Journeyman (A Wizard's Life) (4 page)

“You’re allowed a bowl of the stew at dinner time as well,” the man told him.

“Can I have a bowl now?” Benen asked him. It was past dinner time.

“If there is any left, you are welcome to it,” the hosteler said graciously.

Benen went to the common room and saw it was filled with table and chairs, all of the people were of the lowest classes. The stew was in a large cauldron hung over a fire. He grabbed a bowl from the stack on a table beside the fireplace and used the ladle to fill it. The stew had burnt to the bottom and that was all that was left of the stuff, but Benen was hungry so he was not fussy. He found a seat for himself at a small empty table and ate his stew. He was happy to be left alone; the crowds on the streets had nearly driven him mad.

How can there be so many people living in this city?
he wondered.

Once his bowl was empty, Benen did what he had seen others do before him, he took his bowl to the water pump in the corner and washed it clean. He then returned it to the stack. Afterwards, he went upstairs to find his room.

None of the rooms had locks. Everyone was supposed to go to their own room and not bother anyone else. His room was the one with a drawing of an apple on a plaque on the door. He found it and went in. He was not surprised to see that his room was barely large enough for the bed it contained. The mattress on the bed was stuffed with straw. Again, Benen had endured much worse. He lay down and was asleep almost immediately.

#

In the morning, Benen left the lodgings, relinquishing his room. He had plans to stay somewhere higher scale for the rest of his time in the capital. He did, after all, intend to speak to the king today; perhaps he’d even be given quarters at the castle.

The first order of business was better clothing.

Benen found that the painted signs hung by the door of service establishments were of little help. He had gone into a shop whose sign had shown a well-dressed man and found it to be a tavern or club for the middle class. Benen was hustled out of the building by a man with a cudgel.

After that, he asked beggars for directions once more and was told of the local tailor’s shop. Since he was in a middle class quarter, the tailor specialized in nice but not too costly clothing. This suited Benen. When he entered the store, the man in the receiving room moved toward him, a frown on his face. Benen knew he was about to be thrown out again.

Not this time,
he thought.

He held up one of his gold coins and the man approaching him immediately smiled at him, his demeanour completely changed. When he reached Benen, he bowed to welcome him to the establishment.

“Sir, if I may say, your state of dress is shocking. I can see that you have much need of our services.”

“Um, thank you?” Benen said. His homemade clothing had been a source of pride for him over the years. His stitches were strong and held up over time and they were straight too. It was a blow to have them disparaged.

“Will you be needing an entire outfit, sir, or are you looking for a specific piece to . . . accentuate, what you are currently wearing?”

“A whole outfit would be good. Boots too, nice leather ones.”

Together, he and the tailor’s assistant worked out what would be best for Benen. He acquired an outfit consisting of a deep blue tunic and white breeches. A belt and boots were added to this and the whole was completed by a blue hat decorated with a peacock feather. Benen felt ridiculous, but the man assured him that he was wearing the height of middle class fashion.

Remembering what he had seen the people on the streets wearing, Benen had to agree that he would fit right in. He asked to settle his account and was shocked by the price. The whole outfit cost him half a gold piece; it was a fortune!

Satisfied that his appearance was now serviceable, Benen started heading toward the castle, where he hoped he would find the king. The streets were less crowded, as he neared his destination. The quality of the crowd also changed. There were less men and women with exotic skin tones and every one was dressed in colourful and complicated outfits. Many of the people had servants with them.

Benen also noticed there was no human waste in the gutters; he wondered what the rich did with their poop.

Eventually he came to the city wall and was asked his business in the inner city.

“I come to meet the king,” he said.

The two guards looked at one another, then one turned to Benen. “And is the king expecting you?”

“No, but I think he will want to meet with me.”

“Is that so?” The two guards were smirking at Benen.

They aren’t taking me seriously.

Benen was pleased to find the Cleaver had risen — if barely. He used its magic to cut the belts of the two guards. Their scabbards containing their swords fell with the belts, as did their money pouches.

The guards were not impressed, as Benen had hoped, they were horrified. Even in the city, the people were superstitious and afraid of wizards. The guards picked up their swords and used them to keep him away from them. The scene attracted the attention of many in the crowds nearby. This was not what Benen had wanted at all.

He took a step forward and the guards backed up a step. He repeated this until he was through the gate and then went on his way toward the castle.

People cleared the streets ahead of him as he came; he heard whispers of
wizard
and
sorcerer
travelling alongside his route.

When he came to the gates of the castle, Benen found them guarded not by men in armour but by one old man in robes. Around his neck he wore a seal of some sort, hung from a chain. The old man did not try to stop Benen, instead he motioned to him to accompany him. He did not seem to have any fear of the wizard.

Finally! Someone who isn’t a superstitious fool,
thought Benen.

The old man escorted Benen to a sitting room and motioned toward one of the padded and cushioned armchairs. Benen figured this was a waiting room where he would stay until the king was ready to see him. He accepted the seat.

“What is your name?” asked the old man as he poured two glasses of wine from a decanter.

“Benen.” He had considered embellishing his name with a title, but no matter which title he tried, it sounded much too pompous.

The old man handed Benen one of the glasses and sat down in an armchair facing his guest’s.

“I am Mellen, an adviser to his majesty.”

“Thank you for seeing me. I guess you’ve been told I’m a wizard?”

