Contest winner: rory86
PARAPHYSICIST ATTENDS WEDDING IN HOGSMEADE
Part 5 in a 7-part Special Report
Bo Dwyer, our top correspondent, continues the report of his week following Professor Algernon Swerve, the Magic theorist whose recent discovery of magically generated states of matter would have won him the Nobel Prize for Paraphysics, except there isn’t one.
During breakfast on Saturday, Dr. Swerve suddenly announced that he was going to a wedding in Hogsmeade. The invitation had come by owl that very morning, and it entitled him to bring one guest: me.
I soon understood that the wedding would be a newsworthy event in its own right. There are not many couples who choose to have their nuptials performed at the Hog’s Head pub. In fact, the last one on record was the marriage of Richard Pellamonter and Elizabeth Polkenhorne in April of 1565 or 1566 (depending on which set of records you go by), a day which saw dozens of Britain’s best wizards lose control of their magic due to a bowl of contaminated punch. This is why all the buildings in Hogsmeade had polka-dotted walls until 1611, and weddings within village boundaries were banned until 1865. When I first heard that Saturday’s wedding was to be the Hog’s Head’s first since 1566, I was moved by the progress and enlightenment of our wizarding community. Then I smelled and, rather later, saw the Hog’s Head and such notions were dashed. It was clearly the only place the couple could afford; which is too bad, because the proprietor should be the one who pays the rest of us to drink his swill.
At least the punch was unpolluted. After about one o’clock Sunday afternoon, at any rate, the buildings and streets of Hogsmeade seemed to be their usual color again.
By coincidence, the bride and groom were both people I had interviewed before. Erastus “Merlin” Sidwell made an unexpectedly strong showing (12th place) in an Iwixarod broom race some years ago, and he was quoted in my report of that race. His exact words were: “I prefer bundimun grease, myself.” And his intended, Miss Doreen Pinch (known as “Endora” to her friends) had guided my tour of the Bertie Botts Flavor Lab, where she was a taste-tester at the time. I remember her as a remarkable woman who was able to tell a great deal about me by smell alone. During the day I learned that Merlin now works as a “special consultant” — I’m not sure what that means — while Endora has moved up the career ladder to Senior Potion Designer. Bride and groom wore matching carnival masks, as a nod to Hog’s Head tradition (all the guests were furnished with masks as well).
I didn’t see very much of my subject that day, but I did encounter a surprising range of people considering the caliber of the establishment. I met a married couple of highly decorated RMB agents who were also once Owlympic medalists (I had interviewed them too), an American agent who specializes in quick-change disguises (I believe he was at least five of the people I shook hands with), and a dodgy looking couple covered in animated tattoos (which posed witty remarks to passersby, in ornate handwriting). I met a wandwright from Finland, an Austrian couple who run a survival school for wizards, a Ukrainian art-wizard (who, by the way his eyes lingered on the tattooed couple, must have been responsible for their body art), several Italian clown-wizards, and a couple of Durmstrang professors. A former member of Nasal Drip gave a solo musical performance that was at least as loud and obnoxious as anything his old band could do. A wizard rich enough to keep his name out of the paper stood near me through the whole song, stoically enduring it in order to keep an eye on his teenage son, who has enough mischief in him to make the name-out-of-paper thing more expensive every year. Sir Lionel Niblet and Dr. Miles O’Roughage were also on hand, holding a soft yet animated conversation in a corner throughout the wedding.
After the ceremony came a meal which I would rather not recall in detail; the punch helped in that respect. At the climax of the banquet, toasts were made and gifts were given to the newly wedded couple.
The RMB agents gave the Sidwells a stoppered flask of some blood-red potion which, they warned, was not to be unstoppered except in the gravest emergency, and only then when Mrs. Sidwell was wearing nose-plugs. It was difficult to follow the explanation of this potion, owing perhaps to some shared background between the agents and the Sidwells, but I gathered that the potion came from a variety of orchid bred by Sir Lionel, and was brewed by Dr. O’Roughage. “It smells like rotting flesh, and it evaporates instantly when struck a violent, physical blow,” they announced. “But until then, a few drops of it shield the wearer against all magic directed against a conscious, living person.”
The next noteworthy gift, following a set of wands, some gag gifts from the clowns, a flask of “eyedropper banquet,” chits for free body art, and similar items, was a large box delivered by two house-elves. I knew the elves at once. Their master, a portable-wall magnate, has been very reclusive lately, and I was curious to know what gift he might have sent to a wedding without appearing himself to give it. It turned out that the box was empty, but it came with a cryptic message which Merlin read aloud: “If this is empty when you receive it, don’t be distressed. My calculations have a wide margin for error. Keep the box, and look inside it now and again, until you find a token of my very personal affection and esteem for both of you. Eventually, the day will come when I will have put something in this box before it was going to be delivered.”
One of the last gifts was presented by Professor Swerve. The couple smiled politely as he handed them an ingot of some dull-brown metal. And this was where I was repaid for all my difficulty in following him at this wedding. As Merlin Sidwell hefted the heavy bar of not-very-precious-looking material, the paraphysicist explained:
“For your special day, and for all your days together, I give you the gift of laughter. As you know, I have spent the last two decades studying the effects of magic on molecules, atoms, and subatomic particles. Last year, I finally published my discoveries, including several new states of matter that can only exist under the influence of magic. This bar may seem to contain nothing but a blend of ordinary minerals. But I have charmed it into a state that I like to call ‘laughing matter.’ Whether there is a lot of it or a little; whether it is precious or common; whether solid, liquid, or gas, laughing matter is held together by the energy of pure joy. Touch it when you are angry or frustrated, and you will see the absurdity in your situation and your frown will become a chuckle. Touch it in a time of grief or pain, and you will suddenly remember the good things you still have to be happy about. Touch it when you are terrified and hopeless, and that which you dread may reveal desirable aspects. Touch it at a joyful time, like today, and you add to its stored energy, and to the good memories that will return to you at a time of need.
“Touch it together,” Professor Swerve continued, “and it fosters trust and contentment. Break it in half” – here Merlin effortlessly snapped the ingot in two, causing a stir throughout the pub – “when you cannot be together, and when you both hold it at the same time, you will feel closer to each other. Put the pieces back together” – Merlin did this – “and it sticks in one piece, as if you had never broken it. It also makes an excellent doorstop, for few things are as friendly as an open door; and, when used as a bookend, laughing matter causes nearby books to seem more entertaining the next time you open them. Tonight, I suggest that you tuck it under the...”
“What a lovely gift,” said Merlin, loudly interrupting the professor’s speech, while his bride reddened to the tip of her rather impressive nose.
After taking the Floo network back to Professor Swerve’s study, I told him how impressed I was with what he had said and done at the Sidwell wedding. He shrugged, smiling mysteriously, and said, “You don’t think I would really give such a priceless specimen – moreover, one that neither science nor magic has yet fully explained – to a couple of risk-takers like them? It would be murder. Or, worse, it would be a methodological blunder. I had forgotten to bring a gift, but I found a pile of those bricks out behind the Hog’s Head and checked to make sure there wasn’t anything dodgy about them before choosing one. I put a breaking-and-rejoining charm on it – a little trick on which I often dined out in my salad days. The rest of it was pure codswallop.”
Seeing my shocked expression, Professor Swerve laughed kindly and added, “I also applied a bit of magic in my speech. The magic of psychology. If those youngsters took me even a wee bit seriously, that brick will be a symbol to them, a symbol whose meaning they will pull out of themselves. I mean, really! To give them, actually give them, what I described would be meddling in things where I have no business. It is better this way.”
“So,” I asked, ashamed to notice a tone of childish disappointment in my own voice, “so is there no such thing as ‘laughing matter’ at all?”
“Oh, to be sure, there is! I’ve got some of it right here,” said Professor Swerve, getting up to fetch a waxy looking lump, encased in crystal, out of a locked cupboard. “And if they knew anything about it, they would thank me for not giving it them. Real ‘laughing matter’ is terrible, chaotic stuff; absolutely insane.”
He handed the crystal to me and I turned it over in my hands. “What does it do?” I asked.
“Oh! It is the stuff that moves things around when your back is turned. It hides your keys, causes your toilet to overflow, and stops nearby timepieces just when you are waiting for a certain hour to strike. I once observed a lump of ‘laughing matter’ to re-tune a piano so that, no matter what keys you played, the only thing you could get out of it was the ‘Tristan chord.’ Whenever you feel that someone, somewhere, must be laughing at you, you might have a bit of this stuff stuck to your shoe. With a brick of real laughing matter, the Sidwell’s marriage wouldn’t have lasted a week!
“Promise you won’t print any of this?” Professor Swerve added meekly.
“On my honor as a journalist,” I said, handing the crystal-encased lump back to him.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #120 +++
SURVEY: How does the angel-faced villain from TMQ #117 combine magic with golf? (A) He uses magic to create a self-maintaining, perfect golf course. (B) He uses magical plants, beasts, and other hazards to make his links the most difficult and dangerous course in the world. (C) He plays a wizarding variant of golf involving balls that go up but do not come down (unless played in that direction); players must be able to fly and, on occasion, play underwater. (D) He uses magic to enhance his performance in order to collect huge winnings on ordinary golf tours. (E) Other...
CONTEST: Describe a magical piece of jewelry and its properties.
Special thanks are due to the Cornwall County Council for inspiration provided by their Silly Names List [EDIT: Alas, this webpage no longer exists]. ANOTHER EDIT: What a pity that Blogger has a 200-character limit for labels. The list below should also include Algernon Swerve, Harvey, Dinty, Heidi Svendanna, Tatyana, and Owlympics.
[Originally posted 5/16/07]
Showing posts with label Nasal Drip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nasal Drip. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
102. The Drains
Contest winners: _houdini, myndon, jatibbal and floribunda
A 9-foot cargo van veered to a halt, with one tire on the pavement in front of a tall residential hotel. The van had the words “Warehouse on Wheels: Home Removals Made a ‘Wiz’! For daily rates, pop your head in the Floo and ask for Manny” painted on it in Muggleblind colors.
The hotel had an awning with the words “The Drains” painted on it for all to see. Under the awning stood a doorman, who quickly tucked the employment page of The Daily Prophet inside his waistcoat, and a charcoal pencil under his cap. He held the door open and stood at attention as Harvey, Spanky, Joe, and Merlin piled out of the front left door of the van, followed (impossibly, one would think) by Tip, all three clown wizards, Anatoly, and the burly, illustrated wizard who had come along with Anatoly. The doorman managed not to look surprised by the van’s front-seat passenger complement.
“Well, here is my humble abode,” Harvey said, waving his hands modestly at the huge building.
“This little thing?” said Joe, who today was disguised as Quasimodo. Due to the angle of his spine, he had to struggle to get a view of the building’s great height. “Phew,” he panted. “I don’t suppose it has above two dozen gargoyles.”
“You can play with them later,” said Harvey, going round to open the back doors of the van. “And really, I only live in the top two or three floors.”
“Ah,” said Anatoly, knowledgeably. “Is called Pentacle, yes?”
“In some societies, I daresay,” Harvey grunted. He and Tip had one end of a large barrel, and together they were tugging it out the rear door of the van so that Spanky and Merlin could grab the other end. The doorman looked on in boredom, even though the barrel seemed larger than the cargo area of the van.
“You couldn’t help a bit, could you?” Spanky snapped at Joe, as the four men huffed and puffed under the weight of the barrel.
“You’re doing fine,” said Joe, rubbing his hump. “Besides, I’ve got a bad back.”
With the help of Anatoly and his friend, the wizards got the first barrel onto the magic carpet, which the clown wizards had spread out on the pavement meanwhile. “Window’s open,” Harvey panted. Don Pagliai nodded, and the carpet began its ascent up the front of the building, bulging dangerously at the bottom while the three clowns struggled to balance the barrel on it.
“I could have levitated it the whole way, sir,” the doorman volunteered smugly.
“Let me know before you try that,” Harvey replied. “Give me plenty of time to move out of range, too. I wouldn’t aim my wand at that stuff – ignites too easily.”
Merlin stretched his arms, sniffed the air, and asked, “Why is your building called The Drains?”
“It used to be the Fitz-Fritz,” said Harvey. “But estate agents and rich Muggles kept coming round. I thought about doing some kind of magic to keep them away, but I decided that changing the name would be easier.”
“Ah,” said Merlin, rubbing his chin. “Yes, I suppose that would do it. So it’s all witches and wizards that live here? I’ve never heard of it.”
“People in our position – speaking on behalf of my fellow residents – don’t like our private address to be widely known. I say, here come the clowns! I take it, from the lack of dragon bogeys and wood splinters falling from the sky, that all went well?”
“Indeed, Signor Harvey,” said Don Pagliai, as Signor Boccachiusa made emphatic signs of agreement. “The house-elves are taking care of everything at that end. However, they did not take to Signor Subito as readily as I had hoped.”
The shortest of the three clowns looked furious. Whatever he was saying in his native tongue did not sound particularly friendly.
“They mistook him for one of their own, only with clothes,” Don Pagliai explained sadly. “I had to raise my voice to stop them ripping Signor Subito’s trousers off.”
Subito concluded his bout of incomprehensible swearing with an emphatic snap of his braces.
“Well, I’m sure they won’t make the same mistake another time,” said Harvey. “Ready for the second barrel, gentlemen? One down, twenty-seven to go.”
After the sixteenth barrel was removed from the van, the six heavy-lifters were resting on the pavement clutching sweat-soaked handkerchiefs when Joe decided to take an interest in the doorman. The latter was no longer concealing his search through the employment pages.
“Moving onward and upward, I take it?” Joe said slyly.
“No doubt of it,” said the doorman. “There has to be a better career than this. You know I’ve been holding this door open for fourteen months? And does any of these rich witches in their yeti-fur cloaks give me a tip? Eh? Or how about their husbands, the deputy grand warlock of so-and-so and the sub-assistant minister of what have you? Eh? Eh? Don’t even use the door, do they? Pinch of Floo powder ‘ere, Apparition there, broomstick on an overcast night. Even when they come home drunk from The Leaky Cauldron, the Knight Bus drops ‘em in their hallway upstairs...daftest job in London...”
“So what have you got circled?” asked Joe. “Let’s see there. ‘Hate Mail Wizard’? What does that one say?”
The doorman, looking flattered by the hunchback’s interest, gave the newspaper a brisk shake and began to read out loud.
"'Minister for Magic seeks personal assistant. Duties to include checking the Minister’s daily correspondence for curses, poisons, howlers, and other traps. Ear plugs and dragon-hide gloves provided; anti-jinx expertise preferred.’ See, I could do that.”
