Wizard at Work
a novel in stories
Vivian Vande Velde
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By the award winning author of Never Trust a Dead Man and Smart Dog
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Harcourt, Inc.
Orlando Austin New York San Diego Toronto London
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Copyright © 2003 by Vande Velde, Vivian
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
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including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and
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Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work
should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department,
Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.
www.HarcourtBooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vande Velde, Vivian.
Wizard at work/by Vivian Vande Velde.
p. cm.
Summary: A young wizard, who runs a school to teach wizards,
looks forward to a quiet summer off but is drawn into adventures
with princesses, unicorns, and ghosts instead.
[1. Wizards—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction.
3. Princesses—Fiction. 4. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.V2773Wi 2003
[Fic]—dc21 2002068665
ISBN 0-15-204559-7
Text set in Stempel Garamond
Designed by Cathy Riggs
First edition
A C E G H F D B
Printed in the United States of America
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To Gloria,
the word wizard
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Contents
How It All Starts 1
The Beautiful Princess, the Wicked Stepmother, and the Ugly Stepsister 9
Beasts on the Rampage 31
To Rescue a Princess 51
Wizard and Ghost 73
The Princess and the Quest for the Golden Cucumbers 113
How It All Starts
The wizard was minding his own business—well, mostly—when the witch either put a hex on him or didn't.
It happened like this: The wizard was a young man who often magically disguised himself to look like an old man because that was how people expected a wizard to look. Because he ran a school for young wizards, he spent the school year looking like an old man, for he figured he'd get little respect from his students if they guessed he was only a bit older than they. So once school was over for the year, it was a relief to take off his magical disguise and relax—sort of like taking off shoes that are too tight and fancy clothes that you've been worried about catching on something or spilling something on.
After what seemed an exceptionally harsh winter and a spring that surely had taken longer than usual to arrive, he had packed the last of his students off for home. On this, the first day of summer vacation, he magically transported himself to the village of Saint Wayne the Stutterer. Saint Wayne was not one of the major saints, and the village was a small one. The wizard knew most of the people there, and most of them knew him in his true form. He needed to buy supplies for his garden, including a new hoe, and he was waiting in line at the blacksmith's shop when the witch—whom he did not know—suddenly appeared with her three children.
Magically appeared.
As in: One moment, not there—the next, there.
Appeared directly in front of him about five seconds before the blacksmith finished with the previous customer, looked up, and asked, "Who's next?"
"That would be me," the witch said, stepping up to the counter.
The wizard was willing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, to believe that she had magically transported herself to where she wanted to be, and that she hadn't intentionally cut in front of him. He was even willing to let her get waited on first, for he was in no rush. He was ready for warm, leisurely days of peace and quiet.
The witch's children, two boys and a girl, were poking, bumping, taunting, and teasing one another. The older boy was a bully, the younger boy was a sniveler, and the girl was a whiner. All three of the children called "Ma!" in shrill, annoying, insistent voices—as in, "Ma, he's doing it again!" and "Ma, she started it!" and "Ma, aren't you through here yet?"
The witch ignored them while she explained to the blacksmith about the gate latch she wanted repaired.
The wizard didn't have children of his own, but he thought that having students was almost like having children. He thought to himself, I would never let my children misbehave like this. Of course, the youngest of his students was twelve, and the oldest of these children was seven, but that was no excuse.
The older boy knocked the younger boy backward so that he stepped on the wizard's toes.
"Careful," the wizard said, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, for the boy gave no sign of recognizing that he wasn't, in fact, standing on the simple ground anymore.
The boy glanced over his shoulder to give the wizard a well-what-are-your-feet-doing-under-my-feet? look, and his brother took the opportunity to smack him on the back of the head. "Ma!" the younger boy sniveled, elbowing his sister for good measure.
"Ma," the girl whined.
"Ma!" the older boy said as though he were the victim.
The blacksmith was working on the latch, and the witch turned and glared at the wizard. "What?" she asked, somewhere between a snarl and a snap.
The wizard wasn't willing to get into a fight, so he just shook his head to indicate he had nothing to say, and he inspected that part of the smithy where the ceiling met the back wall.
The witch glowered for a long moment before returning her attention to the blacksmith.
The children got louder and louder.
The witch didn't seem to hear them.
She did, however, hear the wizard sigh.
She turned around a second time and asked, "Do you have a problem with my children?"
"No," he assured her. He couldn't resist asking, "Do you?"
"How dare you?" she demanded. "How dare you criticize when you know nothing about us? Do you find my children annoying? Well, did you ever stop to consider whether there might be a reason for their misbehaving? Would you excuse them for being noisy and out of sorts if I told you they've been cooped up in the house for the past two weeks with illness? How about if I told, you their father may not recover, and their little sister just died?"
