I’ll See What I Can Do
by Jared Buck
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
Orty led into my study a man who was portly, a ham atop two stubby sausage-like legs. He wiped away sweat from his brow, although it was a fine spring day and quite cool.
“His name is Garno, Master Velmore,” said Orty, his thick tongue making him slobber like a dog as he spoke. “A tavern-keeper from town. The Merman.”
“The Mermaid!” corrected Garno, piqued by the error.
“The Mermaid,” Orty corrected himself. He wiped some drool away as he stole a glance at the tavern-keeper from the corner of his eye.
I motioned for Garno the tavern-keeper to seat himself and dismissed Orty. Orty was a good man, if a simple one, and good servants were not as easy to come by these days as they once were. Nothing seems as easy or simple as it once was, but that’s an old man talking.
Garno and I sat across from one another for several moments, an awkward stalemate, each waiting for the other to be the first to speak. He looked me straight in the eyes; the anger and frustration I sensed were palpable.
“So, friend Garno, what services do you want with a sorcerer?” I asked him at last. His look changed, and I felt as though I had lost some sort of contest of which I’d been only vaguely aware. But no matter; such trivialities are beneath a sorcerer’s notice.
“You don’t look much like a wizard.” He grunted and wiped his brow again, which again flowed with sweat.
I raised an eyebrow. “What, precisely, ought a wizard to look like?” I admit, he had a point. I looked then — and look even less now — like the wizards — a term I dislike — of the bards’ tales. I am a man of means, so I wear fine robes. I have no pointy hat with stars or moons on them, and I do not wear a beard, long and white or otherwise; I find that beards make me itch. I find a staff an inconvenience to lug about and of little practical use.
Garno thought it over a moment or two. “Well, I’ve seen my share of wizards pass through my tavern, and none of them looked like you.”
“Indeed.” I poured myself a cup of wine and offered him some, but he refused, saying he only drank water. “A tavern-keeper who only drinks water? It seems we are both men of contradiction, eh?”
He was unmoved by my attempt at a humorous thrust. “Well then, friend Garno, how is it I can be of service to you today? Shall I enchant your wine to make it stronger? Make the cheap cuts of offal I presume you sell taste better than a royal roast? Make your ugly serving wenches appear more beautiful than the queen? Or, perhaps you wish to become the virile stallion you once were as a young man?”
“Nothing of the sort,” he said with contempt. “I serve no wine, only ale and mead, and the finest in Xim-on-the-Ormo at that! And I have no wenches” — he nearly spat out the word, as though he were expelling some horrid insect from his mouth — “ugly or otherwise. My wife and my daughters run the Mermaid with me.”
I raised a hand. “Calm yourself, friend Garno. I meant no offense, none at all. It was merely an ill-thought attempt at humor on my part.”
“A humorous wizard. Now I have seen everything.”
“Perhaps, my friend, we should put all this aside and get down to business. What is the matter at hand?”
He nodded, pleased by this. He seemed to me the sort of man who was all business with nothing in his mind that was not practical; the kind of man who had no time for idle fancies or childish japes. Why would this sort of man, I wondered, seek out the services of a sorcerer? Perhaps he wanted to be enchanted with a sense of humor; it would not have killed him.
“My tavern,” he said, “is flooded with adventurers of the worst sort. Miscreants, every one!”
“Well, I suppose that is the sort of clientele one in your line of work should expect to deal with, is it not?”
“Let me finish, wizard!”
“Sorcerer,” not “wizard”! But I let the words remain a thought. He was a customer, and a short-tempered one at that. I had neither the energy nor the disposition to argue over such trivialities, irritating though they might be. I took a sip of wine and motioned for him to continue.
“As I was saying before your interruption, I am invaded daily by the worst sort of adventurers. Hardly a week goes by without two or three broken tables, and more than three times as many splintered chairs! They drink and carouse, which would not be such a problem, if they did not get into so many bloody fights. Blood is quite difficult to clean up, you know.”
“I can imagine it is, though I have scant experience with such matters.” None at all, actually. “I have ever been one to stay as far away from violence as possible. It is, in my estimation, one of the baser parts of human nature, one best risen above.”
He snorted, but refrained from comment on my little interruption. It seemed we both annoyed one another.
