Category: The Magic Quill

Merlin’s story continued:

“Rigel was handed from one hooded, masked figure to another. They were so heavily cloaked that I couldn’t tell witch from wizard. I followed as nimbly as I could, dodging through the bustle of the castle corridors, past doorways marked with signs like ‘Curse R & D,’ ‘Store-Brand Poisons,’ and ‘Glamours, Illusions & Hypnopropaganda.’ Through some of those doorways I could hear chains rattling, winches straining, and far-off moans or screams. It was difficult to keep Rigel in sight, but I just managed it.

The invisible wizard called Merlin shifted audibly in his seat, then began his tale…

“It all started back in the days when You-Know-Who was on the rise. The Hogsmeade Owlympics had just ended, and a dueling craze took hold of the wizarding public. A lot of the shops in Knockturn Alley broke sales records in those days. And Knockturn Alley is where I found myself on an ill-starred, August day.

““Joe!” he cried. “Joe Albuquerque! Is that really you?”

“No, it’s just a disguise,” said Joe Albuquerque, seating himself in a chair Harvey had just now conjured from nowhere. “So when do we get down to business?”

“What did you do with the real old goat?” Sadie asked, gazing down at the surprisingly small pile of items that had made up Joe’s disguise as the owner of the Hog’s Head. She added, in a vaguely hopeful tone, “Killed him, I suppose…”

“’But first,’” said the wizard known as Harvey, speaking through the handkerchief that covered half of his face, ‘“it is time that you knew a little about the people you may be working with.”’

The figures seated around the back parlor table stirred uneasily. Everyone seemed to prefer staying anonymous.

The Magic Quill will return in a bit. Until then, hold tight for a moment of station identification and a word from our commercial sponsors!

You are tuned in to the Wizarding Wireless Network, broadcasting at a frequency of 14 zillion spells per second. Heard by listeners in 73 countries and dominions, with and without translating spells. Programming is paid for, in part, by a grant from the Goblin Relations Council, dedicated to improving the public image of goblins, no matter how many galleons it takes. Further support comes from contributions from listeners such as Kermit Strange of Down Minky, who celebrated his one hundred and twelfth birthday on Friday.

“I would have gone on searching for Ilona straight through the Single event, but Ruff put a hex on me that made me come over unbearably itchy–with a burning rash–with every yard I put between myself and the dueling arena. And Crinkle forced a whole pint of Determination Draught down my throat, which got me through the quarter- and semi-final. I scarcely remember them. I only know that when I found out I would meet Shmedly again in the final, I looked forward to it with bitter joy.

“The most intense five minutes of my life, up to that day, began. The final of the Owlympic Freestyle Duel, between me and my most hated enemy, Sid Shmedly…”

Spanky continued his story, while a small audience of invisible, veiled, and masked witches and wizards listened in rapt silence–broken only by an occasional sneeze as a sizzle of firewhisky got up someone’s nose.

“So,” said Spanky gruffly, stalling for time because he wasn’t in much of a mood for telling stories, “you’re a betting man, then.”

“You bet your life I am,” said Harvey. He somehow appeared smug, even with a handkerchief covering his features. “I have put together a list of 54,239 betting games, magical and otherwise. And I have a system for at least a third of them. Naturally…”

“Well, since you’’ve seen my face now, I might as well show you this,” said Spanky, pulling a dog-eared magazine out of his cloak. It was a very old issue of Broom and Wand, with the caption “Who Will Laugh Last?” and a picture of two angry young wizards brandishing wands at each other. One of them was Spanky. The other was…

“Hey, I know him,” Merlin exclaimed. “Why, he’’s–“