JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 18: Misery's Run

Let me go! Cristina says in an exasperated manner to the man. You are mine! he replies. Then marry me, you coward! Or is it that you only thirst for what you can’t have? asks Cristina. Aye, there’s nothing but your fucking flower between these legs that you can offer to this wretched world, replies the man. Look at you, fine fellow, sinning. May you burn in hell! says Cristina. I’ll gladly make you wait for me there, the man says followed by a thud. My legs are frozen in place, I can’t move. Fuck! I hear the man speak. Silence poisons the air around me as a million thoughts run through my head. Fuck, I tell myself as I start running in the opposite direction of where the two were. Why? Why did it have to happen? I ask myself. The more I run, the more familiar the setting becomes. I can’t understand this, I tell myself as I begin to slow down. What is it with this place and murders? I ask myself as I stop running. The clouded sky covers the moon turning the streets dark. I once more create flame in the darkness to see where I am. Trying to find my way towards Stephen’s Inn. A thought asking me why did I run popped into my head. The answer to which, I had none. Yet a jolt of fear struck my heart as I slowly made my way towards the inn. After an hour of wandering, I can finally see the inn and as my whole heart feels a little bit lighter.

I open the door to see Arcus, alone, drinking. Evening, I say. Arcus jolts up then turns with a defeated look on his face towards me. What do you want? he asks. To go sleep, I respond. Why here? Couldn’t you go anywhere else? he drunkenly asks. I do not know any other place to sleep, I respond. Why don’t ya sleep outside with the dogs… Or better… In the river with them fishes… says Arcus. That’d be uncomfortable, I snarkily respond. Yer right, probably, responds Arcus. Can I go now? I ask. Why does Stephen not listen? If he listened, he would have been doing so much better. But he always have to do whatever he feels is right, he stumbles in his words. You mean ha… I try to correct him before getting interrupted. Did you know he had a wife? No. You did not know that. How could you. You devilish wizard. Or maybe you knew. Of course you knew with yer magic and thoughts and stuff. Then I guess you knew she died. Childbirth. It was simply monstrous. The baby came out hanged and blue faced as she died. I pitied Stephen, such a tragedy… says Arcus. I am sorry to hear that, I respond. Of course yer sorry. Anyone would be. Even the devil’s spawn can’t shed a tear to such tragedy. Let me tell you something wizard. Whatever you came here looking for, good luck finding it. But pray that it doesn’t find you first… An unsettling silence sets after what Arcus just said. Here… Take these keys. Do whatever. See you never, says Arcus as he throws me the keys and leaves. I hate today, I tell myself before throwing myself in the bed and falling asleep instantly.

A much needed sleep, a much needed silent morning with the sweet chirping of birds gracing me with their voice. I either slept through people going to wherever they need going in the morning, or I woke up too early for noise to be a problem yet, I tell myself as I look at the bright blue sky. As I get up from my bed, I go to get dressed and get down for breakfast. Expecting Stephen to greet me with a big smile I go down the stairs yet there’s no one. It is dead quiet. Stephen? I shout. No answer. Maybe he is out and about, yet I do not see Arcus either around, I tell myself. Should I wait? Or should I find another place to eat? I ask myself. I should eat and leave him the money for the food and for the night after, I convince myself as my stomach feels like its chewing me out already. As I find myself some bread, some meats and a bit of cheese, another intrusive thought goes through my head asking if what I am doing is wrong. I take a kettle, add some water to it and start boiling it for a cup of tea. But at the same time another thought asks me if it is really wrong if I am paying for what I am consuming. I take my plate, set it on the table and sit in silence. As I sit, I can’t help but look at the light shinning through the window. I take a deep breath and start eating. A shadow appears before the window as the kettle starts whistling. As I raise my head, I see the Sheriff. This can’t be happening…

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 17: Lost in Death and Misery

If he confessed to his crimes, then we have nothing else to do but to take him to Newgate, says the Sheriff. I have not confessed to anything! I won’t go! You can’t take me from this church! Thomas protests. We can, and we will, says the Sheriff. Not if father here will grant me sanctuary, says Thomas. Father? asks the Sheriff. Please, I will do anything to repent and please, please, please, Thomas begs. I have a bad feeling about this. Fine, says the Priest. Thomas starts laughing. I was not done. You have only a day. You must pray, fast and do a confessional. If you do not or will not. I will hand you over to the Sheriff, says the Priest. I will, I will, I will, says Thomas on his knees. Get me a watchman or two to stay guard for a day here. He must not leave this place, says the Sheriff. Now I really do have a bad feeling about all of this, I slip my tongue as the Sheriff gave the order. I almost forgot. Please send word to that mob of people to inform them of the reality of the situation, says the Sheriff. Thank you, I tell the Sheriff. How do you always find yourself in these situations? asks the Sheriff. I don’t know. I just wanted to eat some lunch and go get my stuff from the inn. I never expected any of this to happen, I explain. You need to stop hanging out with a cutpurse and find better people to be around, says the Sheriff. Please reference me to someone that is a better people, I respond.

