The Great Magic of Baghdad

Please don't hurt me

No, no. Um, there will be-there will be no need for that. I can be of-of great service to you. Yes! That is it! I will tell you of great magic! Not only magic but I will tell you of magic you have never heard of before! Magic from a far off place! I will tell you about my many travels! To the-the great city! Yes! You've never heard of the place? Well, I'm telling of Baghdad! The city of the kings! Well, no. No, it's not in England. Not here, or Ireland I'm afraid. Oh, do you even know who you captured? Right. Sure you do. I'll just tell you to spare you the headache. My name is Fletcher Ashdown, and I went to Baghdad three years ago with the Scottish magician and mathematician Michael Scot. It was the year 1205 and I was studying to be an alchemist and astrologer. I even learned a few al-qamrah tricks. Oh, well al-qamrah is Arabic for illusion or a trick. A trick that fools the eyes and mind into thinking one thing, but there really is a logical explanation. I could even show you a few if you want...no? Well, um, there's no reason to point that at me. I will tell you the story.

I journeyed to Baghdad in 1202 with Michael Scot, a well-known mathematician, astrologer, and alchemist. I lived here in Scotland, before I left, three villages away from Scot's, and my father heard Scot was going on a trip and needed young men to carry baggage and be part of the crew. I was fifteen at the time, and you and your armies were invading the coast. Yes, I can see you're mighty happy about that aren't you. Wow, those faces of yours sure can go from jubilant to angry quite quickly.

Anyway, my father happened to bump into Scot at a pub a town down from ours. He had a spot of business there and had gone to a pub afterward, and who should be there but Scot himself? Scot was asking if there were any "strapping young lads" as he called us, that he could take with him on a trip to Baghdad. My father immediately informed him of his son, and soon, I was packing the few belongings I owned.

Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Your name is Fletcher. That means a maker of arrows.' Yeah, yeah. So, maybe my father was hoping that me, being the son of a weapons maker...Well, he didn't expect me to go into Alchemy and Astrology, that's for sure. Also, my father was terrible at making arrows. Maybe he was hoping I would do it for him. But I never got into making weapons. I'm terrible at making arrows. I don't like violence. I don't like anything like that, so my dad being a weapon maker, didn't really work out for me. But, um, I see you do. But don't get any ideas. My father's shop was already raided last week, so don't think you can make me give you the location. It's pretty well known anyways.

Anyway, it was pretty cool working with Michael Scot. I learned quite a lot about him on the many months I was traveling with him.

Do you even know who he is? Well, of course, you don't. You're uncivilized, vulgar people who only think of mead, food, violence, and bloodshed. Not that that's a bad thing or anything like that.