‘‘Yes, sir.’’
The Nazz smiled a predator’s grin and rubbed his hands together. ‘‘Never mind that. I’m wasting valuable time not gloating. Where’s Barty?’’
‘‘Sir, if you mean Master Austane, he’s not at home. What I mean to say is, I had Peter fetch you and Master Austane has no idea of the situation.’’
The wizard’s disappointment lasted only a moment before a raspy chuckle lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘‘The situation, hmm?’’ He stepped through the hall into the reading room, the one used for palmistry and, well, reading. The Nazz lifted the small crystal ball from its cradle on the mantle and looked at William through it. His eye appeared huge and distorted. ‘‘Did you do it on purpose?’’
The Nazz’s fish-eye stare was intense. It reminded William of the moneylenders on Vissihi Street. ‘‘No, sir.’’
The old man shrugged nonchalantly. ‘‘Pity.’’ He held the crystal out and placed it into William’s hand. ‘‘I think it shows great promise.’’
A flicker of misplaced pride reddened William’s ears.
Mrs. Caudri came through the kitchen door, her scowl made hideous by the cluster of blisters at the corner of her mouth. ‘‘I’m glad you think so, because Master Austane wouldn’t approve at all. There’s a good-sized sea monster in the fountain now, and who knows what else will follow.’’
‘‘You had best get your deadman to put up the storm windows then.’’ The Nazz shook his head and pursed his painted lips thoughtfully. ‘‘I think it will have to get much worse before it gets better.’’
Mrs. Caudri whispered through gritted teeth, ‘‘Villain.’’
The Nazz draped an arm over William’s shoulder. ‘‘I can hardly be blamed for my actions. After all, this is an election year, and a crisis of this proportion, handled correctly, could see me moving into the mayor’s office.’’
He moved to the window, drawing the heavy maroon curtain aside with a long, brass-tipped finger, and watched as a brace of sheep fell and then hobbled away. ‘‘I must admit I was looking forward to the rush of the campaign—especially the ah, debates—but thanks to young William here I should be able to wrap it all up in one grand play and cast myself in the unlikely role of hero. It’s not as good as Bartybus Austane asking me for help but there’s still my birthday to come so hope is not lost.’’
William stared at the wizard in disbelief. ‘‘Are you—are you serious? You’re going to wait until it gets worse before you help?’’
‘‘Oh, no.’’ The Nazz paused to reflect and then continued. ‘‘If it doesn’t progress to boils and locust soon I may have to push it along myself. It’s hardly a dramatic rescue if I save the city from a plague of puppies. Everything before first-born son I should think; I’m an only child you see.’’
‘‘That’s no surprise at all,’’ Mrs. Caudri scoffed.
‘‘Madam, the safety of the council in times of crisis is paramount.’’ The Nazz smirked, but when he noticed Mrs. Caudri’s stare he transformed it into an exaggerated frown, ‘‘All for the public good . . . or something.’’
William was too slow to react, and the rush to transform openmouthed astonishment into a sympathetic smile left him looking like an idiot. He held out his hand to show the way. ‘‘You’ll need to see the spell. The laboratory is through here.’’
‘‘Yes. Good boy. Timing is so important. Voters are always more grateful when they haven’t been struck blind or had their intestines spontaneously explode. Lead on.’’
The Nazz pushed open the door to the laboratory and strode confidently to the desk.
He tapped the books with his finger, pushing each off the desk in turn. ‘‘Got it, got it, have the newer edition, got it, read it—got it as gift, clearly does not grow hair as advertised, got it, heard very good things about this one from a female acquaintance.’’ He moved the thin blue-bound volume to a clear corner of the desk. ‘‘We’ll call it my fee.’’
William couldn’t believe how self-involved this man was. He was supposed to be helping. ‘‘Sir, the spell is on the desk. Here.’’
‘‘Right, right, the plagues.’’ The Nazz wheeled dramatically and stood beside the chair. When William neither made a sound nor seemed ready to move, the wizard sighed and inclined his head toward the chair.
‘‘Oh!’’ William pulled the chair out.
