CHAPTER XII

The morning light is like a hundred daggers stabbing past his eyes into his skull.

Draken groans, rolling in a soft and unfamiliar bed. For an instant he wonders if he’s blown all of his money at the brothel. The reassuring jangling of two full purses along with the fact that he’s fully clothed and alone rule out that possibility. Nausea squirms in his stomach like a live snake as he sits up and surveys his surroundings. Medium sized rock tiled floor. Large bay windows, curtains drawn. Tree outside, possibilities there. Jeweled goblets on night stand (would fetch a pretty penny) filled with green liquor. A big mirror with … his thoughts freeze in bewilderment, the image of a man’s face hangs in the mirror.

“Do not be alarmed, Draken.” The mirror booms, splitting his skull with unbearable pain.

“I am speaking to you from my laboratory. I must dedicate time each morning to a very complex spell and could not wait for you to wake up. Drink the potion on the nightstand, it’s a remedy for your hangover.”

Draken inspects the green goop in the chalice. It smells of sulfur and rotted meat.

Eying the gems embedded in the chalice he spots what he is looking for, a rune.

“And just what is this supposed to do to me?” He pulls the crystal free with a touch of sorcery.

Hood’s transparent visage laughs.

“Just a small test of your aptitude. Had you failed the hangover would have lasted a day, as it stands you’ll be feeling better a few minutes after you drink that.”

To make the throbbing in his head and churning in his stomach stop, Draken downs the awful smelling swill gagging just a bit as it sloshes down his throat like a grainy eggnog that tastes like anus. Once his fit of coughing ebbs and the violent pain in his gut fades he feels clear-headed and steady-stomached.

“Not bad,” he mutters, beginning his morning stretches, a ritual dating back to his earliest days of thieving.

“You’re no good to anyone if you cramp up,” Top Boy would say. “A thief who can’t run is a gift for the pigs.”

A look out of the window gives Draken a pretty good notion of where he is. About five blocks north of The Dripping Candle, that places this house on Garden Street or Bluebird Avenue. Straying a bit from his crew's normal territory but still within the organization's sphere of control.

He smirks at the positive luck, his crew won’t be putting themselves in danger when they come up here. A bust of an exotic looking animal turns toward Draken.

“Breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes,” the creature states, it’s voice grating like stone on stone.

Draken nearly falls over in surprise leaping in a different direction as the closet flies open and a suit springs out like a frog, landing folded on the bed. He jumps to his feet as he feels the bed rumble and stumbles to the floor as it rises about five feet up. Beneath the bed are marble steps that lead down into a steaming bath. Thinking only of his bruised body and the muscles still aching from the previous day he immediately strips and lowers himself in.

As the water’s warmth radiates through him, Draken’s mind absorbs the contents of the room.

The mirror, talking bust and even the tub he soaks in, which seems to be healing his bruises are all the kind of wizardry worth a fortune on the open market. His thieves eyes spot priceless enchanted objects all over the room ranging in size from as small as a comb to as large as a sofa.

Trying to steal any of them would be madness, of course. That sort of thing can wait until the wizard trusts him. Doubtless there are all sorts of protective spells on the house. Rubbing his chin he thinks of more immediate possibilities. As a magician’s apprentice he has some status, doors closed to him his whole life will be wide open. A smile creeps across his lips.

“If I play this right I’ll come out richer than the High Wizard himself. I just need to keep these guys from working me to death and I can work the system instead.”

As Draken steps out he experiences the strange sensation of sopping wetness becoming instantly dry. The black kimono on the bed seems more akin to what a sorcerer might wear than a wizard but he thinks little of it. The silk feels slippery and strange on his skin and it takes a moment for him to figure out that the red patterned cloth is a button up undergarment.

The crystal eyed belt worries him a it’s clearly enchanted. Instead he puts on his own well-worn black leather belt and tucks his knives in. The strange gargoyle bust turns its head toward him with glowing eyes.

“Breakfast is served, follow me to the dining room.” Leaping down from it’s pedestal the small stone creature stiffly walks to the door. As the door swings open of its own volition, Draken shrugs and follows the gargoyle.

***

The wizards’ dining room is surprisingly plain. Wooden table, four chairs and a rusty chandelier.The table is bare as he sits but for a fork and spoon.

“Tap the crystal,” the gargoyle says in it’s stony voice.Embedded in the age blackened wood is a very small magicyte crystal at his place setting. He cautiously taps it and a plate of sausages and eggs materializes. A spark strikes his hand as he grabs for a sausage.

