Recent Posts

81

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 5

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:49:02 AM »

When Tupper woke up, the first thing he noticed was how cold it was! Brr! His eyes weren’t clear yet, but he grabbed at his clothing and tried to pull his cardigan tighter around his chest. Instead, rough hides greeted his fingers. What the hell?

He was naked! Covered in deer hides, sure, but his clothing was gone! Tupper jumped up, wobbling under the disorientation of the long sleep, and blinked around in the darkness. A large stone had been dragged in front of the entrance, blocking most of the light, but some of it filtered through. Grabbing some of the hides to cover himself, Tupper shuffled over to the entrance, and saw snow on the ground through the crack in the improvised door. No wonder he’d been shivering the moment he woke up. He also had a strange impression that the cave had shrunk somehow, though that must be just another side effect.

Brinks was gone, of course. He must have woken earlier, and he couldn’t exactly hunt in here. Tupper supposed the naked thing was some kind of prank. Tupper growled. It was juvenile, but then he shouldn’t have expected anything else from his companion.

At least Brinks seemed to still be living here. There was a tanning rack on one end of the cave, and more hides stacked up next to it. The knife was here, too. Apparently, Brinks had tried his hand at sewing, without much success. Some of the hides had been stitched together with the same kind of sinew Tupper had used to make the bow, and the basin at the far end of the room had shimmering water in it from the nearby stream. Now that Tupper’s eyes were adjusting, he moved in that direction. He splashed his face, still feeling discombobulated, and then drank a little of it. Fortunately it hadn’t frozen over. There was a firepit in the middle of the room, but it was down to embers by now.

Huddled next to the basin of water, Tupper clutched the hides close, and tried not to shiver. As he turned to get closer to the fire, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. A human looked back out at him!

Tupper twitched, not quite comprehending it at first, and then slowly looked back into the now-still water. A… human, with narrow cheekbones, dirty-brown hair, and tanned, leathery skin, looked back at him! Feeling like he was going insane, Tupper lifted his hand to his face, and watched the stranger on the other end do the same. His fingers were thick and fat, unlike any elf’s.

What. Was. Happening??

Tupper heard a noise at the entrance and spun around, terrified. In came Brinks, covered in heavy hides as well, and carrying an armful of twigs and sticks. He froze at the sight of Tupper, who immediately put out one hand. “Brinks? It’s me. Tupper, I mean. I think. I know I don’t look like me, but it’s me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Brinks said after a moment, and lowered his bundle to the ground. “I just didn’t expect you to be awake.”

Again, shocked beyond reason, Tupper nearly let the hides fall, and then grabbed at them desperately with his ham-hands. How did humans use these things, anyway? So clumsy! “You… know it’s me? How the hell did this happen? Did some wizard Transfigure me? I know that potion wasn’t Polyjuice, and those kinds of potions don’t work on elves anyway!”

Brinks just shrugged helplessly. “You got me. I woke up just over a week ago, and you were, uh,” he gestured towards Tupper. “Looking like that. Your clothes had ripped and torn as you apparently grew, but they were on the ground around you. I covered you up as best I could, and then tried to make something you could wear. It wasn’t easy getting firewood, but at least you didn’t feel the cold while you were under.”

Tupper felt like the world was shrinking in around him, and it wasn’t just because he was taller now! How could this have happened? Petrification potions didn’t Transfigure people! They were entirely different orders of magic!

“I think I have a theory, though,” Brinks said after a moment. “I thought you were looking taller and taller during our walk out here, but I couldn’t be sure. I think that whatever spell made you elves into servants also changed your bodies. Without magic, that change was wearing off, slowly. Fifty years was more than enough time for the spell to wear off entirely! I think, actually, that elves were originally humans.”

“That’s impossible,” Tupper spluttered. “We’re nothing like you! Humans, I mean. Our magic is different in every way!”

Brinks just lifted his hands. “If you’ve got another explanation, I’m all ears. Uh, no disrespect intended.”

Instinctively, Tupper’s fat hands went to his ears. They were round! This was a nightmare!

Brinks obviously could tell he was upset, because he turned towards the tanning rack. “Here, try this on. I finished it two days ago, and it’s like the one I’m wearing. It’s not great, but it’s better than going out there naked.” He tossed over a primitive garment, and Tupper barely even noticed, letting it hit the floor. After a moment, Tupper reached down with his ugly, ugly arms, and scooped it up. He was hideous!

All his life he’d hated humans. Not Muggles specifically, because they’d known nothing about him, but every single time a wizard or witch had looked down on, judged, dismissed or denigrated him, it had been a human doing it! Now… he was one! He hadn’t been the most attractive elf, granted, but at least he hadn’t been deformed!

But the scholar in his mind railed against that description. What if Brinks was right? What if the reason there had been no elven history prior to this point was because elves had started off as humans?? Sure, he was hideous right now, but maybe it was the elven body that was the deformity!

He found himself speaking, staring into the dying embers of the fire, as if they were his very soul. “For years now, I’ve thought that we elves were our own race, separate and powerful in our own right. I saw us as oppressed and crushed under the wizarding boot, and we are… that’s why I hated you. But if you’re right, I am the very thing I hate most of all!” Suddenly, Tupper was feeling short of breath.

“No!” Brinks said harshly, coming over despite Tupper’s current state of undress. He grabbed Tupper by the shoulders and shook him. “You saved my life, and got me out of that city. You taught me how to skin and clean and cook an animal. You even started teaching me how to speak Old English. You don’t hate me, and you don’t have to hate other humans. You definitely don’t have to hate yourself.”

He looked a little awkward at the situation, but he didn’t let go until after Tupper had blinked a few times and nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know if I really am human after all, or just the victim of some horrible spell, but it doesn’t matter right now. The potion worked, and I have to figure this out on my own time. For now, we need to find out the exact year.” He fitted the garment over his head, wincing at the roughness and missing his cardigan. “Where are my clothes, anyway?”

“I put them over there,” Brinks pointed to the other side of the darkened room. Then he noticed the fire and began piling sticks onto it. Tupper followed his gesture, and found what was left of his things on one of the stone outcroppings the druids had carved. His shoes were intact, though they didn’t fit him anymore. As was his scarf, thank God. The cardigan and trousers though… were unrecoverable. His body had swollen like an overripe pumpkin and ripped them apart.

No time to worry about that, he decided, trying not to think about it. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and tried to stretch his ridiculous arms and legs a bit. It was like someone had pulled his spine out and put it back in upside down!

“I take it you saw the road outside the tor, during your week alone?”

Brinks nodded. “I even followed it a couple of times, and it leads to a town. I would have tried stealing some decent clothes from them, but the last time I showed up in an ancient Brit town, I nearly got burned alive. I figure you can speak the language, and explain things. Maybe we can even trade for what we need, if you can speak to them.”

“Probably wise,” Tupper admitted. “How long until nightfall?”

“Two hours, maybe?”

“Good. Once it gets dark, I’ll go in and steal what we need for our trip to Winchester. I should be back in a few hours, hopefully with an idea of what year it is.”

“We’ll go in,” Brinks put in firmly. “When I woke up, I was pretty loopy for the first day, and you’ve got that whole new body to deal with. You’ll need a partner on this job. It won’t be as hard as you might think, though. They’ve been celebrating every night for the past 3 nights!”

“Saturnalia,” Tupper whispered. Brinks gave him a curious glance, and he shook his head. “Christmas. They celebrated Christmas for twelve full days in this era. It should make for a good distraction, at least.”

“Sounds good,” Brinks said amiably. “Maybe we can steal some beer or something too, because you could probably use a good distraction as well.”

By habit, Tupper glared at him, but it was a look without any real force behind it. The man was probably right.

-.-

The heist was just as easy as Brinks had predicted, and they managed to get in and out of Ditchling, the nearby town, without incident. It wasn’t called that yet, of course, but it would be in a thousand years or so. Tupper had been able to read some of the Saxon records. They were right on time, he’d learned gratefully. The year was 562 as planned.

There were some advantages to his horrific condition, it turned out. He could carry much more and move a lot faster. In addition, if this was the elves’ true form, all he had to do was break the spell when they got back, and the elves would slowly turn into humans. Then they’d be visually indistinguishable from witches and wizards, and could hide easily. They could even carve fake wands and pretend to be the people they’d used to serve. That brought up another concern: Tupper would have to arrange papers for them, or fake IDs as Brinks might say.

They rested for the remainder of the night, and then set off in the morning. Tupper left the potions where they were, as they would be of no use anywhere else. Brinks didn’t ask, and probably didn’t know. The snow around the place he’d buried them had been undisturbed.

They made good time, and Tupper kept tutoring Brinks on spoken Old English on the way. They could travel on the road now. They were just two tradesmen with hides to sell and rough clothing like everyone else. At this speed, they’d make it out of Sussex entirely and into Jute territory in a few days. Soppa had lived in Winchester, or did live in Winchester, and he was their best bet at finding answers.

A lot had changed in fifty years. The cobblestone road was now frequented by carts and the occasional horse and rider. Even in the dead of winter, people travelled in large numbers for some errand or other. Muggles, as best he could tell, as he’d seen no signs of a wand anywhere. Every town they passed through had high palisade walls now, as Sussex was at war with most of its neighbors. The Saxons hadn’t gotten along with many of the other Germanic settlers of the era. Despite his current condition, Tupper found the view fascinating as they passed through. He’d only studied these settlements in history books, as part of his task. Now he was actually seeing them with his own eyes! Or someone’s eyes, anyway.

One final village lay outside Winchester, which they reached late at night. Tupper agreed that they should stay inside the town, as Brinks hadn’t liked the look of the approaching storm clouds. A few hours later a snowstorm had begun, and the whole town was buffeted under the wind and heavy sheets of snow.

Fortunately by now they’d managed to steal or trade for most of the stuff they needed. They could afford rooms at the inn, or winaern, as it was known, for one night. Brinks even tried out his language skills, with mixed results.

“One thing I don’t get,” Brinks said slowly, as they both listened to the blowing wind and snow outside the window. “If elves really are humans, originally, then why aren’t there a bunch more of you? I mean at least in America, parents have plenty of kids, and those kids eventually move away and branch out in all directions. Wouldn’t elves do the same?”

“Humans don’t have the words in your heads,” Tupper reminded him grimly. “For us, service is everything. One time I asked my father much the same as you just did. He told me that parenting is a distraction from work. For he-elves and she-elves alike, taking care of a child would just get in the way. That’s why elves don’t have offspring until they feel their own ends coming, and why we only have one or two at most. Twins happen, but they’re rare. I’ve never heard of triplets or more. My father had me, trained me for a year or so, and then died. I never met my mother, but I heard she died before I was ever given clothes. I probably have a sibling out there somewhere. She would have made sure to have another child before she passed away.”

As usual when Tupper gave him some insight into elf ways, Brinks looked horrified. “The words are really that powerful? So much so that you can’t even have kids unless you’re reaching the end of your life?”

Tupper nodded. “Hogwarts is much the same, though at least we can talk to many other elves there. It broadly expands the number of potential mates available, but still we have the thoughts in our heads that tell us, ‘find and serve’. And spending more time than necessary getting acquainted with some attractive elf and arranging a family would cut into the ‘serve’ part of those words. In a way, it’s a good thing, though.”

“How could it possibly be good?” Brinks asked, aghast.

“Because if we bred like humans, or rather like we used to,” Tupper admitted, feeling his own fat, thick hands again, “in a few generations, there would be many more elves per household than before. Especially given that elves live longer than humans. Now, you’re the businessman, if in a less legal sense than most. You tell me what would happen, if you inherited, say, twelve house-elves from your father. Your estate certainly doesn’t need more than two, in this situation. What do you do?”

Brinks looked uncomfortable, and Tupper added pointedly, “and don’t say you’d give the extra elves clothing! In this example you and I have never met, so you know nothing about how the elf mind works, nor do you really care that much about us.” Tupper realized that he’d added that last bit by reflex. Brinks really did care, or as much as any wizard could, about him. Very, very strange.

“I suppose… I would try and find homes for them,” Brinks finally responded.

“No you bloody well wouldn’t!” Tupper exclaimed. “We’re not kittens, Brinks! We’re elves. Now, say it again, like I’m not a child this time.”

“If I’d never met you, and I didn’t care about elves,” he sighed. “I’d probably trade the extra elves. Sell them, really, for gold.”

“Precisely,” Tupper said with satisfaction. “We would be a resource to invest in, like a cow or a chicken. Elves are traded in our own era, but it’s extremely rare. Sometimes when a she-elf is reaching the end of her life, and has twins, she’s unable to contact her mate, or he has another offspring already. Then when she dies, her master has two elves instead of one. Usually, he accepts them both into his service, and one ends up having a child while the other dies childless. Sometimes, he gives clothes to the less effective servant, and then arranges for another wizard to take in the clothed elf. When that clothed elf eventually has offspring of their own, the offspring will belong to the second wizard. I’ve only ever heard of that happening twice, in the 1900s, and both times the wizard was paid handsomely for clothing one of his elves.”

“Jesus. Every time I learn something new about your society, it’s more horrible than the last thing. You’re right—it’s a good thing that elves don’t have many kids. I mean why raise kids if they’re gonna be nothing more than servants their whole lives? Most parents want their kids to be teachers, or lawyers or something!”

Tupper smiled reflexively at the thought of Brinks in front of a classroom full of kids. “Well, that’s why I’m here, remember? If I’m successful, I can break the cycle. Then all elves will be able to do whatever they want. Other than look pretty, that is,” he reflected sadly, looking down at his hands.

“Hey,” Brinks said quickly. “You’re fine-looking enough for a human. Besides, if new elves are born after the spell is broken, they’d be born looking human, right? They wouldn’t know they’re ugly, unless someone like you tells them!”

“You… may have a point,” Tupper admitted quietly. He certainly wouldn’t tell them, assuming he even had kids of his own someday. He leaned back and listened to the wind again. Brinks seemed to have his own thoughts to worry about, and lapsed into silence as well. Before long, they’d both drifted off.

The storm passed in the night, and by morning they were getting ready to go again. There was some kind of commotion out in the square, though, that they both could hear. “It’s not me this time,” Brinks said hastily.

“I know,” Tupper responded, peeking out the window. This was before colorless glass would be put into use, so it was just bars behind a wooden hatch for now. He’d seen his reflection in the water this morning though, and he was kind of getting used to his swollen, misshapen features.

Horsemen had come charging into the village square, armored and armed with swords and bucklers. Some had bows. Tupper didn’t recognize their livery, but they shouted orders, in Roman accents.

“What are they saying?”

“I’m not sure. The leader is making some kind of announcement. He’s saying… that Caerwynt, or Winchester, is now under the authority of the High King and Bretwalda, and that the heathens have been driven out.” Tupper felt a strange knot in his strange stomach. “This isn’t in the history books. Winchester was supposed to become a Jute colony. I don’t remember anything about a High King, and the first Bretwalda isn’t supposed to come to power for another three centuries!”

“Maybe your Nomaj historians got things wrong,” Brinks put in. “Wizards could have wiped the peoples’ memories after this, so that no one really knew what happened.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it. Wait. He’s saying that the oppressors have been killed and will be displayed within all corners of the kingdom for a full day before being disposed of.” Brinks moved up next to him, as the soldiers out there brought out three men. Bodies, really, dressed in black and each one stabbed through the heart. As one, the soldiers strung them up on posts in the town square.

They gave each other a grim look. Some of the villages they’d passed through had been the sites of a barbaric execution, now and then. In the last one, a man dressed like these corpses had, with the authority of the Saxon leaders, beheaded a soldier who had deserted, in public in front of the crowd. Then in a grisly display, he had positioned the head back up to its neck again, and given it a ritual kiss right on the mouth. Apparently that kind of ritual was common in this kingdom. Tupper’s own research was incomplete on how they treated their criminals. Most of that had been lost to history.

“Well, I could do without the body displaying, but I can’t say I’m sorry those executioners are dead,” Brinks said softly, and Tupper nodded.

“And we’re not even in the Dark Ages yet. Things get much worse before they get any better. At least for Muggles.”

They left town quickly, on their way west. Tupper overheard some of the soldiers saying that the bodies would be tossed into a swamp at the end of their display time. Again, by order of this High King. They saw those very same soldiers riding past them on the road, apparently also heading to Winchester.

-.-

The city itself was about what he expected. Tupper and Brinks navigated slowly, avoiding more patrols, though most of the people didn’t give them a second glance. When he finally found someone who knew where Lord O’Cleef lived, Tupper waved Brinks over and they got going.

When they finally got to the squat building, which was still more elaborate than the rest of the city, Tupper knocked on the wooden door. After a moment, a disheveled-looking young man opened it. “Yes?” He said in Old English, blinking in the afternoon light.

“I’m here to see Suppo? In service to Lord Kay of the Cliffs?”

“Ah, yes,” the man nodded. “Come in.”

He waited until they were inside and closed the door. He rattled the handle to make sure it was sealed. “I’m afraid my Lord is not here at the moment, but I am Suppo. What can I do for you?”

Tupper blinked at him, and then looked over at Brinks. The other man had learned enough Old English to pick up the gist of it, and seemed just as surprised. “Uh, is it true that you can write Latin, Suppo?”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded vigorously. “I am one of the few learned servants within the city. The Lord can write with great precision of course, but the years have robbed him of patience, I’m afraid. He dictates his words to me, and I write them down.”

