Wednesday’s story
System connections were down, so - unable to do the work I was hired for (and needing to pretend to be doing something) - I wrote this. It’s fairly pointless, but I like it.
Wednesday
Lynn Ambrose stumbled into his kitchen and looked blearily around. Kettle. Water. Stove. He blinked and frowned. What was missing? Oh, yes … turn gas on and … he pointed a trembling finger at the kettle and a blue spark leapt between them. The gas roared into flame and settled down to the job of heating the water.
He sighed, stretched, and looked about. Food … must have food. He opened the fridge and rummaged around for a bit, emerging with bagels, cream cheese, and ham. He tossed his provisions onto the counter, where the bagels split, the cream cheese container popped open, and the ham unwrapped. He frowned at a drawer and it opened with alacrity, a knife shooting out. The knife started shaving thin slices of ham.
Lynn nodded and looked back at his kettle. Steam was already starting to leak out of the spout, so he fetched a cup, the sugar bowl, and his tea chest. Tea was something best done by hand, so he filled a ball with tea and snapped it close. Cup rinsed out with hot water and then filled. The tea ball went into the cup and Lynn started counting.
While doing so, he glanced at the rest of his breakfast and rolled his eyes. The knife had shaved almost the entire ham into wafer thin slices. “Enough already,” he muttered.
The knife immediately zipped to the sink and dropped into a waiting glass. “Excuse me?” Lynn snapped, staring in offense. “What about the cream cheese, then?”
The knife half rose up as if in question.
“Yeah, I said enough, but I was referring to the ham. The cheese still needs to be spread, you know.”
The knife slowly floated back to the cream cheese and managed to spread it across the waiting bagel halves in a fashion that conveyed hurt and disappointment remarkably well for cutlery. Then it returned, even slower, to the glass in the sink, pausing above it expectantly.
Lynn sighed and said, “Thank you and I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
The knife dropped into the glass with a satisfied rattle.
Bloody inanimate objects always getting above themselves … oh, blast! Lynn turned back to his cup and snatched the tea ball out of the hot water. He peered into the cup and, with a weary shrug, added two spoonfuls of sugar. So it was a tad stronger than he intended … maybe a strong cup of tea was a good way to start the day.
By the time he returned from his table to the kitchen, the sliced ham had arranged itself nicely to the top of the bagels, packed its remainder up, and put itself away in the fridge. The cream cheese simply sat there. It hadn’t even put its lid back on.
Lynn frowned and said, “Yes? Is there a problem?”
The cream cheese slowly and carefully tipped forward to display its nearly depleted interior.
“Ah. Well, thank you very much. I shall attend to shopping today.”
The cream cheese snapped its lid on and put itself away, while the dry marker rose and noted “Cream Cheese” in a precise hand on the shopping board. Lynn, bagel in hand, returned to his table.
His laptop was already there, open and booting up. He settled into his chair, scooted up to the table, and took his first sip of tea. Not bad; very strong, but not bad. He took a bite of ham and bagel and watched his laptop display the morning news.
By the time he’s finished his breakfast and was enjoying his second cup, he had finished with the news and was now reviewing his schedule for the day. Nothing exceptional, really. A meeting at half past nine and a review scheduled for three, but only routine work in-between.
His clothes were waiting when he returned to his bedroom. Lynn nodded politely to them as he walked into the bathroom. A burst of steam puffed out the door as he entered.
Thirty minutes later, he left for work. Bus to downtown and a brisk walk to the office building that housed “Brenning, Tailor, and Co.” He looked longingly at the elevators, but took the stairs. No sense in getting pudgy.
The receptionist ignored him, as usual. He knew of a fact that she only smiled at supervisors and only called greetings to junior executives and above. Rumor had it that she did much more for the senior partners. Lynn walked down the hall and entered an office marked “Human Relations.”
His supervisor glanced at her watch when he said “Good Morning,” but - since it was still five before the hour - the Hag (the office nickname for Mrs. Hagermann) didn’t bother saying anything in return. He couldn’t remember her ever saying anything nice during his five years with the firm. Apparently, her rule was “If you can’t say anything critical, don’t say anything at all.”
