The Wizard of Smaug
             Copyright Bruce Norman, 1992
                 All rights reserved



                      Chapter 3

                 --------------------

    Perrywinkle miserably wandered about Bowels, the 
capital city of Smaug.  Luckily he had managed to 
find a group of friendly nuns who had bandaged his 
face and hand.  Still, he had no money, no friends, 
and nowhere to go.  To top it off, he was very 
hungry. 
    "Dung! Get your fresh dung! Fresh as cream! A 
farmer's dream! Best dung in the land! Cow dung! 
Sheep dung! Goose dung!"  Perrywinkle shivered; he 
hated goose dung.  He also hated the voice, which he 
recognized immediately: it was his brother Mark.  
Perrywinkle resisted the urge to run to him, and beg 
his mercy.  He had lost many things yesterday, but 
his pride was not one of them.  Perhaps he had 
misplaced it, but here it was again, and this time it 
wouldn't let him make a fool of himself. 
    "Please Mark, please! Tell dad to take me back!"  
Perrywinkle burst through the crowd and fell before 
his brother Mark.  To his own astonishment, 
Perrywinkle found himself laying wet kisses on Mark's 
soiled boots.  "Come on Markey, you can get him to 
let me come back.  Do me a favor, brother!" 
    "My brother," said Mark dully but politely, "has 
eyebrows.  You do not.  Now unless you are interested 
in some nice fresh dung, I must ask you to leave."
    Perrywinkle turned, sobbing, and began to crawl 
into the crowd.  Mark gave him a helpful boot in the 
behind.  I'll have to return to that crackpot 
Teflour, thought Perrywinkle, I know I will.  Then 
he'll bake me, and boil me, and burn me, oh God, why 
me? 
    A loud trumpet blast interrupted Perrywinkle's 
self pity.  The voice of the King's announcer blared 
forth. 
    "Hear ye, hear ye.  Tend your ears to the words 
of the King.  His Majesty, King Mortis the Fifth, now 
speaks!" A wall of silence envelopped the marketplace 
as all people turned their attention to the King.  
King Mortis did not command great respect from the 
people, but Lord Bluetspur did; stories of how he 
enjoyed feeding the entrails of disrespectful 
subjects to his toad familiar, Froggy, encouraged the 
people to lend this same respect to the King. 
    "My loyal subjects" recited King Mortis.  "A 
great tragedy has befallen our kingdom.  A dear 
friend of mine has met a horrible and loathsome 
accident.  Court Wizard Teflour, a man we all know 
and love, has died." 
    There was some snickering amongst the crowd.  A 
smelly looking sheep herder cried out mockingly "What 
happened? Did he drown in his cauldron?" The crowd 
erupted into laughter 
    "Why yes, as a matter of fact he did" responded 
the King, as the sheep herder was dragged away 
screaming by guards.  "Anyone else wish to comment on 
this most horrible accident!" 
    The crowd was silent.  The King smiled at them. 
    "Now that Teflour's dead and buried, it is my 
great pleasure to announce his successor.  A man who, 
if it is possible, we all know and love more than 
Teflour himself.  I give you Teflour's former 
apprentice, and greatest friend, Lord Bluetspur!" 
    The crowd stood silent. 
    "This is when you cheer" prompted the king dryly.  
The crowd erupted into well practiced spontaneous 
applause and cheering. 
    Perfect, thought Perrywinkle.  My options have 
changed.  No longer need I fear becoming the 
apprentice of a senile Wizard who will try to kill 
me.  Now I can choose to become the apprentice of 
Lord "demons are my friends" Bluetspur.  Perrywinkle 
began to look around for a comfortable gutter to 
crawl into and die.  There were none around.  
Somewhat disheartened, Perrywinkle's eyes locked on 
the large dung barrel which sat next to Mark.  A 
crafty, somewhat deranged, gleam filled Perrywinkle's 
eyes.  Like a snake, he crawled on his belly towards 
the dung barrel.  His nose sniffed at the air, and 
immediately identified the type and quality of the 
dung.  Grade A goose dung, thought Perrywinkle, I 
hate goose dung.  Still, it will bring me a pretty 
penny on the black dung market.  With his brother's 
eyes still locked on the King, it was simple for 
Perrywinkle to dip his hands into barrel.  Grinning 
evily, he filled his pockets with goose dung.  With 
luck, I'll be able to sell this dung, and buy enough 
cheap liquor to drink myself to death.  Then, with 
any luck, someone will find my body and sell it for 
medical experiments. 
