Chapter 15 - You are chicken

Tung is the idiot keeper of the Spell Spell scroll. This scroll generates random spells and Tung needs the old magician Madrick to tell him what spell he's created... if only he'd listen.

The more Tung drank, the louder he became. The louder he became, the more people noticed him. The more people who noticed him, the more nervous Madrick became. He tried to shut Tung up, but he was at least two tankards too late.

It was about to get a whole lot worse. Soon Tung was engaging with the groups of revellers around them. It wasn't long before they’d been joined by a ragged bunch of fellow drinkers and Tung seemed determined to become the centre of attention. There must have been forty boozers in the immediate party when Tung pulled out the Scroll and made an announcement.

“I am going to show you the best trick you've ever seen in your miserable lives.”

Madrick had to stop him. This was heading for a Vesuvius scale disaster. Unfortunately, the more he tried to get close to Tung, the farther he got pushed out to the edge of the crowd. He was powerless to stop what was unfolding, so all he could do was watch helplessly from the back of the ever growing throng of spectators.

Tung was now on the table holding the unrolled Scroll in his hands. He was staring at the parchment, he was saying the spell. The crowd was baying.

Madrick had one last chance to stop him. With all his might he hurled his tankard full force at Tung’s head. He missed by a gnat’s whisker, but he missed nonetheless. The last chance was gone as the tankard smashed against the head of an unsuspecting bystander. He crashed unconscious to the ground. At least, now there was one less pair of eyes watching the spectacle.

That was it, all his options were exhausted. He had nothing left to try. He resigned himself to accepting that this was going to end in whatever disastrous conclusion the fates decided. And it was undoubtedly going to be disastrous.

Tung finished the Scroll words, crashed off the table and landed squarely on the back of his head. The hard floor, combined with falling from a height, would definitely conspire to give Tung, yet again, the monster of all headaches.

“Not my fault this time,” said Madrick to no one in particular, “and it serves him right. I did try and stop him. What a stupid idiot.”

The crowd was still laughing when Tung came to. Apparently the ‘best trick ever’ was this fool staring hard at an old parchment and then falling off the table onto his head. Not the best trick ever, although it was certainly funny enough to keep everyone entertained for a while.

Tung regained his senses, tucked the Scroll safely into his jacket and climbed back onto the table. The crowd cheered in the expectation of seeing him fall off again, but Tung had other plans.

“I'm back, people. That was just a slip of the Tung.”

He guffawed at his own joke. It got no response from the audience because it wasn't a particularly funny joke and anyway, virtually no one knew his name was Tung. The lack of laughter didn't seem to faze him.

“Have it your own way, folks, don’t laugh if you don’t want to. I’m here for the money, not the laughs.”

He believed this was going to be a big pay day so he tried to focus on the new spell image in his head. If he could work out what it was then he could construct some sort of bet around it. On top of that, if he could work it out without Madrick, then he could dump the old man and make his own way in the world.

His befuddled brain imagined making a fortune in taverns all across the land. The drink had definitely clouded his judgement; he’d completely forgotten how powerful some of the spells could be. Some of them clearly had the potential to make him rich beyond his wildest dreams, but in his booze fuelled state, he was happy to gamble it all away for the sake of a handful of coppers and a few free drinks.

He concentrated on the image in his head. It was taking longer than usual; maybe it was a lazy spell. Maybe the ale was the culprit. The haze cleared long enough for him to see something; it was a chicken. He was sure it was a chicken; nice brown feathers and a bright red comb on the top of its head. A hand touched its back. The hand didn't make sense, so he just ignored it. How important could such a small detail be?

“I,” he declared at the top of his voice, “will create a chicken out of the thinnest of thin air. If I perform this fantastic, magical feat all you watchers must buy me a tankard of the house’s finest ale. Hands in the air if you agree.”

He swayed a bit as he watched all the hands around him rise into the air. Only Madrick kept his hands firmly by his side. Only Madrick had a terrified look on his face. Only Madrick knew the inherent dangers of an amateur trying to interpret the purpose of a spell, never mind a totally inebriated amateur. Madrick could only hope that Tung’s head would smack the stupid out of itself before the disaster erupted. No chance, there was just too much stupid in there.

Pleased with the audience buy-in, he said the spell. He fell backwards off the table and landed squarely on the giant bump which the previous fall had caused. No problem though, he had enough beer in his belly to dull the pain. He climbed back on the table while the crowd howled with laughter. He looked around for the chicken. There was no chicken to be seen anywhere. All he could see was the crowd in hysterics and, at the back, Madrick jumping up and down mouthing the word ‘NO’ over and over again.

He couldn't understand why the spell had failed. Had he used up all the power? Perhaps he was now flat-lining spell-wise. That was disappointing, no fortune to be made today after all.

