The Wizard Detective 1

I was assigned Pegarin as my mentor.  A long, straggly, bearded wizard, who favoured sandals, brightly coloured cardigans and beanie hats over more traditional wizard attire.   

He showed me to my room, a bare cell of a bedroom, a single bed, bedside table and wardrobe, and a chest of drawers.  There was a lamp on the bedside table and an ancient alarm clock on the chest of drawers. There was nothing magical in sight. 

Once I’d unpacked, I moved downstairs for my first training session. 

“Take out your wand,” he said.  “Show me what you can do.” 

“I showed him a few of the spells I’d learnt at the wizard academy, and he tutted and corrected my pronunciation of numerous spells.  “It’s ‘illuminus’ not ‘illuminess’,” he complained.  

“The spell works though,” I said. “Surely if the spell works I don’t need to change my  pronounciation?"

“Spells are fickle fellows, they take offence but don’t show it immediately, that’s why it’s so important to get them right.  Mispronounce their name and you may find that they work now, in my front room, when it really doesn’t matter, but in pitch darkness when your life is in peril ‘illuminess’ isn’t going to cut the mustard.” 

He genuinely used the phrase ‘cut the mustard’.  I have absolutely no idea what it meant, but didn’t like to say. 

I spent twenty minutes repeating the word ‘illuminus’ over and over, until Pegarin was finally satisfied.  

“Time for tea,” he said, and disappeared to the kitchen, from where he returned almost immediately with a newly-magicked pot of tea and plate of scones.   

He placed them on a table, with miniscule legs which meant that the table top was no more than a foot from the floor. 

“You’re going to need a taller table,” I said. “We can’t possibly drink our tea off of that.” 

“Call yourself a wizard,” he said contemptuously.  “Rise oh table,” he commanded, and the table rose two feet in the air, where it remained, the perfect height for tea and scone consumption.” 

“Can you show me that spell?” I asked. 

“It’s very simple. First you have to attach yourself to the table.  Point your wand, make this movement, and think the word ‘connectus’, and then point your wand to where you want the table to go.  So saying he moved the table back to the floor. 

I pointed my wand, wiggled my wand and thought the word ‘connectus’, then I pointed my wand  two feet in the air.  The spell worked, I watched the table rise, and settle at the perfect height for scone-consumption. 

 

“Now you need to un-attach from the table.  Point your wand and say ‘disconnect’. 

I pointed my wand at the table and repeated the spell. 

“No, no, no,” said Pegarin. “You said ‘Disco-next’, you’re not inviting the table to a disco. Try again, ‘disconnect’,” he repeated slowly and patronisingly. 

“Disconnect”, I said.   

“Right, we can have our tea now.” 

Over tea and scones, we talked briefly about my plans for becoming a wizard and Pegarin set out his plans for my instruction.  He had planned a full schedule, much harder work than the wizard academy, I had a host of new spells to learn and would be wriggling my wand morning, noon and night for the next few months. 

“Right,” he said eventually. “That’s enough for our first session.  You can have a break until after lunch.   

I got up to go back to my room, but was aware of a movement behind me. I turned my head to see, it was the table, following me out of the doorway. 

“Oh dear,” Pegarin said despondently. “You really mucked up that disconnect spell didn’t you. It looks as if you’ll have a table following you around for the rest of your life.”