Inconvenient Magic 01 - Potatoes, Come Forth!

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  “Since Kleinsvench is a representative democracy with a hereditary head of state, the official title might rather be something on the order of Minister of Magic, although any title you prefer would be acceptable. Are you interested?”

  “What would my duties be?”

  “I won't sugar coat it, Everett. You'd be expected to defend Kleinsvench with every spell at your disposal. Sarah has told me of your capabilities and while much of her story seems impossible, I believe her implicitly and I trust her judgment. She declared that you were the most powerful wizard alive.”

  Everett opened his mouth to say, “That could well be true.” But no words came out. As his entire body began to shake, blue and purple pinpoint sparks obscured his vision. Then he seemed to split from himself, his consciousness residing in a not quite solid doppelganger that floated away to one side of his physical form. He was able to observe his own body from a position several feet away as it began to spasm laterally, eyes open but vacant and oscillating violently. Still vital but uncontrolled, his body fell from the chair and a shocked Guillaume thrust his own chair away and knelt beside it, trying to press a fold of his belt between its clenching teeth.

  As the elder Monte-Jaune began to shout for aide, Everett began to wonder if he were dying.

  Magic appeared in front of him. “No, you are not dead. You are only suffering a seizure.”

  “Is this your doing?” he demanded heatedly.

  “Not directly, no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Sarah, sprinting, passed disconcertingly through Magic’s mirage and forestalled her response for a few seconds. When the young woman reached his body, she dropped and grabbed its flailing arms and tried to keep them from striking the rough flagstones.

  “I need to ask you to remain calm, Everett,” Magic told him with mild reproach. “There is no need to shout.”

  “I’m not shouting!” He thrust a finger at the anxious group that had collected around his body. “If I was shouting, then they could hear me!”

  Magic squinted her eyes in a put-upon way and disappeared.

  Everett fumed silently for a few seconds, then said, “Oh, for Magic’s sake! Fine, I’ll calm down.”

  Magic reappeared. “Good. Despite our trials, we should always strive to be civil.”

  Everett grumbled a barely audible reply.

  “What’s that?”

  “I said, I seem to be the only one enduring trials.”

  “That sounds a bit petty, Everett.”

  “But true. Are you going to explain what’s going on?”

  “No shouting?”

  Frowning, he promised, “I’ll restrain myself.”

  “Very well. What you are experiencing is the first unmanifestation in human history.”

  “The first what?”

  “Perhaps we should call it an expiration? Does that sound better?”

  “Wait a minute! Am I losing a spell?”

  Magic pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  He sighed. “All right, why?”

  “It is a combination of factors, really. As you must know, your last few manifestations have drastically exceeded the normally assigned compliment of spells. The thirteen spell limit is not just a random number that I pulled off the top of my head, but a factor of the ability of the human mind to channel the power of magic. Every spell requires a certain quantity of, well, magical capacity, for lack of a better term. As does every human, you have a finite magical capacity and any spell that requires more capacity than you have available would eventually be forced to un-manifest.”

  “So, after my sixteenth spell is gone, will I be back in equilibrium, or whatever?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What then?”

  Everett’s ethereal self began to drift back toward his body. He made frantic swimming motions, but these had no affect.

  “Your seizure is about over, Everett,” Magic informed him rapidly. “We’ll finish our talk during the next one.”

  “Next one?”

  Everett opened his eyes and moaned as his head suddenly exploded in pain. He felt the cold, hard stone against his back and knew that he was back in his body.

  Sarah’s voice drew his attention to her face. “Everett! Can you speak? Do you understand me?”

  He croaked something inarticulate. He felt entirely drained, as if all strength had been sucked from his body.

  Sarah’s expression was grave, her worry clear. “If you understand me, nod your head.”

  He moved his head, not exactly a nod.

  “Have you had a seizure before?”

  He managed the barest whisper. “No.”

  “Could you have been poisoned?”

  “No. Magic.”

  “You were attacked by a spell?”

  “No. Lost one.”

  Then the second seizure struck. Again, his essence separated from his body and he had to watch helplessly as uncontrolled movements wrung his flesh. The only solace that he had was that he no longer felt the agony that his physical self endured.

  An instant later, when Magic’s mirage came into existence, he pounced immediately. “Why are you taking my spells away?”

  “Because I have no choice. To put it in human terms, Technology has filed a grievance with an oversight committee and I have had to submit to binding arbitration. The ruling found that artificially overloading you with spells gave you an unfair advantage in the contest. The description that Technology used was ‘invincible’, though that’s clearly not the case. In order to avoid ceding more important elements, I had to agree to reduce you to the normal compliment.”

  “So I keep thirteen?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “So I am going to lose others?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Why not?”

  “The ruling also found that sharing noncorporeal communal knowledge with you was also unfair. The good thing is that this also applies to Technology’s corporal extension. He cannot share communal knowledge with his evil minions.”

  “The phrase ‘evil minions’ is somewhat trite, you know.”

  “I know, but I don’t care. ‘ Evil Minions’ has such a malevolent resonance all of its own.”

