Zillo the Incompetent by A J Cole (no david read aloud .TXT) 📕

“Ah, you, too, misunderstand. This wand turns the heels of any kind of footwear into the sort one finds on the shoes of our self-employed street wenches, if you catch my meaning.” Merdo blushed.

After a moment or two of murmurs during which so many brows furrowed one could almost hear them in action, a wizard whose extreme age made him creak every time he moved, doubled over, a wild cackling sound emerging from lips buried under a beard that resembled a snow bank. When he straightened, wiping tears from under his eyes, he croaked, “Stilettos! Oh, my ever-loving hamster nostrils! Now that’s the most – ” he started choking. A couple of nearby wizards patted him on the back, while another intoned an anti-choking spell.

“Wait,” said Azo. “What happens when the person is barefoot?”

Merdo shrugged and looked at Farbo, who blew out a long sigh that puffed out his mustaches.

“Fact is,” Farbo replied, “a most unfortunate coincidence occurred not long ago that answers that – the person affected was taken to one of the local temples and I believe he’s able to walk normally now. In any event, his heel bones broke through the skin as they grew into, um, stilettos. Rather horrifying moment, I must say. So Merdo is right. Our ogre friends would no doubt surrender immediately were they so affected.”

A few of the wizards giggled, one guffawed, and one or two applauded.

“So you see,” Merdo continued, but realized he’d lowered the hat. Raising it once more to his lips he repeated, “So you see…”

Silence.

“Thank you. So you see, Zillo’s enchanted items could come in handy in the defense of the kingdom.”

“But what about Zillo himself? Even if all of his creations were handed over to the armory, what’s to prevent the old hemorrhoid from making more stuff, eh?”

“Glad you asked, Feckoff.” Merdo smiled at the only gnomish member of the Guild. “I believe we could convince the king to hire Zillo. He would be in charge of keeping the items out of untrained hands, and could continue to ply his craft in an environment where such things would be welcome.”

“Until he turns the army into a horde of nipples or some such thing,” Azo said. “Or sets the queen’s hair on fire. Or turns the princess into a – ”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake Azo! Must you always be so negative?” Merdo shook his head and turned to Farbo. “Help me down, there’s a good fellow. I’m somewhat terrified of heights, you know.”

Farbo bit his tongue and extended a hand. The seat of the chair was only about a foot off the ground, but he didn’t wish to offend the rotund wizard, especially since he was one of the few of their number capable of using logic on a consistent basis.

With Merdo safe on the floor, Farbo called for attention. “All right – I say we vote on this issue. Unless, of course, someone has a better idea. No? Anyone? Azo? No one? All right. Those in favor of recommending Zillo and his items to the king’s Weapons Master raise your hands.”

Not only was it unanimous, Farbo noted, some of the wizards had raised two hands, making it magnanimous. The matter settled, he dismissed them and set off to talk first to the king, and then, assuming the Guild Tower hadn’t accidentally been transported to one of the ethereal planes, to Zillo. What fun.

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“Say what?”

Farbo took a deep breath and tried again. “We have a wizard, Your Majesty, who is capable of making weapons-grade items that could help with the ogre problem, and any enemies in the future.”

“I heard you the first time, Farbo. The ‘say what’ was rhetorical. I assume this wizard is the notorious Zillo the Incompetent, yes? I’ve heard about some of his work, like that infernal ale-pissing turkey that nearly put one of the best taverns in the city out of business a few years ago.”

“Oh. Well. Yes, Your Majesty. But he’s made a few other things in the meantime that could be useful to you.”

“Like what? A potion that makes criminals hang themselves?”

“A po…uh, no. Zillo doesn’t do potions. Although that would indeed be useful.” He shrugged. “I doubt that would occur to him, but if it did and he tried to craft, say, a wand that’s supposed to do that, I’m afraid he’d try to use the wand on said criminal and end up hanging himself.”

King Eritos propped an elbow on the arm of his throne and rested his chin in his raised palm. “Hmm. Not sure that would be such a bad thing, eh?”

Farbo was often in despair about Zillo, but had never wished him actual harm…well, maybe once when one of those items of his had caused two of the Guild’s finest wizards to need their buttocks separated by surgery. “He’s a good-hearted fellow, sire, so I wouldn’t be happy if that happened. Besides, so many of his creations can be used to help us. I’ve prepared a short list for you to consider. Please give it a glance, if you would, and I’ll explain whatever you don’t understand.”

The king extended a hand; Farbo approached the throne and gave Eritos the scroll he’d been holding.

Pulling off the ribbon, King Eritos unrolled it and ran his gaze down its length, his frown deepening with every line he read. “I say, Farbo, what in the name of all the gods is a Wand of Making Hole? Don’t you mean ‘whole,’ as in curing a sick or wounded person?”