He walked down the row of cubicles, occasionally exchanging greetings or nods with various co-workers, until he reached the last cubby on the right. He tossed his bag into the corner and hung up his coat. He glanced at the empty cubby across the aisle and, grinning, had his computer wake up, his mail open, and his drawers unlock while he, himself, walked back down the aisle, cup in hand, to fetch his first cuppa of the workday.
Steaming cup in hand, he sat down at his desk and, sipping, reviewed his workflow. Nothing much to talk about, really; one or two pay problems, a couple of travel vouchers, a promotion (someone’s relative or mistress, no doubt), and …
He sat upright and stared at the screen. His review had been canceled and replaced with another meeting, this one with one of the partners! Why on Earth would one of the partners want to meet with a clerk? They worked directly with Pharmsey on forth, who passed all needs to Talburt on third, who sent it directly to Ms. Hagermann, Lynn’s supervisor, who did the work personally and sent it back up the line.
Lynn stood up and looked around, seeing if anyone was moving about. Fine.
He muttered a short spell and a face formed in the fabric of his cubby. Addressing the face, he quietly asked, “Which partner wants to see me and why?”
The face nodded and slowly faded. Lynn addressed himself to his first assignment, knowing from experience that it would take a little time for the building to reply.
He was starting in on the second of the pay problems (another bloody idiot who hadn’t filed his travel paperwork on time), when a soft cough sounded behind him. He ducked his head out of his cubby and checked the aisle quickly, then faced the cubby wall and snapped, “Quickly, now.”
The face formed again and softly said in a pleasant enough tenor, “Brenning wants to see you because of the cameras.”
Lynn frowned and asked, “What cameras?”
The face paused … buildings really weren’t that smart … and then replied, “The cameras in the ceiling.”
Lynn fought the urge to look up. If there were video cameras in the ceiling, looking at them would be a mistake. Then he realized that, were there cameras watching him, they’d be recording his conversation with a wall, so what harm would a glance do?
He started to look upward, then paused and requested, “Please disable the camera for a moment, if you would?”
The face screwed up in concentration for a moment, then cleared and said, “Done.”
Lynn scanned the ceiling and immediately made out the glass eye near the corner of the office. Yeah, it had a great view of his cubby. Turning his attention back to the wall, he broke the spell, which made the face smooth back out into a wall and returned the camera to regular service.
Lynn spun his chair back to his terminal and pondered the matter while working on the second pay problem. How long had that camera been there? He was pretty sure it hadn’t been there when he started at B, T, & Co., so when had it been installed and why?
A quick flicker of the eye confirmed that the camera couldn’t see his computer screen. He dipped a finger in his tea, as if checking to see if it was still warm, and then wiped it on his desk top. After the design was finished, he muttered the verbal part of the complicated spell and watched his screen carefully.
A window opened showing him the view of the camera. He watched himself watching himself for a moment and noted that only one other cubical was even visible. Right; so he was the target. He tapped the screen and the view started to reverse. Within seconds, he watched himself walk in and perform that little bit of magic to start his day. Drat. It was obvious what was happening.
As the images rewound through time, he watched himself perform all matter of small spells and so forth. The final images were a close up of somebody testing the camera. The date stamp in the corner showed that the invasive little bugger had been installed two months ago.
So now Brenning wanted to see him …
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The nine-thirty meeting was boring and he polished off his workload by lunch. When he returned to the office after eating an unexceptional hurried meal, he had a plan in mind for the meeting. He’d decided that nothing that the camera had recorded couldn’t be explained with either clever devices or Photoshop, so be prepared to jump either way. He’d performed some serious magic during his lunch break and now his drawers were filled with electronic gadgets and his terminal was cross wired to the camera, as if by accident.
Whichever story was accepted would be the way he jumped.
He took care of filing until fifteen until three o’clock. Then he carefully locked all his drawers and reported to the Hag that he was summoned to a meeting with Mr. Brenning. His supervisor took a moment to confirm the meeting and then did the damnest thing.
She smiled at Lynn and said, “Have a nice meeting, Lynn.”
The familiarity so upset Lynn that he had to take an extra minute or two in the water closet to calm down. He hadn’t even known she knew his bloody first name! He checked his appearance and walked to the elevators. Brenning’s office was, of course, on the top floor, which gave Lynn plenty of time to prepare a few spells in advance, each only needing a word or two to activate.
