“Dead.” The rat faced magician announces. “I hope this serves as a lesson to you all, when you entered this pavilion you also entered into a contract with the masters overseeing the trials. We magicians take our contracts very seriously. Death is only one of many terrible fates awaiting such idle fools who try to break them at a whim.”

Draken can swear the cold beady eyes are looking straight at him, holding him prisoner in their deep gaze.

The screaming behind the curtain stops. A gaunt man emerges who Draken doesn’t quite recognise, though something about him is familiar. He gives Draken a thumbs up and blankly grins. It dawns that this is the older lad he was chatting with before the sorcery trial. The one who’d advised him to walk into that madman’s den first.

“I oughta slug you for tellin me to go in with that nut first.”

He charges up to the ashen faced older boy.

“ Did it go that badly?” The youth asks, not meeting Draken’s eyes.

“He shoved me in a coffin and drove needles into me!” Draken shouts.

“Ha! That sounds like a lark compared to what the witch put me through. She gets inside your head, kid. Tries to make you lose your mind.” He shudders visibly. “Say, what happened to that puffball in the big green cape?” The older young man asks,“his trial started the same time as mine, thought it might be smart to pick his brain.”

“He’s dead, tried to leave the pavilion and dropped like a stone.” Draken nods towards the lifeless corpse being dragged away by the ankles.

“Damn, I owe Sparrow two bits. My money was on that young dandy in blue.”

“Your betting on who dies?” Draken asks horrified that he wasn’t in on the action.

“Why not?” The guy says defensively, misreading Draken’s dismayed tone. “Someone always dies or worse in these things. I once saw a guy get his skin turned to stone with the rest of him alive underneath.”

A moment to steel himself and Draken feels ready, taking a deep breath.

“On that lovely note it’s time I got back in there, you say the witch will mess me up?”

“Big time, I’m afraid to take another trial with my head where it is. I might have to beg the sorcerer to release me from the contract and hope he takes pity.”

Draken shakes his head. “You better just sit down with him and explain the circumstances or he’ll take it as a challenge to motivate you.”

“Old man with a big curly mustache?”

Draken nods.

“Thanks for the warning, I’ve tangled with Morro before and your right he’d just try to push me harder if he thinks I’m chickening out. I might be able to reason with him though, truth being that I’d rather recuperate my energy for the wizard trial which is less of a longshot for me than sorcery. I’ve come close to passing before with wizardry but never sorcery and I’d rather not exhaust myself and botch my chances.”

“Since you’ve taken the trial before, any tips for me going in?” Draken asks, the man nods.

“I can’t say what it will entail because each one’s always different but it will be battle of wits more than anything else. You’ll need to think flexibly to pass.”

***

Behind the blue gauze curtain sits a man with shoulder length black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His steely blue eyes shimmer like fine cut jewels in the candle light.

“My name is Blackard Hood, a fifth order wizard.”

The dark robed man snaps his fingers and the curtain behind draken vanishes, leaving steel bars in its place.

“A precaution, I was too lax with the previous lad, you saw the result. This time’s there’s no escape.” Draken tentatively probes the bars with his hand. Cold, solid and strong and no lock to even consider picking.

“You’ll find it’s quite real, please sit.”

Cautiously, he sits on a low wooden stool. No traps spring. No sign of shackles or chains, just an old, wobbly chair. In front of him is a plain mahogany workbench. The wood seems ancient and has a pungent scent. It’s unvarnished and speckled with unidentifiable stains.

Booklets, small tools and many, many crystals of different shapes colors and sizes are haphazardly strewn across the surface. Picking a crystal up at random the boy examines it in the light.

“Is this magicyte?” He asks, squinting as the light refracts inside the crystal, dazzling the eye with a dance of geometric patterns. The wizard nods his approval.

“Good instincts, about half of those are fakes.”

The wizard’s voice summons the image of the previous examinee to Draken’s mind. What could be so horrific as to make someone flee to his own death?

The cold blue eyes of Blackard Hood give nothing away. A dozen hopeless scenarios run through the youth's mind as the wizard’s wolfish grin creeps across his face, making him look quite predatory.

“Fear not, I never give the same test twice. Think of this crucible as something special, just for you. ” He produces a small bracelet, clasping it quickly around the boy’s wrist. Draken examines it with the eyes of a thief. Unremarkable craftsmanship, made of cheap brass, no artistry or decoration beside three dingy crystals and an empty space for a fourth.