“As I was saying, these adventurers cause me no end of trouble. Now, as you no doubt know, the king’s law has singled out taverns as the meeting places for wandering adventurers looking for quests, so as to contain them and their antics. I have run the Mermaid for nigh on thirty years, sir wizard—”
“You may call me Velmore.”
“Velmore, then. In years past, things were not so bad as they are now. There was a better class of adventurers in the old days. There were real heroes then: gallant knights, honorable thieves, wise wizards. It is a lesser class now. It seems they just about let anyone become an adventurer nowadays. What has the world come to?”
“Yes, indeed.” He did indeed have a point. There was, in truth, a glut of adventurers, and the laws enforcing possession of an adventurer’s license were not as strictly enforced as they had been in the days of King Nimron III. Add to that the peace these last several years, and the decline in the monster population, not to mention the last of the dragons having been slain years ago.
Well, there are only so many princesses in need of rescuing nowadays, and more adventurers than are necessary to rescue them. It’s no longer the profession it once was. Times change, but not everyone is able to keep up with them, and many there are who are attracted to the glamor of adventuring without realizing that the old days are dead and gone.
“What I want from you, Velmore, is a solution.” He wiped his brow again, and shifted in his chair. Perhaps it was too soft for him; he seemed the sort of man who would prefer a good hard wooden stool to a fine mahogany chair with silk cushions. “I have tried everything. Raising prices didn’t work. It drove away some of the poorer adventurers, yes, but it turns out that wealth does not make a better class of adventurer; some of the lowest scum have pockets lined with gold. I hired guards. They were expensive, and little match for most of the ruffians who nowadays call themselves heroes. I have tried a host of other solutions, all to no avail.”
“I understand your plight, Garno.” I took another quaff of wine and rested my chin on my fist. “You have tried every conceivable mundane solution, and now you seek a sorcerous one.”
He nodded. “I admit I am skeptical of wizardry. I have seen many wizards pass through my doors, and have liked nary a one. Something about them... I cannot place my finger on what it is... Perhaps I just don’t trust a man who plays with the laws of nature. It does not seem something the Great Lord of All would want us doing.”
A pious tavern-keeper who does not drink. Are there any other wonders Heaven has kept hidden from me all these years? Is his piety the reason for his less than subtle hostility towards me? “Yes, well, I understand your problem, Garno, and I believe I can be of help.”
“I should hope so. When can you begin?”
“Well, this is not the sort of issue I usually deal with. It shall require some thought. When I have a solution, I shall send Orty to summon you.”
He looked puzzled. “Orty?”
“My man-servant. The one who showed you into my study.”
“Oh, yes. The slobbering imbecile.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Leave well enough alone.
“If there is nothing else, we may both get back about our business. I am sure you have much to do at your tavern; it seems quite the lively place. As for me, I shall get started on a solution at once.”
“So be it,” he said, rose from his seat and left. He did not even wait for poor old Orty to show him out. Well, everyone has their foibles, and not all people are blessed with poise or grace. What should I have expected from a mere tavern-keeper?
* * *
I did not get to work on a solution right away as I had promised. I almost never do, which is my foible. I took my time to finish my wine and then took Hoot out to my garden. Hoot is my pet owl, a large gray and black-speckled creature who serves as my only companion aside from Orty.
I paced back and forth, admiring the flowers and the clouds. I let my mind wander. This is my regular habit before I start any task, small or great. If I clear my mind before I begin a task. Ideas will flow more freely and clear away the detritus that naturally accumulates in my mind. The rivers of wisdom will flow all the more freely.
Before one can come up with a solution, one must first understand and analyze the problem, even a simple one as good friend Garno’s. Oftentimes, it is the simplest of problems that baffle us the most and prove the most armor-clad, resistant to all the darts we hurl at them. But I am not a man to turn away from difficulties, great or small.
Over my decades as the sole sorcerer in the humble town of Xim-on-the-Ormo, I had helped many people, from peasants to tradesman to merchants, and even the occasional lord or lady. I had never met failure in helping a client, and I had no intention of ending my run of success with Garno. What would my colleagues say of me if word got around that I could not help a humble tavern-keeper bring order to his establishment? The world of sorcerers is small, and despite my distance from my peers, word has a way of travelling faster than one might think. Some say words have legs, but I say words have wings.
In any case, after an afternoon of thought, and an evening spent consulting my library of spell-books and grimoires, I came up with a solution I thought might suit Garno’s needs, though I was unsure how he would like it. I decided to put off summoning him until the morrow.
