Prompt Story | Fairy Tale
A Novice Sorcerer is in a Hurry to Make it Big
A cautionary tale about reckless multiplication
Kerbyt rowed his small boat across the lake, before mooring it on the sloping jetty which led to the home of Sconderlyn, a wiccan practitioner he hoped to befriend. He approached her abode, a wooden shack on hens legs, via a wooden ladder and knocked on the bark-encrusted door.
Sconderlyn welcomed him inside and made Kerbyt feel at ease placing a herbal tea at his elbow and with her cat rubbing against his legs.
“My crystal ball showed me you would need my assistance,” her voice was soft but her wrinkled face was bright with interest.
“Yes,” Kerbyt felt a flicker of nerves. “I have created a magical object, which I would like to sell, but I am not yet able to trade in the Crystal Dome.”
“Show me,” she nodded.
He drew a small fabric pouch from inside his loose jacket and held it for Sconderlyn to study. It was a little larger than his palm, decorated with twinkling stitching, and fastened with a golden drawstring.
“What can it do?” asked Sconderlyn, with polite interest.
“Put your hand in,” Kerbyt suggested.
Sconderlyn did. When she withdrew it she was surprised to find a ladle in her fingers. It was much larger than the pouch, which should not have been able to contain it, but now her face was wreathed in a happy smile.
“I needed a new one, I was making a potion last night, and it melted the handle off my own.”
“And that’s what the pouch does, it provides the user with exactly what they need at the time.” Kerbyt was proud of his magical object.
“Very good!” Sconderlyn beamed at him. “This could be a popular item, depending on how much you charge and how many you have to sell.”
In the ensuing conversation, Kerbyt revealed it was a lengthy process to gather the components and create the right conditions to cast the spell. Currently, he only had this prototype to sell.
“I wonder if my sister Rubette could help you with supplies,” Sconderlyn mused.
“That would be very kind,” Kerbyt was delighted that Sconderlyn was helping him, since they had only just met.
She plucked up her quill and wrote a note to Rubette, which she fastened to the leg of her owl, then sent it to her sister’s home.
“If you sold the pouch at the market on my behalf, then I would have gold to spend on making more,” Kerbyt suggested hopefully.
“I might be able to assist further.” Sconderlyn beamed at him.
“My sister Marlebith and I go to the market in the Crystal Dome every month. Marlebith is on the trading council, she may be able to sponsor your application for a license to trade.
I will take your enchanted pouch and drum up interest among potential buyers.”
“Would you? I would be so grateful for your help. It has been so hard doing this alone,” Kerbyt said. He looked relieved and happy at this outcome.
So it was agreed, Sconderlyn would take the magical pouch to market and enlist her younger sister’s expertise to help Kerbyt establish his reputation as a sorcerer. None of them currently had an apprentice, and they believed in paying good fortune forward.
Kerbyt’s reputation as a sorcerer quickly became established. His enchanted object was very well received at the Crystal Dome market, and Sconderlyn came home with several commissions for more. Kerbyt, with Rubette’s contacts, made a bargain with a weaver, so was able to make up magical purses more swiftly.
Non-magical people were delighted by the concept of the item, which produced whatever they needed in their life at the moment they put their hand inside, so demand for Kerbyt’s wares increased. Marlebith suggested a way to make the bag stronger and, with her as sponsor, Kerbyt could now trade at the Crystal Dome market for himself.
However, Kerbyt was still frustrated that he couldn’t create the bags fast enough to fill the demand.
He had been scouring the hide-bound volumes of sorcery that lined the walls of his cottage; he was determined to find a spell that could aid production. There was one book he had yet to consult, Kerbyt was putting it off because touching its bindings made him feel ill. As a last resort, he slipped on frogs’ skin gloves and opened its musty pages. Immediately, he began to feel an ache in his bones and a sickness in his belly.
Artemis Impatienza, the sorcerer who had written this grimoire, was infamous for having consorted with dark forces. The rumor was he had met a grisly end, eaten by a three-headed chimera of his own creation. Thinking about that made Kerbyt tremble with fear, but his hunger for success drove him to keep scanning the pages until he found a multiplication spell.
