Modern Magick

Royalty and Ruin: 11

How it seems to work with storytellers is: they arrive, noisily. People among the quickly-gathering crowd begin shouting out requests for stories. The tale-bearers pick whichever suggestion best suits their fancy and, for a little while, the drums stop in favour of their voices. Jay, Alban and I watched for a little while, taking their measure, and heard a spirited tale of an ancient hero called Gostingot who stormed the strongholds of corrupt sorcerers an unspecified number of centuries ago. The storytellers were good: he with his great, rumbling, booming voice and she with her light, musical tones, they had everything.

Once Gostingot's tale was done, the giant resumed his drumming and off they went again, collecting more of an audience, until somebody's called-out suggestion caught their attention once more.

'This is going to take way too long,' I said, sotto voce.

'Right,' said Jay. 'It'll have to be kidnapping, then.'

I stared. 'What?'

'That is what you were going to suggest, isn't it?'

'Nothing quite so daring—'

'You disappoint me. Crazy Ves is becoming positively staid.'

I punched him. But only a little bit, on the arm.

I was actually looking at Alban.

'What?' said his highness, eyeing me back warily. 'I don't like that look in your eye, Ves.'

'We want tales of displaced royalty, don't we? How lucky that we happen to have a displaced royal right in our very midst. And from the same source, too!' I gave him an encouraging smile.

He sighed. 'So I am to be sacrificed for the sake of today's mission, am I?'

'Only your dignity.'

'That's reassuring.'

A short while later, a twitch or two of my intensely magickal Sunstone Wand had pepped up the prince's appearance. His simple, stylish attire now resembled something far grander: he had velvets and silks, a fine, billowing cape, and a golden coronet.

'Lose the crown, Ves,' said Alban from between gritted teeth.

'It is a bit too much,' Jay agreed, surveying the prince critically.

I pouted a bit, for it made a splendid addition to his bronze-blond locks, but I obeyed.

'And I'm not sure about the cape,' Alban added, twisting around to look at the length of it swirling behind himself. 'Must it billow like that?'

I'd given him the magickal equivalent of a wind machine. 'Of course it must. We want pomp, we want majesty, we want hints of unearthly powers from afar. We need these people to take you seriously.'

'That last part is sort of what I was getting at with the billowing thing.'

'If this were a film, you'd have all that plus a mantle of palpable power, crackling around your muscled frame like a lightning storm—'

'Please don't give yourself ideas, Ves.' He rolled his shoulders, stood a bit straighter, and sighed. 'Just don't let anybody trip on it, all right?'

'Will watch like a hawk,' I promised, probably mendaciously. I was given an immediate opportunity to prove myself, however, for Ms. Goodfellow made a sudden lunge at the cape's floating ends and closed her teeth around the half-corporeal fabric. I bonked her on the nose with the Wand and she sneezed in surprise, releasing the cape at once.

'You're up,' I told Alban, and nodded in the direction of the storytellers. We had ducked into a side street as they had paused again for another tale, and by the looks of it the story was winding down.