November 9
Word Count: 3,667
“Trevelyn, I need a moment to speak with you,” Lynah asked. Trevelyn sighed. Moments were precious these days. It was nearing the even hours and she had not yet had lunch. She was dying for a simple sandwich.
“Really, Lynah, I’m rather busy. Don’t you see the people?” Trevelyn looked out at the line which never seemed to shrink. People were pouring into the city, and she was the only once who seemed to care about getting them organized.
“Yes, well they can wait a bit longer, can’t they?” The people in the front of the line groaned.
“Talk to me tonight,” Trevelyn said as she overlooked Pogle’s madly scribbling quill. He was taking down the details of the current visitor.
“All right, so you went in to your barn and heard something rustling in the hay. You thought it was the cat, but it jumped out and bit you, and now you’ve lost feeling on your right side and your hair is turning purple.”
“Yup. Can they cure me? I brought the thing.” The farmer plopped a dead carcass the size of a large cat on the table. Pogle smiled tentatively up at him, and handed him a piece of paper.
“Well, here’s your number. Can you read?”
“I can read numbers and sign my name.”
“Good, then you’ll have to wait until they call your number.”
“What number are they on now?”
“One.”
“Oh.”
“Trevelyn!” Lynah whined in her ear. “You said you’d talk to me last night, but you fell asleep before you did and no matter how much I shouted, you wouldn’t wake up.”
“I’m sorry, Lynah. Tonight, I promise.” She turned to the next visitor, a young man whose face was broken out in blue pustules. Lynah took one look at him and fled the scene.
“Grandpa said I’d been cursed by a blue toit. I think it’s a bug or something.”
“A toit,” Pogle repeated as he wrote.
“A blue one. You got any food around here?” He scratched one of the blemishes on his face which oozed out a blue muck. He wiped it on his trousers.
“Umm… yes,” Trevelyn managed to say, “just follow the signs to the Great Hall. There’s plenty to eat there.”
“I ain’t got no money.” He warned as he clutched his bag to his side.
“That’s fine. It’s free, and so it your room. Just follow the signs to visitor’s quarters and present your number to the brother at the desk.”
He smiled. His teeth were blue.
“Next,” Pogle called, as he handed the blue boy a number, carefully not allowing the young man to touch him. A nobleman approached the table, followed by two servants lugging a chest between them.
“I am Lord Malgamus, and I…”
“You have to wait in line,” Trevelyn said, cutting him off. She’d had to deal with plenty of pushy nobles today who thought they could move to the front of the line.
“My servants waited in line for me.” He waved off the two men in the front of the line and they bowed low. “I wish to speak to a Great Mage,” he demanded.
“Well, they are rather busy right now,” Trevelyn responded, which was quite true. “What may I tell them this is in regard to?”
“I have brought with me quite a collection of odds and ends, devices that I have procured over the past few years that I believe would be of interest to them. They are magic related and have been doing all sorts of remarkable things.”
“That’s nice, just leave them over there,” she pointed to the large pile of mysterious magical items that people wanted catalogued or investigated.
“I shall be willing to part with them for a fairly reasonable sum,” Lord Malgamus stated.
“Oh. You want to sell them. We’re not interested. We’re not in the buying business.”
“Then what wares are you selling. Perhaps we could arrange a trade.”
“We’re not in the selling business or the trading business. We’re in the helping business. People come here, we help them,” Trevelyn shouted a bit louder so the other people in line could hear. She was getting tired of the same people asking the same questions for hours on end.
“Well,” he commented, rather taken aback, “I wish to speak with your superiors.”
“I am my superiors. So you have two choices… you can either take your servants and order them to carry you and your trunk of goodies back home, or you can take a number, and we’ll try to figure out what your stuff does. But you’ll have to wait, because we have people with missing limbs, and creature bites, and curses, and you name it, and right now, you’re not very high on the list of priorities.”
“I… uh… I…” Malgamus stuttered until Pogle waived a number slip at him. He grabbed it quickly and after a quick hard stare at Trevelyn, stomped off in the other direction.
“I think perhaps, Master Trevelyn, you should go get some dinner,” Pogle said quietly. Trevelyn looked at all the wide eyes staring at her from the line.
“I think that’s a good idea.” With a sigh and a rub of her temple, Trevelyn headed off to the great hall with the plan of getting something to eat and slipping into a slight coma in her apartments. It was odd, she had realized at first to have her own apartments, as she had never had her own before, but she knew that if she didn’t separate herself from Lynah a bit more, neither one of them would see Trevelyn as an equal. Lynah had been gracious at first, as if she didn’t realize that she wouldn’t be able to call on Trevelyn at the weird hours of the day to fetch and carry for her.