He read the words in his head until he was confident he could pronounce them correctly and with confidence. Then he laid out the fabric, cord, and thread he had measured and cut for his next bag. Pushing up his sleeves, Kerbyt held his wand in his left hand, then began to recite the ancient words of the multiplying spell.
It wasn’t the kind of magic that made sparks or a cloud of lavender-coloured vapor, and at first, Kerbyt was crestfallen, thinking it had not worked. Then there was a popping noise. The cut-out shapes of fabric sprang apart and there were two of them, then four, then eight and sixteen. The lengths of gold cord also began to wriggle like worms, stretching, and breaking into segments of the correct length before his eyes. A wonderful thing was happening with the embroidery thread, it quickly sewed itself in place, joining the pieces of the bag together and adorning the outside with stars or flowers or magical symbols.
Kerbyt wanted to laugh out loud. He had eliminated his laborious manual process of cutting and sewing to make up one bag before mixing a foul potion and wafting it in the steam of his concoction while he spoke the spell to enchant it. Now production was happening all around him, with no effort or input from him. It was going fast, though. Kerbyt watched the enchanted pouches pile up on the floor and crowd the work surfaces, and still the multiplication showed no sign of stopping.
He staggered outside into the fresh air, gasping and pulling off his frogs’ skin gloves. Gradually, in the sunlight, his nausea from reading AI’s grimoire wore off.
Kerbyt loaded three sacks of the enchanted items into his boat, their weight made it sit low in the water. Then he rowed across the lake. He did not stop at Sconderlyn’s little hut to have tea and a talk as he usually did. Kerbyt guessed that she would not approve of him using Artemis’ multiplication spell. He suspected that, even if he did not share with her what he had done, Sconderlyn’s crystal ball would show her the truth.
When Kerbyt arrived at the Crystal Dome, there was quite a queue of people waiting. It was going to be a busy day. Rubette was ahead of him in the crowd, but he pulled his hood up to hide his face. She might ask awkward questions about the number of pouches he’d brought with him to sell.
Once inside, Kerbyt set up his pitch as quickly as possible, hiding the sacks under the table with a sheet he had brought from home. He placed only three magical bags on its surface, knowing scarcity increased demand. Soon, people were stopping to ask about the properties of the pouches and he began to exchange them for gold. Kerbyt took care that nobody saw how many more he had waiting to sell.
“Good morrow, Kerbyt,” rang a booming voice.
It was the Mayor of the Crystal Dome and beside him was the head of the Merchants’ Guild.
“Good morrow, sirs,” Kerbyt was all smiles. “It is busy here today.”
“Indeed, it is a saint’s day tomorrow and there will be a feast. It’s a time when people like to give each other gifts.”
The Mayor was a hearty fellow with ruddy cheeks and a physique shaped by his enjoyment of good food and wine.
“I see you only have one of your bags left. I must have it, make me a price.”
Kerbyt smiled obsequiously and suggested a slightly high sum, from which he let the Mayor haggle him down. It was wise to keep people of influence onside. The Mayor left, looking delighted with his acquisition. The head of the Merchants’ Guild waited.
“We have a proposition for you, Kerbyt,” the merchant rubbed his hands as he spoke. “We would like to offer you a seat in our Guild.”
Kerbyt was flattered and told the merchant so. “But I am very new to the ways of being an entrepreneur,” he said.
“You fitted in so quickly,” the merchant countered. “A few months ago nobody had heard of you, now everyone is clamouring to own one of your enchanted purses. That shows talent and drive. We could use someone like you on our council.”
Kerbyt nodded and smiled. He made no mention of Sconderlyn, who had helped him, how Rubette had shared her contacts nor did he remind the merchant that it was Marlebith’s sponsorship that got his feet under the table.
Instead, he said, “Thank you, I would consider it an honour.”
The merchant walked away and Kerbyt felt very successful, his dreams were becoming reality. He placed three more bags on the surface of the table, taking the opportunity to make more sales. Instead, a man approached who was brandishing a pouch he had bought earlier, his face clouded with angry emotion.
“I want a refund,” the irate man demanded.
“But why?” Kerbyt was genuinely surprised.
