It was a busy day at the aptly named Rowdy Inn. Sailors had taken over town for the past several weeks due to a sudden and massive increase in the flying fish population. The tavern and innkeepers couldn't be happier, Harrold wished he could say the same. His like-minded colleagues back at the tower had already started up a discovery group, hoping to find someone who could take care of the flying fish. Harrold didn't quite care enough to join them. Having fish fly in through his window every morning had become quite a nuisance, but he preferred it over working together with several major nuisances. The chance of finding a solution was also slim, to say the least. Harrold sighed. Let's hope someone shows up this time.
He pushed open the inn's door only to be hit by a cascade of shouting and the unmistakable smell of alcohol. The inn was so crowded that he couldn't even spot any tables. The only thing Harrold could actually see were the yellow and red stained walls. He wasn't quite sure which of those was the original color. If he had to make a guess, he'd go for neither. The floor, buckling under the weight, screamed in agony resulting in a loud, high pitched and frankly annoying creaking. All of it was so oppressive that Harrold almost decided on turning around and walking back home. Then, he heard a familiar voice piercing the wall of shouts.
"Harrold! There you are, I was waiting for you!"
Well, no turning back now. His old friend Pat, short for 'Patricklus the Great' as he would gladly remind you, was deftly moving through the crowd towards Harrold. If Harrold didn't know better, he would've considered it a feat of magic. Moving through this crowd required maneuverability beyond comprehension. Pat managed to avoid starting even a single bar fight. It was made all the more impressive when Pat arrived with two tankards of ale, which he clearly wasn't holding when Harrold first spotted him. Sometimes he wondered which one of them was the actual wizard. Pat handed him one of the tankards and before Harrold could speak up, his friend started coughing loudly in an attempt to catch the attention of the crowd. After a quick look around and the visible realization that this wasn't going to work, Pat instead just started shouting as loudly as humanly possible. Fight fire with fire, as they say.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please don't stare!"
This had the immediate effect of silencing the crowd and pulling all their attention towards Harrold and Pat. Harrold regretted not stopping him when he had the chance. The murmurs started instantly.
"By the Maker! Look at this one, Johnny! Isn't that a wizard?" one very observant woman said.
"He must be, he's wearing one of them pointy hats," the equally observant man next to her, probably Johnny, responded.
Pat smirked at Harrold before continuing, "Please make way for Master Wizard Harrold, Savior of the Scrolls!"
Oh, for Maker's sake. Pat bowed deeply and made a flourish with his hand for added effect. The crowd, clearly amazed, instantly opened up a path leading to a table in the back. Several people voluntarily jumped out the windows to prevent being squished.
"I hate you, Pat," Harrold muttered under his breath.
Pat stood up from his bow and nudged him with his elbow. "Oh come on grumpy," Pat said, "you know you love the attention. Now let's get to our well-deserved seats."
Every eye in the inn followed the pair's movement. Gasps of awe filled the air as they walked by. Harrold usually preferred silence, but, for a moment, he almost longed for the usual cacophony. They soon reached the table and sat down with their ale. The crowd spread out and went back to their usual business of drinking and being loud. The floor got back to screaming in agony after the short-lived respite. Harrold, taking a small lesson from Pat's theatrics, took a long sip of his ale before forcefully placing it on the table, resulting in the unfortunate side-effect of his hand getting covered in ale.
"Pat, could you please stop doing that," he said as the ale dripped from his hand and sleeve.
Pat threw him a confused look. "What did I do?" he asked in a surprisingly genuine sounding tone.
"We're not all looking to get famous like you, Pat. You know I don't like the attention."
"What do you mean looking to get famous, Patricklus the Great is famed fro--"
Harrold quickly interrupted him. "From the Dark Mountains to the Lake of Light, yes I know. I think you've mentioned that once or twice."
Probably more like two hundred times.
"Also," Harrold continued, "you really have to stop calling me a Master Wizard. I can get in trouble for that."
Pat smirked and shrugged. "I don't know, you seem pretty masterful to me. How is an uneducated man like me supposed to tell the difference... you all wear the same thing. Anyway, I can still call you savior, right?"
If looks could kill, which Harrold knew to be possible, his current one would've been quite high on the scale of lethal. Not quite as high as poor old Johnson's though. Johnson's magical ability to kill with a look was famous among wizards. It required a very precise facial expression and would instantly liquefy the receiver. It was a sad day when Johnson could not prevent a sneeze while shaving in front of a mirror, resulting in him accidentally liquefying himself. Harrold had found some cat hairs in the room, most likely belonging to the Wizard Tower's resident cat. He had always known that Sir Scuttle's ability to randomly give people violent allergic reactions would end in tears. Or puddles in this case. As with everything that goes wrong due to involvement of magic or a wizard, it was declared a 'Magical Mishap'.
