Magician Interrupted Read Free Page B

smacking. They
finished off with weak wine and bread. By the time they packed up
the day was still warm and bright. Time to move on.
    After waving the farmer off and watching him
trundle down the road Paris wiped his hands on his pants and walked
in the opposite direction hoping the farmer didn’t call him back.
To make sure he was safe he didn’t cast a spell instead he turned
and ran as fast as he could with chest heaving only ten seconds
later. He knelt down trying to catch his breath, clasping his chest
and laughing. With wobbly legs he continued to Ispa.

Spell Three – Rats in a Hat Act

    Four hours later and whistling a merry tune Paris
headed up a small hill until he saw Ispa sprawling out before him.
It was a large town with lush gardens. They specialized in flowers,
herbs and forestry. He smacked his lips and cringed. Smacking his
lips reminded him too much of the farmer and the sound turned his
stomach. He placed a hand over the flat surface willing the
gurgling noises to end. He also wished he had a six pack. Once he
was in the marines he would have one. Gone would be Mr. Nerdy,
hello Mr. Muscles. He flexed his bicep but felt only skin and bone.
While there was little fat it reminded him of his hunger … and the
farmer. Sighing he held his hand up to shield his eyes. Days were
longer in the warmer season but the sun was low enough to be
annoying.
    Still, he had everything in front of him.
    So far there were no sounds of horses
galloping to ride him down, or guards to take him back to the pit.
Harro would be happy as a pig in mud and hopefully driving O’rah
crazy. He adjusted the strap on his bag and headed down. The only
sounds were his feet on the dirt packed road and the gradual sounds
of life coming from the town. As he strode past the garden
businesses the sounds of hammers, shovels cutting into the earth,
the merry sounds of laughter, cats squealing and dogs barking made
him pick up his step. Very occasionally he heard a ranger take off
from the tiny space port. They had minimal traffic but their moon
had a busy space installation. Most visitors didn’t actually visit
their backwater planet and who could blame them?
    With a little pause, and smile, he stepped
onto the paved road and headed past more densely packed business
fronts and cottages. It was getting dark and he hurried. The main
gates loomed ahead, open at the moment, and he walked in receiving
the slightest of nods from a guard. So far so good. It had been a
long time since he’d been to Ispa and he turned right at a side
street, turned left at an alley, and then angled across another
road to a pathway until he hit lower Ispa where the houses made way
to apartments—mostly run down.
    On the brick or stone walls he saw signs of
advertising. The Career Worlds establishment was crying out for
workers.
    “We Want You!”
    “Space Jobs.”
    And so on. He paused at a call for marines.
“Join up now and fight for your world.”
    Paris scratched his head. “Fight for your
world?” As far as he knew his world wasn’t at war with anyone. He
was ignorant but that oblivious surely?
    Moving on as the light died in earnest he
raced on and came to a familiar door. He raised his hand and
knocked, eager to see the brunette again and receive a warm
welcome.
     
    The next morning the scat, aka Paris, left
the brunette's in a state of shock. Thousands of years pressed down
upon his soul. She looked old and haggard. What had he been
expecting? As a bar wench, even in this day and age, they had a
tendency to age prematurely. He'd forgotten it had been twenty-four
years since he'd last visited the coast. It confirmed his previous
thoughts that he'd been part of the Trinity for far too long. The
Community was demanding, and the Assembly even more so. They
consisted of the rich and powerful under the pretense of
representing the people.
    Paris nodded, backing away from the needy
woman feeling terrible for her but not wanting to join in her
misery. At first he