Since I was old enough to pick up a book, I’ve been an avid reader and fan of fantasy, sword and sorcery, and science fiction. The following is something completely unrelated to computers or technology, I wrote it a while ago and am still thinking about exactly where it is going from here, if anywhere. It is a bit of a tongue-in-cheek comedic fantasy, I suppose. At least I hope it’s at least a little funny, as that was part of the goal.
It was a warm, breezy spring afternoon when Marcus the Wizard first met Yolanda.
She was apparently stealing his chicken. At least, when Marcus stepped out onto his front porch, a lithe young blonde lady in rather nondescript garb was in the process of unhooking the recently hung bird from where it dangled below the porch roof, beside a string of garlic and onions intended to complement it in the stew pot that night.
Marcus, having been raised in a well-mannered household, did not immediately overreact.
“Ahem…pardon me. but I believe that is my chicken miss.”
The young lady paused in the midst of her task, turning slightly towards Marcus. Her face registered surprise, embarrassment, and a little chagrin. Her reply was, however, delivered with similar manners.
“My apologies good sir…but are you absolutely certain?”
Marcus paused. He let his gaze wander about his front yard, fenced and gated, with freshly painted signs along the length that stated in no vague terms ‘NO TRESPASSING’ and ‘KEEP OUT’. It wasn’t that he was unsure of the ownership of the chicken — he had taken possession of it freshly killed in the market just an hour before. He had paid a silver mark for it. It was his chicken, as much as anything could be said to belong to anyone. No, Marcus paused because he immediately assumed the young lady was not stupid. And if she was not stupid, then she was up to something. Regardless, he decided to play along.
“Well, I’m sorry to be so direct, but yes I am. “ He stroked his short, neatly trimmed goatee with one hand and took a step down on the wide front steps, leaning casually on the railing and hooking the other hand casually in the belt of his old ‘stay at home’ robe so as not to appear threatening. “I just purchased it this morning, and hung it here in preparation for the supper pot.”
The young lady had removed her hands from the bird in question as he spoke, and then also leaned against the railing, just a couple steps below him.
“Good sir, I believe you, and I apologize for what I am sure appears to be an attempt to pilfer your fine supper. I am rather embarrassed. I am sorry if it seems as if I was questioning your honesty or integrity, but I am somewhat of a philosopher, as it were, and during these moral dilemmas we all face daily, I do tend to wonder about things.”
Marcus nodded in what he hoped was a sage fashion, his mind abuzz as he worked through various scenarios that were possible answers to this young lady’s behaviour and her verbal deluge. Perhaps he could give her more rope…
“Philosopher…unusual for one so young.” He responded with what he hoped was a sincere smile.
She twittered in an empty-headed fashion he was absolutely sure was designed to cover much more intelligence. “Young? Oh, you flatter me, and I am just a backyard philosopher, so to speak. I’m sure nothing in comparison to those who postulate the fundamental tenants of our reality.”
Her vocabulary belied that idea, thought Marcus. “Pray tell…what do you see unfolding here, in a theoretical sense of course?” He smelled a trap, a game of some sort. His senses alert, he quickly dismissed anything as crass as a physical attack, or an accomplice. Too ham-handed. She wanted that chicken, but did not want to be caught…
Her face lit up as he asked. She took a tentative step up the stairs, extending a hand in greeting. “I am Yolanda, if I may good sir. Of peasant upbringing, but self-educated, yes, and self-aware as well.”
Whatever that was supposed to mean, Marcus mused. Taking her hand and shaking it briefly, he smiled.
Her grip was gentle, but firm as she took his hand in both of hers briefly and then let go with a gentle caress down his wrist, which set off an alarm bell in his head. “I am not one to be argumentative good sir, but to expand on my earlier question, and from a philosophical standpoint, can we determine with surety that this particular chicken was the one that you purchased earlier?”
Marcus paused once again at this somewhat unexpected angle of attack.
“Well…” Another pause as he stroked his goatee, “I suppose with as much surety as we can say that anything in this world belongs to anyone.”
She nodded acceptance of his words and continued, “True, true. Perhaps I could outline a situation, theoretical you understand, in which the possibility, however remote you understand, could exist that this particular chicken hanging right here, is NOT actually the one you purchased this morning?”
Marcus nodded slowly. He studied her as he did so. She wore a simple faded yellow dress, but of good quality, as if someone once moneyed but now fallen on hard times. She was certainly attractive, of indeterminate age…natural beauty, with no attempt to accentuate it. Her hair was long, tied in a simple ponytail and hung carelessly over one shoulder. It’s colour was blonde, but a coppery blonde, not quite brunette. She was slim, but looked fit and strong. Her features, while not remarkable exactly were…real. Her eyes…now that was the disconcerting part. Her eyes drew his attention with their twinkle, but also frightened him with their intelligence and something else. As if she was playing a game, that was a given — but playing it at least a level above him. Toying with him. He shivered involuntarily.
“Theoretically speaking what you say could be true, for we all know that almost anything is possible, given enough time and or energy…pray tell continue.” He felt his own reply was now ham-handed, to use his own thoughts from earlier.
She smiled brightly. “Consider this. Perhaps in some alternate reality ,I am the daughter of a wealthy merchant who falls on hard times. He loses his lavish estate, his friends in high places, his interests in various commodities…all through an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
Marcus nodded slowly, attempting to maintain interest.