Her reaction was slightly delayed. At first Lynah had tried just showing up in Trevelyn’s apartment with their co agenda planned in her head.
“First we’re going to decide what to wear to great hall tonight, and then we’re going to think of a list of…”
“Actually, Lynah,” Trevelyn had said, “I’m going to help Brothers Pogle and Ettu set up and organize rooms for the people who will be coming. Haven’t you seen them all standing at the gate, waiting for us to let them in?”
“Yes, but, they’re just commoners. We have more important things to do. I mean this place has no rules! We must…”
“That’s what I’m doing. Making signs, telling people where to go, and…”
“Not those types of rules… Now we’ll work on that until luncheon, then…”
“I’m sorry Lynah, but I really have my own day planned.”
“Oh. Fine. I’ll get Brother Ilden to help then.”
“That sounds like a great idea. I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to help… but be careful. I’m not at all sure he knows anything about picking out dresses.” With that, Trevelyn had shown her out the door and had been busy ever since. Three days later, she hardly had time to think.
“May I help you?” A brother asked her as she tried to enter the great hall.
“No, thank you. I was just going in for some dinner.”
“May I have your number?” he asked cheerfully.
“My number?”
“Yes, you need your number to eat.”
“I don’t have a number, I…”
“Everyone needs a number. You’ll just have to go back to the front gate and wait in line like everyone else.”
“Look, I’ve been at the front gate all day, and I don’t have a number. I don’t need a number.”
“Everyone must have a number to enter the great hall. Those are the rules of the Great Mages.”
“Which Great Mage made that idiotic rule?”
“I… I… now you must show respect. They are here to help you. Just go back to the line to get a… Master Saratin!” Trevelyn turned to see that Saratin had popped up right behind her. The brother bowed low. Saratin ignored him.
“Trevelyn, I need to speak to you,” he said.
“He won’t let me in to eat.”
“Why not?” Saratin asked.
“Because she doesn’t have a number, Master Saratin.”
“She doesn’t need a number,” he replied, “but that can wait.”
“No it can’t. Food first, then talk. I’m grumpy and I haven’t eaten all day.”
“It’s almost dinner time.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m grumpy.”
“All right. Food first.” Trevelyn managed a smile as Saratin escorted her past the bowing monk and forward into the Great Hall. There was a silence, as people began to notice them and pause in their eating. They began to whisper.
“Does this happen a lot?” Trevelyn asked quietly as they got in the line for the buffet the brothers perpetually refreshed from the kitchen.
“It doesn’t happen to you?” Saratin asked giving her a once over. “But then you’re not wearing the white cassock, are you?”
“It’s not exactly fashionable,” she replied.
“You sound like Lynah. How is she doing?”
“Fine, as I well as I can see. Brother Ilden keeps her busy.” They reached the front of the line, picked up a plate and began serving themselves like everyone else. There was a mad whispering among the brothers serving, as if they couldn’t decide whether or not a Great Mage should be serving himself. Unlike the five from Ladona, they hadn’t had time to greet all the new brothers that had been entering the city.
Trevelyn turned and stared out at the massive sea of faces that were all watching Saratin’s every move. She wished she could run and hide from all the people.
“You want to make their night?” Saratin whispered with an impish grin.
“Okay.”
“Hold on to me and close your eyes.” Trevelyn closed her eyes and waited. “You can open them again,” Saratin stated. Looking around, Trevelyn was relieved to find herself in her own sitting room. Saratin placed his plate down on the table and sat down.
“Oh, forgot the cutlery.” In a blink he was gone. Trevelyn sat down in a chair opposite the one he had chosen and waited. In less than a minute he was back.
“You need to teach me that trick,” she said sighing.
“I taught Mitty yesterday.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it was rather easy. She only ended up in jail once.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“It’s like telling yourself not to think of silly pink paper flowers. Then suddenly it’s the only thing you can think of.”
“Right.” The first bite of her food was delightful. The lettuce was crisp, the meat tender and perfect, and the vegetables were bright and fresh. Even the kings’ table didn’t have fare like this every night.
“When you have a bit more time, I’ll teach you.” She nodded and they continued to eat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the relative peace. It didn’t last long.
