(no subject)
There is still so much excitement about the new millennium. Everything is new, and different, and Balthazar has to forcibly keep himself from rolling his eyes every time he hears it. There is nothing new here - he is still waiting, still hoping that the next miracle child he hears about will be the one that will save the world. Sometimes he wonders, late at night, if he hasn't missed Merlin's heir, some time years ago, during the plagues or the world wars, perhaps. Maybe the child was in Hiroshima. Maybe she was in London during the bombing. Maybe he was from one of the Native American nations, fallen prey to measles.
He cannot afford to think like that. Sometimes he has a ghost of a thought, brought on by the flash of something shiny or the smell of a bakery in the morning, that there's something he's forgetting. Something important. But then the moment passes, and he melds with the New York City crowds, just one more of the herd sweeping through the city streets, marking time.
He gave up actively travelling centuries ago - there are simply so many people in the world now, the races so intermingled, it is impossible to visit all of the major population centers in a reasonable amount of time. At times he could curse the efficiency of the English Naval forces. Britannia threw her nets wide, and spread his search from just one corner of the globe to any place imaginable. So he keeps up with the times, using the recently popular internet to search news feeds for the weird and unexplained, looking for clues. To mask his presence in New York City, he keeps his shop as a front - a place of curiosities, by appointment only... and he doesn't take appointments. He continually collects new objects when he travels - there are still magical objects around, though most people look right through them these days. Things were different when he was an apprentice. Then people knew about magic, accepted it as an everyday thing, from the hedgerow witches to the king's sorcerer.
Now, all hail the almighty laptop.
Though he has to admit, those things are pretty nifty. He's sure Tesla would have gotten a kick out of them. He's considering buying one for the store, though he suspects it would be unhealthy for him to have an excuse to never leave the store except to find food once in a while.
He's upstairs cleaning, polishing a nasty little enchanted knife he found in Lithuania on his last trip, when he hears the chime over the door ring. For a long moment he sits silent, waiting. No one has wandered in for decades, not since they made one end of this street a dead end, cutting off the flow of traffic. He hasn't invited anyone over. He hasn't heard of any Morganians trying to make a name for themselves.
There's a faint sound, like light feet on the weathered floorboards, and Balthazar can no longer contain his curiosity. Moving cautiously, avoiding the weak joints in the floorboards, he heads for the stairwell to investigate his intruder.
It's a boy. A young boy, maybe nine, maybe ten, all curly hair and wide eyes. And, it turns out, curious fingers - he reaches out to polish a lamp (just as well for the child Balthazar has already banished the genie that lived inside it), and in the process of trying to shift it suddenly sets the piles of stuff (carefully organized, he would say) clattering into disarray. He was going to let it fall, let the boy have a good scare, but he can see the trajectory, he can see where and how the boy is going to fall...
It's a close call, but he catches the urn before it can fall, his hand clapped over the lid to keep it from opening.
"The second emperor of the Han dynasty locked his least favorite wife in this urn for ten years. To the day. It's said if you open it up, the same thing will happen to you." He informs the boy solemnly, appreciating the healthy dose of fear that appears in the child's eyes. It is important that children learn respect for their surroundings. Not everything is an innocent toy - and in this case, he would have missed out on half of his life, had he not been rescued.
He gives the boy points for pluck, managing to ask about a note that blew into his store, an oh-so-important note that almost got him as good as killed. The bright-eyed perkiness is annoying, but the pluck? Not too much of that going around anymore.
But that note. The one that blew into his store by chance.
By coincidence.
He doesn't believe in coincidence.
"I have something I'd like to show you, Dave." He decides, as he heads further into the store. It's been so long since anyone's bothered to do anything besides capitulate or turn tale that he's surprised by the question behind him.
"How did you know my name is Dave?" Challenging. Perky. Annoying.
"Because I can read minds!" He barks sharply, giving the boy his best 'I am a mighty sorcerer so watch it' glare. Oddly, when the perky is muted, he misses it, and thus relents.
"It's on your backpack." There's a sound behind him, and he deeply hopes it's not the boy turning in his tracks to try and see the name written on the top of his backpack, like a puppy chasing its tail.
