Off to Be the Wizard Read online

  Martin rematerialized in the crystal ball room of Phillip’s shop hugging his Amazon.com box to his chest. Phillip had explained that transporting anything too large was a risky proposition. Large objects are usually just a collection of small objects held together by glue, screws, or clips, which are themselves just smaller objects. “More than one wizard has filled a suitcase with stuff, teleported, and materialized holding nothing but a handle.”

  “So keep it small?” Martin had said.

  “Yes, and just to be safe, try to hug it when you teleport. Surround the item as best you can with your limbs. Make more than one trip if you must.”

  So hug the box Martin had, and the box seemed to make the trip just fine. Martin’s favorite part of buying a new computer was unboxing and setting up the system for the first time. This time it was even better because he was experiencing it through Phillip’s eyes, a man from 1984. The most advanced piece of hardware Phillip had ever seen, aside from Martin’s phone, was Gary’s 1994 Apple PowerBook. When Martin un-boxed the brand new 2012 laptop that looked like it was carved from a single billet of aluminum, Phillip looked like his head was going to explode. Martin couldn’t help smiling as Phillip read the specifications on the side of the box, his lips moving slightly as if he were a linguist trying to read the Rosetta Stone.

  Phillip shook his head. “I understand all of these specs, but the numbers are all so large, I don’t know what any of it means. What on earth can a person do with four gigabytes of RAM?”

  “Upgrade it immediately,” Martin answered.

  Martin was delighted to see that the laptop had shipped with a partial charge on the battery, so Martin was able to boot it up and show Phillip how modern operating systems worked, how high-definition movies looked, what 3D games were, and how fast the computer could perform tasks. Phillip was visibly grateful, and insanely jealous.

  “I could maybe get you one, if you want,” Martin offered.

  Phillip sighed. “No, I wouldn’t know how to use it. I’d best stick with my Commodore. I’ll be able to get my own eventually, if I wait around long enough. That’s the beauty of being immortal. You learn to appreciate delayed gratification.”

  Instead of learning the shell’s scripting language, they spent the rest of that day setting up and optimizing Martin’s new computer. Thanks to the shell, it was much easier to find the new laptop’s entry in the file. All Phillip had to do was point at it and say Statistikoj and the entry came up on the Commodore 64’s screen.

  “Statistikoj? that means ‘statistics,’ doesn’t it?’ Martin asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Does Esperanto ever remind you of Pig Latin?”

  “Yes. By the way, Esperanto for Pig Latin is porko latina.”

  They set the laptop’s battery to constantly be full, like Martin’s phone. For internet access Martin simply used Wi-Fi to tether the laptop to his phone so he could access the phone’s 4G connection, a process that thoroughly confounded Phillip. Martin patiently talked Phillip through it as they went. He enjoyed playing teacher to Phillip’s student, instead of the other way around.

  The next morning, after a bowl of breakfast stew, they set up the laptop on the table in Phillip’s house and settled in to get access to the shell. The shell was hosted redundantly on many corporate and government servers, just like the file itself. Because they knew what to search for, they found what they were looking for pretty fast. They downloaded a version of the shell interface that was designed for Windows XP. It was badly outdated from Martin’s point of view, but it worked in emulation, and was stable. The interface had large, cartoonish icons Martin could use to access the raw file, a sandbox for creating new powers and effects, a library of pre-existing powers and effects, and a graphical interface for combining them and assigning a trigger. Phillip was explaining how to stack several effects to create the illusion of a single, unified effect when Martin felt a sudden chill.

  “Perfect timing, as always,” Phillip groaned.

  “Huh! I’ve got goose bumps.” Martin said.

  “Yes, so have I. Sit back, kiddo. You’re about to see a textbook example of how many different effects can be layered to make an impression on your audience. In this case, to give the impression that the wizard is trying far too hard to impress.”

