Fiction
Fantasy
It was midway through my two-hundred-and-twenty-third battle with the Arch Wizard Althoffer that things first began to go awry.
I recall it quite clearly. It was a delightful summer’s day, and I had just drawn breath and was preparing to launch my deadly (though only to evil creatures) Big Blue Lightning Bolt spell. I was already composing a witty post-spell remark when, without any warning, a large unwashed potato appeared on the floor at my feet.
I’d seen a potato before, of course. Granted, those I’d seen in the past had been politely circular, with none of the grotesque green blotches that marked this one. But I had little trouble in dealing with such trivial peculiarities. Nevertheless, its sudden, unprompted materialization was far from accepted tubular behavior, and in my surprise I took a step backward, whereupon I overbalanced and tumbled into the pigs’ water trough.
Needless to say, this caused my Arch Nemesis no end of amusement. And although I quickly recovered and silenced his laughter with a barrage of clever and powerful spells, I could not shake the feeling of vague discomfort that the event had provoked in me.
I set out, as I always did in times of such unease, to visit my Lady Arabella.
Her family’s manor lay across the river. It was, if I may say, embarrassingly meager compared to my own estates. But my lady’s beauty was more than adequate compensation.
“Your ladyship,” her servant cried as I approached. “Prince William is here to see you.”
She entered, as she always did, by descending the grand central staircase that dominated the entrance hall. Her long gown trailed behind her, and her feet were hidden from view so that it appeared she floated toward me, truly some divine apparition!
“My prince!” she cried, and I swept her into my arms. “Ah,” she breathed. “I have been too long without your embrace.”
As we stood, gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes, I was suddenly struck by the feeling that something, somehow, wasn’t quite right. It took me several moments to work out what it was. For as long as I had known her, my lady had always been immaculately groomed. Today, however, I couldn’t help but notice that her hair appeared—well, somewhat greasy and bedraggled.
It was of no great concern, of course, and I quickly stifled the urge to vomit. No doubt she had simply woken a little off-color, and had neglected to prepare herself with her usual care. Combined with my earlier encounter with the wayward vegetable, though, it did serve to unsettle me a little.
“My lady,” I began, anxious to unburden myself, but before I could proceed she placed a (fortunately clean) finger over my lips and silenced me.
“Oh, but my poor love,”—her brow knitted in concern—“I had completely forgotten about your great battle! Come, sit with me a while in the parlor and tell me all about it.”
Suddenly, basking in the love that radiated from those soft brown eyes, stringy hair and truant potatoes seemed the most piffling of trifles. And so instead I busied myself with constructing a slightly more heroic version of the day’s events with which to regale her. Her reaction was all one could have wished. She swooned with each attack, cheered with each rebuttal, and I returned home that evening with the feeling that all was right with the world.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
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Copyright 2008, Ben Payne. All rights reserved. Ben is editor of Dog Versus Sandwich (www.dogvsandwich.wordpress.com) and co-editor of Shiny magazine (shinymag.blogspot.com). He reviews regularly at Not if You Were the Last Short Story on Earth and The Fix.
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