The Nazz sat as if a crowd was waiting to applaud. He fussed with his scarf, rolled his shoulders, lolled his neck, straightened his robe, and only after William had tucked the chair into the desk did he seem to notice the spell in front of him. ‘‘This is it?’’
‘‘Yes sir.’’
‘‘Let’s see. Hmm . . .’’ The Nazz tapped his puckered lips lightly as he read. He stopped when he was about half way down the page. ‘‘Are you sure? This spell?’’
‘‘Absolutely.’’
‘‘Have you actually read it?’’
William hesitated. ‘‘Ah . . . um . . .’’
The old wizard’s thin, purple lips stretched wide in a revelatory smile. He picked up the spell and held it up to William. ‘‘You can’t read this, can you?’’
‘‘That word there means rain—’’ The words spilled out of William before he realized.
‘‘—oh, excellent,’’ the Nazz mocked. ‘‘The punctuation’s atrocious—Barty was never one for detail, that’s why he never made it into public service—and look here,’’ he indicated a paragraph about two thirds of the way down the page, ‘‘he’s tacked on a bit about ridding the house of pests; rats, moles, mice, and the like. Your mangled pronunciation has managed to do more by accident than most black scarves do on purpose. This is a spell for making a rainbow without an actual storm.’’
William forgot himself and pulled the page out of the Nazz’s casual grip. He stared at words. ‘‘It can’t be.’’
In through the open door strode William’s master, his wide, generous grin like a beacon. ‘‘It can and it is. I thought it would be nice way to celebrate your first birthday with us, but you’ve spoiled that.’’ He cuffed the boy on the back of the head.
‘‘And the trip to Cay?’’ William asked.
‘‘Spoiled too, I’m afraid. But judging by the weather I might have waited too long to start you on Arcaenum. I’d have been back sooner, but there’s a stiff hail of lemmings coming down near the north gate and I was forced to come round the long way.’’
The Nazz pushed himself away from the desk and stood, sliding the blue book under his arm. ‘‘I quite enjoyed meeting you, William. If you’re looking for a job when you’re finished draining this fossilized old spark of all he has to teach you, you could do worse than clerking in my office.’’
Bartybus held out a hand to stop the other wizard from squeezing past him to the door. He tapped the spine of the book the Nazz was holding. ‘‘I would warm you about using this near livestock, but you’ve probably taken it for that exact purpose. Well, anyway, enjoy.’’
The Nazz returned a lascivious smirk as he exited the laboratory, leaving William and Bartybus alone.
‘‘We shouldn’t waste any time. There’s no telling what this storm of yours will do next.’’ Bartybus waded into the corner of the laboratory that doubled as supply closet and refuse heap. He began piling empty crates and other odds and ends behind him, humming to himself as he rummaged.
William didn’t raise his head as he asked, ‘‘Aren’t you going to punish me?’’
‘‘Oh, dear, yes, that would go without saying.’’ Bartybus paused and leaned on the small barrel he was about to move. ‘‘Although, have you noticed that it never does?’’
William sometimes felt that Bartybus enjoyed making him feeling stupid. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘Go without saying. It seems someone always has to say it and then a great many people seem compelled to talk about what everyone agrees doesn’t need saying until their spit dries up. Don’t you find that strange?’’ He shrugged.
Bartybus
finally found what he’d apparently been looking for: a long wrought-iron rod topped by an elaborate copper vane. He held it out for William.
‘‘What’s this?’’ the apprentice said, taking the rod with both hands.
‘‘A lightning rod. We’ll need it to counter the storm and provide a lesson for you. And by lesson I mean punishment. Come along, and mind you don’t impale any falling livestock on it.’’
William followed, uncomfortably aware of the weight of the heavy iron pike he carried.
Peter had not been exaggerating about the weather. It was horrible.
Most of the rats must have been culled or returned to the sewers when the cats had started falling, but now vast colonies of black and red ants carpeted the streets.
Despite whole regiments crushed under his boots, the insects showed none of the deference or fear the rats had shown Mrs. Caudri, though they seemed entirely ignorant of his master’s presence. William’s ankles were peppered with ant bites, and the hem of his robe had acquired a crawling, checkerboard fringe.