This man was clearly human as well. More support for Brinks’ theory. “Tell me, Suppo. Have you ever heard of a house-elf before? Or perhaps just an elf?”

Suppo’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Do you mean the myth? The Saxons have tales of faerie creatures called elves, but they’re just songs to entertain children. My lord doesn’t hold with such nonsense.”

“Of course not,” Tupper said hastily. “I beg your pardon for intruding, but have you heard the phrase ‘find and serve’ anywhere?”

“Of service, yes. Lord Kay has many servants. But we have little need to find anything. I’m afraid I’ve never heard ‘find and serve’, that I can recall.”

“Thank you, Suppo, for your time,” Tupper went on. “May you find fortune,” he said ceremonially, and then he and Brinks excused themselves right back out onto the street. Tupper nodded at an alley, and led the way there. “That was definitely him,” he said quickly, once they had a little privacy. “Same servant, same lord, same memoirs, but he’s a Muggle. I saw nothing in there that might show that Lord Kay is a wizard, or that Suppo is an elf. History has definitely been rewritten.”

“So what do we do now?” Brinks asked softly.

For the first time in weeks, Tupper was at a loss. “I don’t know.”

“You come with me,” a man’s voice said clearly, in English! Both Tupper and Brinks jumped like they’d been scalded, and looked down the alley.

Not five feet away, an elderly, white-bearded man was looking at them curiously. In his right hand, unmistakably, was a wizard’s wand.

82

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 6

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:57 AM »

The man raised his wand, and Tupper felt an invisible hand close around his throat. He couldn’t move at all, and from the muffled sounds to his left, Brinks was similarly impaired. Their captor stepped a little closer, and then looked past them to the entrance to the alley. “You will come with me. If you do so without protest, I will restore your voices when we have left the city. Nod if you understand.”

Suddenly, Tupper felt the invisible pressure ease slightly. Rage colored his vision for a moment—this had by far not been the first time he’d been manhandled by a wizard—but he had to play it smart for now. He nodded quickly, and apparently Brinks did the same.

“Good,” their captor said, lifting his wand slightly, and Tupper found he could move again. “We’ll go right out the main gate to the west. Make any sudden movements and I’ll crush you into dust. Now walk!” There was something strange in his voice, though. If Tupper didn’t know better, he would have thought it was surprise.

Tupper exchanged a harried glance with Brinks, who looked surprised and fearful. The man was using a spell to translate Old English to their own English, which was a simple enough incantation. Brinks had obviously caught on as well; not that either of them could do much about it. They started moving together, and the wizard urged them to slow down slightly, flicking his wand and giving them a brief magical choke as if a leash was being tugged. Looking just like any other local residents of Winchester, the three of them walked leisurely out onto the street, and turned right into the main thoroughfare. A few minutes later, they were within sight of Winchester’s western gates.

Who was this man? Why did he have any interest in them at all, and where was he taking them? Clearly, he wanted to stay hidden from the Muggles, as his wand was barely visible underneath his travelling cloak, but he had used magic in that alley. Anyone could have seen.

Tupper realized that this must have been before memory charms had been discovered. In this era, if someone discovered magic, they would have to be killed to make sure they never told anyone. He would have to convince this man, when his throat was working again, that he and Brinks were wizards, and that there would be no need to put them down.

As soon as they were out of the city, Tupper had expected the man to find some secluded place to talk, but their captor seemed interested only in taking them even further away. They walked down the road for another ten minutes at least, all the while with the hopes that the man might be willing to let them live growing fainter and fainter. Their throats were bound the whole time. Tupper could see Brinks casing the man as they walked, casting glances back at him every time they saw other travelers on the road, and was therefore distracted. Still, even if they could jump this wizard and take his wand, the spell on their throats wouldn’t dissipate. Removing a spell like that couldn’t be done nonverbally, and for all they knew, it could last for weeks!

Then, inexplicably, their captor prodded them to the left, off the road. There were bushes and trees downhill ahead of them, and he forced them right into the thick of it. Then, he waved his wand again and the pressure was gone! “Who are you? Why were you accosting Lord Kay’s servant?” He demanded suddenly.

Tupper fingered his throat briefly. It was still sore from the spell, and much larger than it should have been, but that was a different problem. “We asked him a few questions, and then left. I would hardly call that accosting. Besides, you were the one who forced us to come with you. I’d say we deserve to know who you are first.”

The man’s eyes flashed warningly, but then he seemed to change his mind. “Very well, if you will not answer, I will take you someplace more secure, and ask more directly.” He waved his wand again, and a long, sleekly carved broomstick rose out of the bushes. Another wave and Tupper and Brinks were moved around, back-to-back, with the rear of the broom between them. The wizard had effectively tied them to his broom. Wincing, Tupper knew what would come next.

He'd never been on a racing broom before, or any other kind of aerial travel. Even looking at Muggle planes made him feel queasy. Still, the trip was at least short. Their captor hauled them up behind him into the air, and then at about a forty-degree angle up into the sky. He leveled off after just a few seconds, speeding even further away from the road and the city. If any of the Muggles down there saw him, they might think he was a large bird at this distance.

Tupper spared a moment of admiration for the broom. He’d had no idea brooms existed this early on in wizarding history, much less ones that compared to the modern day. It wasn’t really a magical device, though. Their captor was using his wand to keep it in the air; it was just something they were either sitting on or connected to. The terrain changed below them, becoming rockier and steeper. They were moving west, into some of the mountains outside Winchester.

Then they were descending again, towards some kind of monastery or retreat built right into the side of the mountain. The wizard slowed as he descended, and then came to a hovering stop over a cobblestone courtyard. He snapped his fingers, and a pair of servants, barely within view given Tupper’s magical bindings, approached.

One of them spoke before Tupper’s captor could. “Archmage, the High King has called for you. When told that you were away, he insisted that you be brought to see him as soon as you returned.”

The wizard let out an exasperated sigh. “Very well.” He waved the wand and the magical bindings holding Tupper and Brinks disappeared. “Bind and gag them, and take them to my arcanum. Secure them on the racks inside, and do not speak to them under any circumstances. Understood?”

The servants bowed, practically falling over in subservience, and then immediately took hold of Tupper and Brinks. They were strong for ancient humans, and bound both prisoners easily. Tupper would have taken the opportunity to try to jump them, but the Archmage was still watching them, wand at the ready. When he seemed satisfied, he nodded at the servants, and they hauled Tupper and Brinks away.

-.-

Again, they weren’t waiting long. The servants had strapped them both against wooden frames; wrists and ankles in irons, and had left the gags on. The Archmage had called this room his ‘arcanum’, but it was clearly a prison. Maybe it was part of the larger building they’d been brought to. Tupper took the opportunity to test the restraints, and could see Brinks doing the same.

Spells that made metal indestructible wouldn’t be discovered for another few hundred years or so, but whatever metalworkers the Archmage had here knew what they were doing. Neither the clasps nor the chains budged an inch, and it looked like Brinks was having no better luck. Then he froze and gave a warning look to Tupper. He could hear it as well: footsteps approaching the door.

Someone unlatched it and stepped inside. The two servants led the way, followed by the Archmage and a black-haired man wearing a gold crown. It wasn’t jewel-encrusted like the ugly Muggle crowns used by their own royalty, but Tupper could see a single space above the forehead in the metal, where a gem was obviously supposed to be housed. The man practically bounded into the room, and immediately looked at them both with great interest. He waved a hand to dismiss the servants, who left and closed the door behind them. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about, Ambrosius. They don’t look that dangerous to me. Unbind them, would you?”

If Tupper’s mouth hadn’t been bound, it would have fallen open. Ambrosius??

The Archmage glowered. “Yes, my King,” he muttered, and waved his wand. Instantly, the irons opened and the gags loosened. Tupper hesitantly took his gag off and rubbed at his wrists, trying not to look as terrified as he felt. Then, in tradition of the time, he took a knee before the King, giving a warning look to Brinks. The man caught on quickly, and mimicked Tupper’s action perfectly.

“Rise,” the High King stated easily, almost genially, and they did so. “I apologize for the Archmage’s insistence on bringing you here. He takes his duties quite zealously, as I’m sure you know. I am the Pendragon, High King of these lands and protector of the secrets of magic. Who, pray tell, are you two?” The High King’s blue eyes practically bored into Tupper, who was afraid to say anything with the Archmage there. How could he warn Brinks about the danger they were both in??

“I am Alexander of the Brinks,” Brinks put in smoothly, and the King’s attention immediately switched over to him. “I’m a traveler from a distant land. This is Tupper, my servant. It is an honor to meet you, Highness,” he bowed low.

Despite their danger, Tupper had to give it to him. Brinks definitely knew how to improvise. The Archmage seemed to have focused on him as well, for now. Tupper tried not to breathe too loudly, looking down just like any good servant would do. It grated, but it was especially necessary right now.

The King turned to his advisor. “You’ve done something very grave here, my friend. Now that they are here, they must stay, or risk telling others what they have seen. Why would you do such a thing?”

The Archmage gave a tight smile. “They are practitioners, my King. Their language is beyond foreign, as I told you in the throne room. I needed a spell just to understand their words. Also, when I bound them, they were afraid but unsurprised. They have some experience of magic; I am sure of it.”

“Indeed?” The young King’s eyes fixated back on Brinks. “How marvelous! All this time we thought that only the men of this one land could harness these primal forces, and here we are, faced with foreigners who also know of the Art! Tell me, what strange land do you come from?”

“It’s a great distance from here, my King; across endless waves and stormy seas,” Brinks said truthfully enough at least for himself. “Still, there are a few of us who learned to do incredible things. When I heard rumors of a… great power on this isle, I had to come and see for myself.”

The King’s eyes brightened, but Ambrosius snorted. “He lies, my King. When I first heard him and his ‘servant’ speaking, he asked the brown-haired one what to do next. What kind of lord queries his servant for such things?”

The King looked surprised, and then glanced over at Tupper. “Is this true?”

Tupper nodded. “Yes, my King,” he said as faintly as he could manage. The Archmage would be able to sense a lie quite easily, so he had to tell the truth.

Fortunately, Brinks adapted quickly to this as well. “Tupper, as I call him, is not from my homeland. He is native to this island. I took him into my service what seems like months ago, and he has served as my guide in a strange land. I would have been lost but for his knowledge. I understand why the Archmage brought us here, so as to keep knowledge of the… Art, from being known to the Nomaj—uh, the ordinary folk. I bear him no ill will for that. We keep such secrets in our own homeland, for much the same reason.” Again, Tupper had to admire his tapestry of words. Every statement he’d made was true, if not in the way he let on.

The King looked at the Archmage again, inquiringly, and after a few seconds, the other man shook his head. “I sense no lie within their words.”

“Splendid!” The King said brightly. “As you already know of the Art, and the need to keep it secret from the masses, I see no need to hold you here against your will. However I would invite you to stay here for at least a fortnight. I suspect there is much we could learn from each other, and it is such a pleasure to speak with foreigners who are not barbarians or animals at heart.”

“I would be honored, my King,” Brinks said smoothly. He must have realized that the High King’s ‘invitation’ was actually a command, and even to politely decline it would be to invite his anger.

The King clapped his hands loudly, and the door opened again. “Take Lord Brinks to the guest quarters in the east wing, and his servant will go below with the rest.” He made to move out of the room, but Brinks spoke up right off.

“With respect, Highness, I would prefer to keep Tupper close to me. There are still many things about this land I don’t understand, and I could use his experience.”

“Yes, yes, as you see fit,” the King said dismissively, and swept on out into the hallway, his cloak billowing behind him. “Come along, Ambrosius!”

Glowering at the both of them, the Archmage followed. Tupper could practically hear his teeth grinding as he passed. Afterwards, the servants led them out of this chamber, and back along the passage they’d been dragged through originally. They were the exact same ones holding Tupper and Brinks earlier, and completely at ease with the sudden change in circumstances. They led the two of them up a far corridor beyond the courtyard the Archmage had landed in, and then up a flight of stairs.

Tupper had to admit the view was beautiful. From up here, he could see half of the countryside, and the distant buildings of Winchester itself! The tiny blue line of the Itchen River ran its way through the city and out the other end, on its way to the sea. The wizards who lived here—because it couldn’t just be the Archmage himself—must have hauled food, water and building supplies up here magically over a long period of time.

“Evening meal will be served an hour before sundown,” one of the servants said tonelessly, before they both bowed and left, leaving Tupper and Brinks to the guest room.

Surreptitiously, Tupper checked the hallway back and forth. Invisibility wouldn’t be discovered for a few hundred years either, but there were rumors of some magical artifacts that predated the spell itself. Still, he was reasonably certain no one could overhear them. He nodded over at Brinks.

“What the hell is this place?” Brinks started up, angrily. “Who does that ‘Ambrosius’ prick think he is, hauling us up here like a bag of loot?” He paused for a moment. “And why does he look so familiar? I could have sworn I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Probably in schoolbooks,” Tupper said, extending his hands in a gesture of quiet. “His name in this time is Myrddin Emrys Ambrosius, but to us, he’s known as Merlin!”

Brinks gaped at him. “Merlin? As in the magical head cheese himself?”

“The one and only. I don’t understand how he could be here, though. I knew Merlin lived during this time, but from what I read, he lived most of his life in Wales! He’s not supposed to come this far east for another forty years!”

“Holy hell,” Brinks breathed in and out slowly. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“Definitely. According to every history I dug up, Merlin was the most powerful wizard who ever lived. Compared to him, Riddle and Dumbledore were both like common street illusionists! He’s already suspicious of us, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try and interrogate us despite what his King says. How’s your Occlumency these days?”

Brinks gave a bit of a smile at that. “I’m used to Aurors trying to read my mind. I can pull up enough crazy to keep him distracted if he tries anything with me. What about you, though?”

That was more problematic. “I’m not sure,” Tupper admitted. “Most wizards barely acknowledged my existence, much less tried to pry into my mind. Still, I’m mostly barmy right now. This body is sheer insanity, so I think that can keep him out for now. Besides, I’m not sure he’s that experienced at magic yet. Powerful, to be sure, but new at it.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Brinks put in. “Was this when wands were first being created? Merlin was one of the first wandmakers, right?”

Tupper nodded. “That wand he was carrying might be the first one ever created.”

Brinks whistled softly. “So if that was Merlin, then the High King Pendragon is…”

“Arthur, most likely,” Tupper confirmed. “He’ll be involved with multiple battles against the Saxons for at least the next three years. I thought he was a Muggle, though. According to the histories I read, Merlin manipulated him from the shadows, supporting his troops with magic. The whole goal was to create a unified country without the Muggles ever knowing who was really responsible for it!”

“I guess the histories got that wrong too,” Brinks said softly, and then glanced out the window down on the courtyard. “So this place is what, Camelot?”

“Either that or Avalon. Neither place is actually Plottable, so the history books could never say exactly where either was. The Round Table is probably here though, along with most of Arthur’s knights.”

Brinks’ eyes were widening again. “We’re in way over our heads here, Tupper. Suppo had no idea what you were talking about, or that you and he were the same. We can’t exactly jump ship here either, if the damn High King himself wants us to stay. What do we do?”

Tupper looked down, feeling defeated. “For now, nothing. The spell that puts the words in all elves’ heads hasn’t been cast yet. In a way, this is an opportunity. I was hoping to do research on the spell, in this time. But if I can actually witness it being cast, I can learn enough about it to end it, in my own time! It just happens later than I thought it did.”

“We don’t know where the spell is cast, or who does it,” Brinks objected. “We don’t even know if we’re on the right continent!”

“There are more elves in England than everywhere else in the world put together,” Tupper said firmly. “It’s reasonable to assume that we started here. Even if we were once… humans,” he put in grimly, clenching his fat fists again. “I feel dirty just saying that, but the evidence is starting to pile up. No offense.”

Brinks spread his hands, smiling. “Hey, none taken. I’d probably feel the same as you. Who do you think will cast it, though? Merlin?”

“Probably on Arthur’s orders. You saw how he deferred to his King back there. My guess is they’re both wizards, and so are most of the knights of the round table. With magic, and wands made by Merlin himself, they could easily establish the mythology I read about. We have to stay close to them, and earn their trust if we can.”

“There’s no way we’re getting through to Merlin. I’ve seen his type before,” Brinks shook his head. “They trust no one and nothing, and only answer to others when they have to.”

“Agreed. Let’s focus on the King himself. He seemed to like you. If we present the image of a foreign lord and his, ugh, servant, convincingly enough, he may let us into his plans.”

Brinks nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was playing it by ear, and I figured ‘Ambrosius’ would be able to sniff out a lie like a Doberman.”

“No, you did the right thing, and you did it well,” Tupper admitted. “We just need to be very careful about how we interact with these people, especially Merlin himself. We know a lot more than they do, but they have a lot more power. We can impress them with ‘foreign’ magics, enough at least to get them to keep us around. Come on; let’s plan out what we can and can’t tell them about what we know.”

Grinning despite the danger, Brinks sat cross legged next to him on the floor. He was eager, and that might be useful. Or it might just get them both killed.

83

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 7

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:51 AM »

Dinner was a simple affair, despite the importance of this place. Camelot, as the High King confirmed before it started, was a new kingdom still, with only a few protectorates including the city that would eventually be known as Winchester. They had limited tribute for now, but he hinted happily that all of that would soon change. It was mostly roast waterfowl, with some pork and spices mixed in. Apparently they used magic to preserve food to a degree, making this far more palatable than what the Muggles had to eat down there in the common lowlands.