You asked for me? asks a Watchman. Yes, there will be another one coming to change with you around morning. Or do you wish to come in tomorrow morning since you have worked already? asks the Sheriff. I would prefer it that way, yes, says the Watchman. Okay, good. That’s settled than, see you tomorrow around this time of the day, says the Sheriff. The watchman leaves. So, Wizard, I will have to think of someone. Next time we meet, I might recommend you someone. And assuming on your good luck, we might just meet very soon, says the Sheriff. Does that mean that I may leave? I ask. Yes. I assume you’ll be at Stephen’s inn, right? asks the Sheriff. Yes, that is where I will reside, at least for now, I explain as I take my leave. Good, I’ll know where to look for you, says the Sheriff. Let’s hope you won’t need to find me soon enough, I whisper as I close the door to the church. As I move down the street, I enter the intersection where the people were gathered previously. A coroner and a couple of watchman pick the body of the dead man up in order to load in in a carriage and take it away. As I make a left, leaving that horrid place behind, I start to ponder about everything that has happened until now. If there are lessons to be learned here, I do not really know what they are. I mostly feel a victim of fate. Imprisoned, shamed, death stitched tot he back of my eyes, and no mere break from horror, I speak to myself as I get lost.

I don’t know how I did not get lost until now. Everything looks almost the same as everything else, unless it’s a tavern, church or someone important with an imposing house. It all starts to feel like a maze. I can’t even see where the river flows through. Or maybe I am too far from the riverside? I ask as I aimlessly roam the streets trying to find my way towards Stephen’s Inn. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings instead of letting myself get way into my own head, I tell myself as more and more noise is made around me. I raise my head to look around. I see people leaving as they chat about their day and the sun sets. As I take a few more steps forward, a giant building graces itself in the last few rays of sunlight. The murmur of the people now gone, I am left alone in this little square of London looking at this building simply wondering what it is. I hear a man and a woman chat at the corner of the building. Cristina, let us spend the night together. I have lodgings for the night, I hear the man say. I could not. It is Sunday. I am still young. I do not want to go against my mother’s wishes and ruin this. So you either marry me or I am leaving, she says. Come on, dear. There’s no need for that, yet, says the man. Then we can’t spend the night, she says. Where do you think you are going? he asks. Home. Now let my arm be or I will make a hue, she says. You whore! You wench! You dare sleep with others, but not with me? he says. Let me be! she insists. I’ll let you rot in hell, says the man…

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 16: Vengeance, Forgiveness and All

You unholy things should have all died back then. But you were lucky that cowards hid you in their homes and had you lost so that you can blend in with people again. Hear my name, I Thomas of Bristol will have you and all your kind dead, says Thomas. A bit too dramatic for my taste when it comes to a confession. But not that I care much as long as that priest there listened to what you had to say, I tell Thomas. What? A Priest? Where? asks Thomas. You do realize this is a church, right? I ask. Sadly, I am no priest. I am a coroner. John of Sherbourne is my name and yes, I did hear the confession, says John. Well, this feels a bit underwhelming, I say. Stay away from me! I am warning you! says Thomas. You do not have the courage. If you kill me, they’ll know it was you who killed that poor man, I tell Thomas. But if I kill him, then they’ll know that it was you, says Thomas. Why? If it was you who I tried to kill, yet I killed him, what sense would that make? Why wouldn’t I just kill the both of you? I ask. He is right. No one is going to believe you as long as I live or you live, says John. Then I’ll kill myself, says Thomas. Good, you are making this easier for us, says John. What? asks Thomas bewildered. As I said, as long as either of us live, you will be the guilty one, John explains. What did I do? What did I do to deserve this? asks Thomas. You killed an innocent man, I respond. Give yourself up, says John. What about my mission? What about his demise? Why did this go so badly? asks Thomas. There is no justice in killing innocent people. And there is no mission that warrants such actions, says John.

I do not know what drove you to do this, not that it matters much anymore considering what you have done. But what happened long ago, has nothing to do with me or any others like me. Nor has it anything to do with you at this point. Unless you make it so it has everything to do with you by repeating the same actions of those that came before you. We just want to live and I do not imagine that I did anything to harm you or anyone you know, I tell Thomas. This has nothing to do with who you are, but what you are. You control the unholy, the satanic, the unnatural, the unhuman. And those like you should not exist and never should have existed in the first place. You and your kind have brought nothing but misfortune everywhere you went. Look at you… How many people have you seen die in London since you arrived? Seven? Eight? Ten? asks Thomas. Three dead, one wounded and I heard a story of a beautiful woman dying. And all the dead were from the will of wicked people like you, I respond. How dare you? asks Thomas. How dare I? How dare you to insult me and those my kind? How dare you tell anyone that they should not exist? That is something only God can decide. It is not on you or me to decide that. And I can say with certainty that I see no god before me, I respond. Thomas starts running towards me, trips and falls. John, the Coroner, comes and holds him down. Get off me! screams Thomas. John ties his hands behind his back. I will go after the Sheriff, says John. Please and thank you, I responds.