Joe scratched his deformed head. “I just wonder...”
“What?”
“I wonder why Mr. Scrimgeour should want someone to check his daily mail, when it would be so much simpler for him to stop sending things like that.”
The doorman looked puzzled.
“Nevermind,” said Joe brightly. “Read that other one.”
“Oh, yes. It says, ‘Pyromarketer needed to visit random wizarding homes via Floo powder and offer them a range of highly discounted products. Caution: While current wizarding laws and common sense forbid actually entering a wizarding home uninvited, injury can still occur while talking with one's head in the fire. Annual reports indicate that the number of Pyromarketer complaints of "being severely poked in the eye" has skyrocketed in recent years. Applicants are required to sign a liability waiver and to provide their own protective eyewear.’ I don’t know, that one doesn’t sound half as good when you read it out loud.”
“I suppose not,” Joe agreed. “How about that PortaPuffy thing?”
“’PortaPuffy Service Mage,’ it says. ‘Banshee & Sons, makers of Banishing Cream, the self-sweeping Ashwinder Broom, and other pest products, announces the launch of the PortaPuffy: A permanent portkey that you set under couches, beds, dressers -- wherever Puffskeins breed -- to port them safely away, ensuring that you never again find yourself up to your armpits in the fuzzy little darlings. Delivery and repair magicians needed urgently; allergy testing and training provided...’ I don’t know, though. That ‘permanent portkey’ bit sounds dodgy.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Joe. “Yet, it sounds a bit nicer than this spot for a Magical Manure Sample Processor.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that,” said the doorman. “I haven’t had a sense of smell since that bludger crushed my nose, last game of my seventh year at Hogwarts...”
“That’s never...!” Tip looked round, squinted, hopped to his feet and went in for a closer look. “Ted? Teddy Smith? I didn’t recognize you with the nose and all.”
The doorman turned red and mumbled something like, “I’m sure the gentleman is mistaken.”
“You were the Yule Ball King the year old Kettleburn’s fake hand fell into the punchbowl. When it turned up in your goblet, we carried you around the Great Hall on our shoulders and sang ‘All hail the three-handed wizard’! You only missed being Head Boy by a handful of votes! We voted you ‘Most Likely to Become Minister for Magic by Age 40!’ You captained the Hufflepuff side to within sixty points of...what happened to you?”
The doorman looked very uncomfortable now. Then he looked closer at Tip. “Hang on,” he said. “Now I remember you. You were the bloke that busted every instrument in the school band. Ed, or Ned, or...”
“Tip,” said Tip. “Tip Smith.”
“Right....Weren’t you in some singing group or other? After we left school, I mean.”
“Nasal Drip,” Tip said, though perhaps a bit wistfully.
The doorman grinned, feeling much better. “Yeah, I remember you now.”
Joe’s enjoyment of this conversation was interrupted when someone bumped into him – someone walking out the front door of The Drains for all that the doorman complained that no one used the door – someone walking backwards.
“Hey,” said Joe irritably.
“Excuse me,” said Harvey, continuing to walk backwards down the street and around the corner.
Joe scratched a wart on his nose in a bemused way. He looked down at the curb, where the others were still resting and wiping their sweaty faces. He hadn’t noticed that Harvey had left the group. Joe did a quick head-count – five sets of slumped shoulders. With the clowns upstairs, and Tip and himself talking with the doorman, and Harvey around the corner, there should only have been four wizards sitting there...
Harvey turned around from where he was sitting on the curb, shooting an irritated look at Joe. “What?” he asked.
“What what?” Joe asked back, nonplussed.
Harvey shrugged. “I could feel your eyes burning a hole in my back. Is something wrong?”
“No,” Joe said hastily. “Not that I know of.” But at the same time he asked himself: Am I losing my mind?
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Survey and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
SURVEY: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much would you like to hear about each of the following:? (A) The rest of Merlin’s escape from Gringotts. (B) The rest of Spanky’s story about the werewolf he encountered in TMQ #2. (C) How Sadie made and lost each of her fortunes. (D) What happens to Harvey as he lives backward in time.
CONTEST: Briefly describe an historical event or situation that would seem very odd to a present-day wizard.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #104. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 9/24/06]
A 9-foot cargo van veered to a halt, with one tire on the pavement in front of a tall residential hotel. The van had the words “Warehouse on Wheels: Home Removals Made a ‘Wiz’! For daily rates, pop your head in the Floo and ask for Manny” painted on it in Muggleblind colors.
The hotel had an awning with the words “The Drains” painted on it for all to see. Under the awning stood a doorman, who quickly tucked the employment page of The Daily Prophet inside his waistcoat, and a charcoal pencil under his cap. He held the door open and stood at attention as Harvey, Spanky, Joe, and Merlin piled out of the front left door of the van, followed (impossibly, one would think) by Tip, all three clown wizards, Anatoly, and the burly, illustrated wizard who had come along with Anatoly. The doorman managed not to look surprised by the van’s front-seat passenger complement.
“Well, here is my humble abode,” Harvey said, waving his hands modestly at the huge building.
“This little thing?” said Joe, who today was disguised as Quasimodo. Due to the angle of his spine, he had to struggle to get a view of the building’s great height. “Phew,” he panted. “I don’t suppose it has above two dozen gargoyles.”
“You can play with them later,” said Harvey, going round to open the back doors of the van. “And really, I only live in the top two or three floors.”
“Ah,” said Anatoly, knowledgeably. “Is called Pentacle, yes?”
“In some societies, I daresay,” Harvey grunted. He and Tip had one end of a large barrel, and together they were tugging it out the rear door of the van so that Spanky and Merlin could grab the other end. The doorman looked on in boredom, even though the barrel seemed larger than the cargo area of the van.
“You couldn’t help a bit, could you?” Spanky snapped at Joe, as the four men huffed and puffed under the weight of the barrel.
“You’re doing fine,” said Joe, rubbing his hump. “Besides, I’ve got a bad back.”
With the help of Anatoly and his friend, the wizards got the first barrel onto the magic carpet, which the clown wizards had spread out on the pavement meanwhile. “Window’s open,” Harvey panted. Don Pagliai nodded, and the carpet began its ascent up the front of the building, bulging dangerously at the bottom while the three clowns struggled to balance the barrel on it.
“I could have levitated it the whole way, sir,” the doorman volunteered smugly.
“Let me know before you try that,” Harvey replied. “Give me plenty of time to move out of range, too. I wouldn’t aim my wand at that stuff – ignites too easily.”
Merlin stretched his arms, sniffed the air, and asked, “Why is your building called The Drains?”
“It used to be the Fitz-Fritz,” said Harvey. “But estate agents and rich Muggles kept coming round. I thought about doing some kind of magic to keep them away, but I decided that changing the name would be easier.”
“Ah,” said Merlin, rubbing his chin. “Yes, I suppose that would do it. So it’s all witches and wizards that live here? I’ve never heard of it.”
“People in our position – speaking on behalf of my fellow residents – don’t like our private address to be widely known. I say, here come the clowns! I take it, from the lack of dragon bogeys and wood splinters falling from the sky, that all went well?”
“Indeed, Signor Harvey,” said Don Pagliai, as Signor Boccachiusa made emphatic signs of agreement. “The house-elves are taking care of everything at that end. However, they did not take to Signor Subito as readily as I had hoped.”
The shortest of the three clowns looked furious. Whatever he was saying in his native tongue did not sound particularly friendly.
“They mistook him for one of their own, only with clothes,” Don Pagliai explained sadly. “I had to raise my voice to stop them ripping Signor Subito’s trousers off.”
Subito concluded his bout of incomprehensible swearing with an emphatic snap of his braces.
“Well, I’m sure they won’t make the same mistake another time,” said Harvey. “Ready for the second barrel, gentlemen? One down, twenty-seven to go.”
After the sixteenth barrel was removed from the van, the six heavy-lifters were resting on the pavement clutching sweat-soaked handkerchiefs when Joe decided to take an interest in the doorman. The latter was no longer concealing his search through the employment pages.
“Moving onward and upward, I take it?” Joe said slyly.
“No doubt of it,” said the doorman. “There has to be a better career than this. You know I’ve been holding this door open for fourteen months? And does any of these rich witches in their yeti-fur cloaks give me a tip? Eh? Or how about their husbands, the deputy grand warlock of so-and-so and the sub-assistant minister of what have you? Eh? Eh? Don’t even use the door, do they? Pinch of Floo powder ‘ere, Apparition there, broomstick on an overcast night. Even when they come home drunk from The Leaky Cauldron, the Knight Bus drops ‘em in their hallway upstairs...daftest job in London...”
“So what have you got circled?” asked Joe. “Let’s see there. ‘Hate Mail Wizard’? What does that one say?”
The doorman, looking flattered by the hunchback’s interest, gave the newspaper a brisk shake and began to read out loud.
"'Minister for Magic seeks personal assistant. Duties to include checking the Minister’s daily correspondence for curses, poisons, howlers, and other traps. Ear plugs and dragon-hide gloves provided; anti-jinx expertise preferred.’ See, I could do that.”
Joe scratched his deformed head. “I just wonder...”
“What?”
“I wonder why Mr. Scrimgeour should want someone to check his daily mail, when it would be so much simpler for him to stop sending things like that.”
The doorman looked puzzled.
“Nevermind,” said Joe brightly. “Read that other one.”
“Oh, yes. It says, ‘Pyromarketer needed to visit random wizarding homes via Floo powder and offer them a range of highly discounted products. Caution: While current wizarding laws and common sense forbid actually entering a wizarding home uninvited, injury can still occur while talking with one's head in the fire. Annual reports indicate that the number of Pyromarketer complaints of "being severely poked in the eye" has skyrocketed in recent years. Applicants are required to sign a liability waiver and to provide their own protective eyewear.’ I don’t know, that one doesn’t sound half as good when you read it out loud.”
“I suppose not,” Joe agreed. “How about that PortaPuffy thing?”
“’PortaPuffy Service Mage,’ it says. ‘Banshee & Sons, makers of Banishing Cream, the self-sweeping Ashwinder Broom, and other pest products, announces the launch of the PortaPuffy: A permanent portkey that you set under couches, beds, dressers -- wherever Puffskeins breed -- to port them safely away, ensuring that you never again find yourself up to your armpits in the fuzzy little darlings. Delivery and repair magicians needed urgently; allergy testing and training provided...’ I don’t know, though. That ‘permanent portkey’ bit sounds dodgy.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Joe. “Yet, it sounds a bit nicer than this spot for a Magical Manure Sample Processor.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that,” said the doorman. “I haven’t had a sense of smell since that bludger crushed my nose, last game of my seventh year at Hogwarts...”
“That’s never...!” Tip looked round, squinted, hopped to his feet and went in for a closer look. “Ted? Teddy Smith? I didn’t recognize you with the nose and all.”
The doorman turned red and mumbled something like, “I’m sure the gentleman is mistaken.”
“You were the Yule Ball King the year old Kettleburn’s fake hand fell into the punchbowl. When it turned up in your goblet, we carried you around the Great Hall on our shoulders and sang ‘All hail the three-handed wizard’! You only missed being Head Boy by a handful of votes! We voted you ‘Most Likely to Become Minister for Magic by Age 40!’ You captained the Hufflepuff side to within sixty points of...what happened to you?”
The doorman looked very uncomfortable now. Then he looked closer at Tip. “Hang on,” he said. “Now I remember you. You were the bloke that busted every instrument in the school band. Ed, or Ned, or...”
“Tip,” said Tip. “Tip Smith.”
“Right....Weren’t you in some singing group or other? After we left school, I mean.”
“Nasal Drip,” Tip said, though perhaps a bit wistfully.
The doorman grinned, feeling much better. “Yeah, I remember you now.”
Joe’s enjoyment of this conversation was interrupted when someone bumped into him – someone walking out the front door of The Drains for all that the doorman complained that no one used the door – someone walking backwards.
“Hey,” said Joe irritably.
“Excuse me,” said Harvey, continuing to walk backwards down the street and around the corner.
Joe scratched a wart on his nose in a bemused way. He looked down at the curb, where the others were still resting and wiping their sweaty faces. He hadn’t noticed that Harvey had left the group. Joe did a quick head-count – five sets of slumped shoulders. With the clowns upstairs, and Tip and himself talking with the doorman, and Harvey around the corner, there should only have been four wizards sitting there...
Harvey turned around from where he was sitting on the curb, shooting an irritated look at Joe. “What?” he asked.
“What what?” Joe asked back, nonplussed.
Harvey shrugged. “I could feel your eyes burning a hole in my back. Is something wrong?”
“No,” Joe said hastily. “Not that I know of.” But at the same time he asked himself: Am I losing my mind?
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Survey and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
SURVEY: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much would you like to hear about each of the following:? (A) The rest of Merlin’s escape from Gringotts. (B) The rest of Spanky’s story about the werewolf he encountered in TMQ #2. (C) How Sadie made and lost each of her fortunes. (D) What happens to Harvey as he lives backward in time.
CONTEST: Briefly describe an historical event or situation that would seem very odd to a present-day wizard.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #104. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 9/24/06]
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
98. Essence of Merlin
Contest winner: Shadow Phoenix
Tip shivered. He wasn’t sure whether this was a result of the cold draft that blew through the cracks in the wall, or of the billywig withdrawal. Huddled in the dim light that came through a small, grimy window high in the wall, he looked around.
It wasn’t just that his room in the top floor of the Hog’s Head was small enough to be a broom cupboard; it actually was a broom cupboard. The landlord had fitted it out with a fireplace, to accommodate desperate wizards such as Tip. Apart from a dozen old, forgotten brooms, there was barely space to lie down on the rush-strewn floor.
It was the lowest Tip had fallen in his life, even counting the day his solo tour broke up over creative differences. Curse those billywigs! Ed and Ned had said it would happen. Why had he never listened to them?
Tip scraped together a few of the dried rushes and assorted shavings and rubbish that he found in the corners of the room. It helped that the mouseholes were all blocked with bits of shredded paper, as if even the vermin wanted to avoid the place. These formed a small mound of kindling in the center of the fireplace, which Tip lit with his wand. Then, using an Accio charm, he summoned the loose and broken twigs on and around the old brooms, gathered them up, and piled them loosely over the small flame.
When he was done he wiped his hands and sat back on his heels, watching with satisfaction as the fire grew. The edge came off the cold of the room. Tip trembled gratefully, until his stomach growled. He decided to conjure up some sausage...but his wand was nowhere to be found. He felt around on the floor, patted his robes down, then looked with horror at the fire he had made. Something went pop and a fountain of sparks leapt out of the fire.
Tip wept.
