It was half past six when I stumbled through the wooden door of Melwin’s pub. I figured I would grab a bite to eat during our monthly meeting, maybe some lamb hash with a side of parsnip. Generally, Thart (the chimp) was there well before I arrived. He liked to spend about an hour before the meeting drinking ale because, according to him, a little brain fuzz numbed his jitters and set him up properly for his performance.

Thart has always been a little eccentric, and by eccentric I do not mean that he occasionally wears a polka dotted burfluff at his neck. No, in fact he had the most limited sense of fashion that I have ever seen, and it would never occur to him to add color to his daily brown. Thart was eccentric in his mind, especially in the way he thought about the world. Where we saw circles, he saw triangles, and I suppose that is what made him successful in our little town.

To my surprise, when I pushed open the heavy pub door, Thart was not there at his customary seat. The far table was empty, and so I asked Betha if she had seen him.

She looked up at me as she was serving the next table over, the beer bottoms hitting with a slosh. “I dinnew where he is, Ginju. I havint seen him tiday at all.” She hurried off to the kitchen to fetch more ale and meat.

Always nice to look at that one, thought I, nodding approvingly.

How odd of Thart not to be here tonight, but maybe he was back there with the rest of us.

By the way I am Ginju, Ginju the pale. If you saw me you would understand my little and pasty descriptor. I do in fact hope to upgrade one day, but have learned that a bad nickname is too easy to come by and too difficult to lose. I will be happy to keep this one until I have pinned my hopes on something better. In the past few hundreds of years, it has become quite the fashion for wizards to add a descriptor behind their name. For a few decades they used colors, and it was perceived by the lay-person as a way of identifying the status or the class of the wizard.

For instance, if a wizard was “the black” or “the red” they might be evil, or if they were “the white” they might be good or maybe the master of a wizard group. If they were “the brown” they might be just an underling or an apprentice. The truth is that there are no real classes of wizards because the ethereal arts varied so much. Plus, there are only so many colors, and “Finko the teal” or “Blimpie the chartreuse” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as the famous Sancrid the White. During the colors era it was common to wear robes that matched your title, and I think it would be hard to blend in when you are wearing a hot-pink robe. Needless to say, the color title fad has come and gone. Good riddance I say!

There are, of course, loose associations of wizards if you wanted to call those classes, but they are more like working groups, friendships and drinking clubs. That was what brought me to Melwin’s pub every month. We had a fairly close-knit group of six or seven friends, and we would get together and bounce ideas off of each other, assist when something needed working out, and drink – of course. We were not the biggest group in the area, nor were we the best wizards around, but we did come up with some really interesting stuff from time to time and we were able to (mostly) use our talents to pay the bills.

It had been three months since I had presented anything to the group. It was not that I could not find anything; I merely wanted a presentation to be something interesting and useful. There were times when one of us would display a new flicker of light or a new shade of colored bean, and while I thought that was neat, I did not feel like it was worth anyone else’s time.

I walked into the back room and looked around, but it appeared that everyone was there except Thart. How very odd indeed.

“Hey, Nock, where is Thart?” I said looking around the room.

“Havint seen him tiday,” Nock (the Finch) answered. Nock was called that because the gap between his two top front teeth was big enough to string a bow with. He was “the finch” because he had eaten so much finch pie that we all said he was practically a finch himself. Nock loved his finch pie with a little goat sauce, but I find the flavor just a tad too brown for me. Without goat sauce, I must admit finch pie is a mightily tasty meal. It just takes too long to make one.

Sigol (the arson) looked up and gruffly said, “Hill be alright. We kin startin without im.”

I nodded and seated myself at the corner of the rough, wooden table centered in the room.

Colis (the gray) called the meeting to order. He was very old-school, and just plain old, and where he had hair (mostly on his ears) it was gray. That reminds me, I need to pick up that green scarf for his name-day.

“Let’s knock the dust off,” Colis said. “I got to git over to Magori at half past the arse crack of dawn tomorrow and I need my sleep.” Colis might have been a surly old coot, but he sure kept us on track. “So, who wants t’go first?”

Antha (the plump) raised her hand. “Youins know but I bin working on a big projict fer a time, and I thought a once or twice that it had me licked, but I finally got me bibs.” She surveyed the room triumphantly and looked just about ready to fist-pump.

“Bibs?” I blurted with what might have been a confused look on my face.

“Bibs.” She repeated as she pulled one out of her bag and held it up. It really was a bib. It was pale green and it had a button on a string to fasten it around a neck, and at the bottom there was a pouch to catch food that a child or incredibly sloppy adult might drop.

We all waited in silence for the punch line.

“Di you know a couple of years ago when we figgered out how to make a short portal? Well, I bin workin on this bib evir since,” Antha said.

The short portal was an idea that Farris (the flincher), may he rest in pieces, had stumbled on. He had brought the rough idea to the monthly meeting and it took the combined effort of all of us pitching in for a few months before it worked.

“If you remimber, the trouble we had with attaching the outlit to a spot jist so. If you winkled at it a hair, it would jump and whatevir came through would end up somewhere else. Maybe evin far, far away.” She grimaced. “I’m sure Farris would remind us if he was still wif us.”