This won’t be the end of it, says Thomas. This is an end of this part of your life. It is up to you to change whatever comes after your punishment. And here I thought you were a friend, I tell Thomas as I sit down on a bench. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, says Thomas. A priest arrives at the church and I start explaining to him the situation. He is a liar, a wizard, a satanic spawn of the devil! I simply came here to seek sanctuary, says Thomas. But if he is lying, why would you need sanctuary? asks the Priest. Because he has them under his spell. He has the Coroner, the Sheriff, the Judge, them all under his spell. And they are coming for me! says Thomas exasperatedly. In God I trust that whatever the world is, whatever the people decide, it is for them to be judged by God in the afterlife. It is not my duty, nor is it in my power to judge. If you want sanctuary, we can give you sanctuary, but whether you face your punishment now or in the afterlife, it is up to you. Because sanctuary here, does not guarantee you entrance into the heavenly kingdom. To repent for your sins or to seek forgiveness from God are two different things from getting shelter by the church, explains the Priest. The Coroner enters the church together with the Sheriff. I may have not spoken soon enough, says the Sheriff. I will have my revenge, Thomas says looking directly into my eyes.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 15: Almighty, All Powerful, All Helpless

Do you know why I hate magic? asks the Bald man as he points at me with his knife. Why do you hate magic? I ask. Because if it is God’s will, as you said, he is doing a horrible job at being God, says the Bald man as he turns towards the sleeping man. What do you mean? I ask. I mean that… He says as he goes to stab the sleeping man in the belly… He is cruel… Vain… Useless… He says with each stab. Unable to speak, I stand there looking at his bloody hand and knife. See? He was a cutpursue, a man without home, without hope, without food or anything to his name. John MIilard… A… Fucking… Coward… says the Bald man as he kicks the body. Yet God could not save him and neither did you, continued the Bald man. What have you done? I ask. I see you finally found some words, says the Bald man. What’s wrong with you? I ask. Why would you care? He is but a poor man, nobody loved him. He was just a poor man, from a poor family. I just spared him his life from this monstrosity, says the Bald man. What have you done? I ask as I make a giant fire ball above my head. The Bald man starts making a hue and screaming for help. Help, help! This wizard killed a man and now is threatening to burn me alive! he shouts. What have you done? I ask getting closer and closer to him. Help! This wizard has lost it! Someone, please! shouts the Bald man. No one is going to believe you, I tell the Bald man as I extinguish the fire ball. We’ll see about that, he says looking intensely at me before shoving the knife into his right eye.

Slowly people gathered around us to see the theatrics of the Bald man screaming and shouting as I stand there with no idea of what to do. What happened? asks an older man. He stabbed that poor cutpursue and then when I confronted him, he came to stab me in the eye, the Bald man responds. If I had stabbed you both, why would I be standing here? I ask stupidly. Because you’re a wicked wizard sent by the devil himself, says the Bald man. I am no such thing! I exclaim. But yes you are, I hear a familiar voice say in a happy tone. Oh no, I sigh. I was right! I was right from the beginning! The wizard is a killer! Everywhere you go, someone died. You are a curse bearer and a killer! You killed a woman with a ripper when you first got here, and now you killed another man! exclaims Richard the Watchman. The crowd gets more and more volatile as Richard keeps spouting his nonsense. Burn the Wizard! Burn the Wizard! the Bald man starts shouting. Shut up! I in turn shout at him. The Bald man cowers behind some people. Is it true? someone asks. You a wizard? another asks. You the devil? another asks. Why you killed them? and another ask. God will smite you, another says. You will be trialed, says Richard the Watchman as he pulls on me. I look around to find the Bald man only to see him gone. Where’s the Bald man? I ask. You wanna kill him for good? asks someone. We won’t let you, added someone else. No! He’s the killer! He stabbed that poor man! I try to explain it. Tell that to the jury, judge and sheriff, says Richard the Watchman as he pulls on my wrist.

I don’t think I can argue my way out of this one, I think to myself as I yank my hand out of Richard’s moist grip. Lumino! I shout as I put my left hand over my eyes and blind everyone around me with a burst of light. What is happening? asks someone. I can’t see anything, another man bemoans as the crowd grows more confused as they are blinded by the light. Levitum, I whisper as I start slowly getting off the ground and above the crowd. I quickly start looking around trying spot the Bald man. A blood splatter I see leading away from the crowd of people who are starting to see again. That’s the problem with being a wizard and not being a full fledged magician, light magic doesn’t last that much, I tell myself as I follow the blood trail. Where is he? someone asks. Find him, I hear Richard shouting. He must have escaped to hell, I hear someone else explain making me almost burst into laughter as I turn the corner to a church. Church of the Friars of St. Mary of Mount Camel, long name for such a church, I whisper as I read the sign on the door as I open it. How? How are you here? asks the Bald man. I simply followed you, I tell him. But how did you escape them? he asks bewildered. Magic, I smugly respond. You won’t get away with this, he says. I wouldn’t worry about that, I tell him. What? he asks. Neither of us are leaving here until you confess to your sins in front of everyone, I tell him as I close the door to the church. I will kill you, the Bald man says angrily.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 14: Fate, Death and Godliness