Harrold could get along with Johnson, though being within sight of him had always remained understandably scary, and therefore he had mostly avoided the poor old wizard. He used the same tactic on Pat, for entirely different reasons.
Pat, knowing nothing of how lethal looks could be, promptly ignored or misread Harrold's look and continued. "You have an official title, you should use it whenever you can. Savior of the Scrolls... I wish I had a cool title like that. I would make people call me Savior all the time."
Harrold sighed. "Of course you would, Pat. I'm just asking if you could stop using mi--"
Pat interrupted him as he looked toward the inn's entryway. "Look, he's here! That's the guy I was telling you about!"
Harrold couldn't be bothered to look up, though he was quite surprised. The last three times no one had bothered to show up. Pat got up and walked towards the entrance to meet the new arrival. Harrold could overhear Pat talking as he returned with the guest.
"--and this fine gentleman is none other than Master Wizard Harrold, Savior of the Scrolls!"
"A Master Wizard, you say? My, my, I'm impressed," the guest said in a thick Southern accent.
The gentleman, Harrold couldn't refer to him in any other way after hearing the accent, came to a standstill next to Harrold and tapped the floor with his cane. The floor responded with a short painful yell, still hopeful that someone would someday realize its suffering. That day would never come to pass. Harrold's interest finally piqued enough for him to bother looking up.
The man was wearing a large dark tailcoat over a neat gray vest. His cane was pure black, with a golden ornament on top. It looked like it would pack a punch if someone were to, for example, tap it on something. On his head sat a large top hat, which, unusually, also had a chinstrap to keep it in place. The gentleman threw his cane over from his left hand to his right, stood up straight, and raised his left hand to a golden valve on the side of his wrinkly head. His eyes were covered by striking golden goggles. They reminded Harrold of telescopes. A thin, long telescope on one eye, a larger stubby one on the other. All this combined with a sharp, long nose above a well-kempt large gray moustache confirmed Harrold's earlier thought. Yes, I can only refer to him as a gentleman.
The man turned the valve which seemed to directly adjust the focus of the goggles. Harrold was grateful that someone had finally shown up and appeared to have actual money to spend. After a bit more tweaking of the valve, which took longer than Harrold was comfortable with, the man finally lowered his left hand, threw over his cane once more, and stuck out his right hand. Harrold reached out for a handshake, realizing halfway through the motion that his hand was still quite sticky from the ale, but it was too late for his brain to cancel the movement.
"Captain Oliver McDonnel, I am truly honored to meet a Master Wizard," the gentleman said as he shook Harrold's hand.
Harrold didn't respond as he was focusing all his effort into maintaining a straight face. As the captain pulled back his hand, he looked at it for a moment before looking back at Harrold with a slight frown. Harrold simply stared back, made all the harder by the strange looking goggles. He was grateful when the captain finally looked away and moved to sit down. He chose a seat next to Pat at the other end of the table. Harrold would've likely done the same had their roles been reversed.
The captain spoke up, "So, gentlemen, before we talk business... I can't help but wonder how an individual gains the title of Savior of the Scrolls. It sounds mighty impressive!"
Pat responded enthusiastically, "Yeah, come on Harrold! I've been wanting to hear that story for such a long time now."
Pat placed his hand on the captain's back, which the man didn't seem to appreciate, and leaned in close. "Harrold is quite modest, I think he's worried about it coming across as bragging," he said without lowering his voice whatsoever.
Harrold wasn't modest. Not usually anyway. Depending on the person, and Pat most certainly qualified, he quite enjoyed rubbing in his superiority whenever possible. He just rarely got the chance to do it, because he wasn't nearly as superior as he'd like to be. The story of how he received this title was not something to brag about either. After some quick internal repetitions, Harrold decided he was ready.
"Well, you might've heard of The Great 'Magical Mishap' of 1265 after Maker's Greeting--"
Pat looked confused and quickly interrupted, "Wait, the GMM of 1265 AMG?"
He thought for a moment. "Wasn't that the one where a massive magical banana suddenly fell out of the air? I remember it crushing both a newlywed couple and the region's banana trade for several years."
The captain responded before Harrold could interrupt the guessing game, "No sir, I'm quite certain that doesn't line up. If I remember correctly, and please excuse me if I'm wrong, that was the GMM of 1268 AMG. Yes, I think that's correct. A great year, quite a great year. For me that is, I have to imagine that couple wouldn't concur."
