Magician Interrupted (4 page)

“But you haven’t finished with me yet.” You
didn’t get to his age to take lip from a little bitty thing.

“I said you GO DOWN TO SUPPLIES, marine!” she
screamed at him.

Paris backed up and wiped his face free of
spittle. “You didn’t tell me that.” Crazy whack job.

She blushed and smoothed down her blonde
hair. “Oh, silly me.”

Paris saw the client stare opened mouthed at
the girl who now was giggling and smiling. “May I help you?”

He got out of the office fast and headed down
the street glancing behind him worried the little bitty thing would
follow. He noticed her standing by the glass window staring at him.
Creepy chick. But what did he do? He smiled and waved but walked
faster.

Once in the supply warehouse a bored looking
marine, dressed in green overalls, handed him a ticket. The beady,
blue eyes blinked once. “Come back in two weeks and we’ll equip
ya.”

“Two weeks?” What was he supposed to do in
the two weeks? He placed his hands on the single, long counter and
looked around. Behind the marine the warehouse disappeared into the
distance with rows and rows of stuff. Mostly green stuff.

“The ranger doesn’t come back for a week and
then it has to be checked and re-stocked.” The marine yawned and
Paris could see the red-colored chewy in his mouth. The bulky
marine had bad oral thrush too.

He shivered. “Right. Hang on. Restocked?”

“Yeah, before you go to war.” The bald marine
resumed chewing his chewy.

“But … I have to be trained.”

“Trained! You’re a marine aint ya? Been
approved?”

“Yes, but—”

The marine lost interest. “Come back in two
weeks.”

Disgruntled, but with no other choice, Paris
headed out and stood looking around the street. He could find a
part-time job, or do some magic tricks and earn his bread and
board. It wouldn’t hurt surely? Just a few little tricks shouldn’t
draw attention to himself. He was a Spell Caster and his skills
weak without O’rah, the Magnifier. But thinking about her made him
reconsider. He could just go sleep in the forest for a couple of
weeks. How bad could it get?

There was no way he was going back to the
brunette.

Paris searched his bag for something he could
sell. As it turned out he found a ring inside. That’s right, Gareth
had bought O’rah a new ring but hid it in Paris’s bag knowing she
would rather bathe in acid than touch anything that belonged to
him. He stared at the gold ring with tiny stones of emerald,
sapphire and diamond. It had cost Gareth a small fortune and now it
was Paris’s fortune. Finders keepers? A tiny niggle of doubt crept
into his head but his stomach rumbled alarmingly drawing glances
from those walking by on some task.

He looked around and ducked back into supply.
“Hey, is there a pawn shop around.”

“Porn or pawn?”

It took him a second to work out what the
marine meant. He shook his head impatiently. “Buy and sell stuff …
goodies … ah, not people.” Wait, that only excluded live people.
“Not robots and plastic … ah, not my body either. Look, p.a.w.n.
….”

The bored looking marine suddenly stood to
attention. “Whatcha got to sell?”

Paris almost scowled. Maybe he wanted to buy
but the supercilious look on the marine’s face told him not to be
stupid.

“Gold ring with stones.” He lay it on the
long bench, and it made a satisfying thud being heavy, and waited.
But seeing the sudden glee on the marine’s face made him less smug.
Paris knew he was going to get ripped off but maybe he could stave
off a little humiliation and make a good deal. On the other hand,
he could just go down the pawn shop.

In a smooth movement the marine dipped his
hand into a pocket pulling out a little device used by jewelers to
detect impurities. Paris had only seen them because he was asked to
enhance one with magic.

“You were a jeweler before becoming a
marine?”

The marine studied the ring from many angles.
“Yus, sir.”

Paris laughed. “I’m no ‘sir’.”

The marine pulled away a little from
inspecting the ring. “The chick down at the careers center said you
are.” He resumed studying the ring. “You didn’t piss her off did
ya?”

“Ah, why?” He reasoned it was normal for the
chick—careers people—to inform the organization of arrivals.

“Yeah, she’s a bit—” he made the crazy motion
to his head.

“What did she do before the careers
center?”

“Marine.”

“Ah, I see.”

After a moment Paris saw the beady eyes turn
from greed to craftiness.

