Affordable Magic

By H.B.Bacon

For anyone who's ever found out the secret to the magic
and still found ways to make the mundane magical. 

Prologue

"You know, some might consider this as the final straw and ask for their turn at things. You ever think of that?" 

Vern

There was always one in every class, no matter where you went. There were people that followed the rules, people that made the rules, and the people that broke the rules. But among them, quietly playing the part of any of the trio, was the fourth type. The ones that didn’t just break or bend the rules, but the ones that changed them. The ones that saw things strangely, as if the world were on a slight tilt of the axis and by being so revealed a whole new spectrum of the mechanics of life. 

They were the kinds of people that didn’t just take apart the toaster but also put it back together, sometimes better than it had been. They were also the type of people that, if you pressed them, couldn’t tell you exactly how their mind worked it out, but instead showed it through graphs and charts that made even less sense. 

In short, it was the kind of person that puts one in mind of a basket of eggs. Only the baskets floating, and the eggs seem strange, and how did this basket get in here anyway? 

The man, in this case the boy, who fit this description was named Veronious Hector Delphord Shuldt. And because family trees are an interesting plant, tended to with the utmost care, he had the misfortune of being a “Second”. Why there had been a need to name someone three different names was lost on Veronious, who preferred to go by the nickname of Vern to most people, let alone name a second person the same. If there were a third eventually, Vern was certain he would simply check out of the whole affair and be done with it. 

As it were, there was not. And as it stood, the boy second was standing before a table littered with all sorts of strange and intricate devices. It wasn’t that the table was unorganized, because that implied the existence of a level of organization to begin with. It was more that there had been a certain level of emptiness before, and there would certainly be another level of emptiness again. The time between was that gray area of pre/post construction that both seemed to need, and never have nearby, a wrench of adjustable sizes. 

His long, slender fingers skated over the objects spread across the surface, until eventually they came to rest above a small half-sphere with a mechanical hook inside the center. Gently, as if the world itself were hanging on the thread of balance that was his strength, he lifted it up and connected it to a twin in his other hand. The two wove together with a click that was, to Vern, the most satisfying sound in the world. With a twist, done with such violence that it almost seemed to break the spell of calm, he locked the pieces into place. 

It wasn’t hard work, and he hadn’t been taxed in the least bit, but he still let out an exhale of relief as a weight seemed to lift. It was good that the thing hadn’t exploded this time, after all he’d been so careful as to remove the more sharp bits from it but was certain that he’d missed a few. He scratched at the scab on his left hand from the last time. 

There was another click, though this one sounded more like a Click than before. 

A sense of deja vu ran through his senses and without any thought he dove for the ground. 

The room exploded into a shower of sparks and sharp bits, mixed with the shrapnel of the case and bits of jewels. It only lasted a moment, but the result was tremendous. 

Vern took in the scenery as he slowly rose to his feet. The table was indented and pocked with shards of this and that, all far too destroyed to even speculate on. The walls and ceiling were similarly coated, each with unique designs that easily looked to have been capable of taking out anyone unfortunate enough to have been standing by. 

“Did it work?” A deep voice called from above. 

“Yes and no.” He called back. “I think I miscalibrated the timer. Perhaps the shell was improperly forged and-”

“Hold on, hold on. I’m coming down.” 

It took a good three minutes for the voice to manifest as a Dwarf in the doorway. They were tall for a Dwarf, which put them comfortably at the short end of the human side at even the best of times. His beard covered the majority of his face, aside from a pair of fine rimmed glasses that Vern was sure contained an enchantment for vision enhancement. 

“O-kay,” the Dwarf said. He was breathing a bit heavy so the word came out more as a sound than cohesive syllables. 

“Do you need a second?”

“Thanks”

“No worries.” Vern took the minute to clean up the space and bring over a small stool for the Dwarf to sit on. He pulled one over for himself and began to sketch the mechanisms he’d been working on in a journal. When the Dwarf finally sat himself down and caught his breath, Vern Realized why he’d been so winded. The Dwarf was wearing full Plate with a leather apron thrown over the front. 

“So, you were saying?” The Dwarf said after a heavy inhale that sounded more like the dying gasps of an animal than breathing. 

“Er, right. Well, I think I might have miscalibrated the timer when I was winding the gears.”

“Hmm, Perhaps the ratio was off?” 

“Couldn’t be, I checked them twice this morning.” Vern said.

“Both halves?” The Dwarf asked.

Vern was about to say “Yes, obviously.” but stopped himself. Had he checked the halves separately? He only remembered the one, so had he skipped the other?

“Ah, so you didn’t check the halves separately?” The dwarf stroked the, well it was hard to call it a chin when it had more hair than atop some peoples head, but he was certain that it would have to be there. So the Dwarf stroked his chin, and Vern made a couple dashes and squiggles in his journal that marked the note to double check everything. 

