Then was nothing for a while. Nothing but a few mugs of ale down Con’s stomach and his gut telling him he took in too much too fast. After their performance, most of the patrons had left to their homes or works, still getting any use they could from the sunlight breaking through the window.
Con and Pringle were in sync, taking in their liquor. The years they spent together, going from inn to inn, stepping on stage as a duo, had certainly yielded an unspoken understanding for each other. They were like twins who did everything together, sipping their drinks in sync, like mirrored images. Sometimes, they had to piss at the same time as well. They weren’t close enough to cross the streams, however.
“We killed it,” Con said after they both clamored their mugs on the bar top at the same time. “We fucking killed it!”
Pringle nodded.
“But I feel like ass!” Con hissed. Mean Jim, the tavern owner and the man who poured their drinks, angrily washed plates past the open door behind the bar. “Doesn’t help we get paid like scum.”
“Not one bit,” Pringle agreed.
“A night’s stay? Really, that’s all? We fucking killed it!”
“We did. Killed it right and clean, and everybody loved it.”
“Except for Mansion,” Con laughed.
“Nah, he hated that. But that’s what hecklers deserve, right? To tower themselves high, then come crumbling down in their arrogance.”
Con and Pringle didn’t agree on much. First on what should be in their act, second on their suits and appearance, and third on the gigs themselves. But if one thing could bring them together, other than their love of magic, it was their disdain for hecklers.
“Excuse me?” a voice called from behind.
“Hello?” Con turned his head, the world spinning past the point where his head stopped. Drunk already, a classic Con celebration for a show well done and poorly paid. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a young woman of perhaps eighteen. Blond hair, much like Con’s, though his hair didn’t have two long pigtails coming off the sides. “And you are…”
“Belle!” she extended her hand, almost businesslike, whereas her voice came across perhaps a little too exciting for a proper greeting. Con accepted it with all the politeness he had left, Belle shaking firmly. “It was a wonderful performance.”
“Yeah,” Con shrugged his shoulders. It’d be nice to be compensated for such a good show.
“You guys are really clever, using magic in your performance,” said the young girl. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Ah yes, magic,” Con grinned, elbowing Pringle in the shoulder. “Even the greatest sorcerers can’t do what we do.”
“I know,” Belle smiled. “Using illusion magic and pretending it’s not. Very refreshing to see. I’ve never seen an act like it.”
Con’s smile vanished. “Illusion magic?”
“Why, that’s what your friend did, right?” Pringle turned his head to the girl as if she called him out. “You’re Pringle, right? I was watching you the whole time, especially after you caught that pen. Nobody seemed to notice you taking the man’s wallet back out a second time and inserting the card. I wondered for a few minutes why everyone looked so amazed… and then it hit me. You guys are real magicians!”
Con laughed, smacking Pringle on the shoulder. “She found you out! The first person to ever catch onto us. I always thought it would be me.”
“Wait, you did magic too?” Belle asked, looking up at Con.
Pringle cleared his throat. “Is this something we really should be revealing so easily?”
“I see no harm. She obviously knows her stuff.” Con reached behind himself for his mug. “I’m a conjurer, and Pringle’s an illusionist.”
“Con the Conjurer?” Belle beamed. “Those cards, then, I suppose were your making?”
Con nodded. He much liked Con the Conjurer than other names people called him and would be happy if he died known as that. The name people called you stuck to your reputation like fish living in a pond with no stream out.
“We request you keep this a secret,” Pringle said. “We are performers more than we are mages.”
“Oh, of course. I can’t work with you guys if I reveal your secrets.”
“Work? For us?” Con almost laughed. “Aren’t you a little too young?”
“No, in fact, I’m not,” Belle’s face crunched as if his remarks were an affront she heard a hundred too many times. “Among many things, I’m an agent and a booker. For simplicity, you can call me your manager. I’ve brought three no-name musicians from small towns like these and brought them all around the world, finishing at the grandest stage out there.”