Brinks was seated at the table, as a widely accepted foreign lord, and Tupper was in the kitchen with the servants. Ugh, how primitive! He’d prepared better meals for himself in secret than were being arranged for those idiots out there! Not that the other servants had much to work with, though. Even with magic, this food was still substandard.

He kept a low profile at first, all the while hearing laughter and lively commentary from the next room over. Brinks was entertaining the whole table, lords and ladies alike, with thrilling tales of his adventures in a foreign land. Tupper would have found that terrifying, except that Brinks had a knack for both embellishment and improvisation that seemed to insulate him. Eventually, Tupper was able to guess which of these servants had been here the longest, and most likely knew the ins and outs of the keep’s chambers.

In other words, any secret rooms where, say, some sick and twisted wizard might choose to permanently alter an entire race of people.

He still wasn’t sure it was Merlin who would cast the spell. He was powerful, certainly, but any one of a hundred wizards here could have the ability. It could be Arthur himself who would do it. While Brinks was focused on finding out who, Tupper could at least narrow it down to where. Then all they needed to know was when and they’d have a shot at seeing how.

The entire kitchen staff was busy, pressed into service as waiters and food-tasters before long, but Tupper was immediately assigned to cleanup. There was a stream running past the castle, and he was tasked with hauling buckets in to wash the dishes. Ridiculous. Even wizards in the modern world had used magic for things like this, and these so-called ‘knights’ had the same powers. A wave of Merlin’s wand could clean this whole kitchen in an instant, but no. They had to keep menial tasks, to keep their servants occupied. So that those very same servants would never start asking questions like ‘why am I doing this?’ or ‘why do they deserve to get everything, while I get nothing?’”

Tupper had a pretty good idea of how this keep was laid out, by now. He’d been sent on errands to most of it, in the first hour alone. However, he still couldn’t think of any place a secret spell-casting room might be hidden. He was so focused on puzzling it out, while carrying his last bucket, that he nearly bumped into someone in the passage! Water spilled out over the edges, but… simply shied away from the full-length robes in front of him.

Tupper realized he was in trouble the moment the magic seized him. The same forces that had kept Merlin’s robe dry hoisted Tupper up into the air, choking him briefly, and then shifting lower. His chest compressed tightly as the old man calmly aimed a wand at him. “Alone at last,” he said softly, almost a hiss at the end.

“Mercy, my lord!” Tupper managed, his mind flashing back to similar situations with his original master. An abusive, drunken braggart; he’d often beaten Tupper for any number of chores that had each been completed to perfection. He’d beaten Tupper for no other reason than to feel powerful. Bullies always did much the same. For all his vast power, Merlin was no different, and a flash of hatred made it through Tupper’s confusion and fear.

It was a mistake. Merlin was staring him right in the eyes. Whatever precursor to Legilimancy he was using, it got in through that emotion of rage. “Ah, so you are a servant after all,” he said with satisfaction. “Just not in service to Lord Brinks originally. You have much hatred for me and… so many others,” he went on conversationally. “Small, pathetic creature. I could see you in an entirely different form…” At that he froze, and his eyes widened. He must have reached some point in Tupper’s memories where he’d been looking in a mirror.

“Yes, my lord. I am small, and worthless!” Tupper pleaded, hoping against hope that the Archmage would take what he saw as an allegory instead of a memory. “Just an imp, ser, worthy of nothing and no one! Please, ser! Show mercy to me!” He was careful to use the old pronunciation.

“Archmage!” A voice echoed down the corridor, and Tupper felt a flash of relief despite its source. “I insist that you release my servant at once!”

Four others had made their way into the corridor. The High King, Brinks at his side, a lady in white who was probably Guinevere, and one of the knights. They were all staring at the Archmage in surprise and shock.

“He’s quite right, Ambrosius,” the King said, apparently striving greatly to keep anger out of his voice. “Let him go this instant! What has gotten into you?”

“As my King commands,” Merlin said, his voice trembling, and Tupper was lowered to the floor. It took all of his strength not to collapse, weeping, as soon as the magic holding him was gone.

Brinks moved past the Archmage, giving him a wonderful impression of hurt and confusion at this unprovoked attack on his manservant, and moved to check on Tupper. He didn’t know a thing about how to help Tupper, but at least he could make it look good. Eventually he turned again. “Your Highness, I told you at dinner how valuable Tupper is to me. Under the circumstances, I’m sure you can understand that I wish to leave with him, before more… unpleasantness befalls him. May I ask your leave to depart?”

The King gave him a commiserating look, and then sent a glare in Merlin’s direction. “We were having such fun at dinner, my Lord. Must you? What of this, then?” He said, his expression brightening. “Archmage, I hereby forbid you from speaking to either of those men for the duration of their stay. You will also leave both unharmed. In fact, I think it would be best if you returned to your work for the evening. You can tell me of your progress in the morning, yes?”

Merlin’s nostrils flared briefly. “My King, they can’t be trusted, as you know. They both lied upon coming here!”

“Even if that were true, I’m sure you or I would have done much the same,” the King said evenly. “Being strangers in a strange land, I’m sure Lord Brinks had his reasons. Now, off you go.” He locked eyes with Merlin for another few moments, and eventually the older man bowed and retreated down the passage. After he was gone, the King turned back to Brinks. “What say you, my Lord? Does that address your concerns? Will you consider staying now?”

Holding onto his ‘master’s’ arm, Tupper gave a tiny nod, out of sight of the others. Brinks made a show of thinking about it, and then nodded. “Yes, my King. I would like that very much.”

“Excellent, excellent,” the King said happily. “Ser Bedivere, could you escort the queen back to our chambers? I intend to have a word with our dear Archmage to ensure that he keeps his distance in the future.”

“Yes my King,” the knight nodded, and took the stately woman up the corridor. Brinks nodded his thanks to the King, who left as well a moment later.

“Nice timing,” Tupper managed.

“I noticed he left the dinner early, and figured he’d make a run at you,” Brinks said grimly. “Did he get anything important?”

Tupper shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m just lucky you were able to convince Arthur to come along, or I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.”

“Uh, that wasn’t luck,” Brinks put in, sounding uncomfortable.

For a moment, Tupper’s scrambled brains couldn’t comprehend what he meant by that. Then he put it together. The fact that Merlin had him, but not long enough to really dig his memories out. The fact that the King just happened to come along, with Brinks in tow to play the outraged master with the injured servant… “You set that up!”

“Yes, but it was just so that we could stay,” Brinks said hurriedly. “You’ve seen how Arthur is—dismissive of almost anything that isn’t blatantly obvious. I had to show him Merlin being a total ass in front of him to get through that cloud of stupidity he carries around. Now Merlin should leave us alone, on orders from his King, for as long as we’re here!”

Tupper’s instinctive response was to hate the man. After all, Brinks had used Tupper in a power move. Still, Tupper had to recognize that he probably would have done the same. Their situation was much more secure now, thanks to Brinks’ plan.

He grabbed Brinks by the throat anyway. “I don’t want to minimize your contributions, human, but this is my task. It’s my people who are suffering in the modern day, and it will be me who sets them free. Got it?”

Brinks’ eyes were wide open, and he swallowed hard. “Got it.”

“Good.” Tupper stepped away from him, straightening his outfit, and feeling more confident about his legs not giving way beneath him. “Now, my lord. Should I escort you up to your chambers?”

“Yes, of course,” Brinks said faintly, and Tupper suppressed a smile.

-.-

The King took them out falconing the next morning, and it turned out he had a wand as well. It seemed these ancient Briton wizards had control over translation, telekinesis, basic conjuration (the transport of something simple like a plate or a cup from another room into their own hands), and the like, but this was the first time Tupper had seen any of them use their wands for actual attack spells, hexes or jinxes. This must be what a Muggle might feel, watching one of their prehistoric ancestors learn how to sharpen a stick for the first time.

They’d actually walked out of the keep this time, down the only path leading through the mountain pass. After only a few minutes they were on foothills, and then snow-covered flatland, accompanied by the entire falconing party.

As he and Brinks watched, the King took careful aim, whispered the word “pyrios,” and a tiny jet of fire emanated from the tip of the wand and streaked into the field before them. There was a slight squeal of pain, much as they’d heard before from the rabbits they’d hunted in the wild, and the King let out a laugh. “Marvelous, is it not? Ambrosius has unlocked more secrets than these, of course, but this puts a bow and arrow to shame!”

“It is truly wondrous, your highness,” Brinks said smoothly, and Tupper made noises of agreement. “May I ask when you learned how to make such an incredible tool?” He gestured at the wand.

“Oh, I didn’t make it. I have artisans for that now,” Arthur said dismissively. “They shaped it, and Ambrosius imbued it with power and presented it to me as a coronation gift. Under my authority, he has imbued more and presented them as needed to my trusted court and the knights under my command.”

“Very impressive,” Brinks murmured. Though his face was smooth, Tupper could tell his thoughts: all it would take was stealing one wand. Then, he could use the knowledge their ancestors had piled up over the centuries to Apparate, or obliterate, past any obstacle in their path! Merlin might be able to stand up to him, but none of these other dilletantes stood a chance, did they? Once again, Tupper cursed his inability to use magic. That was probably because the spell hadn’t been cast yet, actually. In order to magically compel someone, you had to imbue them with magic to a degree. The Imperius curse was the only known exception, and it wouldn’t be discovered for hundreds of years yet. Mercifully.

The King seemed to sense Brinks’ interest anyway. “Do you not have such devices in your own land?”

“Not as of yet. In fact, I can safely say it will be a very long time before there are any wands in my homeland,” Brinks admitted, and Tupper carefully hid his own smirk. “However my people do have some ways of practicing the Art. I would be very interested in trying out one of your wands at some point. If only to see what I’m missing,” he admitted obsequiously.

After a moment, Arthur nodded magnanimously. “I’m certain we can arrange that in time, Lord Brinks.”

The falcon formerly on his left arm now returned, with the semi-scorched remains of the rabbit in its talons. The King shook his head at the sight of it. “A pity I have yet to learn less damaging ways. Still, the meat should be good for a stew at least.” He praised the falcon for a few moments, and then passed it off to one of the servants.

Another servant ran up to the company, bowed briefly, and the King beckoned to him. Dashing forward, he whispered something in the King’s ear, and Arthur’s expression darkened. “Run back to the keep. Have Galahad join us immediately. Tell him to bring his wand,” he added with a thoughtful note.

“Yes, my King,” the man said immediately, bowing again and rushing off.

“Is something amiss, your highness?” Brinks said, staying perfectly in character.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Arthur responded loftily. “The rest of you, return to the keep, please. Actually on second thought, Lord Brinks, you and your servant may stay. You may find this quite diverting.”

The rest of the falconing party split off from the King obediently, though some of them cast some concerned glances in Brinks’ direction. Arthur seemed unconcerned, probably because he was armed with a wand, but also possibly because he simply liked the man. Once the group was out of earshot, his voice became more serious, though. “That was a message from Ambrosius. One of his orbs has caught sight of a Saxon war party, approaching the keep from the south. We’re not far off their path, actually, which is why I called for Ser Galahad. This is the perfect opportunity for him to earn his spurs within the knighthood.”

Brinks shared a concerned look with Tupper. Not at the possibility of Saxons, but more at what the King had so casually said about Merlin. Orbs suggested scrying capabilities. Like the Muggle security cameras that could send images great distances to their masters, scrying orbs were used in the modern day to keep a watch for thieves or attackers. It seemed Merlin had some understanding of this difficult process. If he’d been listening in on their conversation in their room in the keep… then he knew everything.

“There’s no need to be concerned,” the King said evenly, misinterpreting their fear. “You’ll be perfectly safe from the heathens if you’re at my side. Come along, my friends,” he added, stepping down the hill to the west. From up by road leading towards the keep, a man on horseback approached. He was wearing a breastplate and iron greaves, but all his other armor was leather. Unlike the soldiers in that village square, he had no spear nor bow and arrows.

As Arthur walked on ahead, Brinks leaned down. “Are we in trouble here? Did Merlin hear us earlier?”

Tupper shook his head, thinking about it. “Scrying orbs are notoriously hard to maintain, even in our time. My guess is he just scans the area around the keep for possible attacks like this one. If he tried to focus on one room in a small area, like your guest room in the keep, it would be like trying to catch a butterfly in a hurricane. He might be able to hear one word, maybe, before the sensor would move past the room.”

“That’s a relief. Come on, we don’t want them to think we’re conspiring or something.”

Tupper chuckled and followed along. He would be concerned about the Saxons as well, except that the King wasn’t. National leaders, be they Muggle or wizard, were almost universally cowardly. Any threat to their personal safety, no matter how slight, had them wetting themselves and usually hiding in terror like children. Arthur had probably handled a sword before Merlin made him a wand, but he was still a ruler just like all the others. Right now he was walking along, whistling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. There was no danger here.

For his part, Galahad looked a lot less sure of himself. After riding up next to his King and dismounting, he gave a brief bow. “You asked for me, my King?”

“Yes, my friend. A warband of Saxons approaches from the south. You can handle them, can’t you?”

“Of course, my King,” Galahad responded, though his voice trembled a little as he did so. “I would be honored to do so in your name!”

Further down on the hill, tiny glints of metal could be seen in the afternoon sun. The dots soon resolved themselves into people, armed with axes, maces and shortswords. Their armor was mostly leather, with the occasional helm or breastplate made of metal. They were all on foot.

Tupper found this interesting from an historical perspective. By this time, according to both wizard and Muggle histories, the entire area around Winchester had been firmly under Saxon control. The Jutes were only now arriving in force, and would eventually insinuate themselves into what would be called the Kingdom of Wessex. All of that was bollocks, apparently, as Arthur had set up Camelot in this mountain chain. Which meant that the histories had been revised after the fact, as Arthur himself had stated they couldn’t alter or erase memories yet.

The Saxons caught sight of the four of them, and a low yell started rising from the group. There were at least fifty of them, charging up the hill. Galahad looked over at Arthur. “You have your wand, my King? In case I should fail.”

Arthur shook his head. “I sent it on home with the falconing party. I have confidence in you, Galahad.”

Galahad swallowed hard and took a step forward, pulling out his wand. Behind him, Arthur winked over at Brinks. Hidden in his flowing robe was his own wand. Tupper resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

As the attacking Saxons ran up the final hill, Galahad waved his wand in a wide swipe, as if fencing. Blue and red lights shot out the end of it, but dissipated barely two feet away. Grimacing, Galahad tried again, with more precise movements, calling out in Latin, “Prima Potestas!”

More lights shot out from the wand, this time persisting until they reached the Saxons. Tupper and Brinks both winced at what they saw, and knew was happening down there. This was primitive magic, and the spell wouldn’t take effect immediately, but it would be devastating when it did. Galahad tried again and again, as the Saxons sped up. Twenty paces away. Ten! Arthur reached for his own wand.

Then, almost as one, the group faltered. Most of them fell forward. A horrible sizzling sound emanated from some. One to the side actually exploded into a red mist! The spell had taken effect.

Not one of the Saxons had survived. Arthur led the way, with a relieved-looking Galahad behind him. Tupper and Brinks took up the rear. As they stepped carefully between the bodies, the devastation was clear. The uncontrolled magic that had been unleashed on these poor souls had wreaked havoc with their bodies. Hearts which would have otherwise pumped vigorously, had suddenly broken as the very laws of nature changed around them! Air had turned to water in one unfortunate man’s lungs, and was still bubbling out as his breathing came to a stop. Bones had shattered as forces beyond these men’s understanding had compressed their heads or ribs or limbs in on themselves.

“A grim sight, is it not?” Arthur said darkly. “And yet necessary. These heathens have no love of God, nor respect for the power and authority that is the Roman birthright. We are the true sons of Rome, and the true inheritors of this land. Now, with my leadership, Ambrosius’ knowledge, and the will of brave warriors like Galahad here, we will cleanse this entire island of its rabble, and create a united kingdom at last!”

Brinks was being careful to keep his expression hopeful and glad, and Tupper strove to follow his example. Arthur’s words were not prophetic at all, as the UK hadn’t really come about until 1922. Many, many more invaders had come in the years between Arthur’s life and then. Something would definitely divert Arthur’s attention soon, or their history would have been nothing like Tupper had read.

“A visionary goal, your highness,” Brinks said enthusiastically. “I must ask, will the rabble be allowed to leave the island alive? Given the chance to surrender, as such? Many would do so, when faced with deaths such as these,” he gestured to the bodies around them.

“Naturally,” Arthur said with what he most likely thought sounded like nobility. “I have no love of bringing about death and suffering. A leader must be both merciful and harsh in his judgements. But they are barbarians, and pagans, and corrupting influences that cannot be allowed to fester within our borders. Camelot will stretch from coast to coast! From the waters south of us even past Hadrian’s Wall, and to the northern edges of this land; from Lindum Colonia to the Welsh coast! We will be one people, under God, forevermore!”

His fervor tapered off a bit, as they surveyed the bodies a little more. He congratulated Galahad, and then started offering advice as to how to make his spell more prompt, if just as devastating. For his own part, Tupper was trying not to sick up at the sight of it all. He whispered something to Brinks, who responded. “Of course, Tupper. Just stay within sight, would you?” He nodded over at Arthur, as Tupper ran off and vomited. Apparently Brinks had seen some horrible things in his life, and could handle it more easily.

