Rifling through trash is not a glamorous job on any scale, even when the trash happens to be a wizard’s. It tends towards the explosive, in fact.

When my boss, Bernice said, “Lane, I need you to do something very important for me,” I thought she was going to let me take over our more exotic stock.

“Wizard Hendrickson’s been setting himself up against us, and we need to get an edge over him. I don’t trust Morda, and forget about Gerdin,” she continued.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, curious about where Bernice was going with this.

“I want you to go dumpster diving.”

I laughed. Bernice has a strange sense of humour.

“Very funny.” I said, “What do you actually want me to do?”

“I’m not joking, Lane,” she said, and her eyes held no mirth. My stomach dropped. She really wasn’t joking.

And that was how I ended up wearing gloves and a magical air purifying mask elbow deep in gunk, jabbering scraps, and shattered glass that sparked.

Wizard Hendrickson was an interesting fellow. What I’d gathered so far was that he was experimenting with copious amounts of powdered manticore pincers, (that was causing most of the explosions had to suppressed), gremlin goo, and quick-copper, a more effective, and much safer reagent than quicksilver.

As to what his purpose was, I left that to Bernice to figure out. She was the head of Potion World, tagline Wizardly Concoctions For All Your Magical Needs, not me. After I’d finished going through it all, I recast my shielding charms, stepped away from the dumpster, and removed my mask and gloves.

I exited the alley to air that was fresher, but not exemplary. Overhead, lamps lit the cobblestones of Wizard St., and obscured any chance I had of seeing the stars. Even still, the lamps were stars of their own, and several of them, courtesy of the locals, were colored in all hues of the rainbow. Wizard St. was a beautiful place at night, even if it’s name was unimaginative.

Shaking my head, I hurried down the street towards Potion World. The shop was dim, nobody on the bottom floor. It was after hours after all, and we did our prep work throughout the day. Bernice insisted that everyone focused better then.

I decided to write out my report on my finds at Wizard Hendrickson’s dumpster, before heading upstairs to talk to Bernice in person.

I turned the dial on my desk’s lamp, and set it to a middle setting, where the light was enough for my needs, but wouldn’t broadcast that someone was still up and at work to the neighborhood. The wizards of Wizard St. competed more than they should already. I crinkled my nose as memories of Wizard Hendrickon’s garbage assaulted me--that was proof of that competitive spirit, going too far. But I couldn’t argue with Bernice.

I wrote out what I found in Wizard Hendrickson’s dumpster, and read it over. I made some additions and took out some of my more vitriol sentences on how vile the job had been. The ink shifted around the page until I was satisfied with the result.

I turned off the light and headed up the steps to our house above the shop. Bernice was old fashioned in that regard. She lived above her own shop, and made her apprentices too. Gerdin liked to complain about it, but most of the reason I’d chosen to learn under Bernice was because of her old timey ways.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Evening, everyone,” I said when I entered the apartment. Bernice sat with my fellow apprentices at the dinner table, steaming plates of octopus and scallop curry in front of them.

Morda and Gerdin gave me curious stares. Bernice had told me to keep quiet, so they knew nothing of the dumpster diving business. I think they suspected that I had a sweetheart hidden somewhere, and was only now making it obvious that he existed.

I shrugged off their intent looks and headed to the stove where I spooned out the curry onto my own plate.

I sat in my usual seat at the table, to the right of Bernice, which as apprentices know, is the coveted seat. Morda and Gerdin continued their talk about the merits of the fashion of trailing sleeves versus its practicality. I ate my supper and listened.

Gerdin insisted that trailing sleeves were ridiculous, and was getting rather worked up over the point. I finished my plate, while Gerdin’s voice climbed higher.

I handed Bernice the report before I left the table for bed.

“We’ll talk later,” she said, and the report whisked away to her reading desk.

I nodded, too tired for words.

I went to my room and washed up. Cleaning and shielding charms did an excellent job, but the fact remains that I had still been elbow up in trash. Classic soap worked better for the psyche.

After I washed up, I headed straight for bed.

I thought this would be the end of this silly business, but when we spoke, Bernice said she needed to know more.

“I want you to go back this evening, after we prep the strengthening solutions.”

So I spent every evening for two weeks mucking through Wizard Hendrison’s garbage.

And I’d had enough.

“Bernice,” I said, “I can’t keep doing this.”

Bernice met my eyes, “It’s working though. We know what he’s working on and I'm making a counter strategy.”

“Can’t we just counter by doing the best we can, instead of this...silliness?”

That was a mistake. Bernice’s eyes hardened.

“You’ll keep doing this until I say so, Lane, or you’d be better off finding a different apprenticeship elsewhere.”

My blood boiled, and I left the room.

Bernice had changed. Her age, and the pressure of Wizard St. had gotten to her. She wasn't following the old ways anymore, not since this business started.

“I’m done,” I said.

I stormed to my room, packed a few things and rented a room at Hallbarrow Inn for the afternoon.

Wizards would detect any magic I used, as I wasn’t skilled enough to cover my tracks yet. I layered makeup and styled my hair and decided I’d pretend to be Bessie Mayor, an over eager girl from my hometown.

I walked to Wizard Hedrickson’s shop and introduced myself as looking for part time work at minimum wage to supplement my income.

“I don’t like magic much,” I lied, “but I know a bit and need the money.”

Wizard Hendrickson hardly batted an eye. A potential employee, offering cheap labor when his competitors were ramping up their game? He’d done a cursory inspection for illusion charms and intent, but I was tired of the way Bernice was practicing her magic. His quiet tests showed me clean.

I got the job.

I apologized to Bernice, of course for storming out the way I had, and focused on my lessons like never before. She was going to regret stooping to such actions.

So I spent my days at Potion World, and evening at Wizard Hendricks, honing my skills and learning every trade secret from the two that I could.

When I knew enough, I opened my own practice against the both of them.

Potion World closed down not long after, and Wizard Hendrickson declared bankruptcy.

I had taken their place on Wizard St.