Mad Wizard - A B&P story

[joegoda]

Clang. "Heigh". Clang. "Ho." Clang. "Nobody home." Clang, clang. "Meat nor drink nor money have we none." Clang, clang. "Still we will be merrerarerareyyy." Clang, clang, clang. "Hey ho nobody home". Sizzle.

Pockets hummed the tune over and over again. The song came from his boyhood days, spent in idle frustration, due mostly in part to his intelligence. The nuns at the Leave Your Unwanted Children Here orphanage were simply not prepared for someone as quick witted as Chester Pockets. They did find that music was one way to sooth the savage brain, and used it as often as they could.

Pockets himself would admit to a love of music because of the mathematical adventures it took him on.

"It has to flow just as it does, or else it's not music. It gives you all you need for the equation, leads you into the main synopsis and drops you at the only logical mathematical conclusion there could be. One number out of place, one slash or quirt misdirected and you no longer have music, you have discordance in your harmony. But when it's right, it's beauty in its simplicity, and one of the very building blocks of the universe", he would say. This was right before the nuns would shake their heads and walk away with wonder and their own frustration in not understanding a word the boy was saying.

His solace came in being alone in his thoughts or with his chum Timothy Bags, who didn't care what came out of Pocket's mouth, as long as it didn't get them both in trouble. He appreciated the genius of the slightly younger boy, the courage or total ignorance of what his words may actually be saying to the real world. In fact, he found Pockets to be quite humorous, in that he had no governor over what he would say.

"You have no inside voice, Pockets. All you have is an outside voice" He would say.

"But I hear voices inside my head all the time, Bags", Pockets would reply. "Some of my best discussions happen where nobody can hear them."

Bags would just shake his head in sympathy, turn to whomever they happen to be drinking with that night and carry on with that conversation, keeping a watchful eye open just in case something came out of Pocket's mouth that offended someone.

It rarely did. Most people would hear what Pockets would say, look at his smallish frame with balding head and rounding belly, and just walk away, thinking "Of course he's joking. He's obviously an escaped lunatic or possibly an accountant."

As young men, Bags would often be put in the position of the defender of Pockets, as children tend to pick on those that are different from themselves as targets. There was something about the younger Pockets that kept them tight friends, and if he was asked today what it was, he wouldn't be able to say what that thing was.

Bags, himself grew into a strapping young man, tall with reddish hair, and easy smile and quick laugh, and was very well liked. A veteran of many scuffles and a few minor wars, he had survived and became very strong and even as he aged, he lost none of his agility of his youth. He was a man's man, and, if truth be told, and it must, a woman's man as well.

The legend had it that he had been in every single cat house across the land, and was always a welcome customer, even if he could not pay. Another part of the legend also says that his popularity came from Pockets, who could, it seemed, fix anything. While Bags was busy with his business, Pockets would always be found squaring doors or fixing plumbing or twiddling with some broken thing or other. Where Bags may have had a fondness for the ladies, Pockets had a fondness for broken things and could not leave them alone.

They met Grizelda at one of these cat houses. She was in a difficult situation, Bags and Pockets aided her escape. Bags became grievously wounded and Grizelda nursed him back to health.

Seven years after that incredible misadventure, the two became King and Queen of the City of Joyful Tears, and were married on that same day. Grizelda became pregnant, as these things happen, and Pockets, realizing that the equation of the world had changed, made his home high in the Castle keep.

Most days, however, he could be found in his blacksmith's shop, tinkering or building or creating. Smoke would curl from the chimney, sparks would fly out the door, sizzling of hot metal in cooling water could be heard through the windows. When he was happy, he would hum or sing as he worked. He wasn't very good, but he wasn't very bad, either. He was just medium, and that was all right with him.

When he was not happy, no sparks would fly, no sizzle would be heard and very little smoke would be seen at all. Fortunately, Pockets only had moments of being unhappy, and then something would distract his mind and off he would go, merrily humming while he worked on the new problem or invention.

"Down by the river." Clang. "She swam in the nude." Clang. "Awaiting his pleasure." Clang, clang. "Inside her solitude." Sizzle.

The sun was hot, the sky only slightly cloudy. There was a breeze of sorts, and Pockets had left his doors and windows open to catch what ever might come. What came today was a voice.

"Chester", it said. "Chester Pockets."

The humming stopped briefly, as Pockets cocked his head to one side, listening. When nothing came, he shrugged his shoulders and continued. He was bending a very large piece of steel, forming it for something he had cooked up in his mind.

"When she stood in her moondreeeeeeeesss", stretching the last word out from exertion, "she was all a-glow." Driving rivets. "And who the young man was." Clang. "Didn't nobody know." Clang.

"Chester."

"All right. Who's the wise guy?" Pockets stopped what he was doing, placed his hammer on the table and turned slowly, examining the interior of the small shop. "Capitani? Is that you?" He peered into the rafters, as he half expected his acrobatic friend to drop from the ceiling.

Nobody.

"Chester, come see me, come find me. I need your help." The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and no where.

Stopping his ears with his hands, Pockets asked "Help?" His voices sounded large and hollow to him inside his head. "What sort of help?"

"Don't talk", said the voice. "It mucks up the reception. Just think, boy."

It sounded familiar, even inside his head. Pockets quickly sifted through years of memories, some buried so deeply that he didn't even know he had them till he went looking. Checking against thousands of intonations and vibrational qualities, he found a match.

"Fletcher?" he thought hesitantly. "Wiz? Is that you?"

"Yes, yes it is", came the reply. "And I need your assistance. There's an N P juncture at the weak force bond that is not holding."

"And I care... why?" Pockets asked a bit snippily. There was no good blood between the two men, due to their interactions in the past. M. Fletcher, the Mad Wizard was partly responsible for making Pockets the way he is, adrift amid worlds that does not quite connect to this world, or any other world.

"Imagine, boy, that the small quantum singularity in Timothy's bag suddenly increased in strength, say, oooohh... a trillion times. What do you suspect that would do to your friend."

"Nothing good." Pockets had a brief flash of Bags suddenly not existing, being sucked into the small black hole that was carried in the bag he always kept with him. Being Pockets, though, he extrapolated the continuing results and saw the entire planet being drawn into Bags' bag, followed by the sun, a few more planetary systems, until the black hole was done with its meal and burped out a pulsar.

Pockets sighed. "All right. You have my attention", he thought back. "What did you break this time, and why aren't you dead yet?"

"You must come here, Chester. That is the only way you can help." was the answer.

"Same place, I suppose?" Pockets asked.

"Yes, though I doubt you would recognize the old place." The voice hesitated. "You see, the tower has become ... well... inverted."

An eyebrow went up. "That would, at least, be something interesting to see." Pockets murmured out loud.

He thought about going to Bags and telling him of the conversation. He decided against it. There was a baby on the way, and a kingdom to run, and blah, blah, blah. "I've had this conversation before." Pockets said. To the voice in his head, he said "Okay. Let me write a note telling where I've gone. Last time I left I got in sooooo much trouble."

"All speed if you can, Chester. The stability won't hold forever." Fletcher said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone needs something, Wiz. Hold your water, I'll be there quick as I can."

Comments

[tapestry01.livejournal.com]

It's off to a good start!

[journiey.livejournal.com]

Its Good To See You Writing Again Dearest :)

[rowangolightly.livejournal.com]

Yay! *bouncebounce* A new story!

(Should I be disturbed at all that that's the second time this morning already that I've typed, "Yay! *bouncebounce*"?)