Granvort, the Discount Wizard by R. E. Mendel

  The King of Thysland was distraught. This would normally not be a major calamity as the King was often distraught and had a tendency to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. He had summoned his Prime Minister and his Minister of Finance for an emergency consultation.

  As they entered the King’s private chambers, they could not help but notice—but made every effort to appear otherwise—that he was still in his pajamas, even though it was well after noon.

  Rolled up in the King’s fist was the latest edition of The Royal Payne, Thysland’s leading newspaper, which he violently shook at them. “Have you seen this morning’s paper?”

  “Yes, Your Highness, I read it this morning before I started work,” responded the Prime Minister, realizing that he had just pointed out to his king and master that most of the Kingdom had been working all morning rather than sitting around in their pajamas reading the newspaper.

  Luckily the King’s ire and general obliviousness shielded him from the implications of the remark. “It says here that the Monarch of Thaghtland has recently brought a wizard into his court. This is an outrage! How can it be that a second … no … third rate kingdom like Thaghtland has a court wizard, while a superpower like Thysland no longer does?”

  The Kingdoms of Thaghtland and Thysland were arch-rivals who competed directly against each other in the enchanted commodities market. While Thysland’s riches were derived from its monopoly of the magic bean harvest, the mines of Thaghtland were the only source of pixie-dust. The competition was fierce and the two opposing kings loathed each other.

  The Prime Minister rubbed his temples as inconspicuously as he could. “Your Majesty, we have been through this on many occasions, though it is certainly your right to raise it as often as you please. The cost of having a wizard in the employ of the royal court is quite prohibitive. Demand for their services are high while there are fewer and fewer qualified wizards graduating these days.”

  The Finance Minister was a vain man who sincerely—and perhaps correctly—believed that he was much more intelligent and accomplished than the King. While many agreed with his assessment, they also repeatedly warned him that the future of his career—and for that matter his head—rested entirely on the good graces of the King. Nonetheless, as Finance Minister, he had worked quite hard to ensure that the profits from the magic bean harvest were not needlessly squandered.

  “Your Highness,” the Finance Minister began in a tone of voice that implied that he felt the King was a moron, “the royal budget has been finely balanced. The Royal Court is already over-staffed as it is, I cannot countenance any further expansion, especially with such an expensive position.”

  The King was fully aware of the Finance Minister’s lowly opinion of him and had wanted for a long time to remove him—and his head. Nonetheless, he was widely regarded as a competent minister and any move against him would be interpreted as a petty and vindictive act. The King, however, prided himself on being a petty and vindictive man and was not prepared to remain patient indefinitely.

  “Need I remind you, gentlemen, that the role of the cabinet is to provide counsel to the Royal Family. It is my opinion, and thus the opinion of the Court, that your counsel is garbage and I have no interest in wasting any more time listening to your protestations. All that interests me is how quickly you can bring a wizard on staff. Good day.”

  With that the King threw out his Prime Minister and Finance Minister. Exhausted from that display of decisiveness, he went to take a nap. Luckily he was still in his pajamas.

  A special meeting of the Cabinet was called, for the King’s instructions could not have been more clear. The ministers had been called in at the last minute, unaware of the King’s latest project. The Minister of Finance sat moping in the corner, as his perfectly balanced budget was about to be torn to shreds.

  “Colleagues,” began the Prime Minister to quiet down the gathered assembly, “the King, whose wise and benevolent reign has brought peace and prosperity to our beloved Kingdom of Thysland [Note: it was the procedure to introduce the King’s ideas in this fashion—a procedure introduced by the King, mind you] has decreed that a wizard will be found to serve in the Royal Court. The decision has been made emphatically, there will be no debate on the matter. We are only here to discuss how we will finance this new position.”

  The Prime Minister was aware that there would be a multitude of opinions around the cabinet table. There were those ministers who had no question in their mind that the King was a certifiable dolt, but remained at their post to ensure that he did not bring ruin to the Kingdom. There were others who remained steadfastly loyal to the King, if only to ensure their stature and power remained undiminished. And there were those who shared the King’s outrage that their arch-rival Thaghtland would enjoy the status and prestige as a wizard-equipped nation.

  “I happen to concur with the King’s assessment of the situation,” sniffed the Foreign Minister. “We cannot allow a wizard-gap with Thaghtland. This imbalance must be addressed immediately.”

  “And how are we to pay for this?” demanded the Finance Minister angrily, suddenly awoken from his funk. “Thysland is the wealthiest nation in the known world, but our riches are continuously being squandered with these silly and extravagant projects. Did we really require a third moat-monster for the palace? Could we not have used yellow paint for the Yellow Brick Road instead of gold-leaf?”

  “Thysland is a great and powerful nation,” bellowed the Industry Minister, slamming his fist on the table. “I have no time for these small-minded, penny-pinching arguments. What good are riches if they cannot be spent … richly?”

  The Prime Minister sighed, betraying his general sense of fatigue and frustration. “I did not call this meeting for endless discussions. Finance Minister, what are the options for paying for this initiative?”

