Chapter Eighteen: The Wizard
~~~~~~~{Memory Core 6 Start}~~~~~~~
It was cold the day my parents died. The sun hid, a shy spectator behind a curtain of stubborn silver clouds, heavy with rain yet unwilling to cry. I had decided that night would be their end, even as my heart waged a silent war within. They wouldn’t see another dawn.
Under my father’s orders, I navigated the grimy market alleys for his usual–Whiskey and Blaze. The latter, a sinister red powder known for its fiery hallucinations, was a slow poison to the mind, but in our bleak corner of the world, even self-destruction had its allure. Technically, it was illegal for children to consume, but merchants didn’t care. And my father certainly didn’t either, but at least he didn’t treat me like my mother. I could hear the shouting echo in my brain as I stepped into the decrepit shop, ‘Lyric’s ends and odds’–a play on words lost on most who frequented its dimly lit aisles.
‘Gol’ is gol,’' Lerick, the Merchant, said as I handed him the silver and coppers. “But don’t tell ta coppas ol’ Lerick sold youse this.” He gave me a brown bottle with a jagged cork. He then flashed a toothless grin, a defiant smirk that flaunted the gaps in his smile. That cork would be a pain to get out. Next, Lerick handed me a bulky wad of waxy, yellow paper–Blaze. Its warmth seeped into my palms as I cautiously cupped the dubious material. I left the store at a run, planning my next move.
I had turned watering down my father’s whiskey into an art, subtly diluting it so he never caught on that the merchant wasn’t to blame. But the next cheapest merchant doubled the cost, and the other greedy merchants watered down their products, too. He never gave me enough money to afford the more expensive merchants, but I always left Lerick’s with 6 or 7 pieces of copper in my pocket. I darted into Salio’s Wholesale Bottletorium, bustling with transactions and boisterous laughter. I emerged with a small, refurbished bottle and five coppers lighter.
I had regularly pilfered a shot from my father’s whiskey stash, siphoning just enough to avoid detection. But I never touched his Blaze–even the thought made me grimace. The idea of snorting that burning red powder, feeling it eat away at my senses, was a line I couldn't cross. Just the idea of ingesting something through my nose made my stomach churn.
It was the only thing that made the man happy, so I never begrudged him. I turned the corner from Salio’s and went down the alley behind Juke and Jak’s bar. My ears twitched at a particularly raucous turn of laughter. Despite the cheaper swill at Juke and Jak’s, my father steered clear, preferring the solitude of his vice over communal inebriation. The alley snaked its way from 7th Avenue, a shadowy vein leading directly to the opulent palace gates.
There were 16 main roads in total that led straight to the city gates. You could see the Outer Wall from the palace in every direction because of this; it was a sight to see: Opulence screamed from the city in every direction as pillars, homes, shops, and warehouses created a unique circular skyline. The palace always boasted that King Turmeran Venzwincourt liked keeping an eye on his subjects from his palisades, though I could only guess whether he did it out of affection or suspicion.
In the secluded alley, the shadows cloaked my swift sleight of hand, shielding my actions from prying eyes. Carefully, I yanked the cork out of the whiskey and poured until the small beer bottle was full. Not a drop spilled. With a spare cork, I employed a nimble technique taught by my friend Peckolin, expertly securing it atop the beer bottle. I then took my water skin and poured some water into the whiskey bottle. However, I didn’t replace all the water; that was a rookie mistake. I filled maybe ¾ of what was missing and then sealed the bottle. I shook it a few times and then put it in my satchel. My father knew it was watered down; why try hiding it? There was no need to perfect the ruse when his assumptions played in my favor.
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As I exited the alley, I sighed in relief as I heard light snoring. Devars, the guard notorious for his dozing, was slumped against the wall of the local guard pavilion. His rusted iron helmet sat askew over a chainmail coif, and his breastplate and leggings had seen better days. Curiously, clenched in his hand was not a weapon but a fork, gripped as if it were his lifeline. The oddity nearly coaxed a snort of laughter from me, but I stifled it just in time. I wondered what culinary dream Devars was lost in, to hold onto a fork with such determination even in sleep.