“Apparently not,” Vern said. 

“Well, cheer up lad. I’m sure the next one will work fine.” The Dwarf paused, looking around, and then cocked his head. “That’d be it then? That big Ol’ contraption over in the corner there.”

“Hmm? What?” Vern said. He’d slipped back into the writing on the journal, going over every last detail one more time. 

“They said something about have a machine that utilized magic to produce… Erm, Democracy? Something to do with electing some things?” 

“What? Ah, no it's more an element of electricity, that must be what you’re thinking of. Well, yes and no. I’m certain that's what I’ve designed it to do, but the elements I’ve fed into the machine all produced dud tests. Honestly this will be the last one before I toss the thing.” 

“Surely not.” 

Vern Shrugged, "If it can’t produce something then I might as well break it down for parts. But what does that matter? It’s just a machine, barely an engine at that.”

“I’ve a good feeling about it is all.” The Dwarf said. He tapped the side of his nose in a knowing, almost playful way then hopped up off the stool. “Well, I’ve left you with something to think about, and you’ve got that test to do. I best get back up there.” He pointed to the ceiling. 

“Oh, yes, right. Thank you for the thought about the halves, I wouldn’t have considered that.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Elizabeth

Elizabeth, never Liz or Lizzy, Mortimer was stuck. Not stuck in the sense that she couldn't move, or needed help being pulled from an odd position, more that the world around her seemed to be incapable of moving. She'd pinned and tried to sew the same few patterns on the hats before her for the past six hours. The results had been middling at best, and she was certain that the universe had something to do with it. 

"Why can't you let me just sew hats?" She said to the world. "I don't want to be a baker." 

The world did not answer.

"I could be a seamstress," Elizabeth continued absently. She fiddled the needle through another section and pressed the needle a touch too much. The tip pricked her finger, drawing a small glob of blood. "That was rude." 

The world continued its silence. 

"You don't have to be so mean about it. Sometimes you could just respond, instead of leaving us all guessing all the time."

A shop bell rang in the distance, presumably from the door some ways away. She waited the patient seconds for the sounds her sisters or mother to respond. When the seconds turned to nearly a minute and no one had said anything...

She pushed herself up from the chair, wiping the blood glob onto her dark dress, and made her way down the hall towards the show room. The Mortimer Boutique was not the most well-off establishment in the area but seeing as how it was large enough to fit five children, their parents, a manufacturing hall, and a showroom within it meant that it certainly wasn't the smallest. They'd never be able to afford one of those nice shops in the market that seemed almost like mansions, but this was close enough. "Off-Market was as good as On-Market" they used to say. Though Elizabeth was rarely certain who "They" actually were.

The showroom was little more than a large space filled with racks of clothing designed and made in various sizes ranging from Dwarf to Giant. It had all the amenities one would expect, like chairs in strange places that seemed out of place when you really thought about it, and mirrors that didn't quite angle themselves to the right height. Elizabeth had been assured, and she'd asked several times, that this was normal and "all the rage" with the more popular shops. Something about an order of Secret Seamstresses that ran the whole of every shop. You either belonged to the order, or your shop got a lovely little redecoration by means of fire. 

The only occupant of the room was a tall woman with long black hair and a well put together business suit. She seemed to be looking through the display of hats, and Elizabeth hoped it wasn't just her imagination, but she was actively looking more at the ones that Elizabeth had made. 

"Can I help you?" Elizabeth's own voice surprised her, as it seemed to come out without her thinking. That was customer service though, once you switched into that mode it became second nature. 

"These hats here," The woman said, her voice sounded like honey and ever word sent a tingle down Elizabeths spine. She was starting to make her way across the room when she continued. "They're quite awful, are they not?" 

Elizabeth stood stock still and said, "I'm sorry?" 

"These ones, these ones here and here and," She paused to consider the display "That one there. They're all just simply the worst." 

"I'm certain I don't know what you mean." 

"Here, come here I'll show you." The woman motioned for Elizabeth to come closer. It took every ounce of control she had not to throw the woman out, but she was supposed to treat customers with respect, right? Even if they didn't show it themselves though? And surely, she didn't know that all those were the ones she'd made, did she? 

Elizabeth slowly walked towards her, false smile plastered across her face like a mask. She shouldn't hit this woman, she shouldn't. It wouldn't be polite, and the shop needed the reputation for politeness. It had nothing else. 

"Oh? What seems to be wrong with them?" Elizabeth tried her best to sound as impassive as possible.

"Well for starters they're horribly sewn. Look at these patterns here, they're barely pulled enough to make the shapes. And this, this right here!" The woman lifted a large hat Elizabeth had been particularly proud of. "This is by far the worst. Its the closest to a good model, but its infused with too much magic."

