The Word of Zed (Part 3)

The Astronomer
(c) 2008 Melissa Gay
​

The Word of Zed
​Part 3

​By the Time of the Scorpion, Zed was noticeably fidgeting with his quill, keen to finish with the day's work. Nothing about the Black Knights was interesting. They didn't wear black because they were evil or even tending toward nasty, but because the color didn't show dirt.

​They spent their time talking to trees. They didn't seem to notice that the trees didn't talk back. Each one lived in a clearing in the forest. They never left their clearing and rarely saw anyone unless a stray King of the Britons wandered by and challenged them to a duel.

 
Zed could have summed the knights up in one word – boring. The day's work was made even more tedious because of the announcement he'd found in the back of his magazine during breakfast.
​

The EVERYBODY LOVES PARIS Contest
Win Lunch with Paris Impton!​

​He'd poured over the contest rules line by line. They proved to be pretty simple no matter how hard he tried to complicate them; write a poem to Paris. It could be about anything you wanted as long as it was about her, or Tiggy the Hedgehog. Nothing else would do.
 
Zed fretted over the poem while scribing the Magi's observations. He'd written reams about Black Knights and Magical War-Axe toting Ogres who could only fight when standing on one leg. He knew why the Yellow Jaguars were yellow when all the others were black, but he didn't know how to write a poem to Paris Impton. She'd probably had hundreds written to her by far more important imps than a simple Scribe.
 
When the day ended he trudged back to the Scrollery, selected a fresh scroll and began his work. He compared her to a rose, to a ray of dazzling sunlight, to a summer's day, eventually crossing out every line. A dozen false starts later, he finally put a dot at the end of the last sentence. It was done. It was only then he realized that there was a ring of scrolls around him, watching his efforts. They rustled in approval, like dry applause.
 
“I think it's the best I've ever written.” More rustles. “I hope she likes it.”
 
He capped the ink bottle with the toad, waved his hand over the parchment to dry it and then rolled it up. Tying it with a pink bow—the magazine article said it was her favorite color—he toted it out of the Scrollery in search of the front gate gnome. It was best that Wrench not sink his claws into Zed's masterpiece.

 * * * * *

​“And that's why the ogres have magical war axes,” Melissa said, closing the book.

Aiden yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. “Can you read me…” he yawned again, “more 'bout the ogres tomorrow?”
 
“Sure, after you write your thank you notes to Grandma Nancy and Grandma Alice.”
 
He buried himself under the covers, hoping to escape that chore.

“I know you're under there,” she said, tickling him through the covers.
 
“Resistance is useless!” That set off a round of laughter. When his face emerged, she brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, little mister.”
 
“'Night, Mom. Thanks for the neat book.”
 
“Uncle Jim will pick you up after school tomorrow. I have to work late.”
 
He nodded and closed his eyes, fighting sleep. Once he heard her bedroom door close, Aiden forced himself out of bed and dug in his sock drawer. He'd found his mom's nail file that afternoon in the bathroom. It wasn't quite a sword, but maybe it would do.
 
Opening his book to the proper page, he touched the dragon's nose. Nothing happened. Not knowing what else to do, Aiden dropped the nail file between the pages near the dragon and hid the book under his pillow.
 
He'd figure out how to get back into the story tomorrow.​​

 * * * * *

As Zed trudged toward the observatory, Mallet and Wrench circled him like orbiting moons.

“Play…now… we?” Mallet chirped.

“No,” he replied, too weary to try to frame a more suitable response.​
​
Between his efforts to craft the perfect Paris poem and the scrolls' activity overnight, he'd found little chance for sleep. The moment he'd nodded off, another one of the scrolls had hopped out of its niche, unrolled and began that strange swizzz noise again. This time it'd been the scroll about the Ogres.

“At least they're interesting,” Zed allowed, shuffling across the observatory floor. He yawned and then ascended the stairs, his hands occupied with a fresh scroll and the ink pot. The quill had new plumage this morning. It molted every now and then, usually making quite a mess.

This time the process had occurred overnight, much to Zed's relief. As he unrolled the new scroll he heard the Magi's door close and then the measured tread of footsteps. Zed never gave much thought to his master. What did he do when he wasn't reading scrolls? Did he have a magazine he read at night? Something like Popular Magi or Wizards Quarterly?

Wrench hovered in front of him. Zed waved him off. He was too tired to deal with juvenile dragonets. Wrench reappeared and dropped something on his head with a decided plonk. The small scroll careened onto the platform and rolled toward the edge. It was tied with a pink ribbon.

Zed groaned. His poem had been so bad they'd rejected it already. He caught the scroll before it tumbled into the air and jammed it under a foot just as the Magi entered the observatory.

“Good morning, Scribe.”

“Good morning, Master,” Zed replied. The dragonets whizzed around in greeting, their tinny voices making his ears ache.

“And you two, as well,” the Magi added. He climbed the stairs and waited as the dragonets made the required adjustment of the telescope. Once it was in place, he said “Ah, yes, there they are. We'll begin with the hierarchy of the Yellow Jaguars.”

Zed was only half paying attention. Something about the scroll under his foot seemed odd.

“They appear to have formed a social network based on the intensity of the color yellow,” the Magi began. “The more vibrant the shade, the higher in rank. Since this is a purely subjective marker, they have created a color chart—”

Zed pulled the scroll out from under his broad foot and studied it. The pink ribbon he'd used didn't have a little heart attached to it. Hands shaking, he slid off the ribbon and unrolled the document.

CONGRATULATIONS!
Your poem is the winner!

You will be having lunch with Paris Impton tomorrow at Chez Gargoyle. ​Bowtie required.

​Be there at half-past the Twins. Be on time!

“Eeeeep!” Zed shouted, nearly kicking the ink pot off the platform. The stopper toad hopped away in panic. “I won, I won, I—”

“Scribe? Did you get all that?” the Magi asked.

Zed popped upright and waved the scroll like a pennant. “I won. I'm going to have lunch with Paris Impton… tomorrow!” he said, completely ignoring proper protocol.

The Magi turned and gave him a bemused look. “Tomorrow?”

Zed's exuberant bouncing faltered. Scribes never got days off unless they arranged matters with the Guild months in advance.

Months. He deflated like a stopper toad.

The Magi turned back to the telescope as if the matter was settled. Zed knelt and took up the quill, dipping it in the ink. As he transcribed the Magi's words, his mind turned over and over in a desperate means to find a replacement. Just one day, that's all he needed.

When the Magi paused, Zed pulled out a scrollcard and wrote his request for a day off, addressing it to the Guild of Scribes. He waved it in the air and Wrench took it on the fly. If he was lucky, there might a chance someone could take his place. Then he'd have all day to spend with his idol.

As the day drew to a close, Wrench returned, dropping a scrollcard at Zed's feet. It was the reply from the Guild. Above him, the Magi issued instructions for the movement of the telescope. While Mallet and Wrench complied, Zed read the back of the card, toes crossed.

​Request Denied. 
​

---

Part Four

​(c) 2008 Jana Oliver
All Rights Reserved
(and yes, that means you AI)