The Lesser One Chapter 12: Golden Goose

A Golden Goose

I am sitting in Mr. Tuffman’s office. He faces me across a cheap wood desk mounted with two monitors.

“We are going to put you through the training that professional conjurers usually go through,” he says. “That is to say, formation practice. I heard that you can create weapons from iron and wood, and possibly steel with your anima.”

I nod. “I can make a lot of things.”

“You get better at it in this class,” says Mr. Tuffman. “It’s graduate-level. Normally undergraduate or high school aged students would not go through this.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Most conjurers are able to create enough things without practice that they don’t really need to expand their horizons. This class is mostly used for research and development-based spirits.”

“So, they mostly aren’t adventurers?” I say.

“Right,” says Mr. Tuffman. “Ixtham academy has two other courses beside the adventuring course. Have you ever asked your fellow classmates in, say, General Spirit Theory what their spirits were?”

“No,” I say. “I assumed they were all adventurers.”

“That class has about a thirty-three percent rate of adventurers. The rest are from the two other courses we provide. Spirit Engineering and Spirit Arts.”

“Ah,” I say. I have known my whole life that spirit wielders are not always adventurers. Some create awesome engineering marvels, while others contribute to the world of art. If someone had, say, a clarinet spirit, wouldn’t the arts be a natural place for them?

I had never thought about spirits this way.

Mr. Tuffman types some things into his computer. “Advanced Conjuration is a seminar-style class. It is taught by Dr. Winding.” He pulls open a drawer and takes out an envelope. “This is your temporary adventurer card. You will receive a permanent one once it is made.” He slides the envelope across the desk to me. “You will participate in the Riding Valkyries’ dungeon clearing operations as a full-fledged member of the party. As such, you will be compensated as a full adventurer.” Mr. Tuffman looks sheepish. “I’m sorry to say that our pay rate is considerably lower than that of the big guilds.” He smiles. “But I’m glad our guild has someone as powerful as you on our side. We might become a lot more prominent if you deliver on your potential.”

I take the envelope and open it. Inside is a piece of paper, sort of like a provisional driver’s license, that has all my information and status as an adventurer.

Mr. Tuffman taps his finger on the table. “Your assignment to Advanced Conjuration will not preclude you from taking your ordinary classes. If you have any scheduling conflicts, it would be best to bring them to your actual advisor.” Mr. Tuffman types some more stuff into his computer. “I tried to make the class work with your schedule.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Mr. Tuffman looks at his watch. “It seems it is about time for you to go to your next class.”

I stand up. “Thank you,” I say. I leave the room.

Once I reach class, it is chaotic. Everyone seems to want to ask me questions. I get the feeling that most of them aren’t really impressed—they just want to get the feel of someone “powerful.” After all, the official story is that the only reason why I absorbed the ring was because I was closest to it when the missile hit. The military and government are getting most of the credit. I’m just a middleman who did what anyone could have.

It seems that Dr. Barrimore’s potion is a secret right now.

After classes, I head to Dr. Barrimore’s lab.

However, the door is locked and there is a piece of paper taped to it.

Markus, my office has been upgraded. Please head to room 5014.

Well. This was as expected. Since his theory has been proven—by me—he has probably received a lot more attention and funding. Upgrading his office would be the logical move.

I take the elevator to the 50^th floor. Once on the floor, I head to room 5014. I knock.

“Come in!” says Dr. Barrimore.

I enter. The room that Dr. Barrimore is using as an office is at least three times larger than his old one. Since he has just moved in, the furniture and decoration is pretty sparse. A door in the side of the office leads to a lab. I put on my lab coat and follow Dr. Barrimore in.

Two attendants in lab coats greet me. They both bow.

“This is Amber, and this is Gren,” says Dr. Barrimore.

Amber is a normal-looking teenage girl with black hair and brown eyes. There is nothing spectacular about her.

Gren is wire-thin. His lab coat droops over his body like an oversized cape. His blonde hair is filled with gel and shimmers like the scales of a fish.

Dr. Barrimore takes my shoulder and leads me to a small copy of the judging chamber I used during both of my ability tests.

“Since you are the personification of my research,” says Dr. Barrimore, “You will be the subject of our study. Please stand in the judging chamber.”