"Magic?" Elizabeth nearly choked. Her family had been staunch believers that magic was too bloody and too wicked for the common use, even if you could sacrifice a chicken and get all your dishes cleaned, you'd still have killed the chicken. And you couldn't even use an older one because for some reason the magic seemed to know the difference. To say the hats had magic was beyond just a lie, it was almost an insult. "I assure you that our hats don't-"

"See this here," She tossed the hat into the air, instead of falling like Elizabeth had assumed it would, it hung lazily in the air suspended on simply existence. "This one doesn't want to touch the floor. Good for a hat, too bad it's on something so wasteful as a tacky hat."

Elizabeth screwed up her face. She'd heard just about enough, insulting her hats was one thing but pretending the hat was magic and having it float like that was something else entirely. That was what was wasteful, and to use it on such a item as a hat.... 

"Now see here-"

"Who made these?" She asked, turning from the still floating hat. "They must be an exceptionally talented Witch or Wizard to have made something so strong. And how did they manage to imbue the spell without clear signs of magic."

"Clear signs of magic?" Elizabeth shot back, "The things floating!" 

"Pish Posh, that's a simple spell. Only takes a few cows or a person. But the lack of any markings showing the sacrifice is remarkable." 

"I think theres been a major misunderstanding. None of the hats in here are magical, none. We don't deal in magic, we don't even have a license to come near it."

"I should say not, small little shop like this. Out of the way and Off-Market no less. Are you sure that no one stole these from a better shop?"

"I'm certain. For your information I happened to have made those myself. I know there's no magic because I didn't PUT any magic in them! I wouldn't even know how!"

"You?" She sounded almost offended at the prospect. "And you made these?"

"Yes. And I think I've had just about enough of you insulting my work. I kindly ask that you leave the store. Please." Though every word was polite, the tone and stance were all ready for a rebuke. Maybe she'd even call her a peasant, after all she looked the part to sound that way. 

The woman seemed to take in the shop a little more, scanning across the room slowly and with a deliberate speed that indicated not just appraisal, but inference. Elizabeth was still ready for the snide remark or snipped tsk, when the woman began laughing. Not a small chuckle, but a deep bellow that seemed to come from deeper than was possible. 

Great Elizabeth thought I'm dealing with a mad woman. 

"You? Here?" She spoke the words between deep guffaws, which seemed almost impossible given the force of the laughter. When she finally calmed down, she turned to face Elizabeth and bowed deeply. "My apologies, my dear Witch. I was mistaken; I should say that I'm rather impressed with an apprentice Witch being able to do something so... strange." 

"I'm not a witch." 

"Oh my dear," The woman seemed to move toward the door without actually walking, but somehow the doorbell jingled and the door opened. "I'm sure you're not." 

Donald

"That'll be four dollars Donny." Slim Derrick said. Slim Derrick was twice the size of any man that Donald had ever seen, so he wasn't quite sure where the nickname had come from. He was certain it wasn't ironic, he knew irony and could use it like a scalpel. This felt more like self-delusion. 

"Four dollars? Slim the wheels half busted, look I can-" Donald moved towards the cart, right hand pointing to the clear indent and warp on the wheel. "I can see the bend in the spoke there. Slim four dollars is highway robbery."

Slim Derrick laughed. "Highway robbery it may be, but you're still gunna buy it." He extended a grubby hand, not for a handshake but for the money. "After all Donny, you ain't got much of a choice." 

"I don't appreciate being sold false product." Donald said reaching into his pocket. "You promised me a cart that works and isn't too broken." 

"And you promised four dollars regardless the result. Thems words of honor, you say so yourself Donny. You always say that 'Donny-Go-Easy is true to his word', no? 'My words as good as gold', right?" 

Donald did his best not to slap the money into Slims waiting hand, but he certainly didn't gently place it either. 

"Come on now Donny, if you want I'll take the thing off your hands for..." 

He's gunna say a dollar. If he says a dollar then the whole thing was a ruse from the start. Donald braced himself for the realization that was threatening to break through. 

"Maybe I'd do... maybe a dollar?" Slim said, grin breaking across his face. 

Donald felt his shoulders drop and the world seemed to grow a touch more gray at the edges. "No thanks Slim, thanks though." 

"Ah cheer up Donny, it ain't like the worlds over." Slim Derrick slapped Donald on the back, hard, and laughed. Money in hand and client clearly dissatisfied, Slim took that as his cue to leave and made towards the alley entrance. 

"Slim," Donald said, half to himself. 

Slim Derrick stopped and turned around. "Yeah Donny?"

"This was below you." 

The smile, present on his face from the moment that Donald saw the cart, grew a little wider. "Nothings below me Donny, you know that." 