84

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 8

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:46 AM »

It happened late that night, and it happened without warning. Tupper, having recovered from the horrific sight and sound of the slaughter, was carrying a clay pot of water over to the side of his bed in the servant’s quarters adjoined to Brinks’ room. He was always thirsty at night, and wanted to be prepared. Then the pot had fallen from his grip, shattering on the floor. His hands were shaking and his chest heaving. Worst of all was his mind! The words were back!

Find and serve.

He crumpled down on the ground, whimpering in pain and fear, as all of those old feelings came flooding back into him. The days, wandering the streets of London, hiding from Muggles and seeking out wizards. The nausea, so different from the experience he’d had earlier today, which never completely vanished until he was in active service to a wizarding master. The pain as he punished himself each time he failed his master, or even contradicted him! It was all back, and it was worse than he’d ever known before!

The door rattled, and then burst open. “Tupper?” Brinks said anxiously. “Are you ok? I heard you cry out, and then heard…” Tupper couldn’t see him from his position on the floor, but he must have called out earlier, and Tupper hadn’t heard him. All he’d heard was the words, and he heard them still.

“No, no, we’re fine,” Brinks was saying to someone out in the hall. “My servant’s just had a fall, that’s all. No need to tell anyone. Off you go!” That was followed by a door closing firmly and locking.

Find and serve.

Tupper couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even fathom the horror of it all. Brinks wasn’t letting him be, though. “What’s going on? Are you sick? Did you eat something bad? Something worse, I mean,” he added, as their food was literally medieval.

“The words,” Tupper whimpered, tasting blood. He must have bitten his tongue. “They’re back!”

Brinks’ voice softened immediately. “How bad?”

Find and serve.

Tupper couldn’t respond immediately, just clenching his teeth and trying to ride out the nausea and tremors. It was like his body, his human body anyway, was trying to buck him off like a wild horse. As soon as the one tremor ceased, he grabbed for the cabinet next to his bed with shaking hands. Brinks helped him open it, and Tupper seized the knife inside.

Brinks must have realized, in the nick of time, what he would do with it. As Tupper jabbed it at his own neck, Brinks lunged forward and grabbed hold of it. “No!”

Tupper was a lot stronger now than he had been at the beginning of all of this, and for a moment they struggled over the blade. “I won’t go back! I can’t go back! I’d rather die!” Tupper grated out, panting with the effort.

After a few more red-tinged seconds, Brinks was able to wrest the knife away, and tossed it to the other side of the room. He took hold of Tupper’s head, just as he had back in that tor. “Listen to me, Tupper. Listen! I am a wizard, and I accept you into my service. Do you hear me? I accept you into my service! You found me, and you’re serving me. Do you understand? Answer me!!”

The words became dim, almost muted, but they were still there. Immediately, the pain and nausea lessened. It wasn’t gone entirely, but at least Tupper could breathe again. His eyes stayed wide open though, and he glanced at the knife. “I can’t do this! I won’t be a servant again! Going back would be like a butterfly chopping off its own wings and stuffing itself back into its cocoon! Don’t you see? I can’t live like this!” He lunged for the knife, but this time Brinks was ready, and grabbed him by the arm and shoulder. He must have had some experience wrestling or roughhousing, because he restrained Tupper with apparent ease, his arm snaking under Tupper’s and up behind his neck, holding him in place.

Find and serve, the words echoed at Tupper. You will always find and serve. You can do nothing else. You can be nothing else. Find… and serve.

“I can’t live like this! Let me go!”

“You won’t have to for long,” Brinks promised him hastily. “The spell was cast; that’s the only thing that could possibly bring the words back. Now you know what you need to do. You can go back to our own time, and break it then and there!”

“You don’t understand!” Tupper exclaimed, practically sobbing at this point. “Yes, the spell was cast, but I don’t know how, or by whom! I don’t know a thing about it, and I should! The moment it was cast, I should have learned what I needed about it! I failed in my task, Brinks. I failed, and I deserve to die! Just go. I buried the potion by the stream near the tor. I placed three rocks in a perfect triangle around them. And I lied about the tor itself. It won’t be discovered until 1931. You can find another location or just steal a wand then and dig out your own cavern. Just go. Leave me to die and return to your life! Please!”

“No. I refuse,” Brinks responded adamantly, and Tupper felt like his insides were turning to lead. “I won’t just let you die here. I know you don’t want to live like this, and I promise you. I swear by God, that I won’t let you suffer like this for long. You and I together will figure out the spell. You and I together will return to our time and break it. And if we can’t, I swear to you that I will kill you myself. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to kill a friend, so I know I can do it!”

Hope mixed itself in with the pain and fear, and Tupper raised bleary eyes up to look at Brinks. “You’d better mean it.”

“I do,” he responded without hesitation.

Slowly, Brinks helped Tupper sit up again. He was breathing easier now, and his mind was starting to work again. The symptoms of the spell must have come back all at once, which must be why they were so severe. He’d been in this time for decades now, without any compulsion to find or serve until now. The dam had broken, and his brain had been flooded as a result. Still, symptoms were fading. He was serving, if hatefully, a wizard. “I won’t be your servant,” he said firmly, wiping at his eyes. There was something in his hand. It was hair. He’d torn out some of his own hair; he’d been clutching at his head so hard.

“I know, Tupper. I only said it so that the spell would back off. In every way that matters, we’re partners. Just like every day since day one, we need each other. I’ll take my lead from you, just like always. Well, most of the time,” he admitted, as Tupper nearly brought up him setting up that encounter with Merlin. “What I mean is, this is still your task and your responsibility. But you’re not in it alone, and you don’t have to be. Let me help you. Honor me by allowing me to share this burden, at least a little bit.”

Through the nausea and pain, the confusion and fear and rage at the words in his mind, Tupper gave him an awkward look. “Honor you? Seriously?”

Brinks smiled slightly. “Yeah, I know. It’s all the chatting with Arthur and his people. I think I’ve been in the sixth century too long.”

“We both have,” Tupper let out with a sigh, leveraging his butt back onto the cot. With deliberate slowness, he leaned back on it. “Ahh, that’s better.”

“I should let you sleep,” Brinks said, standing up. “If you need me to give you an order or something, I could always tell you to punch me in the face. Would that cancel it out, you think?”

Tupper chuckled. “Probably not, but I appreciate the thought.”

Brinks made his way back to the door, and closed it behind him. Not before he’d taken the knife, though.

-.-

Morning came six hours later, but it felt like a lifetime. Tupper’s dreams had been chaotic and jumbled, and he’d had plenty of them. The last one had been the worst. Three words were floating in the air, conjured out of fire from Arthur’s wand and chasing him through the Ministry of Magic. He finally found a way out, only to stumble right into Merlin! He raised his wand and pulled every thought out of Tupper’s head. Then the words flew in through Tupper’s ears, and he was finally at peace, without a care in the world, and served happily for the rest of his days.

What a nightmare! When he woke, Tupper was glad that it was fading quickly. He stared up at the wooden ceiling in silence for a while, trying to make sense of last night. The words were still there, but the nausea was finally gone. The broken dam’s waters had flowed away at last, leaving wreckage in their wake.

Brinks had been right: killing himself would have been the coward’s way out. He still had other elves depending on him in the future. Tupper felt a flash of shame at what he’d tried to do, and gratitude at what Brinks had done. The man had surprisingly quick reflexes, too, to stop him like that.

On to analytics. The spell had come and gone, and he knew nothing of it. How was that even possible? Primitive magic always left traces. Even modern spells left something most of the time. Only highly accomplished magicians like Riddle and Dumbledore were adept at hiding the traces of their spells, and even then, only to a degree. An echo of the echo always remained.

Eventually, he puzzled out what must have happened, and got up. There was a mirror in his ‘lord’s’ washroom, made of silver and mercury, as was common for rich people in this era, but Tupper was afraid to look at it. When he did, he was encouraged. He still looked like a human: fat, bulbous and awkward, but at least he didn’t look too much the worse for wear. His ordeal last night seemed to have passed mostly without a mark. Though there was a cut on his neck from the tip of the blade. Again, he silently thanked Brinks for his intervention.

Breakfast had already been delivered by another servant when he stepped out into their shared area. It was juice of some kind, lemon by the smell, and what looked like roast pigeon. Tupper made sure that the door was closed and locked, and then sat at the table next to Brinks. It wouldn’t do for a servant to be seen eating with his master, after all. They ate in silence, gesturing to ask for something and listening to the wind whistle past the parapets of this tower. When someone knocked on the door, Brinks hastily removed his plate, utensils and cup, and moved them into his room before answering it.

It was another servant, with an invitation from the King to join them for a mid-afternoon trip down to Winchester. Nothing pressing or magical from the sound of it. Brinks instructed him to return to the King with Brinks’ grateful acceptance.

“What do you think that’s all about?” He asked, once Tupper had closed and locked the door again.

“I don’t care,” Tupper said, shaking his head. “Probably more strutting around like a peacock or ranting about ‘cleansing the rabble’ again. Arthur’s supposed to be some kind of uplifting, mythic figure, at least to the Muggles, but he’s looking a lot like Merlin to me.”

“Definitely. So, what’s our plan, then? Assuming it was Merlin who cast the spell, do we try and get him to tell us how? If I get my hands on a wand, I might be able to take him down. Maybe.”

Tupper felt his eyes widen. “No, definitely not. It’s way too risky to the timeline. If anyone saw us, or Merlin told anyone, which is admittedly unlikely, it would definitely make it into the history books. Besides, I don’t think we need him at all. If I’m right, it wasn’t a spell that altered my people at all!”

Brinks leaned forward. “Then what was it?”

“I thought that the spell altered our bodies in such a way that the changes would be passed down from parent to child forever, but those kinds of spells are immensely complex and slow to cast. I would have felt it start slowly, over time. But last night was so sudden, like a dam breaking. I think… that someone created a magical artifact. Like Gryffindor’s sword or Excalibur or something. Indestructible by most standards, and supremely powerful. The moment it was finished, the effect it generates started on me. Probably on other house-elves all over the country. Maybe even the world, but there’s no way to know.”

“This is great! All we need to do is find this artifact in our own time and shatter it, then, right? I know a few spells that could do the trick. I’d need a wand, but that shouldn’t be too hard.”

Tupper held off on the first objection. “So your magic is definitely back, then? You can feel it for sure?”

Brinks nodded happily. “Last night, when you tried… what you did with the knife, I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I wasn’t sure at first that it was my magic manifesting, but I tested it again later, and yeah. I’m back, baby!”

Not entirely sure what that meant, Tupper nodded anyway. “Maybe mine is too.”

He concentrated and held out a fat finger. Then, with a pop of displaced air, he’d Apparated! Just to the other side of the table, but still!

Brinks clapped him on the back, grinning ear to ear. “Good for you! You won’t have any problems getting out of here now, even if things go sideways and you have to run.”

“I’ll take you with me, of course,” he promised. “But are you sure the people here don’t know how to Apparate as well?”

Brinks shook his head. “I’ve been talking with the King and the other knights at every meal, and sounding them out about what they know. They don’t seem to know that it’s a thing. Merlin might, but he works directly for a man who wants to wipe out an entire race of people, or at least force them out of England. Arthur probably would have gotten that secret out of him by now, given how zipping around would be very useful in killing Saxons by the thousands.”

That was probably true, Tupper realized. “About last night. When you made your vow to me, you said that you’d killed a friend before. What did you mean by that? If you’re willing to talk about it, that is,” he added hastily, as Brinks’ expression immediately became troubled.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just been a long time, is all. I told you I was an orphan, remember?” Tupper nodded. “Well, I grew up in a kind of group home in Boston. A bunch of parentless kids were there, whether they were thrown out, or runaways, or addicts, or whatever. All Nomajs of course, but we didn’t know that at the time. It… wasn’t a fun place to be. Crowded, smelly, and harsh. A lot of us had criminal records and were out from juvie. That’s like a detention hall or something,” he added for clarity.

“Anyway, when my magic started bubbling up, this lady from the MACUSA—that’s kind of like the American Ministry—showed up and said I’d qualified for training as a wizard. I wasn’t the only one, either. Another kid named Kenji was also manifesting magic, and I told her about him. Ken and I were the weirdest kids in that place by far, so we stuck together. Then, when we were in training, we remained close.”

He sighed. “The American system isn’t great. The wizard school we trained at was almost as poor as the group home, so we did most of our learning on the street. Still, we learned a lot, including how to pose as Nomajs when we had to. That’s one of the reasons I like them so much, actually. They can do so much without any magic at all, or much of anything, at least the ones in Boston do.”

“I take it you were stealing things even then?” Tupper asked, careful to make his tone as neutral as possible. Fortunately, Brinks seemed to understand that, and nodded.

“It started out just so we could feed ourselves. Before we could zip places, we’d use our wands to climb up sheer walls, open cabinets through the window, and float food out, which we would eat up on the roof. Ken was better at it than me, but I was quieter. Eventually we fell in with Torkin, a real scumbag who had us doing more complicated jobs. He taught us how to bypass wizarding traps and locks, and he paid us more gold than either of us had ever seen!”

Brinks’ eyes were lost in the past. Or the future, actually. “It wasn’t long before we were breaking into wizard houses to steal some valuable painting or gold cup or fancy magical device. Torkin had a few others working for him; all about our age, who joined us for some of the jobs. Then, when we were ready, he had us go up against the MACUSA itself. He wanted us to rob one of their storage facilities on the south side of the city, hidden under a Nomaj bank.”

He focused on Tupper. “You knew your father, if only for a little while before he died. You gotta understand, I had no one. Not even Ken at the beginning. When I wasn’t just stealing to survive anymore, I looked up my mom’s family. I had her name from my Nomaj birth certificate. Turns out I’m actually a descendant of George Armstrong Custer. Or I will be, I guess. Still not used to the tenses.”

Tupper blinked at him. “Wait, I read about him when we were in Boston. He was a famous Muggle-killer, wasn’t he?”

“Specifically, the native ones. The Nomajs who lived there before Europeans started coming across the sea.” Brinks grimaced. “He was a real piece of work; I can tell you.”

Realizing that he didn’t really know his own ancestry, Tupper didn’t know what to think about that. Elves had descended from humans, so for all he knew, he was descended from Jack the Ripper or something! “Wait, Custer was a wizard?”

Brinks nodded. “He hated the Indian Nomajs for the same reasons the American ones did, though. He saw them as primitive savages who needed to be pushed aside or wiped out, so that the Americans could keep on growing our country. He couldn’t kill them with magic, though, because it’d be too obvious. Besides, the Indians had wizards of their own. They used a different word, but it’s pretty much the same thing.

“Instead, Custer created an artifact, like the one we’re trying to find here. A pipe, that was supposed to be given to his enemies. When smoked, its smoke would spread out and be breathed in by a bunch of people all at once. Then, in a day or so, all of them would be dead. It could spread, too, from person to person like a disease. It was a horrible thing, made by a horrible person. At least he never got the chance to use it. He was killed at Little Bighorn just after making it.”

Tupper could only imagine. His understanding of American history wasn’t that extensive, but he knew at least some of what the Americans had done to the native Muggles. At least Brinks acknowledged his ancestor’s crimes. “Why did you bring it up, though?”

“Because when Torkin sent us into that storage facility, he told me we were after a set of gems owned by a very rich American wizard. Each one was supposed to be worth thousands in gold! He lied. Two of us were a distraction, meant to pull aurors away from the area, and Ken and I were supposed to sneak in and disable the traps to open that one vault. Inside… was the pipe that Custer made!”

“Ah,” Tupper nodded in understanding. “The pipe could be sold to some monstrous person, and used to kill a lot of people, even wizards, before they knew what was happening. We have some things like that in Britain too, I’m afraid.”

“That’s right. And Torkin knew plenty of people with no morals and very deep pockets, believe me. Ken knew what we were after, but he’d lied to me as well. Maybe he didn’t want to share his part of the cut, or he knew I’d recognize it—I’d told him about my ancestry by then. Either way, as soon as we got the vault door open, he double-crossed me. He hit me on the back of the head, hard, and ran into the vault. Lucky for me, there was another layer of traps inside that Torkin hadn’t told us about. Maybe he didn’t know. Either way, it slowed Ken down enough for me to get back on my feet.” Brinks trailed off there, his tone still heavy.

Feeling enraptured by the tale, Tupper prodded him verbally. “What happened then?”

Brinks turned haunted eyes towards him. “I warned him, Tupper. I told him that I couldn’t let him do it. We were thieves, sure, but not murderers! Hundreds of people could have died if Torkin got his hands on that and sold it. Maybe thousands. But Ken made a grab for it anyway, so I… AK’ed him.”

Tupper winced. AK was the American slang for Avada Kedavra, the killing curse. It was the only spell in history written specifically to wipe away life entirely. There was no stopping it. “You couldn’t stop him any other way? Tied his legs together or something?”

“We were all decked out with special gear for the heist!” Brinks said helplessly. “No other spell could have gotten through all that! I couldn’t pull the pipe out of the vault either because of the magic around the place. If he’d so much as touched it, he could have zipped out of there, and I would have lost my chance to stop him! I killed my friend—a man I’d known for eight years and grown up next to. Hell, I taught his ass to read. I put him down, just because I didn’t want to end up being like my ancestor.”