I stand in the chamber. There is no closing mechanism; the machine is open to the air.

Dr. Barrimore gives me a jar that looks a lot like the urine jars used in drug tests.

“Fill that with anima excretion,” says Dr. Barrimore.

Amber and Gren stand by on both sides. Amber fiddles with the judging device—it appears she is pretty experienced.

I fill the jar with a blob of my strange new power’s excretion substance—or whatever it is. As always, the red cracks running along my hands expand whenever I create the stuff.

Dr. Barrimore is standing at an expensive-looking computer terminal.

Amber takes the jar from me and places it in a separate scanning machine.

Gren hands me some sunglasses. “Please put these on,” he says.

As he is handing them to me Dr. Barrimore and Amber both put on their own pairs. After I take my pair, Gren puts on his.

I watch the jar of green, icky goo as it lights up like a magnesium starter in a bonfire.

“Whoa!” I say.

Dr. Barrimore chuckles. “This stuff is almost pure psion particles. I’ve never seen this much of it in one place. Plus, it looks like you can create a hundred times this amount without much effort.” He whistles. “Wow. That is a crazy Rohemm reading.” He turns the machine off and the anima gel stops shining, though it continues to give off a soft light.

I tilt my head. “Mr. Tuffman says that all conjured objects are made of this stuff.”

Dr. Barrimore nods. “Yes. But usually the transformation is quick and only the amount needed to create the object is produced. It’s very hard to get a pure sample of anima excretion.”

“Would this be worth, like, money?” I say.

Dr. Barrimore stops. He appears almost frightened. He turns to Gren and Amber.

“Please leave this room. You can go home for today.” He nods at me. “Stay here.” He then shuttles Amber and Gren out of the lab, out of the office, and makes sure they are down the hall before returning to me. He puts his arm around my shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking. I think you should hide the full extent of your power as much as possible.” He points to a metal table. “Produce an ounce of gold.”

A ball of goop forms in my palm and I turn it into a gold coin. The facing is a mess and its not uniform but I cannot mistake the fact that it is real gold.

“That, right there, in your hand, is worth over a thousand dollars.” Dr. Barrimore looks around himself. “And how much effort did it take to create?”

“Almost none,” I say. Then I realize the enormity of what I have been given.

“Um,” I say. Just to test, I create a platinum bar. It takes less than ten seconds.

I am suddenly very, very afraid.

“We are going to have to figure out how to hide most of your power,” says Dr. Barrimore. “As it is, only the higher-level staff know what happened in the testing chamber. I’m the only one who knows exactly what you can do. It’s my theorem, after all.”

He places both hands on my shoulders. “You need to come up with some artificial limitations. I’ve thought of some, and I need you to stick to the ones we choose.”

I nod. I know enough about economics to realize that I could totally upend any market if I were to create large amounts of precious or valuable items. As well as this, I could be kidnapped and forced to work for whoever kidnapped me.

I am a literal golden goose.

Dr. Barrimore consults a notepad. “I’ve come up with several limitations that could explain why you will—as far as anyone knows—be unable to produce anything of major intrinsic value. The first is this: you have a set library of creatable objects and elements. Thus, you will be marginally better than a dual conjuration spirit wielder.”

I nod. “I think that will work,” I say. “I created iron and wood,” I say. “Also steel.”

“Let’s keep it to that. Here, why don’t you also create some copper, some water, and some common grass. I’ll show these to the review board and say that it was all you could create. I’ll revise the paper I haven’t released yet and make it official that anima spirit users will only receive at most a dozen different conjuration themes.” Dr. Barrimore makes eye contact with me. “The government can not learn of your true power,” he says. “Even though you are perfect proof of the fact that anima spirit users, among others, are valuable in the adventuring field, I doubt that people will see things that way once everything calms down. I’ll do everything I can to soften the impact you will have on the world. I don’t want the world’s economy to be broken by a fountain of precious metals and objects.” Dr. Barrimore stares me in the eyes. “You must promise that, if you use your power for your own gain, you do it secretly, humbly, and without doing anything illegal.”

