Beards, Devils, and Snake Oil

BEARDS, DEVILS, AND SNAKE OIL

Will Shirley

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Will Shirley

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For Anita, Katy, and Andrew

Who helped me transition from being a stranger in a strange land

to just being strange

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THESE ARE THE CHAPTERS OKAY?

The First One- Laundry Day

The Second One- Outcasts & Swindlers

The Third One- The Open Road

The Fourth One- Fast Times on Fancypants Highway

The Fifth One- The Hanging of Mean Jack Lockjaw

The Sixth One- In Which Morts Doesn’t Get a Library Card

The Seventh One- Scroonbottom’s Home for Wayward Urchins

The One That Comes After the Seventh One- Self-Discovery & Debatery

The Ninth One- Terrible Things Happen

The Tenth One- Spooks From Beyond

The Eleventh One- In Which Morts Charms Janet Ipswitch

The Twelfth One- Angela Becomes Unemployed

The Thirteenth One- Election Day

The Last One- Champagne & Hotties

APPENDIX

Chapter 1

Laundry Day

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As Morts put his dirty laundry in the dryer he did not pay attention. He did not pay attention to any of the things about what was happening, such as the fact that the laundry had not even been washed, or that most of it was already dry except for the parts that were not dry because they were sort of wet or perhaps just so cold they felt wet. But most importantly, he did not pay attention to the fact the lint filter needed to be scraped of its lints. This was because he never paid attention to this. He did not pay attention because he was a wizard and wizards do not know how to take care of themselves and do normal people things such as laundry, and a lot of wizards do not have laundry-cleaning spells because they spend time learning how to make spells to prove they are the best wizard. Which as far as most wizards will tell you are the spells that blow up the other wizard before they blow you up.

None of the other wizards in the Tower paid attention to the lint filter either because they were also too busy with spells. So no one really knew that the lint filter had not been cleaned in two months, since the Tower’s laundry lady got eaten by something. Or maybe she just quit; none of the wizards were sure because they never paid attention to things like what the non-wizard personnel in their Tower did until they stopped doing it. And sometimes, they did not even pay attention then.

They would have hired a replacement for the laundry lady, but they did not know how to hire people. That was what their human resources director did, who also was not around anymore. She had fired herself a week into her job. After she had hired all the other employees, she realized she did not qualify as a human resources director because she was not human. She was a bear. No one has been hired since then. In fact, no one was really sure if there were still any staff members around in the wizards’ Tower, because it was full of wizards not paying attention to things. The whole organization was in pretty bad shape. But not the worst shape it had ever been in, because it had been blown up by the wizards a few times over its history, and in those times it was in no shape at all.

Unlike your standard boring non-magical wardrobe that happens to sit in your dumb closet, wizards have a lot of magic clothes. Lint comes from clothes, many people will tell you; people who are more well-informed and in touch with their world than wizards. The lint one may find in the dryer is a mixture of lots of different kinds of clothes from many different people. As you may know wizards have lots of different kinds of magic they use, and some of it splatters on their clothes when they do it wrong, or when they do it right. But not all of these types of magic are supposed to go together, and other types, if you put them together, will do a thing that they would not do separately. And other types that should not be with those types will be there, and will do things that no thing should do. And before you know it, you have summoned a lint daemon into existence.

And that is what happened to Morts on this day.

The dryer began to shake and rattle, but not roll, and all sorts of colorful scribbles in who knows what kind of languages began to appear all over the utility room and creep towards the shaking dryer. Like veins in the eye of a really, really hung-over dude, they joined together, and began to dance about in creepy ways on the dryer. Darkness swallowed up the room and only the spooky blood vessely word lights were casting their glow on Morts’s face, which wrinkled in a frown as he was trying to figure out how to open the door handle because he had shut it on his way in and had no idea how it worked. But he was definitely not frowning because of anything else going on, such as the shaking dryer with a baleful glow, because he did not pay attention to things like that because he as a wizard and we know what they are like by now. As he was further engaging in the practice of ignoring everything but his focal point, the door of the dryer flew off the machine and slammed into the utility room wall, becoming bent up and stuff because it was flying off with a lot of force, okay? Okay.

Could you keep it down please? I am trying to solve the arcane puzzle of the doorknob, Morts said to whatever was coming out of the dryer, without so much as looking back to see what was coming out of the dryer, or worrying about the fact that you should never, ever, ever have things spontaneously generate themselves out of your dryer.

So from out of the dryer came masses of lint, one after the other in an eerie chain, until they rose up above Morts’s stupid wizard head and formed themselves into a bunch of larger masses of lint that sort of looked like arms and a torso, and maybe some sort of head, but definitely at least one, big glowing magic eye right in the middle of its not-a-face.