Tupper shook his head. “I don’t know if you did the right thing or not, but I don’t blame you. You were in an impossible situation, but at least you got out of it. What did the aurors do when they found out? What did Torkin do?”

“The aurors never found Ken’s body. I disintegrated it, and spread his ashes in the sea. At least he didn’t have a family to worry about him. As for Torkin, he tried to bargain with me, to get the pipe for himself, but I was done with him—with all of it. I tried a bunch of different ways to break the damn thing, but none of them worked. Eventually I put it in a lead box at the bottom of the ocean. At least down there, no one can use it to hurt anyone.”

“Now that was definitely the right decision,” Tupper allowed, and Brinks gave a faint smile.

“I don’t like thinking about who I was back then,” he said softly. “I let Torkin use me to steal all kinds of things. How many other magical devices did I steal for him, that were used to kill people later on? Torkin disappeared, hiding from the aurors after the vault job, so I don’t think I’ll ever know.”

“When we get back, you should try to track him down,” Tupper suggested. “Silence the ghosts of the past and all that.”

“Maybe.” Brinks shook his head. “Anyway. This artifact you talked about. Do you think you can shatter it, at least? This is pretty far back in the past, before they could make things invulnerable, right?”

“I might be able to, but I don’t want to try,” Tupper said firmly. “That artifact, whatever shape it’s in, is connected to every single elf in existence. If I just break it, it could kill all of us instantly! The artifact has to be dismantled, safely, and then its pieces can be shattered. That’s the only way to be sure. Besides, it’s part of history now. I can’t dismantle it in this era, but if I put a tracer on it, I can find it in our own time. I can take it apart then.” He felt a little disappointed. It would have been easier just to break a spell, but this could work too, given time.

“You think Merlin is the one who made it?”

Tupper began counting on his fingers. “The most powerful magician in history, who works for a genocidal sociopath, and has already tried to interrogate us just because we were speaking to an elf? Yeah, I’d say that’s a safe bet.” He paused, concerned. Brinks had a history of racking up gambling debts, or he had when Tupper had first met him, but he didn’t seem to notice Tupper’s verbal slip-up.

“Then the artifact’s probably somewhere here, in this keep. If Merlin can’t zip around, I mean. If he can, it could be anywhere!”

“Let’s start here, and work our way outwards. Did any of your knight friends have any idea where he does his work? According to the other servants, the ‘arcanum’ is just what Merlin calls his wing of the keep.”

Brinks grimaced. “They don’t know much more than how much they adore Arthur, truthfully. Still, we should be able to snoop around a bit before our trip out to Winchester.”

Tupper started clearing the table right away. “All right. We should start searching immediately.”

85

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 9

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:39 AM »

They split up as soon as they reached the arcanum, with Brinks searching the upper levels and Tupper going through the servants’ area. There were still a lot of rooms to investigate though, so this could take hours.

Without a wand, or a wizard nearby who could cast a translation spell, they were relying on their Old English to be understood. Tupper had assimilated for the most part, but he was worried that Brinks might get into trouble. He could think on his feet, to be sure, but without language skills, he wouldn’t have much proverbial ground under those feet. There was nothing for it, though. He would have to trust that Brinks had learned enough to get by.

There was a strange pain in Tupper’s back, which started early on during his survey. He found himself hunched over, slouching as he moved. He’d wrenched it pretty hard the night before, during their brief wrestling match over control of the knife. Maybe he’d injured his spine. As he leaned forward though, he saw something fall past his eyes to the ground. It was hair.

Tentatively, he ran his hands across his scalp, and felt more hair come free from it. He felt a cold chill at first, but then realized what was happening. The artifact had put the words back in his head, and now it was affecting his body. His hair was falling out, and he was shrinking in stature. He would probably start losing weight over the next few days, and eventually, he’d be back to his old self. As he passed others in the halls, he thought he could see signs of a similar transformation. The same thing was probably happening to Suppo down in Winchester.

It should have been a relief to be rid of this hideous body, but he knew it was only temporary. If he succeeded in Tracing the artifact into the modern day, and dismantling it then, history would repeat itself. He and all other elves would slowly transform into humans again. Tupper had to admit to himself, that he wasn’t that bad-looking as a human. Most of his disgust had come from the fact that he looked like a wizard—the very thing he’d hated for so long.

The Tracer spell itself would be easy enough to cast. There were variations of it all over the world, but elves had long ago figured out a way to mark an object so it would never be lost. Once marked, the gem, or gold piece, or painting, or even building, could always be found by the one who marked it. Only one such object could be linked to a person at a time, though, so usually the elf was tasked with marking their master’s most valuable possession. If the elf died, the mark would pass to a successor. Usually the closest blood kin, but both elves and wizards could designate someone who wasn’t family to gain possession of the mark.

As with a great many spells, it had started out as an elven technique before being stolen or copied by wizards. Not that they would admit it, of course. The modern wizarding world barely acknowledged that his people even existed. Brinks was proof of that: he’d known almost nothing about elves before meeting Tupper.

Fortunately, Tracers couldn’t expire on their own. Time had no effect on them whatsoever, and they couldn’t be removed without destroying the object in question, not unless the caster themself chose to remove it. Unfortunately, the same object could not carry two marks at the same time. If someone else had put a Tracer on the artifact, Tupper wouldn’t be able to do the same. That wasn’t very likely, though. Merlin had just created the artifact yesterday, and it was probably well hidden. He had no reason to suspect it might go missing, and no reason to put a Tracer on it.

Tupper had thought long and hard about what this artifact might mean. It had been in existence for nearly fifteen hundred years by his time, maintaining control on all elves during all of that. Twisting their bodies and minds, and forcing them into service. He’d been taught that clothing was the only way to free an elf, but that must be ceremonial. Some trick that some wizard had come up with along the way, to convince them that they didn’t have to stay in one person’s service only. Suddenly, he felt sick to think that he’d believed that as well. His scarf, the very first item of clothing he’d ever owned, was his most treasured possession!

It also meant that people in the modern day knew. Wizards knew about this artifact. Probably not very many, or the secret would have gotten out, but at least a handful had most likely chosen to guard it, and keep it hidden. If he put a Tracer on it and returned to his own time, he’d be able to find it, but it would probably have some very clever protections around it.

What kind of monsters would maintain such a device? Merlin had been bad enough just making the damn thing, but protecting it was no different! They had to know what it was doing, and how much suffering it was causing! Shaking his head at that, Tupper continued his search. He acquired a torch in order to go into the darker levels below.

This was before invisibility and permeability spells, which meant the place was probably hidden with inventive stonework of some kind. Bricks which could be removed with magic, and then put back into place without leaving any sign. Tupper kept his hands against the wall itself, feeling for any interruptions in the mortar holding the bricks together. Servants cleaned these walls and floors almost every day, and they hadn’t noticed anything.

Just as he was starting to think it might not be in the keep at all, Tupper came across a slight rippling in one of the walls on the lowest level of the keep. If his magic hadn’t returned, he wouldn’t have felt it at all! This passageway was perfect for a secret door: it was out of the way, in a place people wouldn’t ordinarily be loitering. Even servants wouldn’t have many reasons to come down here.

The ripple effect was unmistakable: the passage was here, connected to this wall. Or a passage was, anyway. For all Tupper knew, this led to where Merlin was making his wands. He couldn’t Apparate past the barrier either, as he’d never seen the other side.

He flinched away from another torch being brought into the passage. The light concealed the form carrying it at first, but then he realized it was a woman in a white dress. It was Guinevere, the Queen of Camelot, and she wasn’t alone! Behind her and to the left, was Brinks.

Tupper bowed subserviently, and she smirked at him for a moment. Then she pointed to the wall, right where Tupper had just been looking. Brinks carefully stepped past her, and up next to him. “She found me searching the upper levels, and beckoned for me to come with her. I tried speaking to her in Old English, but I’m not good enough to understand her response, and she can’t cast a translation spell. I ‘spose I shouldn’t be surprised that Arthur wouldn’t give her magical powers or a wand to use. I guess that comes later, huh?”

“Much, much later,” Tupper said grimly. “Here, let me try.” He switched to Old English. “My queen, I assure you, my lord was merely lost when you found him, looking for me.”

“I know precisely what he was looking for,” she responded loftily, giving him a mysterious smile. “As are you, apparently,” she gestured towards the passage wall. “Arthur often comes down here to speak with the Archmage, and I even saw him open the tunnel door once.”

Tupper gaped at her. “Uh, my queen. Why… would you bring my lord here? Why not tell the King what you saw?”

She shook her head ruefully. “I am not Arthur’s first wife, and I’m sure I won’t be his last, either. He has many mistresses, even within these walls, and treats with them often and without shame! He doesn’t love me, and he never will. He only married me to secure his alliance with my father. If what I suspect is true, soon he won’t have any need of that alliance, and he’ll be rid of me as well.”

Memories flashed through Tupper’s mind, of studying British Muggle royalty. Of reading how King Henry the Eighth had one wife after another in his constant lechery. “I’m sure that will not be the case, my queen,” he tried to reassure her. “Your father would never allow such an outra—”

“Arthur has no reason to fear my father anymore,” she cut him off coldly. “You know this as well as I do. Or he does, anyway,” she glanced at Brinks. “Whatever power the Archmage has given Arthur and his knights, it has made them unafraid of anything! I heard what happened to those raiders on the hills yesterday. Ser Galahad was boasting about it with his fellow knights. I also know the Archmage has no love for either of you. The only reason you would be searching for the entrance to his sanctum, is if you are enemies of his.”

He nodded, but she barely waited for it before going on. “I will show you how to open it and go inside. Arthur doesn’t know that I saw him do so once. In exchange, I ask you—no, I beg of you. Stop him, please! No man should have the power to destroy on a whim, or purge an entire land, as Arthur keeps saying. Ambrosius is the source of his power, and you have knowledge of these things, even though you pretend otherwise. I’ve seen your faces when you hear them speak. I believe the Saxons are evil, but my husband and his court are becoming even more so! Please. Stop them before they become worse than the enemy they hate so much!”

She paused at that, and looked back and forth between them. Tupper updated Brinks, who looked amazed at this. “I can’t believe it. Guinevere, turning on Arthur? Is she for real?”

Tupper was careful not to look at her before responding. He was hardly impartial in his guess, and he was no skilled Legilimens. “She could have turned you in, and we’d both have been executed. Instead she offers to help us. I don’t think we have a choice but to trust her.” At some point, he’d started to trust Brinks as well. And it had started before last night’s suicide attempt.

“But we can’t help her. Even if we can take Merlin down, history kinda needs him, right?”

“History has already recorded Arthur’s reign as lasting another thirty years at least. Merlin won’t die for another eighty. But the Saxons, and Angles, and Jutes, and Norsemen, and Scots, and all the other so-called ‘invaders’ from the mainland will keep coming here anyway. There’s a reason why this land was named Angle-land, or England as you know it. Even if the King and Archmage have some kind of mass extermination planned, it doesn’t take place. Not even wizards could have covered that up. So we don’t need to help her. The help she wants will happen anyway. Trust me, I’ve done the research on this.”

Brinks hesitated for a few moments before nodding, and Tupper looked up at the queen. “My lord agrees,” he said unnecessarily.

“Good,” she said quickly. “Watch closely. You must press these six stones in order,” she pointed them out one after another. “If you get one wrong, the passageway seals and only the Archmage can unseal it. Arthur did that, and the Archmage berated him for it. My husband was very unhappy that evening.”

Tupper and Brinks watched her point out the bricks a second time, just to make sure they had the right ones, and then Tupper looked back up at her. “Thank you, my queen. We can’t go in there just yet, as the Archmage may be inside, but if he leaves for Winchester this afternoon, we will go in then. He can read minds, though, so please stay far from him until we are long gone. For your own safety, and for ours.”

She considered that. “I know a few places I can hide. Places even my maidservants don’t know.”

Tupper extended a hand, and after a moment she took it. He hadn’t seen anyone matching Lancelot’s description among Arthur’s knights, but he would get here eventually. “Thank you again. For what it’s worth, I know for a fact that you will outlive your husband. You will also find love on your own, without him. Eventually, the power that he and the knights and the Archmage have gathered will be available to women as well. Of this I am absolutely certain.”

Guinevere looked disbelieving, but the tiny trace of a smile made it to her lips. Then she let go and moved away, with her white dress trailing slightly behind her. “Remarkable,” Tupper said as she left.

“Lucky break,” Brinks put in. “Come on, let’s get back up to the main level before anyone starts to suspect us.” He paused, looking Tupper up and down. “Are you… shorter than before?”

“Just embracing old habits,” Tupper responded wryly. “I’ll explain on the way.”

86

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 10

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:31 AM »

The trip to Winchester happened that afternoon as planned, and Brinks made his excuses, feigning illness once they were sure Merlin would be going along. He’d learned that none of these wizards had figured out how to heal injuries or cure sickness just yet, so it made for a good reason to skive off. Once they were underway, Tupper and Brinks got to work.

Brinks had overheard Galahad telling another knight that he left his wand in his room, so retrieving it wasn’t that difficult. Tupper had told him it wouldn’t be necessary to have one, and stealing it would be a big risk, but he was secretly glad Brinks had done so. They had no way of knowing what kind of defenses Merlin had put in place to protect his sanctum, and Brinks was effectively useless against them without a wand.

While he retrieved it, Tupper Apparated out to take care of another task. Finding the tablets again was easy enough, but using magic to change their color and words in the right way was a lot trickier. As was locating the right place to bury them. It took longer than he’d expected, and Brinks was waiting for him by the time he Apparated back into their room.

“Where were you?” Brinks asked mildly, looking at the dirt on Tupper’s hands and arms.

Tupper smiled tightly. “Just setting up a backup plan in case this fails. You have the wand?”

“Yeah, but it’s weird,” Brinks responded, turning it over and over in his hands. “Most wands have a special core, right? A unicorn hair or something? This is solid wood, end to end. There’s nothing inside.”

“That is strange,” Tupper admitted. “But then, so is their magic. From what I could find, healing spells were among the first ones discovered in history, but these people don’t have a clue about that. Galahad’s weapon spell was all over the place, and devastating. Maybe it’s because his wand didn’t have a core, but I have to assume it’s the same for all the others too.”

Brinks shrugged. “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

Sunset came early at this time of year, and it started getting dark shortly after Arthur and his company had left. Tupper and Brinks took advantage of that to get down to the passageway unseen, or so he hoped. Once inside, he carefully pressed the bricks in the order the queen had demonstrated. He’d seen one of his masters do much the same at the entrance to the wizarding market in London, and unsurprisingly, these bricks shifted in place as soon as he was done. Stone stacked up next to stone, revealing a narrow passageway ahead of them.

Secret doors like this one opened the exact same way from the inside, he’d learned from experience. It sealed up behind them, and Tupper took the lead down the slight incline. Torch in one hand and wand in the other, Brinks followed him.

By now Tupper was finally bald again, and he’d noticed a drop in weight as well. He took it as a good sign he was getting back to normal. Although… human was technically normal for him, he realized. Then he paused. Something was off about the chamber ahead. Lifting a hand, he tried to remember the revealing charm he’d learned years ago.

Ahead of them, blue light slowly illuminated a series of dots on the walls and ceiling and floor of the passage. “Those are flame traps. Or ice traps; I can’t really tell from here. They’re so tiny they’re practically invisible. That’s pretty clever.”

“I learned how to disarm a bunch of different traps back in the States,” Brinks offered. “Should I try?”

Tupper shook his head. “No, just grab my arm.”

As soon as Brinks did so, Tupper Apparated them both to the other end of the traps, and revealed the area ahead of them again. “Looks clear.”

There were several more traps: deadly and unbeatable in current times, but mostly child’s play for people with their experience and magical knowledge. After Tupper and Brinks had bypassed most of them, Brinks looked a little disappointed. “I would have thought Merlin would have some kind of magical beastie down here to terrorize intruders.”

“Yeah, I wondered that myself,” Tupper admitted. “I’ve seen no trace of any magical creatures since coming to this time, and the histories don’t really focus on when they first came about. Muggle histories would, but wizards keep wiping their memories, so they don’t even know about dragons or pixies or everything in between.”

“Another mystery to add to the pile,” Brinks commented.

Finally they reached the end of the long passage, and were probably a fair distance into the mountain by now. The brick had been replaced with rough stone, probably cut by Merlin himself. Up ahead, lights flickered from torches. Without a steady supply of air down here, they were probably enchanted to burn without consuming oxygen. The illuminated room was perfectly spherical as far as he could tell, and they’d entered at the very bottom of it. Together, they looked up in wonder.

The torches were spaced evenly, with five of them at the equator of this hollowed-out sphere. There were some magical implements on a wooden table, which had been specially carved so as not to slide down into the middle of the room, but the real attraction was right in the center. Hanging from the top of the sphere, by a long metal strut, was a massive pendulum. It was swinging back and forth from what looked like an enchanted chain at the very top of the sphere. Like the pendulums Tupper had seen in the modern day, this had a pointed tip which could have easily impaled them if the chain broke and it fell. From the size of it, the pendulum would probably bring this whole cavern down if the chain broke.

“Ok, not what I expected,” Brinks murmured, staring wide-eyed at it. “Is that the artifact?”

“Has to be,” Tupper answered. “As long as it’s swinging, the words will be in my head. I can’t risk stopping it, though. Not without upsetting history itself. Here, I’ll make myself weightless. That way I can Apparate up there and hold onto it without changing its swing.”