As de Glenham sat there with a bloddy face on the bench, the crowd had calmed down as they restrained with some rope le Taverner. From the crowd, one went after the Sheriff, one went after a priest, one after a jury of good men and one after a doctor. From the chatter it seemed that there were quite a few of de Glenham’s colleagues in law. The rest started looking for de Oxen, only to realize he had squeezed in through the crowd and left. My thoughts started running wild as I could not fathom what just happened in front of my eyes, again. Bringer of death, I hear a familiar voice whisper. What? I ask as I turn around to see a bald head with a grin on his face. It seems wherever you go, death follows, lad, says the Bald man. What are you doing here? I ask. Aye, well, I was bout to visit you at the Newgate, yet the Sheriff told me you were free. And when I heard a commotion I knew it was bound to take me to you, lad, says the Bald man. I start to look around behind him. Who are you looking for? The fat man? I wouldn’t worry. He was busy stuffing his face, says the Bald man laughing as he goes to sit right across from me. So why does death follow you? asks the Bald man. Death is everywhere. People die every minute. That doesn’t mean that death is following me, I try to explain. And how would you know that? asks the Bald man. It is simple, everything that was born, dies. Trees, bees, humans, fish, you and me, I tell the Bald man. But somehow, lad, wherever you stepped foot death followed, says the Bald man. Not everywhere, I rebuttal telling him about the Stephen’s Inn as the Sheriff enters the tavern.

I should have known you two are here witnessing this as well, says the Sheriff as he looks at me and the Bald man. I can’t help but let my head down as he looks directly at me. As the people explain to him the situation, the Doctor makes his way in to de Glenham. It seems I might have been wrong, lad. He might just survive this, says the Bald man. For how long? I ask as I watch the Doctor wrap some bandages around his forehead. Can’t you heal him, since you’re a wizard? asks the Bald man. Not unless you have the power of gods. Otherwise you’d have to give your own flesh, skin and blood of your own to help heal him. Or if there’s a good Samaritan that would do that instead, but otherwise no, I explain. What about those freshly dead? asks the Bald man. You’re quite imaginative, but no. It would just get infected and the wound would get worse. When the genocide of everything magical broke out, master told me that they tried healing magic and experimented. The only way to help is willingly give up what the other needs. We can’t take it, we can’t force it, I tell the Bald man. Quite inconvenient, I’d say, says the Bald man. Magic protects against magic. We can’t harm the man that slashed his forehead to heal the wounded, even if we wanted to and it was the right thing to do, I tell him. This magic of yours seems to be quite useless, says the Bald man. I give you that if you put a fish to climb a tree, it will do a terrible job. But have it swim, and he’ll do just what needs to be done, I tell the Bald man. I don’t care much for your riddles, lad, he says as he turns towards the crowd.

Take him to Newgate, says the Sheriff to a couple of watchmen that arrived to the tavern. Well glad to see this get solved this quickly and no particular drama come out of it, I tell the Bald man. Somehow that feels like you’ve sealed your own deal there, lad, says the Bald man. Please try and stay out of trouble, the Sheriff says looking at me. I don’t know how, apparently, I respond. You better stop talking before you find yourself in your own grave, says the Bald man. I don’t want no one young like you be burnt at stake, says the Sheriff as he leaves. I would not want that either, I respond. So what are you going to do next? asks the Bald man. Pay and leave. I do feel quite tired after everything that happened, I explain as I get up. As I pay the Lady I tell her how sorry I am for what perspired here and wish her calmer days. Out the door I turn to go towards Stephen’s Inn, but following me is the Bald man. Do you have anymore questions for me? Or why are you following me? I ask. We simply walk in the same direction, says the Bald man. I forgot to ask you. What is your name? I ask the Bald man. Names matter not these days. It is what you do with yourself that counts. A man with nothing to his name went to do a job, and a servant to a duke slashed a man’s forehead. A wizard brings death everywhere he goes, and a man simply follows to see the destruction. If the wizard perishes, so shall it be. If the man perishes whilst with the wizard, then so shall it be. Yet there is always the uncertainty of what lays before us, says the Bald man as we reach a man sleeping by a house. Quite poetic, I respond. Well, let’s see what the future holds for the wizard and the man, says the Bald man as he pulls out a knife.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 13: God, Death and Justice