M…master? said the big floaty lint beast.

Finally Morts turned around and began to exhibit worry. However he was still not worried because he had animated a lint spirit by sucking at laundry. He was worried because he could not get the door open, and he had to go prove he was a better wizard than somebody else in an hour because that other wizard had said Morts was so dumb that he could not get out of an unlocked room, and he did not understand what the unlocked part meant but he knew what rooms were because he had spent a lot of time being inside some, and he understood the dumb part and that made him mad.

"Are you the new laundry lady? Where were you hiding? And why is the room all dark and filled with weird fluorescent patterns? I did not know this place was a dance club. This is the laundry room for the Tower, right?" Morts asked of the newborn entity.

I …am Laundrylady? Master…what am I? responded the confused fuzzy spook, looking at its levitating linty maybe-arms with its glowing eye which swirled about with ever-changing mystical patterns encircling it.

"I am sorry but I do not have time for existential debates with laundry ladies. Boopblat the Blatterer called me dumb in front of a bunch of the other wizards and witches were there. So I challenged him to a spell slinging contest to prove that I am the better wizard and that he is dumb and not me," Morts said, his voice becoming more indignant as he delved into the explanation of his plight.

Would you have me destroy this Boopblat, master? the daemon asked calmly.

Maybe. I don’t know, but I know I need to be there for the contest or it will look like I am chicken! But I can’t solve this CONFOUNDED ARCANE PUZZLE that blocks the door! WITCHES DON’T GO OUT WITH YOU IF YOU ARE CHICKEN! Morts whined pathetically.

The daemon looked at its rather pitiful master and looked at the doorknob, turning its head to the side as if in linty contemplation. It then reached out with its sort-of-arm, manifested some fingery lint projections and some opposing thumbfluff, and very delicately and deliberately turned the door’s latch. There were a couple of clicks, and then the door swung open. Morts stopped his panicked hyperventilation and his eyes bulged with amazement as he took a gander at the newly opened door, and at the magical construct of wizardly domestic negligence that had solved the great puzzle.

That was brilliant! You are without a doubt the smartest staff member we have ever had at the tower! Even smarter than that bear we had for a while! Morts beamed at his new pet. You don’t belong here…as a high wizard of the Tower, I am promoting you to my personal…uh…what kind of thing are you?

Laundrylady? shrugged the infant daemon, or the approximation of shrugging that floating lint in vaguely humanoid shape would perform.

And what’s your name? asked Morts.

I…Laundryladeez? the creature said, shaking its…head?

"That’s what you do. And that’s too many syllables for a wizard to spend his valuable time pronouncing, said Morts. I’ll just call you Launder."

Yes, master, nodded Launder. Launder the Laundrylady.

No I’m promoting…you know what, sure, said Morts as he hurried out of the room, barely taking the time to gesture for Launder to follow, You are my personal laundry lady, if it pleases you. Now I’ve got to go do my arcane stretches before the contest and get my paperwork filed. No time to waste!

Having only existed for several minutes, and not knowing of anything better to do with its time than the seemingly obvious choice of being this wizard’s familiar/laundry lady, Launder hovered down the hall after Morts, and opened all the doors for him that he had closed on his way down to the utility room before he could even get frustrated by their intricate mechanical riddles.

You know you’re quite good at solving these door puzzles. Where did you learn to master them? inquired Morts.

I don’t think these are puzzles, observed Launder as it effortlessly opened yet another door, and they passed on through.

Of course they are, laughed Morts. "Arcane puzzles, designed as security measures with such power and expertise that only a team of wizards trained here in Specklebeard Tower can unravel them. Thus, no outsiders or lesser wizards can possibly navigate the Tower."

The portal puzzles also help reinforce the practice of wizards travelling the Tower in groups rather than alone, which is generally safer. The architects designed the passageways of the Tower to be super confusing and misleading; easy to get lost in if traversing them alone, Morts added as they walked down a very linear hallway distinctly differing in appearance from the last, with a clear entrance and exit, and a map by both of them with name of the floor complete with a ‘You are Here’ dot.

So it typically requires several wizards to open a closed door? mused the daemon, That explains why you seemed to be struggling with it, huh?

True, I was careless to come down alone, but as you know, I’m in a hurry, Morts admitted, Yet you pass through them with such ease!

"I do. Because it’s easy," said Launder, beginning to question the masterfulness of its master. Well, not really beginning to…it had been ever since opening the first door.

Morts remarked, You are fortunate we ended up together, your talents were wasted as a laundry lady. To so easily bypass our safeguards you must be exceptionally brilliant and powerful.

I don’t disagree, I clearly must be, and am, Launder nodded.

Normally I would never ask for advice because I’ve never met anyone wiser than myself, but clearly you are a cut above some of Specklebeard’s best, said Morts. Were you to find yourself in a spell slinging contest against another Specklebeard wizard today, what would you do?