Meanwhile, several yards below Tip’s miserable cell, a group of witches and wizards were laughing and celebrating in a large parlor. Spanky and Endora had returned from Gringotts, and were overjoyed to find Rigel, Joe, and the Spankison children waiting for them along with all the others. Firewhisky flowed freely (Butterbeer for the young ones), until Spanky decided to crown the occasion with the bottle of Bouché-Leclercq he had stolen from Il Comte’s vault.
“This,” he announced to the group after spending some minutes shouting them into silence, “may not be the best vintage, but I believe it will be the most refreshing bottle that I have opened in many a year.”
He popped the cork out with his wand. But before he could pour a drop of wine, there was a loud BANG! A cloud of smoke filled the room. Harvey muttered a charm that caused the chimney to suck the smoke out of the parlor. As it did so, several people gasped. Wedged into a corner of the parlor, doubled over with his back against the ceiling, crouched an enormous gilded man who winced at the not very bright light.
“Could one of you spare a body some aspirin?” the genie asked groggily. “Magical stuff, that. Been having a massive pressure-headache these last six, seven years. Thanks. Mind if I borrow a tot of firewhisky to wash it down? Ta there. Now, who summoned me?”
Spanky wriggled out from behind the genie, whose rump had crushed him against the wall, until the swallow of firewhisky had shrunk the genie a bit. Spanky held up his hand, but could say nothing while he panted for air.
“Your wish is my command,” said the genie. “Matter of fact, I’ve got a generous feelin’ comin’ on. Take three wishes. No hurry, I’ll just have another drink while you think about them.”
Harvey thrust a scrap of parchment into Spanky’s hand. Spanky read it and shot a sharp look at Harvey, who nodded. Spanky caught Endora’s eyes and shrugged. Then he handed the parchment to the genie and continued to take deep breaths.
The genie, now only about twice the height of a tall man, peered blearily at the parchment. “It says, ‘I wish someone who could read the Runes of Yves the Leper would step up and help us identify the potions we liberated from Gringotts.”
No sooner had the genie reached the full stop than a dirty, tousled head poked through the beaded curtain. The young man smiled, though tears had recently marked trails through the grime on his face, and said, “I say, has anyone got an extra wand that I might borrow, just for an hour or two maybe, or even perhaps all night...”
Tip’s eyes widened when he noticed the genie. It would have been remarkable if he hadn’t noticed him.
“E-er,” he stammered. “Is th-that a...a...?”
“It’s not polite to stare,” the genie said. By now he was only a head taller than Spanky, but the gold-leaf skin gave him away. “I’m shockingly dehydrated,” he added as he downed the contents of the last remaining goblet. “Is there nothing more to drink?”
Facing the newcomer, Sadie said, “Oi, aren’t you that OUCH!”
Sadie gave Endora what anyone could tell was an evil look, in spite of her veil.
“Sorry,” said Endora. She shifted her foot from off Sadie’s.
“We happen to have a ridiculous surplus of wands,” said Harvey. He fished one of Jaan’s surprise specials out of his pocket. “I can’t say exactly what will happen when you use it, but I’ll let you keep this one if you’ll do us a small service.”
“If you mean singing for it,” said Tip, looking nauseated, “I’m afraid I’ve given that up.”
Someone said, “Thank God,” but when Harvey looked round everyone looked equally sheepish, so it was impossible to tell who had said it.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” said Harvey. “It’s just that we have a number of old and very obscure runes, and we wondered if you might have the knack of reading them for us.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Tip. “You wouldn’t know it, but my parents were Dr. Rosetta Snoldelev and Dr. Kylver Kensington, who deciphered the Pictish spell-runes. They had me translating ancient runes before I could even spell my name.” A bolt of sadness flashed across his face. “They haven’t spoken to me in years...”
“Well, when you do talk to them, don’t mention any of this,” said Harvey, who was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to Tip’s emotional state. “I’ve taken some rubbings of the runes in question. Will you have a look?”
Tip sighed, looked at the wand Harvey held by the tip, and nodded.
“Good lad,” said Harvey. “Come over here, out of the way.”
By this time, Spanky had recovered his breath. He turned toward the genie and said, “I’ll have that second wish, then.”
“Wish away,” giggled the genie, who was now only a little taller than Rigel, and looking distinctly buzzed. Joe had been keeping him quiet by refilling his goblet of firewhisky every few seconds. The genie was finally starting to slow down; a goblet-sized drink was a much bigger deal to him now.
“That my wife,” said Spanky, “Ilona Ilonera Ethelbaldricson, should be released from all spells, curses, illusions, and magical disabilities of any kind, is what I wish.”
“Well put,” hiccupped the slave of the bottle.
Endora gasped. Sadie stepped backward, as if by accident, into the tattooed wizard’s arms. Young Bob screamed, “Mum!” Everyone looked shocked when Ilona appeared next to Spanky, as if she had been there all along. The children mobbed her. Spanky clutched her to his chest.
“That’s two down,” the genie slurred as his head came level to that of Spanky’s boy Marmaduke. He drained the last drops out of yet another goblet of firewhisky. “Ye gods, am I thirsty!”
“Set him free,” Ilona whispered into Spanky’s ear.
“I did that the last time,” Spanky whispered back. “See where it got us?”
Everyone took turns embracing Ilona, shaking hands, and introducing themselves to her (in most cases, needlessly). Joe, Merlin, and Orion Oldmanson shook Spanky’s hand in congratulation. The children, overcome with joy, hopped and ran and squirmed through the whole press of bodies until they realized that they could not become invisible anymore; then they sat down to sulk.
“Your attention please,” said Harvey. It took some moments for the commotion to subside. Then, with his arm round Tip’s shoulders, he announced, “We have a result. Here are the names of the great witches and wizards whose essence Yves the Leper decocted: Radbert the Rotund, Frya the Ticklish, Seran the Two-Faced, Kenod the Silent, Helga the Spotty, Almon the Troublesome, Iola the Strange, Elwin the Aromatic, and...” Harvey momentarily lost his voice, swallowed, and added hoarsely: “Merlin the Hirsute.”
“You mean THE Merlin?” Endora gasped.
“I believe so,” said Harvey, once more in full control of his voice.
“But why the Hirsute?” Merlin exclaimed. For some reason, he seemed offended. “Why not Merlin the Great?”
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” said Harvey. “We know very little about the other wizards, unless Helga the Spotty was Helga Hufflepuff. But she must have been very old, to be still alive in Yves’ time. All the same, there is no way of guessing what any of these wizards’ essences will do. Not without trying them, that is. And I, for one, am not eager to be a flobberworm for trials of ancient potions based on the essences of unknown wizards.”
“Hear, hear,” said Joe Albuquerque.
“On the other hand, I have a fair idea of what effect the Essence of Merlin should have,” said Harvey. “And it calls for a toast. A round of 11th century sack, on me.”
He reached into his robes and pulled out a small wooden wine cask, gray with age. Where he had room for it in his robes, no one knew or cared. Harvey set the cask on the table, popped out the bung with his wand, and let the wine pour out into a series of elaborate crystal goblets that appeared out of nowhere.
“Are you doing that?” Sadie asked, noting that Harvey did not appear to be conjuring the goblets with his wand.
“No,” said Harvey. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? And very appropriate. I believe it confirms that the Merlin in question is, indeed, he of the crystal cave and so forth.”
The wine ran out just as the last glass was poured. Everyone had a goblet of the stuff, including the Spankison children, whose cups were little more than thimble-sized, and Rigel, who scowled at his flute that seemed to contain little more than a swallow of wine. The genie, who now stood as high as Bob, grinned over a crystal bucket of the dark, red wine. Merlin restrained him from drinking it before Harvey announced his toast.
“To living backwards in time,” Harvey proposed, and he drank.
At first, only the genie said, “Hear, hear,” and drank to Harvey’s toast. After an awkward, confused sort of pause, the others joined in. Then they mostly forgot about the strangeness of Harvey’s remark. The room filled with the sound of smacking lips, hums of pleasure, and remarks on how extraordinary the wine was, taking or leaving its advanced age.
Spanky leaned toward Endora and whispered to her, “I think your Britannin theory is back on.”
“Yes,” she said. “And after that toast, I think I know what he’s going to do with those preserved grape-pips....”
+++
Tune in next time for the “Who’s Who” of the first 99 installments of The Magic Quill. The weekly Double Challenge will resume after TMQ #100.
[Originally posted 8/13/06]
Tip shivered. He wasn’t sure whether this was a result of the cold draft that blew through the cracks in the wall, or of the billywig withdrawal. Huddled in the dim light that came through a small, grimy window high in the wall, he looked around.
It wasn’t just that his room in the top floor of the Hog’s Head was small enough to be a broom cupboard; it actually was a broom cupboard. The landlord had fitted it out with a fireplace, to accommodate desperate wizards such as Tip. Apart from a dozen old, forgotten brooms, there was barely space to lie down on the rush-strewn floor.
It was the lowest Tip had fallen in his life, even counting the day his solo tour broke up over creative differences. Curse those billywigs! Ed and Ned had said it would happen. Why had he never listened to them?
Tip scraped together a few of the dried rushes and assorted shavings and rubbish that he found in the corners of the room. It helped that the mouseholes were all blocked with bits of shredded paper, as if even the vermin wanted to avoid the place. These formed a small mound of kindling in the center of the fireplace, which Tip lit with his wand. Then, using an Accio charm, he summoned the loose and broken twigs on and around the old brooms, gathered them up, and piled them loosely over the small flame.
When he was done he wiped his hands and sat back on his heels, watching with satisfaction as the fire grew. The edge came off the cold of the room. Tip trembled gratefully, until his stomach growled. He decided to conjure up some sausage...but his wand was nowhere to be found. He felt around on the floor, patted his robes down, then looked with horror at the fire he had made. Something went pop and a fountain of sparks leapt out of the fire.
Tip wept.
Meanwhile, several yards below Tip’s miserable cell, a group of witches and wizards were laughing and celebrating in a large parlor. Spanky and Endora had returned from Gringotts, and were overjoyed to find Rigel, Joe, and the Spankison children waiting for them along with all the others. Firewhisky flowed freely (Butterbeer for the young ones), until Spanky decided to crown the occasion with the bottle of Bouché-Leclercq he had stolen from Il Comte’s vault.
“This,” he announced to the group after spending some minutes shouting them into silence, “may not be the best vintage, but I believe it will be the most refreshing bottle that I have opened in many a year.”
He popped the cork out with his wand. But before he could pour a drop of wine, there was a loud BANG! A cloud of smoke filled the room. Harvey muttered a charm that caused the chimney to suck the smoke out of the parlor. As it did so, several people gasped. Wedged into a corner of the parlor, doubled over with his back against the ceiling, crouched an enormous gilded man who winced at the not very bright light.
“Could one of you spare a body some aspirin?” the genie asked groggily. “Magical stuff, that. Been having a massive pressure-headache these last six, seven years. Thanks. Mind if I borrow a tot of firewhisky to wash it down? Ta there. Now, who summoned me?”
Spanky wriggled out from behind the genie, whose rump had crushed him against the wall, until the swallow of firewhisky had shrunk the genie a bit. Spanky held up his hand, but could say nothing while he panted for air.
“Your wish is my command,” said the genie. “Matter of fact, I’ve got a generous feelin’ comin’ on. Take three wishes. No hurry, I’ll just have another drink while you think about them.”
Harvey thrust a scrap of parchment into Spanky’s hand. Spanky read it and shot a sharp look at Harvey, who nodded. Spanky caught Endora’s eyes and shrugged. Then he handed the parchment to the genie and continued to take deep breaths.
The genie, now only about twice the height of a tall man, peered blearily at the parchment. “It says, ‘I wish someone who could read the Runes of Yves the Leper would step up and help us identify the potions we liberated from Gringotts.”
No sooner had the genie reached the full stop than a dirty, tousled head poked through the beaded curtain. The young man smiled, though tears had recently marked trails through the grime on his face, and said, “I say, has anyone got an extra wand that I might borrow, just for an hour or two maybe, or even perhaps all night...”
Tip’s eyes widened when he noticed the genie. It would have been remarkable if he hadn’t noticed him.
“E-er,” he stammered. “Is th-that a...a...?”
“It’s not polite to stare,” the genie said. By now he was only a head taller than Spanky, but the gold-leaf skin gave him away. “I’m shockingly dehydrated,” he added as he downed the contents of the last remaining goblet. “Is there nothing more to drink?”
Facing the newcomer, Sadie said, “Oi, aren’t you that OUCH!”
Sadie gave Endora what anyone could tell was an evil look, in spite of her veil.
“Sorry,” said Endora. She shifted her foot from off Sadie’s.
“We happen to have a ridiculous surplus of wands,” said Harvey. He fished one of Jaan’s surprise specials out of his pocket. “I can’t say exactly what will happen when you use it, but I’ll let you keep this one if you’ll do us a small service.”
“If you mean singing for it,” said Tip, looking nauseated, “I’m afraid I’ve given that up.”
Someone said, “Thank God,” but when Harvey looked round everyone looked equally sheepish, so it was impossible to tell who had said it.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” said Harvey. “It’s just that we have a number of old and very obscure runes, and we wondered if you might have the knack of reading them for us.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Tip. “You wouldn’t know it, but my parents were Dr. Rosetta Snoldelev and Dr. Kylver Kensington, who deciphered the Pictish spell-runes. They had me translating ancient runes before I could even spell my name.” A bolt of sadness flashed across his face. “They haven’t spoken to me in years...”
“Well, when you do talk to them, don’t mention any of this,” said Harvey, who was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to Tip’s emotional state. “I’ve taken some rubbings of the runes in question. Will you have a look?”
Tip sighed, looked at the wand Harvey held by the tip, and nodded.
“Good lad,” said Harvey. “Come over here, out of the way.”
By this time, Spanky had recovered his breath. He turned toward the genie and said, “I’ll have that second wish, then.”
“Wish away,” giggled the genie, who was now only a little taller than Rigel, and looking distinctly buzzed. Joe had been keeping him quiet by refilling his goblet of firewhisky every few seconds. The genie was finally starting to slow down; a goblet-sized drink was a much bigger deal to him now.
“That my wife,” said Spanky, “Ilona Ilonera Ethelbaldricson, should be released from all spells, curses, illusions, and magical disabilities of any kind, is what I wish.”
“Well put,” hiccupped the slave of the bottle.
Endora gasped. Sadie stepped backward, as if by accident, into the tattooed wizard’s arms. Young Bob screamed, “Mum!” Everyone looked shocked when Ilona appeared next to Spanky, as if she had been there all along. The children mobbed her. Spanky clutched her to his chest.