Where is that prune? asks the man in the doorway. The Lady comes to meet with him. What do you two want with him? she asks. We have to talk and settle something. My friend will wait here so nothing will get a rise in here, he explains as he takes another step inside the tavern. Please let this be something minor, I think as I look to see other people’s reactions. God throw some brains or stone from heaven, hopefully something hits, she says as she turns to call for Wolfel. Lady, how many times have I got to tell you that there can be no people coming in to get lodging until after lunch. It’s still lunch. Let me do my business, screams Wolfel from somewhere in the back. There is someone looking for you, screams the Lady back. No wonder William sent us to talk to him. He seems thicker in the head, says the man. He has to wait then. I ain’t done here, says Wolfel. I am gonna go drag him out by his feet, says the man outside. Keep your wits about. William sent us to talk some sense into him not just kill him over the matter, says the man inside. Well, I think death may be upon him, I think as I leave my spoon down. What did he do now? asks the Lady. Oh no, don’t ask him that, I think as try to turn my back to the situation. He got in some quarrel with William de Cornwell a few nights ago. The details I know not, but I know William wants him to apologize, says the man. You speak nicely for someone with no home, says the Lady. It’s all God’s words I am using, says the man. Which church you going to? she asks. The church at Greyfriars, I usually go when William is doing service, explains the man. Great, if he finds out I'm a wizard, they’ll lynch me too, I think as I listen to their conversation.

Wolfel do not make these men wait in vein here, the Lady shouts. I am going to be there in a bit. Let a man have some dignity, he shouts back. The apprentice John now seems perturbed by the noise and puts down his book. And your friend? The same as you, a church goer? asks the Lady. Indeed, we both visit the same church, it is how we met. He is a fine lad, always able to land a hand when in need. Of course being the servant of William de Sandal does help, now doesn’t it, William de Taverner? asks the man as he chuckles. And what is your name, if you do not mine me asking, says the woman. John de Oxon, nice to meet you, says John. Good heavens thank you he gave out their names, let us hope their smart enough not to do something tragically stupid now, I think as don’t know what to do with myself. How did you know that I had no home? asks John de Oxon. In my line of work, you see all kind of people. And I have seen your kind before. There are signs that tell, she says. Who are you? asks Wolfel. Look whose face decided to be respectful and show his face, says the Lady as she leaves. So you are Jonh Wolfel, as I John myself I am disappointed in you, says John de Oxon. What do you want disappointed John? asks Wolfel. I want you to apologize, says de Oxon. Apologize for what? Taking a fat shit? asks Wolfel. You are disgusting. That is not what I am talking to you. It’s what you did and said to William de Cornwell, explains de Oxon. And who are you to him? asks Wolfel. I was sent here to get your sense together and do the right thing, apologize, says de Oxon. If I have sinned to someone God may judge me when I die, says Wolfel. Or you can just apologize, says de Oxon.

Ain’t words going through his head. So maybe I should make a new hole for the words to get into his head, says William de Taverner. Who are you? And what’s your problem? asks Wolfel. My problem is your thick birch skull if you do not come to apologize, says de Taverner as he draws his sword. Now hold your horses, says John de Glemham. Why’s there always someone trying to be a hero, I think as I lay my head in the palm of my hands. John Wolfel starts to scream and shout as he is held in place by de Oxon. Stop screaming or I will give you something to scream about, says de Taverner. As I said, calm down you two, says John. I am calm, respond both de Oxen and de Taverner. I am being attack! cries out Wolfel. Will you shut up! screams de Taverner in Wolfel’s face. People gather at the entrance of the tavern looking in curiously. I hate this town, I whisper as I look in horror at the four. Help! Help! Wolfel keeps on screaming. Just apologize! insists de Oxen. Let him and he’ll apologize, says John de Glemham as he puts his hand on de Oxen. You stay out of this, says de Taverner. Don’t do something you might regret, says de Glemham. All you shut up! I want him to come apologize and that’s the end of it, says de Oxen. That’s not how you get anyone to apologize, says de Glemham. You get back if you know what is good for you, says de Taverner as he swings his sword at de Glemham. John Wolfel faints as de Oxen let’s go of him. What have you done, you maniac! I told you not to bring that with you, says de Oxen. With a bloody face and a gash on his forehead John de Glemham staggers slowly back as he falls onto a bench. The crowd that gathered outside the door barges in jumping and holding de Taverner down. Why does this feel like a deja-vu? I ask myself as I see de Oxen flee the tavern.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 12: Escape from Hell

We got the murderers! says a Watchman. Where are they? asks the Sheriff. They at the church at Greyfriars. It seems they confessed to the coroner and sheriffs there. Though they refuse to give themselves up, says the Watchman. Where are the jurors? asks the Sheriff. They at Alice’s place. Looking for the man, explains the Watchman. But who raised a hue to catch them? asks the Sheriff. It was a priest, William. He said he saw what happened and followed them after they ran out of here at the church at Greyfriars, said the Watchman. Shall I go assist with the arrest? asks the Sheriff. I don’t know. They are in the church and there’s three sheriffs there and a handful of watchmen, explains the Watchman. Good, then my services aren’t needed there, says the Sheriff. Wizard, wizard, Dirk pulls on me while whispering. Glad you’re back with us. They got the murderers, I tell him. What? I do not care about that anymore. How does fire not burn? he asks. Told you, magic fire is different from normal fire. It can’t harm living things, I explain. But that don’t make any sense, he says. What happened to your vocabulary? I ask. Listen here, you just change my whole life, I will use whatever word comes first to mind, now explain yourself, insists Dirk. Everyone has magic in them, like a blessing. Grass, animals, humans, birds, bees, fish, you name it, it has magic. And magic can’t destroy or harm magic. It can manipulate it to create fire, water, a block of dirt or to lift rocks, trees, houses and castles, if you’re strong enough. But, if you take two rocks and smash them, they break. Meaning magic can’t help if by nature you are dying or are able to decompose or deconstruct yourself, I explain. Wizard, you are coming with me, I hear the Sheriff yell.