The magical equivalent of making sure there was one in the chamber and that the pistol was already cocked.
He paused for the remaining forty-eight seconds outside of Brenning’s door and, at the stroke, knocked sharply.
“Please come in, Mr. Hopkins.”
Lynn opened the door and walked in, face radiating confusion and willingness to serve.
Thomas Brenning was behind a fairly large desk, standing and walking around the side with his hand outstretched. Lynn smiled hesitantly and then belatedly brought his own hand up to shake, whispering a word of power under his breath like a ventriloquist.
Their hands met in a firm handshake and the world froze for Thomas Brenning.
Without releasing his hand, Lynn spoke a second word and all the electronic devices in the man’s office froze as well. When he restarted them, whatever they were, all they would show is a slight burst of static to earmark the next few minutes.
Lynn concentrated and delved into the older man’s mind, searching for forbidden knowledge. After a few unsuccessful seconds, he had to withdraw in revulsion. Apparently, the man had risen to the top by stomping over the backs … and in a few cases, the faces … of his competition.
Lynn, feeling mentally filthy, braced himself and dove back in. An endless time later (but only around two minutes in real time), he had his answers - and a new set of problems.
A report from the IT folks showed that Lynn was using his computer far less than his co-workers, prompting Brenning to have the camera installed, convinced that he’d catch Lynn in some sort of wrong-doing … since that’s what he would have been doing in Lynn’s place. Instead, he had a glimpse of real power at work.
Lots of copies of the videos made, lots of people brought in to study and dissect them, lots more people brought in (some of them lip readers to try and make out what Lynn had said) to explain what the first group had either said or not said. Calls and inquiries to various self-proclaimed psychics, mystics, and magicians, including the three best prestidigitators currently working, all to try and discover what Lynn had been doing.
Finally, he came to the conviction that what he was watching was real magic, real power, and - hot on the heels of that conviction - massive amounts of avarice and need. Realization that, if Lynn could be bent to his will or - even better - if Lynn could teach Brenning his secrets, then the world could be his. He intended to try for the latter with lavish offers of money and so forth, but was ready to switch to threats and violence to obtain the former if need be.
Lynn broke contact and sighed. Did the small-minded dolt consider for one moment exactly why it was that Lynn was working as a clerk in this tacky firm, instead of ruling the universe himself?
Oh, well …
Lynn walked back into the handshake and, with a phrase, set the clock right again. Brenning was telling him how glad he was to meet Lynn and all that rot. Lynn let Brenning gift him with a drink and cigar, both top drawer, and sat with him in a comfortable conversation nook near the expansive front window.
As soon as Brenning started into his sales pitch Lynn frowned … and then burst out laughing. “Magic? Me? Mr. Brenning, sir, I’m afraid you have the wrong man. I’m just a clerk from Kensington. I’m not David Copperfield or anything. I mean, I did sort of try my hand at the odd coin trick as a nipper, but …”
Brenning stopped him in mid-denial and, with a superior grin, took a remote from his pocket and started a video playing in a nearby television. Watching it, Lynn wondered what his reaction should be; anger at being secretly filmed? Perhaps astonishment at there being a camera in the office?
He settled on unimaginative and a little stupid. “Waitaminute … that’s my desk, isn’t it? Hey, that’s me!” He plastered a goofy smile onto his face and hitched himself closer to the set, enthralled with the novelty of watching himself on the telly. “That’s great, Mr. Brenning, sir … do you have any of my mate, Nigel? He’s in the third cubical from the left when you walk in. Tall fellow, unfortunate teeth, but a really nice …”
Brenning interrupted once more to point out the various drawers and so forth opening as the video Lynn walked away.
Lynn grinned big and nodded, “That’s nothing, Mr. Brenning, sir; you should see what I’ve done to my flat! I have most everything automated, right down to the stove popping on five minutes before my alarm goes off! It’s all a matter of gears, y’see, and …”
Brenning, frowning thunderously, fast forwarded to an instance of Lynn talking to the building.
Lynn leaned forward and said, “Coo … it looks just like a giant face from that angle, doesn’t it? It must be my shadow from the window that’s doing it, Mr. Brenning, sir.”
Brenning pointed out that the Lynn on the screen was talking to the face.