    "Excuse me sire" called out a cultured voice.  
The crows bowed in reflexive reverence as the noble 
figure of Bishop Maurice climbed on to the podium.  
The crowd murmured at this unexpected event.  Money 
changed hands as the crowd bet over whether the King 
would have the Bishop beheaded for interrupting him. 
    "What is it your holiness?" Responded King Mortis 
impatiently.  Unknown to the crowd, the Bishop was 
entirely safe.  Thanks to his falsified reports of 
church attendance, the King still believed religion 
was a powerful force in Smaug.   
    "According to the laws of Smaug," spoke the 
Bishop, "the Court Wizard may declare his successor." 
    "Yes, I know" said the king.  "I have read 
Teflour's will.  I have it in my pocket, actually." 
    "Would you read it then sire?" asked the Arch 
Bishop.  An intelligent, amused, smile crossed his 
face. 
    "Very well," said the King.  He cleared his 
throat.  "I, Teflour, Court Wizard of Smaug, High 
Sorcerer of the realm, Arch-Thaumaturgist of the 
northern continent, Prime Enchanter of the land, 
Conjurer of the well of fire, and five time president 
of the wizard's-for-wilderness preservation 
organization do hereby declare on this the day of the 
rat, the month of the cocker-spaniel, the year of the 
befuddled ferret, hour of the smelly dwarf, minute of 
the erotic milk-man and second of the flaming swallow 
that in the event of my unlikely demise, the position 
of Court Wizard is to be filled by my apprentice."  
King Mortis looked at the paper in disgust.  "Fool 
never did learn proper punctuation."  He glanced over 
at the Arch Bishop.  "Teflour's will was quite clear, 
your holiness.  At the time of the writing of the 
will, Teflour's apprentice was none other than Lord 
Bluetspur.  It is obvious that he has been chosen to 
be the next Court Wizard." 
    "No sire," said Maurice, "I am afraid you are 
mistaken."  The crowd mumbled.  Odds changed.  
Entrepreneurial peasants began designing "I was at 
the Bishop's Beheading" collectors items. 
    "How am I mistaken," inquired the King, nastily. 
    "Lord Bluetspur was Teflour's apprentice," stated 
the Bishop, "but was is the key term here.  It is 
common knowledge that Lord Bluetspur is Teflour's one 
and only apprentice.  Common knowledge, however, is 
wrong.  Teflour took another apprentice, just 
yesterday actually, and it is this boy who is the 
rightful heir to the title of Court Wizard!" 
    The crowd gasped.  Arch Bishop Maurice was 
pleased.  The fools usually needed prompting for that 
too. 
    Perrywinkle froze, a clod of dung dropped from 
his hands. 
    Lord Bluetspur crouched behind the platform.  He 
had been waiting to triumphantly mount the stage and 
accept the great chain of office.  The look on his 
face was one of pure murder. 
    "Teflour's intent, however, was obvious," said 
the King coldly.  "He wished for Lord Bluetspur to 
succeed him."
    "Yes, sire," responded Arch-Bishop Maurice, 
smiling evily, "but as you yourself are often so fond 
of saying: the word of the law is more important than 
the intent."
     King Mortis began to sweat.  He had said that, 
hadn't he? It certainly made court cases easier for 
him.
    "Unless you would blatantly break all the laws of 
Smaug, thus spitting in the face of God, and 
basically begging for the population to rise up and 
destroy you, you must make Teflour's new apprentice 
the next Court Wizard of Smaug!" 
    Lord Bluetspur climbed onto the stage.  His eyes 
locked with the Arch Bishop's.  If looks could kill, 
Lord Bluetspur would not have looked at the Bishop, 
for to do so would certainly have slain him on the 
spot, and killing a bishop in public is not 
considered politically wise.  "If an apprentice is to 
take office, then show us this apprentice" he spat. 