It was true, and because of Farris’ untimely end there had been almost no continued research into the short portal. Because of his irritable bowel, Farris had set up a portal between his house and his outhouse. Indoor plumbing you say? Unfortunately, the outlet had shifted upward by about thirty feet, and when he fell from that height through the roof and seat of the outhouse… well, let’s just say it was a crappy way to die.

Antha held up another piece of cloth that sort of looked like a large, shallow bowl. “This heres what the other end looks like. It jist needs a proper receptor to anchor it down. I put this end over the slop trough and when the bibi drops food in the bib pouch, my pigs git it. I havint had to feed em in a month!”

Hector (the French) spoke up. “A month? Where did you find a bibi that sloppy and hungry?”

“Hector, you sexy devil, I bin makin bibs as fast as I kin. I gives em away for a small fee and thir all outlitin back to the pigs.” Her smile revealed an aged, brown fencerow of teeth. “Haint I lookin smart now?” She winkled at Hector and licked her lips.

I shuddered under my hat and watched Hector turn slightly green.

“How did you fix the outlit problem that Farris had?” asked Nock.

Antha beamed. “I figgered the outlit needed somethin to latch onto, somethin stable. I wove this outlit outa nettles and llama hair. It weren’t workin til I added the nettles. I also figgered if the inlit was small therd be less chance of a person goin through and gittin in trouble. Now I jist need to find a way to filter what can go through.”

“A cat could climb in there,” said Sigol, “-or a squirrel.” He looked forlorn. Wang (the carrot) patted Sigol’s shoulder knowingly.

“Haint that somethin,” exclaimed Colis. “It’s about time someone made somethin outa that idea. I’m bettin you git some rich on this one.” He paused and held his hand up. “Jist remimber the agreement we made and let the rist of us in on some of that rich too.” He nodded at Antha. “I am fer sherily awful proud. Now lets git some news from someone else.”

This was where I raised by hand. Here goes. “Yous know I don’t say much, but… I was goofin with temporalized heimstat, jist trying to make it pop. You know how it does. Well, I found somethin that don’t look like much but there is a shadow in it, and I was hopin fir some help lookin at it.”

That’s when Thart slid into the room on two wheels with a not-at-all-drunk gaze of excruciating wonderment on his weathered face. His hair was scorched and blackened at the edges, and he had a small, red welt on his forehead.

“You haint gonna belief this!” he hollered with glee. “I found Molly’s fix!”

Colis stood up. “Now git ahold of yerself, Thart. Ginju already started tellin us about somethin.” He gestured at me. “Go ahead, Ginju.”

“Sorry, Ginju,” said Thart as he sat down practically quivering with excitement.

“It’s good, Thart. I’ll jist be a minit.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “So, I was sayin about the somethin I found. It’s got a glow and I was tryin to make it cycle on a timer but it sorta got stuck once I added hippo’s-breath. Now it don’t move at all, and it’s the same ery time I call it back. Like that time Wang’s aircog got jammed on that binf.”

“Whydnt you show us?” said Wang with a shrug. “I remember how I unstuck the aircog. Mebe it will work for yours too.”

I nodded and cupped my hands over my kneecaps. With my eyes closed I slowly raised my hands and made a hollow sphere of them in front of me. I put my lips against the gap between my thumb and hand and drew in a deep slow breath while in my mind turning the invisible sphere inside my hands. Click. I felt it ignite in the vacuum, and warmth grew in my grip.

I withdrew my hands and saw the pale, gray fire floating where I left it. “It was colored,” I said. “I was making it cycle on a clock when it stopped here, and now it won’t cycle.”

Wang pulled a black screw from his pocket looked at me. “Kin I try unjammin it?” I nodded and he and began turning his screw with a squint of focus. I could see the screw’s aura sliding off of the gray fire as it rotated. “Llama hockey,” he muttered under his breath. “This has bin one of the best unhookers I seen and it haint touchin this.”

I pointed at the glow. “Here is somethin interestin about it too. Lookit that shadow there in the middlins.” Everyone leaned in. The shadow was a dark spot in the fire that appeared almost solid.

Sigol was walking around the outside of the circle looking in when he stopped and pointed to the floor under the hovering sphere. “The light don’t shine from the underside.”

We all looked and sure enough there was a wavering circle of darkness. I pulled my tin lapch out of my bag and muttered an oath while attaching it to the top of the object. The lapch was like Wang’s screw in that it would try to attach and pull the object, but unlike the screw, the lapch was more like a handle. It latched and could transport ethereal objects within the three-dimensional space of our world while leaving the ether parts unaffected. Antha’s nettle and llama hair bowl was a sort of lapch.

I held the lapch between my fingers and moved the gray fire. The dark spot moved with it, so I “shone” the dark spot around the room.

“Hmm, this is like the opposite of a torch to be providin light on a dark night. It just makes darkness in the light. There gotta be some use for that,” I said. “Like a shade emitter.” In my mind I pictured resting on a cool pile of shaded leaves in the middle of a desert while my enemies panted and wiped sweat from their brows. Heh.