“I’ll give ya supplies and pack to see ya
through the next two weeks.” He tried to make it look enticing but
could tell Paris was losing interest. “Hundred bucks cash as well.”
A look of pity crossed the marine’s face as he said, “And a little
help to get a better job in the marines.”

At the last offer Paris’s mouth dropped
open.

“Well, aint got all day.”

Paris suspected he did have all day but
agreed.

The marine yelled, “Sammy, get ya arse down
here. I need a 2*B27, E892 pronto!”

A voice, barely discernable, affirmed
that.

The marine pulled out a wad of cash and
peeled off one hundred. He added an extra fifty. “Can’t help
myself. The ring’s worth more than what I said. Here—” he ducked
behind the counter and slid over a marine’s uniform. “Pop this on,
it’ll impress the yokels.”

Impressed with his honesty Paris nodded,
changed and tucked the cash away into his pant pocket. He was
feeling more and more like a marine. As he waited the marine read a
newspaper and Paris heard Sammy before he saw him. The squeak
squeak of a trolley could be heard around the aisles. Sammy turned
out to be a scrawny guy with a face full of acne. He barely even
glanced at Paris before dumping a large pack on the bench and
loaded up fourteen green containers. His rations for the two week’s
he guessed. How was he going to carry all that shit? But the marine
was opening the pack and Sammy was opening the canisters. As he
dumped the contents onto the bench, the marine was fast and
repacking them into his pack.

“You’ll learn how to pack once ya in the
marines, on the job probably. Consider this a freebie.”

“Um, thanks.”

They finished within minutes and the marine
shoved the pack towards Paris. It made a scratchy noise telling
Paris the pack was heavy. He adjusted the straps and turned around,
shoving his arms in the straps. After a little jiggling he grinned,
feeling good about life again. The pack wasn’t as heavy as he
thought.

“Thanks … errr … guys.”

“No problems.”

There was a low snicker from Sammy and a
whoosh of air as the bald marine must have thumped him.

Paris walked away and almost fell back as the
weight behind him pulled to the floor with gravity. The pack had
been resting on the bench! He laughed to offset his humiliation as
the two marines were laughing openly at him now. He headed to the
door with legs already shaking with the effort. His knees cracked
with each step. Opening the door he smelled it was almost lunch
time, the bakeries made his mouth water. He worried he wouldn’t
make it across the street though.

“Who was that?” Sammy was asking.

Paris paused, straining to hear the answer,
before closing the door.

“Just saved that silly arse from being meat
for the grinder. Let’s close up for a bit and celebrate. I just
made a three hundred per cent profit.”

He was so confused over feeling both shocked
and angry he stalked out with an adrenaline spike that didn’t last
long enough to get him to the bakery and finally dragged his feet
down the street. The pack was pulling on his shoulders making them
burn, and dug into his back in three locations. He thought about
what the marine had said about being saved from the meat grinder.
What was that about? As he headed towards the nearest bakery he
stood in line mulling over those words and then ordered several
pastries and a large jug of hot chocolate.

“Eat here or takeaway?” The male stood there
looking both bored and impatient. Paris thought it was an
impressive combination.

“Takeaway.” Paris didn’t think he could get
his pack off, or on again, without embarrassing himself. He was
sure someone behind him was pulling down on his pack and every time
he turned a wizened old man just gave him a toothy grin.

“Nancy, takeaway jug, large.”

“Sure, boss.”

Paris watched as “boss” took a cloth, thin
paper material and placed several pastries on it. He wrapped it all
just as Nancy came back with his large takeaway jug.

“Used one of these before, marine?”

He puffed his chest up but shook his
head.

“It’ll degrade after a day, it’s ah, a new
earthenware material.”

“Sure, and thanks.”

She smiled brightly. “You’re welcome,
soldier.”

Paris handed over his money and headed out to
the now bright day. He felt a little badly for the brunette who,
upon raiding her cupboards during the night when he couldn’t sleep,
found empty shelves. He stomped down the street in his new boots
seeing the admiring looks of many people. A few even slapped him on
the back almost causing him to fall over.

“Good for you, marine.”

“Do us proud.”

“Make it count,” another older male said.