“I do,” I say. “I won’t do anything that will attract attention.” I pause. “But I will be taking a class on conjuration with Dr. Winding. Should I show him everything?”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Winding and figure out where he stands on this matter,” says Dr. Barrimore. “I’m going to have to be careful. I’ll tell you what I think you should do tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Dr. Barrimore smiles—a little painfully—and nods once. “Go to your club practice.” He pauses. “But first, make me a copper bar, fill this beaker with water, and grow some grass.”

I do all three in less than a minute.

Dr. Barrimore’s lips curl up. He seems to be deep in thought. “Now get out there and head to your club.”

I leave the lab and take the elevator down to the club auditorium below ground. Dres and Rey are standing beside the entrance to the range, doing what they usually do before practice. They both turn to face me.

Dres’s face lights up. “Hey! It’s the man of the hour, the savior of New York!” He holds up his fist. “Fist bump!”

I fist bump him.

Rey, leaning against a wall, shakes her head a little. “I underestimated you, Markus,” she says.

“I think everyone did,” says Dres. “I wouldn’t have been able to do what Markus did. Getting up close to the balrog and all that.”

“Were you guys okay? Did anyone in your family get hurt?”

“Nah,” says Dres. “Our family doesn’t live in the Manhattan area.”

Rey smiles. “So what new powers did you acquire?” she asks.

I form a bow and arrows in my hands. The red cracks shimmer once and then return to normal skin.

“Whoa,” says Rey. “Can I try that out?”

“Sure,” I say. I hand the bow and arrows to Rey.

Rey takes the bow and stretches it. “It feels off.” She knocks an arrow. “The arrow seems fine.” She holds the bow down, walks to the range, and returns to firing position. She releases, and barely hits the target—which is very rare for her.

She shakes her head. “You’re going to have to work on that,” she says. She hands me back my bow. “For now, I think it would benefit you most to use an actual physical bow.” She shrugs. “Though if you formed your own arrows that would be an ease on the club’s budget.”

“Sure,” I say. I form a dozen arrows, one after the other, and place them in a quiver.

Rey grabs one of them and knocks it to her own bow. She fires—bullseye.

“These arrows are pretty accurate,” she says. “Maybe because they’re so straight?”

“You could sell these!” says Dres, grabbing another one of my create arrows and firing it down the range. “I know most other conjurers have a side business selling the stuff they conjure.” He pauses. “Though I heard conjuring takes a lot of energy, so they can’t really make that much stuff.”

My energy has, to my knowledge, been coming from some sort of infernal devilish storage battery that the two hundred and fifty-one devils I absorbed brought with them. So, I haven’t been pulling on my own power.

Which is another thing I should probably keep secret.

“I’d pay a premium for these arrows,” says Rey, knocking another one. “Maybe twice what I would pay for a good ash arrow?” She sighs. “It’s a shame carbon-fiber arrows don’t work against magic.”

I shrug. “Magic is mysterious.”

“You can say that again,” says Rey. She takes another arrow and runs her finger along its shaft. “What is this arrow made of?”

“Wood,” I say. “And a steel tip.”

Rey frowns. “But it feels like more than that. I’ve shot plenty of wooden arrows with steel tips. This one feels … Lighter, while at the same time being more solid.”

I make my best I don’t know face. “It just came out like that,” I say.

Rey knocks her third arrow. She fires and splits the second arrow straight down the middle.

“Wow,” she says. “I’ve never done that before.”

Dres whistles. “Let me try.” He takes one of my arrows. After taking aim, he releases, and the arrow flies straight and true. A perfect bullseye.

“How many of these can you make?” asks Rey.

I remember Dr. Barrimore’s warning.

“Maybe two dozen?” I say. “I’m not sure I can do more than that.”

Two dozen, eh? Comes a voice in my head. I recognize it; it’s Jirgrar.

What about it? I think back to him.

Nothing. I was just wondering why my new master would go so far to limit himself.

I’m sorry, I respond. I have a life to live.

You have two hundred and fifty demons to defend you. No force, human or otherwise, can contend with that.

Jirbrar’s tone tells me that he is probably testing me.

I don’t want to shake things up, for now, I say. Maybe when I am done with school, I can do something big.

I am trying to be as non-confrontational as possible.

“Hey,” says Rey. “Are you okay? You look a little glazed.”

“No, sorry,” I say. I hold out my hand. “I’ll make as many arrows as I can.”