He's afraid that's exactly what's happening. Not a promising start. He calls the boy over to the counter (once used for sales, now used for Storing More Stuff) without looking too closely at the boy's current pursuits. It's best to maintain a positive outlook when possible.
Under the counter is a ancient metal box, once gleaming bronze, now an oxidized green. It's almost older than the ring itself, and it is where the ring stays when he's not traveling. He pulls it out and sets it on the counter between himself and Dave, who is looking frightened (healthy sign) and curious (good sign). With a bit of an air of mystery, which is a practiced trait, he's been doing this so long, he opens the box to show the silver dragon with the green stone on his back to the quivering boy. Very carefully he sets the dragon on his open palm and offers it to Dave for inspection.
"This is very special." He informs Dave in a soft voice. If the dragon doesn't respond, Dave will never know how special. "And if it likes you, you can keep it."
Dave's shaking his head. He's gaping like a fish out of water. But he is staring at the ring like it might actually hurt him to look away.
"I'd better not. My teacher said I couldn't be gone for long, she knows I'm here." It's an atrocious lie - inventive, but the boy should never play poker.
"You're a bad liar, Dave." The boy's eyes widen precipitously. "That's good." But Dave doesn't seem to think so, suddenly becoming exponentially more antsy. Slowly, he turns to head for the door - now, bolting wouldn't have helped his chances of escape, mind, but it's hardly the act of someone who truly wants to leave.
Balthazar helps him decide. The doors firmly close and latch on their own, leaving the boy little choice but to turn and face the little dragon Balthazar is still holding out for him.
Dave's much smaller hand reaches up and takes the dragon from the sorcerer who has been guarding it for centuries.
For a long, breathless moment, Balthazar believes he's hit another dead end. The boy stares at the dragon, but the dragon doesn't respond at all. He's about to ask for it back, when the impossible occurs.
The dragon shakes itself hard, like a wet dog, curls up over the top of the boy's hand, and settles, like a roosting bird, around Dave's pointer finger, assuming a shape he hasn't seen since Merlin died.
It's like a swift kick to the gut and the relief of coming under the heaviest load imaginable all at once. He's found the boy. Soon this will all be over. He can train the boy, and together they can defeat Morgana... and then? Perhaps. Perhaps everything.
He tries to remember how reassuring Merlin was, when he came to collect the second son of a minor noble family all those ages ago. Tries to mimic it, as he reassures the nervous boy that this is in fact a good thing. Tries to impress upon him the importance of Staying Still And Not Touching Anything while he goes to fetch an Encantus for the boy (for Dave, he has to remember to call him Dave).
He finds out, at least, that he failed miserably at that last bit. When he comes back, it's only just in time to prevent a long time foe and longer time best friend from murdering Dave where he stands. Furious, he smacks Horvath into the rafters and pins him there.
"What happened," He tries not to snarl (and fails at this too), "to not touching anything?" Somehow, the boy freed the Grimhold that he had buried deep within one of the walls.
"Not very sporting of you, Balthazar." Horvath calls down, somehow managing to sound urbane and sinister, even when pinned to the rafters.
"Be quiet!" He spits, then turns to address Dave, trying to reassure the boy (Dave!) again, "It's not you, he's been like that for a thousand years. I'll explain later. I need the Grimhold. Where's that doll?" It took almost everything he had to imprison Horvath once - to do it twice, with someone very precious to protect, is something he'd like to accomplish as fast as possible, before it can get out of hand.
He's reaching for the doll that Dave has pointed to mutely when he realizes that yes, it's already way out of control. Somehow Horvath manages to send him flying, and he can hear the crash of Horvath re-discovering the law of gravity. After that? Chaos. Two sorcerers who have been evenly matched since their first days of training - one more in practice, one more rested, both intent on seizing the Grimhold before the other. It's a very near thing - his plasma bolt misses horribly in the confines of the store, drawn off course by the objects contained within, and Horvath always has had a nasty way with fire. Balthazar manages to tackle Horvath before the Morganian can do more than threaten Dave, but there's so little room here. Horvath has his hand on Dave's ankle, trying to draw him in, to grab the Grimhold, not knowing he already has his hands on the greater treasure.
So Balthazar does the only thing he can think of. He sees the urn, knocked over, beside them as they wrestle on the floor.
