Jasper Fforde - The Last Dragonslayer

The phone rang and I picked it up, listened for a few moments and scribbled a note on a standard form.

‘This is a form B2-5C,’ I told Tiger, ‘for a minor spell of less than a thousand Shandars. I need you to take it up to the Mysterious X in Room 245 and tell them that I sent you and we need this job done as soon as possible.’

He took the form and stared at me nervously.

‘Who, exactly, is the Mysterious X?’

‘They’re more of a what than a who . It won’t be in a form you’ll recognise, and there is something other about X that defies easy explanation. It’s more of a sense than a person. A shroud, if you like, that confuses their true form. It also smells of unwashed socks and peanut butter. You’ll be fine.’

Tiger looked at the note, then at the Quarkbeast, then at where the moose had been but suddenly wasn’t, then back at me.

‘This is a test, isn’t it?’

He was smart, this one. I nodded.

‘You can be back with the Sisterhood by teatime, and no one will have thought any the worse of you. I’ll let you in on a secret. You weren’t sent to me as a punishment, nor by chance. Mother Zenobia is an ex-sorceress herself, and only sends those she deems truly exceptional. Aside from the fifth foundling—the one we don’t talk about—she’s never been wrong.’

‘So was all that stuff about the Limping Man, the thirteenth floor, the second sub-basement and being flown in a cardboard box also part of the test?’

‘No, that was for real. And that’s just the weird stuff I can remember right now. We haven’t even got started on emergency procedures yet.’

‘Right,’ he said and, after taking a deep breath, he left the room. He was back again a few moments later.

‘This job,’ he said, waving the form B2-5C nervously, ‘is it something to do with Dark Forces?’

‘There’s no such thing as the “Forces of Darkness”, despite what you read in the storybooks. There are no “Dark Arts” or “wizards pulled to the dark side”. There is only the Good or Bad that lurks in the heart of Man. And in answer to your question, X’s job is a cat stuck up a tree. He’ll grumble, but he’ll do it.’

‘It was kind of... well, vague . Sort of shapeless—but with pointy bits.’

‘That’s the Mysterious X all over,’ I said. ‘Did it show you its stamp collection?’

‘It tried to,’ said Tiger, ‘but I was too quick for it. What exactly is the Mysterious X anyway?’

I shrugged. There was a very good reason X carried the accolade ‘Mysterious’.

We were talking over a pre-bedtime cup of hot chocolate in the kitchens. Wizard Moobin, Lady Mawgon and Full Price had finished the rewiring job early and got the bus back into town. They were quite elated at the way the gig had gone, and even Lady Mawgon had permitted herself a small smile by way of celebration. Wizidrical power had been strong today—almost everyone had noticed. I’d fielded a few calls although nothing too serious, and one from a journalist at the Hereford Daily Eyestrain with a pertinent question over Dragondeath. The premonition was getting about. I told her I knew nothing, and had hung up.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent explaining to Tiger how Kazam is run, and introducing him to the least insane residents. He had been particularly taken with Brother Gillingrex of Woodseaves, who had made speaking to birds something of a speciality. He could speak Quack so well that he knew all the eighty-two different words ducks use to describe water. He could also speak Coot, Goose, Wader and Chirrup—which is a sort of generic Pigeon/Sparrow language. He was working on Osprey, had a few useful sentences in Buzzard and the Owl word for ‘mouse’, which is tricky to pronounce if you don’t have a beak. He was mostly employed by birdwatchers, especially useful when it was time for putting identification rings on their legs. Birds worry endlessly about their appearance—all that preening is not only about flying, as they might have you believe—and a softly spoken ‘that looks really fetching and totally matches your plumage’ works wonders.

‘Does anyone else at Kazam have an accolade?’ asked Tiger, who seemed to be developing an interest in Mystical Arts Management.

‘Two Ladies , one Mysterious , three Wizards , one Remarkable , two Venerables and a Pointless ,’ I murmured, counting them off on my fingers, ‘but once upon a time, they all had an accolade—and higher than the ones I’ve just mentioned.’

‘Who’s the “Pointless”?’

‘It would be impolite of me to reveal, but you’ll probably figure it out for yourself.’

‘So those accoladed “Wizard” are the most powerful, yes?’

‘Not quite,’ I replied. ‘An accolade isn’t simply based on performance, but on reliability. Wizard Moobin isn’t the most powerful in the building, but he’s the most consistent. And to complicate matters further, a status is different to an accolade. Two wizards might both be status Spellmanager but if one has turned a goat into a moped and the other hasn’t, then they get to call themselves “Wizard”.’

‘ A goat into a moped? ’

‘You couldn’t do that. It’s just an example.’

‘Oh. So who decides who gets an accolade?’

‘It’s self-conferring,’ I replied. ‘The idea of any kind of organised higher authority—a “Grand Council of Wizards” or something—is wholly ridiculous once you get to know how scatty they can be. Getting three of them to spell together is possible— just —but asking them to agree on a new colour for the dining room almost impossible. Argumentative, infantile, passionate and temperamental, they need people like us to manage them and always have done. Two paces behind every great wizard there has always been their agent. They always took a back seat, but were always there, doing the deals, sorting out transport, hotel bookings, mopping up the mistakes and the broken hearts, that sort of thing.’

‘Even the Mighty Shandar?’

‘There is no record that he had one, but we’re usually the first to be written out of history. Yes, I’m almost certain of it. Imagine being the Mighty Shandar’s agent. No percentage, but the fringe benefits would be colossal.’

‘Would you get dental?’

‘Tusks if you wanted them. But back to accolades: the one thing sorcerers are good at is honour. You’d not award yourself an accolade that you didn’t deserve, nor shy from demoting yourself if your powers faded. They’re good and honest people—just a bit weird, and hopeless at managing themselves.’

‘So what about the one who accoladed themselves “Pointless”?’

‘They have self-confidence issues.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Me too.’

Tiger thought about this for a moment.

‘So what could a sorcerer do on the Spellmanager level?’

I took a sip of hot chocolate.

‘Levitation of light objects, stopping clocks, unblocking drains and simple washing and drying can all be handled pretty well at the Spellmanager level. There’s no one below this status at Kazam except you, me, Unstable Mabel, the Quarkbeast and Hector.’

‘Hector?’

‘Transient Moose.’

I nodded in the direction of the moose, who was leaning against one of the fridge-freezers with a look of supreme boredom etched upon his features.

‘Above this is a sorcerer. They can conjure up light winds and start hedgehog migrations. Sparks may fly from their fingertips and they might manage to levitate a car. The next rank is that of Master Sorcerer . At this level you might be expected to be able to create objects from nothing. A light drizzle could be conjured up, but not on a clear day. Sometimes a Master Sorcerer might be able to teleport, but not far and with little accuracy. Above this is the Grand Master Sorcerer . These gifted people can speak in eighteen different languages and can levitate several trucks at a time; they can change an object’s colour permanently and start isolated thunderstorms. They might be able to squeeze out a lightning bolt but not very accurately. Constructing box-girder bridges is a simple procedure requiring little effort. The final category is Super Grand Master Sorcerer . This is the “unlimited” category. A Super Grand Master Sorcerer can do almost anything. He or she can whistle up storms, command the elements and stop the tide. They can turn people to salt and levitate whole buildings. They can create spells and incantations that are so strong that they stay on long after they have died. They are also, supremely, incredibly, thankfully, rare . I’ve never met one. The greatest of all the Super Grand Master Sorcerers was the Mighty Shandar. It was said that he had so much magic in him his footprints would spontaneously catch fire as he walked.’