“What?” Lynn stammered out, turning to look at the screen again … then settling back with a small laugh. “Oh, I get it. Listen, Mr. Brenning, sir, I only talk to Juliet occasionally and never when I have work to do. It’s just that, well, y’know, when work slows up a bit …”
Brenning stood up and shouted at Lynn.
“B-b-but, Juliet is in the next cubby, um, cubicle from me and we occasionally talk a bit … it’s nothing serious or anything if you have something going with her, Mr. Brenning, sir. We’re just chums, that’s all.”
Five minutes later, they were standing in Lynn’s cubby and Lynn was showing off his rag-tag inventions to Brenning, while the Hag stood behind them, wringing her hands and apologizing to nobody in particular, for nothing in particular. Lynn pushed one switch and stood back while drawers unlocked and file cabinets opened. The computer came on before Brenning stomped off, muttering something about unauthorized tinkering.
A quick glamour to deceive the camera and Lynn called the spirit of the building up once again, asking if it might be kind enough to hold Mr. Brenning’s elevator between floors for a moment. That taken care of, he wove a carefully worded spell to make all parties forget everything associated with his magic use.
“Why didn’t you do that in the first place,” the wall inquired. “Would have saved lots of time.”
“I had to get Brenning into the right state of mind first,” Lynn explained. “Trying to make him forget so much in one fell swoop would have taken too much power and left too many holes in his memory. Now he wants to forget and will assist me in filling those gaps.”
The wall considered this. “Clever,” it finally admitted. “What about the camera?”
“It will develop a fault and, if I’m right, nobody will want to replace the bloody thing. If I’m wrong … well, I’ll deal with that as it comes up.” Lynn finished the spell and, with a flourish, cast it.
The air turned slightly blueish for an instant and then faded. “That’s it?” The wall inquired.
“Indeed. You can let his elevator go on and thank you very much for your assistance.” Before dropping the innocent glamour, he released the wall and let the atoms that he’d teased into his mechanical inventions return to their natural state.
The day ended without any further excitement. Lynn locked up his desk and, saying good night to several co-workers, left the building and lopped off to get a drink at the Round Table. Twenty minutes later, he was seated in a nice booth with a lager in hand. Lynn stretched his neck and took a deep pull at his drink. Mead was better, but where could one get mead nowadays?
“Dear spirit … is it really you!?”
Lynn looked up and grinned. “Hello, Morgan. Have a seat.” He called for another round.
“Don’t mind if I do, love. Thanks.” Moran sat down and made himself comfortable before continuing; “Still hanging around, waiting for that overgrown Boy Scout to show up again? By the way, I do so like you without a beard, old sport. It makes you look so much younger.”
Lynn’s eyebrows rose sardonically. “You’re going to child me about changing my looks?” Morgan had the decency to look a little abashed. Lynn studied his oldest acquaintance. A middle-aged bespectacled man smiled back at him. A dashing mustache perched above a sensuous mouth and beneath sharply green eyes, while a tweed coat covered an athletic body. “Not that that isn’t a good look for you, Morgan. It’s a little outré, to be sure, but not a bad look.”
“Thanks, but please call me Mike, if you would. Michael L. Faigh, this time around. And you?”
“M. Lynn Ambrose, at your service, sir and/or madam,” Lynn managed to bow while seated. “But I despise my first name, so I’m Lynn to my friends.”
“Oh, let me guess, old fruit,” Mike placed a limp wrist to his forehead in concentration. “Your first name wouldn’t be ‘Merle,’ would it? A little close to the bone, dear,” he chided with a sad shake of his head. “At least mine own nom de era is not that transparent.”
“Like anyone would ever connect the dots,” Lynn sighed, finishing off his drink just in time for the fresh round that was placed before them.
“Truly, love; a most unimaginative time and place,” Mike agreed, raising his glass. “Here’s to them, then; God bless and keep the kingdom!”
“Bitch,” Lynn growled, but joined in the toast.
The bartender, one Arthur King, looked up for no reason he could think of and, for just a second, thought he saw an elderly bearded man in a robe and pointed hat clinking mugs with an incredibly gorgeous flame-haired woman in a tight green dress and crown. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. An obvious clerk and a teacher sort - both male - sat there. He shrugged and went back to work.
And life continued throughout the land.