Off to Be the Wizard Page 8

  “Good point, Martin. Like I said, there are a bunch of us from the future living here. We have a good thing going. We can’t let anyone screw it up, and so far you’ve shown a talent for screwing things up.”

  Martin tensed. His eyes involuntarily dashed to his smartphone in Phillip’s hand. Philip noticed, and smiled.

  “Don’t worry, Martin, you’re in no danger.”

  Phillip watched as Martin failed to relax. Phillip smiled and handed the smartphone to Martin.

  “Better?”

  Martin relaxed. If Phillip meant to harm him, he wouldn’t hand him a means of escape. “As I was saying,” Phillip continued, “I’ve lived here over a decade. It’s my home, and most of the other wizards feel the same. We can’t let anybody mess it up, so we’ve developed a sort of training program. If you want to stay in this time, you’ll hang around with me for a while. I’ll explain the basics of how we operate, tell you the rules, and teach you the skills you’ll need to make a living as a wizard, which is a pretty cushy life. When I think you’re ready we’ll go introduce you to the chairman and you’ll face the trials.”

  “If I pass?”

  “You know the program you have running on that pocket computer of yours to access the file? We have a program that’s similar, but ours has been under continuous development for a decade. It gives us powers beyond anything you’ve imagined. If you pass you’ll have full access and the ability to develop and submit new powers for approval.”

  “What kind of powers are we talking about?”

  “The only power you need to know about to make your decision is the power to lead a life where you’re free to pursue whatever seems interesting without the pressure of keeping a job, or paying off a car loan or a mortgage. We live like gentlemen of leisure. Our greatest challenge is looking busy. Welcome to wizarding, your last hard day was yesterday.”

  “What if I fail the trials?”

  “That’s a less pleasant story. We send you back to your own time, and we cut off all future access to the file.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, what if in my own time I’m headed to jail?”

  “Then you go to jail. Sorry, but you made that bed yourself. We’re not responsible for what you’ve done. If it’s that bad, we’re probably doing a good deed by preventing you from doing more of it. I think you’ll pass, though. I looked at your pocket computer program, and the fact that there are no functions that can be used as a weapon speaks well of you. Last night you demonstrated that you can talk the talk of a wizard. You showed a flair for the dramatic and quite a bit of creativity! Thanks for all the cling film, by the way. I told Pete that it was useful for covering food and he tried to make a pot lid out of it. It melted.”

  “Must’ve ruined whatever he was cooking.”

  “Even with our powers, we can’t do anything worse to food than have it be cooked by Pete. Look, don’t worry too much about the trials. If I didn’t think you’d work out, you’d have woken up in your own time this morning.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “We’ve done it before. Marty, we discovered the file, and we here have devised the shell program that helps us manage it. If we don’t police its use, nobody will. There was one guy, Todd was his name. Awful little man. He passed the training just fine, then immediately started doing terrible things. We knew he had fled here to avoid arrest, so we sent him back to his time and cut off his access to the file. Also, just to make sure he didn’t evade capture, we sent him to a public place, naked and hog-tied.”

  Martin imagined himself rematerializing in his old bedroom with no means of escape, the feeling of helplessness as the agents stormed in, the looks on his parents’ faces as he was dragged away, their embarrassment at being unable to explain why he’d stripped naked and how he’d hog-tied himself. He couldn’t let that happen. Martin held up his phone. “And what if I just flee to another time and place?”

  “We’d take that as intent to do wrong, cut off your access and send you back to your time. Now that we’re aware of you we can edit your parameters without you present.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you could. What if I refuse the training?”

  “We send you back to your own time and cut off your access to the file.”

  “Just like if I fail the training.”

  “Yes. We consider correctly answering the question ‘Do you accept the training?’ to be part of the training. Get that question wrong, and you fail the training.”

  “Do you train everyone?” Martin asked.

  “No, whoever’s closest to where a new wizard appears makes initial contact, then we sort of take turns training people. If all goes well, you’ll train someone someday. If we were going according to the schedule, I’d be shipping you off to Norway to be trained by a Magnus.”

  “What’s a Magnus?” Martin asked.

  “A wizard named Magnus. There are two of them in Norway.”

  “How many wizards are there in Norway?”

  “Two. But after seeing that display of showmanship last night, I’ve jumped ahead in line. I want to train you myself. You’re going to be sort of a special project.”

  Martin wasn’t sure if that sounded promising or not.

  Phillip spread his arms wide. “So what do you say, Marty? Do you accept the training?”

  “Before I answer, can I ask a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “If I become a wizard, do I have to be celibate?”

  This seemed to puzzle Phillip. “No, you don’t have to be celibate. You can be, if that’s your thing.”

  Martin waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Yes, I accept the training.”

  “Excellent. The first step is to get you a proper robe and hat.”

  Chapter 12.

  Even though Martin knew he was in Medieval England, it didn’t sink in until he and Phillip walked out into the street. Until that point he had seen woods, ocean, and an inn. None of those things had changed much over the last several hundred years. Streets, however, had changed dramatically. The street was narrow. People walked right down the middle of it with impunity, wearing lots of leather and lots of tights. There were no cars, of course, just horse and ox carts. Rather than smelling of exhaust, the air smelled of manure. It was dirty, smelly chaos, but not the kind he was used to.