    "Well" admitted the Arch-Bishop.  "Actually, I'm 
not sure where he is at this moment." 
    "Oh come on Maurice," snarled Lord Bluetspur, 
"you're just mad at me because I burned down those 
monestaries, aren't you? Now be a good Arch-Bishop 
and stop making such a fuss!"  Maurice sneered at 
him. 
    "As the apprentice can not be found" mumbled the 
King hurriedly, "it seems we must place Lord 
Bluetspur in the office of Court Wizard." 
    At that moment Perrywinkle made yet another 
monumental decision that would affect him for the 
rest of his life.  He would later attribute it to too 
much sun, lack of sleep, the overpowering smell of 
dung, and a slight hankering to look at Teflour's 
naughty elf books again. 
    "I am the apprentice" he called out.  The crowd 
began to laugh.  Lord Bluetspur joined in.  Guards 
came forward to drag Perrywinkle away. 
    "Wait" commanded the Arch-Bishop, "bring him 
forward!"  The guards dutifully dragged Perrywinkle 
to the podium, and unceremoniously tossed him up onto 
it.  Perrywinkle groaned and climbed to his feet, 
desperately brushing the dirt from his filthy 
clothes.  He merely succeeded in smearing dung all 
over them. 
    "You are the apprentice of Court Wizard Teflour?" 
asked the Arch-Bishop worriedly.  Perrywinkle nodded.  
"Oh dear" was the Bishop's reply. 
    "Now, boy" snarled Lord Bluetspur, taking 
Perrywinkle's face in his bony right hand, "answer me 
these questions three.  "Are you Teflour's 
apprentice? What is your name? What do you do?" 
    "Yes, I am his apprentice," was Perrywinkle's 
fear-crazed, yet truthful, reply.  "My name is 
Perrywinkle, and I'm a dung farmer.  I've farmed the 
best dung in all the land of Smaug, sir!" 
    "I'm sure" replied Lord Bluetspur dryly, "and how 
long, exactly, have you been the apprentice of 
Teflour?" 
    "One day sir" responded Perrywinkle, "well, not 
quite a day actually.  You see there was a little 
accident, and my face caught on fire, so I quit.  I 
mean quit for the day.  I took the rest of the day 
off.  I was coming back tomorrow though.  Honestly!"  
Perrywinkle's lower lip vibrated like a castanet. 
    "So!" Yelled Bluetspur to the crowd.  "The Arch-
Bishop would have us make a former dung farmer, who 
has had not quite one day's experience as an 
apprentice wizard, Smaug's next Court Wizard! I ask 
you, people of Smaug, do you want this?" 
    The crowd was silent. 
    "No you don't" barked Lord Bluetspur. 
    The crowd instantly broke into loud indications 
of how little they wanted a grub farmer who'd only 
been a pacifist for one week to take the office of 
Court Wizard. 
    "So you see, your majesty, the will of the people 
is clear.  You must place me in the office of Court 
Wizard..." 
    "Fine with me" spoke Perrywinkle, preparing to 
jump off the stage, his brief fit of bravery having 
long since left him. 
    "...and of course, have this impostor publicly 
beheaded!" finished Lord Bluetspur with a flourish of 
his right hand.  He was very pleased with his 
flourish.  As Court Wizard of Smaug he would be 
required to make similar flourishes at all public 
occasions, he'd been practicing very hard and had 
managed to perfectly duplicate the limp wristed 
flourish of nobility. 
    "Now hold on a second!" objected Perrywinkle as 
guards began to approach him.  "I....I changed my 
mind.  I do want to be Court Wizard.  It's my right!" 
    "Oh, really boy?" laughed Lord Bluetspur.  "Then 
why don't you just show us how prepared you are for 
the job! Cast us a spell, great and mighty wizard 
Perrywinkle.  Show us your power!"  Lord Bluetspur 
bore his teeth in a grin of hate.  He motioned 
towards a guard.  "Bring us a sheep with a stomach 
ailment!" 
    The blood drained from Perrywinkle's face.  He 
was doomed.  Somehow he doubted Lord Bluetspur would 
let him consult his wizard's manual right now. 