He gave a slight chuckle, "No, they wouldn't. Not that they can, because, as you pointed out, they got crushed. Flattened, if you will. Dead," he paused for a slight, but quite uncomfortable moment, "One of my good friends went bankrupt due to that banana and started working for me, that's why I remember it well."
The captain stared at the table for several seconds, looking lost in thought. Suddenly, he stiffened up, looking around wildly while adjusting the valve on his head.
"Now that I think about, where is that little rascal? She was supposed to be with me," he said.
Pat, who for some reason still had his hand on the captain's back, was quick to calm him down, "Don't worry about it, I'm sure she'll show up soon. So what was the GMM that year, Harrold?"
Harrold was already completely tired of this conversation and took a deep breath before continuing, "The GMM of 1265 was the collapse of the library tower. It was the largest of the Wizard Towers and contained much of the knowledge that wizards had acquired throughout the years--"
"Oooooh, now I remember!" Pat said as he rudely interrupted his friend once again, "A giant diamond dragon knocked down the tower, right? Or...", he looked pensively, "was the Little Maker's Greeting in 1265?"
Both Harrold and the captain looked at him in shock, though the captain took slightly longer due to having to adjust his goggles.
"Are you absolutely mad? Never mention that ever again!" Harrold said angrily, before looking towards the roof, "Let's hope we got away with it this time."
Sighing deeply, he continued, "Anyway, to answer your question, no that wasn't in 1265 and it wasn't the diamond dragon either. From what I've heard some unknown person accidently set off a cannon and simply blew the tower to smithereens."
Pat once again interrupted, "Wait, shouldn't a magical mi--"
Harrold was getting quite impatient and decided to do the interrupting himself this time.
"No, magical mishaps do not always involve magic. Even just the presence of a wizard or anything that affects us wizards in general is enough to qualify. It's a vote we wizards have at the end of each year. A vote that involves a lot of alcohol."
And we don't like to be reminded of serious mistakes, so those get ignored.
"Apparently," he continued, "the person in question had a violent allergic reaction of 'unknown cause' and everything went wrong after that. Turns out that being cute and fluffy excuses you from all kinds of things, but let's not dwell on that. No one could enter what remained of the tower due to the stairs being completely blocked. So, they decided to start a discovery group, as wizards do with any new issue they face."
Harrold could spot the confusion on both of their faces from a mile away. He quickly held up his hand to prevent them from speaking. "Discovery groups are made whenever we have issues that we are currently incapable of fixing. We basically search for wizards who... specialize... in, uh, certain kinds of magic that would be helpful in the given situation. Yes, that."
He quickly continued to prevent further questions on the subject. "So, I was the result of that particular discovery group. I had already realized my potential for magic and was registered at the local magic registry. They simply contacted me and requested my presence at the Wizard Tower. That's when I solved the problem and I've been here ever since."
The captain leaned back, looking quite curious.
"So... how did you solve it, if I may ask?" he asked, "What is this powerful, rare magic you specialize in?"
Pat quickly jumped in, "Wait, don't tell it just yet! Allow me a guess first! Hmm..." he pondered for a moment before his face lit up, "Wow, can you break rocks with your bare hands?"
Harrold rolled his eyes. "No."
"Allow me to hazard a guess as well," the Captain said, "If it wasn't a feat of strength, then maybe some form of flight or even teleportation?"
"Sure," Harrold quickly said, not wanting the conversation to get any more specific, "that's pretty close. I'm afraid us wizards aren't allowed to reveal our secrets, so I'll have to leave it at that."
The pair across from him still looked in awe regardless.
"That is truly wonderful, I'm sure that would come in helpful. Helpful, indeed," the captain said, "Given the title, I assume you managed to save some very important scrolls from the tower?"
Harrold swallowed. This was a touchy subject for him. In truth, the few pieces of paper that survived all turned out to be recent shopping lists. At the time Harrold expected to be ridiculed as he left the tower with shopping lists in hand. Surprisingly, the wizards didn't much care for it. No sarcasm, no vile comments, not even a hint of disappointment was detectable in their voices. Not even anger at the fact that someone was both brave and foolish enough to not only desecrate these historic scrolls, but also use them as shopping lists. All this knowledge... gone, and their only reaction was to leave and go on with their usual schedule. When Harrold learned he would receive the title Savior of the Scrolls, he again thought it to be a joke at his expense.
"Good job Savior!" they would say, "You really did a tremendous job. Without you, we would've been set back hundreds of years! Imagine that! It could've ruined humanity! Thank the Maker for the excellent job you did!"
His title would forever haunt him, he would forever be the butt of their jokes. It wasn't until later that he realized all this couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, with time he would actually come to appreciate the unknown individual responsible for desecrating those scrolls. At least someone did something useful.