“Ah, no. No, that’s the correct name. In fact, this one would be most useful in battle, Your Majesty. An enemy touched by this wand, instead of being ‘made whole’ in the conventional sense, will find he has instead developed a gaping hole where the wound was.”

“That would kill the poor fellow, I should think.”

“A wise deduction, sire. Unless, that is, the hole was in, say, his hand.”

“Hmm. Make it hard to hold a weapon, I should think, were that the case.”

“Indeed.”

The king nodded and went back to reading. Several more items needed to be explained, but in the end, Eritos agreed to interview Zillo. “If I don’t find him repulsive, I’ll hire him.”

“That’s wonderful, Your Majesty. But, er, I would ask you a boon.”

“A boon, you say?”

“Yes, sire. A boon.”

“Who says ‘boon’ any more, Farbo? Good heavens, man! Well, never mind. What would you like me to do?”

Farbo chose not to take offense, and smiled. A deprecating smile, in fact, since what he was about to ask was firmly in the category of the unconventional. “I – and I assure you, I speak on behalf of the entire Wizards’ Guild – I would be eternally grateful if, for the sake of everyone’s well-being, Zillo was required to remain in the palace, preferably in a well-fortified part, for the entire term of his employment.”

“What? Why? Do you despise this Zillo?”

“No, Your Majesty. I’ve even grown somewhat fond of him over the years, rather like one does toward an embarrassing relative. No, the reason we ask this is because his magic is not only the most powerful any of us have ever encountered, it is also impossible to fully control. It’s called the Wild Magic, and only occurs once in a millennium. The person is born with it, you see.”

“So if the Zillo creature manages to have children, they won’t inherit this Wild Magic, correct?”

“Yes, sire. Of course, he could pass on some of it to a more distant generation. Not that much is understood about it, so I could be wrong…I hope to heaven I’m not wrong…” Farbo took a deep breath. “So. Will you do this? And in return, of course, you’ll have the kingdom’s most formidable wizard at your beck and call.”

After sending Farbo away so he could think, the king eventually dispatched a messenger to the Guild to say that he agreed to the terms, and that Zillo, along with all of his enchanted items, was to be installed in the palace the next day.

All of which came as a huge surprise to Zillo, who Farbo and the others had somehow forgotten to tell until they were hustling him out of the Tower. But Zillo, for all his strange and disturbing propensities, was a man who had learned to adapt to the unexpected. He left the Wizards’ Guild on the best of terms, and soon began his most intensive work.

King Eritos, in the meantime, while delighted by the success of Zillo’s items in the one short battle with the ogres (who were never seen in the kingdom again), soon afterward became a raging alcoholic.

According to several documents written during Zillo’s tenure at the palace, the wizard lived out his days in a suite of rooms that included an observatory, a workshop, a comfy bedroom, a parlor, and a beautiful garden outside the only door. He would also have lived alone were it not for one of the serving girls making a wrong turn.

One afternoon Zillo was taking a break from his enchantments, sitting on a marble bench along the pathway leading from his rooms to a gate at the far end of the garden. A young lady wandered in through said gate a short while later. Surprised and curious (no one ever came through that gate unless the king had a dire emergency), Zillo watched as she came down the path. Looking around as though confused, she eventually saw the wizard and told him she was confused.

“About what, my dear?” By this time, Zillo felt he had earned the right to call any girl whose hair had not yet turned grey, “my dear.”

“I thought this was where I was supposed to go. I’m looking for the kitchen, but…this isn’t the kitchen, is it?”

“Not in the conventional sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that I…” he made that annoying heh-heh sound, “I, er, cook things up from time to time. Not food, usually, but once in a while that does happen. Wouldn’t recommend eating any of it, though.”

She had nodded, smiled, and with a pretty curtsey said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you?”

“I am Zillo th…uh, Zillo. Just Zillo.”

“Either you mean you are only known as Zillo, or you have long and extraordinary name that repeats itself a lot.”

He thought about that for a moment, realized how he must have sounded, and broke into a wide grin. “Sorry – I have a tendency to interrupt myself. But you’re right. I’m Zillo.” And I like you, his thoughts told her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Zillo. I’m Denora.” She curtsied again.

Several months later, they were married. Denora, while often terrified of her new husband’s magic and its unplanned consequences, was more often pleased with her circumstances and would write sweet love notes to him all the time. They eventually had a child – a son – who exhibited no talent for magic whatsoever. Zillo wrote in his journal that he believed he should have been disappointed by this, yet was instead delighted. He had great hopes for the boy being able to enjoy a normal life.

Not much else was written about this period, except that the couple