Thursday, 10 May 2012
Wizards teeth are very valuable in the right hands.
These were not the right hands however, these were the meaty fists of Tavish McFarlane, not known for their subtlety. Quite how he had forged himself a successful career in magical crime, we may never know, yet from crates of tequila bottle imps through to banshee sheet music and elf scalps, he had hocked, stolen, fenced and sold it all. But to the dismay of his more elegant peers, he showed no sensitivity for the craft. Where folk still spoke in awe of Persimmon’s Unicorn Gambit or Rouvelliers Yeti pelt feint, Tavish’s crimes were a catalogue of brutal simplicity; he violently stole things and sold them.
Tavish wasnt in it for the money, he’d take the best price over the right price every time. He wasn’t in it for the glamour either, secret clubs filled with rose eyed nymphs or high stakes poker games with sharp suited demons did not impress him. Tavish was much more straightforward, he just enjoyed the ridiculousness of it all; while his criminal friends spent their time peddling drugs or stealing cars in the real world, he passed his evenings blinding cyclops and drowning mermaids. Why would he waste his time doing anything less interesting?
He’d had word of a buyer for his latest prize and had arranged a meet at one of the occasional bars down at the east docks, it was there most Tuesdays. Tavish’s contact was waiting at the bar, he nodded towards the far corner of the room, a booth, partially obscured by red curtains.
Tavish made his way over, sat down at the table and found himself staring into the jagged, broken grin of a wizard.
“Evening Tavish. I hear you’ve got some wizards teeth.”
The bar was suddenly silent and Tavish noted his contact smiling unpleasantly.
“I don’t suppose you know what spell wizards teeth are used for?”
Finding himself unable to speak, Tavish shook his head.
“Course you don’t. They make you disappear. Properly.”
The teeth in Tavish’s hands started to burn. The wizard gestured, and two massive creatures hulked out of the darkness.
“I can’t say I enjoyed having my teeth smashed out, but needs must. It’s not just that you’re making us look bad Tavish, it’s that you’ve got no style.”
The wizards teeth fizzed and crackled in Tavish’s hands, filling the air with the smell of skin and old toothpaste.
As the heavy grey hands of a cyclops he was sure he’d seen before held him still, Tavish briefly wondered if he’d be remembered. And then, he was never there at all.