“A thief would want one if it could be dark enough,” said Thart. “If there was always a dark corner to hide in, they could do the sneaky bits in the day time.”

I grunted agreement.

Ahem. Colis interrupted. “Ginju, do you remimber how you made this so we kin try it agin?”

“Sorry, Colis, I don’t really know. I was jist tryin things and this pipped up. I linked it to my clock for the cycle. I used a brass hooker on it a few times in different ways jist tryin to get the cycle to work. I added a couple of little things like hippo’s-breath and star-tick.” Colis knew that I rarely documented the steps I took.

“I sippose we kin all think of ways to use it and try em next time.” Colis looked around at the group. “Mebe we kin hear about Thart’s fix for Molly and thin I kin get some sleep.”

Thart stood up excitedly. “Thank you, Colis. Yousns know how bad Molly’s gas would be. Evin with only drinkin water fer almost a week, she was unbeliefable stinky!” He raised his hands with mock helplessness as if he had no control over his life.

I raised my voice and couldn’t help but hear the annoyed overtones in it. “Did you apply the right ventilation as I suggisted?” I paused and smiled broadly to offset my annoyed tone. “I mean, Thart, come on! Jist open a door!”

“Yous could use the flapperwidget that Gormlaith hinged a couple years ago,” said Sigol in all seriousity. “It’d be hard for even a major stink to dawdle in a gale like that.” He stood and shuffled his feet.

I could tell that that Sigol was itching to get home to his sweet Adaira.

“Who es Gormlaith?” said Hector. He was one of the newer members and was not entirely familiar with the group’s past. “Is he one of the older guys?” Hector looked at Colis as if there could not be anyone much older.

“No, no,” said Sigol. “Ol’ Gormy is a girl. Quite a young and fine lookin’ one at that.” He nodded to himself.

Thart stomped his foot. “I am talkin about Molly’s fix. Lit me finish!” Various mumbled apologies broke out. “Anyway,” he continued, “one fine evinin only a week back I were smokin my old corny-pipe and though I try to avoid Molly’s wind, I happened to be thinkin too much about stuff. She snucked up on me, and when I pulled my lightin-twig from the hearth, it caught her gas on fire.”

Wang burst out laughing, but Thart’s quick glare made him choke, and he sheepishly coughed a few times behind his hand.

“It cleared them stinks right up. Lit me tell you.” Thart waved his hands with excitement. “It was the bist thing that evir coulda happined to me!”

“What happined wif yer forehead, there, Thart?” asked Antha.

“My lightn-twig pipped up and blasted me right here,” Thart pointed at his red welt, “and a little toastin of the hairs… but nevir you mind. I made a wind-sucker, and come this wintir I’ll be heatin my house with an endliss supply of molly-gas.”

“Uh, er…” Hector’s face twisted as he began to mumble. “You gonna burn it, I suppose. How’re you gonna collict it and purify it without gittin too close to the source if you know what I mean?”

“Ahh, but thits the trick, my fren,” said Thart beaming in a way I had never seen. “I have one of those flapperwidgets likin what ole Gormy made. Mine is smallir fer sure, but I tried to get a bag of Molly-gas and it were too dilutit. Wouldint burn but sure stinked a lot. The solushin is to get close. Real close. I couldint bring the wind-sucker here because the size-n-all, but it does a fine job. Molly dint like it a bit neithir, but thits what a harniss is fer.”

I sipped my mead and watched Colis grow impatient.

Thart grabbed a charcoal stick and scratched out a rough diagram. “Molly gits tied up here, like thit.” A few more scratchy strokes of the stick. “I’m ovir here in the lean-to jist pumpin the bellows.” Thart beamed again and scrawled a squiggly line to a bulbous, roundy line, which he tapped twice for emphasis. “This here sunction takes her gas and put it in the bag. Straight from Molly to the bag.”

“It’s genius I say,” said Colis.

I almost gave myself whiplash as I turned to stare at Colis and more than almost sloshed my mead. He was rarely so giving with his praise.

Thart drew a quick line from the bag to the fireplace. “It haint done yit, just gota put this pipin here and make it outta metal or somthin thit woint burn up. If’n I’m lucky it’ll be done by next month.”

Sigol slapped Thart on his shoulder. “Well, thit’s a fine start. I cin’t wait to hears about it nixt time.” He began shuffling quickly toward the door.

I knew from experience, that this was my cue to leave. Thart, Antha, and Wang were bound to carry on with the Molly issues. If I got pulled into the ensuing conversation, I’d be there all night and spend far too much coin on ale and nuts. Plus, I had to visit The Spotted Minx over in Wothshire at an early hour, and old Gilton would not be happy if I made him wait.

Standing, I raised my hand. “A fine evenin to the lot of you. I must be off to bed.”

There was a chorus of cheery voices and flapping hands as I exited the door. Outside, I breathed deeply of the cool evening air and looked around at the flickering lanterns that lined the dirt street. Bonton was a nice little town, and safe too.

I am a lucky man.