RS01. The Reluctant Sorcerer

by Simon Hawke

  Brewster took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Damn,” he said to himself. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Brewster? You can’t even take a joke?” He shook his head and sighed. “Hell, I wish I could get back home. This whole thing’s getting on my nerves.” “Try being a chamberpot.” Brewster froze. “What?” “I said, try being a chamberpot. I’ve been locked up in that bloody chest so long, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like not to be caked with dust and having spiders spinning webs around me. You think you have problems?” “All right, this is ridiculous!” said Brewster. He started rushing around the lab, looking under benches and tables and behind shelves. “Come on out! I know you’re in here!” “I’m right here, in front of you, you dolt!” Brewster stared at the chamberpot. There was no one else in the lab. Slowly, he approached the pot.

  “Go on, come closer,” said the chamberpot. “I don’t bite, you know.” “This isn’t happening,” said Brewster. “It’s stress, that what it is. I’m under too much stress. Inanimate objects do not talk.” “Very well, have it your way,” said the chamberpot.

  “I’ll sing instead. How’s this: “When I was lad, oh, the times that we had, ‘twas nothing that we couldn’t do... But the best times of all, were the times when we’d call on saucy, young Janie McDrew...” “Stop it! Stop it!” Brewster shouted, picking up the chamberpot with both hands and shaking it.

  The pot fell silent. “What am I doing?” Brewster said, staring at the pot. He put it down on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I must be losing my mind!” “There now, ‘tis not madness, never fear,” the pot replied. “I had a bit of a time believing it myself, at first. And if you think ‘tis hard to credit, try looking at it from my point of view.” Brewster swallowed hard, then reached out slowly as if to touch the pot, but drew his hand back at the last instant.

  “Go on,” the chamberpot said. “Touch me if you think ‘twould help. I mean no harm.” Brewster reached out tentatively. It was warm to the touch. “Say something else,” he said.

  “What would you like me to say?” Brewster pulled his hand back quickly. He moistened his lips. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You really can talk!” “Well now, what do you think we’ve been doing?” asked the pot.

  Brewster shook his head with disbelief. “There has to be a rational explanation for this,” he said.

  “Very well,” the pot said. “You tell me. Take your time. I’ve nowhere in particular to go.” Brewster sat down heavily on the bench behind the table. “It’s impossible,” he said. “How can this be happening?” “Well, you said you heard the story,” the chamberpot replied. “I understand it’s gotten around a bit. ‘The Legend of Prince Brian the Bold, The Werepot Prince.’ I’ve heard it a few times, myself. Doesn’t portray me in a very flattering light, I fear.” “This is simply astonishing!” said Brewster with awe. “You mean to tell me that story’s actually true?” “No, of course not,” replied the chamberpot wryly. “Everybody knows that chamberpots can’t speak. ‘Tis all a lot of nonsense.” “But... but... there’s no such thing as magic!” Brewster protested.

  “There isn’t?” said the chamberpot. “Well, you certainly could have fooled me!” Brewster suddenly remembered what Mick had done outside with the wood splinter only moments earlier.

  “Fey magic,” he said to himself. “Mick made that piece of wood burst into flame and called it fey magic!” “Ah, well, ‘tis because he is a leprechaun,” the pot said.

  “A leprechaun?’” “Aye,” the chamberpot replied. “One of the little people.

  You mean to tell me that you didn’t know?” “One of the little people,” Brewster repeated slowly. “I thought he meant he was a midget! But... a leprechaun?” “Aye, a leprechaun,” the pot said, sounding puzzled.

  “What’s a midget?” “Well, a midget is ... oh, now wait a minute! There’s no such thing as leprechauns!” “Aye, and there’s no such thing as magic, and chamberpots don’t speak,” the pot replied. “Tell me, where do you get such peculiar notions?” “All right, now let me get this straight,” said Brewster. “Your name is Brian, and you’re a prince who’s been the victim of a sorcerer’s spell, and Mick isn’t a midget, but a leprechaun who can actually do magic, and I can’t believe I’m sitting here having a conversation with a fucking chamberpot, for crying out loud! Oh, God. I’m either dreaming or having a nervous breakdown!” Brewster put his head in his hands.

