Off to Be the Wizard (22 page)

“Don’t say
abracadabra
,” Phillip had told him. “I’d rather you made the obvious joke than hear you say
abracadabra
.”

Martin did not say
abracadabra
. Instead, he said, “For this, I’ll need the assistance of the imp I’ve captured to do my bidding.” With his left hand he held his staff, with its silver and gray bust of El Santo. With his right he reached into his pocket and produced the small carved box Phillip had hastily given him as a gift. He had painted it with silver and gray highlights, to match his robe and staff. He held the box in front of him and swung the hinged lid open with his finger. From most angles, the lid appeared to open on its own. As the lid opened, a flickering, uneven light came out of the box and washed Martin’s face. Martin could see his smartphone wedged into the bottom of the box with some wooden shims to keep it from rattling around. Martin smiled and muttered into the box as if he were talking to a treasured pet. “Wake up, imp. There’s a good imp. I’ll call you Tyrion! Yes I will!”

There were a few laughs, but Martin could tell they were laughing with him, not at him. Everything Martin had done so far was just preamble. Now it was time to get to the serious part. He said, “starigis la scenejo,” and immediately, it looked as if Martin dove head first into the box. His head shrunk and disappeared into the box, followed by the rest of him until only his hands, still full sized, remained at the ends of his stretched and contorted arms which looped around and terminated into the box. Then Martin’s arms and hands followed, dragging the base of the box with them. The box itself warped, twisted, and disappeared into itself, leaving only the ornately carved lid, which slammed shut, buckled, shrunk, and vanished.

In the middle of the cavernous hall, four feet above the very spot where Martin had tapped his staff three times at the beginning of the party, a small light winked in and out of existence with a faint pop. When the light disappeared, the box was left in its place, hovering in midair. Its lid opened and a thick white smoke poured out and fell heavily to the floor. Instead of spreading when it reached the cold marble, it coalesced into a pillar which grew and thickened until it solidified in the form of Martin, still holding his staff and peering into his box. To Martin’s surprise there was actually a smattering of applause. He smiled, then closed the imp box, placed it back in his pocket, planted his feet and held his staff over his head with both hands, and looked at the floor.

In a loud, deep voice, he said, “EH NEEEK CHOCK!”

Silvery lines of pure energy traced the contours of Martin’s form. The lines formed a pattern similar to the mortar in a brick wall. When the line pattern had covered him, the contours of Martin’s body warped, and flattened until he appeared to be a brick sculpture of Martin, but instead of bricks, he was made of copies of his imp-box. For a moment all was silent, then Martin exploded.

There was no fire, no smoke, not even any noise to speak of, just boxes, flying and tumbling outward and then orbiting each other. They formed a thirty foot sphere of swirling, multiplying boxes. They spun chaotically for two revolutions, then reassembled into another statue of Martin, three stories tall. Because the boxes were still the same size, this statue was more recognizably human shaped than the one before. The boxes were not touching each other, but were floating in a three-dimensional pattern. For just an instant, when the statue stood still, the wizards could see Martin, suspended inside the statue’s massive torso.

It silently towered over the wizards as they sat, gaping in their seats. The huge staff it held level above its head was also constructed of imp boxes. The head of Santo looked large enough that a grown man could hide in it. Another brief round of applause started, but stopped dead when the statue raised its head. With a strange combination of ponderousness and speed, the statue’s left hand pushed the staff, which spun like a helicopter blade, pivoting on the blindingly fast brick fingers of the statue’s right hand. The hall filled with a deafening roar of wind until the statue’s right arm came down to the statue’s side, stopping the staff’s spinning and slamming its base into the floor with a sound like a sonic boom. The statue looked straight ahead and let go of the staff, which stood balanced for a moment, then it collapsed into a pile of boxes, which spread into a lumpy rectangle at the statue of Martin’s feet. The rectangle sharpened and solidified into the unmistakable shape of an immense sheet of corrugated cardboard and a massive dual-cassette boom box with four huge speakers.