  Martin was wearing clothes that Phillip had loaned him. A rough woven tunic and heavy pants, fastened with a piece of rope for a belt. He was still wearing his sneakers, but they were dirty enough by this time that nobody took notice.

  “Besides,” Phillip told him, “people are used to a little strangeness when wizards are involved.”

  Martin was still sore, but food had helped and the breakfast beer had helped even more. He had many questions, but was trying not to ask them in public, for fear of letting the locals, as Phillip called them, know too much. He was finding that with all the new information he had absorbed, all the unanswered questions he still had, and the lingering effects of the beer, he was having some difficulty keeping track of things. “Where are we going, again?”

  “To the tailor to get you a robe and hat made.”

  The tailor, he thought. There’s something important about that. What was it? Finally it struck him.

  “Say,” Martin said, using his nonchalant voice, “that wouldn’t be Gwen the tailor, would it?”

  Phillip stopped walking and turned to face him. Martin’s nonchalant voice clearly made Phillip profoundly uneasy. “If you mean Gwen the tailor who gave you a ride into town, and was so alarmed by your arrogance that she came to get me immediately, then watched as you made a fool of yourself and got hurled out of town in a white fireball, then helped me cart your drooling, vibrating carcass back into town, then yes.”

 
Martin put his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get your point. Sorry!”

  They continued walking. “So, is she your girlfriend?” Martin asked.

  “No, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s a smart, talented young lady whom I’ve known for many years, and she’s got enough problems without some love struck young wizard trying to impress her like a medieval John Hinkley.”

  “Who’s John Hinkley?” Martin asked.

  “Hmm. I guess that’s before your time. Perhaps you’d know him if he were on The Simpsons. Anyway, please don’t bother Gwen. It’s hard enough being a woman and a small business owner in modern times. You can imagine what it’s like here.”

  They came to the door of Gwen’s workshop. The only thing that differentiated it from all of the other one-story stone buildings was a small wooden plank next to the door with a needle and thread painted on it with some feminine decorative flourishes. Phillip went in. Martin followed. When Phillip mentioned “Gwen’s Shop,” Martin had pictured a shop as he knew them, with a counter, and displays, and perhaps the medieval equivalent of a cash register. Instead, what he saw was a workshop full of bolts of fabric and garments in various stages of construction. There were two small windows at the front of the hut, and really, that’s what most of the buildings in Leadchurch were. Huts made out of piled rocks and dead plants. In the corner there was a work table, covered with many pieces of cloth, two of which were partly stitched together with a coarse thread that in modern times would have been considered very small-gauge twine.

  Gwen was talking to a farmer who was holding a small stack of folded garments. Martin was absolutely certain that he was a farmer. The man was powerfully built without being buff. His clothes were clean now, but had clearly been very dirty many times. He looked smart, but talked as if everyone assumed he was dumb. Cripes, Martin thought, he might as well be named Mr. Farmer.

  “Ma’am, you make the best clothing I’ve ever had,” the farmer said. “That’s why I come all the way into town so often. But the clothes you make do stretch out over time, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask you to hem your own handiwork at a discount.”

  Gwen was wearing the same charcoal-colored hooded cloak she had worn the night before, but now Martin could see that it opened at the front, like an oversized hooded sweatshirt, cut to the length of a trench coat. The hood was pulled back off of her head, bunching up slightly around her shoulders and hanging down her back. Beneath the cloak, she wore a lilac colored dress and her petite black leather boots. She glanced at the door as Phillip and Martin entered.

  She flashed her warm, pretty smile when she saw Phillip. Her smile chilled a bit when she saw Martin. She took the stack from the man, shrugging. “Sam, you’re a good customer, and an honest man, so I’ll hem these for free this time, but this is a good heavy fabric, and I promise, it does not stretch with time.”

  The man pointed at the bottom of his dull brown tunic. It was a little long, as were the sleeves. “Then how can you explain this?” he asked. Gwen seemed to be at a loss.

  Phillip said, “I’ve often thought that most of the men’s shirts in this town would be a bit shorter and would fit a bit looser if Gwen hired someone else to do her measuring. Someone men aren’t so inclined to impress with their posture and flat gut,” then added, “good morning, Gwen. Sam.”

  “Good morning, Phillip.” Gwen said. “Good morning, Martin. How are you feeling today? Magnificent, I trust.”

  Sam looked at Martin, astonished. “Is this the evil wizard you vanquished last night, Phillip? I’d heard you slew him and reduced his body to vapor.”

  Phillip explained that he had reconstituted the vapor into a purer, less evil version of Martin, much as one would distill mash into liquor. This, Sam understood. He thanked Gwen, mentioned that he was off to the cobbler, because his boots were causing him discomfort, and left.

  As soon as Sam was gone, Martin said to himself as much as to Phillip and Gwen, “I may have overplayed my hand last night.”

  No,” Gwen said. “It was very impressive. I’m sure it takes a powerful wizard to make their flying spell continue to work even after they’ve been knocked unconscious.”