As they passed through the narrow gate of Lamber Park and onto the open green, Bartybus lifted the lightning rod from William’s shoulder. On any normal day the ladies from the Gissini Court would have occupied the shaded benches, smoking their fat-bowled pipes and trading gossip. Today the shade was being enjoyed by a herd of torpid earthpigs, gorged on a feast of ants.
Using the blunt end of the lightning rod, Bartybus carved a line of symbols, words in Arcaenum, in the ground. When he had completed a second line, he called William over.
‘‘You’re going to stand there,’’ Bartybus pointed to the first symbol, ‘‘with this.’’ He passed the lightning rod back to him. ‘‘When the lightning first hits, you’ll feel a strong urge to run away and possibly wet yourself because lightning is extremely bright and can be quite scary the first few times you’re struck. Don’t. Keep a solid hold on this and move to a new symbol after each strike. Once the last one is charged you can just let go, but don’t step off as there might be some residual discharge, but it will be relatively weak.’’
‘‘Relatively?’’ William’s voice cracked at the bottom of his throat, and his last words escaped in a horse whisper. ‘‘What if I get hit?’’
‘‘That’s what this is for.’’ Bartybus lifted his tin cap off, his hair rebounding to form a curly brown halo, and pushed it down on William’s head.
‘‘Won’t this attract the lightning?’’
‘‘Excellent, yes. You’ll remain to make sure the spell says balanced and to siphon off any overflow. It’s astonishingly painful, but aside from some hair loss there won’t be any permanent damage.’’
William reached up to touch his hair but found the smooth surface of the tin cap.
‘‘Hazard of the job I’m afraid.’’
Bartybus stepped back and began to read out the spell. Each word hung in the air after it was spoken, overlapping the others until it become a tuneless roar.
Above, the black belly of a cloud brightened ominously, and the thunder that rolled behind it did not diminish but gathered strength and threatened to break the sky.
The air became saturated with the smell of ozone, and the hair on William’s arms lifted; he tightened his grip on the lightning rod.
In that moment before the lightning struck, it occurred to the young apprentice that he might have underestimated the utility of forecasting the weather and overstated the bother.
He wasn’t sure that this was the lesson he was supposed to have learned or if Bartybus had another in mind, but it was certainly better than the one he was about to experience.
Don’t prance around in a thunderstorm wearing a tin hat.
Narrator: Into every life, a little rain must fall. For all our sakes, hope William remembers the last time he misspelled with natural forces before he tries reading on his own again.
KELL BROWN left high school convinced that there were far better ways to make a good living than writing. He tried nearly all of them before he came to understand that it was impossible for him to have a good life doing anything other than writing and hopes to misspend the rest of his life doing it. He lives and avoids work in Toronto (Canada) with a daughter he dotes on shamelessly and a wife he neither deserves nor ever really wanted, and yet she forgives him for both. This is his first published story.
Totally Devoted 2 U
John Zakour
Narrator: Ah, love. It’s all you need. It can also be more than some people deserve. That never stopped someone like Tina.
It was beautiful summer day. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, birds were chirping away as though they didn’t have a care in the world. Tina should have been happy. Only she wasn’t. She was frustrated over her man. Tina and Jerry had been going out for over three years now, and he still wasn’t nearly as devoted to her as she wanted him to be.
Tina didn’t know why. It couldn’t have been her. After all, she kept herself in good shape. She went to the gym if not every other day then every other, other day. She was still pleasant on the eyes. She may have been thirty-one, but her friends insisted she didn’t look a day over twenty-eight. Not a week went by when she didn’t catch at least one guy checking her out as she walked by. Tina wasn’t just a pretty face; she had a great job bringing in solid money as one of Buffalo, New York’s, leading fashion designers. To top it off she had a winning personality and a great sense of humor.
Yet, all of that wasn’t good enough for Jerry. Tina couldn’t shake the feeling that even when they were together, they weren’t really together. Jerry was always off somewhere else. He never looked her lovingly in the eyes, claiming it wasn’t that he didn’t love her but that it wasn’t manly. Whenever they were in a bar, restaurant, or just walking down the street, Tina would catch him not so subtly checking out all the other women. She was sure this meant Jerry wasn’t happy with her. He would leave the second somebody better came along.