* * *
The next day, I sent Orty to fetch Garno, and the pair returned just as I was finishing my midday meal. Hoot was perched on my shoulder, and I fed him some scraps of the fish I had not finished. I have never had a large appetite, and Hoot was quite pleased to help me finish my meals.
Garno had a cautious air about him, as though he were pleased I had come up with something so soon, but was skeptical of its quality. I admit, I was skeptical as well; one never knows how a plan will turn out until one tries it. Confidence must be balanced with skepticism. Sorcerers — the good ones, at least — live in a world of probability, not certainty.
“Well, what is it? What have you come up with?” The words flooded out of Garno’s mouth before he was halfway to the chair. There he sat without leave to sit, quite the faux pas. I raised my hand when Orty started to say something about it.
“It’s fine, Orty. Our guest is anxious for good news, that’s all. You may leave us, thank you.”
Orty stood there several moments, his brow furrowed and a dark look in his eyes. Garno looked over his shoulder at him. They stared daggers at each other for several seconds before Orty finally turned and left.
“Forgive Orty, my friend. He is quite picky about proper decorum and etiquette, too much so, sometimes. He means well.” Of course, I did not like the way Garno had seated himself, for it bordered on insolence. Certainly, I am no lord, but a sorcerer is of a different class from his ordinary fellows, and is due a certain respect. However, I could tell that all of this would be lost on a man of Garno’s character, and I judged it best to let the matter go. One must needs be flexible with one’s clients.
“He is a strange one indeed.” It was then he noticed the owl on my shoulder, gulping down the last bite of fish. His mouth hung open a second. “A wizard’s ways are strange, indeed.”
“As one should expect.” I poured myself a fresh glass of wine, foreseeing its immanent necessity. “Are you ready to hear my proposed solution, friend Garno?”
“Solution? Yes, yes!” He leaned forward in the chair, so far I thought he might topple forward. His elbows rested on the fine mahogany arms, and I worried he might stain the wood with his greasy sleeves, but I said nothing. “Let’s have it, then! I haven’t got all day, and time is money.”
“Well, I shall get right into it. My proposed solution, friend Garno, is quite simple. I have considered your problem and realized that, at the root of it, your tavern attracts the wrong sort of people. Therefore, if we are to rid your establishment of the ruffians which currently harry it night and day with their drunkenness and brawling, we must make it unattractive to them, and yet attractive to customers of another sort.”
I sipped my wine as Garno processed my words, like a schoolboy puzzling out a difficult arithmetic problem.
“You mean,” he said at last, “that I should drive away my customers? That is your solution?”
I sighed and shook my head. “Not exactly. Yes, we must drive away your current customers, but in favor of new ones.”
He nodded. “Yes, I can see the sense in that... But how?”
“I shall use a spell, of course. I shall have to formulate a new one, I am afraid, for I have never run into this situation before.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you must do, so long as it helps.”
“And since I must formulate a new spell, rather than use one of my ready-made ones, there shall be an extra fee.”
“Extra fee?” He stood up and crossed his arms. “What extra fee? You said nothing of this before!”
“I am saying something of it now.” We had not discussed my fee at all prior to this. This is indeed my trade, but I have always disliked discussing money. I find it vulgar, something beneath the ideals I place in sorcery. But one must eat, and ink, parchment, and books do not fall from the heavens.
“I assure you the fee will not be burdensome, but it will take me time to formulate the spell. Such things must be done carefully and with precision, you must understand. Materials such as I will need are seldom cheap. Whatever I do not have must be purchased from the apothecary, or ordered from the capital, or even from abroad.”
“Just how much will your fee cost me?”
I shrugged. “That I cannot yet say. I must figure out what exactly I will need first. But I promise I will charge you no more than necessary for my costs and time. I believe that to be reasonable.”
He dropped his arms. “Reasonable... Yes, yes. That is reasonable, I suppose. It is a business after all.”
“Like tavern-keeping.”
“Yes, in a sense.”
“Splendid! Now that we are agreed, I shall get started at once.”
“Agreed?” He looked at me, a glint of confusion in his eyes. “Yes, we are agreed. Yes, agreed.”
“Excellent. Then, you may go back to your tavern and leave me to it.”
Copyright © 2024 by Jared Buck