Wait, no. Explain more, please, says Dirk. Sorry, but I do not want any trouble and if I remain one more second here, I think I’ll be dead meat, I tell him as I quickly leave the dungeon. I almost forgot why I even came here, says the Sheriff. Why did you have to yell that? Are you insane? I ask him. Well, it does not matter much. Since you are coming with me, says the Sheriff. Fine. Where and why? I ask. Outside. You are leaving this place. The jurors found that the man alive before dying and he left word that it was a priest. Richard Dicount is his name, you might have met him at Stephen’s Inn, says the Sheriff as we leave the prison. Then why did you bring me here? I ask. Had no other choice. You were there and you fit the perfect criteria, he explains. What do you mean you had no choice? I ask while throwing my arms up. The judge had slept until like an hour ago and the jury went to ask around, see if they can find any other witnesses. And I had to take someone in. It just happened to be you. And as it happens, the jurors couldn’t find any other witnesses. But it is beyond any shadow of a doubt that it is that Richard priest the killer. So, now you are free, he explains. But now people think I killed a man, I bemoan. Well, since you are free, they might realize that you are not guilty, he says. I have a suspicion that they won’t, I tell him. Well, whatever it will be, you will have to figure it out, he says as he gets in his carriage and leaves. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I ask myself as I am stranded before the prison.

Something to eat maybe. Hadn’t had the chance at food yet. They brought me in after breakfast and took me our five hours later before lunch, I talk to myself as I make a right hoping that I’ll find a tavern. As I walk down the street, as it would have it the smell of food hits my nose. I look to the left of me to see a tavern. I enter the smell of onion hits my face and my stomach starts to grumble. As I got sit at a table near the window, the only other four patrons there are sitting silently waiting for their food while either drinking their ale or sitting in silence. There is one young man reading a book, the first one I’ve seen reading anything here. Finally some peace, I think as I sit down. What is it you want? asks a burly lady. Do you have whiskey? I ask. Of course, these monks bring some great whiskey from the scots. What about food? she asks. Some pottage and a couple of slice of bread, I ask the nice lady. A fine choice. I’ll bring you the whiskey in a moment, says the lady. I have yet to understand why you wanted me here, Master, I ask as I look out the window to see the Bald man. Here’s your drink, says the lady. Thank you. Can I ask who that young fellow that is reading is? I ask. John de Glenham, apprentice of law at King’s Bench. He comes here to read and visit the prison every week, she explains. I thank her again as she leaves. Here ye, here ye! We’re here for John Wolfel, the helpful innkeeper of this here inn! shouts someone as they enter. Oh no… I sigh again.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 11: A MATTER OF MIND AND MAGIC IN HELL

Another day, another murder for the infamous Jack The Ripper, says the Sheriff jokingly. What do you mean? asks Dunk. I suppose he didn’t have time to tell you. He’s been in this city for less than 36 hours and he saw a many murders. But the first one was a woman getting stabbed with a ripper, explains the Sheriff. What? How? asks Dunk. Long story, I try to brush it off. What do you know about the murder? asks the Sheriff. They were four blokes. Clit, Dick, Harry and John, I think were their names. They came to kill the guard Nicholas and to break out the husband of Amalia, I explain to the Sheriff. You’re taking the piss, right? A hairy dick named John and a clit? Who even is Clit? A cat? asks the Sheriff looking at me in disbelief. No, you’re wrong, says Dunk. What do you mean? I ask. Their names were Clitheroe, Robert, John and Henry. The guy they broke out was the husband of Alice, not Amelia. How are you this bad with names? asks Dunk. I was focused on not having anyone else die. Especially someone that was feeling rather suicidal, I nudge Dunk. Really? What’s my name then? Dunk asks. It’s Dunk, I reply. What kind of horseshit name is that? asks Dunk. Then what is it? I ask. It’s Dirk, he says. So what else can you two love birds tell me? asks the Sheriff. It happened during the shift change, says Dirk. That means that they had to know when that change happened, somehow, says the Sheriff. Most probably, says Dirk.