“That’s two down,” the genie slurred as his head came level to that of Spanky’s boy Marmaduke. He drained the last drops out of yet another goblet of firewhisky. “Ye gods, am I thirsty!”
“Set him free,” Ilona whispered into Spanky’s ear.
“I did that the last time,” Spanky whispered back. “See where it got us?”
Everyone took turns embracing Ilona, shaking hands, and introducing themselves to her (in most cases, needlessly). Joe, Merlin, and Orion Oldmanson shook Spanky’s hand in congratulation. The children, overcome with joy, hopped and ran and squirmed through the whole press of bodies until they realized that they could not become invisible anymore; then they sat down to sulk.
“Your attention please,” said Harvey. It took some moments for the commotion to subside. Then, with his arm round Tip’s shoulders, he announced, “We have a result. Here are the names of the great witches and wizards whose essence Yves the Leper decocted: Radbert the Rotund, Frya the Ticklish, Seran the Two-Faced, Kenod the Silent, Helga the Spotty, Almon the Troublesome, Iola the Strange, Elwin the Aromatic, and...” Harvey momentarily lost his voice, swallowed, and added hoarsely: “Merlin the Hirsute.”
“You mean THE Merlin?” Endora gasped.
“I believe so,” said Harvey, once more in full control of his voice.
“But why the Hirsute?” Merlin exclaimed. For some reason, he seemed offended. “Why not Merlin the Great?”
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” said Harvey. “We know very little about the other wizards, unless Helga the Spotty was Helga Hufflepuff. But she must have been very old, to be still alive in Yves’ time. All the same, there is no way of guessing what any of these wizards’ essences will do. Not without trying them, that is. And I, for one, am not eager to be a flobberworm for trials of ancient potions based on the essences of unknown wizards.”
“Hear, hear,” said Joe Albuquerque.
“On the other hand, I have a fair idea of what effect the Essence of Merlin should have,” said Harvey. “And it calls for a toast. A round of 11th century sack, on me.”
He reached into his robes and pulled out a small wooden wine cask, gray with age. Where he had room for it in his robes, no one knew or cared. Harvey set the cask on the table, popped out the bung with his wand, and let the wine pour out into a series of elaborate crystal goblets that appeared out of nowhere.
“Are you doing that?” Sadie asked, noting that Harvey did not appear to be conjuring the goblets with his wand.
“No,” said Harvey. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? And very appropriate. I believe it confirms that the Merlin in question is, indeed, he of the crystal cave and so forth.”
The wine ran out just as the last glass was poured. Everyone had a goblet of the stuff, including the Spankison children, whose cups were little more than thimble-sized, and Rigel, who scowled at his flute that seemed to contain little more than a swallow of wine. The genie, who now stood as high as Bob, grinned over a crystal bucket of the dark, red wine. Merlin restrained him from drinking it before Harvey announced his toast.
“To living backwards in time,” Harvey proposed, and he drank.
At first, only the genie said, “Hear, hear,” and drank to Harvey’s toast. After an awkward, confused sort of pause, the others joined in. Then they mostly forgot about the strangeness of Harvey’s remark. The room filled with the sound of smacking lips, hums of pleasure, and remarks on how extraordinary the wine was, taking or leaving its advanced age.
Spanky leaned toward Endora and whispered to her, “I think your Britannin theory is back on.”
“Yes,” she said. “And after that toast, I think I know what he’s going to do with those preserved grape-pips....”
+++
Tune in next time for the “Who’s Who” of the first 99 installments of The Magic Quill. The weekly Double Challenge will resume after TMQ #100.
[Originally posted 8/13/06]
81. The Catfish Burglar
Contest Winners: budd2nd and Shadow Phoenix
“The job what made my first fortune,” Sadie began her tale, “didn’t come my way till I had been workin’ in the property transferin’ line for several years. I had worked me way up, like, from charmin’ galleons out of the pockets of patrons at Axel Exum’s Exhibition of Muggle Marvels, and sellin’ unlicensed commemorative earmuffs in the neighborhood of any Nasal Drip concert. Through a combination of steady effort, skill, daring, and a bit of luck, I had earned a solid reputation as one of the most dependable fetchers of hard-to-fetch things in the country. Not that this reputation helped me get along with the Ministry of Magic. Those blokes just don’t understand that rescuin’ valuables from slobs as don’t want ‘em enough to protect ‘em, and givin’ ‘em to folks as want them enough to pay top galleon for ‘em, is as worthy a use of magic as any.
“But apart from them, my business was startin’ to flourish. Clients were comin’ to me, beggin’ me to nick things for ‘em. My share of the take, I mean, my fee went up. I was actually able to get choosy about which jobs to take...”
Actually, what happened was like this....
SECURITY GUARD: Oi. I say! Where do you think you’re going?
SADIE: I have an appointment with Madam Hardbiscuit.
SECURITY GUARD: Not so fast, there. What’s your name?
SADIE: My name? Hildegard Van Bingen. [Wiggles wand concealed in handbag.]
SECURITY GUARD: There ain’t any Dutch witches on the list.
SADIE: Are you sure? [Wiggle, wiggle.]
SECURITY GUARD: I’ve only looked at it ten times to-- Merlin’s beard. Where did that come from?
SADIE: May I go up now?
SECURITY GUARD: Hold on a sec. What’s with the veil?
SADIE: Little mishap last week. Invisibility charm went bad. Made the front half of my head transparent. It’s very icky to look at, but if you’d like...
SECURITY GUARD: No, no. Never mind. Can I at least see some identification?
SADIE: Will this do?
SECURITY GUARD: You wore a veil for your apparition license photo, did you?
SADIE: They didn’t want to allow it, but after strip-searching me to confirm that I am female, it was the least they could do. Good times.
SECURITY GUARD: I say, when did you say that invisibility charm backfired? Only, this photo was taken eight years ago.
SADIE: Oh, that was different. I was married to an Egyptian flying-carpet dealer at the time. This was taken either during our marriage, or during my period of mourning after his favorite Persian unravelled over the Black Sea. Either way, my husband’s religion required...[Gets choked up.]
SECURITY GUARD: [Shuffles awkwardly] I’m so sorry. May I say, you hardly have any accent at all, for a Dutch-Egyptian woman.
SADIE: Why, thank you. I’ve always been good at learning languages. Now may I go up?
SECURITY GUARD: Right this way, Madam Van Bingen.
SADIE: One born every minute....[Whistles a chorus of Que será, será while going up the stairs.]
RECEPTIONIST: I beg your pardon, Madam....?
SADIE: Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher.
RECEPTIONIST: Madam Thatcher, you can’t go in there without an appointment.
SADIE: But I had an appointment for an interview, at two o’clock.
RECEPIONIST: But it’s only...well, I’ll be hexed from here to next week! It’s five to two already! But that’s neither here nor there. You weren’t expected.
SADIE: But I got an owl. Here’s one of its droppings. I’m sorry I don’t have the original memo from Madam Hardbiscuit, but I had to send it back with my acceptance of her offer. Didn’t the owl come?
RECEPTIONIST: I’m sorry, but no one sends owls out of this office except me, and I would remember...
SADIE: Oh, look. The owl is at the window now. [Zaps receptionist with wand when her back is turned.]
RECEPTIONIST: I beg your pardon, Madam Thatcher. Madam Hardbiscuit will be right out to see you. Would you like me to take your veil for you?
SADIE: No, thank you. I got some potion in my eyes this morning. Anyone who looks directly at my eyes turns into a teacup full of tepid Darjeerling. It’s been such a bother wearing it all day, but if you don’t mind...
RECEPTIONIST: Not at all. Not at all. By all means, keep it on. [Uses her wand to pipe her voice into Madam Hardbiscuit’s office] Extremely important caller to see you, Madam.
MADAM HARDBISCUIT: [Coming out of office] Who’s this?
SADIE: I think we had best discuss it in private. [Pushes Madam Hardbiscuit back into her office and closes door.] Now, then, about that job you advertised for in Wizard of Fortune...
M.H.: What job? Who advertised? And who, pray, are you?
SADIE: Eleanor Roosevelt is the name. Before you ask about the veil, I might as well tell you that it was stuck on me with a permanent fixing charm when I was eight years old. Broke my parents’ heart, it did, but I’ve gotten used to it. Now let’s get down to galleons.
M.H.: Excuse me, but I still don’t understand what this is about.
SADIE: [Pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, which in better days was used to wrap cheap tobacco.] That reminds me, do you mind if I smoke?
M.H.: Yes, I do. Aaargh! You mean THAT advert. Wait a moment. [Performs an imperturbable spell on each of the doors, windows, and air ducts in the room.] Now see here, Madam Roosevelt, you can’t just come...
SADIE: Time is of the essence, isn’t it, though?
M.H.: Yes, yes, but this is a PRIVATE matter, a very...
SADIE: No better cover for our meeting than a regular job interview.
M.H.: Well! Erm! Be that as it may, I asked for a very athletic WIZARD, not a...
SADIE: I can give you excellent references. Satisfied customers, outraged victims, baffled coppers...
M.H.: But this is DANGEROUS, and it involves a good deal of swimming, much of it underwater; and it also requires a head for herbology.
SADIE: It’s all in me ray-zoo-may. Learnt everythin’ I know about plants from Miles O’Roughage himself. Certificates in bubble-head snorkeling and underwater apparition.
M.H.: Can you speak Norwegian, then?
SADIE: Tolerably well. Can’t understand a word of it, though. I was a test subject for those language-in-seven-seconds spells, but they never worked both ways for me. The stipend paid my way through tobacco rehab, though.
M.H. All right, you have all the qualifications. But you must never come here again. Take this. [Conjures a thick envelope out of thin air.] It explains what we want, where you can find it, and what to do once you’ve got it. You needn’t open it here...[Sighs as the contents of the envelope pour out on the floor.]
SADIE: [Gawking at a moving picture of a flat, undulating fish.] Crikey! A ripply? Is that what I’m to nick for you, then?
M.H.: No, that’s something you will need to accomplish your mission. As you can see, the ripply almost seems to disappear into the surrounding water as it moves. It’s a combination of its distinctive way of swimming, and the magical skin. Catch enough of those to sew their skins into a wetsuit, and you’ll not only be protected from the cold, but also virtually invisible as you attempt your assignment. I’m sure you can appreciate that, being as obsessed with concealment as you are.
SADIE: I beg your pardon?
M.H.: Never mind. No, your assignment is to penetrate the Hidden Fjord of Haakon Tran. It is well guarded by Haakon’s spells, fierce creatures, and diabolical illusions. Then, come away with at least twenty of these reedy stalks, that grow along the banks of just that one fjord. These are sannheten, highly valued for a potion that enables one to see through disguises and lies.
SADIE: [Shudders.] Why on earth would you want that?
M.H.: That is none of your concern. I could just as easily ask you why you want this job so badly.
SADIE: Well, actually, I just need tobacco money...
M.H.: Very well. Bring me a nice, thick bundle of sannheten, and I will make sure you have enough tobacco to die a happy, though early, death.
SADIE: That’s good enough for me! And when I return from Norway...
M.H.: Don’t be silly. The Hidden Fjord of Haakon Tran is in Scotland.
SADIE: Oh. But aren’t all the fjords in Norway?
M.H.: [Wearily] All but the hidden one, yes. Now if you would be so kind as to disapparate, we can avoid advertising our conspiracy to everyone in the building.
SADIE: But I mean, how will I know where to...?
M.H.: My people will find you, don’t worry. Good day.
And now we rejoin Sadie’s narrative...
“'And that’s my final offer,’ she says, looking so desperate that my heart went out to her. So I says, ‘All right. It goes against my better judgment, but since it’s got to be done, and no one else can do it, you have my word.’”
“Excuse me,” said an assistant healer, shifting from one foot to the other as Sadie’s tale came to the end of a paragraph. “Excuse me, but the patient is starting to talk.”
“Oh!” said Endora, beginning to rise from her seat.
“I will see him alone,” said Harvey, firmly.
“And so will I,” Spanky added. Harvey shrugged, and the two of them followed the assistant healer out of the wating room while Endora sank, sulkily, back into her seat.
“Should I wait until they come back?” Sadie wondered, as she stuffed tobacco into her pipe.
“Bother them,” said Endora. “Keep talking. It keeps my mind off...you know.”
“All right then,” said Sadie. “So as soon as I chivvy her out of my office, the first thing I do is..”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE for The Magic Quill #83 +++
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Survey and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
The SURVEY: Under her veil, is Sadie (A) too pretty to be taken seriously as a criminal; (B) too ugly or weird-looking to get away unrecognized; (C) has coarse, mannish features and a bit of a mustache; or (D) looks completely ordinary, but has really sensitive skin.
The CONTEST: Give the name and symptoms of a magical malady or injury.
The Survey Answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #83. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 2/10/06]
“The job what made my first fortune,” Sadie began her tale, “didn’t come my way till I had been workin’ in the property transferin’ line for several years. I had worked me way up, like, from charmin’ galleons out of the pockets of patrons at Axel Exum’s Exhibition of Muggle Marvels, and sellin’ unlicensed commemorative earmuffs in the neighborhood of any Nasal Drip concert. Through a combination of steady effort, skill, daring, and a bit of luck, I had earned a solid reputation as one of the most dependable fetchers of hard-to-fetch things in the country. Not that this reputation helped me get along with the Ministry of Magic. Those blokes just don’t understand that rescuin’ valuables from slobs as don’t want ‘em enough to protect ‘em, and givin’ ‘em to folks as want them enough to pay top galleon for ‘em, is as worthy a use of magic as any.
“But apart from them, my business was startin’ to flourish. Clients were comin’ to me, beggin’ me to nick things for ‘em. My share of the take, I mean, my fee went up. I was actually able to get choosy about which jobs to take...”
Actually, what happened was like this....
SECURITY GUARD: Oi. I say! Where do you think you’re going?
SADIE: I have an appointment with Madam Hardbiscuit.
SECURITY GUARD: Not so fast, there. What’s your name?
SADIE: My name? Hildegard Van Bingen. [Wiggles wand concealed in handbag.]
SECURITY GUARD: There ain’t any Dutch witches on the list.
SADIE: Are you sure? [Wiggle, wiggle.]
SECURITY GUARD: I’ve only looked at it ten times to-- Merlin’s beard. Where did that come from?
SADIE: May I go up now?
SECURITY GUARD: Hold on a sec. What’s with the veil?
SADIE: Little mishap last week. Invisibility charm went bad. Made the front half of my head transparent. It’s very icky to look at, but if you’d like...
SECURITY GUARD: No, no. Never mind. Can I at least see some identification?
SADIE: Will this do?
SECURITY GUARD: You wore a veil for your apparition license photo, did you?