    "I think perhaps I shall not have you beheaded" 
hissed Lord Bluetspur in Perrywinkle's ear.  My toad 
familiar, Froggy, has long been without the taste of 
human intestines.  I think he would appreciate yours, 
don't you Perrywinkle?" 
    Perrywinkle glanced about desperately for an 
escape route.  There was none.  In the distance he 
heard the characteristic pained bleating of a sheep 
with gastric problems.  The crowd parted to allow the 
rather disgusted guard to drag the vomiting ewe up on 
the stage. 
    "Go on then great wizard, cure this sheep!" 
Yelled Bluetspur in challenge.  Perrywinkle knelt 
before the sheep. 
    "Ah, nice sheep" spoke Perrywinkle, patting it on 
the head.  He wiped the dung on his hands off on the 
sheep's fleece.  "Ah...flumple flee! Oh sheep, I cure 
thee!" yelled Perrywinkle.  He waved his hands in 
what he hoped appeared to be magical gestures.  The 
sheep bleated, and vommited on Perrywinkle's 
trousers.  Perrywinkle looked around desperately.  
"Give him a teaspoon full of cod liver oil and call 
me in the morning," he suggested in desperation.  The 
Arch-Bishop shook his head in disgust. 
    "No Perrywinkle" spoke Lord Bluetspur quietly, 
"that is not the way a wizard cures a sheep!"  Lord 
Bluetspur strode towards the sheep and raised his 
hands up into the air.  He began to chant in a low 
dark voice. 
    "Alumna, cotera, bianquai, lotari!"  His right 
hand snaked into his robes and drew out silvery 
powder which he sprinkled on the sheep.  "In plubius 
nocommentus! Habius corpus!" Lord Bluetspur chanted 
soft nonsensicle words of magic as he began to rub 
the sheep's head.  The crowd fell silent, they were 
completely enraptured by Lord Bluetspur. 
    The chanting and dancing of Lord Bluetspur 
continued for ten minutes.  Then, without warning 
Lord Bluetspur suddenly spread his arms and screamed 
forth.  "By the power of my magic, this sheep be 
cured!" 
    The crowd did not hear what Lord Bluetspur said 
next.  He whispered in a voice so silent that 
Perrywinkle's sharp-pricked ears were barely able to 
pick out the words. 
    "Feeple sheep." Lord Bluetspur looked 
uncomfortable for a moment, and let out a large 
belch. 
    The ewe looked around confusedly, and then stood 
on its feet.  It began to bleat, and appreciatively 
licked Lord Bluetspur's hand.  The crowd, after much 
prompting from the King, began to cheer. 
    "Now hold on a second!" yelled Perrywinkle.  He 
turned to Lord Bluetspur, and sneered.  "That's it?  
He cures a bloody sheep and you're going to make him 
Court Wizard!"  Perrywinkle turned to the sheep in 
disgust.  Guards approached him.  Perrywinkle backed 
away.  "You fools want magic? I'll show you some real 
magic!"  Perrywinkle raised his right hand.  His 
teeth gritted, he recited the words he hated so much. 
    "Fooble fire."
    A burning globe of flame appeared in his hand.  
He held it forth for all to see.  Completely 
unprompted, the crowd oohed and ahhed.  Guardsmen 
screamed and ran in fear.  Perrywinkle turned to look 
at the ashen faces of Lord Bluetspur, King Mortis, 
and Arch Bishop Maurice. 
    The smell of burning flesh filled the air. 
    With a scream of pain which he hoped would be 
interpreted as rage, Perrywinkle tossed the ball of 
flame.  It flew through the air and landed in Mark's 
dung barrel, which promptly exploded.  The smell of 
burning goose dung filled the marketplace.  
Perrywinkle hated the smell of burning goose dung.  
While the crowd watched the barrel in awe, 
Perrywinkle dunked his flaming bandages in the holy 
water cistern located on stage.  Drawing out his 
steaming charred palm, Perrywinkle inconspicuously 
shoved it in his pocket.  There, he lodged it in cool 
goose dung.  He hated goose dung. 