"I'm so sorry," the wizard said, for though he had a tendency to get impatient quickly, he didn't wish ill on anyone. "I had no idea."
The witch snorted and turned back to the blacksmith, who had finished repairing the latch.
The wizard felt terrible for finding the family irksome when they'd been through so much hardship. Under the circumstances, he was willing to forgive them, even the little girl, who was sticking her tongue out at him.
The smaller boy was still sniveling, but now the wizard realized it was because he had a cold. He realized this when the boy, who had his finger stuck up his nose, withdrew that finger to wipe it on his brother's sleeve. The older boy didn't notice because he was surreptitiously tying his sister's braids together.
The witch paid the blacksmith, then said, "Come, children, now we're off to speak to the miller."
The wizard wanted her to know he regretted looking down on her and her children, so he stood where he was and repeated, "I am truly sorry."
The witch was cross for his being in the way. "Why? What have you done now?"
"Nothing," he stammered. "I meant I'm sorry for all that's happened to you."
The witch glanced around suspiciously. "What happened?" she demanded.
The wizard was becoming confused. "The children's father, who's sick. The little girl who died."
"I never said there was sickness and death," the witch snarled as though he'd intentionally misunderstood. "I said, 'What if...' Actually, my children are the way they are because they're spoiled brats." She shook her head and pushed past him, muttering, "Dumb twit of a wizard." She added, "You'll never find true happiness until you learn to be less judgmental and look beyond the surface of things."
If that was a simple statement, it didn't really follow what she'd just said. If it was a spell, normally the wizard would have felt the magic, especially if it was being directed at him. But the children were jostling him as they pushed by on their way out, and he might have missed it.
Still, if it was a hex, it wasn't a bad one. He wasn't unhappy with his life as it was. He had his garden in the summer—when it wasn't overrun by rabbits—and fishing, and puttering about. And if he sometimes did get lonely, that was usually just about the time his students got back in the fall. Then, about the time they started really getting on his nerves, it would be summer again.
Life was satisfying, the wizard thought as he stepped up to the counter to give the blacksmith his order, if maybe somewhat predictable.
True happiness, he decided, was overrated.
The Beautiful Princess, the Wicked Stepmother, and the Ugly Stepsister
Once he got home, the wizard was happily tending his garden when a crow with a message tied to its leg came and refused to leave.
"Help," the message said. (It was written in lavender ink on pink stationery, all delicately perfumed and sealed with a miniature sealing-wax rose.) "I'm being held prisoner by my wicked stepmother, and my ugly stepsister has put a spell on both me and my betrothed. Please, please, please, help me."
It was signed, "Sincerely, Princess Rosalie," and whoever Princess Rosalie was, she had dotted the i's in her name by drawing tiny roses.
The wizard could be cranky, but he had a soft spot in his heart for people in trouble, and this sounded like serious trouble. "How far?" he asked the crow.
The crow, standing on the left arm of the scarecrow in the wizard's garden, scratched at the ragged sleeve—twice.
Not two miles, that was for sure: The wizard knew everybody around here and there were no Princess Rosalies. "Two hours away?" he asked hopefully. He had a magic spell that could transport him at a moment's notice, but it only worked for places to which he had already been. Because he didn't know who or where this princess was, he would have to follow the crow she had sent. He'd need to walk—or go by horse. Horses, with their big yellow teeth and enormous, clumsy-looking feet, were not his favorite animal. "Is this princess two hours away?" he repeated.
The crow hopped to the scarecrow's head and pecked at one of the button eyes.
The wizard sighed. "Two days?"
The crow ruffled its feathers and took off in a northeasterly direction, then circled back and relanded on the scarecrow's head.
The wizard sighed again. There was so much to do to get his garden in order. He tried to concentrate on the problems, on the reasons he shouldn't go—like the rabbits, who were no more intimidated by the scarecrow than this crow was, and who were making themselves at home in the wizard's garden. But he found himself looking at the pink-and-lavender note again. "Please, please, please, help me," he reread.
After yet another sigh, he muttered the spell that transformed his appearance into that of a man a hundred years older than he really was and that changed his practical work clothes into the star-sprinkled robe and conical hat he always wore in public, because otherwise nobody ever seemed to believe he really was a wizard.
He held his arm out for the crow, which landed on him with a flutter of black wings. Then it lifted its tail and made a mess on his sleeve.
"Bird brain," the wizard muttered.
But by then they were already transported to Farmer Seymour's barn, where there was a particularly bad-tempered mare that the farmer would rent out for an exorbitant fee whenever the wizard had need of a ride.
After two days of riding, the crow led the wizard to a small castle surrounded by a country town, all situated in the center of an especially green and peaceful valley.