SADIE: They didn’t want to allow it, but after strip-searching me to confirm that I am female, it was the least they could do. Good times.
SECURITY GUARD: I say, when did you say that invisibility charm backfired? Only, this photo was taken eight years ago.
SADIE: Oh, that was different. I was married to an Egyptian flying-carpet dealer at the time. This was taken either during our marriage, or during my period of mourning after his favorite Persian unravelled over the Black Sea. Either way, my husband’s religion required...[Gets choked up.]
SECURITY GUARD: [Shuffles awkwardly] I’m so sorry. May I say, you hardly have any accent at all, for a Dutch-Egyptian woman.
SADIE: Why, thank you. I’ve always been good at learning languages. Now may I go up?
SECURITY GUARD: Right this way, Madam Van Bingen.
SADIE: One born every minute....[Whistles a chorus of Que será, será while going up the stairs.]
RECEPTIONIST: I beg your pardon, Madam....?
SADIE: Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher.
RECEPTIONIST: Madam Thatcher, you can’t go in there without an appointment.
SADIE: But I had an appointment for an interview, at two o’clock.
RECEPIONIST: But it’s only...well, I’ll be hexed from here to next week! It’s five to two already! But that’s neither here nor there. You weren’t expected.
SADIE: But I got an owl. Here’s one of its droppings. I’m sorry I don’t have the original memo from Madam Hardbiscuit, but I had to send it back with my acceptance of her offer. Didn’t the owl come?
RECEPTIONIST: I’m sorry, but no one sends owls out of this office except me, and I would remember...
SADIE: Oh, look. The owl is at the window now. [Zaps receptionist with wand when her back is turned.]
RECEPTIONIST: I beg your pardon, Madam Thatcher. Madam Hardbiscuit will be right out to see you. Would you like me to take your veil for you?
SADIE: No, thank you. I got some potion in my eyes this morning. Anyone who looks directly at my eyes turns into a teacup full of tepid Darjeerling. It’s been such a bother wearing it all day, but if you don’t mind...
RECEPTIONIST: Not at all. Not at all. By all means, keep it on. [Uses her wand to pipe her voice into Madam Hardbiscuit’s office] Extremely important caller to see you, Madam.
MADAM HARDBISCUIT: [Coming out of office] Who’s this?
SADIE: I think we had best discuss it in private. [Pushes Madam Hardbiscuit back into her office and closes door.] Now, then, about that job you advertised for in Wizard of Fortune...
M.H.: What job? Who advertised? And who, pray, are you?
SADIE: Eleanor Roosevelt is the name. Before you ask about the veil, I might as well tell you that it was stuck on me with a permanent fixing charm when I was eight years old. Broke my parents’ heart, it did, but I’ve gotten used to it. Now let’s get down to galleons.
M.H.: Excuse me, but I still don’t understand what this is about.
SADIE: [Pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, which in better days was used to wrap cheap tobacco.] That reminds me, do you mind if I smoke?
M.H.: Yes, I do. Aaargh! You mean THAT advert. Wait a moment. [Performs an imperturbable spell on each of the doors, windows, and air ducts in the room.] Now see here, Madam Roosevelt, you can’t just come...
SADIE: Time is of the essence, isn’t it, though?
M.H.: Yes, yes, but this is a PRIVATE matter, a very...
SADIE: No better cover for our meeting than a regular job interview.
M.H.: Well! Erm! Be that as it may, I asked for a very athletic WIZARD, not a...
SADIE: I can give you excellent references. Satisfied customers, outraged victims, baffled coppers...
M.H.: But this is DANGEROUS, and it involves a good deal of swimming, much of it underwater; and it also requires a head for herbology.
SADIE: It’s all in me ray-zoo-may. Learnt everythin’ I know about plants from Miles O’Roughage himself. Certificates in bubble-head snorkeling and underwater apparition.
M.H.: Can you speak Norwegian, then?
SADIE: Tolerably well. Can’t understand a word of it, though. I was a test subject for those language-in-seven-seconds spells, but they never worked both ways for me. The stipend paid my way through tobacco rehab, though.
M.H. All right, you have all the qualifications. But you must never come here again. Take this. [Conjures a thick envelope out of thin air.] It explains what we want, where you can find it, and what to do once you’ve got it. You needn’t open it here...[Sighs as the contents of the envelope pour out on the floor.]
SADIE: [Gawking at a moving picture of a flat, undulating fish.] Crikey! A ripply? Is that what I’m to nick for you, then?
M.H.: No, that’s something you will need to accomplish your mission. As you can see, the ripply almost seems to disappear into the surrounding water as it moves. It’s a combination of its distinctive way of swimming, and the magical skin. Catch enough of those to sew their skins into a wetsuit, and you’ll not only be protected from the cold, but also virtually invisible as you attempt your assignment. I’m sure you can appreciate that, being as obsessed with concealment as you are.
SADIE: I beg your pardon?
M.H.: Never mind. No, your assignment is to penetrate the Hidden Fjord of Haakon Tran. It is well guarded by Haakon’s spells, fierce creatures, and diabolical illusions. Then, come away with at least twenty of these reedy stalks, that grow along the banks of just that one fjord. These are sannheten, highly valued for a potion that enables one to see through disguises and lies.
SADIE: [Shudders.] Why on earth would you want that?
M.H.: That is none of your concern. I could just as easily ask you why you want this job so badly.
SADIE: Well, actually, I just need tobacco money...
M.H.: Very well. Bring me a nice, thick bundle of sannheten, and I will make sure you have enough tobacco to die a happy, though early, death.
SADIE: That’s good enough for me! And when I return from Norway...
M.H.: Don’t be silly. The Hidden Fjord of Haakon Tran is in Scotland.
SADIE: Oh. But aren’t all the fjords in Norway?
M.H.: [Wearily] All but the hidden one, yes. Now if you would be so kind as to disapparate, we can avoid advertising our conspiracy to everyone in the building.
SADIE: But I mean, how will I know where to...?
M.H.: My people will find you, don’t worry. Good day.
And now we rejoin Sadie’s narrative...
“'And that’s my final offer,’ she says, looking so desperate that my heart went out to her. So I says, ‘All right. It goes against my better judgment, but since it’s got to be done, and no one else can do it, you have my word.’”
“Excuse me,” said an assistant healer, shifting from one foot to the other as Sadie’s tale came to the end of a paragraph. “Excuse me, but the patient is starting to talk.”
“Oh!” said Endora, beginning to rise from her seat.
“I will see him alone,” said Harvey, firmly.
“And so will I,” Spanky added. Harvey shrugged, and the two of them followed the assistant healer out of the wating room while Endora sank, sulkily, back into her seat.
“Should I wait until they come back?” Sadie wondered, as she stuffed tobacco into her pipe.
“Bother them,” said Endora. “Keep talking. It keeps my mind off...you know.”
“All right then,” said Sadie. “So as soon as I chivvy her out of my office, the first thing I do is..”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE for The Magic Quill #83 +++
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Survey and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
The SURVEY: Under her veil, is Sadie (A) too pretty to be taken seriously as a criminal; (B) too ugly or weird-looking to get away unrecognized; (C) has coarse, mannish features and a bit of a mustache; or (D) looks completely ordinary, but has really sensitive skin.
The CONTEST: Give the name and symptoms of a magical malady or injury.
The Survey Answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #83. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 2/10/06]
Monday, December 22, 2008
61. A Chat with Ed, Ned, and Tip
BO: Testing, testing. Excellent! This is Bo Dwyer, feature writer for Broomstick and Wand. Welcome to my new program on the Wizarding Wireless Network, where anything at all could happen, but it would have to happen pretty #### fast to get past the ######## censor! But let’s get to the point. Today I have an exciting program for you! Back under one roof again for the first time in, oh, months and months, it’s Nasal Drip! Yes, folks, it’s none other than the edgy, angry musical trio whose last album was actually a collection of solo tracks by each member of the band, strung together—
NED: By a court order, actually.
BO: Yes, I believe that all three of you sued the studio to keep your songs in separate solo albums, but the studio claimed that they would have gone bankrupt trying to sell such things.
TIP: Well, yeh, bu’ vey ‘ad no righ’ makin’ out as we wuz a band, divvey?
BO: I’m not sure what you just said, but it certainly does seem that being on the same side of a legal process, for once, rather brought the three of you together again.
ED: Anyway, it was our worst-selling album ever. A record. Went “lead” in two days flat.
BO: That’s a piece of history none of us will forget! Er. Hem. So, at least it was cheaper to produce than your previous album, which, as I recall, the studio had to sync together by magic from separately recorded tracks, because...
TIP: Cuz we ‘ad a restrainin’ order on each ovver, like.
NED: Not that I’m addressing the gent, but you can remind ‘im for me that it was us as ‘ad a restrainin’ order on ‘im, since that little incident with the flamin’ broomstick...
BO: Truly, your relationship with each other is a model for all the angry youth in the wizarding world. Now, help me please, to get your names straight for once. You’re...
NED: Ned Smith, an’ this is Tip Smith, and this ‘ere is Ed Smith.
BO: All of you are Edward Smith, then?
NED: I dunno abou’ them, but I am. Are they really? Cor! How do you like tha’? An’ no relation or anythin’!
ED: My surname is spelled with an “I,” not a “Y.”
TIP: And mine isn’t, is it?
NED: That’s what I’m sayin’. Who knew?
TIP: Lot of name copiers, you are.
ED: You would say that, bein’ the youngest!
TIP: We’ll, you’re old enough to know better, then.
NED: I wasn’t when me parents had me christened!
TIP: There you go, always havin’ an excuse.
BO: Now hold on. You’ve been together, so to speak, for how long?
ED: Seven years.
BO: And you just now found out each others' names?
ED: We have pet names for each other, see.
NED: Yeh, that one’s ######## and he’s #####-####.
ED: Don’ forget, you’re the great ### ####### of ##########.
NED: You know, if you would pronounce it right, they wouldn’t have to censor it.
ED: Who says I don’t pronounce it right?
NED: Why, you...
BO: Gentlemen! Gentlemen! And you, too, sir! Compose yourselves. We still have an interview to conduct. All right, then, where’s the next page of my...ah. So, er, Tip, what role does each of you play in this band?
TIP: Well, I’m the drummer, like, an’ Ned there plays percussion, and Ed more or less bangs on things.
BO: I see.
NED: Ed is banned from buying or possessing a guitar in most counties now.
BO: Does he smash such a lot of them?
NED: Well, not smash them, as such. But when he’s had a few too many...
TIP: He just got out of a program for billywig abuse, you know...
NED: He puts unbreakable charms on them, sometimes, and bashes away at the walls and floor regardless...
TIP: One time he used a pneuma’ic drill on a Fender.
NED: And that one screaming hex in Henchurch really brought the house down...
BO: Well, Ed, have you nothing to say to this?
ED: Not to be smug, Bo, bu’ the nigh’ we played in Bunghampton did set a record for the highes’ incidence of Silencio, Quietus, and Muffliato spells within a square mile in one nigh’.
TIP: The Daily Prophet referred to our second Farewell Tour as “auditory suicide.”
BO: Oh. Right. On to the next question. This one’s for Ed. What inspired you to put aside a future in magical methods of music performance, and to make do with mostly Muggle means?
ED: Blimey, you would have to ask such a sticky one, wouldn’ you? It’s like this, though. None of us go’ any O.W.L.s. We had to leave Hogwarts after our fifth year...
TIP: Actually, it was me seventh.
ED: What I meant to say is, after our O.W.L. year.
NED: I think what Ed is sayin’, Bo, is that we wuz all impressed by the powers music had in common wiv magic...the power to alter people’s feelin’s, to make the sun seem brighter, the night seem darker...
TIP: Fish seem wetter...
NED: The power to change the way time flows, and to express truths that canno’ be put into words, like.
ED: But above all, we went into music for the witches, the potions, and the galleons.
TIP: Or in your case, the knuts, mutts, and...
BO: WHERE’S OUR CENSOR when you need him!? All right, one last question! And this one’s for Ned. If there was one song, on any of your albums, that you could go back and write all over again, which would it be?
NED: Well, I had a great time writin’ “I Won’t Curse You Till the Sun Comes Up...”
ED: You muttonhead, that’s not what he meant.
BO: Well, it hardly matters now. What made that song so much fun to write?
NED: Well, there was this ####, who we met in Perth that one time they gave us the key to the city before our gig in Liverpool, only the key was a portkey, and the city it was a portkey to was in Australia...and anyway, this #### was there when we landed, and she said to me, ###, why don’t we ###### these ####### and go down to the ##### and get us some ######, #### and ###########? Well, ####, mate, I wasn’ abou’ to turn down an offer like that. But the next day...
BO: Actually, now that I hear a bit of it, I’m with Ed. Let’s see how he answers the question.
ED: What song would I write over from scratch? It would have to be “Look What Fell Out of the Stupid Tree.”
BO: Really?
ED: Really. If I had realized, back then, that I was writing one of the best-selling songs in the history of Cauldron Punk, I would have been a little more careful with the lyrics, you see.
BO: What was wrong with them? Didn’t they rhyme?
TIP: Rhyme was the only thing they did. How many different words did you use in that song?
ED: About fourteen, I think.
NED: Eighteen, if you count spelling variations as separate words.
TIP: I’ll tell you why it was so successful, Bo.
ED: Hey! Not one more word!
TIP: There’s a bowel-loosening incantation worked into that song.
ED: You shut it! I swear, if that big man outside the door hadn’t taken my wand...
TIP: An’ doctors prescribe listenin’ to it to their patients as have fallen afoul of U-No-Poo and such.
NED: Ed always found it so liberating...we only dared to sing it right before the intermission...
ED: But the words are so stupid, they drive me crazy! I could have done much better now.
TIP: Your spelling has improved, but your spell-work hasn’t.
ED: Oi! Tha’ wuz personal, tha’ wuz!
NED: Listen to him, he’s starting to sound like Tip.
TIP: He’s what? Hark, who’s talking, Mr. “They Won’t Believe We’re a Punk Band if We Don’t Sound East End...”
NED: Sound East End? Ha! I’ve never heard such a load of fakery since I...
BO: Well, that’s about all the time we have for...hey, put that table down. Ouch! What did you do that for? Help!
ED: You ##### fool, Ned, that’s not how you do it. See all the little pieces? You’re supposed to put an unbreakable charm on it first, THEN...
BO: Ow! Ow!!! HELP!
VOICE: Stupefy! Impedimenta!
NED: #######!
TIP: Look out, you ####! You almost ####### my...!
VOICE: Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalis!
TIP: Ow! You ###### of a ###!
VOICE: Stupefy!