  A breeze blew through the room, seeming to blow inward from all four of the walls, converging on a point in the middle of the room. The wind formed a small whirlwind, which grew and darkened as more dust – far more than had been in the room to begin with – was drawn into the vortex. All light in the room dimmed until it looked like midnight in the dead of winter, rather than a sunny fall morning. As the light died, a glow emanated from the whirlwind, which was now the size of a man. There was a deafening sound, like a gas truck exploding but played in reverse, then the room was filled with nothing but white light and silence.

  As Martin’s eyes adjusted he saw a marble statue of an impressive wizard where the whirlwind had been. The statue held its staff aloft with its muscular left arm. Its equally muscular right arm was flexing mightily with its hand at head height, gripping a tiny, brilliant white star as if it were a softball. The statue’s square jaw was set, and its facial expression spoke of a serene confidence and a terrible purpose. The statue’s flowing hair was blown back as if it was standing directly in front of a fan. The light in the statue’s hand pulsed orange, sending out a shock wave of fire that filled the room. Martin instinctively covered his face with his arms. Phillip did not flinch. As the shockwave dissipated, the marble burned away to ash, which fell but seemed to disappear before it hit the floor. As the ash crumbled away, it left behind a real wizard in the same pose. The arms were thinner. The jaw was weaker. The hair was limper. It was; however, the same wizard. His robes were a deep emerald green with gold trim. His staff was black, and as shiny as a piano. The figurehead was a small blue electric plasma ball, like teenage guys bought from mall novelty shops in the late 80s. In an amplified voice with too much reverb, the wizard said, “Be not a-feared! I, Merlin, have appeared!”

  Phillip groaned, then said, “Hello, Jimmy,” without enthusiasm. “Would it kill you to knock?”

  Jimmy smiled. “Hello, Phillip. Lovely to see you! I apologize for not knocking, but as you know, I put a lot of effort into my entrance.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Yes, and the whole effect would be spoiled if it was preceded by me meekly knocking on the door and asking if anyone was home. It wouldn’t be nearly as impressive, now would it?”

  “Do I look impressed now?” Phillip asked.

  “Why no, dear fellow, you never look impressed. That’s part of your charm.”

  “What if, instead of knocking, you made three sonic booms, in the cadence of a person knocking?” Martin asked. “Then you could wait for an answer.”

  Jimmy’s eyes widened. “That’s a genuinely good idea! You must be this apprentice I’ve heard so much about. Pleased to meet you. You can call me Merlin.”

  Phillip muttered, “Or you can call him Jimmy, which is his name.”

  “Yes, thank you, Phillip. I must say, Martin, I’d heard you were clever. Lots of people tell me their ideas, but I rarely hear one I like. I’m impressed!”

  “Yes,” Phillip added. “Someday, when your ears are bleeding because you’re being subjected to shave and a haircut played in sonic booms, you’ll know you have yourself to thank.”

  Jimmy and Martin shook hands. Jimmy had a firm grip and a dry hand. He grasped Martin’s right elbow with his left hand as they shook. He leaned in close to Martin’s right ear, and quietly enough that Phillip couldn’t hear, but without whispering, asked, “Is Phillip treating you all right, Martin? Is he teaching you what you need to know? He’s not making you do all of his housework or anything, is he, Martin?”

  “No,” Martin replied quietly. “He’s great! We�
��re getting along fine.”

  “Good, Martin,” Jimmy said, still shaking Martin’s hand, leaning in close and almost whispering into his ear. “If there are any problems, Martin, I want you to contact me. Will you do that, Martin?”

  Before Martin could answer, both he and Jimmy were startled by Phillip leaning in very close to Martin’s other ear and grasping Martin’s left shoulder. “Martin,” Phillip said, in hushed tones, “Is Jimmy acting creepy, Martin? Is he making lots of physical contact, Martin, and murmuring directly into your ear-hole? Martin, is he saying your name, Martin, much more often than any sane person would, Martin? Martin, it’s almost as if he read a book on how to cruise chicks at a discotheque and, Martin, realized he could apply those lessons to everyone he met, isn’t it, Martin? Martin, Martin, Martin?”