  “There now, settle down,” the pot said. “You’re getting yourself all worked up.” Brewster raised his head and looked at the pot with amazement. He gave a little snort and got up, shaking his head. “I don’t believe this,” he said to himself. He walked over to the window and looked out, feeling the cool night breeze on his face. There were no campfires outside and it was quiet. Everyone seemed to have left following his outburst. Probably gone back to the Roost, he thought. Makes sense. You don’t want to hang around after you’ve annoyed a sorcerer. He’s liable to turn you into something. Like a chamberpot.

  “It’s all a dream,” he said to himself. “It has to be a dream.” “Aye, I said much the same sort of thing, at first,” said the voice of the pot, behind him. Only, somehow, it suddenly sounded different. Brewster turned around and his mouth fell open.

  There was a young man sitting on the edge of the table, with one leg casually propped up on the bench, the other dangling. He had long, curly blond hair and blue eyes, attractive features, and a slightly mocking expression around his mouth. He was dressed in tight-fitting striped breeches of brown and black, brown leather boots, a loose-fitting white blouse that laced at the neck, and a short brown velvet jacket and cape. Around his neck was a gold necklace of rubies and sapphires.

  “Must be a full moon,” said Prince Brian.

  The battlement atop the tower had been turned into a sort of penthouse patio. Brewster had one of the tables brought up, as well as several wooden benches and stools. He had Mick and Bloody Bob bring up a couple of braziers, as they were heavy, and the result was a rather cozy, medieval, outdoor lounge that offered a very nice view.

  The full moon was high in the sky and the flames in the braziers gave forth a flickering light as the gentle night wind blew. Prince Brian stood looking out from the battlement at the moonlit meadow below, while Brewster sat smoking his pipe. He had been talking with Brian for several hours and he had smoked five bowlfuls. It usually helped him relax. Usually. Tonight, it wasn’t quite getting the job done.

  “ Tis good to feel the cool night breezes on my skin again,” said Brian, breathing in deeply. “I had almost forgotten how it felt to be in my true form.” “How long has it been?” asked Brewster. Brian shook his head. “A long, long time,” he said. “In that dark and dusty chest, days seemed like nights. Seasons passed, countless winters turned to spring. I was unaffected by the moon’s light while locked inside that cursed chest, though I suppose ‘twas fortunate.” “ ‘Twas?” said Brewster. “I mean, it was?” “Can you imagine what would have happened had I regained my true form while still locked within that bloody thing?” “Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. I suppose it would be rather cramped,” said Brewster.

  “I do love a moonlit night,” said Brian, taking a deep breath. “On nights such as these, the forces of magic are strong throughout the land. I can walk as a man again. The fairies dance and unicorns go into rut.” “Unicorns?” said Brewster.

  “Aye. Pretty little beasts, but foul-smelling and mean-tempered.” “Are they dangerous?” asked Brewster.