It’s time for another meeting.” Trevelyn closed her eyes and held them tightly closed as if she that could stop her from hearing Saratin. “I know the first one was an unmitigated disaster, but this time we’re going to take some steps to fix what went wrong. First of all, we’re going to have an agenda.” Apparently Saratin had been putting a lot of thought into this. “Secondly, we’re going to stick to that agenda.”
“Good luck.” Trevelyn stated. “When are we planning this meaning?”
“As soon as Lasser and Iber get back. It will be simple to get Mitty and Malek here, now that Mitty can transport.”
“Right. So I just need to show up, correct?”
“Actually,” Saratin nervously fiddled with his knife, I want you to write the agenda. You know more of what we need to do than anyone, as you’ve seen everyone entering the city... and we’ll make copies of it so that everyone knows what’s up for discussion and what’s not.”
“Okay,” Trevelyn said simply.
“Okay?” Saratin had expected more of an argument. Trevelyn didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay!” he repeated. “Well, I suppose I’ve got lots of things to do! Thank you for dining with me. It was a very pleasant respite.” With a bright smile, he flashed out of sight.
An agenda… for another meeting. Trevelyn stood and shuffled the papers on her desk until she pulled out the minutes of the last meeting. It had been a last moment decision, to take notes, and it had somehow elected her as the secretary of the group. Wonderful.
Trevelyn sat in the chair and tried to remember what exactly had happened at the last meeting.
“All right. Shall we convene our first mage meeting?” Saratin had asked once they were all seated around the large white table that stood in the middle of the chamber.
“Mage meeting? Is that what we're going to call it?” Iber asked.
“What's wrong with that? We're mages. This is a meeting,” Lasser replied.
“But shouldn't it have some loftier name?” Iber questioned.
“I know - what about Conclave?” Mitty had offered.
“Conclave is for witches,” Malek had said.
“Are there really witches? I thought they were fairy tales,” Trevelyn had asked.
“I don't know. They might not have survived the drought. I'll look into it,” Saratin replied. “Why don’t we…”
“How about Council of the Great Mages?” Iber had suggested.
“COGM? No, we need something that has a ring to it.” Lynah had offered.
“Well, what do you suggest?” Iber had retorted, a bit irritated.
“Let me give it a bit of thought.”
“Really now, surely we have more important things to talk about than the name,” Saratin said, trying to get them on track.
“If we argue this much over a name, how are we going to get anything done?” Malek added.
“We're not arguing, we're discussing,” Lynah had said. “There is a difference.”
“Let's just get this over with. I'm getting hungry.” This last comment had been from Snult, who had entered riding on Lasser’s shoulder.
“So does he have a vote? I mean, he's not a mage. He's a dragon,” Lynah complained.
“Why does she make that sound unpleasant?” Snult replied.
“Who said we were voting on anything?” Lasser asked.
“Aren't we?” Iber asked.
“Let's just get things settled first,” Saratin said.
“Like the name,” Lynah glared at him.
Lasser spoke, trying to move them on. “Alright… I hearby nominate the name to be The Mage Assembly. The MA for short. Any seconds?”
“Okay. I'll second,” Iber replied.
“It has been moved and seconded
that we call our meetings the
“I” echoed through the chamber.
“Opposed?”
“Motion carried. Madame Secretary, please write it into the minutes.”
“She's the secretary?” Lynah complained.
“Well, Trevelyn's the one holding the paper.”
“Now on to the next order of business…” Saratin began again.
“Well, what if I wanted to be secretary.”
“How about if we rotate. She takes the first meeting. You can have the second meeting,” Iber said, compromising.
“Right. Now, I've got some requests. I think it's best if we all pull together and fill them as we see fit.”
“First I want to talk about what we’re supposed to wear,” Lynah replied. “I mean, unlike some of us, I don’t wear the same old brown thing every day.”
“Actually, the official color of the Great Mages has always been white. The brothers who chose to serve a certain mage always wore his or her colors,” Saratin stated.
“Really, well, I look horrible in
white. How about a nice ice blue?”
“I am not wearing ice blue.”
Malek grumbled.
“I take dibs on purple,” Iber called. “It brings out my eyes.
“Great Mages wear white.”
“I want purple,” Lynah whined.
“How about one of you takes purple and the other, lilac?” Trevelyn asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. If I get lilac, I might as well get pink.”
“I think pink would go very well with your complexion,” Mitty offered.
“Fine, your color is pink, Iber’s is purple, but on official business, all mages will wear white. What they choose to wear at any other time is their own business,” Saratin said, apparently running at the end of his long temper.
“Well, that still doesn’t solve my problem.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t have anything to wear!”