The merchant didn't care about my age, but the guards sure would. On any given day, Blaze teetered on the edge of being contraband, its mere possession a risk that could attract the guards' unwanted attention. By this time, a little after lunch, the 7th Avenue Courtyard had emptied, and its morning energy dissipated as people retreated to their work or homes. A mid-day calm settled over the area, leaving it deserted and tranquil. There, sprawled on the courtyard steps, was Peckolin, lost to a drunken slumber. Like me, he found solace in 7th Avenue's overlooked corners, away from prying eyes. No one was ever watching, not even the guards.
Many shunned 7th Avenue for its proximity to the pungent main sewer entrance and because more convenient thoroughfares beckoned them elsewhere. The result was a lane often cloaked in an unwelcoming odor and deserted by those who preferred quicker, more pleasant paths.
I gently woke my friend up from his nap. I needed Peckolin alert, despite the assault on my senses his presence caused. There was information, magic, too, only he could provide. Before I did, I stuck a couple of wads of mint paper in my nose. Peckolin always reeked of an unbearable odor, a nauseating blend of stale alcohol, unwashed body, and the pungent rotten egg smell of the nearby sewers. It was a scent that, over time, I had come to associate with the bleakness of death. That thought percolated through my mind, making me think of Edoth, Peckolin’s brother. But I shook away the sad, bitter thought and sighed. Even through the wads of paper, I got a hint of a whiff of his odor—a smell I never wanted to experience again.
“Huh... Whazzat? What time is it?” mumbled Peckolin, his voice groggy. He opened his gummed-up eyes slowly, resembling a heap of rotten garbage more than a man.
“Roddy! What a pleasant surprise. Is it that time of the week again? Whiskey, come to papa!” In an instant, as Peckolin leaped to his feet, the aura of neglect and filth vanished, replaced by an uncanny cleanliness. He now mirrored the palace steps in their pristine state–a testament to his wizardry. Peckolin was a wizard and the best kind of wizard. Peckolin wielded his magic with a moral code, never for harm, only for survival and the occasional harmless trickery. Though, if I'm being honest, those 'occasions' were more frequent than not. “What do you need from me today, my friend?” He put his arm around me; a gentle fragrance of roses wafted around him, penetrating even the wads of paper stuffed in my nostrils. Such was the subtle charm of his magic.
“Who said I needed anything? Can’t a kid bring his favorite Magician a bottle of whiskey?”I said with a laugh.
“Shhh. Keep it down, Roddy,” Peckolin hissed with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Mr. Sleepy over there is blissfully unaware that his precious sword is now part of my collection.”
“Ah. I was wondering about the fork. Nice spell.” I said, glancing back at Devars. The realization hit me–his rigid hold did resemble a swordsman's grip.
“Anyway, what's the real reason you woke me up?” With a snap of Peckolin’s fingers, a door materialized out of thin air, its sudden appearance as nonchalant as his demeanor. He stepped into a cluttered storage room, a treasure trove of the bizarre and the mundane, packed to the rafters with items ranging from the peculiar, like a grandfather clock that moved in reverse and a candle that never melted, to the prosaic like his liquor collection or his Alchemy collection–I wasn’t sure how he kept them separate given that they were right next to each other. It looked for a second like he put the whiskey on the Alchemy side, but I blinked, and he closed the door before I could get a better look. “And before you ask, I can’t make you taller. Well, I could, but it might break your bones.” He added with a grimace.
“Well, there goes my afternoon plans,” I laughed. “I need a favor.” I unfolded my plans to him, ones I had meticulously crafted over the years, each detail etched in my mind. Tonight, they would come to fruition. He frowned, nodding as I talked. After tonight, the screams that echoed through my house would be silenced, and the cycle of pain would finally be broken.
An uneasy laugh slipped out, the sound seeming out of place in the moment's gravity. Today would be the day that would change everything.
~~~~~~~{End Memory Core 6}~~~~~~~