“And I’ll buy the lot for twenty bucks an arrow,” says Rey. She turns to Dres. “Does that sound good?”

Twenty bucks an arrow—with two dozen, that amounts to around five hundred dollars.

It’s the biggest single transaction I’ve ever made.

I create exactly twenty-four arrows and hand them to Rey. She takes out her wallet and—surprisingly—pulls out five hundred-dollar bills.

“Where’d that come from?” I ask.

Rey looks coquettish. “I keep a lot of money on me for situations like this.” She hands me the bills. “But that’s all I have. Don’t ask for more.” She winks.

“Bleh,” says Dres. “Don’t listen to her. She just got paid from her part time job.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a waitress at a bar.”

“Some of the customers are rich and give big tips,” says Dres, elbowing Rey.

Rey grins. “It’s because I’m attractive.”

I sigh.

After spending two hours on the range, I pack up my bow and take the elevator to the ground floor. It is about one in the morning, and I want to go to bed so that I don’t wake up too tired to do anything.

 I walk through the common room of the Riding Valkyrie’s dorm floor and see the reconstruction effort on TV. A lot of the city was damaged during the battle. I don’t see much about myself—which I am thankful for—but I do hear that the estimated damage is in the billions.

I enter my room and collapse onto the bed. In half a minute I am sleeping.

I enter a dream. I stand on the main street of a town that looks like a mixture between a western frontier settlement and an eighties video game texture pack. Dozens of normal-looking citizens are walking back and forth.

A man in a black suit with sunglasses approaches me. He kneels before me. “Master,” he says.

I recognize the voice. It is Jirgrar. I am confused.

“Why do you look like a human?” I ask.

Jirgrar stands up, still bowing, this time like a butler. “We fey can take whatever humanoid form we wish. We simply adjust ourselves to the taste of our master.”

“Well, okay,” I say, taking a look around town. “Is this place where you live?”

“We do not technically “live” like you would as a human in the real world. This town is a façade to facilitate interaction with you. Is it not to your liking?”

I shake my head. “I like it, but it’s a little sparse. It feels like I’m in a video game.”

Jirgrar stands up. “What would you prefer this town to look like?”

“Er, I think it’s okay,” I say. “At the very least it feels like an alternate dimension.”

“Very well,” says Jirgrar. “We shall keep it this way.” He pauses. “Do you wish to learn about the power of your minions at this time?”

“You mean, like what you guys are capable of?” I ask.

Jirgrar smiles, revealing sharp teeth. “Of course. Understanding the capabilities of your fighting force is integral to winning any battle.”

“Okay then. Show me,” I say.

Jirgrar snaps his fingers. Five devils dressed in the same costume as Jirgrar appear in a semicircle around me.

Jirgrar points to the left-most devil. “Summoners can summon a number of familiars to fight alongside them.”

The summoner devil makes a sign with his hands and a wolf pops out of a small portal.

“Next,” says Jirgrar, “We have warlocks.”

The second devil, a woman this time, forms a ball of fire and sprays one of the buildings alongside the street with it.

“Warlocks,” says Jirgrar, “Can generate magical abilities based on their spirit.”

The third devil, holding a bow and arrows, steps forward. “Snipers can hit far away targets,” says Jirgrar.

The sniper shoots a flaming arrow all the way down the football field length street and hits a pre-placed target with perfect accuracy.

“Assassins do what assassins do,” says Jirgrar, pointing to the fourth devil.

The devil bows, and then disappears into shadow.  

“And knights fight on the front lines,” says Jirgrar.

The fifth devil kneels before me, holding up its sword.

I can’t help but be a little afraid. I am in control of an army that is powerful enough to go toe to toe with the biggest adventurer guilds—and it’s all my own.

“It seems as if you’re dissatisfied with this arrangement,” says Jirgrar.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

“One last thing,” says Jirgrar. “Just like human spirit wielders, we fey can absorb the spirit rings of defeated monsters. We will manage this ourselves, but if you have anything you want to command us to do about spirit rings, we will obey your every word.” He smiles again, showing his teeth. “It appears that it is time to wake up. When you are awake, simply asking us to appear before you will be enough to draw us out of your pocket dimension. We can do many things for you.”

The world shimmers, blanks out, and I wake up in my bed with the sun streaming through my window.