One last thing. Can you show me the four through some magic? asks the Sheriff. I can’t. The only way to do that is to somehow turn back time. And I do not have that type of god-like power, I explain to him. Then can you describe them to me? he asks. I am sorry. I barely remembered their names, I don’t know if I’ll be able to describe them well, I explained to the Sheriff. I don’t know how you weren’t jailed earlier or even executed, says the Sheriff. Clitheroe was rather tall, but not skinny, not well built either. Had a big nose and a big lower lip, a bloody knife in his left hand and he had brown eyes. John was smaller than Clitheroe, but with the same build as him. He was also square faced, tiny lipped, eyes far apart, you can’t really mistake him for another being. Henry was the fattest of the four and only a bit taller than John. And Robert was plainer than a potato, says Dirk. Can you give me a bit more details about Robert? asks the Sheriff. I would, but I barely remember him, says Dirk. What of the man they got out of this place? asks the Sheriff. He was a monster of a man, tall as Clitheroe, fat as Henry and kept saying ‘aye’, says Dirk. Well, let us hope we can find these five and whoever else helped them. I will let the jury and the judge know of your help, says the Sheriff. Thank you, I tell the Sheriff. So you have a friend with the law, says Dirk smiling. I sure do hope it’s a friend, I say as I look around at the people still staring at me.

So, you’re a magician, huh? asks Dirk. No. I am not a magician, I tell Dirk. What’s the difference? I thought it’s the same devilish curse with a different name for different regions, says Dirk. Why are you so well spoken? I ask without even thinking. I had an uncle that was a priest, may God bless his soul. He thought us to read a bit and how to speak proper, says Dirk. I am sorry for your loss, I tell him. It is fine. So, do tell me, what’s the difference? asks Dirk again. It’s the specializations. That’s the only difference. Magicians deal with the magic of light, that’s why their good at doing tricks that deceive the eyes. Witches control the magic of the night and dark. Wizards, like me, do a bit of everything. We’re historians of some sort. Preserving all types of magic. My master used to call me a Jack of all trades and a master of none, I tell Dirk. Those are the only differences? asks Dirk with child wonder in his eyes. No, those were just a couple of examples, I tell Dirk. Fascinating. I never knew. Our uncle always told us that after the war with magicians we are not to trust your kind. Since you have the power of the devil on your side, says Dirk. Let me show you something, I tell Dirk. I take his hand, turn towards the wall with my back towards the dungeon as I didn’t want them to see what I was about to do. Hold still and trust me, I tell Dirk. I light a fire at the tip of my finger and push it against his hand. See? Magic fire does not burn you. If we were what your uncle said we were, shouldn’t we burn human flesh? I ask him. He stands there dumbfounded looking at me. We got them! we hear someone exclaim excitedly.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 10: A Place Worse Than Hell

What? Why would I die? asks Dunk. I just have a bad feeling, I tell him. Listen, no one wants to be here. No sane man would attack someone that leaves this place out of fear of a fate worse than death… More time here, explains Dunk. I turn my gaze towards the hallway to see the guards leaving. Where are they going? I ask. Must be a shift change and almost time for lunch, says Dunk. But what if someone tries to escape? I ask. You can’t leave this place unless someone let’s you from outside, explains Dunk. And if you tried magic, the rest would kill you, I think to myself. For a wizard I really didn’t do myself any favors thus far in London, now did I? I barely used any magic. I don’t know what master thought I’d learn here, when I can’t even practice. If I start chanting or trying to replenish any of my mana, they’d think I’m some sort of heretic and they’d hang me, I continued pondering my circumstances. By the way, says Dunk whispering, if you have money, there’s a bar underneath the front gate where you can spend your most time pissed drunk. You can also make some important friends there, if you wanted, says Dunk. I smile back at him. I don’t, I try to tell him. You don’t what? he asks. I don’t know if I want to or care to risk making any friends, I tell him. But I’m your friend, he says as someone with a bloody knife steps into the dungeon.

I am Clitheroe, this is John, Robert and he is Henry, we are here for a certain someone, a husband to a darling Alice who provided us with these here knives, says Clitheroe. Aye, that’s me, says the man next to us. Good news then. Nicholas is dead and you are free to leave, says Clitheroe. Aye. Hope the wife paid you well, says the man in question. She was more than generous, says Clitheroe. We should do something, says Dunk. No, look at his knife, it’s bloody. They already killed a man. Stay still as a statue unless you want to die, I tell Dunk. But if we don’t do anything, says Dunk. If we don’t do anything, they leave and we live. We can’t bring that Nicholas back to life, I try to explain to Dunk. Oh, and a little ba… bird, let us so call it told me that this fellow there is a wizard, says Clitheroe as he points his bloody knife at me. The whole room turns their gaze towards me. The five knock on the door. Let us out, Clitheroe is heard saying. We hear the door open and a woman starts screaming. And we hear the door shut as they start running. The woman hues, cries and wails as the guards rush from their rooms confused at the noise. The woman stops her screams once a guard comes to comfort her. What in the devil’s… says the Guard. We hear the door open and the rest of the guards pouring out. Every other felon in the prison sits as still as a mountain and as mute as a stone, trying to listen to the commotion and out of fear of the guards lashing out towards us. What happened? asks one of the guards the other that opened the door. I don’t know, I was just doing my business by the wall as usual. And when I came back, I saw this woman crying and howling and saw Nicholas dead, explains the Guard. Gather me a jury and go fetch the Sheriff and the Coroner, said the Director.