He started to climb off the table, with a little more care than his previous two dismounts. He gingerly leaned forward and, for balance, placed his hand on a nearby shoulder. The man he touched immediately turned into a chicken. The little feathery animal no longer supported his descent from the table, so he immediately crashed to his knees, bringing him face to beak with the newly-created hen. Sadness gripped his heart as soon as he realised what he’d done. He grabbed the nearest coat tails in an attempt to haul himself up and get away from the pleading, human eyes of the bewildered man-fowl.

At first the crowd cheered and clapped, although this exuberance quickly turned to terror as Tung touched more of them and they too turned into chickens. Mayhem engulfed the room. Tables and chairs were sent flying as the crowd fled frantically. Panicking patrons trampled over each other in the mad scramble for the exit. In the blink of an eye there was virtually nobody left in the tavern, apart from Madrick who was trying to keep a healthy distance from Tung’s tainted touch. As he backed away, he had to avoid tripping over about ten plump, inebriated hens which were doing excellent impersonations of headless chickens… but with heads.

Madrick counted the chickens and found there were in fact eleven.

“Touch that sleeping drunk in the corner,” he screamed. “You need to make a dozen chickens to complete the spell.”

Tung wobbled unsteadily over to where the unsuspecting drunk slept. He touched the top of his head and the sleeping man immediately turned into a sleeping hen.

“And they say you shouldn't count your chickens,” said Madrick as he grabbed Tung by the arm and dragged him out of the tavern.

They fled up the dark entry which ran alongside the old inn. They ran and ran until the noises of men shouting and women screaming died away.

“I need to stop,” said Madrick, gasping in lungfuls of air. “That barn over there, it looks like a good place to hide.”

It only took a quick peek round the door to show the place had been abandoned years earlier. They slipped in and collapsed onto the hard clay floor. Almost immediately they both fell into a troubled sleep, Madrick from the exhaustion and Tung from too much booze.

Back in town, the excitement was frenzied as the assembled crowd animatedly exchanged stories and experiences of the unbelievable happening. Everyone who actually saw the event grossly exaggerated their own part in the incident; claiming to have been a mere whisker from the poisoned touch. Many who didn't see it pretended they’d been right in the midst of the action. And everyone was desperate to find out who the chickens had actually been.

The town’s grapevine was buzzing and soon some of the more fantastic stories reached the ears of henchmen of the rich and powerful. From them, word went out in three different directions; to Mifal, to the Order of White Wizards and to the Order of Black Wizards. Soon all these powerful entities would be searching for the pair of strangers who had, like one of the chickens, flown the coop.

Meanwhile, the barkeeper was feeling pretty pleased about the night’s events. He may have lost twelve of his regular customers, but he’d been able to round up eleven of the hens so now he wouldn't have to buy any meat for tomorrow’s stew. Also, ale sales had risen dramatically since the incident because everyone wanted to lubricate their throats as they shared their individual adventures with anyone who’d listen.

So everyone in the tavern was happy except, of course, the chickens.

Author's Note

Do you find this amusing? How could I make it funnier?

Reviews

[semppu]

Has a good "lightheartedness" to it. I like how the emphasis is focused primarily on the characters and their interactions. I would point out one minor thing though. Using the word "Vesuvius" for added description may not be appropriate, unless I don't understand the origin of the mountain's name.

[Johnzo]

Fantastic!

This is a lively piece, the pacing and overall humor in the writing makes it very enjoyable. Even without the benefit of reading chapters 1-14 the main characters clearly have their own distinct personalities, and the conflict between them makes for a classic comedic pairing.

Your style fits perfectly with the content of the story, even the descriptions like "gnat's whisker" are chuckle worthy. It keeps the whole chapter fun throughout.

The second to last full paragraph introduces a grave situation, which breaks up the levity. This doesn't match the feel of the chapter, but provides some distinct contrast. It is followed by more levity, but I almost wonder if it would be best to end the chapter on the serious note. The T.V. show Scrubs did this a lot. Tons of laughs, but then an episode might end on a very serious or sad moment: Hahaha! Oh wait, crap that's terrible! The contrast there is very effective, as opposed to: lots of funny, little serious note, more funny at the end. It may be better to group the lighter parts together, then let the serious note really stick out at the end for contrast, just a thought. If you're published than you are more experienced than I am anyway ;)

Technically, there were a few adverbs that stuck out, but nothing major:

"laughed loudly,"

"crowd animatedly exchanged"

There could be some better verbs to use instead. There were also a few places I saw that could make use of semi colons, if you are into that sort of thing. Again, not really a huge deal.

Overall, this was fun! I would totally read it.

[Ken Magee]

Hi Johnzo, Thank you for the kind words. Plus, this is a very constructive & helpful review. Ken.

[Ken Magee]

Thanks sempuu, that's a positive review which is greatly appreciated. The 'Vesuvius scale disaster' was meant to indicate 'BIG disaster' like the destruction of Pompeii. Maybe I should have used a different phrase.