"Hey, Harrold?" Pat's voice pulled Harrold away from his memories. "You okay there, buddy?" he asked with concern in his voice.
"Uh- yes, I'm fine. Sorry," Harrold stammered, "I... I was just trying to remember if any particular scroll stood out from the rest, but I managed to save so many that I can't think of anything specific."
Phew, good save buddy.
The captain was visibly impressed, stood up and started to reach out with his hand before thinking better of it. After a slight moment of doubt, the captain sat back down and said, "I simply must thank you on behalf of everyone. You truly did a tremendous job. Without you, we would've been set back centuries! Imagine that! It could've ruined humanity! Thank the Maker for the sublime job you did!"
Harrold looked at him for a moment. He started to open his mouth and paused before closing it again. He repeated this process several times.
"Thanks?" he asked with obvious doubt in his tone.
The captain, clearly not noticing the obvious doubt, responded, "No, good sir, thank you. Anyway, I'm afraid it is time for us to discuss business."
As he said that, he reached inside his coat and placed a thick bundle of paper on the table. Pat shot Harrold a look of horror at the sight of it.
"I hope you didn't have any plans for the remainder of the evening, this is going to take a while to explain," the Captain said.
Before Pat and Harrold could respond, the Captain once again reached inside his coat. His hand came out holding another bundle of paper of equal size. Harrold was now the one with a look of horror on his face. The captain once again reached into his pocket. Harrold could feel the drops of sweat starting to trickle from his forehead.
There's even more? How is he carrying this much paper on him?
Yet again the captain placed a bundle on the table. It seemed impossible, but this one appeared larger than the previous ones. Pat's face distorted at the sight of it. This shouldn't be possible. No man should be able to hold on to so much readable material, let alone have the interest and time to read or write it. His mind was gripped in horror. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak. His vision turned black. His mind a void. This couldn't be happening. Suddenly everything turned a violent, bloody crimson. He hoped for tears to come and relieve the burning sensation in his eyes. This was the end, it had to be.
Thankfully, Harrold was too engaged with the captain's actions to notice Pat's face. The sheer horror of it would've sent any man into cardiac arrest. Which is exactly what happened to someone walking by. The floor yelped at the sudden weight crashing down on it. The loud creak pierced Pat's mind and somehow offered him clarity. It was as if he had found someone dealing with an equally or much more horrible situation, though he didn't know who it was. He felt the relief wash over him, allowing him to think.
"Captain! Dear Captain! Please stop!", he said before the Captain could once again grab something from his horrifying coat, "I mean, don't worry about the- uhm, details. I-I-I'm sure Harrold and I will be fine, we've probably done plenty of jobs like the one you're offering," he said, before giving a quick and obviously panicky laugh.
He looked pleadingly at Harrold, who was quick to pick up on the signal.
"Yes, you are absolutely right Pat. I'm sure we can help you out and we'll learn all the details along the way. As my former master would say, sometimes a fresh look, unspoiled by knowledge and fact, can come to the only right conclusion."
Harrold thought better of mentioning that his former master died after refusing explanation on how to fire a gun. The captain looked briefly at both of them, adjusting his valve as he switched between them.
"Are you sure?", he asked, "I have no doubt in your abilities and their helpfulness given the task at hand, but are you sure you don't want a brief explanation? I've only brought my research material containing the fine points."
Pat started shaking and Harrold quickly tried to defuse the situation. "No, I'm sure we'll be fine, Captain. There's only really one subject we have to discuss right now. While I don't like bringing it up, we've had some issues in the past regarding this matter. I'll cut to the chase, how much will we be paid?"
Pat sighed in relief. The captain smirked before responding, "Ah, yes! As a businessman, I completely understand the importance of this subject. No need for panic, the compensation will be more than adequate for the job."
As he spoke, the captain reached into his coat again. This time he pulled out a not at all horrifying small sack and dropped it on the table. Pat's impressive reflexes activated as he almost managed to grab the bag before it even hit the table. The sound of coins was unmistakable. He opened it, took a quick glance, and a smile appeared on his face.
"When are we starting?"
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Author's notes:
Thank you for reading! This is the first story I've put some degree of effort into and also the first story I'm sharing online. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback. Hatemail is cool too, makes me feel like an accomplished author.
EDIT: Alright, did a quick formatting pass for the dialogue. It's by no means perfect, but it should be better now. I'm going to do a bit more research (read: ask someone how to properly punctuate specific sections or blackmail them into fixing the entire thing). After that I'll also do a pass on the other published chapters and the upcoming chapter 4, which is mostly ready.