No one is to leave this prison until the jury and the Sheriff say so! screams the Director as he waves with his hands the guards back to work. Silence fills the air as the guards took their place and the wait for the Sheriff, Coroner and jury started. Eyes began to slowly turn back towards me from all corners of the dungeon. Are you really a wizard? Dunk asks in a quiet hush. What? No. He’s a murderer and probably a liar. I have never seen a wizard in my life. Have you? I ask Dunk. No. Not that I can recall ever seeing one, says Dunk. See? So, how could I be a wizard then? I ask awkwardly. Everyone hear me, the killer lied, he is not a wizard. Do not trust the words of the murderer, Dunk starts shouting as he sits atop his bed. I tug on his shirt trying to get him down and to shut up as even the guards start looking at us. Everything will be fine, says Dunk with a smile on his face. I will die here because of you and I promise, I will take you with me if you say anything else, I tell Dunk. Oh, I would not worry that much about it. Who knows, maybe you will come with me tomorrow, says Dunk. To hell, maybe, I say as I hear a guard announce that the Sheriff arrived. I did not think I’d be coming back so soon, says the Sheriff. We are terribly sorry to have you back so quickly, says the Director. Have you questioned the felons? asks the Sheriff. No, we were waiting for you. Another witness was also this woman here that was found crying outside the prison, says the Director. I will start the questioning, says the Sheriff. I hate my life, I say as I see he come towards me with a wicked smile.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 9: A MARCH THROUGH HELL

Make way, make way! shouts the Sheriff to the people. Serves you right, you devil! Spouts Richard. The Bald man behind him laughing and Arcus smiling as I get into the carriage. Wizard, you have to be very careful with what you say. With what you do. With the person you are going to befriend in there, because we put everyone in the same room, unless they are the most abhorrent of god’s creatures, says the Sheriff. What about magic? I ask. I would not recommend you try it. You are going to be killed. Either by prisoners or by the guards. For every one felon, there are at least two guards, if not three. And each of them has either a crossbow or a simple bow to take aim at you. Most prisoners do not take lightly to the devil or your kind there, explains the Sheriff. A shiver goes down my spine as he finishes his explanation. Before I forget, you have to survive until we find the killer or until he comes to us, says the Sheriff. That means that you don’t know for how long I’ll be in this place, I sigh. That is the reality of the situation. Searches can take a while and considering that since this new prison’s been built there have been over sixty murders already, we have our hands full, says the Sheriff. But that’s more than a murder a week, I say as we arrive at Newgate. Something of the sort, yes, says the Sheriff as he opens the door to the carriage.

As I get down from the carriage I can’t help but be amazed looking at the giant gate of the prison. A guard comes with chains in his hands. What are those for? I ask. Your legs, responds the Sheriff. I almost forgot, do something about that hair of yours. Maybe shave it off. You are going to get lice most probably, says the Sheriff as he leaves me in the care of one of the guards. Get your arse moving. Use those legs of yours if you don’t want me to break them, says the Guard as he pushes me trough the front gate. We enter the Keeper’s House. There the guard tells the Keeper my name and the reason I am there, luckily the Sheriff forgot to mention that I was a Wizard, yet the Keeper still had a look of disgust as he wrote down suspicion of murder. As we’re about to leave I hear the Keeper mutter something under his breath. You’d wish you were burning in hell, muttered the Keeper with a wicked smile on his face. To the left, can’t you hear? asks the Guard as he slaps me over the head. Don’t stand in my way, if ya don’t want me to shit in your boots, screams a woman at us as she comes running. We both make way as a pungent smell hits our noses. Follow her, says the guard. As we go after her, she reaches the latrines. There are your latrines. There’s only one for all of you. And further down is the dungeon, hope you’ll find a place to sleep on that is not pissed on or isn’t smelling of shit, says the Guard as he smiles and gestures to me to go on.

Just as I step into the dungeon dragging the chains with me, a stark smell of death hits my nose. Two small windows on either side of the dungeon gave away a bit of light and air. Yet the floor was dirty, the beds looked rugged, and the people were discontent, bruised, tired and most, with nothing left behind their eyes. Those few with hope, were those that were supposed to be here for up to forty days. The rest, were waiting to die or be executed. The Sheriff did not lie, there were two guards for every felon, they stood from the entrance to the dungeon to the exit from the prison waiting for anyone to don anything dumb or dangerous. You could hear them behind one of the walls talking and laughing as the reminisced about beating felons or seeing who killed in what way. It felt like it was all entertainment. Before my eyes could pick out a bed to sleep on, a man waves his hands as to call me over. I look around amazed how no one really pays attention to me, besides that one man. You are new, come… Sit. That bed is empty, if you want it, says the Man. A few wooden planks thrown together with hay on it and some fabric over it. At least it’s not the floor, I say to myself. I am Dunk, I’ll leave this place tomorrow morning. My forty days will be over, says Dunk with a smile. Good on you, what were you in here for? I ask. I stole some food to feed my nephews. Their father died and they did have no one but their poor mother who can only do so much, explains Dunk. Oh no, you’re not gonna make it alive out of here, I exclaim…

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