The statue looked down at the table of speechless wizards and jerked its chin upward sharply, as if to say
wazzup?
The giant statue bent sideways at the waist. With a massive finger, it hit a button on the top of the boom box. The great hall was filled with the familiar hiss of a cassette player until the inevitable finally happened. The boom box played Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit.”

As loud as the giant boom box was, it was nearly drowned out by cheering and laughing as the statue started to do the robot. Once it had demonstrated its mastery of robotics, the statue dove forward, did a serviceable version of the worm, then hoisted itself into a headstand and swung its legs around wildly for a moment before doing a head-spin. The head-spin transitioned seamlessly into a backspin, which ended with the statue lying on its side on the cardboard. It was facing the wizards, its head supported by its arm and its upper leg bent at the knee in a posture of simulated relaxation. With its free arm the robot formed a gun with its thumb and forefinger, which it aimed at the table of wizards. As Herbie Hancock hit a large downbeat on the drums, the statue “shot” the finger gun and in an instant the statue, the boom box, and the cardboard all collapsed into splinters that fell to the ground and disappeared.

All of the wizards were applauding and cheering except one. The cheering only got louder when they realized that the wizard who wasn’t applauding was Martin, who had been standing next to Jimmy since the moment the statue started dancing.

The rest of the night was a blur of drinking and laughing. The only serious moment occurred when Jimmy pulled him aside and asked him about his plans.

“I haven’t made any beyond trying to pass the trials tomorrow,” Martin said.

“Look, I know you and Phillip are friends,” Jimmy said, “and I know that Phillip and I aren’t, but if you don’t have anything to do in Leadchurch, I hope you’ll consider coming here to Camelot. I could use a man like you.”

Martin looked at Jimmy, then looked around at the opulent palace Jimmy had essentially created through sheer force of will. “What on earth would you possibly need me for, Jimmy?”

Jimmy patted him on the back. “In theory no one wizard is more powerful than any other, but you’ll learn that just because the shell gives everyone else the same powers you have doesn’t mean that they can do the same things you can do. You have something very rare, Martin. Showmanship. You know what most of these guys’ salutations are? They fly and they glow and they shoot energy beams. If I’m lucky they swing their staff around a bit while they do it.”

Martin remembered Phillip’s display the night they met. Jimmy had just described it pretty well.

“What you did tonight was the first really original thing I’ve seen in a very long time. None of these guys could have done it. They don’t have flair, like you do.”

“Gary has flair,” Martin said.

“Yes,” Jimmy admitted, “but he has no taste. He’s all hellfire and bat wings. It’s impressive, but nothing I can use. I can use you, Martin. Think about it. You don’t have to decide tonight, but when you get bored in Leadchurch, and you will, you can always come here and help me make the world better.”

Sometime around one thirty in the morning, Martin learned the best thing about wizard parties, which is that because wizards can teleport, they can sleep in their own beds no matter how drunk they get or how far away the party was. Unfortunately, they still were susceptible to hangovers, and Martin woke up with the worst one of his life. The swaying of his hammock made him feel vaguely ill. The light coming in the windows made his brain feel as if it was on fire. The slightest noise was agony. For a moment, while he was still only half awake, he thought he heard a very distant, hollow noise that sounded almost like growling, which was a new one, but he figured it was the blood rushing through the veins in his ears.

He carefully dismounted his hammock. He groaned lightly as his feet took over the task of supporting his weight. The groan was barely a whisper, but it was enough to cause Phillip to gasp, “Keep down that racket!” Then Phillip winced at the toll his own voice had taken on his head.

Martin attempted to say he was sorry silently, by squinting at Phillip and waving his arms vaguely, then he shuffled into the bathroom to go deface Jimmy’s statue.