“This bag does not give me what I need.”
“That can’t be right.”
“I’ll show you.”
When the man put his hand in the bag, he pulled out a kitten.
“Arrgh!” he raged, “another cat. It has given me two already. I live on a boat, I cannot keep cats.”
“Please don’t shout.”
Kerbyt tried to placate the man. A crowd was gathering, and his tirade was not good for business. Now a woman stepped up, and a crying child clung to her heavy skirts.
“I bought this bag from you earlier, you said it would give me whatever I need. My daughter put her hand in and pulled out a rat. I don’t need a rat — who does?”
People in the crowd nodded in sympathy.
“And the rat bit her!” The woman continued. “Your bag doesn’t work so I demand a refund.”
Suddenly, a whiskery nose appeared at the drawstring edge, followed by a rat’s body wriggling out of the enchanted bag the woman was brandishing. The kitten that the angry man had produced pounced, then began to chase after the rat. People shrieked, and the crowd scattered, but Kerbyt was forced to pay back gold to both unhappy customers.
It went on like this for a while; people no longer wished to buy Kerbyt’s magical objects. Instead, they sought him out to complain that the purses did not produce what they wanted. It seemed the purses could only create cats and rats, and the Crystal Dome market got quite hectic with their scampering, furry bodies.
Kerbyt decided he should pack up and leave before his reputation was irreparably blighted by the useless purses. He loaded up three sacks of merchandise, just as full as when he set off that morning, his shoulders hunched in despair. He hoped that the Merchants’ Guild would not hear of his fall from grace. When he saw Marlebith in the crowd, he tugged on his hood and turned away. A lecture from her would sting all the worse because she had warned him at the outset not to be tempted by dark magic.
As Kerbyt rowed nearer to the island on which he lived, he realised everything was in chaos, with magical purses spilling out everywhere. They were piled as high as the trees, still multiplying with soft pops, and he knew they were all useless. He wished he had not consulted Artemis Impatienza’s grimoire, it was bad magic indeed.
He moored up his little boat. Enchanted purses were starting to spill into the lake where the fish nudged them dubiously. Now Kerbyt could not get into his cottage to access his books of spells, so he was at a loss for how to stop AI’s multiplication spell.
There was a sudden whoosh and a braying sound. He looked up to see Marlebith arriving on a flying goat.
“Marlebith — I …” he began, but she silenced him with a hard look.
“I know exactly what you’ve done, Kerbyt,” she shook out her blonde curls and raised her wand aloft. “Sconderlyn saw it in her crystal ball and summoned me.”
When she spoke her own ancient words and sprinkled some herbs on the breeze, the wind began to whip up. The branches of the trees thrashed about and pieces of fabric and cord that made up the purses began swirling around like dry leaves. Kerbyt had to lean into the force of the wind that her spell conjured up. He narrowed his eyes to stop them watering, but he got the general impression that all the multiplied purses blew away. Now the sacks in his boat were empty and slumped.
His relief was huge, and he fell to his knees in gratitude.
“Thank you Marlebith, you have helped me when I didn’t know what to do.”
“When you approached me and my sisters, we were generous with our friendship and time.” Marlebith’s face was stern. “We treated you like our apprentice, sharing and offering advice, which you have thrown in our faces. Today Sconderlyn and I rescued you when disaster struck.”
Kerbyt knew everything she said was true.
“Do you still intend to join the Merchant’s Guild?” Marlebith asked.
“Yes, of course, then I can sell more magical objects.”
“We helped you improve those enchanted objects, without the use of dark magic. You should refute your nomination to the Guild until you earn it on your own merits.”
Kerbyt looked away, he was not prepared to do that.
“That’s what I thought you’d decide,” Marlebith regarded him with disdain. “So this is the last time my sisters and I will extend the hand of friendship.”
She returned her wand to a pocket inside her gown, then sat gracefully astride the goat and flew away, leaving Kerbyt to fend for himself.
This is written in response to the A.I. prompt. Read another of my Fiction Shorts for free. To get my content direct to your inbox whenever I publish, subscribe to my e-mail. Sign up for Medium’s $5 membership using my referral link — this helps me and other Medium writers earn money