Wizard at Work by Vivian Vande Velde

Author:Vivian Vande Velde [Velde, Vivian Vande]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Ages 8 & Up
ISBN: 0152045597
Publisher: Harcourt Books
Published: 2003-03-03T08:00:00+00:00

A Wizard and Ghost

The wizard was in his garden, tying pieces of string around fragments of junk metal and then nailing the flapping contraptions onto wooden stakes. Mostly he used bits of rusted armor that he'd once accepted in trade from a down-on-his-luck knight too poor to pay for a good-fortune spell; but there were also a few burnt and badly dented pots, because cooking was not one of the wizard's strong points. He was hoping that the noise made by these scraps of metal rattling in the wind would be enough to frighten away the rabbits, who were particularly bold this year. They'd jumped over the little fence he'd built in May, and they'd gnawed the feet off the scarecrow he'd set up in June, and they'd made nests out of the snippets of his hair he'd scattered about in July. Here it was August, and though his principles inclined him against using magic to harm living creatures, there weren't many vegetables left, and he was getting tempted.

He looked up from his hammering when a man came tromping through the vegetables. The stranger seemed not to notice at all that he was in a garden, so that he stepped on carrots, which might conceivably survive the trampling, and tomato plants, which probably would not.

The wizard would have shouted to the man to watch where he put his feet, but he couldn't. His mother had always warned him that holding nails clenched between his teeth was dangerous, though most likely her chief worry had been that he would accidentally swallow one.

"Halt!" the wizard tried to call out from around the nails.

The stranger must have taken the garbled word as greeting, for he responded, "Hello right back to you!" and kept on walking toward him.

The wizard spat the nails out into his hand, but by then the man was standing before him, asking, "Are you the wizard or the gardener?"

"I used to be a gardener," the wizard snapped. "But it looks as though that isn't going to work out."

Apparently sarcasm was beyond his visitor. "So you're not the wizard? I was told the wizard lived here. Do you know where the wizard does live?"

"I am the wizard."

The man looked annoyed. "Well, then, why didn't you say so? Do you like going around trying to confuse people?"

The wizard refrained from pointing out that some people are easier to confuse than others. He sighed and simply said, "Just watch your feet, and tell me why you're here."

The man looked down at his feet. If he noticed that he was ankle deep in a baby lettuce, he didn't say so. He said, "My master, Duke Snell, has sent me to fetch you to his castle in Northrup."

"I don't know Duke Snell," the wizard said, though he knew where Northrup was, in the furthermost reach of the realm. He already wasn't impressed—neither with the manner of the invitation, nor with the messenger, who was still looking at his feet, evidently taking the wizard's comment to watch his feet as a continuing order.

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