“Manners,” the gargoyle rasps pointing to a fork.

“Son of a bitch!” Another spark hits him in the lip making his mouth go numb.

“Language.” It rasps again, pointing at Draken.

“A harsh lesson but a necessary one.” Hood sits down. “Manners may not be important where you come from but as an apprentice you’ll find yourself in situations where uncouth behavior will put your life in danger.” He taps the table and his plate appears. “So, it’s been agreed that before you're initiated as an apprentice your first lessons will be with me in forks, spoons and polite conversation.”

Hood tosses a octogonal device at Draken.

“Another test?” Draken asks.

“More like a simulation.” The wizard replies.

“Hold that in your hand and you’ll think yourself to be in a scenario i’ve designed.”

Draken picks up the octagon.

***

Draken blinks, trying to remember just what it is he’s doing. Smelling something delicious and meaty he looks at his plate to see a big juicy steak. Picking it up with both hands he takes a bite, tearing at the tough meat like a dog. Hearing a lot of murmurs around him he looks up and notices that all the rich bastards in fancy clothes are staring at him like he’s scum.

“What the fuck are you assholes looking at?” He shouts, mouth full of food.

An old man in a bright green kimono stands from his seat.

“If you’re going to act like a Jackal I’ll turn you into one!”

Draken screams as his body twists and convulses. His bones explode in agony as they shrink and grow. His hands, no not hands at all but some broken cross between a paw and a hand covered in fur. He doesn’t want to live like this. He doesn’t want to live!

“Kill me!”

***

Draken drops the octagon.

“The hell just happened?”

Hood chuckles, then his look turns hard.

“What happened to you in that fantasy can become very real if you are not careful. Mages will not tolerate disrespect and nothing is more disrespectful than coming into a man’s home and acting like a beast.”

Draken stabs the sausage with his fork and takes a bite. After he finishes off his eggs Hood clears his throat.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean, it’s just a fact. You’ll be expected to socialize with magicians and we are a temperamental bunch. I’d rather you not get yourself killed so I think you ought to keep training with the octagon.”

Draken bites his lip as he contemplates the small magical device. The earlier attempt, while horrible in the moment has quickly faded to a dreamlike memory.

“It aint as if my mama never taught me no table skills,” he says defensively. “I just aint needed em in a while is all, I can eat with a fork and spoon like some fancy pants if I wanna. ”

He picks up the octagon.

***

Draken blinks, it seems as though he was about to say something but he can’t remember what it was. Delicious smells catch his attention. Steak, succulent and dripping in juices. He reaches with a hand and catches himself. The folks around him are all dressed like fancy pants snobs, he’d better use a fork and try to fit in. His eyes go wide looking at all the jeweled rings and necklaces. Taking a breath he watches them carefully and mirrors their movements.

“What is it like having three masters?”

Draken turns to his right to see a buxom girl with freckles. He sets the bounty of loot all around him aside for a moment as he pursues a different goal. The girl laughs at his jokes and believes his most outrageous lies. She’s clearly hot for him and he decides to make a move.

He grins as his hand works it’s way up her dress to her crotch.

“Meet me in the coat room and I’ll make you scream.”

She screams and the sorcerer in the green kimono stands, eyes blazing with fury.

“How dare you lay hands on my granddaughter!”

An axe flies from the wall with such speed that Draken does not see it until his just gushes blood as the blade cleaves his body, splitting bone and organ as he hits the floor. His body refuses to move, all strength draining out with his blood. The pain is incomprehensible and his mind drifts farther and farther.

***

“What the fuck did I do wrong? That wet bitch was all over me, am I not supposed to seal the deal?”

Hood chuckles again, shaking his head.

“In these settings you can’t assume that a lady showing interest automatically means she wants to fuck you. Even if she does a lack of subtlety will likely get you killed.”

“I was being subtle,” Draken huffs.

“Not subtle enough,” replies Hood. “Groping some poor girl under the table while whispering obscene propositions in her ear might be subtle for a drunken night at the inn but not at a sober, classy engagement. Add magicians into the mix and you’re playing with your life.”

“So I gotta get blue balls while some horny slut is right there begging for it?”

Hood sighs. “If you ever suspect you're being invited to tryst with a lady, be very careful. Speak only in euphemism and only touch her when you are sure your alone. You have no idea of the twisted games these people play.”

Draken scratched his head. “I don’t get it but if you say I can die I guess I’ll believe you.”

“Tap the plate to send it to the wash.” Hood taps his plate with a fork twice and it vanishes. Draken copies the action, sending his own plate away.