That last comment gave Paris reason to pause
and when added to the meat grinder comment he wondered at his
chosen career. After a few moments he realized he was passing the
careers center. Damn! He tried to walk quickly and pretended
interest in the shops to his right. Safely past he headed for the
gates and out into the hills. As he neared the edge of the forest
he couldn’t stand anymore and, with some difficulty knelt, placed
his food and drinks on a tall rock, and fell over.

He rolled onto his back. He lay like a banana
on it trying to get out. No, more like an overturned turtle. He
started laughing realizing what a sight he must have made.
Eventually he got out and puffing slightly he gulped down some hot
chocolate and ate his food. Wiping the last of the crumbs off his
top and pants, and stuffing the cloth in one of the many pockets on
the pack, he stood and finished drinking. Close to the end there
was a funny taste so he poured the rest out on the ground and
burped.

He was a marine!

And apparently an officer.

Paris felt there had to be a way to magnify his own
spells. Why couldn’t he produce spells that had at least a little
oomph in them? And why hadn’t he considered this earlier? Laziness,
that’s why. He hated the Trinity pit but was apathetic while there.
Now he was free … if he ignored the contract with Career Worlds… A
strange feathery sensation nudged at his mind, and a creepy feeling
frizzed up and down his spine. It soon became apparent that he was
being watched. From high above the narrow canyon he’d been walking
down he was sure he saw narrowed green eyes encased in a fur ball
following him.

“Don’t be stupid. She isn’t anywhere near
here.”

Still, he nervously picked up his pace but it
slowed again with the weight of the pack. He finally exited the
canyon glad not to be surrounded by rocks, which might be used as
missiles. After a good half hour, he began to relax again and
wandered aimlessly, shuffling down a wooded lane which ran parallel
to the coastline.

He was lost in thoughts, shivering with the
cool damp breeze when pain pierced his face, flashes of claws
filled his vision as they raked him from his forehead to his chin.
Losing balance, he fell back and screamed trying to get the fur
ball off him. Hearing an all too familiar shriek Paris realized his
cat had tracked him down. Path would be unbearable for days when in
this mood. He hadn’t meant to leave her but the marines weren’t any
place for cats. Wrestling with his wild cat proved futile. She
seemed to have attached herself to his head. Giving up the
struggle, and trailing blood, he tried to pet her panting body. She
hissed. He managed to roll to the side, get out of the pack and
pushed himself off the ground feeling Path shift on his head, neck
and shoulders digging her claws in. He headed for a mossy log and
sat, leaning forward slightly, waiting. Clouds swept across the
skies.

“Path?”

Hiss.

Before too long Path disengaged from his
head, her hind feet kicked him in the nose and eye before she
landed gracefully on the log. He grimaced but stared at the ground
hoping he looked remorseful enough. Hard to do when you were
spitting out cat hair. Blood trickled down his face and he found
the cloth from the bakery to stem the bleeding. When her tail
stopped swishing he knew she either had decided to forgive him or
she’d seen something more interesting. The cloth wasn’t working so
he risked a spell and waved his hand across his face, the flowing
blood disappeared, and cuts were sutured and minor claw marks
healed. The cat was a menace but the day he bought her from an old
witch who seemed, now that he thought about it, far too happy to be
rid of the irksome feline, had marked a change in his life as a
Spell Caster. Paris looked overhead, the light had dimmed and air
became cooler. He always lost time when casting spells.

Ever since he was little he could perform
spells. Early training by a local warlock had raised his family’s
status. Was the training of an inferior mind the reason why Paris
needed a Magnifier? Or was it some conspiracy by the Community and
Assembly as to why power was distributed across three people? It
was ironic how magic was censored but politics was not. Path
twitched next to him. Her dark brown, fluffy fur shifted in the
wind, changing the cream path that ran from the top of her tail,
under her belly, and up again to her left ear. She glanced at him
and then turned away. He could bind and change the very fabric of
cambire atoms but he could not energize what he created. Only
O’rah, the Magnifier, had the ability to do that. Beautiful,
beautiful, O’rah. There she was, wasting away in the stupid Trinity
pit under the sweaty, beefy body of the gargoyle, Gareth.