  If Martin had been farther from Jimmy’s face he’d have missed the look of irritation that quickly changed to a surprisingly genuine expression of amused good grace. Jimmy released Martin’s arm and took a step back, laughing lightly and spreading his arms in a friendly, expansive gesture. “Now, Phillip, if you’re not careful, you’re going to give Martin the impression that we don’t get along.”

  “We don’t!” Phillip said, clenching his fists.

  Jimmy quite deliberately looked confused. “Phillip, I’ve always gotten along with you just fine.”

  “Yes, Jimmy, you get along with me, but I don’t get along with you, partly because you don’t recognize that the word we refers to more than just you.”

  Jimmy laughed. “Oh, Phillip, you are a pistol.”

  “I wish.”

  After a profoundly uncomfortable silence, Jimmy said, “Well, I have other stops today. I’m out making the rounds, checking on projects.” He looked directly at Phillip. “The chairman’s work is never done.”

  “We won’t keep you,” Phillip replied.

  “No, you won’t,” Jimmy said, initiating a second handshake with Martin. “If I can be any help, don’t hesitate to ask. You’ll be a fine addition to our community, Martin, I can tell.”

  Jimmy raised his staff above his head. Wind blew inward from the perimeter of the room again, converging on Jimmy, blowing his hair and making his robe flap like a flag. Jimmy spoke, but now his voice was louder, fuller, more epic. “And don’t worry about the trials, Martin. If you do, you’ll psych yourself out and fail, and that would be very bad!” The whirlwind converged and coalesced around Jimmy. There was a blinding light, a loud noise, and then silence. An idealized marble statue of Jimmy stood where the real thing had been, then it crumbled into ashes that disintegrated before they hit the ground. When the dust cleared all that was left was a scorch mark on the spot where Jimmy had stood. The scorch was in the shape of an M inside a pentagram.

  Phillip rubbed at the mark with his boot. It wiped away easily. “It stands for ‘moron’,” he said as he finished removing it.

  “He seems friendly,” Martin said.

  “Yes, that’s the problem with him. He seems friendly.”

  Martin knew that the wise move would be to leave it alone and get on with their day. He also knew that he wasn’t going to do that. “It’s obvious that you detest him.”

  “Obvious to everyone but him.”

  “Oh, I think he knows.”

  Phillip turned to face Martin, his eyes full of hope. “Do you think so? You think he knows how I feel? Oh, I hope that’s true. Maybe he even feels the same way about me?”

  “I think he may. What’s your deal? Are you mad because he’s Merlin and you’re not?”

  Phillip sat down at the table and slumped over, as if tired from the exertion of hating Jimmy. “No, I hate him because he’s not Merlin. There is no Merlin and there probably never was. Look, when I came to this time, I knew I’d be disguising myself as a wizard, and hoped I’d be known as a good one. I thought that was a pretty good goal. Good enough for me, at least, but clearly not good enough for Jimmy. When Jimmy came back here, it was with the intention of making people recognize him as Merlin whether they wanted to or not, and he proceeded to scramble countless people’s lives so he could bend reality to his will.”

  “You’re angry because he changed the past.”

  “Yes, you could boil it down to that.”

  “But you’re changing the past too.”

  “Yes, but on a much smaller scale, and for very different reasons. I made small changes in hopes of making a better life for myself and others. He made huge changes to create a much better life for himself and a slightly better life for everyone else maybe, if they were lucky, but if not, he’s not really bothered.”

  A long silence passed as Martin tried to understand and Phillip tried to find a more elegant explanation. “Shortly after I got here, I decided the repository, the file, as you call it, would be much more useful if it had a simplified interface. I started working on the shell. I told Jimmy about it. He helped a little. When new wizards would turn up, he’d show them our shell that we made. Later on, I’d meet new wizards who had met Jimmy first, and they’d ask me what it was like helping Jimmy invent the shell.”

  “Ah,” Martin said. “You want more credit.”