The pendulum seemed to be made of gold, or at least gold-plated. Its swing was perfectly steady, crossing the entire room in about ten seconds before coming to a stop and swinging back. It had probably been enchanted to come within a hair’s breadth of the walls before stopping, and to swing eternally unless forcibly stopped. Tupper willed the weight right out of his body, and then felt himself float a little off the ground. It was a good thing there was no wind in here, or he’d be blown away like a feather. Looking up, he Apparated just to the side of the rod, and reached out to grab hold of it.

“Wait!” Brinks called out: his voice panicky.

Tupper hesitated, looking down at him. He withdrew his arm, though, and let the pendulum swing past him. “There are artifacts back home that respond to touch,” Brinks clarified, looking relieved. “Not the pipe, but others that can stick to you permanently until you die, or sink right into your skin and merge with your bones. There are some pretty nasty curses on these things, and this artifact here is like a thousand times more powerful than anything I’ve heard of. Merlin would be stupid not to make it react to touch.”

“Good point,” Tupper admitted. “The rod holding the pendulum isn’t enchanted—I can tell that much from up here. “I’ll tether myself to it so that I can get close enough to the pendulum without actually touching it.”

That was harder than it sounded to actually do, but after a minute or so, Tupper was swinging in tandem with it, upside down. “Good catch,” he called down to Brinks. “This thing is enchanted to set off an explosion if touched. Big enough to fill the room and blast its way up the passageways. A wizard could ward off most of the blast, if they were expecting it, but it would have killed both of us if you hadn’t called out!” Brinks didn’t respond, but Tupper was grateful to have another skilled thief along.

Now that he was close enough, Tupper could see symbols carved into the side of the pointed gold mass. They must have been carved before Merlin enchanted any of this, or the explosion would have gone off. As he was upside down, Tupper had a hard time recognizing them at first, but when he did, his eyes widened. “Good God!”

“What is it?”

Tupper’s mind spun with the possibilities here. The sheer scope of Merlin’s plan was so much bigger than he’d thought! He quickly scanned the other symbols, and thought he recognized a few more.

“Tupper, what’s going on?” Brinks insisted, and Tupper tried to focus.

“There are symbols inscribed on the metal up here,” he reported. “They’re in the style of crests, like in Muggle nations. There’s the one I was looking for,” he pointed to his left. “It’s a rolling pin, crossed with a frying pan. The ancient symbol of the house-elves.”

“So this is the artifact, then!” Brinks responded happily. “You can mark it, and we can get out of here.”

“No, you don’t understand. The house-elf symbol is only one of dozens up here! Next to it is a bag of gold. That’s the symbol for goblins. On the other side is a bow and arrow, with a horseshoe behind them. That’s the symbol for centaurs! This device didn’t just create my people…”

“It created all of them,” Brinks finished for him, his elation fading rapidly. “Are you saying that every single magical race out there used to be ordinary humans??”

Tupper was silent for a long pause, with only the sound of air moving past him for accompaniment. His thoughts were still scrambled. “Apparently so.” He continued moving slowly around the circle of the pendulum, careful to make sure that its swing didn’t smash him into one of the walls. “I see a wolf’s head silhouetted in front of a full moon. That’s werewolves. A pair of fangs in front of a drop of blood. That’s vampires, I assume. A wooden club, followed by a stone boulder. Trolls and giants, respectively. So many more!” He caught sight of another symbol: a scythe, and his blood chilled. He remembered that sign as well.

Looking away from it, he glanced back at Brinks. “I just came here to break the spell on my own people. Do we have the right to do it on all the others as well?? I can’t speak for the goblins or centaurs or giants! No one can but them!” Not that wizards hadn’t been speaking for them for hundreds of years already, from his perspective. Just because they’d done it didn’t make it right, though.

“You didn’t come here to break the spell,” Brinks called up at him. “You’re just supposed to put a Tracer on it and then we can get out of here. We can return to our own time and talk about the morals of what’s right and wrong when we’re not trespassing in the lair of one of the most dangerous men who ever lived!”

“Right,” Tupper said quickly, and tried to concentrate. Brinks was correct, of course. They could discuss what to do when they were out of danger. He should be able to place the mark without touching the pendulum itself, but he’d have to be careful. When Tupper tried, though, his mark didn’t take! He tried again with the same result. He hadn’t marked anything else in years, and he’d removed the ones he’d placed. Sighing, he looked at Brinks again. “Someone else has already marked it. Merlin, I assume. My mark won’t stick.”

“Damn. Can you find it and remove it?”

“No, but if I can see what it looks like, I might be able to find it in our own time. Use his own spell against him, as it were. But it could be anywhere on this thing!”

Brinks was silent for a moment, apparently thinking. “Here, come around to just below the point. Merlin’s traps were tiny, right? It makes sense his mark would be just as small. Maybe it’s on the very tip of this pendulum.”

It was as good a guess as any, so Tupper altered his tether to move him further downwards. He was getting a little heated now, as all the blood had been rushing into his head for a few minutes. He didn’t know how to rotate himself using his tether, so he’d just have to deal with it for now. By the time he was looking at the spike at the bottom of the pendulum, he was feeling a little queasy as well.

There. Right there on the tip of the spike, was a tiny inscribed rune, just as Brinks had guessed. Tupper peered at it, and then felt his jaw drop. He recognized it, as well! “It’s Dumbledore’s??”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen this rune before, at Hogwarts!” Tupper said, aghast. “Clear as day, on a basin in his study! This is Dumbledore’s personal mark; I’m sure of it!”

He cut the tether, and drifted apart from the pendulum for a few seconds. Then, slowly, he returned his body weight to normal, and sank back to the ground. It was a pity his mind was without a similar anchor right now, though.

Tupper stared up at Brinks. His body was mostly back to normal now: he was only a few centimeters taller than he should be. They stood in silence as he thought it over. Slowly, he reasoned it out aloud. “It’s possible that Dumbledore came back in time just like we did. If so, he would have been drawn to the magic of this place. If he put his mark on it, it would last into the present day, but why would he do that?”

Brinks shrugged. “Maybe he wanted to use it as a weapon against Riddle or something.”

“There is another explanation. The mark I saw in his study wasn’t actually his. Not originally anyway. It was just a mark he inherited, powerful wizard to powerful wizard, down through the years. It’s originally Merlin’s just like we thought, but it ended up being Dumbledore’s. But that would mean that he knew, during his lifetime. He knew what this thing was, and all the harm it was doing, and he didn’t stop it.”

“What an ass!” Brinks exclaimed, and Tupper was surprised to see him angry. He’d been sorrowful before, during Tupper’s explanations about elven life, but this was the first time he’d had any rage about it. “So much for the idea of him being this great, noble wizard. I get why you hate us, Tupper. I mean, people used to think Riddle was a great guy once too, right? Every time you scratch the surface on one of these popular guys, you end up realizing they’re monsters underneath! All of us have been practically stomping on the other races for centuries now!”

“Not all of you,” Tupper said softly, and Brinks looked at him in surprise. Then, his eyes widening, he looked a little embarrassed at the compliment.

“What have we here?” A voice called out, and an invisible hand seized Tupper and Brinks, lifting both of them off the ground! Merlin walked in from the tunnel, with Arthur right behind him.

87

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Chapter 11

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:26 AM »

Tupper’s first instinct was to flee. He could Apparate out of that grip easily enough, but he couldn’t just leave Brinks behind! Brinks’ wand had fallen from his grip, which meant he couldn’t move at all, much less teleport. Arthur’s wand wasn’t drawn, so if Tupper could disrupt Merlin’s spell, just for a moment, they could both escape!

“You see, my King?” Merlin said triumphantly. “Spies and saboteurs after all. They came here to destroy the pendulum, just as I predicted. Was I not correct to distrust them?”

“You were right to return early, Ambrosius,” the King said darkly, peering at the both of them. “At least the magic source is undamaged. Without its constant fount of magic, we would be helpless against the Saxons. What has become of Tupper, though? I barely recognize him.”

Merlin examined the swinging mass above them, and nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to look at Tupper as well. “The servant spell must have taken effect, my King. He and all his progeny will look like that, forevermore. Still, I suppose we should have a name for his kin. The Saxons have a name for vicious, traitorous imps like him. I think the name ‘elf’ suits his stature, do you not?”

“As you see fit,” Arthur said, sadly. “And what of you, Lord Brinks? I thought we had developed a kinship, even a friendship, but all you did with that was betray me!” He shook his head. “What have you to say for yourselves?” He nodded over at Merlin, and Tupper felt the pressure on his jaw disappear.

“My King,” Brinks said, his voice remarkably calm considering the circumstances. “This pendulum is the source of a great many ills in my home, and in Tupper’s. Entire races of people, altered like he is, and turned into something other than they were! You are a true and just King, as you said. Can you allow this to happen, in good conscience?”

“How could you say such things?” Arthur asked, his tone if anything, even more hurt. “There will always be servants and lords, as there have always been, and as God intends! This pendulum merely ensures that those servants have the appearance, the powers, and the motivation they need to be effective at it.”

“Motivation?” Tupper bit out. “Do you know how it works, King Arthur? Do you know what we suffer if we’re not serving as ‘God intends’?? You call yourself a righteous King, and maybe you even believe it, but you don’t want to know the truth, do you? You’re content just letting the Archmage do as he pleases, so long as the power is yours when you need it!”

“Tupper,” Brinks called out warningly. He cleared his throat. “My King, this pendulum does much more than just create servants. It can merge people with their horses, making an entirely new race!”

“Indeed,” Arthur said, walking around their frozen forms. “That was my idea. Our scouts are much more effective now that they have become one with their mounts, and their aim with a bow is unhindered. They can react much faster to a Saxon attack now, and, as they’re much more comfortable in the wild these days, no longer need lodgings within the keep.”

Tupper exchanged an incredulous glance with Brinks. Arthur had done this intentionally? As a cost-cutting measure as well??

“We will need bankers and money-changers in this new world our King is building,” Merlin went on smoothly, pointing up at the bag-of-gold symbol. “Such creatures will be quite useful, as long as they care only for metalworking and gold storing. We’ll also need frightful creatures in the wild, to scare the population into our King’s waiting arms.”

“Well, you’ll certainly get them,” Tupper bit out angrily. “Batlike creatures called vampires, who feed on people’s blood. Men who turn into wolves at the full moon, and lose all control of themselves. They’ll tear through the countryside, killing and eating anyone they come across. But what you don’t know, is that they spread that curse with every survivor! Those bitten by a werewolf will become werewolves themselves.”

“Of course I knew,” Merlin said confidently, grabbing Tupper’s jaw, and then running his hand across his scalp and ears. Tupper tried to jerk his head back, but the spell held him in place. “Why do you think I chose the sick as the first to be transformed? With an army of such creatures threatening them, my King will be the only source of comfort and safety the people will have.”

“I must admit I was skeptical when Ambrosius suggested that alteration,” Arthur put in. “But it has worked out well so far. His early spells have transformed people beautifully, and we have the magic necessary to kill them with ease. They will terrorize the Saxon raiders, but be powerless against any cities under my protection. Besides, if skinned during the full moon, they make a wonderful trophy.”

For a horrible moment, Tupper thought of what he was suggesting. The skinning of a human being, just because they didn’t look human at the moment they died?? He shook his head and tried to focus. “What about those executioners you had killed, and then dumped their bodies in the swamp? They won’t stay dead, you know. That scythe symbol up there? That means them. They’ll become horrible creatures who drain life and happiness from everyone around them. And that kissing ritual they did? They keep doing that, to drain the souls from their victims!”

Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “Ambrosius has already divined a way to hold them at bay. He believes that someday they will be useful servants. Perhaps as a means of keeping prisoners.”

“How do you know so much about my life’s work anyway?” Merlin asked softly, still examining Tupper like he was some kind of prized horse. “Only my King and I know of it, and we’ve told no one.” He leaned forward, catching Tupper’s eye, and Tupper could feel his will being shaped by Legilimency. Now that he was back in his old body, he couldn’t rely on confusion and chaos to protect him anymore!

Merlin stepped back, his eyes widening. “Dominus Deus!” He whispered, and Arthur stepped over. “My King, he has memories… of things. Of places I have never dreamed of! The creatures we are creating now, but in full form, and in great numbers. How can this be? What are you?” He asked, amazed.

Tupper couldn’t wait anymore. Any longer and Merlin would discover everything, absolutely wrecking the course of history. He glanced over at Brinks, and then shifted his gaze down at the wand on the floor. Brinks blinked once, but then nodded as best he could, and Tupper gave him a wink.

“You have great power, Myrddin Embrys Ambrosius, but there are a few things you haven’t discovered yet,” he said softly, no longer afraid of anything, really. “Like this!” He Apparated right out of Merlin’s grip, up above the pendulum. “Up here, Archmage!” He added tauntingly.

They both gaped up at him, and Merlin shouted, “no,” just as Tupper slammed his hand onto the metal surface of the pendulum. Instantly, shockwaves of power burst out from it as Merlin’s trap went off. The pain was indescribable, but exultant at the same time! Dimly, Tupper was aware of a magic barrier Merlin had put up over himself and Arthur. Brinks fell to the floor, and grabbed for his wand. Then, the world went white.

88

Imposed (Harry Potter) / Epilogue

« Last post by Daen on November 21, 2022, 12:48:19 AM »

It was a cold morning, on the English moor. There was a faint pop of displaced air as Brinks zipped into place, within sight of a wizarding residence. He’d done his research, and this was the right place.

He felt like an old man. A fifteen-hundred-year-old man to be more accurate. The burns from the trap hadn’t fully healed yet, since he couldn’t exactly go to a wizarding hospital. Trying not to be too conspicuous, he limped his way down the hill towards the house. Two children were tossing a ball back and forth in the front yard. One was obviously magical, as the ball kept on disappearing just before it hit her, only to reappear right behind her. They stared at him, probably more for his limp than for anything else, as he made his way up to the door. It wasn’t an old house from the looks of it, but like most wizard homes, it was probably bigger on the inside than out here. He knocked on the door.

A middle-aged woman answered the door, carrying a toddler in her arms. “Yes?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Mrs. Bregman?” He asked, wishing he had a British accent for once. The people in London hadn’t minded much, but out here in the country, it was probably more unusual.

“That’s me,” she said easily.

“I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but I couldn’t trust this to the mail, and of course you don’t have a phone. May I have a word with you? I’m Alex Brinks, by the way, from across the pond.” He extended a hand.

Bregman’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back for just a moment. Then she blinked a few times, and shook his hand with her free arm. “Girls? Could you look after your brother for a while? I need to speak with… Mr. Brinks here.”

Not sure what her confusion had been about, Brinks stepped aside as the two kids from outside collected the toddler and took him out onto the grass with them. Bregman then extended a hand inside her house. “Do come in, Mr. Brinks. I am curious about what has brought you here.”

“It’s… a long story,” he said slowly, “about a mutual friend of ours. Do you remember Tupper?”

“Of course. I haven’t seen him since I was a girl of course, but I always remember him fondly.” She paused. “Has something happened to him?”

Brinks nodded, feeling even worse than his burns usually allowed.

Mrs. Bregman gave him a long, considering look. “Have a seat, then. I’ll put some tea on, and you can tell me all about it.”

Brinks had learned how to be detailed from Tupper, and he used all of those skills during his description. The whole story took more than an hour, and by then Mr. Bregman had returned. He arranged dinner for the kids, while his wife and Brinks continued their private chat. He didn’t seem at all concerned at this, which suggested that Mrs. Bregman could keep a secret.

Brinks covered almost all of it, from the heist in the Ministry, to ending up in Camelot, to Tupper’s last heroic act, to Brinks coming here. The only thing he left out was the specifics about Dumbledore’s mark being on the pendulum. She’d been a student of his, and Brinks needed her to stay impartial. By the time he leaned back, with the tea long since finished, she let out an enraptured breath. “Well, that is quite a story, Mr. Brinks.”

“One without a shred of proof,” he admitted grimly. “Any artifacts I could have brought back with me would have aged just like anything else in that cave.”

She shrugged. “What I don’t understand is what took you so long. It’s been twenty years since the Battle of Hogwarts! If you went into the past just after it had happened, where have you been?”

Brinks grimaced. “I didn’t get the potion measurements right, so I kinda skipped the last few decades. I had to find where you ended up moving to, and what your married name is, and I had to do it quietly, given what Tupper and I discovered back then.”

He sighed. “I went to the mountains after I got back, outside Winchester. There's no sign of Camelot anywhere, and there are no rooms like the one we found. They moved the pendulum at some point, and destroyed all evidence it had been there.”

“Who, though?” Bregman asked him.

“That's the big question,” he admitted. “It could be any of hundreds of important people throughout history. I had a chance to think more about the pendulum, based on what Tupper told me. Arthur and Merlin talked about it like it was some kind of fountain, or generator, that produced magic. But magic can't just be created. I think the pendulum is more like a funnel: it concentrates magic. It takes it from a large number of people, and pours it into a few.”

Her eyes widened upon hearing that. “If that’s true, then it didn't just create magical creatures—”

"But Nomajs as well," Brinks nodded. "Uh, Muggles I mean. It saps magic from them, and gives it to magicians like you and me. Elves, goblins and other races too, but only so that they can do what Merlin wanted them to."

