-=- Ginsu Mage -=-
S1E3: Breakfast of Champions
-=-=-
Dobson opened a thick wooden door and led me into a glass enclosed veranda crowded with a large table and enough potted plants to start a jungle. Servants were busy adding and subtracting platters, filling glasses and dancing in a subtle ballet around the table.
Everything stopped when I entered the room.
Worst. Feeling. Ever.
I spotted the king at the head of the table, slightly overweight with fine robes and a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. His hair hadn’t yet gone grey, but his eyes were the colour of a stormy sky - all cold and chilly, promising 8 inches of snow on your day off.
On his left sat who I assumed was his queen, and his daughter next to her. They looked enough alike they could have been sisters. On the right side sat a thin young man with a smudge of a moustache and unkempt hair. He looked like he had just woken up and had been dragged bodily to the table.
I think I like him.
Two more men sat on the right side of the table, one dressed in official looking robes and the other in a military uniform.
All eyes were on me, weighing and judging, waiting for me to make a mistake.
Dobson announced my presence. “I present to your majesty, Mr. Harold Johnson. The champion summoned from Havlok’s Gate.”
Mask. I need a mask. Oh, god help me, I need a mask for this shit. Do I go all Serious? Comedic? Moody and Intriguing? Standard Job Interview mask?
Bye Bye Bi-Bimbo, I shall channel the powers of Robbin Williams for this occasion.
Throwing my arms up, I plastered the biggest fake smile possible on my face and exclaimed loudly, “Ah! Your majesty! It’s soooo good to finally meet you! I was in the middle of summoning a horde of elder demons to kill an ancient dragon when your …gate-thing… transported me to this place — without even sparing me a moment to put my affairs in order!”
Walking across the chilly stone floor, I read the expressions on their faces as I made my way over to the princess and had a seat. There was an empty plate next to military-guy, but WWRW do? Robbin Williams would ignore it and take control of the stage.
The king, queen and princess had suitably shocked expressions on their faces, military guy was playing poker, and Robes was clutching the table with white knuckles.
“You… You can summon elder demons?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I looked back at one of the serving maids and pointed at the empty spot on the table in front of me. “Who’s soul do I have to destroy to get a plate of food around here?”
I gave her a wink and a grin, watching as she glanced to the king for permission, then jumped into action making a plate, cutlery, and food appear as if by magic.
“And your name is?” I asked Robes.
“Magister Honta Evalius Demandrope, I am his magesty’s grand vizier.”
“Grand Vizier?” I asked, confused. “Is this a Muslim country? Are you some sort of religious official?”
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*/// Calibrating Lexicon… Examining linguistic symlinks… Restarting lingua routine… Grand Vizier is closest match for political position. ///*
Word-thoughts flowed across my mindscape like a forced daydream or some faded movie. I flinched at the unexpected intrusion and worried at the little spark bobbing in the bottom left corner of my vision.
The grand vizier ignored my question. “You said you could summon demons?”
“Oh, sure,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Big purple ones with huge horns and cloven feet. They work cheap too, just give them a cup of goats blood and they’ll fight a chainsaw. Can’t say I’m a fan of their dress code tho.”
I leaned in for a stage whisper and waggled my eyebrows. “Nudists. They’re all big, hairy, nudists.”
I could see the stress building around his eyes. He wasn’t a happy camper right now.
“Of course I can’t summon demons!” I half-shouted at him, pounding the table with my fist. “I’m a logistics specialist. I make sure freight and cargo get delivered to the right place on time. You’ve obviously made a mistake in summoning me here.”
Forking some egg into my mouth, I grabbed a slice of bacon and turned to the princess. “I’ve got a son back home about your age. Good lad, just finished uni with a masters in computer science. You should consider hooking up with him.”
She took a sudden interest in the food on her plate.
Grabbing up a glass of some sort of chilled red fruit drink and taking a swig, I addressed the king. “Your majesty, there’s obviously been some sort of mistake. Not sure who needs to be fired, but you summoned an ordinary guy. I’m not special in any way whatsoever.”
Those cold eyes measured me and peered past the mask. I could feel him weighing my worth, calculating my value.