  “They can be,” Brian replied, “though they tend not to bother men. However, should they see a woman, they will charge her. They don’t like women. Virgins, in particular. They absolutely loathe virgins.” “Really? Why?” “I have no idea. Perhaps ‘tis something about the way they smell to them. Or perhaps because women find them winsome and want to pet and stroke them. ‘Tis believed that if a virgin strokes a unicorn, she will find true love, so each spring, the woods are full of eager virgins, stalking unicorns with ca
rrots and garlands of fresh flowers. We lose a lot of virgins that way.” “Hmmm,” said Brewster. “And you have fairies, too?” “Oh, aye. Lots.” “What are they like?” “Bit like nymphs, really, only much smaller and not as mischievous. About the size of your little finger, most of them. They are especially active in the spring, when the flowers bloom and they can drink the nectar. It makes them quite drunk. They flit about like maddened butterflies, smashing into one another and crashing into trees and such. But they are harmless, and they do not often venture out of the deep woods.” Brewster shook his head. “Amazing. All this time, I had absolutely no idea there were such creatures around. I thought I’d simply traveled back into the past.” He snorted. ‘As if time travel could be simple. But then, compared to what I’ve done, I suppose it is.” “ ‘Tis a very strange place you come from. Doc,” said Brian, turning back to face him. “Your tale strains belief.” “My tale strains belief?” said Brewster. “Right. This from a man who spends most of his time as a bathroom fixture.” “Aye, but then you saw that with your own eyes,” Brian replied. “I have only your word this place you claim to come from has castles that scrape the sky, and horseless chariots that travel faster than the swiftest stallion, and vessels that wing their way through the clouds.” “I suppose it does sound hard to believe, at that,” said Brewster morosely. He sighed. “I should probably be thrilled. I’ve not only succeeded in inventing time travel, but I’ve apparently stumbled onto the secret of interdimensional travel, as well. It’s the only possible explanation. Either that, or I’ve died and gone to some kind of fairy-tale heaven. It’s ironic. The idea of parallel universes has always been nothing more than an amusing theory, a popular theme for science fiction writers, but never something anyone took seriously. Yet, here I am. Except I’m not feeling very excited at the moment.” “You speak words that are unknown to me,” said Brian. “What is a science fiction writer?” “A sort of storyteller,” Brewster said. “One who tells tales that are very clever and fascinating, only no one takes them seriously because they’re not about people in New York or Los Angeles.” “ ‘New York?’ “ Brian said. “ ‘Los Angeles’?” “Cities,” Brewster said absently. “Very large cities, full of people who think that living anywhere else would be uncivilized.” “Ah,” said Brian. “You mean like Pittsburgh.” Brewster looked up at him sharply. “ ‘Pittsburgh’?” “The largest city in Dam,” said Brian. “Named for Pitt the PIunderer, though he was not its founder. He merely plundered it, then decided he liked it and chose to stay on as its ruler. ‘Tis a center for commerce, knowledge, and the arts, where all roads from the twenty-seven kingdoms meet. ‘Tis the most refined city in the land.” “Pittsburgh?” Brewster said, shaking his head with disbelief. “Go figure.” “Aye. ‘Tis where the three rivers meet in confluence,” said Brian. “A grand place, indeed. But what were those other words you said? Para-lel? Inter.. . travel something?” “You mean parallel universes? Interdimensional travel? Hmmm. Well, that’s a bit tougher to explain. I’m not sure how I could put it so that you would understand.” “Try,” said Brian, looking very interested. “Well, okay,” said Brewster, taking a deep breath. “Imagine, if you can, that everything you know to be real, the earth, the sky, the stars, everything, can be contained in a single drop of water.” “Like a raindrop?” Brian said.

  “Well... yes, but more like a single drop of water in a river,” Brewster said. “We’ll call this drop the universe. Now it takes a great many drops of water to make a river, but if you put enough of them together, that’s what you’d have, wouldn’t you?” “Or a lake,” said Brian.

  “Yes, or even an ocean,” said Brewster, “but let’s stick with the river, because the river flows, you see, and that flow is like the passage of time. Imagine that this river is so long that it has no beginning and no end, it simply flows forever. Just as time has no beginning and no end. You with me so far?” Brian frowned thoughtfully and nodded. “I think so. You are saying that time is like a river, with no beginning and no end, and all that we see around us-the earth, the sky, the stars-is but like a single drop of water in that river?” “Yes, that’s very good,” said Brewster, “But you will remember that it takes many individual drops of water to make that river. If each drop of water is a universe-in other words, everything that we know to exist-then it follows that there are many different universes, only we don’t know about them, you see, because all we know about, all we can perceive, is that which is in our own universe, our own drop of water. But all these different drops of water, these different universes, are intermingled as parts of the same river-the river of time. And though they all flow in the same river, they are still separate drops of water. They are merely so close together, and there are so many of them, that if you stand on the bank, you can never see them as separate drops. You only see the river.” Brian was frowning with concentration as he tried to visualize Brewster’s explanation.

  “Think of it this way,” Brewster said. “We draw a cup of water from that river. And from that cup of water, we draw an even smaller amount, merely a couple of drops.” Brewster held his right hand out flat, fingers together, palm down. “Let’s say that my hand is one drop.” Then he held out his left hand and placed it flat on top of his right hand. “And this is another drop. Each drop is a universe. And there are many other drops like this, layer upon layer of them, and these layers are called dimensions.” He separated his hands. “Only if we live in this dimension,” he said, holding up his right hand, “there is no way for us to travel to this dimension.” He held up his left hand. “Because they are like separate drops of water, you see, and while they may flow very, very close together, so close that they appear to merge, there is no way for them to merge, because no matter how close together they may come, they still remain separate.” He dropped his hands and shrugged, not really satisfied with his explanation, but unable to think of a simpler way to put it for the benefit of someone with no knowledge of science whatsoever.