Launder paused thoughtfully, tilting its head up slightly before again lowering it, and replying, "I would do something they would not expect. They expect you to use magic. So don’t do that. Do something else. Something original. Something that pops."

Hmm, was all Morts mustered in reply, nodding and contemplating the daemon’s words somberly.

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In the lands before the Tower, the Spellslinger Dojo was all abustle with wizards barely paying attention to anything at all past trying to seduce someone or talk about how they are the best at wizardry. The dojo was always abustle, since that was where spell contests are held, and pretty much all wizards do is fight in spell contests, and look for the oldest, dustiest books they can find in hopes that it may have a better spell than the old, dusty books of their opponents. Some of the wizards also wander through the spectator seating at the dojo trying to find concession vendors, but there are none, because like the rest of the non-wizard staff members of the tower, they are either busy being dead or not working there anymore.

Up in the announcer’s booth a wizard threw a bunch of papers into the air. He did not do it out of frustration, the way a disgruntled office worker might throw a stack of papers in the air in front of the entire office as they tell everyone in the office to go to fiery underworlds, and then jump out of a window. This wizard did it because he had gotten the papers so out of order that he was hoping after throwing them all into the air and picking them up in a stack again, they would almost surely be in more order than before. Honestly, he may have done it out of frustration a little bit, too, because he was muttering curses under his breath as he picked the papers up and put them back in a stack. Oh, and I should clarify that I mean he was muttering the dirty word kind of curses, not the magical kind, because in the context of wizards it is important to point that kind of thing out.

The crystal ball in the room chimed with the voice of the wizard person on the other end, Popesly, who is up next? They’ve almost finished scraping Billingsley off the walls, so I think we should be ready for the next spell contest in about five minutes or so.

I have been forced to reprioritize my assessment of the spell contest chronological recordry today, was Popesly’s reply as he started picking up the papers even more slowly than before, on purpose. I will need more time than that.

Okay, but you know how the audience gets if you keep them waiting too long, chimed the disembodied voice, They start to say mean things about my mother and it hurts my feelings.

"Marcus, your mother is a succubus. In the most literal sense of the word, too… as in, she’s a female lust devil. And she butchered dozens of men, with no other justification than they ceased calling her ‘baby’ and began to behave in an untrustworthy and evasive manner," Popesly replied to the man on the other side of the crystal ball.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then soft, muffled weeping from the ball that was so soft and muffled that the sphere barely glowed in fluctuation with the sound.

Marcus, for the love of the gods, stop crying. I will just send out the very next pair of challengers who show up. Okay?

Popesly did not get a response, and much to his relief because no one likes to hear a grown man cry aside from beings such as Marcus’s mom, he did not have to wait awkwardly for one at all, because another wizard was trying to ring in through the crystal ball.

Marcus, hey, someone’s trying to chime through, I’ve got to take this ball call, allright? said Popesly, quickly twisting the ball before Marcus could reply or continue to weep muffledly. Spellslinger Dojo, Popesly here!

Hey Popesly, its Morts! I want you to know that I am very definitely NOT going to cancel and am going to be even MORE on time for my spell slinging contest with Boopblat than he is going to be because I am the BETTER and MORE SEXY wizard. So I want you to move the time of the contest to RIGHT NOW so he looks stupider, said the new caller.

Boopblat the Blatterer? asked Popesly.

There is more than one Boopblat in the Specklebeard Tower? the caller asked.

Hell if I know, replied Popesly. "I’m just the tower archivist. Okay, as you wish, the contest will commence RIGHT NOW. But not right now right now, I mean, after we disengage the crystal ball, and then I announce it to the Dojo, then right now."

Thank you very much, said Boopblat as he terminated the crystal ball call that he had been impersonating Morts during for obviously no good reasons that he stroked his beard about as he strolled out onto the Spellslinger Dojo floor. He was also relishing the fact that the deeds he was about to do would not be attributed to some other dude named Boopblat by spectators with poor memory, which was all of them. Popesly’s barely-interested-in-announcing things voice began announcing things over the Dojo magispeaker system.

"And now, wizards, witches, familiars, and elusive concession vendors…where are you vendor guys, though, for serious? Does anyone know? Anyone? OKAY anyway…commencing RIGHT NOW, when I am done with the announcement about it, we have a spell slinging match between Boopblat the Blatterer and Morts Smellybeard, high wizards of Specklebeard Tower. Specklebeard Tower, for those of you who have forgotten because you’re senile beyond the measure that non-wizards can survive or have never bothered to learn because you are a wizard, is the big old towery thing behind us, where most of us here at the Dojo live. A little bit of history for you…we stopped