With that said Slim turned back and made his way out into the bustle of the street, leaving Donald with the sinking suspicion that he shouldn't have gone to his Ex-wife's new boyfriend for help. He looked over the cart, eyes skimming the clear signs of damage and nearly broken wheel. To say a sigh escaped Donalds lips was more or less a disservice to sighs. This was the highest form of sigh that was possible, it wasn't just advance sighing, this was a master's degree in the art of "The Sigh". 

"How is this a cart?" He asked no one in particular. 

He went around to the front where you were supposed to grip both poles and pull or push. The only problem, he realized upon minimal inspection, was that the handles were held on with twine. He was certain that if he just... 

Sure enough, a light touch was enough to drop the pole. The sudden weight change, small as it was, was enough to knock the other pole out of position. He picked them up, inspecting each one, then threw them in the back of the cart. They clanked together with a satisfactory weight, and Donald felt that perhaps that was the only good thing about this past week. Hells, this past year maybe. 

Four decades for that matter. 

Donald stepped around to the back of the cart, plopped down into it, felt the wheel give, landed once, felt the wood give, landed a second time and decided that perhaps he should just call it a day. He fell back into the slightly damp mud that he really didn't want to consider too much about and gave another prize winning sigh. 

"So this is it, eh Donny. Donny-Go-Easy, salesman extraordinaire. Can't even manage to get a cart without a broken wheel. Some salesmen you turned out to be." He said to the world at large. "I must have been terrible to puppies in a past life for this to be the outcome." 

The universe, as it has been intimated previously, is not one thats keen on answering. This was no exception. 

"You know, some might consider this as the final straw and ask for their turn at things. You ever think of that?" 

Silence, accented with the sounds of vomiting and muffled curses. 

"I could just as easily make it as a bank teller you know, I could be a butcher even!" He tossed an accusatory finger towards the sky. "I could you know."

He sat up at the sounds of shuffling feet, eyes fixed on the entrance to the little pocket of space the alley offered. He was in no way intimidating, standing roughly 4' 2" and wearing what was now a dirty, three-times repaired business suit. Yet Donald did his best to stand up and straighten himself out. He brushed off the bits of mud he could and made to look like he was interested in this very unique piece of junk. Maybe he could sell it for a couple dollars if he found the right buyer. Maybe they needed scrap. 

A man stepped out, hardly looking like more than a twig in the short distance. Donald was almost certain that, if given enough incentive, he could easily throw the man some distance. He was mopish, Donald deciced quickly. And frumpy, he certainly looked like what old women would call frumpy. Possibly while standing on a ledge and sipping some drink with more alcohol than mixer. 

"Are you a Mr., erm," He reached into his pocket and produced a grubby letter. "Donald D.G.E. Easy?" 

"I, er, what?" Was all Donald could muster. 

"I was told I'd find a Mr. Donald D.G.E. Easy here." The man said.

"Look I'm Donald Easy, but I don't know about the D.G.E. Unless," He snapped his fingers, "The Nickname. Right, right. That'd be me then." 

"You're Mr. Donald D.G.E. Easy?" The man asked, almost too obviously doubting it. 

"Look just forget about the D.G.E business. Yes, I'm Donald Easy. Now what can I do for you?" 

"I have a letter for you here sir, Mr. Donald D.G.E. Easy, by way of the Milner Post Office. Some fancy seal on it too sir, Mr. Donald D.G.E. Easy, sir."

"Yes, yes, right. I'll take it, give it here." 

The letter exchanged hands. The man held his hand out, expectation of tip being the obvious answer for why. 

"Oh, uhm, right. Well, see the thing is I don't really have any money on me." Then an idea popped into his head "Tell you what, if you want you can take the cart."

"The cart?" The man looked to the broken down hunk of metal and wood with a grim, displeased expression. 

"Sure, sure. Just bought it today. Brand new, needs some work of course, but should do you right." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Of course, of course. Go on, all yours!" Donald said, 

"Uhm, well thank you sir." 

Donald waited until the man was nearly out the alley, moving the cart with surprising ease for someone so thin, before opening the letter. He popped open the fine silver seal of the Royal Family of Valdreya without once considering that as what it was. The letter read as follows:

"Dear Mr. Donald D.G.E. Easy,

We were saddened to hear of the passing of your relative, Lord Gray Easy, who had worked for our firm for sometime. We regret to inform you that there are no living relatives of your family left. We understand that this may come as some what of a shock."

A shock was putting it mildly. Donald felt the whole thing reeling again, all of a sudden he wasn't just alone in the figurative sense, he had no one in the familial sense now either. If the letter was to be believed. He'd known that his family had been getting on in years, but he'd spoken to his sister, what twenty years ago. And she'd seemed fine then. 

"It is with great pleasure however, that we inform you of your inheritance in respect to your relatives passing. The sum of nearly $1,204,583,903 is available for your withdrawal and we humbly request that you attend us as soon as possible. 

Wishing this finds you in good health,

Valaria Royal Bank, 1st street, Valyria"