Trevelyn skipped over the rest of her notes. Indeed, they’d spent two hours talking about nothing important and getting very little done. If it happened again, Trevelyn knew that they would be in serious trouble. They already had a city full of people, who when they found out that the mages were fairly impotent, would probably move into a full rampage, despite the brothers quiet manners and efficient systems. Right now, only the lure of free food and a nice place to sleep kept many of them from asking too many questions.
It was the smell that woke him… and the distress of finding out that he was the one who stank that immediately got him out of bed. Iber stood for a moment in the small room reorienting himself. The last thing he remembered clearly was making a final charge at a group of dragons. Wait, he also remembered Malek giving him something for his neck wound.
Iber rushed over to the small chipped mirror in the corner and peered at his neck. Whatever Malek had given him had worked wonders. There was nothing left but a slight pinkish ness. The skin wasn’t even broken. Iber yawned and stretched, taking a deep breath, and then wished he hadn’t. He needed a bath. He needed one now.
Heading down the rather rickety narrow staircase, he found a door that led to the back of the tavern. A few yards from the building was a well and a bathing system, that by the smell, Lasser and Malek had already used. Iber stripped down to his dragon cloth underwear and began to scrub himself thoroughly. The floral soap he found didn’t seem to cut the smell at all, but it was nice to smell something other than dragon blood.
After what Iber thought was an hour of severe scrubbing, he finally felt somewhat presentable. He took one look at the heap of his clothes, and tossed them into what he hoped was a garbage heap. At least the dragon cloth seemed impermeable to the blood and the smell as well. It might be a chilly ride home, but it was better than nothing.
His stomach rumbling, Iber realized he had not eaten since luncheon yesterday. Hopefully the tavern had a good breakfast.
“Good morning all!” Iber said as he entered the common room to find only Malek and Lasser seated at one of the tables. The two of them stared up at him as if he had three heads. He glanced himself over. Sure he was a little wet, but they too were clad only in dragon cloth.
“What happened to your neck?” Lasser asked.
“Don’t you remember? It was bitten by a dragon. You killed it? I must ask you to thank Mitty for me, Malek. That dragon cream of hers worked wonders!”
“That wound should have kept you in bed for a week,” Malek stated. They seem rather disappointed that he was well.
“You didn’t expect the cream to work so well?”
“It was plain old hand cream,” Malek grumbled.
Lasser laughed. “It seems one of us did some magic last night. The only question is which one? Malek when he told Iber it was dragon cream, or Iber when he believed it.”
“I have good news for you.” Iber turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “They’ve found your horses. They’re even alive. Oh! And you’re alive too. He’s up you stupid, he wasn’t dead. Let me talk. No. Stop it.” The girl turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Iber turned back to the pair at the table for an explanation.
“Welcome to the Crazy Lady, complete with one crazy lady. And we’re taking her home with us to Tamarin.” Lasser stated as he waived his arm.
“We are?” Iber looked at Malek for confirmation.
“Yup,” Malek added as he took another bite of his breakfast roll.
“Here we are, another breakfast for you!” The crazy lady was back with a tray for a food. For that alone, he could overlook her slight insanity.
“Thank you, mistress.” He said accepting the tray.
“We’ll be leaving directly after breakfast, now that he’s better.” She said to Malek.
“We will?”
“Didn’t I just say so? Sorry. We’re just anxious. I’ll have the horses readied. Supplies. Yes, and supplies. Let’s go now. Let them eat!” She turned and exited the tavern.
Iber sat down next to Lasser. “Does she always talk like that?”
“Yup. I think she mentioned something about having a village stuck in her head and she wants us to get it out for her,” Malek replied.
“Us? How are we supposed to do that?”
“Clarification… she wants the Great Mages to get it out for her. She doesn’t know that’s us. I don’t plan to tell her. Let Saratin do that.” Malek grumbled in agreement at Lasser statement. Apparently Saratin wasn’t on their list of popular people today.
“Right. So we just ride back to… through the forest?” And the dragons.
“There’s too many of us to go the fast way… but Snult has assured us that the dragons won’t bother us if he’s along.”
“Oh, like Saratin assured us they don’t like water?”
“Yeah.”
“Why doesn’t Snult go into the forest and have a chat with them. Tell them they can eat anything that isn’t human.”
“Why don’t we send you into a jungle and have you explain to a bunch of monkeys that they shouldn’t pick their noses?” Snult growled from the fireplace. “Monkeys and humans have a closer chatting relationship that lesser dragons and great dragons.