Rise of the Sciencemancer

Ch. 7 Widdlebottom's

Three days later, George stood on the docks of Leeward, a small port town on the coast, miles and miles away from Sutter’s Village. The main road through Leeward ran right down to the docks, the same road that ran three days journey back inland to Sutter’s Village. George looked at the road, a little muddy from a recent rain and rutted from countless wagons carrying cargoes to and from the docks at all hours of the day and night.

George’s mother’s tea from far away lands came up that road to Sutter’s Village. George’s mother had cried during George’s final farewell with his parents. George’s father hadn’t cried aloud, but George had seen one single tear fall down his father’s cheek. George honored his father’s stoicism by ignoring it as his father ignored it.

The only one who seemed upbeat at the parting was Starstorm, his father’s bonded p’ckit dragon. P’ckit dragons were normally monochrome, but Starstorm was a deep midnight blue with white speckles all over him. A mere five inches long plus his tail length, Starstorm had been with the elder Fothergill since before the lord of the manor had been George’s current age.

“Starstorm being with you will help your mother to worry a little less about you. His eyes are keen and his mind is sharp. As an assistant wizard, he knows more than many full-fledged wizards, and often has more sense, too.”

“Awwwww…..shucks!” the little reptile had said.

Starstorm had done his best to keep the mood light, to make people laugh and smile. Even George’s mother chuckled a few times. Finally, it was time for George to leave the Fothergill house and join up with a merchant caravan taking crops and vegetables to the ships in Leeward. For three days, George traveled down the road from Sutter’s Village to Leeward. He made no friends among the caravan, kept to himself, and only really talked to Starstorm. The caravaners were farmer folk. They saw George as a nobleman from a mage family, not someone of their class or station. George wouldn’t have been unfriendly, conceited, or rude to them, but he wasn’t sure how to relate to their gruff talk and he didn’t understand much of their agricultural jargon. He was only going to be with them three days, so he didn’t bother trying to bridge the gaps created by social class.

Now, he stood on the docks looking at the road, thinking of it like an umbilical cord running back to Sutter’s Village, his last connection to all he had ever known as home. Soon, he would set foot for the first time in his life aboard a seagoing vessel. The road would follow him no more, cut away by the shoreline like an umbilical cord being cut, separating a newly born human being from a placenta. Sutter’s Village had incubated him, taken care of him, nurtured him. It had been all he’d ever known. Suddenly, he was being thrust into an unfamiliar and, if he was honest with himself, slightly scary world.

“Hey! There’s a tavern! It looks a lot more lively than the little one in Sutter’s Village.” Starstorm stuck his head out of George’s rucksack. The p’ckit dragon, as he often did, pulled George out of his reverie, which was good, since it was a depressing reverie.

“Let’s go inside!” the little dragon urged.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you tired of standing out here? Aren’t you hungry or thirsty?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then, let’s go!”

“All right.”

George looked at The Fairweather, a merchant ship that was to depart that night, at sunset, which was still several hours away. Starstorm was right. There was no point in standing around the docks for hours. George had enough money that it wouldn’t be extravagant to go hang out a little more comfortably in the tavern for a few hours.

Inside, George saw that Starstorm had been right. Widdlebottom’s, as the establishment was named, was filled with sailors and travelers from all over Zorethea, not all of them human. George could see more than a couple fae-bloods in the crowd. As George cautiously took in the sights of the place, with its rough looking clientele, Starstorm suddenly surprised George by leaping out of George’s rucksack, flapping his little wings and making his way to the bar, calling loudly for the barkeep’s attention. This seemed out of character to George.

Then, George remembered that Starstorm was over five hundred years old, and had lived for centuries before befriending George’s father. George had only seen Starstorm in the context of Sutter’s Village. The young failed mage realized that the small dragon must be far more worldly and experienced than he had ever imagined.

After talking to the barkeep, which George couldn’t overhear because of the general level of background noise, the dragon flew back to George, excitedly.

“C’mon! C’mon! I got you a seat at the bar. This place has flavors and tastes I haven’t experienced in over a century, at least.”

“Are you sure we should be imbibing alcohol? Alcohol…”

“Clouds the mind, I know,” the little dragon finished. “You sound like one of those teachers at the school in Sutter’s Village. Now, there’s a whole world to explore, my young friend.” Starstorm smiled at him mischievously as his eyes sparkled with amusement.

George walked up to the bar and sat down. There were already two tankards there, since Starstorm had already ordered. The barkeep had moved on down the bar to serve others.

The p’ckit dragon stood on the bar, eye level with George seated on a barstool. “Look, kid, I’m over 500 years old. I haven't been out of Sutter’s Village much for at least a century. I need to live a little, and since you’re my charge, I’m going to help you have a little fun, too. Ok? Just trust me.”

“Alright,” George said reluctantly. His life, the only life he’d ever wanted, with Melindra and magic, was already gone forever. What could really come from taking advice from a frolicking p’ckit dragon in a rough tavern that could be worse than that?