“Couldn’t get two bits for this piece of junk.”

Hood laughs. “Magic doesn’t need to be pretty.”

“It does if you want to make a good impression,” Draken counters. “Old workbenches and cheap brass bracelets shows a lack of style. ”

The wizard shakes his head. “The bracelet is brass because brass is an effective conductor of magicyte energy and contrary to what you’ve seen in plays most of a wizard’s work is done at a bench just like this.” He slaps the workbench affectionately. Draken looks at it ascance, raising an eyebrow.

“Does it have to be so shabby, though? Couldn't fetch me four coppers.”

“Money’s all you care about, eh?” Hood asks, a wicked edge to his voice. Draken spots the bracelet on the wizard’s wrist is identical to his own save that it holds four crystals.

“Our bracelets must be made of a versatile metal that I might alter the curse to suit the individual. Your test will be different than the last fellows, it will be harder.”

A tingling sensation at the tips of Draken’s fingers draws his eye. At first he notices nothing then his fingernail seems to gleam in the flickering light like precious metal.

Gold, there’s no mistaking that luster. Draken holds his fingers inches from his face. The skin , the nails, all of it from knuckle to tip. As if to answer the unspoken question he feels tingling spread down his fingers to his hand. A sensation followed by the sparkle of gold.

He is transfixed in horror, unable to do a thing but stare at the creeping metallic death.

“Twenty minutes, that's how long you have before it reaches your vital organs. If you can’t counteract the spell by then, at least your family will know you died with honor.”

The words slapped Draken out of his mental paralysis. Point one, just how the hell is he expected to counteract the spell?

His eyes frantically scan the workbench cataloguing every detail as if he were casing it for a robbery. Thirty crystals, two out of five are a type he doesn’t recognize, therefore magicyte. Most of the rest are junk, the few that are worth anything find their way into his pocket. He separates the twelve crystals out and glancing at his left hand recoils with a shiver. The gold has reached his palm.

An assortment of tools lay before him, small crafting tools, miniature hammers and chisels mostly. His hand finds the hilt of his knife and draws it. He knows it can cut bone, has used it to cleave meat in the past. One strong blow and the hand will come off.

“This is your solution, cut off your own hand? You might indeed break the curse but you also might bleed to death. ” The wizard warns, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

He’s right, there will be lots of blood. Realizing this, Draken takes off his vest and carefully ties his purses to his belt. Wadding up the clothing singlehandedly and sticking it to the edge of the table he steals a terrified glance at his other hand. A blizzard of fear as he sees that the whole hand has turned to gold. He snatches up the knife and raises it high.

“Use your head, there’s another way.” Hood’s rasping voice shakes just a little.

Draken’s hand also shakes as the wizard’s words shake his resolve. What kind of pickpocket only has one hand?

Draken knows that if he lets the knife fall he’ll be ruined as a thief. A severed hand is the sign of a repeat offender and would make him a walking target for the guard. But if he doesn’t cut the hand now he might have to cut the whole arm. He feels the tingling creeping up his appendage.

Another way, he scans the surface of the workbench again. The only things he hasn’t touched are the booklets. He puts down the knife. As he pages through the books he begins to understand them. There are four, each containing a set of simple wizard symbols. They are labeled, mind,body,element and animation. Each only contains a handful of the runes and some crudely drawn pictures of crystals. Apparently there are several types of magicyte, each working best when used toward a specialized purpose.

Type one, jagged flaming green and best suited for mind magic. Type two is pinkish and a bit rough around the edges, best used for body magic. Type three, smooth and transparent with sparkling silver intrusions swirling like a whirlwind inside, ideal for elemental spells. The booklets go on in this manner. He notes a total of six magicyte types available on the workbench.

Examining the bracelet again he can just make out the symbols and recognizes some of them, many he doesn’t know but a few are clearly in the books. A common thread he notes is that each book’s symbols vary wildly but each book has a single rune for negating a certain type of spell. Obviously these are the only runes which matter. Since his body is what’s being transformed he discards the other three books, concentrating on the runes for negating body magic.

For the symbol to reverse a transformation type five magicyte is best. The deep indigo gem with bright scarlet intrusions.