  The Finance Minister, realizing that the battle was lost but perhaps the damage could be limited, unveiled an impressive-looking document filled with graphs and charts. “Colleagues, my staff has come up with a number of options: first, we could dramatically slash your departmental budgets; second, we could raise taxes; and third we could consider a magician, rather than a wizard, as they tend to be cheaper.”

  Many moments of awkward silence hung over the cabinet room. The Agriculture Minister was the first to speak. “The population will simply not tolerate any further reduction of services or an increase in tax burdens. I think we all remember the unfortunate instance of the Cheese Tax.”

  The ministers all nodded their heads in agreement as they recalled the ugly riots that had ensued. For two days, angry citizens pelted the Royal Palace with cheese. The palace gargoyles turned out to be lactose intolerant, which created an even uglier mess. More importantly, no minister was prepared to sacrifice any of their precious departmental budgets.

  The Attorney General, rubbing his chin in an attempt to affect an intellectual air, interjected, “Did His Majesty say anything about a competent wizard?”

  “Pardon me?” the Prime Minister inquired with some suspicion, though also admittedly some curiosity.

  “It would seem to me,” the Attorney General continued in a tone of voice that suggested he was speaking off the top of his head and should not be held accountable if the idea was completely asinine, “that the King is more interested in the position of a wizard rather than the wizard itself. An incompetent wizard would fill the job, not cost very much and would not undermine any of our positions in the Royal Court.”

  While some feigned indignation at this cynical ploy, all quietly concurred that the Attorney General was on to something. The Prime Minister, while wishing to avoid the appearance of complicity, nonetheless instructed the Labour Minister to do a feasibility study.

  The Prime Minister received the confidential report of the Labour Department a few days later. The wizard market was very tight with very few qualified wizards to meet the demand. A job posting, the Department suggested—but by no means advocated—which included a very poor pay package with little or no benefits would not attract the interest of any wizards of note.

  While no one was prepared to endorse the plan publicly and certainly not to the King, an advertisement was quietly prepared. According to procedure, a copy of the posting was placed inside a hollowed-out stump which was then set alight. Interested applicants were invited to send their resumes by incantation to the Personnel Department of the Royal Court.

  Weeks passed with—to no one’s surprise—not a single response. The King became increasingly impatient, demanding to know the status of the wizard search. His aides assured him that this was a process that could not be rushed as wizards did not like to be pressured.

  Then one sunny autumn day the Prime Minister received, to his astonishment, a most unusual message from the head of the personnel department of the Royal Court. It appeared that, despite everyone’s expectations—and intentions—an application had arrived in response to the advertisement. Rushing back to his office, the Prime Minister was presented with a battered and charred envelope by the head of the Personnel Department.

  The Prime Minister took the envelope apprehensively. “What happened to this envelope?”

  “Actually, sir, it arrived in this condition,” began the head of the Personnel Department, still baffled by the recent chain of events. “I was at my desk last night catching up on some paper work when there was an explosion over my IN basket. This appeared in flames and almost set my who

le desk on fire. My ears are still ringing.”

  The Prime Minister feigned concern and cautiously opened the envelope. Inside were the charred remains of a resume that appeared to be written on the back of a cocktail napkin. All that remained legible was the letterhead: GRANVORT THE WIZARD: FOR ALL YOUR CONJURING NEEDS.

  The Prime Minister, while not convinced that the wizard crisis had abated, at least could demonstrate to the King that the file was moving. He went immediately to the Throne Room where the King was holding court. Rather than entering through the Grand Hall that led to the Grand Doorway that led into the Grand Anteroom that eventually led to the Even Grander Doorway that led to the Throne Room—which in itself was quite grand—the Prime Minister used the private entrance reserved only for the King’s most senior advisors.

  Pulling the King from a no doubt vital conversation with the Court Jester, the Prime Minister informed him that there was an interesting development in the wizard file.

  “Well, it is about time,” sniffed the King loudly. “So what news do you have for me?”

  “We have received our first application, Highness,” the Prime Minister announced while both staring down the jester, who was not happy at the interruption of his meeting, and handing the King the charred envelope.

  “Granvort the Wizard…” The King began reading the remains of the resume out loud, but before he could finish, a loud explosion rocked the Throne Room, knocking everyone off their feet and filling the room with smoke.

  As the smoke cleared the royal guards rushed into the room, looking for the cause of the blast. In the quiet aftermath a small voice could be heard coming from the ceiling. “Umm, a little help please.”

  All looked up in astonishment to see clinging precariously from the chandelier a thin elderly man with a long white beard, flowing robes and a pointy hat. The captain of the guard used a spear to knock the old man to the ground as six of his men pounced.

  “Wait, wait,” cried out the old man desperately clutching his pointy hat, “I am the Wizard Granvort. I’ve come about the ad.”

  The King called off the guards and, brushing the soot from his royal robes and straightening his crown, approached the old wizard suspiciously. “So you wish the title of Wizard of the Royal Court of Thysland. Prove yourself.”

  “Oh, I’d be delighted,” exclaimed the wizard, rolling up his sleeves and eagerly pulling a rabbit out of his pointy hat.

  The King was outraged. “I did not bring a wizard into this court for tricks not even worthy of a children’s party.”