“Now,” she continued, “Consider that after a year of abject poverty, with nary a crust to eat and barely a roof over the heads of his family, the merchant chances upon some very valuable information. Said information he can only act upon with the advice and backing of someone who was a former associate. In order to secure this backing, he must guest this old associate and according to convention and etiquette, he must furnish a formal meal and invite this wealthy person.”
Despite the situation, Marcus found himself just slightly drawn to the story — it wasn’t so much the story, as her voice, and her delivery. She sounded as if it was real.
“He sends his daughter to the market with the money he has so carefully hoarded for this event, so painstakingly prepared and planned for. She selects what she feels is the finest chicken their money can buy, and the butcher prepares it.”
Marcus pursed his lips, wanting to say something to acknowledge her words, still desperately trying to find the angle, the way in which she was attempting to fox him.
“Just as the daughter is leaving the market, marching down a side lane towards their hovel and the resurrection of her family fortune, she is confronted by a horrible spectre in armor on a cadaverous horse — an undead evil, a scourge of the living…a death knight.
“The knight shrieks a challenge, and charges at the innocent young lady, bearing down on her, pitted blade held high. She is afraid — but unbowed. Casting defiance in the teeth of the spectre, she scoops up a knotty club from the lane and stands her ground, swinging a mighty blow at the oncoming undead.”
Marcus nodded slowly, consciously restraining himself from rolling his eyes.
“Cursed steel meets wood…and the steel triumphs…she is overcome, and swoons in the alley. As she collapses to the ground, the spectre howls in glee and snatches the chicken from her fingers before wheeling away and slipping off into the night.”
Silence reigned as Marcus digested the last bit. He waited.
She smiled sunnily at him, nodding her head slightly as if in acknowledgement that her story was finished. He realized she did not intend to continue.
“And…?” He prompted after what he considered a respectful pause.
A veiled look of confusion passed across her features. “Well…not to sound dismissive, but I assumed the rest would be obvious…?” She ventured cautiously.
“Pray tell young lady…not quite…perhaps you could elaborate?”
A slight sigh escaped her lips. “Well…she wakes up in the morning, remembers the reprehensible theft of the chicken, and charges off about the city in search of the chicken that will reverse her family’s fortunes and restore them to the status they once enjoyed. And, as everyone knows, undead of any kind most certainly do not eat, so that minion of evil could have abandoned the bird almost anywhere.”
“Hmmm…” Was all he could think of to say.
“Quite.” She replied.
He pondered the story for a moment.
“That was not what has actually happened then? You…are not the young lady in the story, correct?” Marcus felt rather silly asking, but felt that he needed to.
Her look was incredulous. “Oh, most certainly not…as we discussed, it was merely one of the myriad of possibilities that this universe of ours might provide as a reason, purely theoretical and hypothetical of course.”
Another awkward silence ensured. Several thoughts ran through Marcus’ head, including the urge to ask where his first chicken had gone if the second chicken was left by some malicious demon knight. He did not though, as he felt it might be rather awkward. He abruptly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them wide…what kind of pseudo-logical theoretical paradox ridden mental rabbit hole was he now heading down?
“You do intend to leave the chicken, then?” He finally ventured.
She nodded her head firmly. “Good sir, of course. That chicken is most obviously yours. I was completely in the wrong, and I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused you…though I must say I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation that this situation resulted in.”
Marcus smiled despite everything. “As did I young lady, as did I. It was…unique.”
“I must be away then, for I fear I have impinged in some fashion on the time of someone who is busy, and I do have my own duties to attend to.” She offered a hand once more, this time in a more courtly fashion, which he had no choice but to take and bring briefly to his lips, though in truth it was not in any way an odious task, and not something he had much call to do these days.
With a wave, she was gone, wandering down the walk and through the open gate, which had also been closed before the entire incident had transpired. He watched her make her leisurely way down the cobbled street and out of sight around the corner. He felt good at having thwarted what appeared to be a convoluted plot to steal his chicken. At the same time, he felt a vague unease, as if he has still been duped in some fashion.
Of a sudden he realized he had not actually obtained any details of the young lady, her reason for being in his yard other than having designs on his chicken, or any other particulars beyond the name Yolanda, which was most assuredly a falsehood.
He shrugged and turned to go into the house, taking the chicken down and rather possessively looking about. Odd, that whole turn of events.
He glanced down out of habit at his right hand in thought, and noted that he had forgotten to put on his rings. One was a relatively common Ring of Fire Summoning. The other, somewhat more dear to him, was more unique — one of several rings of Amarkar the Great, which allowed one to summon a denizen of the lower reaches of Hell. Admittedly this one summoned a somewhat mediocre denizen, but certainly more than a match for any ten ordinary men. Well, perhaps five men.
He stared a moment longer at his hand as a horrible sensation crept over him.
The realization came in a rush. When they had first shaken hands. She had misled him…he had been so focused on the fowl (and her) she had nicked the rings right off his fingers.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was such a fool. Right under his nose. Two pieces of arcane power gone. She probably didn’t even realize they were anything but mundane wealth.
Or did she? The wheels began to spin as he wondered if this was a larger plot engineered by someone with malicious intent directed specifically at him…
He turned again to look down the street. It was then that his gaze fell on the railing where the chicken in his hands had hung.
Bloody Hells...the impudent little vixen had also taken his onions and garlic.
Hands clenched on the railing, his eyes blazed, and he bellowed to the heavens.
“NOW YOU HAVE MADE THIS PERSONAL YOUNG LADY!!”
