Ups and Downs
After my brief break from the monotonous activity as a Mid-Level Mage at the Grand Celestio Council of Wizards, I am now settled back at my desk, and settled back into something of a routine. I teleport in, I take my seat, I prepare my ingredients and components, I send my company assigned familiar off to gather any materials I lack, I take a deep breath, and my thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of a call. I speak to the client on the other end and I learn about the strangest experience I’ve ever heard of. Rinse and repeat, day after day. Today’s letter involves one such strange experience.
A call came in for me, as they so often do, near the end of my shift. When I answered, the first thing I heard on the other line was the inconsistent echos of splashing. Splashing? Keen minded readers will remember that the preferred method of communication for mages at the Grand Council is the enchanted water basin, but rarely does touching the water of the bowl play a part in the communication. I was quick to assume the call was just the consequence of a bird taking a bath in someone’s basin again and was about to hang up when I finally recognized the utterance of a small voice among all the splashing.
“You’ve reached the Grand Celestio Council of Wizards,” I said hesitantly after three contemplative seconds, and the little voice responded immediately.
Unfortunately, in their excitement, the pitch of the voice heightened, and it was as if a mouse were squeaking happily on the other end of the call. At that point a mouse would have been a preferable caller, I thought as I waited for the voice to respond in a way I could make out.
After about a minute of me calmly asking the voice to repeat itself, I got the impression that whoever was speaking was also drowning in the basin, and so I changed my tactics and advised them to float on their back. This did the trick.
The voice on the other line took a few deep breaths, and finally identified themself. Trallmin, King of the Giants. A king in the West whom I’d recently worked with. Oh dear, I realized as my recollection set in. The king I had provided the shrinking magic for.
As I’m sure most wizards reading this letter know, the most efficient way to administer shrinking or growing magic to a person was to imbue the magic in a pastry or baked good of some sort. King Trallmin had ordered a box of shrinking cookies so that he could re-size himself to that of a human man in order to attend a couple of upcoming parties and other such human events. One cookie had enough magic to shrink the giant to that requested size for day’s time, and thus I’d advised the giant to eat one cookie before each of these events, and included fourteen in the box, enough for a fortnight of fun.
What could have possibly happened, I had asked the little giant incredulously. He ate a cookie, he said, and he didn’t shrink, so he ate four more. How long did he wait? He was supposed to wait? I nearly flipped my basin.
After some back and forth, which involved me getting a coworker to contact the Giant King’s wife so she could get him out of the basin, we landed on expedite-shipping him a package of growing-magic muffins at a discounted rate, and I headed out soon after to find myself a sweet treat for my troubles.
May the moon shine favorably and without hesitation upon you,
Alexan Drytus
