Forward the Mage by Eric Flint & Richard Roach

We refer here, of course, to the “Apt Malediction for the Reprovement of Sullen Stableboys, Impudent Domestics, and Other Artless Imps,” the which, as the gentle reader is perhaps aware, has been the subject of great dispute among the savants. For though D.I. Laebmauntsforscynneweëld argued in his definitive On the Use of False Scrolls that Zulkeh’s application was conditioned by the scroll’s thaumaturgic deficiencies, the which rendered it useless for any purpose save the chastisement of drub-deserving dwarf-dolts, to this opinion did Torquemada Sfondrati-Piccolomini take sharp exception in his ground-breaking Flagellation: The Romantic Face of God’s Terror, claiming instead that the mage opted for said instrument from a keen sense of poetic justice, only to call forth in so saying the intervention of his half brother Draco, this latter advancing in his controversial Two Jerks Jerking Off yet the third view that the wizard’s use of the scroll was determined neither by goety nor poesy, but by the material substratum of both, in that the scroll was actually not a scroll, but a carved inscription upon an oaken rod.

Be that as it may, the instrument availed its purpose. Thus was propriety restored, following which, wizard and his sullen-but-subdued servant set forth for the great slave market of the Caravanserai. Yet, as the day wore on, it became apparent that the dispute between our protagonists had been needless as well as undignified. For, try as Zulkeh might, he simply could not sell his apprentice. Scrofulous though the average slave was, Shelyid was so grotesque even in this company that no slave merchant would so much as discuss the possibility of purchase.

The closest approach which the wizard enjoyed to success was also the most ignominious. All other establishments on the Boulevard of Bounteous Labor having spurned his offer, Zulkeh advanced upon the very last edifice on that noisome street—the term “edifice” being used very delicately. The ramshackle building—say better, disintegrating hut—was conspicuous for any apparent volume of trade. The only customer in sight was a large animal urinating against the rear wall, as if expressing its opinion on the architecture. It might have been a hog, it was difficult to tell.

Above the half-open door—half-open of necessity, since two of the three hinges had fallen loose—was a sign which read:

RIGHT TO WORK INSTITUTE

Herbert & Gertrude Sophist, proprietors

You’ve got a right to work!

So we’ll sell it to you.

Cheap.

Zulkeh strode within, Shelyid in tow. In the gloom beyond, an elderly couple so slender they seemed almost skeletal were lounging on an ancient divan. The male half of the pair was snoring. His female counterpart, eyes widening at the appearance of an actual customer, jabbed him fiercely in the ribs. Given the sharpness of the elbow involved, it was a bit astonishing that no flow of blood ensued.

The man jerked awake. Then, seeing Zulkeh and Shelyid, sprang to his feet. Using, again, the term “sprang” with considerable delicacy.

“Yessair, yessair,” he chortled, rubbing his bony hands together with a sound not dissimilar to that made by certain insects. “Yessair, yessair—I’ve got just what you need!”

He gestured grandly toward the far corner of the shack, where his wife was now occupied hauling forth what appeared to be the only merchandise the establishment had in stock at the moment—a woman whose age was impossible to determine, clad in rags, festooned with chains and shackles, and so skeletal she made the owners seem obese.

“Premium quality house servant!” the man pronounced solemnly. “Not quite suitable fer y’proper carnal abuse—I’ll be the first t’admit it, I’m no huckster tryin’ to pass off cut-rate merchandise as anythin’ more than ’tis—but I’ll knock twenty percent off y’price.”

Alas, the intended sale turned out to be a skeleton in actual fact. After being dragged halfway across the earthen floor, the arm in the wife’s hand came loose at the shoulder and the rest of the body flopped to the ground.

“Vile slave!” the woman snarled. “Wretchit thief! Try and steal from me, would yer?” She proceeded to thrash the corpse with the limb in her hand. Alas, after a single thrash the elbow joint gave way as well, leaving the wife disarmed as well as dispossessed.

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