BO: Groan.
VOICE: Oops. Well, folks, this is your censor, reminding you to tune in next week for another installment of The Magic Quill! And please, don’t be a ####--send Robbie your idea for what should happen next!
[Originally posted 8/5/05]
NED: By a court order, actually.
BO: Yes, I believe that all three of you sued the studio to keep your songs in separate solo albums, but the studio claimed that they would have gone bankrupt trying to sell such things.
TIP: Well, yeh, bu’ vey ‘ad no righ’ makin’ out as we wuz a band, divvey?
BO: I’m not sure what you just said, but it certainly does seem that being on the same side of a legal process, for once, rather brought the three of you together again.
ED: Anyway, it was our worst-selling album ever. A record. Went “lead” in two days flat.
BO: That’s a piece of history none of us will forget! Er. Hem. So, at least it was cheaper to produce than your previous album, which, as I recall, the studio had to sync together by magic from separately recorded tracks, because...
TIP: Cuz we ‘ad a restrainin’ order on each ovver, like.
NED: Not that I’m addressing the gent, but you can remind ‘im for me that it was us as ‘ad a restrainin’ order on ‘im, since that little incident with the flamin’ broomstick...
BO: Truly, your relationship with each other is a model for all the angry youth in the wizarding world. Now, help me please, to get your names straight for once. You’re...
NED: Ned Smith, an’ this is Tip Smith, and this ‘ere is Ed Smith.
BO: All of you are Edward Smith, then?
NED: I dunno abou’ them, but I am. Are they really? Cor! How do you like tha’? An’ no relation or anythin’!
ED: My surname is spelled with an “I,” not a “Y.”
TIP: And mine isn’t, is it?
NED: That’s what I’m sayin’. Who knew?
TIP: Lot of name copiers, you are.
ED: You would say that, bein’ the youngest!
TIP: We’ll, you’re old enough to know better, then.
NED: I wasn’t when me parents had me christened!
TIP: There you go, always havin’ an excuse.
BO: Now hold on. You’ve been together, so to speak, for how long?
ED: Seven years.
BO: And you just now found out each others' names?
ED: We have pet names for each other, see.
NED: Yeh, that one’s ######## and he’s #####-####.
ED: Don’ forget, you’re the great ### ####### of ##########.
NED: You know, if you would pronounce it right, they wouldn’t have to censor it.
ED: Who says I don’t pronounce it right?
NED: Why, you...
BO: Gentlemen! Gentlemen! And you, too, sir! Compose yourselves. We still have an interview to conduct. All right, then, where’s the next page of my...ah. So, er, Tip, what role does each of you play in this band?
TIP: Well, I’m the drummer, like, an’ Ned there plays percussion, and Ed more or less bangs on things.
BO: I see.
NED: Ed is banned from buying or possessing a guitar in most counties now.
BO: Does he smash such a lot of them?
NED: Well, not smash them, as such. But when he’s had a few too many...
TIP: He just got out of a program for billywig abuse, you know...
NED: He puts unbreakable charms on them, sometimes, and bashes away at the walls and floor regardless...
TIP: One time he used a pneuma’ic drill on a Fender.
NED: And that one screaming hex in Henchurch really brought the house down...
BO: Well, Ed, have you nothing to say to this?
ED: Not to be smug, Bo, bu’ the nigh’ we played in Bunghampton did set a record for the highes’ incidence of Silencio, Quietus, and Muffliato spells within a square mile in one nigh’.
TIP: The Daily Prophet referred to our second Farewell Tour as “auditory suicide.”
BO: Oh. Right. On to the next question. This one’s for Ed. What inspired you to put aside a future in magical methods of music performance, and to make do with mostly Muggle means?
ED: Blimey, you would have to ask such a sticky one, wouldn’ you? It’s like this, though. None of us go’ any O.W.L.s. We had to leave Hogwarts after our fifth year...
TIP: Actually, it was me seventh.
ED: What I meant to say is, after our O.W.L. year.
NED: I think what Ed is sayin’, Bo, is that we wuz all impressed by the powers music had in common wiv magic...the power to alter people’s feelin’s, to make the sun seem brighter, the night seem darker...
TIP: Fish seem wetter...
NED: The power to change the way time flows, and to express truths that canno’ be put into words, like.
ED: But above all, we went into music for the witches, the potions, and the galleons.
TIP: Or in your case, the knuts, mutts, and...
BO: WHERE’S OUR CENSOR when you need him!? All right, one last question! And this one’s for Ned. If there was one song, on any of your albums, that you could go back and write all over again, which would it be?
NED: Well, I had a great time writin’ “I Won’t Curse You Till the Sun Comes Up...”
ED: You muttonhead, that’s not what he meant.
BO: Well, it hardly matters now. What made that song so much fun to write?
NED: Well, there was this ####, who we met in Perth that one time they gave us the key to the city before our gig in Liverpool, only the key was a portkey, and the city it was a portkey to was in Australia...and anyway, this #### was there when we landed, and she said to me, ###, why don’t we ###### these ####### and go down to the ##### and get us some ######, #### and ###########? Well, ####, mate, I wasn’ abou’ to turn down an offer like that. But the next day...
BO: Actually, now that I hear a bit of it, I’m with Ed. Let’s see how he answers the question.
ED: What song would I write over from scratch? It would have to be “Look What Fell Out of the Stupid Tree.”
BO: Really?
ED: Really. If I had realized, back then, that I was writing one of the best-selling songs in the history of Cauldron Punk, I would have been a little more careful with the lyrics, you see.
BO: What was wrong with them? Didn’t they rhyme?
TIP: Rhyme was the only thing they did. How many different words did you use in that song?
ED: About fourteen, I think.
NED: Eighteen, if you count spelling variations as separate words.
TIP: I’ll tell you why it was so successful, Bo.
ED: Hey! Not one more word!
TIP: There’s a bowel-loosening incantation worked into that song.
ED: You shut it! I swear, if that big man outside the door hadn’t taken my wand...
TIP: An’ doctors prescribe listenin’ to it to their patients as have fallen afoul of U-No-Poo and such.
NED: Ed always found it so liberating...we only dared to sing it right before the intermission...
ED: But the words are so stupid, they drive me crazy! I could have done much better now.
TIP: Your spelling has improved, but your spell-work hasn’t.
ED: Oi! Tha’ wuz personal, tha’ wuz!
NED: Listen to him, he’s starting to sound like Tip.
TIP: He’s what? Hark, who’s talking, Mr. “They Won’t Believe We’re a Punk Band if We Don’t Sound East End...”
NED: Sound East End? Ha! I’ve never heard such a load of fakery since I...
BO: Well, that’s about all the time we have for...hey, put that table down. Ouch! What did you do that for? Help!
ED: You ##### fool, Ned, that’s not how you do it. See all the little pieces? You’re supposed to put an unbreakable charm on it first, THEN...
BO: Ow! Ow!!! HELP!
VOICE: Stupefy! Impedimenta!
NED: #######!
TIP: Look out, you ####! You almost ####### my...!
VOICE: Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalis!
TIP: Ow! You ###### of a ###!
VOICE: Stupefy!
BO: Groan.
VOICE: Oops. Well, folks, this is your censor, reminding you to tune in next week for another installment of The Magic Quill! And please, don’t be a ####--send Robbie your idea for what should happen next!
[Originally posted 8/5/05]
45. Musical Interlude
This week's Top 10 hits on the Wizarding Wireless Network...
In 10th place for the 3rd week in a row is this Romantic ballad by Clive Chive and His Playerless Orchestra:
...Robbie here, speaking for the Magic Quill. I would love to get more riddles from you guys, but be sure to send me the answers as well. And more important than the riddles--yes! I mean that--are the story ideas that HARDLY ANYONE IS SUBMITTING. If you like the Magic Quill, please do your part to keep it going. Please! Tell me what happens next! And now, back to WWN...
Finally, in the number one spot on the Wizarding Wireless Charts is this exciting, catchy new single from the Weird Sisters, entitled, "Picking Up the Pieces."
+++ It's RIDDLE TIME! +++
Remember way back to Riddle #2? Reader Anna has this brilliant theory that I never thought of before: "I did not attribute the 'electric shock' Vernon Dursley received while choking Harry to Harry. Rather, I thought he received this shock because he was seriously threatening Harry's life. That would make the protective charm which Dumbledore put on Harry (or the Dursley household) when Harry was a baby 'kick-in' and prevent Harry from being seriously harmed. I could be mistaken but the way I understand the charm is that as long as Harry is at the Dursley's he cannot be seriously harmed - and as long as he can still call it home - the charm holds." Wow! Who would have thought of that?
Here is a Mother Goose riddle that my father taught me when I was a child, and which Corrine also suggested. There are lots of riddles of this type, which some of us may object to calling "riddles." Still, it has puzzled many mathematically-challenged children over the years!
Oh, and if E. F.'s non-riddle stumped you, I hope I never survive a plane crash near where you live.
Were these puzzlers too easy for you? Give me something better to use next time!
[Originally posted 3/24/05]
In 10th place for the 3rd week in a row is this Romantic ballad by Clive Chive and His Playerless Orchestra:
I don't care, my darling, that you smell of clover,Moving up into 9th place out of 23rd is this political protest song from the up and coming "voice of the new wizarding generation," Ludwig van Bray. The track is titled, "Bitter Nothings."
Or that they hear your mooing from Sheffield to Dover,
Or even that you have brown splotches all over,
You're hardly a cow to me.
Though my love is as wide as the very wide ocean,
I can't help entertaining the suspicious notion
That somewhere, sometime, someone gave me a potion,
For I don't know why I love thee.
O dairy-maid, dairy-maid, dairy-maid fair!
I'm udderly captive to thee!
O dairy-maid, dairy-maid, dairy-maid fair!
Do you ruminate about me?
I don't care if You-Know-WhoDropping to 8th place after two weeks at Number 2 is the title track from the singing-book soundtrack of Martin Miggs! Here is Emiliana di Tessitura singing, "My feet feel like dancing."
Does you-know-what to you,
Or if X number of his followers do
Such and so to your mother too!
You can go a place one mustn't name,
Your silly taboos are all the same,
You make vulgarity seem really lame,
So may You-Know-Who
Do the same to you!
O, what a sensation!In 7th place is the reliable old money-maker, the Wizard of Pop, Elvis Jacksteen. This is his thirty-fourth top-ten hit since "I've got billywigs in my willybigs," back in 1976, and his current album, "I'm so old I had to dye my wig, but I'm still rockin'" went platinum before he even recorded it! To what does the greatest entertainer in wizarding memory attribute his success? "You will forget that I said this," says Jacksteen. "You will buy 14 of my records. At the count of three, wake up!" What a joker! Here is an excerpt from his number-seven hit, "So cool that you have to wear gloves to pick your nose."
Is it my imagination?
Or can it be that even though
My self-dancing shoes weren't lost in the snow
After all?
It's the feeling I get from seven-league boots,
Or sucking on candied eyes of newts;
My feet feel like dancing, they've cut their roots,
I'm going to the ball!
Oo, witch, you're so sultry, my bifocals steam up when I'm near you;Rising to 6th place after a series of magical mishaps destroyed the entire inventory of his nearest competitor (such as an entire warehouse in Cheapside falling into the Thames River), British hip-hop wizard Da Wiz not only sings and produces, but he also owns his own record company, UK Dukay. Here is a bit of his latest smash hit single, edited slightly for broadcast:
Your voice is so sweet, I stuff buns in my ears when I hear you.
Your clothes are so sharp, you need but cross the garden to mow it;
But I am too old,
For your heart is so cold
That it would take aeons of global warming for you to bestow it.
I say, I mean yo,Staying at 5th place for an amazing 45th consecutive week is Hamish McLethe's well-known humming song. One of the best-known singers on wizarding wireless, Hamish was laid low by a fly-by memory charm last April, and has never recovered his ability to remember the words to any song. Still, never one to give in to despair, Hamish has made a huge career comeback with his current album of hummed and mumbled classics, entitled "Something something something." Here's his rendition of "I haven't flown over Digby since then."
Dis Da Wiz, don't cha know,
Cruisin' your 'hood, as it were.
It's a happenin' scene,
Whatever that means,
So keep your ##### behind screens,
If you know what's good for her.
I'm Da Wiz on da prowl,
Hear me howl, hear me growl,
Aroooo! Or words to that effect;
So get hip to my jive,
I'm packin' wand and I'm live,
And if you think I won't drive
This low ridin' broomstick
All over your #####ing-### ####,
You're about to get wrecked,
Unless I'm quite incorrect.
Mmmm mmm hmmmm hmmm hmmm,Already dropping to third after hitting number one in its first week of release is the show-stopping finale from the "Reconciliation Tour" album of the loudest band in the wizarding world, Nasal Drip. As you know, the band broke up again on the second night of the tour, but since then they've recorded another album called "Songs from the Cancelled Second Reconciliation Tour," which is expected to be released as soon as a number of lawsuits are settled. Here is their song, "I couldn't stand you when we were best friends."
Mmm mmm hmmmm hmm mmm,
Ya da dum deee dummm de dummmmm,
Ahum dumm de doo,
De doo doooo de dummm,
Da dumm dumm, dummm dumm dumm de dummm....
Due to a judge's finding that the song was plagiarized from the works of Sigmund Zeitdieb, who recently also proved in court that he wrote Einstein's theory of Relativity, Beethoven's 5th Symphony, and all of the plays of Shakespeare except Henry VI Part II, the number two song by Celestina Warbeck cannot be played at this time. However, it continues to sell huge numbers of MP3 spells and singing pamphlets, since the Wizengamot noted that Zeitdieb's previous victories have not prevented anyone listening to records of Beethoven or going to see Shakespeare in the West End. It's ironic, considering that the number two song is entitled, "I couldn't have jinxed it better myself." Instead, here's a word from your sponsor...
If you wondered why I kept slipping toads into your bed,
Or why you kept finding your lunch alive and your familiar dead,
Look no further than the wizard who always had to eat
All your Bertie Botts beans that you didn't think were sweet.
I couldn't stand you when we were best friends;
I thought you were stuck-up and selfish even then.
I put up with your cheapness and whininess when
Your mother bought all my books five times in ten;
But now that we've left school, why put up with you?
This concert is over, I'm finished with you!
...Robbie here, speaking for the Magic Quill. I would love to get more riddles from you guys, but be sure to send me the answers as well. And more important than the riddles--yes! I mean that--are the story ideas that HARDLY ANYONE IS SUBMITTING. If you like the Magic Quill, please do your part to keep it going. Please! Tell me what happens next! And now, back to WWN...
