We Otter Do It

The door creaked open. A tall, wobbling stack of parchment pattered into the room on little furry paws. At least, that's what it looks like when your otter secretary comes into your office carrying the mail.

I'm a respectable young man and a magician, and nobody would believe me if I told them my life is tyrannized by an adorable otter.

I braced myself in my chair. "What is it today, Gavin?"

He scampered up the ramp plank onto my desk, where he dropped the sizable stack of parchment with a whump. Gavin's bright black eyes blinked cheerfully through a storm of sudden dust. He hummed and twitched his whiskers.

"I don't suppose you'd like to dust in here sometime," I muttered, sorting through papers.

Gavin scribbled on the blotter with a feather pen as tall as himself: Not in my job description.

Then he stood hovering hopefully over the papers beside me, plumy feather pen waiting in one paw like an eager question mark.

Teaching Gavin to write was the best and worst thing I'd ever done. Best, because I really had needed a secretary. Worst, because he has this addiction to filling out forms. It's his favorite thing in the worlds.

Magicians get all sorts of requests to do this or that: find a lost child or cat, speak about Enchanted Forest safety, fix the town square's fountain, entertain at a party, and goodness knows what else. I do my best to keep up, but my schedule is full, and somebody keeps over-committing me.

The forms arrive in heaps, and Gavin is there waiting to fill them out. To save me time. Of course.

"Don't have time for this party," I grunted.

But they asked so nicely, Gavin scribbled. Why not?

"Why not," I sighed, waving a hand in the air to make his scribbles vanish.

Gavin contentedly filled out the form: Would be happy to come. He signed my name: Ereden, Magician of Quest Lake.

I stared at an acknowledgment of thanks, for agreeing to enchant the Prime Minister's office against thieves next week. "This will take ages. I don't remember signing up for this." I squinted suspiciously at Gavin's innocent whiskery face. "You filled this one out without asking me, didn't you?"

The pen scratched: You'd have done it anyway.

"That's beside the point! Don't let it happen again."

Gavin nodded amiably, passing another request.

"Save the world?" I exclaimed. "I don't have time to save the world!Look at my calendar!"

Gavin did—pinned to the wall (beside the clear water tank he swims in). Appointments filled every inch. He turned on me with the most hopeful, pleading expression.

I slumped in my chair in defeat. "Fine. Just this once. But don't let it become a habit."

Gavin bounced with joy, and happily began filling out the form with inky flourishes.

"And don't come running to me when the Prime Minister yells at us for being late!"

Gavin nodded and beamed, scribbling away.

I'm definitely in for it.

***

(Note: This story was originally posted on Fellowship of Fantasy's website [https://www.fellowshipoffantasy.com/fantastic-writes/mythical-doorways-writing-contest-winners] and won their Mythical Doorways Writing Contest. I have re-posted it here as it appeared then, with the addition of the magician's name and a cover I made.)