  “Yes, look, I want to apologize for my behavior. I acted stupidly. Thanks for the ride into town, and for helping Phillip come get me.”

  Her smile warmed again. “You’re very welcome Martin. We all make mistakes.”

  “Maybe I can make it up to you by taking you to dinner sometime?” Martin ventured.

  Her smile cooled again. “Maybe not. What brings you here, Phillip?”

  “Martin here is going to be my apprentice, for as long as he lasts. He’s going to need a proper robe and hat.”

  She stood and picked up her measuring stick from the work table. “Good. That thing you were wearing last night was doing you no favors.” She spent the next several minutes holding the stick up to various parts of his anatomy and mumbling. Finally she stood and asked Phillip, “Wizard robes and hats are pretty simple. I can have it done in a week or two. I’ll need you to come back for a rough fitting in a few days. What color and fabric would you like?”

  Martin raised his hand. “It’s my robe, shouldn’t you ask me that?”

  “What color and fabric?” she asked Phillip.

  “Whatever you like, Gwen. We trust you,” Phillip replied. Gwen smiled in a way that made Martin want to disagree with Phillip.

  As she took a few last measurements by laying her measuring stick along, and at times jabbing it into parts of his body, Martin asked, “Last night, why did you tell me wizards have to be celibate?”

  “I didn’t say they had to be. I just said they were,” she said without looking up. “Celibate is celibate, whether it’s deliberate or not.”

  A few minutes later Phillip and Martin were back on the street, walking past the townsfolk going about their business.

  “Look,” Phillip said, “I’ll forgive you that one because I remember what it was like to be your age, and being interested in Gwen just means that you have taste, but I’m serious, from now on if I tell you not to do something you have to not do it. That includes hitting on Gwen. If you’re to be my apprentice, then that means I’m your master, and I need to be able to trust you to do what I say.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear you say that, because after watching you for less than a day I’m ready to issue my first official command as your master.”

  Martin braced himself. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Apprentice, I command you to … think! Being a man of action is fine, but you need to think before you act.”

  “That’s …”

  Phillip held up a hand. “Stop! Did you think about what you’re about to say?”

  “No.”

  “Then take a moment. Think about what you were going to say, what you have riding on my continued good will, and how I’m likely to react to the words you were about to let fall from your mouth like a partially chewed mouthful of spoiled cheese.”

  They stood in silence for a moment as the pedestrians passed them by. Finally Phillip broke the silence. “Have you thought about it?”

  “Yes,”

  “Do you still intend to say whatever it was?”

  “No.”

  “Excellent! You have pleased me, my apprentice! Well done! I’m delighted at the prospect of all the marvelous things you’re not going to say in the future! You know, the less you talk, the more people assume that what you’re not saying is important.”

  They walked on in silence for several minutes. Finally Martin spoke. “So, master, where are we going now?”

  “Marty, you don’t have to call me master.”

  “Good.”

  “A simple sir will do.”

  Martin thought, and
did not respond, which delighted Phillip to no end.

  “We’re going back to my shop. You can’t really do anything until you’re outfitted properly, so for the rest of the day you’re going to watch me work.”

  Martin thought for a moment, then said, “I didn’t realize you had a shop.” And after another moment, “Or work.”

  “We’ll discuss the secrets of our profession in detail when we get to the shop. Just remember that nothing in a wizard’s life is what it seems.”

  Martin decided he’d have to be content with that for now. As they walked, Phillip pointed out the important landmarks of the town of Leadchurch. The blacksmith. The bakery. The butcher shop. He didn’t need to point out the church. It looked like any other mid-sized gothic cathedral, except that it was covered in lead. They watched for a few moments as pilgrims devoutly touched the church and came away amazed at how dirty their hands were.

  “The real show is at noon,” Phillip said. “Bishop Galbraith comes out and tries to stick a magnet to the side of the church. It never sticks.”

  “What does that prove?”

  “That the church is covered in lead.”

  “But anyone can see that, and besides, it doesn’t really prove anything! Magnets don’t stick to a normal church, either. That doesn’t mean they’re covered in lead.”

  “True, but the church here in Leadchurch is different from other churches in one very important way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s covered in lead. You see, faith doesn’t have to make sense. If it did, it wouldn’t be faith, it would be logic. As a wizard, faith is our most important tool.”

  Just around the corner they came to Phillip’s shop. It was a two-story wood and stone building situated with its back to a steep hill, giving the impression that the building was built into the hill. It had a thatched roof and a sign over the door that said Wizard. On the door, a small sign simply said out.

  “Why don’t you live here?” Martin asked as they approached the shop.

  “Various reasons,” was Phillip’s reply as he opened the door and entered, Martin following behind him. The front room of the shop was small, with a low ceiling, and was cluttered with weird-looking knickknacks. There were statues, bowls, jars of fluid, jars of powder, and sparkly rocks. In one corner there was a small work table and a set of shelves. The shelves looked like an oversized spice rack, but along with the spices there were some live plants and a few dead, dried animals. On the table there was a mortar and pestle. In the other far corner there was a doorway blocked by a curtain.