"Leave, Dave! Leave now!" He howls, and in a final push grabs Horvath's hand loose from Dave's ankle and, hoping that somehow this won't send everything astray, shoves their hands into the open maw of the urn.
And all is darkness. And some really atrocious book reports.
He cannot afford to think like that. Sometimes he has a ghost of a thought, brought on by the flash of something shiny or the smell of a bakery in the morning, that there's something he's forgetting. Something important. But then the moment passes, and he melds with the New York City crowds, just one more of the herd sweeping through the city streets, marking time.
He gave up actively travelling centuries ago - there are simply so many people in the world now, the races so intermingled, it is impossible to visit all of the major population centers in a reasonable amount of time. At times he could curse the efficiency of the English Naval forces. Britannia threw her nets wide, and spread his search from just one corner of the globe to any place imaginable. So he keeps up with the times, using the recently popular internet to search news feeds for the weird and unexplained, looking for clues. To mask his presence in New York City, he keeps his shop as a front - a place of curiosities, by appointment only... and he doesn't take appointments. He continually collects new objects when he travels - there are still magical objects around, though most people look right through them these days. Things were different when he was an apprentice. Then people knew about magic, accepted it as an everyday thing, from the hedgerow witches to the king's sorcerer.
Now, all hail the almighty laptop.
Though he has to admit, those things are pretty nifty. He's sure Tesla would have gotten a kick out of them. He's considering buying one for the store, though he suspects it would be unhealthy for him to have an excuse to never leave the store except to find food once in a while.
He's upstairs cleaning, polishing a nasty little enchanted knife he found in Lithuania on his last trip, when he hears the chime over the door ring. For a long moment he sits silent, waiting. No one has wandered in for decades, not since they made one end of this street a dead end, cutting off the flow of traffic. He hasn't invited anyone over. He hasn't heard of any Morganians trying to make a name for themselves.
There's a faint sound, like light feet on the weathered floorboards, and Balthazar can no longer contain his curiosity. Moving cautiously, avoiding the weak joints in the floorboards, he heads for the stairwell to investigate his intruder.
It's a boy. A young boy, maybe nine, maybe ten, all curly hair and wide eyes. And, it turns out, curious fingers - he reaches out to polish a lamp (just as well for the child Balthazar has already banished the genie that lived inside it), and in the process of trying to shift it suddenly sets the piles of stuff (carefully organized, he would say) clattering into disarray. He was going to let it fall, let the boy have a good scare, but he can see the trajectory, he can see where and how the boy is going to fall...
It's a close call, but he catches the urn before it can fall, his hand clapped over the lid to keep it from opening.
"The second emperor of the Han dynasty locked his least favorite wife in this urn for ten years. To the day. It's said if you open it up, the same thing will happen to you." He informs the boy solemnly, appreciating the healthy dose of fear that appears in the child's eyes. It is important that children learn respect for their surroundings. Not everything is an innocent toy - and in this case, he would have missed out on half of his life, had he not been rescued.
He gives the boy points for pluck, managing to ask about a note that blew into his store, an oh-so-important note that almost got him as good as killed. The bright-eyed perkiness is annoying, but the pluck? Not too much of that going around anymore.
But that note. The one that blew into his store by chance.
By coincidence.
He doesn't believe in coincidence.
"I have something I'd like to show you, Dave." He decides, as he heads further into the store. It's been so long since anyone's bothered to do anything besides capitulate or turn tale that he's surprised by the question behind him.
"How did you know my name is Dave?" Challenging. Perky. Annoying.
"Because I can read minds!" He barks sharply, giving the boy his best 'I am a mighty sorcerer so watch it' glare. Oddly, when the perky is muted, he misses it, and thus relents.
"It's on your backpack." There's a sound behind him, and he deeply hopes it's not the boy turning in his tracks to try and see the name written on the top of his backpack, like a puppy chasing its tail.
He's afraid that's exactly what's happening. Not a promising start. He calls the boy over to the counter (once used for sales, now used for Storing More Stuff) without looking too closely at the boy's current pursuits. It's best to maintain a positive outlook when possible.