“The Granplex?” Con asked, disbelief rising in his gut, bleeding through his wincing face. “Impossible.”
“I’ve made many dreams, and I would be happy to make yours. That is, if the top of the top is your destination, then I’m your gal.”
Con and Pringle looked at each other. Then they laughed, slapping each other on the knee and pounding their mugs together. “Your story reeks more of a comedy than self-achievement.”
“It’s true!” Belle said. “I can prove it.”
“Prove it? Fine, go on then—”
The doors stormed open, the swinging arched wood shapes slamming against the wall before bouncing back to a distressed man’s hands. “They’re here!”
Mean Jim stormed out from the door behind the bar, hands filthy with dirt and sludge. “Who’s here!” he shouted.
“The pirates! The pirates are here!”
Con took the final swig of his mug, not expecting any more alcohol to come. He sighed.
“They’re early! A week early! Damn them! Everyone to their rooms!”
“Guys,” Belle whispered. “You can stop them.”
“Excuse me?” Con asked. “This is none of our business. We have no stake in this town nor a vendetta against any pirates.” Then again, they might have one against me, but in Perdo, the odds of that are astronomical. Con looked over to Pringle for support, though he offered none. Nothing except for maybe a stare of contempt. As if you’re better than me, thief!
“You two are armed with magic! Surely you can drive them away! They need you.”
“Partner?” Con asked.
Pringle stretched his arms. “I haven’t killed anyone in a while. I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to for some time. You act our leader, so make the choice like one.”
Con winced. No help from Pringle, though he didn’t expect any in the first place. He would easily go the rest of his life without murdering a fly as he would go around door to door, killing everyone he saw. At least, that was how his indifference on matters such as these often felt. I always wondered if you, my friend, are a sociopath.
Con sighed. Was it his teaching of the Watcher who told him to use his power for the greater good of mankind, or was it somebody actually important to him? Con’s face twisted as he remembered. A woman’s voice, low and faint, deep into his mind, guiding his every movement with all her tranquilizing words. A voice telling him that he could do better. Be better.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Fine!” Con kicked himself off of his stool and made for the door.
“Stay back,” Pringle whispered to Belle. “Let the magicians handle this.”
The streets outside were miraculously empty of people. Lights turned off in the brightness of afternoon sunlight, curtains pulled over the windows to hide their wares. Even the small towns seemed to grow with every passing year. The main road divided through three blocks of businesses. Down on Con’s right, he saw the crop fields pave the hills just below the sun. To his left, the buildings carried down the gilded street a screen of haze trailed far behind the shape of three figures marching down.
Con and Pringle put themselves in the middle of the street, standing, waiting to be confronted. For a group of pirates, there were only a few. And rather slow to their plundering. Not touching a thing as far as Con could see.
Behind, a few men were climbing the buildings on each side of the street, armed with bows, quivers of arrows dangling behind their backs as they crawled up to the slanted roofs. Con imagined there were about a dozen of them in total.
Hardly any town this big should struggle with these few, so why did he have to do it? “This is bullshit,” Con said. “Bull. Fucking. Shit.”
Pringle only nodded.
“I mean, where are the guards?”
“Perhaps they sought glory elsewhere. If you’re willing to put your life on the line, you might as well get something out of it.”
There was always an incentive to work where the money was, and for the most part, cities had the largest treasuries. Con just didn’t understand why he had to be the one to handle petty crooks like these.
Con shook his head. The sentries on the roofs were jumping from rooftop to rooftop; bows were already drawn. Behind the three, there were four more stepping out of the haze. Seven on foot, five on the roofs. Dangerous predicament, magic aside.
“Gentlemen!” the man in the middle spread apart his empty hands in a welcoming gesture as if Con and Pringle were the invaders. “Would you lads be so kind to bring us to your mayor? But first, empty your pockets! Great suits, by the way. If our numbers were higher, we’d strip you down of those.”