Bregman leaned back, apparently disturbed. “I take it you came to me because of my father’s line of work?”

“That, and the fact that Tupper was your friend too. I think it’s what he would want me to do. You’re the only human he ever liked; you know. Well, one of the only ones,” he added. It was still weird for Tupper to have died not hating him.

“Well, you were right to come to me. Going to the Ministry would be a waste of time, and could get you into serious trouble. Minister Granger is a competent administrator, but she wouldn't act on this without proof. Nor would the Head Auror. I knew both of them at school, but I haven’t spoken to either in a long time. I can help you get the word out, though. I take it that’s what you were going to ask?”

Brinks let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yes! But does this mean you believe me? You’re going to help me, even without any proof?”

She smiled softly. “Of course I am. Tupper asked me to, and I trust his judgement.”

Brinks gaped at her, but she apparently didn’t have time for his astonishment. Taking his hand, she led him out the front door. “There’s something you need to see, Mr. Brinks.”

She pulled out a wand and waved it, and the ground in front of them split open. From the seam, a storeroom sprang up, and the ground sealed up underneath it. She waved the wand again to unlock the door, and then put the wand away. “Try not to touch anything,” she instructed as she opened it and went inside.

He saw stacks of boxes, filled with parchment rolls and paper, as far as the impressively large inside of this place went. They were all on shelves, labeled by year, and from what he could see, they’d been piling up for longer than she’d been alive! This must have been her father’s archive. It made sense that he’d have a room like this, and she would have brought it along when she got married and moved here.

“Ah, here it is," she said from a few feet ahead, pulling out a dusty box and wiping her hand across it. “When I was a girl, my father took me on a dig on the other side of the country. We found some tablets there, and he let me keep them. It wasn’t exactly legal, as they are Muggle property, but he never really cared about that. What I found out later, is that they were cut and carved by Cornish Aeolas!”

The name tickled a memory in the back of Brinks’ mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “They’re spirits, you know,” Bregman went on serenely. “They flit in and out of our dimension, leaving traces for people to follow. Their language is very beautiful, but hard to read. When I learned how, I read this.” She handed one of the tablets to him.

Brinks felt his eyes go wide. The shape and color were different, but this was the same kind of stone! Tupper had stolen these from London, or Londinium back in the past! He must have buried them at the dig for his friend to find! “Uh, can you translate for me? I don’t know how to read it.”

She traced her finger, from the right to the left. “It reads, ‘Luna, help Brinks. Tupper.’ That’s all there is.”

He’d known. He’d known all along that he might fail, and left this as a backup. He was trusting his legacy to Brinks, despite what all of Brinks’ people had done to house-elves, to all magical creatures, for centuries. Feeling his legs crumple a little, Brinks caught himself against one of the shelves, and Bregman snagged the tablet before it could be endangered. She pulled a sturdy box out from under one of the shelves, and he sat heavily on it.

He looked up at Luna, who just had a contented smile on her face. Brinks didn’t know if the Cornish Aeola was a real thing or not, or if she was just reading his mind and interpreting it as a message from her friend. It didn’t really matter either way.

“Thank you, Luna.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. Not until this is over, anyway. I’ll need to interview you in depth, and record the whole conversation. Once I send the word out over the Quibbler, you’ll have to disappear entirely. There’s no reason to think Minister Granger doesn’t already know about the pendulum, and what it does. If so, she’ll want you silenced. It’s ironic,” she added sadly. “As a girl, she wanted to fight for elf rights.”

“Time changes people,” he said in the same tone. “Not always for the worse, though. Tupper trusted me with this task, and that’s something he never would have done when we first met. But I’m not going into hiding when you publish this. I’m going to find the pendulum, and take it apart. There’s no guarantee the wizarding world will do the right thing, so I’m not going to give them the choice.”

Luna smiled, and put a hand to his cheek briefly. “You’re very brave. How will you find it, though?”

“Tupper told me how,” he said simply. "You should know though, when I take it apart, or stop it from swinging at least, everything will change. Everyday people will start to have magic again, for the first time since Merlin stole it from them. Our powers will be weaker, too. I just want you to be prepared for that."

"I know," she said simply. "Some people rely on spells and charms to live their ordinary lives. I’ll put a warning in the article, so that they’ll know to be ready. But there are billions of Muggles out there, and this could help all of them! It's worth it."

The interview was difficult, but Brinks was glad when it was done. He'd crossed the line, and the moment that article was published, everyone would know it. Luna invited him to dinner before he started on this task, and he got the chance to know her husband and children. They were wonderful people, just like her, from what he could tell. Exactly the kind of people Tupper would have liked.

89

New Releases / New section added (Starters), 11/17/22

« Last post by Daen on November 17, 2022, 05:07:34 AM »

I've added Starters, a new section for would-be books and short stories. Hope to see you there.

90

The Hate Network / The Hate Network

« Last post by Daen on November 17, 2022, 02:22:52 AM »

"Welcome back to the Hate Network. I'm Mal Content, host of Us Vs Them, and I'm glad to be joined by my very skilled colleagues for this special group podcast: Bishop Odium from A New Aversion, Anita Break from No Masks Allowed, and HeisenBurger, from Need to Feed. If you're just joining us, you can catch up on what you've missed by downloading our podcast on TheHateNetwork.com, or by rewinding on our streaming service."

Max spoke the words with practiced ease, as his teammates nodded at him from across the internet. He had no idea where all of them actually were in real life, and he didn't care. As long as their connections stayed stable, and their equipment kept them broadcasting clearly, then today should be just another day at work.

"Just before the break, we were getting started on the recent school shooting at Stony Bridge High, in Tall Pines, VA. If you hadn't heard, the as-yet unidentified gunman entered the school around ten am local time, and shot up the place before turning the gun on himself. Twelve students were killed and another forty were injured. A teacher was also killed; apparently as his first victim. This marks the twentieth American high school shooting in the last year, and the most deadly one in the state so far. I know I have my comments to make, but does anyone want to jump in here?"

Anita leaned forward to her mic. "I do, Mal. It's clear to everyone by now that if just anyone can walk into a school and turn it into a shooting range, we've got a serious problem in this country. From what I've heard, Stony Bridge has armed security in place at the school entrances! The kids are put through metal detectors at the doors, and their backpacks are required to be see-through. Obviously, the Virginia Department of Education's security measures haven't been working. There's only one solution: arm the teachers! Hell, arm the students themselves if that will help!" She sighed angrily. "Imagine if you're some nutjob and you walk into a classroom intending to shoot the place up, and then a hailstorm of bullets from every kid in the room blasts away at the door? You'd back off in a hurry, I'm sure."

Bishop chuckled from his position on the top right of the screen. "There would have to be some safety precautions of course, but it would make an effective deterrent. It wouldn't even be that hard to implement on a state-wide level. Just add marksmanship training to all teachers, and to select students, to make sure that they're all safe. The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun, after all."

"Yeah, but how would you control the students if they're all armed?" HeisenBurger added, moving slightly in front of his food-themed background. "What, are we supposed to put guns in lunchboxes, or put a vending machine with different kinds of bullets in it, in one of the halls?"

"No, no," Bishop clarified. "The guns would be on the school grounds at all times. I was thinking the teacher could have a remote control that could unlock the holsters and allow the students to pull the guns out and aim them. A simple modification to every desk would do it. Young kids may not be a particularly good shot, but there's something to be said for mass-fire tactics. This is America: if we shoot something enough, it's guaranteed to die."

Max chuckled, but had to speak up at this point as well. "Just to be clear for our audience. We are not officially endorsed by any organization, despite our stances and opinions. I have to say that for legal reasons, but everyone listening probably knows that a certain association, on the national level, that deals with rifles, is one of the groups that keeps us all platformed here. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank them. Unofficially."

"Hear, hear," Bishop followed up, and the others made noises of agreement as well.

Max looked at his watch, and then nodded to his camera. "It's about that time. We're about to open up our lines to callers, or streamers, to ask questions. Remember, you can ask anything, but we don't have to answer everything. According to this, our first caller is Jim, from Sacramento. Hey, Jim."

"Uh, hi. Can you hear me?"

"I can. How're you doing this fine day?"

The voice on the other end was a little gravelly, but it still came through just fine. "I'm ok, I guess. I got a little problem here, and I was hoping you could help me work through it."

Max smiled. He wasn't really gratified, but he'd found his expression did make its way into his voice, and the audience could often tell. He'd developed the habit early on, when he'd just been audio. Now that he was on camera, it was a good habit to keep. "That's why we're here. Tell us what's on your mind."

"Well, it's my son. We've always been close, right from the beginning. I used to take him fishing, or we'd go for long walks up in the mountains. Sometimes for days at a time. He would collect leaves and bugs for his collection, and he always made sure they were perfectly preserved. After that first time, anyway."

Max tapped his finger impatiently off-camera. "And?" He prompted.

"And he went off to college last year. His mom died when he was four, so it's just been the two of us for a long time. When he got back for the break, things seemed normal. Until yesterday morning... when he told me he was gay."

Ah, so that's where he was going with all this. "And this bothers you?"

"No! Well, not really. I don't have a problem with Anderson Cooper, or Ellen DeGeneres, or any of those others on the TV. I just didn't expect my son to be one of them! I- I didn't know what to say to him. I just walked out. Haven't seen him since yesterday."

Max cast a meaningful glance at the rest of his colleagues. "Do you want me to take this?"

Bishop nodded at him, along with the others. "All yours, Mal."

"Well, Jim. The first thing I need to make clear is that you don't need to justify anything to us. You don't need to explain your reactions, or defend them. You don't need to wear a mask, as Anita could certainly tell you. You can be yourself here. Understood?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Good. We're not like all those other talking heads on more mainstream podcasts. We won't tell you only what you want to hear. We're here to help you acknowledge the truth to yourself. That way you can make the right decision, both for you and for your son. Now: you walked out on him when he told you. Are you absolutely sure this wasn't some kind of joke or prank on his part?"

"One hundred percent," Jim responded fervently. "He even talked about... meeting someone at college. This was no joke."

"I see."

"I just always had this plan in mind for him, you know?" Jim went on, somewhat oblivious, but Max let him do so. It was better that he say it out loud for himself and for the audience. "I figured he'd meet some nice girl, and eventually get married. He'd get a good job, hopefully somewhere nearby, and settle down to start a family. He'd have kids who had a better life than he did. Grandkids I could be proud of."

"But that'll never happen now, will it?"

"Maybe. I mean he could just be confused. I've heard of that happening in college, sometimes. There are treatments for this sort of thing, aren't there? I read about that this morning."

Max shook his head firmly. "Conversion therapy simply doesn't work, Jim. I'm sorry. Whether we just don't have the right methods yet, or there are none that could work, I don't know. It's been proven again and again, though. Gay people hate us for even trying to help them, so it's not worth exploring. You'll have to deal with him on these terms."

"I don't know how! I love my son, or I'm supposed to, anyway. But this, I can't deal with it."

"You hate the fact that he's gay."

There was a long silence over the air, and Max let it hang for a few seconds beyond normal. "You don't have to censor yourself here, Jim. Remember, you're free to be open and honest about how you feel. Our audience understands that, or they wouldn't be here listening to us. No judgement. You hate the fact that your son is gay. Don't you?"

"Yes... I do. I hate it. My son is supposed to be like me. He's supposed to be a better version of me, not a worse one! Everything I gave him- everything I sacrificed for him, and this is how he repays me? It's not right!"

Max knew that tone of voice very well. Right now Jim, or whoever he really was, was shedding the cultural civility he'd put on like a cloak every day. He was admitting to himself how he really felt, and not choking down the wrongness of it in his mind, as so many had been forced to do. "I heard a new word a long time ago, Jim. Embracist. It doesn't exactly fit your situation, but it is comparable. You have to accept your hatred so that you can know what to do next. Lying to yourself only makes it worse for you in the long run. Embrace how you feel instead of shoving it down deep so that people won't judge you. No one here will judge you."

He gave a meaningful look at Anita- not an easy task over a group chat- and she took his cue smoothly. "We all hate what we don't understand, Jim. It's written into our DNA. Whatever is different from us is the 'other', and our ancestors learned the hard way that what's different could kill them! There's a reason they treated the 'other' badly, and it was to protect themselves. You and your son are different in this way- different in a way that can't be reconciled. It's only natural that you hate him for it. Hatred is normal for everyone. After all, we'll never feel love if we can't also feel hate, right?"

Inwardly, Max marveled at her rationalizations. Anita had been at the Hate Network longer than him, and had developed an impressive skill at talking people into admitting their biases and bigotries openly. Part of it was the welcoming atmosphere, and the anonymity, but another part of it was her. And the fact that she was a woman, which helped more than she probably liked to admit.

"But what do I do about it? I mean why would he even tell me? He knows how I feel- I taught him how to deal with those people years ago!"

Max nodded his thanks over to Anita, and took over again. "Sadly, I've heard this sort of story before, Jim. In my experience, gay people usually come out to their families for the same reason you walked out on him. They hate us. He hates you, just as you hate him, for being different. It's in his DNA just like it's in yours. Most likely, he told you because he can't stand being around you anymore. He wants out of your life, but he was too much of a coward to just say so."

"I... I can't believe it! We were so close when he was growing up!"

"What other explanation is there? Why else would he hurt you like this, if not to push you away? He wants to be with another man, and he knows you're too different to ever accept that, so he hurt you."

"You know what you have to do," HeisenBurger put in. "He struck first, like the coward that he is, but you can't let this stand. You have to put him in his place, or you'll never be able to respect yourself or your values ever again!"

"We would all do the same," Bishop lied, adding his own two cents. "We all recognize that sometimes, a man has to make the hard choice. The moral choice. If he wants to get away so badly, just let him. You deserve to be rid of him if he hates you that much."

Max wasn't sure Bishop was lying, actually. None of the hosts were supposed to know each others' real names, or any details about their real lives. Max had no idea if Bishop was opposed to gay people, or even if he was one. But inclusiveness and tolerance didn't sell well in this market, so he had to repeat the company line. Jim still might go either way, but the chances he would fall in with this crowd- the Hate Network's audience- had gotten a lot better in the last few minutes. Then he'd be a more viable customer than a proud father would be.

"But... I'm supposed to love my son. No matter what. That's what it says in the Bible, right? 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son,' and all that?"

Max chuckled. "I think this one is yours to answer, Bishop."

"No kidding," he responded wryly, and adjusted his mic for a moment. "Jim, it's important to remember that the Bible we know today is nothing like the original works written down thousands of years ago. It's been translated, and retranslated, and reimagined, and rewritten so many times that it's almost impossible to know what the original words were! The oldest references we have are the Leningrad Codex and the Dead Sea Scrolls, and they were written hundreds of years after the death of Christ! They cover the Hebrew Bible only, which we know as the Old Testament now. So, logically, the further back in the Bible's story we go, the closer we get to the original truth of the words."

Max leaned back, enjoying the verbal tapestry Bishop was weaving. A New Aversion was a religious podcast, so he definitely knew what he was talking about.

"I take it you're a man of faith?" He asked gently, probably not to seem too pushy with his information.

"Of course. Church every Sunday; special services on Christmas and Easter. I almost went into the seminary myself."

"Then you know what I mean about the Bible's translations. Most people think of the New Testament God as a benevolent figure. A loving father, protecting his children, and a beloved son, sacrificing his life for them. Touching, right? But when we look back, to the more accurate versions of the Bible, we see a different story. We see a wrathful God. A hateful God. He made the angels, and then when one showed even the slightest independent streak, sent him to the literal Hell. He flooded the whole world, saving only a handful of people in the process. He blasted two cities off the face of the Earth, and killed a woman for even daring to look while it happened. He forced his favorite child, Abraham, to sacrifice his son Isaac, and then stopped him at the last moment because it was just a sadistic test of his faith. He protected Abraham and his children for a while, but then allowed them to be enslaved in Egypt! He arranged for them to escape, and then ordered them to slaughter the inhabitants of the Holy Land so that they could take the land for themselves! Does any of that sound like a loving God to you?"

"He did what he had to, right? He had to make way for the chosen few. The worthy ones."

"Yes, the ones he didn't hate. The truth is, God is just like us. He loves some people and hates others. The evidence is all over the Bible, even in the heavily-rewritten New Testament. Why do you think he ordered Jesus to get up on that cross? Modern so-called scholars would have you believe it was to save all of us, but does this world look saved to you? Are we any nicer or kinder to each other now than we were back in those days? As a people, have we gotten better or worse, since Gethsemane?"

Bishop shook his head slowly. "No, I believe God hated Jesus. Maybe he was jealous because Jesus had so many devoted followers, or maybe he couldn't stand all the self-righteous yammering about love and brotherhood. Either way, we are made in God's image. We have the same hatred within us, and it's valuable. It gives us strength and purpose sometimes, when we need it most."

The back-and-forth went on for a few more minutes, but Max didn't pay much attention. Whether Jim was swayed one way or the other didn't really matter in the long run. What mattered was the audience.

Culled from the audiences of more 'restrained' Youtubers and conservative talk show hosts, these were the most open of all that crowd. Some groups like white supremacist or white nationalist organizations had a massive following, but this audience was more general in nature. They weren't devoted to one cause or another so much as they were devoted to the very nature of that anger. Like Anita's show name suggested, none of these people were wearing any masks or tinted glasses anymore. They were at ease with their hatred, and Max knew from experience just how free it could make them.