  “Anyway, that’s the idea of parallel universes,” he said.

  “How do we know that this”-he held his arms out, to encompass everything around them-“is all there is? If you had been born in that chest you were locked up in, and had lived all your life in there and never seen the outside, then you might think that the inside of that chest was your entire universe. Of course, once you got out, you’d see that there was more. Well, you’re locked up in your universe, in your dimension, just like you were locked up in that chest. There’s never been any way for you to get out and see if there was anything else. You may think there is, or you may think there isn’t, but because you can’t get out, you can never really know for sure.” Brian put his hand up to his chin and furrowed his brow. “Only you did get out of your chest,” he said. “And you somehow managed to enter mine.” Brewster smiled and nodded. “Yes! Yes, that’s it, exactly! You understand! That’s what interdimensional travel is!” “I am not certain that I do understand,” said Brian slowly. “ ‘Tis a weighty thing to ponder. But you said that this... this travel from one dimension to another could not be accomplished. Yet, you claim to have accomplished it.” “By accident,” said Brewster. “I never meant to do it. I wasn’t even thinking about doing it. I was trying to do something else entirely. I was trying to travel back into the past.” “Into the past?” said Brian. “You mean, you meant to travel from today back to yesterday?” “Well, yes, more or less,” said Brewster.

  Brian frowned. “But...” He shook his head in confusion. “How is that possible? It cannot be done.” “That’s what a very wise man named Einstein thought,” Brewster replied. “Only I thought he was wrong. I believed it could be done. And I built a device that I thought would let me do it.” “This magic chariot of yours,” said Brian.

  Brewster nodded. “Exactly. Only it looks as if Einstein’s had the last laugh. Maybe it can’t be done, after all. At least, not in the same dimensional plane. Maybe the only way you can travel back into the past is to enter another dimension. I d
on’t know. I don’t know what happened, or how. I only know I’m here, and if I can’t find that first time machine, I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life.” “Would that be so bad?” asked Brian.

  “Maybe not, but I don’t belong here, Brian,” Brewster said miserably. “I don’t even know where I am. The Kingdom of Frank, in the Land of Dam... it could be never-never land, for all I know, a fantasy land straight out of a dream. I don’t even know anything about this place. I’ve been hanging around with a leprechaun and I hadn’t even known it. Leprechauns, fairies, nymphs, unicorns... they’re all creatures of myth in my world. They don’t exist! And as for magic ...” He exhaled heavily. “The others all think I’m a sorcerer and I let them think that because I thought it was convenient. I thought they were just primitive, superstitious people and it would be easier, and probably safer, to have them think I was a sorcerer than to try explaining the truth to them. I tried explaining it to Mick and I only wound up confusing him. Now I’m the one who’s confused. And I’m certainly no sorcerer.” “But.. .these things you have done here,” Brian said. “They are most wondrous, indeed. Are they not sorcery? And to travel from your dimension to mine, is that not sorcery?” “It’s science, Brian, not sorcery,” said Brewster. “And as for what I’ve done here, it’s just some basic engineering, not magic.” “I do not understand,” said Brian, frowning. “ ‘Tis most puzzling. You call it science, yet it seems very like magic to me. And I know of no sorcerer who could do such things.” “That’s only because they don’t know how,” said Brewster. “With the right knowledge, anyone could do these things. In fact, I didn’t even do them, really. The brigands and the local farmers did. Mick and McMurphy and Bloody Bob and the rest. They did most of the work. I helped and I showed them how, but they were the ones who did it. I took advantage of their superstitions... well, what I thought were only superstitions, but there’s nothing magical about any of this. They could have done it by themselves, without me. They just didn’t know how until I showed them.” Brian folded his arms across his chest and paced slowly back and forth, the wind ruffling his long blond hair. “And you call this knowledge science?” he said.