Bucket of Anvils
by Scott Wilson
“What in
the world are you doing? Damn it, stop it, stop
it I say,” said Mervyn the Beige Wizard.
“I dun
put it where you said to,” Geoffrey the
Golem said.
Mervyn waved
his wand around in a swirl of colorful lights and
sparkling stars. A loud pop shattered the silence
in the workshop and Geoffrey stop dead in his
tracks.
Mervyn walked
across the workshop, filled with bubbling beakers
and vials of bright and luminous fluids. The
Golem’s hand still rested on the bucket of
anvils. There was no way Mervyn could move this
delivery himself.
He waved his
wand again.
“Apples,
I said. Apples.”
“Appuls?”
Geoffrey said.
“Yes,
small round pieces of red fruit. You know, used
to making pies, eating for a snack or a meal in
some cases.”
The
expressionless face of the Golem gave nothing
away, no glimmer of understanding or puzzlement.
“You
don’t want the anvils, den?”
“No, no,
no. Take them away and get me a bucket of apples.
Big fresh red apples.”
“No one
left at the shop where I got these,”
Geoffrey said. “Kind of had an argument bout
how many anvils I could buy. Blacksmith no wanted
to sell me any, but I twisted his arm into
selling them, selling them all.”
Mervyn shook
his head, imagining just how much his servant
twisted the local blacksmith’s arm,
literally.
“Just get
rid of them, then and get me those apples before
my potions bubble over.”
He shook his
head again, disbelieving how hard it was to get
such a basic, common ingredient. The dragon’s
tooth, dryad hair, scales of a hydra, mushrooms
from the high Alps of the Boogaloo Mountains. All
these had been easier for his Golem to retrieve
compared to a bushel of bloody apples.
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