Hamilton Swoop, Wizard of Green Ridge (4 page)

Whiskers yawned and closed her eyes, ignoring the advice.

Hamilton shrugged and then made himself a meal out of food he found in the station's larder. By the time he had finished eating, he was ready to take off his coat. He dumped it on the table, as the now-roaring fire filled the room with delicious warmth.

After the chill had left his bones, he climbed the stairs to the second story. This floor consisted of small rooms off a narrow central hallway. Each room had a bunk with two exceptions. One room, at the end of the hall, had ten cots in close proximity and the room next to it appeared to be the station keeper's residence. That room, in addition to the bed and table, contained books, notebook, tools, two lamps and a small safe which stood open, quite empty.

Hamilton frowned. In Green Ridge, it was not a crime to steal from a dead man as long as you had nothing to do with his demise. The room had obviously been searched, as the mattress was askew on its frame, and clothes and small articles were scattered everywhere.

To salve his curiosity, Hampton decided to give it another look. Sometimes not knowing what you are looking for is a boon, since you don't ignore anything. In a heap of clothing, he found a small piece of turquoise. He dropped it on the table, but it bounced, hit the floor and rolled under the bed.

He got down on his knees and tried to retrieve the piece. He could see it, but he couldn't reach it. He lay down on his back and pulled himself as far under the frame as he could using a bed slat for leverage. As his hand slid along the wood, he dislodged a small box that was sitting on top of it. It toppled to the floor.

Hamilton slid free of the bed with the turquoise piece and the box in hand. He dropped the turquoise into his pocket and sat on the floor examining the box. The six-inch rectangular box seemed to be made of various shades of wood and wooden inlays. There was no obvious way to open it. He carried the box downstairs where the light was better.

What do you have?

"I don't know. Maybe this thing is what whoever was here earlier looked for. It's some kind of a box, but I can't open it."

Whiskers got up from her spot before the fire and leapt up to the table where Hamilton had placed it. She looked at the box for a moment.
It's a Jarn Mystery box. Thorn had several of them in his study
.

"So it's magic?"

Magic? No. Just a clever piece of engineering.

"Can you open it?"

No, but you probably can.

"Huh?"

I can't because I don't have thumbs. Try sliding one of the little panels on the box's side.

Hamilton tried each of the small panels and started to feel foolish until one of them gave way to the pressure and slid about a half inch, revealing a tiny switch in the area thus exposed. He glanced at Whiskers.

What are you waiting for? Just push the switch.

Hamilton pushed the small lever. “Nothing happened."

Patience, Old Man. The switch unlocked another panel. Look for it the way you did the first one. Let me know if you find anything.
Whiskers jumped down from the table and trotted over to her bowl of food.

Hamilton found the newly released panel and slid it back, revealing another switch. He had to repeat the procedure two more times before he was able to slide the lid off. The box looked empty, but the inside was smaller than the outside. He played with the panels again, and a new one moved when he pushed it. This time the switch released a small drawer concealed in the base. He pulled the drawer out. In it was a small, yellowed piece of folded paper.

He looked over at the cat who was in the process of cleaning her face with the back of her paw. “Just a piece of paper. I was kind of hoping for a jewel or gold or something..."

The cat took a final wipe at her face and then returned to Hamilton.
Anything on the paper?

Hamilton unfolded it. As he stared at what was written, his eyes opened wider and his expression grew dark. “Damn!” he exclaimed.

What? What's it say?

"I've been summoned. I've got to get to the Guild in Center City."

Why?

"It's from Obsidian..."

You mean that corpse in the cart? How could he write you a note? He's been dead a long time, hasn't he?

"Wizards don't exactly die. Oh, their bodies go eventually, but their being, well, their being can hang around for a long time. Damn!"

Let me get this straight. We travel half way to Center City and, in a mystery box, you find a note addressed to you. Coincidence?

"There's no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to magic."

What's the big deal? That's where we were going, anyway. Right?

"You don't understand, cat. The miserable Obsidian is still pulling my strings."

By dawn the next morning, Hamilton had already prepared his wagon for the second half of the trip. He took some extra food from the station's larder as well and freed the other horse from the barn. He also filled the trough.