    "Well," asked Perrywinkle calmly, desperately 
ignoring the excruciating waves of pain erupting from 
his hand, "do I get the job?" 
    The crowd began to cheer (with slight prompting 
from Arch Bishop Maurice).  "All hail Court Wizard 
Perrywinkle! May he live long and prosper!" 
    Perrywinkle's brother Mark stood in his little 
lot gazing at the pile of cinders which was once his 
dung barrel.  A single tear drifted down from his 
left eye.  The explosion had burned his eyebrows off. 
    "Well, well, well" said King Mortis to 
Perrywinkle.  "Well, well, well, well...." 
    "I think," interrupted Arch-Bishop Maurice, "what 
his majesty is attempting to say is 'Welcome 
Perrywinkle, I am sure you will do an admirable job 
of filling the post of Court Wizard'" 
    "Ah...yes!" Said King Mortis.  "Congratulations 
Perrywinkle, you have the job."  He extended his 
right hand for Perrywinkle to shake.  Perrywinkle 
looked at it, smiled apologetically. 
    "I'm afraid, sire, that I have dung on my hands".  
The King smiled understandingly. 
    Lord Bluetspur choked back his words of rage.  
With a barbaric snarl he stormed off the stage. 
    The Arch-Bishop took a huge silver medallion and 
hung it about Perrywinkle's neck. 
    "By the power granted to me by God, I hereby 
grant you the position of Court Wizard of Smaug.  
Take you the chain of office, Perrywinkle?" 
    "Ok" responded Perrywinkle. 
    "And take you the three vows of ascention?" 
    "Ah, sure" replied Perrywinkle. 
    "Do you, Perrywinkle, vow to always serve the 
best interests of the land of Smaug?" 
    "I do" responded Perrywinkle smoothly. 
    "Do you, Perrywinkle, vow to always serve the 
best interests of the people of Smaug?" 
    "Sure" responded Perrywinkle even more smoothly. 
    "And do you, Perrywinkle, vow to always serve the 
commands of the King of Smaug, even if he asks you to 
destroy the people and land of Smaug?" 
    "Well...ok" responded Perrywinkle, not quiet so 
smoothly. 
    The crowd broke into loud cheers.  The Bishop 
walked forth and whispered into Perrywinkle's ear. 
    "There is one more vow, the secret vow of all 
wizards.  Do you, Perrywinkle, hereby swear to 
abstain from nookey in all ways and forms?" 
    "Hunh?  Now wait a second...."  Perrywinkle, 
stepped back from the Bishop.  The Bishop glared at 
him and raised a finger to his lips he approached 
Perrywinkle again. 
    "Do you, Perrywinkle, hereby swear to never 
partake in the joys of the flesh for the rest of your 
life, no matter what?" 
    "Uhm, uhh" stuttered Perrywinkle. 
    "Come on boy! It's the standard secret wizard's 
oath! Now do you swear?" 
    "Oh, I guess so" replied Perrywinkle sullenly.  
His stomach churned, what a nasty turn of events.  
His father had been right.  Perrywinkle had no time 
to morn his permanent virginity, however, for King 
Mortis grabbed him by the shoulder and presented him 
to the crowd. 
    "Now, all praise Lord Perrywinkle!  Court Wizard 
of Smaug!" 
    "All praise Lord Perrywinkle, Court Wizard of 
Smaug!" Repeated the crowd enthusiastically. 
    "Taken the secret oath yet Perrywinkle?" Inquired 
a cackling old woman. 
    "No more nookey for you mate!" Yelled out a one 
eyed sailor. 
    "Many lonely nights ahead for you with dirty elf 
books!" called out a snotty nosed six year old girl.  
The crowd began laughed. 
    The king's guards grabbed the little girl, the 
sailor, and the old woman and dragged them away 
screaming. 
    "Now does anyone else know anything of secret 
wizards oaths?" asked the King.  The crowd fell 
silent. 
    "Congratulations, Court Wizard Perrywinkle," 
snarled Lord Bluetspur.  "I'm sure your term of 
office will be a good one, but a short one."
    Perrywinkle smiled, waved at the crowd, and 
fainted.