  Granvort was nonplused. “I can certainly understand that. Here, pick a card…”

  Sensing that the King was about to get violent, the Prime Minister intervened. “What his Royal Highness means is that a Royal Wizard is expected to do more than simple parlour tricks…”

  “I fully understand,” declared Granvort cheerily. He rolled up his sleeves again and blasted lightning-like bolts from his fingertips. The Finance Minister was hit and transformed into a hamster.

  The King looked impressed. “Well, that is more like it. Now turn him back.”

  “Turn him back into what?” asked Granvort, not fully following the King’s logic.

  “Into my Minister of Finance!” yelled the King.

  The Prime Minister had to physically place himself between the King and the wizard. The full implications of hiring an incompetent wizard were quickly becoming apparent to him.

  The Prime Minister was able to convince the King to allow Granvort a probationary contract. The King agreed only on condition that the old wizard provide something spectacular in honour of the Queen’s upcoming birthday. With this agreement concluded, some nice crisp lettuce was found for the Minister of Finance.

  Deep underneath the Royal Palace were the Forbidden Catacombs, the ancient and long-unused home of the former wizards of Thysland. Granvort made his way down the precariously steep and creaky staircases. At the bottom of the seemingly endless staircase was an old and moldy wooden door. Carved in the middle of the door was an awful and fearsome gargoyle head. Granvort fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the set of keys provided to him by the Palace’s Lock Master. Finding the key marked Gargoyle Head: Front Door, Granvort gingerly placed it into the Gargoyle’s open mouth.

  The Gargoyle’s eyes glowed a terrible red and a deafening screech rang out as the door flew open, revealing the inner sanctum of the wizard’s chamber.

  “I must remember to oil those hinges,” mumbled Granvort, admiring the lovely floral couch in the middle of the newly revealed room.

  Placing his meager belongings onto the charming coffee table and stretching out on the lovely floral couch, Granvort began to ponder what he could do to win the King’s favour. The Queen’s birthday was fast approaching, and he would have to do something special for her—but what?

  Surveying the surprisingly spacious interior of the chamber, Granvort noticed a pile of musty and long-discarded books piled in a corner. Flipping through the pile, Granvort found his answer. Translating the ancient text written in a long-dead language, Granvort said to no one in particular, “How to Create a Dragon: A Handy Do-It-Yourself Manual. That’s it! I’ll create a dragon and present it to the Queen for her birthday.”

  For a full week Granvort remained in his chambers, poring over the ancient manuscript. He did not sleep or eat, only taking short breaks to comment to himself how tired and hungry he was. Taking careful notes, Granvort prepared a list of the magical ingredients that he would require. There was only one place where he could obtain the ingredients: he would have to seek out the Enchanted Florist of the Enchanted Forest.

  The Enchanted Florist, as his title indicated, lived in hermetic isolation deep within the treacherous woods of the Enchanted Forest. He was the sole supplier of many of the elements required to practice the black arts of magic and sorcery. His home was difficult to find and he was reputed to be quite unpleasant.

  Musing out loud, Granvort assembled his plan. “I will simply transform myself into a graceful bird and fly quickly to the Enchanted Forest. Once there, I will use my trusty Hiker’s Guide to the Enchanted Forest to find the Enchanted Florist and get what I require.”

  A spectacular blast of light lit up the catacombs as Granvort transformed himself into a slug. Several brilliant and spectacular blasts of light later a cow … with wings … and a beard … and a pointy hat emerged from the wizard’s chamber.

  “Close enough,” Granvort declared merrily.

  Many necks were craned in Thysland that evening as a flying winged cow was spotted flying east … then west … then northeast … then south. Some were astonished to hear a faint voice through the clouds say, “I have no idea where I’m going.”

  Eventually Granvort made his way to the edge of the Enchanted Forest and after many, many attempts, returned to his normal state. Blocking access to the forest was a rapidly flowing brook quaintly known as the Bone Crushing and Drowning Brook. Across the brook was a flimsy wooden bridge, missing several crucial planks. On this side of the bridge was a gnarled and faded sign: The Enchanted Forest: Beware All Who Enter—Dangers Beyond Imagination Exist Here—No Camping.

  Granvort peered nervously over the precarious bridge at the dark tangled woods on the other side. He had anticipated something a lot cheerier. Gulping, Granvort gingerly began to cross the bridge.

  “Who dares to enter the Enchanted Forest?” a deep and thunderous disembodied voice bellowed from amidst the trees.

  “Tis I,” squeaked Granvort in a high-pitched voice that contrasted unfavourably with the deep voice emerging from the forest, “Granvort, Wizard of the Royal Court of Thysland—at least the probationary wizard, but I’m very confident that my contract will be renewed—”

  Granvort was cut off by the deep and thunderous voice. “I am the Gatekeeper of the Enchanted Forest. What business have you here?”

  “I seek the counsel of the Enchanted Florist,” Granvort replied, feigning bravado unconvincingly. “I wish only to meet with him briefly and I’ll be on my way … sir.”

  “Silence!” demanded the Gatekeeper. “Only the most worthy are permitted entrance to the Enchanted Forest. Be gone with you!”

 

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