The sun began its rise into a cloudless sky, but it brought little heat: a cold blanket of air had settled in. Hamilton banged his hands together for warmth. Then he hitched Bethesda to the cart. He retrieved Whiskers from the station. Once more they headed for Center City.

Whiskers crawled under Hamilton's coat.
I still don't understand why some dead guy's demand that you do something has any power over you now.

"Because it wasn't a demand or a request. It was a summons, as in ‘Guild summons'. It's something I cannot refuse."

Whiskers twisted about beneath the coat looking for her optimal position.
Why not? You're not in the Guild. They don't have any power over you, do they?

"I had to join the Guild when I was 15. A year before Obsidian died, but after he died, I gave it up. Too many games. That and the fact that the Guild stripped me of my magic. That's why my father kicked me out of his house. Guess he thought I'd wasted the money he spent on the apprenticeship. I didn't much care back then, but some things change for the better."

And some for the worse
, said Whiskers completing the quote.
I can't believe that you're a wizard and I've known a few. I mean, you don't use magic—ever.

"Leave it be. I don't need it anyway."

You don't need it? You don't need it? Geez, Old Man, you're living in Green Ridge. By choice? Are you on catnip or something?

"Calm down, cat. Green Ridge is a good a place as any. I've got my health, food, a roof over my head and income. What else is there?"

Oh, I don't know, how about better food, a non-leaking roof, and a decent income, for starters?

Hamilton ignored the question and they rode on in silence for a while. He kept a careful eye on the virgin snow on the road ahead as Bethesda crunched through it. No travelers had beaten down a path before them. Only the sparse, snow covered trees broke up the monotony of white as the sun rose higher into the sky.

About mid-afternoon, Whiskers slithered out from beneath Hamilton's coat and stretched. Then she jumped into the back of the cart and sniffed at the provisions.
'Bout time to stop for a bite, isn't it?

Hamilton looked back at the cat and then did a quick survey of their surroundings. There was nothing that he could see that might pose a threat, so he pulled back on the reins. Bethesda slowed and stopped. Had this been summer, he would have pulled off the road and gotten out of sight but, since they appeared to be the only living souls in the area, he didn't bother.

After climbing down from the cart, he stamped his feet to get his circulation moving. Then he reached into the pocket of his pants and extracted a can of cat food. He dumped it on the bed of the cart. “I kept it warm for you."

The cat looked up at him.
No bowl?

Hamilton shook his head cringing at the can shaped dent in his left buttock and Whiskers’ lack of gratitude. “What's this thing you've got for bowls? Sounds awfully picky for a cat."

Not just any cat, Old Man. I've eaten out of bowls my entire life. You expect me to change now?

"Correct. Of course, if you don't want the food, I could just get rid of it."

Whiskers moved over to the pile of minced pigeon in gravy and sniffed it. While the cat ate, Hamilton removed Bethesda's bit and hung a feed bag over her ears.

Hamilton climbed back up onto the cart and got some meat and bread from his supplies along with a wine skin. Though he said nothing about it to Whiskers, he felt very uncomfortable about their situation. Even in winter, the Coast Road should have some traffic on it. With the harbor frozen, it was Green Ridge's only supply route. So, why no fellow travelers? Why no tracks in the snow? And the biggest why of all—why, after so many years of being shunned, had he been summoned to the Guild? A shiver ran up his back, and it wasn't from the cold wind blowing from the East.

Late in the afternoon, the travelers entered the farthest outskirts of Center City. Ordinarily, this would have normally made Hamilton feel better, but the homes he had expected to see either appeared vacant, were smashed or were cinder piles with charred beams jutting up through the snow. He snapped the reins and urged Bethesda to a faster clip, wishing to get away from the desolation. Little changed as they approached the city.

It wasn't until sunset had turned the snow into gold that he saw a sign of life. They entered the town of Norkon, which comprised the western portion of Center City. He noticed a pub up ahead. The sign above the door declared it to be Scrawny's Libations. He stopped and tied Bethesda to a post outside. Whiskers jumped up on his shoulder.

