or a fly, he was O’rah’s devoted husband. They’d married in secret.
Because Paris was ageless he actually moved back and forward in years, and he’d gone backwards, too close to puberty. That was his excuse anyway for falling for the insane magician. And she wasn’t that good looking now he thought about it. The good news was he could use his age thing to his advantage, and with his blinkers off and building O’rah up as some evil tyrant helped too.
A few months after that proposal episode, during which the three had bickered relentlessly, there'd been another incident. He still remembered the deafening silence that had fallen over thousands of people. It had followed Paris’s little vocal and mental outburst, at another public address. During the supposed happy celebration—a first anniversary for O’rat and the prat—O'rah had slapped his face in a moment of anger and screamed at him like a banshee after he, being slightly drunk, had slurred if the Binder needed a minder to meet all the needs of the High and Mighty Magnifier that he, Paris, had a few good spells on how to maintain an erection for his supposed big willy.
Gareth had heard and tackled him to the ground and they had a friendly little brawl with O'rah throwing things at them in anger and unfortunately knocking a guest unconscious. It had been more embarrassing because Gareth had yelled out, ‘I do not! I mean I do not need help to…”
“Shut up,” O’rah had hissed before she fell into a drunken slumber snoring so loudly she’d woken the person she’d knocked unconscious. Paris had cast a spell on her and she magnified her own snores making the ground tremble that caused everyone to run away.
Paris winced, the memory burning too brightly in his mind. Yes, it was then he knew he had to leave. He conjured up a pseudo wind to try and blow out the flame of humiliation. The Trinity, once the elite of the elite, was an embarrassment to the Assembly and those they protected. He slid his head in his bony hands. You'd think short lived, challenged people would forget a little incident like that. Unfortunately, reporters, who seemed to have the same disease where ever he went, would broadcast the happy celebration now and then on vision. Many considered vision to be a boon to the community but he considered it to be a pain in the proverbial. The Assembly had spoken to them severely after that reminding them about presenting a united front to the community. The eighteen Assemblers had been very adamant and had ignored their innocent looking, stormy faces as well as excuses and bruises. And so, on cue, for more than three hundred years they switched on their smiles when in the presence of the community. But deep within their underground pit home tensions had been at a premium. Two apprentices had already left, and under threat from O'rah, dared not explain to the Assembly the real reason which caused their hurried departure. One remained though, Harro. Paris was impatient for his apprentice to finish his training and pushed him hard, perhaps unwisely. Harro was no Paris, and although the accusations that he was a little mindless and careless were harsh, he did get the job done ... after a fashion.
A little nagging thought crossed Paris’s mind that maybe, through Harro, he was taking revenge on the two conspirators, just as he had been doing over the years when supplying spells. The spells were always doable, always just enough to get the job done and he was careful not to bring d
isrepute upon their heads but they were devised cleverly to make O'rah and Gareth work a lot harder. O’rah worked more to magnify and Gareth worked harder to mind the spell—making sure it did its job by remaining bound to the thing or person.
He grinned to himself.
Paris got up and shook his cloak sending little stones rattling down the rocky cliff face. He only just noticed the light rain as he turned into the wind. Annoyed now he patted his shoulder feeling the damp brown cloth. Idiot! What did he care? He was leaving. Now the decision was made he felt so much better. First, he had to get home and organize a few things, then he had to get to the spaceport. There were always freighters waiting for the large containers to be lifted off with food for the city worlds. He could hide in one of those since he had no money and he wouldn’t starve. Some fruits had enough moisture so only toileting would be a problem. And entertainment. He began to list things he’d need. And his destination? Suddenly he didn’t care. Paris hurried down the path back to the village.
“Paris!”
He turned at the familiar voice. A woodsman stepped through the thick understory, with his axe casually resting on his shoulder. Dark pants and light top was the extent of Martin’s closet. The silly smile was still pasted on his face but he didn’t resent Martin’s happiness. Newly married he’d just found out his wife was pregnant.
“Where are you going to in such a rush?”
Paris glanced around. He trusted his best friend with everything. While most best friends grew up together and grew old together, Martin, as a toddler, used to follow him around until eventually their ages were roughly in sync. “I’m leaving,” he blurted out.
The smile on Martin’s face died away. “I knew it.”
“You didn’t tell Ingrid did you?”
“No!” Martin dropped his axe and walked over pulling him in for a bear hug. Unlike Paris Martin wasn’t average. Good looking, muscular and a nice guy, Martin always attracted the girls. For years Paris hoped for sloppy seconds, as in he’d be the sloppy seconds, but mostly the girls just drifted off if they couldn’t win Martin over.
“I’m going to miss you.”
Paris didn’t know whether to be happy or annoyed over Martin’s easy acceptance. When Martin drew away he saw tears but his friend quickly strode back to his axe and lifting it—like it was heavier now.
“You deserve some happiness, Paris.” With that Martin left but then he stopped and turned. “Hey, what are you going to do?”
Paris shrugged. “Don’t know. What do women like?”
“Men in uniform. Try the space marines. There are signs up everywhere in the towns.” With that Martin smiled and disappeared into the woods and understory.
Paris tried to imagine himself in a space marine uniform. He felt odious thinking Martin was happy to get rid of him. But Martin was the nice guy while he was bitter, and had the narky thoughts. Paris stomped down the path, his legs feeling heavier with each step, not wanting to leave Martin now. No more bar nights, no more trying to capture the attention of Martin’s rejected women, but then since Ingrid won Martin’s heart Paris didn’t even have that opportunity. Sitting with Martin and Ingrid at the tavern and being the fifth wheel hadn’t been fun. Gradually Martin managed to convince Ingrid to leave them alone.
