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Tales of the Short Bow |
The Job
by John Peterson
Jake wondered how he could have lived in Brinston for so many years and still have overlooked this palace. It was immense. As he drove through the gates, he wondered if he were up to the challenge. Well, he mused, there's no harm in trying.
He was there as a result of a most unlikely help-wanted ad in The Daily Bugle:
Personal assistant / general helper / male. Live in. No qualifications or prior training. Salary open. No limit $$ if right man. Leave name, phone, Dept. E77.
Jake had answered the ad at once. He desperately wanted relief from a host of creditors, his alimony-mad ex-wife, and an increasingly tiresome girlfriend. That "live in" part of the deal might give him a place to hide out, he thought. After all, he had no job, no friends, and no money. Through no fault of his own, he reminded himself.
It hadn't taken long for department E77 to react. Within minutes, a man announcing his name as Ellison Forrest had called back. The man seemed as enthusiastic about setting up an interview as he was anxious about doing so at the earliest possible moment. Jake promised to seek out Forrest's residence that very afternoon, and the appointment was set for two o'clock.
Jake ran a comb through his well-lubricated hair and gave the doorknocker two strong clacks. It was not more than a few seconds before the door swung open and a tall man swept one of his arms inward in a welcoming gesture. After a slight hesitation, Jake crossed the threshold. He gaped at the man who was smiling down at him and who was dressed in a splashily-colored floor-length robe and a tall, cone-shaped hat. These garments combined with his long white beard made the fellow look like a wizard from a child's storybook.
"I'm Ellison Forrest," he said. "And you're Jake?"
The old man escorted Jake through several large and luxurious rooms, each outfitted with expensive-looking furnishings and wall hangings. With the possible exception of a scene or two from an old movie, Jake had never seen anything like it. He did not catch sight of other visitors or even any servants; and he had the eerie feeling that, except for the two of them, the vast residence was deserted.
At length they found a smaller room, lined with books and equipped with a desk. Jake guessed that Forrest used the room for his office.
"Please sit down, Jake," Forrest said.
"Why do you dress up like a wizard?" Jake asked. He had no thought that his question might be considered rude.
"I dress like a sorcerer," Forrest replied, "because I am a sorcerer. I am the Sorcerer of Renvenit. But I am not a wizard—there are important differences. A wizard practices magic by way of spells, charms, and rituals. We sorcerers practice magic by means of harnessing spirits to do what we want done."
"You're serious?" Jake asked.
The old man replied with a question of his own: "Are you serious about taking a job as a sorcerer's helper?" Jake shrugged and nodded his head. "Tell me your qualifications," Forrest said.
"The help-wanted ad said qualifications don't figure in this," Jake said.
"I do not require qualifications," Forrest said, "but I am curious to know if you have any."
"Not that I know of," Jake said, staring around at the bookshelves. "What's this job pay, anyhow?"
"Name your price," Forrest said. "I have unlimited resources."
"Okay, then, a million bucks."
"A million a year?"
"Yeah. A million a year."
"I will pay you twenty thousand dollars at the beginning of each week," Forrest said. "That's a little better than a million a year." Having said that, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a stack of bills held together with rubber bands. He tossed this to Jake. "I pay cash in advance," he said, "and I never report wages to the Internal Revenue people."
Jake counted the money and then held one of the bills up to the light. He folded it and rubbed it between his thumb and two fingers. "Who do I have to kill?" he asked.
"That is not among your duties," Forrest said. "To begin with, I will show you what is expected. I will play the part of helper and you will pretend to be the sorcerer. You will learn your duties by watching carefully what I do."
"Okay," Jake said.
"You will wear these," Forrest said, pointing to a coat rack that Jake had not noticed before. Jake put on the robe and hat, both of which fit him perfectly.
"Why do I have to wear these?" Jake asked. "I feel stupid."
"You wear them because I pay you twenty thousand a week," Forrest replied. "Furthermore, if you should happen to meet someone—anyone whomsoever—when you are wearing this costume, you must greet them with the words, 'I am the Sorcerer of Renvenit.' If you fail to say it, I will instantly dismiss you from my employ. Say it now."
"I'm the Sorcerer of Renvenit," Jake said, looking at his feet and feeling like a schoolboy. When he looked up he saw that Forrest was wearing a severe black suit.
"I am wearing the uniform of the sorcerer's helper," he said. "You will find a complete wardrobe in your room. But first I want you to watch how we sort the mail, for that is one of your duties. Then I will demonstrate several other things in the kitchen. Do you understand?"
But before Jake could answer, he was suddenly aware of two ominous looking figures in the room. They were clothed in hooded brown cloaks. Jake tried to see their faces, but all he could discern within the hoods was an impenetrable darkness.
Forrest gestured with his hands, urging Jake to speak.
"I-I'm the Sorcerer of Renevit," he stammered.
"So be it," said one of the figures. Both glided toward Jake, who now found he could neither move nor talk.
"It is the time of reckoning," said the other figure. Each took hold of Jake and, grasping him firmly, they drifted downward, through the floor, and were gone.
Forrest went over to the well-stocked drinks trolley, which seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and poured himself a large whiskey. This he drained in one great gulp.
"Whew," he said to the empty room, "that was close." 