The tingling has reached his arm now. He holds the indigo magicyte in his fingers and puts it into a small wooden vice built into the side of the workbench. The cold deadly feeling creeps up his elbow. Snatching up a small chisel he bends over to work the crystal and catches a glimpse of Blackard Hood’s unreadable blue eyes and stops.

Something isn’t right.

Does a heartless killer care if you cut off your hand?

Does he block the way out to save you from yourself?

Draken has known cold men without conscience, sadists and sickos.

He’s even buried his own conscience on occasion and hurt people.

Having seen, met and been someone without conscience he’s developed a sense for these type of men. Blackard Hood is not this type of man, he cares. Hood is the kind of man who would never rank a test above a human life.

Draken pulls the indigo crystal from the vice, tossing it aside. He quickly takes up a pinkish crystal, shoving it in place indelicately as he flips through the pages in the Mind Magic booklet.

The tingling has reached his neck, Draken knows he doesn’t have much time. The sigil he carves into the crystal is sloppy at best but it roughly matches the image of encircled twin crosses in the book. Hand shaking, he jams the crystal into the bracelet. It doesn’t quite fit, he supposes that’s what the cutting tools are for but he doesn’t have time to be delicate. Using his knife hilt he bashes the crystal down until it fits. There is a bright flash, followed by the lingering scent of ozone.

Draken can feel his arm again, it’s flesh and blood. He falls back in the chair, letting out his breath, “That was a dirty trick old man.”

“A bit sloppy in the execution but your instincts are good,” Hood says. “Tell me, why did you switch out your crystals at the end?”

“You’re not the type,” Draken replies.

“The type to what?” Hood asks.

Draken grins, impishly. “Any guy who shares his lunch with street kids and doesn’t ask for nothing in return isn’t the type to sacrifice a kid’s life for a test.”

Hood snaps his fingers, “I knew you looked familiar! You were with that gang of urchins I met last year, the ones always loitering on Rose Street.”

“I can’t say I approve of your methodology, seems a lot like gambling to me. Suppose I’d had an ulterior motive back then? For instance I might have been kind to you to cast some malevolent spell or been motivated by a guilty conscience from all the innocent blood i’ve shed. Did you think of these possibilities or even consider that young fool who died before making your choice? ”

Draken smoothes out his vest and puts it back on. As he buttons up he looks Blackard Hood in the eyes. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“What?” Hood asks.

“Am I right in guessing each of these beads is cursed differently and only one of them happened to be fatal?” Draken tosses the bead to Hood.

“I can’t speak for the other masters but I’ll admit to being hesitant to make the dire consequences for breaking a contract quite so irreversible. Unfortunately the Magician’s Council feels differently and insist we each put at least one death curse into the mix.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, he was just unlucky.” Draken says, “Out of curiosity how would my luck have played out if i’d broken your contract?”

Hood smiles and places the bead back in Draken’s hand.

“Eternal celibacy, you would be doomed to never get laid.”

Draken chuckles, “A fate worse than death in my opinion!”

“I’ll admit you are expert at reading a man’s character. Not perhaps the most essential skill for a wizard but still impressive in its way. You are however wrong about one thing. What happened to poor Simon was my fault, a master takes responsibility for those under his care. Perhaps someday you’ll understand.”

“I get it, I’m responsible for my crew, those urchins you met last year. Between then and now one of em got in deep trouble, Tobias. Short kid but real stocky an well built, older’n me by a year but real slow. I knew he had a side graft going but I let it slide, till one day he didn’t come back. Well, Top Boy shows up the next day an smacks me senseless asking why I let him do it. Once he figured I didn’t know what happened he tells me. Tobias was breakin houses on his own and got caught by an old lady. Well, he slugs the old broad an runs off not realizing he killed her. The guard catches him quick, drags him up to the magistrate and I knew I was responsible for his being there. I should have kept him out of trouble. But Tobias ending up at the end of a rope wasn’t my fault even if i did have some responsibility. He made the bad choices that put the rope around his neck, just like your boy Simon made a choice to step out and break his contract. They were both fools and I won’t take the blame for another guys’ foolishness, will you? ”

“I think that will be quite enough young Crowe.” Hood replies.

Draken snorts, sneering at the wizard,“suit yourself, wallow in guilt for all I care.”