Paris pushed through the grief, remembering the years with his friend and saw the large village down the hill. It sat in a hollow surrounded by hills and forests. The main street spiraled out from the center and smaller alleys offered shortcuts. Even with a population of over three thousand it felt suffocating to him. He ran down and headed for the center ignoring all those who watched him rush by. A stone archway glowed and opened for him revealing the dark spiral stairs that lead to the pit. He raced down, excitement filling him. Paris threw his cloak onto the lounge, and not onto the rack that O’rah always insisted on them using. Once he reached the bottom pit he ran down one of the corridors to his bedroom. What a dive. He kicked his narrow, hard bed and searched through the small, wooden chest. Pulling out top after top he found the least nerdy looking one. The pants were more difficult. He only had two pair. Bright red or the dirty blue ones he was currently wearing. Not wanting to be laughed off the first space station he might want to visit in his off time, he didn’t want to be kicked off either mistaken for a vagabond. He considered his options and considered his almost empty bag.
Gareth had nice clothes because O’rah would bat her eyelids at their customers. What a cow. He snuck back down the passage, breathing heavily. A noise to the left made him jump but it was just a rat scurrying across the floor. “Come on, Paris. If you’re going to live in another world you have to get street smart and grow some balls.” He crept across to Gareth’s passage and slipped down forgetting he could have just cast a warning spell. For that matter he could cast a spell to grow balls but having actual balls and being brave weren’t always mutually inclusive. The saying came from days when sexism was rampant, women once had odd notions about men and their so called machoism or lack thereof. The feminine male was out, the macho man was in. He reached the room. It was neat as usual, filled with more stuff than what he had. He seemed to remember witnessing a rare argument between O’rah and Gareth about moving crap into her room. He had tried not to be too gleeful at Gareth’s hangdog look.
After plucking out two older black pants, that O’rah hadn’t liked, he also helped himself to two other tops and a decent pair of shoes. He remembered the warning spell but decided growing balls would be better and that if either O’rah or Gareth caught him he’d just tell them to get lost. Pausing, he opted to dress then and there forgetting his previous fear. Feeling rich he shoved his old clothes into the chest and headed out. Paris went to the bathroom and stared at himself. His black eyes and thin, black eyebrows narrowed in amusement at the next stage in his plan. His face was long and angular. His nose strong, his lips thin. Take each feature separately and they were nice, arrange them on his face and they looked average. He sighed. “Next step. Harro, the only apprentice to be hanging around still.”
It was Harro who had called him nerdy. It was entertaining to think of Harro living in the stupid Trinity pit with three of everything, leaving a mess and the two tidy saviors having to nag the young, thoughtless Spell Caster. Maybe he would test Harro tonight, and get out of the hellhole straight after that. He put in a telepathic call for Harro, who took his sweet time in answering.
“Yeah?”
“Harro, get down here. I'm going to test you tonight.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Harro?” Paris suspected Harro was playing a game. He had to point out the obvious. “The final test for you to take your place as Spell Caster.”
“Right, be there in a moment.”
Paris mentally signed off and began the preparations. Harro’s cavalier attitude usually annoyed him, tonight it fit his needs. It took little time to test him and as he headed out Harro said, “Get some electronic and dicronic stuff.”
“Why?”
Harro shoved some chips in his mouth. “Because you can’t use magic outside. Find stuff that is similar to what you can do.”
“Thanks. Ah, any suggestions as to where to go to pick up chicks? As in career choice.” Paris expected him to scoff but Harro nodded.
“Space marines.”
Smart, and Martin had said the same thing. “Thanks, mate. I owe you one.”
“Na. This is payment enough.” Harro waved him away and winked at him. “Have some fun, Paris. And thanks.”
Paris actually felt warm inside. With that fuzzy feeling he grabbed his bag, ran up the steps and into his new life.
When O'rah and Gareth came home they found Harro's stuff everywhere and the youth lounging in front of the vision set playing Buzzard. He pointed towards a three sided table, with three legs, without taking his eyes off the vision. There was a note.
Spell Two – Rabbit on a Stick Act
Paris was on his way to a little village on the coast of Ipsa
where a little brunette would be happy to see him again. Even if only to fix her leaky, wood cabin. Some called her a witch but she was just a cranky woman who disliked people. The black cat didn’t help that image.
Paris had forgotten a few important things, the first being he hadn’t seen the brunette in over twenty years, the second was the birthday of the daughter of an Assembly member who wanted a special spell created for her that Harro was currently laughing over, and the third that he'd forgotten his cat who was determined to find the scat.
Whistling a merry tune, thinking of joining the marines, he started to think of his life. Handsome in uniform, girls running to him as he entered bars, saving people … from what? What did the space marines do? Fight space aliens? He’d better do some research but there was a recruiting office in Ipsa so he hurried along the main path that eventually turned into the main road. Several similar dirt roads branched off to the left or right. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sipped some water from his leather canteen he’d stolen from Gareth’s shelf on the way out of the Trinity pit. Sweat trickled down his back even with the forest around him offering some shade from the heat of the day.
Around lunchtime hunger gave him pause. He hadn’t taken anything of real value but he was a magician. And yet, he wanted to change his career. He couldn’t just whip up a spell while he was with the marines. More likely they’d boot him out or make him their magician “female dog”. His feet were hurting now too because Gareth had tiny feet which probably meant he had a small willy, not a big one. Smirking helped him walk for a few more minutes.