Sure it may have been her imagination, but it probably wasn’t. Nah, it couldn’t be. She had a good ability for judging people. If Tina didn’t do something fast, Jerry and she would be history. She knew it and dreaded it. The problem was, Tina didn’t know what she could do.
Then, by chance, Tina walked by Madam Marla’s Magic Boutique. It was funny, Tina had walked down this street hundreds of times before during her lunch break and never noticed this strange little shop. She shrugged. It had to be fate. That meant she needed to check the place out. Tina wasn’t one to tempt fate.
Tina opened the door and peeked her head in. The place was small and not much to look at. There was a table with a velvet tapestry draped over it and a young lady sitting behind it. The lady was a pretty little thing with dark wavy hair and a dark complexion; she was intently concentrating on a notebook computer. Tina felt she’d made a mistake.
‘‘Oh, sorry,’’ Tina said to the young lady. ‘‘Wrong building,’’ as she slowly backed out of the door.
The young lady smiled. ‘‘Please come in, Tina,’’ she said. ‘‘There is more here that meets the eye, mind, and the heart.’’
Tina stopped her retreat and stuck her head back into the shop. ‘‘How do you know my name?’’
‘‘I know all and tell even more,’’ the lady said in a quivering voice. She smiled and pointed to Tina’s lapel, ‘‘Plus, you’re wearing your ID tag from work.’’
‘‘Oh, right,’’ Tina said with a weak grin.
‘‘I am Madam Marla,’’ the lady said. She motioned for Tina to come and in. ‘‘Please, sit. I sense you need my special help.’’
‘‘You look pretty young to be a madam,’’ Tina said walking up to the table.
Marla looked at her and winked. ‘‘You’d be surprised how old I really am,’’ she said.
‘‘I’d guess twenty-five,’’ Tina said sitting down.
‘‘Okay, maybe you wouldn’t be surprised,’’ Marla conceded. ‘‘Still they’ve been a really full twenty-five years.’’ Marla looked Tina i
n the eyes. ‘‘I take it you’re having trouble with your man Jerry.’’
Tina sat back in her chair. ‘‘How did you know that?’’ she asked.
Marla grinned. ‘‘Honey, when you’re your age it’s always about man troubles.’’
‘‘But how did you know my man’s name was Jerry?’’
‘‘I Googled you and came up with this picture of you and Jerry at your friend Kathy’s wedding.’’
Marla turned her notebook to face Tina. Sure enough, there on the screen was a picture of Tina and Jerry sharing a token kiss for the camera. Tina was wearing an orange taffeta bridesmaid dress she simply hated. There was also another picture of Tina glaring at Jerry as he was checking out the other bridesmaids. Tina had never noticed that picture or the look on her face before.
Marla swung the computer back toward herself. She shook her head. ‘‘It’s amazing what people will put on MySpace.com. Some people just have no shame.’’ Marla looked up at Tina. ‘‘You know, I can help you.’’
Tina leaned forward. ‘‘You can.’’
‘‘Of course I can. I’m a magical madam. It says so on my door, my card, and my Web site.’’
‘‘I just want Jerry to be more devoted to me,’’ Tina said.
Marla nodded. ‘‘That’s what we all want, honey.’’ She started typing away at her computer. ‘‘My rates are reasonable,’’ she said without looking up. ‘‘Twenty-five dollars per spell. Each spell is guaranteed to work.’’
‘‘I don’t want to hurt Jerry,’’ Tina said a bit nervously.
‘‘Sure you don’t,’’ Marla said halfheartedly as she continued to type. She looked up at Tina. ‘‘Don’t worry, this won’t harm him at all. It will make him totally devoted to you.’’ Marla stopped typing and smiled. ‘‘Done.’’
‘‘Done?’’
‘‘Yep.’’
Tina looked at her. ‘‘So where is it?’’
Marla shook her head. ‘‘It’s in your e-mail inbox, silly. Call in sick for the afternoon. Go home and relax a bit. Magic is always best done on a clear mind. When the clock reaches the specified time, follow the directions, and, presto, your man will be totally devoted.’’
Misspelled Page 15