“To be frank, I do not know where the mayor is,” Con said, nodding his head sorrowfully. He looked at the man, seeing his face slathered in dirt and muck. His black uniform was stained from top to bottom like he spent the last few days crawling through mud. The cleanest aspect of these men were the blades a few of the lackeys had unsheathed. Con was quick to add, “But I know where the nearest restroom is. There we can wash you up and… oh my! That smell! You, my friend, smell like a toilet that never flushes.” Con bowed forward. “With all due respect.”
I guess I did use all my politeness shaking Belle’s hand. Oh well…
“Funny man, eh? Who dares speak to me that way? Do you want to lose your life? Is your gold that precious you’d insult your robbers?”
“Insult? I meant no venom in my words. Truly. If I did, I might have said something along the lines of ‘You have a face only a generous god could love, and then say it’s a shame no such god exists.’ But no, I would never mean to insult you.”
The pirate scowled. “If you wish your head on your neck and not on a pike, I suggest you empty your pockets. Now!”
“Ahh,” Con sighed, pulling the insides of his pockets outward, pinching them into hills to show their emptiness. “I’m afraid we have no money. We spent it all on these suits.”
“Kill them!” the pirate spat.
“Okay, okay, wait!” Con raised his hand. The suddenness startled him at first. “We can work this out. Please? I don’t want to die. I can offer you something worth more than gold!”
“What?” the leader stomped. “Speak now! Or I’ll take your tongue and—”
“A magic trick,” Con grinned as he clapped his hands together in front of himself. A full deck of cards formed where he pulled apart his palms. This time, compared to his performance earlier, this deck was heavier and stiffer. The edges were sharp enough to cut his fingers if he mishandled them, the cards made with the texture of steel.
“What the?” a man grunted besides the pirate leader gasped. “I recognize you!”
Con frowned. He shuffled the deck in his hands, pretending to ignore the man. When he glanced to his left, Pringle was already gone. He hadn’t noticed him disappear. And if he didn’t notice, neither would the pirates.
“Your blond hair, short around the sides! You’re a conjurer! That grin of yours, I’d recognize it anywhere!”
The deck was now randomized, and any trace of a grin Con had, slipped into an unpleasant line. Not that it mattered. He was just killing time. “Tell me when to stop,” he said, standing the cards in his hand as he let them lean over and tip over in his palm one by one. Something told Con they would not tell him to stop.
“This is where you’ve been, huh? I thought I’d escaped you, bastard. You killed half my unit! You slaughtered my father! Entire regiments, you’ve massacred! And you were on my side! You… You’re Mad Jack!”
Mad Jack, eh? That’s a name I’d wish would’ve dropped years ago. But here we are, eleven long years after I deserted Trass and the Kregel Frontier. It still follows me like a part of my flesh, the tail of a dog.
The cards were still falling.
“We should go,” the man beckoned the pirate leader. “He’s a mage! It’s not worth the trouble.”
The pirate leader lifted a hand. “He’s outnumbered fifteen to one.”
So I’ve miscounted. A shame, but I’m sure Pringle has heard or figured that out for himself already. I’m cutting it close with my stalling.
Minutes ago, ten eyes were looking down at Con from the roofs. Now there were only four.
“I’m no longer Mad Jack,” Con said in a whisper. The name off his tongue stung but mostly of disappointment. It hurt his head to even think about what he did in his early twenties. Thirty-five now, and his past still echoed into the present. He would kill these men if he had to. Jack would have killed all of them for even looking at him the way they were, especially the man who looked at him with fear. Jack always loved making nightmares real. And a man rarely gets to make that choice himself. “I’m Annoyed Jack. Poor Jack. I’m a different magician now. If you leave now, I might even be Peaceful Jack. What do you say?”
The leader seemed to think about it. Hard, if his scowl correlated, but Con was just getting used to this as his regular face. “You’ve insulted me! Twice! I don’t care who they say you are. I won’t be disrespected!”
“I’m sorry that I’ve crossed the line multiple times in our conversation. Indeed, I’m terrible at making friends and leagues better at killing them. I would like to make amends. But I just ask that you leave and never come back to this town again.”