  “No, it’s not about credit. It’s about theft.”

  “Theft of credit,” Martin said.

  “Look,” Phillip said, “The world can be described as a war between two sides. The problem is that everybody has a different idea of what those two sides are. Liberals versus Conservatives, Star Wars fans versus Star Trek fans, people who see the world in terms of us-versus-them and people who don’t. There are thousands of different two kinds of people. The way I see it, civilization is a war between people like me and people like Jimmy.”

  “Okay, who are the people like you, and who are the people like Jimmy?”

  “Martin, did you ever play basketball?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, what’s a foul?”

  “It’s when a player breaks one of the rules. Do it three times and you’re kicked out of the game.”

  Phillip smiled. “Good. The best way I’ve ever summed up the war as I see it is that one side, our side, sees a foul as being against the rules, and if you do it too many times you have to be removed. The other side, Jimmy’s side, sees fouls as things you’re allowed to get caught doing twice, and if you don’t, you aren’t trying hard enough.”

  “So you’re mad at Jimmy because you think his side cheats at life.”

  “Partly. Mostly I’m mad because I’m pretty sure his side is going to win.”

  They spent the rest of that day covering the creation of macros, and they got a lot of training accomplished, but Phillip’s mood never really recovered. It wasn’t until the next day, after a good night’s sleep, that his smile seemed genuine again. In fact, as Phillip roused Martin from the hammock, Phillip’s smile seemed a little too genuine.

  “Get up, me lad! I’ve got something special planned for you today.”

  Martin rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he carefully dismounted the hammock. “What is it? I was hoping to work some more on macros. I have a few ideas.”

  Phillip shrugged theatrically. “Well, we could spend the day at the computer if you’d rather and just leave learning to fly for another day.”

  “No, no,” Martin said, quickly grabbing his staff, “If you think it’s time to try flying,” he continued, struggling to pull on his robe, “then I as the, uh, um … student,” he stammered, realizing that pulling on the robe would be easier if he weren’t holding his staff, “should defer to your expertise,” he said, setting down the staff, and successfully donning his robe, “and learn to fly today.” Martin had gone from sleep to standing, ready to leave, in ten seconds and one run-on sentence.

  “Now, now, don’t be so hasty. You haven’t had any breakfast,” Phillip said. “Here, have one of these. It s
hould tide you over until lunch. He handed Martin a palm sized rectangle of something wrapped in cloth.

  “What is it?” Martin asked.

  “It’s something I’m experimenting with. Are you familiar with the idea of a breakfast bar?”

  Martin unwrapped it eagerly. “Yeah, in my time we tend to call them energy bars. I didn’t know you had chocolate.”

  “I don’t; this is much healthier. It’s a block of dried stew.”

  It did tide Martin over until lunch, in that it made him lose all interest in eating. He and Phillip went outside. Phillip held out his hand, and Martin willingly put his hand in Phillip’s. Phillip held his staff aloft in his free hand and pointed its top, with the decorative glass bottle of Tabasco sauce, toward the sky. Phillip looked upward, said, “Flugi!” and they were soaring into the sky.

  They flew about fifteen miles. In modern times that was not far, but in the Middle Ages, it was a huge distance. They flew over the forest until they came to a large clearing full of tall grass. In the middle of the clearing, two men in wizard robes were waiting for them. As Phillip swooped in for a landing, Martin could see that it was Gary and Jeff.

  “Guys! Good to see you! I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Martin said.

  “We wouldn’t have missed it!” Gary said. “We wizards always come out for an apprentice’s first flight.”

  “Where’s Tyler?” Phillip asked.

  “Dunno,” Jeff answered. “He went out yesterday for some book research and hasn’t come back. Some farmer’s probably telling him a story about yams that he thinks he can make into a tale of high adventure. He loses track of time.”

  “He’s gonna be bummed that he missed your first flight,” Gary said. “It’s a tradition.”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said, “it’s like when they launch a ship by breaking a bottle on its prow.”

  “But instead if a ship, it’s you.”