Finally, in the number one spot on the Wizarding Wireless Charts is this exciting, catchy new single from the Weird Sisters, entitled, "Picking Up the Pieces."
If I play a sour note, baby, I hope I won't be pinched,Be sure to pick up your pieces, by all your favorite wizarding bands, at Fermata and Slur's in the Street That Goes Uphill Both Ways, Hogsmeade! Anyone attempting to transcribe this program onto Muggle media will be banished to the Really Rare Bird Sanctuary off the coast of Idaho. If you would like a recording of this program, send fourteen galleons by owl to the WWN and a self-winding musical snuffbox will be sent to you by return owl. This has been a Quibble and Squawk production of the Wizarding Wireless Network. All gripes deserved!
For I've only just started playing again since the last time I was splinched.
I'm not sure all the bits of me got put back the right way,
So bear with my bagpipes, baby, that's all I've got to say.
Oh, I'm picking up the pieces,
And paying heavy fines.
I didn't mean to apparate
To the Drumnadrochit mines.
Perhaps the dwarves had not seen men
In quite a length of time,
So they put my thumbs on backwards,
But otherwise I'm fine.
+++ It's RIDDLE TIME! +++
Remember way back to Riddle #2? Reader Anna has this brilliant theory that I never thought of before: "I did not attribute the 'electric shock' Vernon Dursley received while choking Harry to Harry. Rather, I thought he received this shock because he was seriously threatening Harry's life. That would make the protective charm which Dumbledore put on Harry (or the Dursley household) when Harry was a baby 'kick-in' and prevent Harry from being seriously harmed. I could be mistaken but the way I understand the charm is that as long as Harry is at the Dursley's he cannot be seriously harmed - and as long as he can still call it home - the charm holds." Wow! Who would have thought of that?
Here is a Mother Goose riddle that my father taught me when I was a child, and which Corrine also suggested. There are lots of riddles of this type, which some of us may object to calling "riddles." Still, it has puzzled many mathematically-challenged children over the years!
When I was going to St. Ives,Also, our sometime contributor Lighthouse Junkie kindly suggested this riddle:
I met a man with seven wives;
And every wife had seven sacks,
And every sack had seven cats,
And every cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, wives:
How many were going to St. Ives?
I am always hungry.Last week Annatar posed us a riddle. I don't know if it was better than the herring one, but the answer was: A hand writing! Also, props to all of you who figured out that Riddle "A" comes from the Bible, the book of Judges. Samson is the riddler, describing a honeycomb he found inside the carcass of a lion. Riddle "B" comes from Tolkien's famous chapter of "Riddles in the Dark" in The Hobbit, and the answer is "a fish." As for Riddle "C," Brian's guess (a clock striking 1:00) is brilliant, but wrong. It actually came from the fairy tale appropriately titled "The Riddle," found both in the Grimm Fairy Tales and in the Green Fairy Book. It describes a raven who died of poisoning. Its flesh was cooked in a stew and served to 12 people, who all died from eating it.
I must always be fed.
The finger that I lick
Will soon turn red.
Oh, and if E. F.'s non-riddle stumped you, I hope I never survive a plane crash near where you live.
Were these puzzlers too easy for you? Give me something better to use next time!
[Originally posted 3/24/05]
28. A Break for Station Identification
A Break for Station Identification
The Magic Quill will return in a bit. Until then, hold tight for a moment of station identification and a word from our commercial sponsors!
You are tuned in to the Wizarding Wireless Network, broadcasting at a frequency of 14 zillion spells per second. Heard by listeners in 73 countries and dominions, with and without translating spells. Programming is paid for, in part, by a grant from the Goblin Relations Council, dedicated to improving the public image of goblins, no matter how many galleons it takes. Further support comes from contributions from listeners such as Kermit Strange of Down Minky, who celebrated his one hundred and twelfth birthday on Friday.
Tune in this weekend for the all-Balkan dragon rodeo, hosted by the first voice in wyrm sports, Bob Roastas! Twelve daring young wizards will risk flame, horn, fang, and claw to compete for this year’s title. Only one will win—how many will survive? Don’t miss the roaring, snorting, stamping action from eight to ten Saturday and Sunday!
The members of the Long Soaking Witches’ Auxiliary remind you to contibute your old costume jewelry, knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, and lightweight keepsakes that you no longer need to keep, to their ongoing Useless Junk Drive for the Muggle War Effort. Just leave any stuff you won’t miss in an upturned flower-pot on your back doorsill, and a collection broom will come by before dawn tomorrow. As you know, even the most neglected articles accrue a bit of magical virtue after many years in a wizarding home, and the Auxiliary believes a little magical leakage can create a good luck charm for the boys overseas. The poor chaps need all the luck they can get, bless them.
The Chudley Cannons’ Booster Club of Weevilborough and the proprietors of the Double-Ended Newt Inn wish to invite anyone who wishes to join them for a pre-game party on Sunday afternoon, followed by a chance to watch the Cannons’ upcoming match against Pride of Portree on a state-of-the-art, magical magnifying mirror. For the forty-seventh year running, Mr. and Mrs. Lilys Cummings offer a free round of Ogden’s Best Firewhisky to everyone in the house in the event of a Chudley win. Remember, folks, bring a pinch of Floo Powder, because apparating or flying under the influence is no way to travel!
Hey, you. You know I’m talking to you. Do you have any idea what the Magic Quill should write next? Send a short summary of your story idea to the Magic Quill, care of Robbie, thru MuggleNet’s feedback form! [EDIT: Or rather, leave a comment below.] Remember, it can be about anything going on in the wizarding world EXCEPT stuff that may or may not happen in the upcoming Harry Potter books. Robbie is particularly interested in finding out what stories the other characters may have to tell, besides Spanky. Endora is a total mystery at this point. Harvey seems to have a lot going on in the background. Can anyone clue us in?
Have you noticed that hygiene activities take up more and more of your time? Is all the bathing, hand-washing, tooth-scrubbing, shampooing, and deodorizing taking up time that would be better spent degnoming your garden or taking your broomstick for a spin? Now there’s a line of products made just for you! It’s Scads-O-Suds! Yes, friend, there’s no reason why you should have to brush and floss two or three times a day. With Scads-O-Suds Seven-Day, Self-Flossing Whitener, you can have a week of sweet breath, sparkling choppers, and healthy gums without all the brushing! Simply swish a mouthful of Scads-O-Suds in your mouth for thirty seconds, spit and rinse, and Scads-O-Suds will do all the work for you while you enjoy yourself! And why go through a cake of soap every week when you only need to spritz yourself with Scads-O-Suds Full-Body Atomizer? It’s stronger than your pong. A little mist will have you smelling like a rose for a fortnight! And what about all that dirty work in the garden, or the grease in the shed? Sick of getting yelled at because you dirtied Mum’s hand towel when you went inside to wash? No worries! Just rub a little Scads-O-Suds Powdered Glove on your hands, and shake the filth off. Rub your horrid mitts together and behold! Your skin is as baby-smooth and clean as if you had just had a manicure! And finally, wouldn’t you rather go out with the lad than stay at home on Friday night washing your hair? Put on the Scads-O-Suds Thaumacoiffe Nightcap, and it will shampoo, condition, and perfectly arrange your hair while you sleep! Available in straight, curly, crimped, and braided varieties, and your choice of wicked hair colors!
Don’t miss it! This week only, we’re having a zero-down, zero-interest-for-six-months, inventory clearance sale at Ted Murgatroyd’s Used Broom Shed, corner of Diagon Alley and Leroy’s Mews. Choose from the brands you trust, including an impressive collection of low-milage, barely-flown brooms owned by an elderly stalker of the renowned former Holyshead Harpies keeper Veronica Wandwright. The poor fellow had to give them up for bottom dollar when Ms. Wandwright obtained a beak’s order forbidding him to send her anymore presents that had twigs in them. Also, take advantage of the rare savings resulting from the bankruptcy auction of Ms. Livonia Frocksnapper’s Finishing School for Magically Gifted Young Ladies, Britain’s most recent attempt to rival Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which went toes-up after a ninth consecutive year in which there weren’t enough students in the school to field a regulation Quidditch team. Oakshafts! Moontrimmers! Swift Sticks! Shooting Stars! Tinderblasts! Comets! Cleansweeps! Silver Arrows! We even have a few non-Besom-type brooms, enchanted for flying by some of the broom-engineering industry’s most adventurous talents! Beat the crowd. Buy from Murgatroyd’s before the holidays, and we’ll throw in a twig-sharpener free of charge! Now you’re flying!
Next week on WWN, tune in each night at eleven o’clock and hear Nasal Drip’s farewell tour, recorded live at the Hog’s Head! Second only to their smashing Debut Tour last year, this band’s sheer loudness will thrill every nerve ending, and their lyrics will sear your soul! Freak out to such wild songs as “I’m Not Your House Elf,” “Go Put a Hex On Somebody Else This Time,” “Did a Doxy Bite You or Did You Always Look That Way?,” and the Daily Prophet best-selling musical spell of the year, “A Pox On You and the Thestral You Rode In On.” Get your handkerchief out for the soulful ballads, such as “I Thought You Were a Hag Until You Turned Around,” and “Is This Love, or Have I Been Breathing Too Much Mugwort Smoke?” And sing along to their immortal hits, “You Only Love Me The Way a Niffler Would,” “They Snapped My Wand But They Can’t Take My Bagpipes Away,” and “Werewolf Scratch Boogie.” And if you listen to each night’s program, you may hear your name drawn as the winner of one of only fifty free tickets to hear Nasal Drip’s final concert at the Leaky Cauldron, followed by an exclusive one-time offer of a memory charm to help you forget their music.
Finally, before we return to our regularly scheduled program, remember: if you don’t like the Magic Quill, you have a chance to make it better. And if you do like it, you can help keep it going. Send your ideas to Robbie, don’t be shy!
[Originally posted 11/12/04]
The Magic Quill will return in a bit. Until then, hold tight for a moment of station identification and a word from our commercial sponsors!
You are tuned in to the Wizarding Wireless Network, broadcasting at a frequency of 14 zillion spells per second. Heard by listeners in 73 countries and dominions, with and without translating spells. Programming is paid for, in part, by a grant from the Goblin Relations Council, dedicated to improving the public image of goblins, no matter how many galleons it takes. Further support comes from contributions from listeners such as Kermit Strange of Down Minky, who celebrated his one hundred and twelfth birthday on Friday.
Tune in this weekend for the all-Balkan dragon rodeo, hosted by the first voice in wyrm sports, Bob Roastas! Twelve daring young wizards will risk flame, horn, fang, and claw to compete for this year’s title. Only one will win—how many will survive? Don’t miss the roaring, snorting, stamping action from eight to ten Saturday and Sunday!
The members of the Long Soaking Witches’ Auxiliary remind you to contibute your old costume jewelry, knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, and lightweight keepsakes that you no longer need to keep, to their ongoing Useless Junk Drive for the Muggle War Effort. Just leave any stuff you won’t miss in an upturned flower-pot on your back doorsill, and a collection broom will come by before dawn tomorrow. As you know, even the most neglected articles accrue a bit of magical virtue after many years in a wizarding home, and the Auxiliary believes a little magical leakage can create a good luck charm for the boys overseas. The poor chaps need all the luck they can get, bless them.
The Chudley Cannons’ Booster Club of Weevilborough and the proprietors of the Double-Ended Newt Inn wish to invite anyone who wishes to join them for a pre-game party on Sunday afternoon, followed by a chance to watch the Cannons’ upcoming match against Pride of Portree on a state-of-the-art, magical magnifying mirror. For the forty-seventh year running, Mr. and Mrs. Lilys Cummings offer a free round of Ogden’s Best Firewhisky to everyone in the house in the event of a Chudley win. Remember, folks, bring a pinch of Floo Powder, because apparating or flying under the influence is no way to travel!
Hey, you. You know I’m talking to you. Do you have any idea what the Magic Quill should write next? Send a short summary of your story idea to the Magic Quill, care of Robbie, thru MuggleNet’s feedback form! [EDIT: Or rather, leave a comment below.] Remember, it can be about anything going on in the wizarding world EXCEPT stuff that may or may not happen in the upcoming Harry Potter books. Robbie is particularly interested in finding out what stories the other characters may have to tell, besides Spanky. Endora is a total mystery at this point. Harvey seems to have a lot going on in the background. Can anyone clue us in?
Have you noticed that hygiene activities take up more and more of your time? Is all the bathing, hand-washing, tooth-scrubbing, shampooing, and deodorizing taking up time that would be better spent degnoming your garden or taking your broomstick for a spin? Now there’s a line of products made just for you! It’s Scads-O-Suds! Yes, friend, there’s no reason why you should have to brush and floss two or three times a day. With Scads-O-Suds Seven-Day, Self-Flossing Whitener, you can have a week of sweet breath, sparkling choppers, and healthy gums without all the brushing! Simply swish a mouthful of Scads-O-Suds in your mouth for thirty seconds, spit and rinse, and Scads-O-Suds will do all the work for you while you enjoy yourself! And why go through a cake of soap every week when you only need to spritz yourself with Scads-O-Suds Full-Body Atomizer? It’s stronger than your pong. A little mist will have you smelling like a rose for a fortnight! And what about all that dirty work in the garden, or the grease in the shed? Sick of getting yelled at because you dirtied Mum’s hand towel when you went inside to wash? No worries! Just rub a little Scads-O-Suds Powdered Glove on your hands, and shake the filth off. Rub your horrid mitts together and behold! Your skin is as baby-smooth and clean as if you had just had a manicure! And finally, wouldn’t you rather go out with the lad than stay at home on Friday night washing your hair? Put on the Scads-O-Suds Thaumacoiffe Nightcap, and it will shampoo, condition, and perfectly arrange your hair while you sleep! Available in straight, curly, crimped, and braided varieties, and your choice of wicked hair colors!
Don’t miss it! This week only, we’re having a zero-down, zero-interest-for-six-months, inventory clearance sale at Ted Murgatroyd’s Used Broom Shed, corner of Diagon Alley and Leroy’s Mews. Choose from the brands you trust, including an impressive collection of low-milage, barely-flown brooms owned by an elderly stalker of the renowned former Holyshead Harpies keeper Veronica Wandwright. The poor fellow had to give them up for bottom dollar when Ms. Wandwright obtained a beak’s order forbidding him to send her anymore presents that had twigs in them. Also, take advantage of the rare savings resulting from the bankruptcy auction of Ms. Livonia Frocksnapper’s Finishing School for Magically Gifted Young Ladies, Britain’s most recent attempt to rival Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which went toes-up after a ninth consecutive year in which there weren’t enough students in the school to field a regulation Quidditch team. Oakshafts! Moontrimmers! Swift Sticks! Shooting Stars! Tinderblasts! Comets! Cleansweeps! Silver Arrows! We even have a few non-Besom-type brooms, enchanted for flying by some of the broom-engineering industry’s most adventurous talents! Beat the crowd. Buy from Murgatroyd’s before the holidays, and we’ll throw in a twig-sharpener free of charge! Now you’re flying!