“Yes. I have.” Mellen was very grave. “Who was your master, Benen?”

He was surprised by the question. He doubted this adviser knew of Oster, but he told him the name anyway.

“I see,” the old man said. “Did he not make it clear to you that people fear wizards?”

“Not exactly, no. He wasn’t a very good teacher,” Benen confided in Mellen.

“Has what you have experienced shown you that it would be best for you to practise the magical arts out of sight of the common people?”

“It’s shown me that the common people have stupid ideas about wizards.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes. Wizards could be of great help to them.”

“The moment anything would go wrong though, they would blame the wizard for it. If a horse goes lame, it was the wizard’s fault. If the milk sours early, it was the wizard’s fault. The common people see the power of wizards, their ability to do the impossible, and then reason that wizards would use this power to their advantage; to rule over them, or to otherwise harm them. It is what they think they themselves might do with such power and it taints their view of events.”

Benen began to suspect that Mellen was speaking from experience.

“Are you a wizard yourself?” Benen asked.

The old man nodded.

“Surely you could convince the king to let wizards help. We could be useful in so many ways!”

“Your heart is in the right place, Benen, but using wizardry will just turn the people against the king. He cannot afford this, he is already unpopular. All of this is more complicated than you realize. Please do not show yourself a wizard again; It is best to keep a low profile. Or better yet, leave the capital and do some research away from prying eyes.”

“But we can help.”

The old man shook his head. “Not the way you’re wanting to, Benen. Believe me.”

“Maybe the people can be shown that we’re not the monsters they think we are.”

“I doubt that, Benen. Please, do not be rash. Do not expose yourself to their scrutiny. You will regret it.”

Benen stood up. “I will prove you wrong. I will help people and they will see me for what I am: their friend.”

“It seems I cannot convince you otherwise, Benen. Do this away from the capital, if you please.” Mellen stood up too and extended his hand to Benen. They clasped hands. “It is a wonder you have kept such idealism despite having been under Oster’s tutelage,” the old man said.

Benen took this as a compliment.

Mellen escorted Benen back out of the castle and through the inner city gates. By then, the tumult was over and no one raised a fuss about Benen. Before they were to part, Mellen asked Benen if he would see him at the moot.

“The what?” Benen asked.

Mellen shook his head. “Every five years, the wizards of Estren meet and exchange knowledge. Will you go to it?”

Benen got from Mellen the date of the conclave and the location where it would be held. He planned to go and told the old man so.

“I will see you there and you can recount to me your many successes, I hope.” Mellen waved to Benen as he left.

Feeling foolish for having ever thought coming to the capital would be of any use, Benen walked right out of the city and was glad to leave the place behind.

CHAPTER 2: HERO

Benen made his way to the clearing where he had first landed, just two days before. His plans had changed. Having met the people of the city and the king’s adviser, he knew now that the educated upper class of the capital were no less superstitious than the peasants from his village.

He understood that the problem was the image of the wizard in everyone’s mind. They saw him as a villain from stories told them as children. This image persisted in them still in adulthood, and wizards like Oster only made things worse.

Benen knew he had to act to change this. He needed to show everyone that wizards were not the child-eating villains they were painted to be. Only actions could change this.

He stayed the night in the clearing, working out the spell he would need in the morning. Once he was satisfied he had chosen the right constellations for the effect, he bedded down for the night on the ground itself.

Benen’s sleep was disturbed late in the night.

Something cold had touched his neck and sent waves of tingles down his spine. Benen woke immediately and rolled along the ground, away from whatever had touched him. He sprang to his feet and looked about, but saw nothing other than darkness before him. The moon was not in the sky and the night was black.

“Who’s there?” he demanded of the darkness.

A voice spoke, “Please, I don’t know what is happening . . . .” It sounded like a man but there was an eerie quality to the voice, it echoed tinnily, like the man was speaking into a metal bucket.

“Stay back, whatever you are,” Benen threatened.

“Can’t you see me? I feel so strange.”

“No, I can’t see you. What are you?”

“A man, like you.”

“You’re no ordinary man,” Benen disagreed.

“I think I was in a battle . . . did I die?”

Benen did not know the answer to that question for certain, but he was beginning to suspect the man
had
died.

“Do you remember anything about the battle?” he asked the disembodied voice.

“I had fallen in with a bad bunch. We were desperate, low on supplies. We attacked a caravan, a stronger one than we should have. I think I was about to kill someone, one of the drivers, and then everything became blurred and confusing like it is now.”

“Oh no . . . “ Benen knew then why he had been told not to kill with magic. This must be the result. Was the man a ghost then?

“I’m sorry to bother you, mister, but since the confusion started all I can think about is finding you. When I’m near you things are clearer. Is it okay if I stay here with you?”

There was a pathetic quality to the request.

How could I stop this creature from staying here, even if I did object to its presence?

“You can stay. I’m sorry to say that I do think you died in that battle.” Benen felt guilty for what he had done to the man. Killing him was one thing, he had been defending another’s life, but this half-life he had condemned the man to was another thing altogether.

“Were you at the battle? I’m not sure why I feel drawn to you.”

Benen hesitated to reveal his role in the man’s death. He feared the ghost would become angry and harm him somehow. He did not really know magic relating to spirits and ghosts. He wondered if this was a form magic governed by the constellations visible on the other side of the world.