-.-

Their next caller was using a voice scrambler. They were using a round-robin method of answering, so it was Bishop who got him. He gave a surprised look to the others when he heard the caller greet them.

"This is good to hear," he said appreciatively. "What you're all hearing is the Hate Network Voice Disguiser, available in our store as we speak. It's been thoroughly tested, and it'll keep both your own voice and background noise from being recognizable, by even the most rigorous reconstruction software. Thank you for showcasing it for us, Jim."

It was a different Jim from before. All callers knew the rules, including the part about anonymity. All male voices were Jim, and all female ones were Jane. This one gave a slight noise, possibly a clearing of the throat. "Not a problem, Bishop."

"I take it you want to talk to one of us in a private channel? And you've looked up which of us specializes in what?"

"Yes. I'm here to talk to Mal."

"I'm here for you, Jim," Max spoke up immediately. "Everyone else, I'll be back shortly. Try not to wither and despair too much in my absence."

Over the rustle of amusement, Max pulled up the enhanced encryption protocol on his computer. He isolated Jim's feed, and transferred it into the new secure line, cutting himself off from the rest of the group chat. Now it was just him and his voice-scrambled friend. "Looks like we're all clear. What can I do for you?"

"I want to kill a politician."

Max smiled. "Don't we all. I take it you have someone specific in mind? Don't tell me who if so."

"Yes, and I wasn't going to. I know the rules."

"Good. Now, do you want to get away with it, or do you want to get caught, to send a message?"

The other man paused. "Send a message?"

"Yeah. Like the people in Tibet who light themselves on fire in protest to China. They're not just trying to stop oppression. They also want to make a statement in the process."

"Oh. No, I want to get away with it. I've got a life to get back to."

"Understandable. It'll cut down on success chances, but it's a lot safer. Do you want the target to just die, or to suffer first?"

"Uh, whichever is more likely to work."

"Quick death it is. Does the target have any kind of security detail you need to work around? Usually the more popular politicians have enough money to hire private security."

"I don't think so. I've never seen any at the rallies."

"That doesn't mean there isn't any. Obviously I can't check for you, not without finding out who it is, but there are ways around that. I take it your target has a campaign office, and staff?"

"Yeah, in town. I've never been there."

"You'll have to change that. All political campaigns have similar traits. They're paid for by the politician's donors, but the campaign organizer chooses the staff. Usually they're cheap as hell, hiring barely-paid interns to work alongside the volunteers. I can talk you through identifying one of them. They're usually treated like dirt too, so that'll make it easier to bribe them. I usually pretend to be working for a local news station, and offer them a little incentive to help me 'photograph' their candidate behind the scenes. Anything that gets press on the candidate makes it more likely that they'll be willing to help you."

"Why? What does some intern have to do with my guy?"

Max raised his eyebrows, thankful that he was no longer on any visual feed. "They'll have access to your guy's campaign schedule and events. If you want to get away with it, your best bet is either a bomb, put in place ahead of time, or a long-range sniper rifle. For both options, you'll need to know where he'll be. That way you can work around local surveillance, and have a better chance of being unnoticed. The bomb will have to be homemade so it'll be cheaper, but more risky. The rifle is harder to use, unless you have some experience firing one, but more likely to succeed."

"I'll go with the rifle. I've been shooting since I was five."

"Fair enough. You have a voice scrambler, so I assume you know about our 3d printer offers?"

"Yeah. I got one last month. Along with the, uh, resin, it uses to print stuff."

"That's good. We have a variety of sniper models available, of various ranges. A custom-built rifle could take the shot at over a mile, but something printed has a max range of about half that. Just to be safe, I'd take the shot from no further than 1200 or 1300 feet. Ammunition will be a bit trickier, but we can arrange to have it delivered to a general location and paid for using various cryptocurrencies."

"Why should I pay you for the 3d printed gun model when I can just download one myself from the dark web?"

Max gave his mic a strained look. "Because you don't know where those come from. The FBI tracks 3d gun prints on the internet. Chances are if you download one, they'll catch your IP address and be at your door in a few hours. Plus it probably won't even work. It's in their interest to tamper with the 3d model, to make sure that people like you don't get a chance to do your fine work."

There was another pause through the line. "Good point. Lemme look at your catalog for a bit. If I see something I like, I'll place an order."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll put you on mute, so send me a text when you're ready, or if you have any questions, all right?"

The Jim made a noncommittal noise in response, and Max just shrugged. Leaving his new friend in the secured channel, Max connected to the group chat again. HeisenBurger was talking with a Jane, so he was careful not to interrupt.

Apparently this woman was a college student, living off-campus, and was having trouble with a noisy neighbor. She'd asked him to stop playing his music repeatedly, so that she could study or sleep, and he'd refused. They lived in adjoining apartments, and he was asking about the state of the roof.

"The last time you were up on the roof, did you see a vertical pipe?" Burger inquired patiently.

"I've never actually been on top there- that's the super's job. But yeah, I've seen a white pipe on the roof from the ground outside."

"Good. That's the mast connecting your building to the city power grid. The next time he's playing his music too loud for you to concentrate or sleep, you just have to knock that pipe off the roof. A small sledgehammer should do it just fine. We've got lots of options on THN's online store. It should take between four and six hours to fix, and can be done relatively quietly, if you're asleep."

"Won't they trace it to me?"

"From what you've said, there's no internal camera system in your building. Even if they do put one on the roof, we have ski masks as well. You should be fine, for the first 2 or 3 times. After that, if your neighbor still hasn't gotten the message, or moved out on his own, we have more aggressive options we can recommend."

"I'm sure you do," Jane said wryly, and a round of smiles passed across the assembled Hate Network hosts.

Burger went on. "Now if you need to study without power, that can be a bit trickier. We have coolers and ice trays that can keep any refrigerated food cold, but we also have power packs to keep laptops and desktops running. Is your internet local, or provided by your landlord?"

"It's my own. I installed it just after moving in."

"Then you'll need an internet hotspot or a phone that can use the internet. We have options for both, if you need it. We've got you covered, Jane."

Max heard a sigh from the other end. "It's good to know. I wish this wasn't necessary, but he's giving me no choice."

"Remember, you don't need to explain yourself to us. We all understand what you're going through, and we're here to help you get what you need. I hope your studies go well, Jane."

"Thanks, HeisenBurger."

After she disconnected, Burger looked back to the other hosts. "Another satisfied customer. Who do we have next?"

Bishop looked down at his screen. "We've got another Jane, calling from Minnesota this time. Hello, Jane. What can we do for you?"

"I've got a situation for Mal Content, actually," the voice came in. Like his own customer, her voice was heavily scrambled. Two disguised callers in one night: this was becoming increasingly common.

"Mal, are you available?" Bishop inquired.

Max checked his own customer's activity. He'd selected a 3d printed rifle model, and paid for it. The download was almost instantaneous, but Max forwarded him contact information for their 3d print weapons department, in case he needed to learn how to use it. He'd been shooting since childhood, but Max remembered that he'd fumbled over the word 'resin'. His client was clearly inexperienced with 3d printers. "I am now. What's your situation, Jane?"

The distorted voice came back strong. "I think my boyfriend is cheating on me. He's been late coming home three times just this week, and always has these vague excuses every time. I don't know what to do about it. Should I follow him after work, or ask his friends if they know anything? They're always hanging out together at night."

"Unless you have experience tailing people, it wouldn't be a good idea to investigate him, Jane," Max advised her. "Even if you can stay hidden, there's no guarantee he wouldn't see you. The same is true for asking his friends- they could tip him off that you're suspicious. The best way to handle the situation is to rely on your instincts."

"He's right," Bishop cut in briefly. "Everyone has a danger sense of sorts, built right into our genes. It's a self-defense mechanism we've developed over our lives, so that we aren't surprised by our enemies. We can ignore it, but it's best to just trust it."

Max wisely held his tongue during those words. Bishop may have overstepped by speaking out of turn, but it was best to let it slide and speak to him later in private. The audience didn't need to hear them bickering. "We all have senses and intuitions and instincts that are always churning right underneath our thoughts, Jane," he went on. "They warn us and protect us from being hurt, and they often work even when we're not aware of them. You suspect him because you're picking up guilt from him. He's wronged you, and you both know it on a subconscious level. That's why you first started suspecting him. As for what to do about it, that all depends on how much you hate him."

There was a pause from the other end. "But I don't hate him. I don't think I do, anyway."

"Of course you do; it's just a matter of degrees. If you didn't hate him enough to do something about it, you would have just brushed off his lateness and his excuses, and never even bothered to call us. Obviously, there's more to your suspicions.  As we said earlier, everyone hates what's different. Are there any obvious differences between you and your boyfriend? Big things that have maybe come between you before?"

"Well he's a black guy, so interracial stuff is always coming up. He's real close with his family, and they don't like me at all."

That was the crack in the armor, and Max could use it. "Was his race a part of what drew you to him in the first place?"

"A little, I guess."

"That's the thing about differences, especially in race. Exotic can be exciting, which is good in bed, but it's bad over the long haul. Sure, we like to taste the forbidden fruit, but digesting it can be a chore. Sometimes it's even poisonous to us. You tried to overcome your natural hatred of him initially, but now that you've been together for a while, you can see that it's not going to work. So can he: that's probably why he's been sleeping around on you."

"It's the same situation as that man and his son from before, Jane," Anita put in slowly, after waiting for Max to continue for a bit. "If the differences between two people are great enough, eventually they'll turn on each other. Your guy just struck first, is all."

"But what's wrong with me, if he had to go... somewhere else for that? Am I not good enough for him?"

Max tried to keep from rolling his eyes. "This isn't about what's wrong or right with you, remember. This isn't even your fault. This is about the divide between the two of you. Both of you could straddle it for a while, but he can't do it anymore. So he hurt you. He made a joke out of you. The white woman he slept with, and then cheated on with someone more suitable. The only question is what do you want to do about it? We get calls like this all the time, unfortunately."

That was true enough. In fact this call was sounding more than a little familiar. They got dozens of calls from wronged spouses, boyfriends and girlfriends, but there was a definite ring to this one.

"Most of our calls like this one deal with some kind of revenge. Sometimes its just a simple, eye-catching way to break up with the cheater, but other times it's more elaborate. You said he was close with his family. Do you think they know about his affair?"

"I doubt it," she said slowly. "They're all about Christian values. Even if they don't like me, they'd still tell me if they found out."

"Good. We can use that. You don't need to investigate him or find proof then. All you have to do is wait until the next family gathering you're at. Then you strike, and no one will blame you, because you'll be the victim in their eyes. Even his family will think so."

"What do you mean?"

On his laptop screen, Max scrolled down some of the talent they'd been able to acquire at the Hate Network. "We have a number of paid actors who are willing to drive a significant distance to help our clients. We have one woman- who's asked to be called Patrice- who is only a few hours away from Minnesota. If you tell her when and where to go, she can show up at your cheater's family gathering, baby in hand, and berate him in front of everyone for leaving her and their baby to fend for themselves."

Patrice really was one of a kind. How she could get a biracial baby like that to show off in such a way was still a mystery to him. He guessed that she had contacts in hospitals all around the world. That way if she knew when and where to go ahead of time, she could make a deal with some financially-destitute mother: let me borrow your several-day-old baby for a few hours for an acting role, and get a few hundred bucks for your trouble. Of course, from what Max had heard about Patrice, it was probably a little more complicated than that. She was a professional, after all.

"Whoa," Jane said faintly. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"What are the alternatives? The two of you are just too different; you'll end up breaking up anyway. Would you rather separate as the cheated-on girlfriend who got passed up for someone else? His friends will mock you, and congratulate him for trading up. Or would you rather see him suffer in front of people who matter to him instead? The first way you're just a victim. With our option you'll be vindicated, and given an ironclad reason to leave him."

There was a long pause, during which their prospective client was apparently making up her mind. Sometimes their callers chickened out and went for reconciliation, but most of the time they followed the Hate Network's advice and got revenge. Max was betting on the latter for this caller.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say," Jane said, her voice changing slightly. She shut off the scrambler, and her natural tone came through clearly. "See, we've had this conversation before. I gave you these exact details three weeks ago, just in a different state, and you gave me the exact same advice."

Max gave a surprised look to the other hosts, but Jane went on before he could say anything. "The thing was, he was never cheating on me at all! He was arranging a private getaway for our anniversary! All those nights he was gone, he was out fixing up his uncle's boat so that we could use it to sail up north. I did what you told me to, and I freakin' paid one of your actors to show up. She put on a scene just like you planned, baby and everything, and the truth came out. Now he's not even speaking to me! He moved out entirely, and it's all your fault! Don't you have any shame at all? Any of you?"

Max laughed easily into his mic, and he could see the amusement in his colleagues. "There's no shame to be had, caller. You suspected him, and you called us. You knew deep down that you hated him, and your subconscious mind just told you that he was cheating on you. It was you who chose to use our services, and you who bear sole responsibility for it. If you hate us for that, fine, but at least be honest with yourself about it. And if you find out that you hate yourself because of it? At least you know what to do about that as well."

He disconnected her line casually, and turned back to his camera. "As most of you know, we get one or two of those every few months. They're just people who are unwilling to admit their own feelings. Unwilling to recognize their own hatred. They blame us for their actions, but the truth is we provide a valuable service to a lot of people. We're not just here to provide petty revenge, but to enable people to live their true lives. Unfortunately, not everyone can handle it."

"Well said, Max," Bishop responded, and Burger and Anita chimed in with their agreements.

"And on that somewhat uplifting note, I think we're done for now. As always, THN's online store is available 24/7 for your needs, and we have operators standing by for instructions on how to use some of the more, uh, complicated products we sell. Again, my sincere thanks to Bishop Odium, Anita Break and HeisenBurger for appearing on my show and offering your experience and passion to this process. Have an intense night, everyone!"

-.-

As usually happened when all four of them were online at the same time, the group stayed to chat for a few minutes after the broadcast was done. Max was the most recent addition of the four, and he'd known them for almost two years now. He considered them friends despite knowing so little about their real lives. It was an unfortunate part of the job.

Bishop was dominating the conversation, as was totally his style. "So Burger, I hear you're joining in on an FDA roast session next week. Got any predictions about which normies might show up?"

Normies was the word they used to describe 'normal' conservative talking heads. People who had very large followings because of their willingness to stoke fear and mistrust, but lacked the self-awareness to embrace their own bigotries. Normies had had a symbiotic relationship with the Hate Network for years now: the Network advised and supplied some of the normie supporters, in exchange, the normies kept funneling clients their way. Both sides thought the other was kinda deluded, but that didn't mean they couldn't be valuable to each other. In Burger's case, the normies would probably include so-called doctors like Dr. Oz or Dr. Phil. Not the originals of course, because they were far too expensive to book, but knockoff versions.

"I'll get the usual kooks I'm sure," Burger said predictably. "We're talking about the Covid vaccines again, so I'll probably hear a lot more about monoclonal antibodies, hydroxychloroquine, and ivermectin. It should be fun, once I convince everyone that I believe the FDA is filled with secret, uh, Jew-worshipping space lizards or something."

Anita snorted at that. "Normies'll believe anything to pretend they're good people. I heard someone say Fauci wears a lead-lined outfit, and carries plutonium around so he can irradiate people without putting himself at risk. How are ivermectin sales doing, anyway?"

Burger shrugged. "After that first spike, they've kind of leveled off a bit. Still, each of these anti-FDA appearances gives them a little boost. Ivermectin isn't an essential medicine like that anti-malarial everyone used to talk about, so we can get a lot more of it. Each time we advertise it, we have to tell people that it's not just horse medicine, though. It saves lives, we tell them, even as they're crapping out their stomach lining each time they take a dose. It's not just normies who will believe anything, trust me."

"You want company to this one?" Max offered suddenly. "I could show up anonymous and heckle the speakers just for fun. It is funny watching them twist themselves into knots trying to sell that stuff."

"Sure. We can private chat about how ridiculous they are. Just say something way out there like, 'Biden is really a genetically modified pygmy marmoset', so I know it's you."

Max smiled. "You got it. Oh, anyone get any interesting private chats this time around?"

Bishop shrugged. "I got a Catholic priest who's trying to convince himself it's God's will that he have sex with little boys. Not much profit in that, but I convinced him to look at some of our more exotic sex toys."

"I got a corporate exec, actually," Anita said. "Or someone who claims to be one, anyway. His company's apparently responsible for giving cancer to like, a thousand people or something. He needed a better sleep aid, so I forwarded him to your drug division, Burger."

Burger nodded in acknowledgement.

"That last guy who called me wants to kill some politician," Max added. "He printed out one of our 3d rifles, and arranged to buy a full clip for it. I doubt he'll succeed, but even if he does, don't worry. The resin will break down just like it's supposed to, and no one will be able to trace the print back to us."

Bishop looked at him curiously. "A tax complaint, you think?"

"I didn't ask. He sounded more like he wanted to go into politics himself. Maybe he's a rival, and just wanted to get rid of the competition." In truth, Max wasn't sure if he was a true believer or not. As long as the money kept flowing in, he didn't care, either. He'd continue to play the part of a dyed-in-the-wool, mask-off hater for as long as he could make a living off of it. Between weapons, actors who paid a portion of their fee as a finder's reward, doomsday prep materials that Burger sold, and various superstitious religious iconography that Bishop managed, they were all doing very well.