Story #186 - Fratztrabool the Magnificent

Fratztrabool the Magnificent

Fratztrabool the Magnificent clapped his hands with glee as a log floated from the stack next to him to land on the fire. He'd barely had to think about it that time to get it to work – he was clearly getting better at this.

A sound in the darkness told him that Wudder, his manservant, was returning, hopefully with dinner. He'd purchased the large Targanian two villages ago, and so far the broad-chested beast had proven to be extremely useful. He'd never had a manservant before, but once the masses in the theater had started throwing coins at him to go on with his show, he had decided it was time to take a step up the social ladder. Wudder had been available at a deep discount from his former master, since the hulking man couldn't cook or clean without breaking pots, pans and furniture. Fratztrabool had no interest in having his food cooked by someone else, and had no home to store anything of value, so the Targanian had been a worthwhile purchase.

“Me sorry,” Wudder said as he came back into the firelight, hands empty, “no food.”

“First off all,” Fratztrabool fixed his servant with a cold look, “it's 'I'm sorry', not 'me sorry'. Understand?”

Wudder nodded quickly. This wasn't the first time they'd been over this particular point of pronoun use, and the Targanian always acted as though he understood, but then proceeded to make the same mistakes again and again. Fratztrabool was trying to be reasonable, but his patience was wearing thin. For the moment, however, he limited himself to one comment about grammar and addressed the more important aspect of Wudder's failure.

“Now, on to bigger problems. Why is there no food?”

The bigger man shrugged, and then looked down at his feet. “Sorry. Rabbit too fast. No deer. Birds too small. Sorry.”

Fratztrabool sighed. These woods weren't known for their game, but Wudder had proven a capable hunter in other situations, and he had hoped the same would be true here. If need be, he could always sell the manservant at the next town he came to, but he had grown to like the Targanian's quiet solemnity and his eagerness to please. He wasn't much for speaking with others of his own race or any beyond, but he found Wudder an easy man to talk to, largely because Wudder didn't talk back.

He waved at hand dismissively. “Fine. Sit, and I'll take care of dinner.” Fratztrabool put on a show of being annoyed, but in truth he was eager for another chance to try out his new-found abilities. He'd spent the bulk of his adult life as a two-bit magician, one his mother and father would deny came from their house if pressed. Fratztrabool wasn't his birth-name, but it fit the majesty and grandeur that went with being on the stage, and he had worked hard to learn as much about sleight of hand and misdirection as he had to learn about politics and economics. The first two helped him make a living, and the second set helped him understand the rich men who often came to see his shows. Small knowledge could result in huge compensation for his skills, and he had built up quite the reputation in the magic circuit.

It was a bad gambling debt that had forced him out of the playhouses and onto the streets. Too much money turned out to be just as bad as too little, and several prominent crime families had sworn that he would never work again. He'd ignored their words until men with daggers had begun to show up at his performances, and he was forced to cancel all but the most important of his appearances. Towns, cities, and kings knew he'd been marked out as a debtor, so refused to hire him and put their guests in danger. As a result, he'd been forced to trek across the sea to the gods-forsaken west.

Looking around the small clearing where Wudder had made camp, he frowned. He still hadn't learned the names of any of the cities on this side of the ocean, and he had no idea how the political structure of the Empire truly worked. He'd been able to get jobs – they loved his brand of magic – but they didn't pay particularly well.

All had seemed bleak, but three weeks ago, he'd woken up like...this.

He didn't understand it, and whatever had changed him hadn't bothered to stick around and explain itself, but all he had to do was think about something and it would happen. At first, it drained all of his energy just to move a cup of water or push a branch out of his way, but he found that the more he used it, the more he could do without becoming exhausted. A few shows with some new tricks had earned him the gold he'd always been sure he deserved, and now he was working on a set that would truly turn heads. He was going to be famous, rich, and want for nothing.

Wudder starting at him expectantly brought him back to the present.

“Dinner!” He said brightly. “Right!”

He had Wudder bring him the large silver platter from his bag; it was part of his act, but would do well enough for now. Once it was on the ground in front of him, Fratztrabool focused on the image of a fully-cooked turkey with all of the trimmings. He held it in his mind for a moment to make sure it was clear, and then projected it down onto the platter.

There was a wet thump, and the platter sunk a few inches into the loamy earth underneath the weight of the bird he'd willed into existence. Wudder jumped back quickly, his eyes wide with fright.

“Don't worry, my Targanian friend,” he said, reaching for his belt-knife, “there's nothing to be scared of.”

It was steel under his chin that brought his head up, and he looked into the bright and clear eyes of what had been the dull orbs of his manservant.

“I knew if I waited long enough you'd do it,” Wudder grated, “you're coming with me, Fratztrabool, to the Emperor himself. The Service has been trailing you ever since you arrived on our shores, and your magic proves you're the one we've been waiting for. Get up.”

He stood quickly. “Waiting for?” He asked mildly.

“To save the Empire. Draogath is coming, and you're going to kill him.”

Fratztrabool had no idea who that was, but was sure he'd be told soon enough. This was no life for a magician.

- D