  “If you say so. So I’ve lost the second time spell and the future vision spell. Next, I’ll also lose the first time spell?”

  “Yes, and, happily, you’ll be unconscious for that one.”

  Everett grunted. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Not my doing. The three closely spaced seizures caused by the un-manifestations will almost exhaust the energy in your brain and place you on the verge of death.”

  Once again, Everett began to drift back towards his body.

  “One last thing,” Magic added matter-of-factly. “I know all about the deal that Technology offered you. Do not betray me, Everett. If you do, I promise that you will regret it.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Just one more bite,” Sarah insisted. She pushed the spoon of broth into Everett’s mouth.

  “Mmmprh mwoh wmrr.”

  “What?” she asked as she pulled out the utensil.

  “I said, 'I’m full.'”

  “You’ve eaten hardly half of the broth. You need to eat more.”

  “I will later.”

  “If you don’t eat, you won’t regain your strength.”

  “Yes, mother,” he teased.

  Sarah tensed and instead of the witty riposte that he expected, she stood up. “You’re tired. I’ll let you rest.”

  “Wait, I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”

  Sarah hesitated and then slowly sat down again into the chair next to his bed. Drawing a large breath, she placed her hands on her knees and straightened her arms to raise her shoulders in a tension abating stretch. “No. It’s fine.”

  He offered an encouraging smile but did not press. The morning sun, flooding through the open balcony doors, surrounded her with warm yellow light and he felt e
nraptured all over again.

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. “My mother died of child bed fever after Joseph was born. As the oldest, I had to be more or less a substitute mother for my brothers and sisters. That’s why they all call me Sister.”

  Then Everett finally understood her overriding imperative to return to Kleinsvench. The marriage had been simply a convenient, less personal excuse.

  “Uhm--”

  “I thought we decided that you weren’t going to say ‘uhm’ any more?” she snapped. Then she relaxed and laughed when she saw his grin. “Well, if you’re strong enough to joke, then you’re strong enough to be by yourself for a while. I’m going to help Joseph study his lessons.”

  “That would be fine. I feel like a nap anyway.”

  As soon as she had left his room, pulling the large paneled door closed behind her, he threw back the quilt tucked up to his waist and swung his bare legs onto the floor. It had been two days since the seizures and he could not afford to waste any more time. A wave of transitory vertigo made him pause, but as soon as it had passed, he stood up.

  “Give me strength!” The actuation came tardily, perhaps two seconds later, rather than instantly as it always had previously. He wondered at that but dismissed it as beyond his control.

  After searching the room, he found his jacket, shirt and trousers hanging neatly in the armoire in the corner between the door and the balcony. He checked the pockets of his jacket to make sure everything was still there, dressed quickly, and went out onto the balcony. His room was just off the Monte-Jaune apartments and also faced out to the east, the height giving him a broad view of the city and its agricultural environs. Washed in the warm hues of the morning sun, the multi-colored roofs of the eastern half of Kleinsvench spread out before him. Though he could not see Mindelsen's shop, he felt sure that he could locate it once airborne.

  Recognizing the possibility that he may have suffered some permanent brain injury and that therefore his spells may have been somehow debilitated, he decided against bounding away immediately. He should prove his magic by experiment first, lest he find himself a thousand feet in the air with no spell to stand on.

  "Take ye flight!”

  As before, the magic actuated immediately and with some relief, he felt the familiar sensation of floating as he rose slightly above the balcony. Reassured, he enunciated his strength again and leapt away.

  He misjudged the timing of the final cast of his flight spell, landed with a heavy jolt, and had to shift his feet quickly to regain his balance. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he had alighted in an alley just down from the shop, but as he walked out into the street, he realized that he should not have bothered. There was nary a soul in sight; apparently, a good many more of the citizens had left.

  Monsieur Mindelsen’s shop remained open for business, however, and the bell again jangled when he entered. Sipping a mug of something that smelled cidery, the apothecary smiled when he saw Everett.

  “I am glad to see you up and about, Monsieur Wizard. You looked quite ill when I saw you at the castle.”

  “Just something I ate, I’m sure. I’ve come to settle my bill.”

  “Oh, no need. There will be no charge for the analgesics. Just consider it my contribution to the war effort.”

  “Thank you, but it’s about the commission that I've come.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, I did tell you that it would be several days and I am unfortunately still in the process of gathering the ingredients, which will likely take a considerable time longer. Some of my regular suppliers have closed for the duration. Also, strong rumors have reached the city that the Zherians have crossed the border in the east and prices have begun to rise dramatically. I am afraid that I must tell you that my quote will, sadly, be terribly short.”

  “I understand completely.” Everett stepped to the counter and put ten gold Alarsarian deca-crowns, one after another, in a line on the marble top. “I believe this should cover it.”

  The apothecary’s eyes grew large; each of the fat yellow coins was equal to one thousand silver. He picked one up and held it up to a lamp suspended from the ceiling so that light sparkled from its pristine surface.