The pub was only marginally warmer than the outdoors and smelled of wood smoke. Two customers stood at the bar. The four small tables that covered the floor were empty. Hamilton looked at himself in the large mirror behind the bar. He looked tired. The barkeep came over to him. He was tall and boney with skin the color of alabaster. Even his hair was pale. Hamilton almost asked, “You Scrawny?” but at the last moment changed it to, “You the owner?"

"Yeah. Scrawny Jix.” The barkeep extended his hand.

Hamilton shook the proffered hand, grasping the man's wrist as the barkeep grasped Hamilton's.

"Don't get many strangers lately. Actually, we haven't had any save for you. Not since Thermite started coming by. What'll it be?"

"Got any hot cider?"

"No."

How about a bowl of milk?
Whiskers stood on Hamilton's shoulder.

"Then ale, I suppose. Make it a dark one.” He winced as the cat's claws bit through his coat.

"Only comes in one color, mister.” The man drew a mug of ale and placed it before Hamilton. “Half a Royal."

"Got any milk around ... for the cat,” Hamilton pointed at Whiskers.

"'Fraid not. Got some chicken soup though. Still pretty fresh."

Chicken soup? Hot chicken soup? I'll force myself.

"How much extra—for the soup?"

"Nothing. Food's free long as you're drinkin'.” Scrawny placed the bowl of soup on the bar. Whiskers jumped down from Hamilton's shoulder and sampled the soup. Satisfied with the taste, she bore down on the warm soup with gusto.

"Thanks.” Hamilton fished in his purse, came up with a Royal and dropped the coin on the bar. The barkeep went to get change, but Hamilton waved it aside. “Keep it. Who's Thermite?"

"You
are
a stranger if you haven't heard of Thermite, mister! Thermite's a crystal-wing dragon. Biggest and meanest one ever, from what I hear. The peacekeepers don't have anything that can touch it. Been burnin’ and smashin’ homes west of here for two months now."

"So just who is going to stop it?"

"The Guild of Magic Users and Wizards say that they've got it under control. They say that they've summoned a wizard who can deal with the dragon."

Hamilton winced.
Damn! So that's why Obsidian summoned me. Goddamn his eyes!

The barman caught his expression. “Don't you think the Guild can handle it?"

Regaining his composure, Hamilton replied, “The Guild? Maybe. I hear that they've got some powerful wizards."

"Not what I heard. I heard that since their big shot Guildmaster croaked, what was his name? Sapphire? Yeah, Sapphire. Anyway, after he croaked, the Guild went downhill. From what people tell me, the new Guildmaster isn't worth a tin royal."

"Sapphire's dead?"

"Yeah. Died about eight years ago. That's when this Diamond guy took over."

"Diamond? Never heard of him.” He finished his ale and put the empty mug down on the bar.

"Want another? On the house?"

Hamilton shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I've got a lot to do. Where's the nearest decent inn?"

"That'd be the King's Arms. They'll treat you right, but they charge quite a bit. Two blocks down to your left. Hang a right on King's Way, then it's about three more blocks. You can't miss it."

"Thanks."

"I didn't catch your name."

With Whiskers riding on his shoulder, Hamilton headed for the door. “Mud. Just call me Mud."

Once back in the cart, Whiskers asked,
Mud?

"I wish it was Mud. Anything, but Hamilton Swoop.” He gave a short snap to the reins and Bethesda plodded forward.

So you figure you're supposed to be this town's savior, huh?

"Seems that way. Between all that stuff from the trunk and the note in that mystery box, I can't think of anything else it could mean."

What's a crystal-wing dragon?

Hamilton turned Bethesda onto King's Way. “I have no idea. As far as I know, the last dragon died in Eastern Pontifex before I was born."

The streets of Norkon looked like they were in better shape than those of Green Ridge. Not only were they all paved, but there were walkways on either side for pedestrians although no one traveled the roads. The town was also clean. The piles of trash
and worse
, common in Green Ridge, were absent here. The buildings, some as high as three stories, looked fresh and well maintained. The iron-banded cart wheels and Bethesda's hooves made clicking sounds on the cobblestone street.