Under the counter is a ancient metal box, once gleaming bronze, now an oxidized green. It's almost older than the ring itself, and it is where the ring stays when he's not traveling. He pulls it out and sets it on the counter between himself and Dave, who is looking frightened (healthy sign) and curious (good sign). With a bit of an air of mystery, which is a practiced trait, he's been doing this so long, he opens the box to show the silver dragon with the green stone on his back to the quivering boy. Very carefully he sets the dragon on his open palm and offers it to Dave for inspection.
"This is very special." He informs Dave in a soft voice. If the dragon doesn't respond, Dave will never know how special. "And if it likes you, you can keep it."
Dave's shaking his head. He's gaping like a fish out of water. But he is staring at the ring like it might actually hurt him to look away.
"I'd better not. My teacher said I couldn't be gone for long, she knows I'm here." It's an atrocious lie - inventive, but the boy should never play poker.
"You're a bad liar, Dave." The boy's eyes widen precipitously. "That's good." But Dave doesn't seem to think so, suddenly becoming exponentially more antsy. Slowly, he turns to head for the door - now, bolting wouldn't have helped his chances of escape, mind, but it's hardly the act of someone who truly wants to leave.
Balthazar helps him decide. The doors firmly close and latch on their own, leaving the boy little choice but to turn and face the little dragon Balthazar is still holding out for him.
Dave's much smaller hand reaches up and takes the dragon from the sorcerer who has been guarding it for centuries.
For a long, breathless moment, Balthazar believes he's hit another dead end. The boy stares at the dragon, but the dragon doesn't respond at all. He's about to ask for it back, when the impossible occurs.
The dragon shakes itself hard, like a wet dog, curls up over the top of the boy's hand, and settles, like a roosting bird, around Dave's pointer finger, assuming a shape he hasn't seen since Merlin died.
It's like a swift kick to the gut and the relief of coming under the heaviest load imaginable all at once. He's found the boy. Soon this will all be over. He can train the boy, and together they can defeat Morgana... and then? Perhaps. Perhaps everything.
He tries to remember how reassuring Merlin was, when he came to collect the second son of a minor noble family all those ages ago. Tries to mimic it, as he reassures the nervous boy that this is in fact a good thing. Tries to impress upon him the importance of Staying Still And Not Touching Anything while he goes to fetch an Encantus for the boy (for Dave, he has to remember to call him Dave).
He finds out, at least, that he failed miserably at that last bit. When he comes back, it's only just in time to prevent a long time foe and longer time best friend from murdering Dave where he stands. Furious, he smacks Horvath into the rafters and pins him there.
"What happened," He tries not to snarl (and fails at this too), "to not touching anything?" Somehow, the boy freed the Grimhold that he had buried deep within one of the walls.
"Not very sporting of you, Balthazar." Horvath calls down, somehow managing to sound urbane and sinister, even when pinned to the rafters.
"Be quiet!" He spits, then turns to address Dave, trying to reassure the boy (Dave!) again, "It's not you, he's been like that for a thousand years. I'll explain later. I need the Grimhold. Where's that doll?" It took almost everything he had to imprison Horvath once - to do it twice, with someone very precious to protect, is something he'd like to accomplish as fast as possible, before it can get out of hand.
He's reaching for the doll that Dave has pointed to mutely when he realizes that yes, it's already way out of control. Somehow Horvath manages to send him flying, and he can hear the crash of Horvath re-discovering the law of gravity. After that? Chaos. Two sorcerers who have been evenly matched since their first days of training - one more in practice, one more rested, both intent on seizing the Grimhold before the other. It's a very near thing - his plasma bolt misses horribly in the confines of the store, drawn off course by the objects contained within, and Horvath always has had a nasty way with fire. Balthazar manages to tackle Horvath before the Morganian can do more than threaten Dave, but there's so little room here. Horvath has his hand on Dave's ankle, trying to draw him in, to grab the Grimhold, not knowing he already has his hands on the greater treasure.
So Balthazar does the only thing he can think of. He sees the urn, knocked over, beside them as they wrestle on the floor.
"Leave, Dave! Leave now!" He howls, and in a final push grabs Horvath's hand loose from Dave's ankle and, hoping that somehow this won't send everything astray, shoves their hands into the open maw of the urn.
And all is darkness. And some really atrocious book reports.