“The grand vizier oversaw your summoning,” he said, placing his fork carefully, almost precisely, on the plate. Tines up, handle at 3 o’clock, just barely sticking over the edge. “And he has never failed me before. He was entrusted to summon a champion for the kingdom, and here you are, proof of his abilities.”
“Well, maybe the stars got knocked out of alignment or something, because I’m a fifty year old man with dodgy knees and a few extra pounds around the middle. The last time I was in a fight was junior high, and I lost.”
The king cast a glance at Honta and then back to me. “You’re not a fighter? Or a powerful mage?”
“I’m a lover, and I have a divorce and two kids to prove it.”
“What’s a divorce?” The queen asked.
I smiled bitterly. “A divorce is something that involves expensive lawyers, lots of paperwork, and sacrificing your house to get rid of a cheating wife.”
The queen took a sudden interest in the food on her plate.
Two for two. Maybe I can be home for lunch if I keep up the act.
The poker faced military guy spoke up, his voice smooth like a fine whiskey. “Strength and magic aren’t always required to win a war. Do you have any experience leading men? Experience in the theatre of war?”
“And you are?” I gestured with a half eaten slice of bacon.
His eyes narrowed dangerously, focusing on the bacon then locking back on mine. I got the sudden feeling that I didn’t want this man as an enemy.
“General Barrit Di’nair, leader of his majesty’s armed forces.” He said, that mellow voice at odds with the look in his eye. “Do you have experience with tactics and strategy, Mr. Johnson?”
“Please, call me Harry,” I smiled, snapping a bite of the bacon. I paused for a moment, giving the question some thought before answering honestly. “Sure, I have thousands of hours logged in many tactical and strategic war games. But those are games, not real life. There are no consequences for losing.”
The general took a sip from his glass and carefully placed it at an awkward position near the top left of his plate.
I glanced around the table quickly and noticed that the others were also acting peculiar with their tableware. Something cultural perhaps?
“Like I said, I do logistics. I hold a master’s degree in the subject.” I reached out with my fork and snagged a piece of ham from a plate in the centre of the table. Everyone at the table froze for a moment, eyes wide. One of the maids behind me gasped when I proceeded to slice the thick ham steak, knife grasped firmly in my right hand, then placed it across the top of the plate.
Yeah, I’m definitely missing some social cues here.
“You are a Magister?” Honta interrupted.
“I hold a master’s degree, yes,” I replied. “Six years of university and a couple decades of experience in the field.” And the last decade has been more box-shifting in a warehouse than actual logistics work in an office. Automation is the real job killer.
“So you are an educated man. A Magister, a master of your field.”
I shrugged in response. “That’s the title, yes.”
“You mentioned war games,” General Barrit said, taking back the conversation. “What did you mean by that?”
Thirty minutes later, I had explained the concept sufficiently to leave everyone at the table speechless. The idea of a magic screen where you fought against other players or a “bound spirit” in games of strategy, tactics, or combat had them amazed. The general’s eyes were glowing with excitement and he had called for someone to take notes half way through my explanation.
The princess spoke up when I wet my parched throat. I may not be good with people, but I do get excited about my hobbies. “Logistics is a strange word. What does that mean?” she asked.
“Ah ha! She can speak!” I laughed, nudging her with my elbow. She looked at me with a shocked expression. “Logistics, in my case, is making sure freight gets where it’s supposed to go on time. I manage a warehouse that ships internationally and have to coordinate everything that arrives and departs, account for weather and other delays, account for a hundred thousand square feet of freight and a dozen different delivery services. It sounds much more exciting that it really is. It’s a lot of paperwork and hassle in reality.”
“That sounds like a quartermaster,” General Barrit said. “You’re familiar with provisioning, establishing supply lines…”
“No, not at all,” I cut him off. “I deal with moving boxes from point a to point b — like a merchant. If things are late no one starves or freezes to death. I’ve done the supply line thing in games, but those weren’t real people.”
The general nodded, then looked at Honto and then to the king. “I’d like to test him. He may be useful.”
“Whoa up now,” I said, suddenly realising that things weren’t going the way I had hoped. “I told you I’m not some sort of sword swinging mage champion. You can just send me back home and try summoning another champion. I’m sure Magister Honto will get it right this time.”
“It’s not that easy,” the princess said, her voice soft, nearly a whisper. “Pacts were made. Bargains were struck.”