Over the next hour the two men moped and groaned their way back into the world of the living. The quality of life in Medieval England had improved drastically since Martin learned to pull black coffee, real food, and over-the-counter pain medications out of his hat. Of course, all of the food items he could access were gifted to him by Phillip. He wouldn’t be able to set up macros to retrieve his own favorite items until he had unlimited shell access and the ability to come and go to the future without the imminent threat of arrest.

He’d figure out how to deal with the feds later. Today, his only priority was to pass the trials. He’d have felt a lot better if he knew what the trials were, but nobody had been willing to tell him anything.

Martin spent the morning going over vocab, quizzing himself on technique, and generally making himself more nervous. Phillip spent the morning reading a dog-eared paperback of
Ender’s Game
that he’d borrowed from Jeff. After a couple of hours of this, Phillip’s hut was filled with the warbling chime sound that Martin had anticipated and dreaded in equal measure.

Phillip smiled at Martin and said, “Well Martin, that’s the call. You ready?”

“I really don’t think so,” Martin answered.

“Good.” Phillip raised his right arm and held his hand as if he were palming a softball. The chiming sound died and a glowing blue image of a calligraphic letter M appeared in Phillip’s hand. “The hour is nigh!” Jimmy’s voice bellowed. “Is the initiate ready to face the trials?”

“Yup,” Phillip said with aggressive informality.

“EXCELLENT! Bring him forth to the great hall of the castle Camelot to be tested and judged!”

“Uh huh. Will do,” Phillip replied. The uppercase M in Phillip’s hand hovered there silently for a long moment, then disappeared.

“Does he do everything in the great hall?” Martin asked.

“Wouldn’t you?” Phillip stood up, smoothing out his robe. “Well,” he said, “I guess it’s about that time. Do you have to use the bathroom before we go?”

“No,” Martin said. “You?”

“No,” Phillip said. “Let’s just get this done.”

Martin hesitated. “Um, Phil, I just want to say, no matter how this ends up, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Phillip put a comforting hand on Martin’s shoulder. “You’re welcome Martin. And don’t worry; you’re going to do fine.”

Martin smirked. “I know, because if I don’t, you’ll send me to prison naked.”

Phillip looked wounded. “I wasn’t going to say that, Marty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“But it’s true. We’ll totally do that to you. TRANSPORTO RONDA TABLO!”

In an instant they were standing in the center of the black granite disc that marked the center of the great hall of the castle Camelot. The disk was raised as it was when being used as the round table, but the chairs remained recessed into the floor, giving the overall effect that Martin and Phillip were standing on a raised pedestal for examination. The hall was dim, despite the massive windows that lined its sides. Martin saw that there were huge curtains drawn over the windows, blocking most of the light. All of the wizards he had met, dined with, and entertained with his avatar’s break dancing the night before were there, arranged in a curved row, facing the platform where he and Phillip stood. As his eyes adjusted, Martin could see that one of the wizards on the end seemed to be holding some rope. At the middle of the line, one wizard stood taller than the rest, because he was hovering five inches above the floor.

“Who comes to face the trials?” the hovering wizard asked.

“With all due respect,” Phillip said, “You know exactly who it is, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t waste his time with your idiocy, Jimmy.”

“That wasn’t very respectful,” Jimmy said.

“No, but it’s all the respect you’re due. Now get on with it!” Martin recognized Jeff and Gary’s laughs coming from the end of the line of wizards.

Jimmy took a moment to compose himself, then continued. “Are his skills adequate to the challenges that await him?”

“You know they are, or I wouldn’t have said he was ready, would I?” Phillip answered.

“All right then. Phillip, you’ve done your duty. Leave your apprentice to his fate.”

Phillip clambered down off of the platform and walked slowly to the end of the shadowy line of wizards. As he reached his spot, he said, “Hello Gary. Jeff. You brought the extra scratchy rope, I see.” Muffled laughs and shushing followed.

“Martin, do you feel ready to leave your life as an apprentice behind and take on the powers and responsibilities of a wizard?”