  “Where in the world did you get these? I had thought that the Royal Treasury had taken them all out of circulation two years ago when they began issuing the new banknotes.”

  “Wizards have resources.”

  Mindelsen gave him a hard look as he placed the gold coin back on the counter exactly in the spot from which he had taken it. “This you have already proven to me. However, before I accept this money, I must also tell you that it is in all likelihood impossible that I will be able to concoct the medicinal potion under the time constraints that you have mentioned. As I warned you, most of the ingredients are rare compounds produced in distant locales. In particular, I have learned that one of the acids and an herbal distillate cannot be obtained locally for any price. I will need to write to a trade factor in New Zindersberg to negotiate the acquisition of those two. Even were you to magic the letters back and forth as you did before, it is likely to take months for the factor to find a source for the ingredients and as much as three months for normal freight methods to bring them here.”

  Everett reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed a small, wax-sealed tin and a green glass bottle with a stopper covered by copper foil. He set the two on the counter next to the coins.

  “Luckily,” Everett told the man without expression, “I anticipated this problem.”

  Mindelsen picked up each in turn, examined its label briefly, and returned it to the counter. “Monsieur Wizard, no offense intended, but prior to meeting you, my impression of magic was rather low, as it never seemed quite to measure up. Now, however, I am beginning to wonder if there is anything that it cannot accomplish.”

  “You mean you thought that magic was crap?”

  Mindelsen chuckled. “Yes, that would be an accurate statement.”

  “It’s true. Believe me, I should know.”

  “Yes, I suppose you should. In any event, I will get to work immediately. The potion will be ready day after tomorrow and the rest two days later. If any further delays arise, I will send word to the castle at once.”

  Everett thanked the apothecary and began to turn about to leave when he had a thought concerning one of the preparations that he had not been able to complete. “Monsieur Mindelsen, might you know if there’s a gunsmith in Kleinsvench?”

  The older man’s face betrayed no comment. “There is one, a Monsieur Von Gylg over on Persimmon Street – three blocks north, four to the east, turn right at the intersection, third building on the right -- though he may have already gone to visit his relatives like a lot of folks.”

  “Visit his relatives?”

  “Kleinsvench is no more than thirty miles from the front. It would not take much of an advance by the Zherians to place the city within range of their big guns.”

  “Right. If you don’t mind my asking, why haven’t you ‘gone to visit relatives?’”

  “If the fighting does reach the city, then my potions and salves will be required to treat the wounded. Besides, I cannot stand any of my relatives for longer than fifteen minutes.”

  Everett smiled humorlessly, nodded a goodbye, and left. Walking along quiet streets lined with darkened buildings, he found Persimmon easily enough and the shop of the middle-aged Monsieur Von Gylg without mishap. This last was mainly due to the fact that the gunsmith, along with three younger men who were obviously sons, was in the process of emptying his equipment from his sturdily timbered shop into a large wagon drawn up in the center of the otherwise vacant street.

  Everett walked up to the older man, who watched him approach with little interest. The gunsmith was built like any man who had had to work steel for a living: strong, broad, and hard. He looked to weigh an easy eighteen stone, and not an ounce of that fat. Dressed in heavy cotton work clothes, he wore his fading blond hair long in a single ponytail
. Distinctively, he had a tattoo of a serpent on his left forearm, with its tail wrapped around his thickly muscled forearm and its toothed jaws jutting along the first two fingers of his hand.

  “Good morning, Monsieur Von Gylg,” Everett began. “My name is Everett de Schael and I was told that you’re a gunsmith.”

  The man started shaking his head before Everett had finished. “If you’re looking for pistols or rifles, I’ve none to sell. The coming war has everyone running scared and I’ve sold nearly a hundred long guns and nearly as many side arms in the last month. I’m also out of cartridges. What little stock I’ve left will be kept for our own use.”

  The sons finished loading a long crate and then moved up behind their father, their stances clearly indicating that they were entirely ready to defend against any threat. Save for the tattoo, they were, one and all, simply younger and taller copies of the gunsmith.

  Everett smiled his best harmless smile. “Actually, I’ve come to commission several metal devices. I can pay in advance and in gold.”

  Von Gylg shook his head again. “Sorry, son, I can’t help you. We’re packing up to move down into the Kingdom, other side of the Canal. The Alarsarians may not hold the border, but they’re sure to hold the line of the Canal with the Green and Black rivers on their flanks. All of my tools are already loaded and you caught me just as I was about to lock up the shop.”

  “I could also offer quick transportation south,” Everett proposed. “I could move the entire wagon, horses and all, to wherever you wanted to go.”

  “Eh, I thought I recognized you. You’re that new wizard.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d heard that you’d had some sort of fit?”

  “Just a bad bit of meat, I’d imagine. What’s your destination?”

  Yet a third time, the gunsmith shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but I’d rather trust my horse team to get us where we need to be. I can’t say as I’ve seen much in my life that honest work and sweat couldn’t do better than magic.”

  “I’d mostly have to agree with you on that, but I do know that there are a few things that magic can accomplish that honest work can’t.”