Pommenby, ahead of the throng, descended a couple of levels and sauntered into a room with a round sandpit, surrounded with dangling bells. Stood by this pit was a young wizard with a concerned look on her face.
“Well then, operator? Any luck? Did we get through this time?”
The young woman’s face was uncomfortably grim, as if she were to burst into tears.
“Afraid not. No signal at all. We didn’t even detect any interference from beyond the shield. It’s as if it were stronger than before.”
“That can’t possibly be true! No, no, no.” Pommenby replied, a little frustrated, “Not unless our enemy is strengthening it. That’s the only explanation for it!”
“My Lord, if I may suggest something?”
“What is it?”
“Our efforts may have simply been strengthening the shield. Our enemy could-“
“No, young lady! That can’t happen. That’s not how it works!”
“I don’t want to upset you, my Lord, but we do seem to be trying random magics out of desperation now. Has it really come to that now?”
Pommenby paused for a second, then retorted in a very overassertive manner.
“Do not concern yourself with that, young lady. Focus on your work, and we will do ours. Rest assured, we will make contact.”
Pommenby was visibly stressed at this point. Even the regular meditation didn’t have much of a relaxing and calming effect on him anymore. He thought to himself that this would be the time to seek out special potions to help him.
Strolling past the Potions room, Pommenby went next door to the Wizard’s Bar. Spinson was already there, propping the bar up.
“Spinson!”
“’Ello, sir. Did we win?”
“Not this time.” Pommenby ahem-ed, “Barkeep?”
“Yes, my Lord, I’m surprised to see you here. Can I do anything for you?”
“I want a bottle of house red.”
“Bad day, my Lord? I’d have thought you’d be on that meditation stuff, not here.”
“Oh it wasn’t too bad. The spell looked very pretty. First time I ever cast that one.”
“Do I, erm, take it that this was a complete failure then, my Lord?”
“Oh, not completely. Even though times are hard, someone has to remain positive. We only need one spell to work.”
The barkeep, who was also a wizard, but not nearly as senior as the others (and needed to hold down this job to pay the bills), had lost his enthusiasm days ago. He saw that the best, the great and good of this land just could not cut the mustard, and that all hope was indeed lost, which was some genuinely tough mustard oh yes. Anyway, the barkeep found a slightly dusty bottle of red wine down below the counter, something rather befitting for the Lord Wizard.
“Will this do, my Lord?”
“Ooh, let’s see. 845 Vintage. That sounds like it could be enjoyable, yes.”
Lord Pommenby then proceeded to wave his hand above the bottle and spake:
“Sisa Thuasis!”
And with that incant, the cork appeared to slide out of its own accord, and plopped neatly onto the bar.
“Very good, my Lord.” Said the unimpressed Barkeep.
Lord Pommenby, who chose to not reply, grabbed the bottle firmly in his right hand and swigged heartily from the bottle, emptying half of it within seconds, some of it spilling down his cheek into that beard. Spinson, who at the time was only a mere spectator, felt he had to comment on this with conviction:
“Hey ey ey ey, steady on! Steady on!”
Pommenby turned to his left.
“What?”
“What the bloody hell are you doing? Slow down!”
“Sorry, my friend. Just a reflex habit.”
Spinson, who had already been present here, in the bar for a couple of hours, was already in the process of marinating his liver with a choice of local brews. Or from another point of view, ensuring that what beer was left behind didn’t go to waste. As he spoke, he tried hard as he could to keep his gaze on poor Pommenby.
“You won’t enjoy it necking it like that. Just pace yourself.”
“I know what I’m doing!” Pommenby replied, who was clearly a little irritated.
Spinson was already in the phase where he couldn’t help but converse with his hands as well. Steady at the bar, he stretched out his palm and fingers at Pommenby.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Trust me, you know, this sort of thing I’m an expert in.”
“I’d have you know, I’ve been abstintent for twenty years. Abstinunt.”
“No worries. Times are hard but you have to take it slowly. Trust me, you’ll feel better. Oi... Barman, bloody get him a glass would you? Come on.”
“Right up, sir.”
Barely hiding his annoyance at the pair of them, the barkeep swiftly produced a wide wine glass from the shelf under the bar, upon the table.
“Right, just sip it, don’t, you know, glug it down. That don’t help nobody.”
“Don’t woollrry, I’ll be alright.”
Pommenby presently filled the glass almost to the brim with wine, set the bottle back onto the bar and without pause or hesitation, swigged the entire glass.
“Oh for f-, no, no, no, no don’t blame me if you’re sick. I did tell you.”
Pommenby suddenly took righteous offence at this and lectured back:
“There’s bloody alien forces on our land and there’s nothing, nothing we can do about it! None of our spells work and you’re bloody asking me to enjoy myself? Do you know how much we’ve tried this past month? Well?”
“So you’ve given up all hope then? I tell you, yeah, if I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t have given up. I never did anyway. No. I wouldn’t. You know what I’ve lost?”, Spinson replied, counting his losses on his fingers, and either looking close to punching someone or crying, “My wife... yeah? My two boys? My beautiful baby girl? YOU – you ain’t never had a family but if you had of done, how would it feel like?”
“Pretty bad.”
“You see, that’s it yeah, you wouldn’t understand because you never had one. You’ve got all this..” He bounced his index finger off his skull repeatedly, “Up here, so you people can NEVER give up hope, never.Iif they ever brought an army here, if they brought an army up here, right, I would break every one of their stinking bloody necks, “ He said as he rammed his fist on the bar, “Before they had me. I don’t care if they did. I’ve got nothing. Nothing here.”
Pommenby began to point his finger wildly back at Spinson in response.
“Spinson... we have, have tried everything... in the books. That’s all of our, of our magical knowledge. So what then? If we’ve thrown everything at it, what do we do?”
“Why are you asking me? I’m no magician. I look after these bloody prisoners. We’re kind of counting on you lot to get us out of this mess. I can’t believe you’ve tried everything. It’s bullshit-”
Suddenly, a younger wizard burst into the bar, waving his arms around.
“Lord Pommenby? Lord Pommenby!” He exclaimed loudly.
“Ooh, company?”
And Lord Pommenby slowly turned around to look.
“Two more have arrived. Wizards of the West, my Lord.”
“Good, good. Tell them. Tell them..” He gestured with his finger at the young man, “Ask them young man... see if they have any ideas we could try. Any spells we haven’t used yet.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The young wizard bowed to Lord Pommenby, switched around and left the bar. Pommenby turned himself back to Spinson.
“They’re all good you know.”
“Well, they’re the best wizards in all the world. What’s left.”
“Yes, I forgot. I had many, many colleagues. Some of them, Spinson, I never saw that much because of study and whatnot. I do miss them. Yes.”
“So, would you say you’d think that’s something to be worth fighting for?”
“Well I suppose so. You know that's what we're fighting against.”
“They're not your friends any more. They're slaves now and they ain't coming back.”
© Luke O'Sullivan, 2009
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