Rise of the Sciencemancer

Ch. 9 The Wand

I am good at something! I wonder if there’s some way to turn throwing accuracy into a profession,

George thought as he beamed proudly at the third bullseye in a row (and there had been many others as well) that he had thrown in the dart game with the Fae-bloods.

“You’re really good, my friend,” said Jetsam, the fae-blood who had originally approached him about playing darts. With a warm smile, the elf-blooded sailor tried to hand George another drink. George waved his hand at the mug to politely decline.

“Are you sure, my friend? It steadies the nerves.”

“My nerves are already steady, thanks.”

George was beginning to wonder if Jetsam and his friends were trying to get him drunk. And Jetsam’s smile, which at first had seemed friendly and warm, was starting to get a little creepy. George thought he needed some air. Thinking of the outside made him think of…The Fairweather, his ship. He couldn’t miss his ship!

“What time is it?” he asked Jetsam.

“What does it matter? We’ve got all night, my friend.” Jetsam tried once again to hand George a new mug of whatever stuff he had recommended George start drinking. 

“No.” George shook his head for emphasis, but suddenly shaking his head made him dizzy. He had to get out of here. He had to find out what time it was and find out if he had missed The Fairweather. Was it even still daylight outside? Why did this place have no windows?

“Starstorm!” he called. Why was everything suddenly so noisy? Had this place gotten so noisy while he’d been playing darts? The place did look fuller than before, with more patrons. How long it been since he had lost track of time?

“Starstorm!” he called again.

Jetsam and his crew (minus the beautiful fae-blooded woman who had been there before. She had left sometime during the dart game.) looked at each other nervously as George called for help.

“Oh, Boss! I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, Starstorm was there. He perched on George’s shoulder. He felt so heavy. Why did Starstorm suddenly feel so heavy?

Jetsam looked at Starstorm with a predatory calculating gaze. The warm smile and cheery-eyed expression was gone, replaced with a look of cold assessment, taking stock of the p’ckit dragon and how the small creature might affect the nefarious plans that George was starting to suspect them of having for him.

“Go away, little pest.”

“Pest?” Starstorm flashed bared teeth at the fae-blood, then said, “I’ll show you what a pest can do.”

Starstorm dived into one of George’s pockets. Jetsam laughed. “Run away, mighty dragon. Ha ha ha!”

Suddenly, Jetsam’s face and the face of his compatriots blanched. A couple of them went slack-jawed. Starstorm had emerged from another of George’s pockets wielding a wand. Not a small, p’ckit dragon sized wand, but a full, human-sized wand, longer than Starstorm himself. Starstorm could have used it as a staff or a pole. “Here ya go, Boss,” the dragon said as he leaped to George’s wrist. He opened the fingers of George’s hand (which George discovered were strangely numb, making him extra-thankful for Startstorm’s help). Working quickly, the dragon placed the wand in his ward’s hand and helped him hold it somewhat steady.

Starstorm barked orders at the hooligans. “Now, losers, get out of here! Use that back door behind you right now if you don’t wanna see what happens when a drunk mage tries to use a Wand of Lightning.”

George thought, But I’m not really a mage. Oh! But the fae-bloods don’t know that, and I do have a p’ckit dragon, and I’m dressed well. They’ll believe it. Is this really a Wand of Lightning?

Going along with Starstorm’s plan, George met Jetsam’s gaze with feigned, but hopefully convincing, confidence. He jerked the wand toward his former benefactor menacingly twice, while saying, “Zap, zap! Go on!”

To his crew, Jetsam said, “Let’s go fellas.” To George, he said, “We let you win, idiot.”

Starstorm jerked his head at the dart board and back quickly. “I don’t think so. I saw the whole thing. All those bullseyes were his. Now get on with yourself.”

“Fine.”

*********

Soon, George was walking along the dock toward where The  Fairweather had been moored. It was just now sunset, but not past sunset. The ship would hopefully come into view, George and the tiny dragon would board, apologize for being late, and George would retire to wherever his cabin was. He was feeling sick, even a bit dizzy. What had that drink been that Jetsam had been buying him? He wanted to know so that he could avoid it by name for the rest of his life.

“Is that really a Wand of Lightning?” George asked.

“No, Boss, it’s a Wand of Illusion.”

“Oh, so everything was a bluff then.”

“Yeah, it was….uh oh!”

George didn’t like the sound of Starstorm’s uh oh!

“What?”

“The Fairweather has already sailed. I see it though. It’s not far. I can fly out to it and tell them to come back for you.”

“It looks pretty far. Are you sure? And would they really come back?”

“I’m sure. This mess is all my fault. I should have kept a better eye on you. I’ll get you on that ship. I’ll offer them a dragon’s hoard to turn back if I have to, and you know I have one.”

“Ok.” George stopped and leaned against a barrel for support. He had started to sway.

“Hang tight, Boss. I’ll be back with a ship.”

Starstorm left George leaning on the barrel and fluttered away madly. “Wings, don’t fail me now.”

“Be careful,” George said, but his tiny friend was already gone. George felt bad that the dragon thought it had to babysit him, and apparently that was true.

Suddenly George heaved with nausea. He leaned over the edge of the dock to make sure his vomit went in the water instead of onto the dock where people would walk. As he leaned over, he couldn’t stop leaning. He just kept going down, his legs having lost all feeling beneath him, offering no support to stop his downward motion. George fell headfirst into the water. He tried calling for Starstorm, but just got a lungful of water for his effort.

Am I going to drown because of the first time I ever got drunk? he thought. I really am a loser.