Wizards
Magic exists only in the mind. That doesn't mean it's not real. It is elusive, though, as everything a wizard does can be attributed to suggestion, probability and intuition. It doesn't help its reputation that most wizards are accomplished illusionists. Yet they do things other people cannot. In this world, magic simply works.
The two wizards couldn't have looked more different. The young one wore jeans and a nylon jacket, and his black hair was ruffled. A floppy backpack hung on his back, and he had a stock carbon fiber cane by its wrist strap. His elder stood very straight -- which made him appear taller -- and his own cane was an elegant affair, made of a dark wood and a metallic pommel the color of gold. His perfectly-groomed dark blond hair was covered by a fedora hat, and a long coat hung to his knees. Yet there was something in their attitude... their scrutinizing gazes in the gloom of the small wooden cabin, that set them apart from ordinary people. And the inspector had seen a lot of those.
"We took everything downtown, of course. Standard procedure. We have photographs, fingerprints, everything. But no usable evidence, so..."
His voice trailed off.
A minute passed.
The young man shuffled his feet.
"Go ahead," said his counterpart, "I know you found it."
"Thank you, Professor." He went to a seemingly random floorboard, while waving his hand through the air. He caught a knife that fell out of nowhere, used it to remove the wooden tile.
"Is that what you were looking for, Inspector?" He asked, pointing to the small space below.
It's drizzling. Yellow light from aging street lamps breaks the night, revealing elegant 1930es villas on both sides of the street. The air smells of wet earth and young leaves, and the only sound is the steady soft rap of the rain.
That, and footsteps approaching.
The man is tall and straight; he's wearing a long coat and a fedora that shadows his face. There's a cane tucked under his right arm. Neighbors know him simply as Professor, and tend to stay out of his way. Usually.
He didn't notice the three men until he was right between them, and then it was too late. He examined them in the poor light: poorly dressed, unshaven and - in one case - smelly. They looked none too friendly as they came nearer, tightening the circle.
"'That him?" asked the one behind him, nervousness obvious in his voice.
"Let's ask," mocked the one on the right. He was a surly brute, big and dirty, rotten teeth visible as he spoke. "You're a professor, Professor?"
"What if I am?" He asked softly, spinning his cane. The massive, gem-encrusted golden pommel caught the faint artificial light, only to reflect it in the other man's eyes. The man stood there grinning, and time passed.
"What'ya doin', Mac?" Asked the one behind. "Smack him already!"
He didn't, and the Professor started to turn around; his hand shot towards an oversized coat pocket.
"Oh no, you don't," grumbled the thug. He took a step forward and dug his fist in the Professor's midsection. The tall man stumbled backwards, doubling over with a exaggerated "oomph". He dropped a shiny object that clambered on the pavement, and his opponent followed it instinctively. He never saw his intended victim straightening up, nor that huge cane pommel arching towards his temple.
The first attacker still stood there, grinning like a fool, and the third - a youngster, it seemed - started to realize something wasn't right. His eyes went wide, then he simply turned and ran. The Professor didn't waste any time, either.
"Does magic ever fail you, Victor?"
"Only in a lab setting," he said, and she couldn't tell whether he was joking or not.
"I don't get it. If magic is real, why should that make any difference?"
"Well..."
He dragged his feet through the dry leaves on the forest floor, patches of sunlight dancing on his face.
"...you see, Maria, magic is fundamentally unpredictable, or we wouldn't be calling it that. Half the Art is making sure it's there when you need it. But you can't force it; it's not yours to command."
"Then you can't prove it's real, can you?"
"Oh, I don't know..." He looked up at the treetops, then back at the girl. He held her gaze while leaning down and shuffling through the thickly layered leaves with one hand. After a while he held up a dirty, rusty coin that might have been good decades before. "If it's not real, how did I do this?"
Maria looked at the hard, packed earth where the shape of the coin was clearly visible, now that the leaves had been removed, and shrugged.
"Look at it this way," resumed Victor, "science is very good at dealing with issues of matter and energy. But information is something else entirely. So is probability."
"I thought that was a set of mathematical laws?" she snickered.
"As in, nothing more? Maybe." He tossed the old coin. It fell on the edge.
It was his turn to shrug.
Tags: Fiction