And there, strolling down the wide avenue that led from the castle, was the wicked stepmother (he was sure it must be her) and the ugly stepsister.
The mother was a tall, thin woman dressed all in black. Her eyes, the wizard thought, were ferret-mean. And they were constantly moving—glancing this way and that—watching and evaluating all that went on around her.
Her daughter was a younger version of the same, except that her clothes were garishly colorful and she had a loud laugh that reminded the wizard of a pig oinking.
He did not want to make a formal entrance into the castle, for there was no telling how the wicked stepmother would react—wicked stepmothers can be unpredictable. Better to circle the castle and go in the back way. So with what he hoped looked like an expression of disinterested boredom, he rode by the group of townspeople that had gathered around the two women.
However, Princess Rosalie's messenger crow apparently did not reason the way the wizard did. Seeing him miss the turnoff to the castle, the crow rose up from its riding place on the horse's rump and began circling the wizard's head, cawing frantically.
"Shhh!" The wizard brushed his hand in front of his face to keep the frenzied bird at a safe distance.
It swooped at his head, pulling up only at the last moment with an angry screech. Then it climbed back into the air for another pass. And then another. And another.
People watched: The wicked queen and her daughter, passersby on the street, merchants at their outdoor stands—all stopped what they were doing to stare. A street juggler, distracted, dropped one of his clubs, then tucked them all under his red-and-green satin sleeve, unwilling to compete for the attention of the rapidly growing crowd.
"Stop it!" the wizard hissed at the crow.
He rounded his shoulders and slouched down into the saddle to make himself less conspicuous, but that only made the children in the crowd point and squeal, "Look at the hunchback and his trained bird!"
The wizard put his heels to the horse's sides, but the temperamental animal whipped around and nipped at him. Moving his leg farther back, out of range of the horse's big teeth, didn't help, for the horse kept after him, circling like a dog chasing its tail—or like the crow, still repeatedly diving at him. Finally he lifted both legs up and crossed them on top of the saddle.
The crowd clapped in polite appreciation.
The wizard pulled off his hat and swung at the crow, using the hat as a net. He almost fell off the horse. Not until his fourth try did he catch the crow. He quickly moved his hand to close off the top of the hat.
The crowd cheered. He heard someone thank the queen for sending such fine entertainment on a market-day afternoon.
Holding the violently shaking hat away from him and ignoring the outraged squawking that came from it, the wizard did his best to smile calmly and sweetly, and he bowed to the appreciative audience. He sneaked a glance at the queen. She had her eyes narrowed to thin slits and had her eyebrows lowered ominously. Under his breath, the wizard whispered, "Move, you stupid horse."
By now he had gathered a loyal following of children, a regular parade. They tracked after him as he rode away from the castle. "Mister!" they kept insisting. "Hey, mister! What are you going to do with the bird next, mister?"
But finally, almost a mile beyond the last cottage of the town, his silence and the lack of further tricks from bird or horse got to them, and one by one the children fell away.
When the last child was out of sight, the wizard took hold of the tip of his hat and shook. The crow gave an angry squawk and shot off in the direction of the castle.
The wizard hurriedly said the spell that transformed himself into a bird.
<
br /> Farmer Seymour's horse must have felt the tingle in the air that accompanies magic, for it whinnied and got that wild-eyed look it always did whenever it was seriously considering biting him. But by then the wizard was flying away toward the castle.
If I'm lucky, he thought, the horse will run home before I get back.
The wizard could keep a different shape for only a short while, but much sooner than that his shoulders began to ache from all the flapping. The crow he followed seemed to sense his distress and cruelly circled the castle twice before selecting a high tower window to fly into. With his last strength, the wizard landed on the windowsill, then transformed back into his own self so quickly that he almost fell backward off the sill.
Someone in the room screamed.
The wizard clutched the window frame and half jumped, half fell into the room.
It was a bedroom, a lady's bedroom; and although the time must have been about two o'clock in the afternoon, the young lady in question was in her bed. She clutched the sheets tight up around her neck, looking ready to scream again.
"Please don't do that," the wizard begged, clapping his hands over his ears. She was a very big lady—and she had an equally big voice.
To the wizard's surprise, the lady calmed down immediately. He could see her mouth move, but to form words, not to shriek.
"Beg your pardon?" he asked, slowly uncovering his ears.
She had raised the sheet up to hide the bottommost of her several chins. "I said, 'You're the wizard, aren't you?'" She didn't wait for his answer, but held the sheet up with one hand to block her face, and with her other hand pulled off her nightcap and fluffed her dark hair. She grabbed a mirror from the nightstand, and—still under cover of the sheet—started primping.
"Please don't bother," the wizard murmured. "I'm just passing through."
As if he hadn't spoken, she explained, "I didn't realize you'd be here so fast or I'd have made some arrangements."