Next week on WWN, tune in each night at eleven o’clock and hear Nasal Drip’s farewell tour, recorded live at the Hog’s Head! Second only to their smashing Debut Tour last year, this band’s sheer loudness will thrill every nerve ending, and their lyrics will sear your soul! Freak out to such wild songs as “I’m Not Your House Elf,” “Go Put a Hex On Somebody Else This Time,” “Did a Doxy Bite You or Did You Always Look That Way?,” and the Daily Prophet best-selling musical spell of the year, “A Pox On You and the Thestral You Rode In On.” Get your handkerchief out for the soulful ballads, such as “I Thought You Were a Hag Until You Turned Around,” and “Is This Love, or Have I Been Breathing Too Much Mugwort Smoke?” And sing along to their immortal hits, “You Only Love Me The Way a Niffler Would,” “They Snapped My Wand But They Can’t Take My Bagpipes Away,” and “Werewolf Scratch Boogie.” And if you listen to each night’s program, you may hear your name drawn as the winner of one of only fifty free tickets to hear Nasal Drip’s final concert at the Leaky Cauldron, followed by an exclusive one-time offer of a memory charm to help you forget their music.
Finally, before we return to our regularly scheduled program, remember: if you don’t like the Magic Quill, you have a chance to make it better. And if you do like it, you can help keep it going. Send your ideas to Robbie, don’t be shy!
[Originally posted 11/12/04]
Thursday, December 18, 2008
7. The Double-Barreled Wizard, Part 3
Concept contributed by: Janice Vanourney
The next night, the cloaked wizard who called himself Spanky shouldered his way through the standing-room only crowd of cloaked wizards and witches at the Hog's Head. Horrible noises, like a tomcat getting the worst of a nocturnal assignation, came from a magically floodlit rear corner of the room. Clearly, a band was tuning up. Taking care to keep his face well covered, Spanky gained the relatively quiet corner where Sadie stood under her veil, tapping her large booted foot on the ground next to a table groaning with spoiled vegetables.
"Tomatoes, two for a knut," she called in a gruff voice. "Cabbage, good and slimy. Get your rusty lettuce here!"
"This your idea of a salad bar?" Spanky asked her. She flinched at the sound of his voice.
"Oh, it's you," she said, as coquettishly as possible from behind a heavy veil. "You looked the same as everybody else."
"Live music tonight?"
"Different band every week," said Sadie. "It always draws a crowd. A good outlet for people who have curses burning a hole in their wands. Plus, there's this bloke I know as needs help disposin' of a lot of unsavory produce. Mangled mangoes, a dozen for five knuts! Rutabeggars! Really mushy purple things!"
"Who's the band tonight?"
"Couple of young perishers with an accordion and bagpipes, name of Nasal Drip. It's like bowling a double wicket, mate. 'Ere, 'ave a couple overripe plantains, on me. They'll bounce off the band's Sphere of Insensitivity, most likely, but it's something for the curse people to aim at."
"No, thanks. Where are your friends?"
"They've got a private parlor in back. We might as well join them, sounds like they're going to start."
Magically amplified by the Sonorus charm, a very obnoxious combination of instruments began playing an absurdly inappropriate arrangement of Tiptoe through the Tentacula. It was the kind of music that required neither talent nor good taste to do it justice. On the other hand, the players were quite bad.
"Let's get out of here," Spanky agreed.
They retired through a greasy, evil-smelling curtained doorway into a nearly pitch-dark hallway lined with other curtained doorways. The corridor twisted erratically, went up and down steps at unpredictable intervals, and was troubled by creaky floorboards and drafty walls. Each doorway they passed emanated unspeakable smells and, in some cases, bizarre sounds. Spanky shuddered to imagine what creatures were dining within.
At last Sadie led him, stumbling, down two steps and through a ragged curtain that seemed to have been a bed sheet in a former century.
Three other cloaked and veiled figures stood to greet them.
"Merlin and Endora you've met," said Sadie said, pointing to two anonymous figures draped in cloaks-one tall and thin, the other short and plump. Back in the corner of the booth, the light of the small brazier on the table playing on the handkerchief tied across the lower half of his face, was a broad-beamed, square-jawed person with hard, gleaming eyes. "This 'ere is another business associate of ours, name of...er..."
"Harvey," said the broad-beamed one, pumping Spanky's hand.
"Yes. Harvey. And this is Spanky, right? Right. Harvey's in'erested in hearing about your two-fisted dueling, maybe seein' you in action. Wouldn't surprise me if 'e 'ad a business proposition for you later this evening. Right, Harve?"
Harvey grunted and sat down. "Don't bother bringing me up to date," he said, in a cool, deep, cultured voice. "I hope you don't mind that our mutual friends have regaled me with your adventures. You may as well continue from where you broke off."
Spanky hesitated, and then sat down opposite Harvey.
The latter snapped his fingers, and five smoking, sizzling mugs of firewhisky appeared on the table.
Spanky took a deep drink, coughed, and began.
"I probably should have mentioned," he said, "something that happened the very instant I boarded the school train, at the start of my first term at Hogwarts. I had found an empty compartment and was leaning out the window, waving farewell to my good landlord as the train began to move out of the station. Finally, I turned 'round to take my seat, and ran headlong into a student who had been standing behind me. He shoved me in retaliation, and I fell down hard.
"'Watch your step, fellow,' said the other boy. He was pale and hatchet-faced, with a sneering lip and an ice-cold eye, and his tow-colored hair was cut very short. He looked at me as if I were a bug and he was deciding whether to crush me under his heel, or keep his shoes clean.
"'Excuse me,' I said, forcing myself to be polite. 'I didn't know you were there.'
"'You're one of Lionel Niblet's little charity cases, I take it,' drawled the blond boy, sitting down uninvited without offering to help me up off the floor. 'From that dirty little village, what's it called?'
"'Mangeford,' I said proudly."
Merlin snickered very briefly-until Harvey's look quelled him.
Spanky went on. "'Mangeford,' I declared.
"'Whatever,' he replied sleepily. 'I suppose your name isn't Niblet, is it?'
"'I would be honored if it was,' I said firmly. 'But no, it's Spanky Spankison.'-You realize, by the way, that I'm changing the names."
Harvey nodded, the light from the brazier glowing in his eyes. Spanky finished his goblet, wiped his mouth, and continued.
"The blond boy, my first Hogwarts acquaintance, pulled out his wand and began drawing in the air with it. A coat of arms began to take shape. 'This,' he said smugly, 'is the Shmedly family crest. There have been wizards on both sides of my family since the ninth century. Came over with William the Conqueror. Own practically all of Wiltshire, you know. Magic can be awfully helpful in managing mostly Muggle tenants, keeping law and order, and so forth. Not that we don't do our share to benefit our neighbors. Father subscribes to one of the oldest and largest charity schools in England. My name, by the way, is Sid Shmedly.'
"By now his wand had finished drawing the coat of arms, which among other nasty things depicted a slain lion impaled on a spear. Still pointing his wand in my direction, he offered me his left hand to shake.
"'In some parts of the world,' I observed, 'it is considered a great insult to offer your left hand to a man.'
"'I like to keep my wand hand ready for all eventualities,' said Sid Shmedly.
"'So do I then,' I replied, pulling out both my wands and pointing them at him. The blond boy's eyes went round with amazement. 'I'm afraid that leaves me none to spare,' I added.
"Shmedly recovered fast. Standing up, he said in a very upright, prissy tone of voice, 'I will not stand for this sort of treatment. I favor you with my protection, and this is your gratitude. You'd best learn manners when addressing your betters, or you'll find yourself in a bad way by and by. Until we meet again, then.'
"And with a haughty flourish, he turned and walked straight into the closed compartment door. I couldn't help but laugh. Fixing me with one last chilling look, Shmedley shrugged out into the corridor. I already knew that I had made an enemy of my first school acquaintance. If only I had known then how far our rivalry would take us, and what it would cost me before our school days ended..."
[Originally posted 6/18/04]
The next night, the cloaked wizard who called himself Spanky shouldered his way through the standing-room only crowd of cloaked wizards and witches at the Hog's Head. Horrible noises, like a tomcat getting the worst of a nocturnal assignation, came from a magically floodlit rear corner of the room. Clearly, a band was tuning up. Taking care to keep his face well covered, Spanky gained the relatively quiet corner where Sadie stood under her veil, tapping her large booted foot on the ground next to a table groaning with spoiled vegetables.
"Tomatoes, two for a knut," she called in a gruff voice. "Cabbage, good and slimy. Get your rusty lettuce here!"
"This your idea of a salad bar?" Spanky asked her. She flinched at the sound of his voice.
"Oh, it's you," she said, as coquettishly as possible from behind a heavy veil. "You looked the same as everybody else."
"Live music tonight?"
"Different band every week," said Sadie. "It always draws a crowd. A good outlet for people who have curses burning a hole in their wands. Plus, there's this bloke I know as needs help disposin' of a lot of unsavory produce. Mangled mangoes, a dozen for five knuts! Rutabeggars! Really mushy purple things!"
"Who's the band tonight?"
"Couple of young perishers with an accordion and bagpipes, name of Nasal Drip. It's like bowling a double wicket, mate. 'Ere, 'ave a couple overripe plantains, on me. They'll bounce off the band's Sphere of Insensitivity, most likely, but it's something for the curse people to aim at."
"No, thanks. Where are your friends?"
"They've got a private parlor in back. We might as well join them, sounds like they're going to start."
Magically amplified by the Sonorus charm, a very obnoxious combination of instruments began playing an absurdly inappropriate arrangement of Tiptoe through the Tentacula. It was the kind of music that required neither talent nor good taste to do it justice. On the other hand, the players were quite bad.
"Let's get out of here," Spanky agreed.
They retired through a greasy, evil-smelling curtained doorway into a nearly pitch-dark hallway lined with other curtained doorways. The corridor twisted erratically, went up and down steps at unpredictable intervals, and was troubled by creaky floorboards and drafty walls. Each doorway they passed emanated unspeakable smells and, in some cases, bizarre sounds. Spanky shuddered to imagine what creatures were dining within.
At last Sadie led him, stumbling, down two steps and through a ragged curtain that seemed to have been a bed sheet in a former century.
Three other cloaked and veiled figures stood to greet them.
"Merlin and Endora you've met," said Sadie said, pointing to two anonymous figures draped in cloaks-one tall and thin, the other short and plump. Back in the corner of the booth, the light of the small brazier on the table playing on the handkerchief tied across the lower half of his face, was a broad-beamed, square-jawed person with hard, gleaming eyes. "This 'ere is another business associate of ours, name of...er..."
"Harvey," said the broad-beamed one, pumping Spanky's hand.
"Yes. Harvey. And this is Spanky, right? Right. Harvey's in'erested in hearing about your two-fisted dueling, maybe seein' you in action. Wouldn't surprise me if 'e 'ad a business proposition for you later this evening. Right, Harve?"
Harvey grunted and sat down. "Don't bother bringing me up to date," he said, in a cool, deep, cultured voice. "I hope you don't mind that our mutual friends have regaled me with your adventures. You may as well continue from where you broke off."
Spanky hesitated, and then sat down opposite Harvey.
The latter snapped his fingers, and five smoking, sizzling mugs of firewhisky appeared on the table.
Spanky took a deep drink, coughed, and began.
"I probably should have mentioned," he said, "something that happened the very instant I boarded the school train, at the start of my first term at Hogwarts. I had found an empty compartment and was leaning out the window, waving farewell to my good landlord as the train began to move out of the station. Finally, I turned 'round to take my seat, and ran headlong into a student who had been standing behind me. He shoved me in retaliation, and I fell down hard.
"'Watch your step, fellow,' said the other boy. He was pale and hatchet-faced, with a sneering lip and an ice-cold eye, and his tow-colored hair was cut very short. He looked at me as if I were a bug and he was deciding whether to crush me under his heel, or keep his shoes clean.
"'Excuse me,' I said, forcing myself to be polite. 'I didn't know you were there.'
"'You're one of Lionel Niblet's little charity cases, I take it,' drawled the blond boy, sitting down uninvited without offering to help me up off the floor. 'From that dirty little village, what's it called?'
"'Mangeford,' I said proudly."
Merlin snickered very briefly-until Harvey's look quelled him.
Spanky went on. "'Mangeford,' I declared.
"'Whatever,' he replied sleepily. 'I suppose your name isn't Niblet, is it?'
"'I would be honored if it was,' I said firmly. 'But no, it's Spanky Spankison.'-You realize, by the way, that I'm changing the names."
Harvey nodded, the light from the brazier glowing in his eyes. Spanky finished his goblet, wiped his mouth, and continued.
"The blond boy, my first Hogwarts acquaintance, pulled out his wand and began drawing in the air with it. A coat of arms began to take shape. 'This,' he said smugly, 'is the Shmedly family crest. There have been wizards on both sides of my family since the ninth century. Came over with William the Conqueror. Own practically all of Wiltshire, you know. Magic can be awfully helpful in managing mostly Muggle tenants, keeping law and order, and so forth. Not that we don't do our share to benefit our neighbors. Father subscribes to one of the oldest and largest charity schools in England. My name, by the way, is Sid Shmedly.'
"By now his wand had finished drawing the coat of arms, which among other nasty things depicted a slain lion impaled on a spear. Still pointing his wand in my direction, he offered me his left hand to shake.
"'In some parts of the world,' I observed, 'it is considered a great insult to offer your left hand to a man.'
"'I like to keep my wand hand ready for all eventualities,' said Sid Shmedly.
"'So do I then,' I replied, pulling out both my wands and pointing them at him. The blond boy's eyes went round with amazement. 'I'm afraid that leaves me none to spare,' I added.
"Shmedly recovered fast. Standing up, he said in a very upright, prissy tone of voice, 'I will not stand for this sort of treatment. I favor you with my protection, and this is your gratitude. You'd best learn manners when addressing your betters, or you'll find yourself in a bad way by and by. Until we meet again, then.'
"And with a haughty flourish, he turned and walked straight into the closed compartment door. I couldn't help but laugh. Fixing me with one last chilling look, Shmedley shrugged out into the corridor. I already knew that I had made an enemy of my first school acquaintance. If only I had known then how far our rivalry would take us, and what it would cost me before our school days ended..."
[Originally posted 6/18/04]
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