Tim was
infuriated. His granny had, once again, overridden his explicit instructions
not to wake him up before noon. "Senile old bat," he muttered well
under his breath. Granny Hazel might look fragile but she had the unpleasant
habit of punctuating her main points in any debate with a knitting needle.
He went
on muttering as he sluiced cold water on his face. Why did he go out drinking
with Ted the Indistinct and John G. Fabulous? They were losers and probably
budding alcoholics. He knew that he couldn't handle such activities with his
inexperienced liver but he was bored, bored, bored! Living with Granny H. was
like living in a public library: no loud
talking, no spitting, and no fun. But at least she had been willing to take him
in after his big blow-up with Dick Deadly, the Necrotizer. Gad, what a
miscalculation that had been! If he was lucky some of his body hair would grow
back before middle age.
Meanwhile,
he needed a job so that he could get away from Granny H's tender care. He went
back to his bed stand and gave Wizard's
Weekly (motto: spells by the ell) a determined perusal. He was in luck. One
of the ads in the back was seeking a magician with pluck and panache to rid a
well-situated village from the depredations of a ruthless band of dwarves.
Dwarves? Tim snorted. He would clean up the half pints and collect his bag of
gold in a quick hour!
He
sneaked his way quietly out of his Granny's cottage to avoid an unpleasant argument
and was soon on his way to Lower Swithin to make his fortune.
You'd
like Lower Swithin. Lovely town center with an actual Italian fountain bubbling
merrily in the middle, spacious meeting hall where the franklins meet with the
mayor each Wednesday, and a merry brook running along its western wall. Tim
whistled, impressed as all heck. This was a rich village. Perhaps, he'd settle
here, marry and build a nice bungalow. Things were looking up for him.
"Hold
on, you!" said a hairy voice, which belonged to a green skinned goblin. A
goblin with sharp claws and even sharper fangs. Long and unpleasantly white
fangs which were glistening in the bright August sun.
"Who
are you?" asked Tim politely.
"I'm
a goblin, you ijjit!" snarled the goblin. "'Oo t'hell are you?"
"Er...I'm
just here to visit my sick uncle. I mean you no harm," said Tim, hoping to
placate the hideous creature.
"You
mean me no 'arm?" laughed the goblin. "Pipsqueak like you!"
"Appearances
can be deceiving," said Tim, a little stung by the goblin's snide words.
"Yeah,
they'd 'ave t'be!" snickered the goblin. "You look like a
soft-palmed, lily-livered bit of baby's puke!"
"Oh
yes?" said Tim, heatedly. "Allaka-reelo, chango-forrealzo!" he
chanted, pointing his left hand directly at the goblin's misshapen snout.
Immediately the goblin's nose turned into a butterfly which fluttered off,
leaving the goblin looking nonplussed.
"A
magician?" gasped the goblin in an excessively nasal voice which I will
not even attempt to reproduce.
"That's
right, punk. And if you don't want to risk losing another body part you'd
better take me to the mayor immediately!" Tim was feeling pleased as punch
with his spell. It's nice when it works on the first go and Tim's spells did
not always do so.
"Now
you're for it!" snarled the goblin, running into a nearby hut.
Immediately,
a troop of goblins came raging out brandishing unpleasant-looking swords and
hooting with rage.
"These
are not dwarves!" said Tim, who was pretty quick on the uptake.
"Allaka-smoothy, Gravitas removy," he said quickly. Now, that spell
should have caused the goblin horde to start floating in the air like dandelion
seeds (only more hideous) but unfortunately he got it a bit wrong. He started
to float himself which worked out rather well because at least he was now out
of sword-slash range.
The wind
carried him over to a large oak tree where Tim grabbed a nearby branch and
tried to remember how to do the spell removal spell. There was something about
lifting....shifting? drifting? Tim tried to concentrate with the horde of
goblins racing to the oak and trying to climb with outsized swords in their
claws (rather harder than you'd imagine).
Tim saw
that one of the brighter goblins (damning with faint praise, I know) had
dropped his sword and was flinging himself up the oak like an oversized (and
hideous) squirrel. Tim was forced to let go of the oak and continue floating
away. The goblins hooted with rage and followed him on his cross-country
flight. Tim thought furiously. You can appreciate that his options were
limited: cancel the spell and he would be goblin food, or keep on floating and
hope that the goblins would tire of their sport. Tim decided that he would try
to outlast them. Goblins are a determined lot though and these ones followed
him for the better part of the day.
Then Tim
finally had a cunning idea. Goblins can't swim, can they? He would say the
wings spell, sprout a pair of fine wings and fly to the sea. Let them come
swimming after him! Brilliant!
"Allaka-zingo,
presto-chango-wingso!" he intoned.
He
immediately plunged to the ground where he was seized by the horde of angry
goblins. Stupid wings spell thought
Tim to himself.
The
goblins carried him back to the village where they had taken up residence. Tim
was jostled up and down so vigorously that he felt his brain would come loose
at its moorings. It made it hard to remember any helpful spells.
Tim was
tied to a large pole in the village square and goblins started tossing bits of
wood and paper at his toes. Tim had a bad feeling about all this. Apparently
goblins like their food well cooked. The wings spell was a dismal failure but
every spell cast yields some sort of result. And although Tim's "wing
spell" did not give him wings, it wasn't without effect, as you will see.
A
particularly hideous goblin (his teeth were perhaps a little more jagged than
the rest) brandished a torch and with a revolting chuckle he lit it and thrust
it toward the fire. As soon as the torch got within ten feet of Tim it blew up
like a firecracker in the startled goblin's claws. All the goblins hooted
uncertainly. The very hideous goblin jumped up and down trying to put out the
fire which engulfed him.
"Gaaah!"
said the V.H.G. in pain and outrage. He was echoed by all of the other goblins.
Being a goblin (determined if not so bright) he relit the torch and marched on
poor Tim to set the bonfire ablaze. The same result occurred: and once more the
V.H.G. was jumping around putting out the fire on his rather blackened claws.
Tim was greatly
cheered and his brain began working again. "Had enough?" he called
out. The goblins fell silent, even the V.H.G. "Maybe you'd like me to set
you all on fire?" yelled the plucky lad. All of the goblins howled out a
strong protest, especially the V.H.G. "Then you'd better untie me or
else!" he cried. Instead all of the goblins lit out for the safety of
forest leaving Tim alone at his post. Tim said some unkind things about goblins
at that point.
"Did
they all leave?" asked a tiny voice.
"They
did," said Tim wondering who he was talking to.
"You
must be a great wizard," said the voice.
"Why
thank you," said Tim politely. "With whom am I speaking?" he
asked, displaying some of his excellent grammar. (He'd always had top marks in
English)
"It's
your fairy grandmother," said the voice, as musical as a bell on Easter
morning.
"Don't
you mean fairy godmother?" asked Tim.
"I
do not," said the voice, now curiously familiar. Tim gulped. It was the
voice of Hazel.
"Gramma
H?" he gulped. She appeared and poked Tim in the stomach with one of her
knitting needles.
"You're
(poke) lucky to (poke) have me!" she said. "You're also lucky (poke)
that I followed you. What (poke) would you do without me?" and she gave
Tim another juicy jab with her needle.
"But
Gramma, you saw me defeat the goblins, didn't you?" he whined.
"That
was me, you foolish boy. Now hold still while I untie you and get you home.
It's time for you to rub my bunions!"
Tim
shuddered.
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