“Bastard,” the pirate leader spat. He pointed at Con with a sickly sneer made from his gaping, twisted lips. “Sentries! Kill this man!”
Con lifted the top card off his deck with his left hand, looking up, seeing two eyes stare down at him. The man had an arrow in hand, fumbling to pull his string back all the way back. Con whipped his hand in a broad upward arc, keeping the card as level as he could. The card soared through the air just as the string pulled back.
“Gugh!” gargling from above. The arrow dropped pathetically off the rooftop, tumbling to the floor. After came the sentry, rolling and flipping down from the edge. He crashed into the ground, dead. The card stuck through the middle of his throat, a small stream of blood seeping out of the wound.
The man who had recognized Con as Mad Jack turned sharply around. By the time he made five steps, Pringle had chopped him on the head, sending him sprawling on the floor, limp like a corpse, just unconscious. A bloody knife gripped in the magician’s hand as the others finally noticed what Pringle had been up to all this time. If they remembered him at all.
The six others between Con and Pringle paused, hesitant. The leader drew his sword out of his sheath, looking afraid that it escalated to where he would have to use it.
“Surrender,” Con said.
“Never!” the leader lunged forward with a mighty roar. “Die! AUGH!”
His legs buckled as two cards stabbed into his thigh and one more in the middle of his knee. He hit the floor, his sword spinning on the floor as it slipped from his hand. Con waved at the top of his deck, the piece of conjured metal spinning and launching, catching one man in the stomach, the other one in the chest, both collapsing in torment. One started to turn and flee, though Pringle, with his bloody dagger, stabbed and swung the blade into flesh. He ran, not noticing Pringle attacked him at all, running only a short distance away before fainting. He would be fortunate to be alive when the medical help arrived.
Not my problem, Con thought. I offered them peace, and they wished for blood. They got it alright. Their own. Natural selection at its finest. Who in their right mind would ever think of attacking a mage anyway?
That left two pirates standing. Knowing how outmatched they were, they wisely dropped their swords and fell to their knees in submission. How many Kregish have I killed in my heyday in this position? I could hardly think of a number close. They are only so fortunate I’m a different man now.
If the Watcher was still up there, looking down, he would think Con was a merciful man at this moment. Hardly. Mercy would be one of two things: they could either release them or, alternatively, kill them. Certainly, if they released them, they would never come back. Maybe they’d give up their lives of crime for good. But Con wasn’t that hopeful. Killing them was easy and best for everybody involved, even the pirates, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Con decided, however, to spare them. For one, he went through all this trouble to solve this town’s problems on their behalf. They were entitled to some work of their own.
Con sighed, viewing their wreckage of bodies. Some were dead, others were close, and a few wished they were. The screaming settled into sorrowful moaning.
Pringle stepped over an unconscious body. “Sorry I couldn’t get them all in time. Ran into additional trouble.”
“Right, no faults on your end. I could have done better stalling. Should’ve known insulting him would spread his patience thin, but I just can’t help myself.”
The pirate leader moaned from the ground. “Bastards! You’ve got nothing better to do than defend a stupid, poor town!”
Con looked to Pringle thoughtfully, blinking. “Do we not?”
“I don’t know,” Pringle shrugged. “Just right place, right time for this town, I’d say. Wrong place, wrong time for you, pirate.”
“Maybe we should do more,” Con said. “I would like to pick up the pace a little more, see the world through a performer’s eyes.”
Pringle nodded.
“You think that Belle girl is legit?”
Pringle grunted. “I can’t say. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, would it?”
“Suppose it won’t,” Con turned back toward the tavern. Men and women were now standing out on the street, looking down the street at Con, Pringle, and their havoc inflicted on the raiders. The world was growing more violent as Con grew more peaceful and passive. Raids were everywhere, and the Deep was out there in the ocean, plotting. Con was sure there would be more attacks from that square hellhole soon enough. Things were changing, but Con wasn’t changing fast enough. “Suppose it won’t.”