"Quill of the Magus"

Peter stopped and stared at the curious store. It had not been there yesterday, nor any other day over the past nine years, of that much he was certain. Nine years. Had it really been that long that he had been working at the same newspaper? Peter sighed and scratched his head. It was a good job, and he enjoyed writing, but it was still hard to believe that he had been working at the same place for that long! Nine long years, and it didn't look like he would be going upwards anytime soon. And in all of that time, he had never seen the strange shop. It was a queer thing, because he had walked this same route to the same newspaper for nine years! It wouldn't have surprised him if somebody had moved into the building overnight, as people moved around quickly nowadays, but... the shop looked right at home on the busy corner, as if it had been there for decades.

Overcome by curiosity, Peter walked over to the window and peered inside. The windows were a bit dusty, and there were a few cobwebs strung about, but he could see that it was a pawn shop, or something of the like. One of those stores that people sometimes poked around in, but usually didn't buy anything. Peter could certainly see plenty of junk covering the dusty shelves. He had left the house a bit earlier that day, so he figured he could kill some time by looking around. Who knows? He might even find something.

Bells tinkled softly as he opened the glass door. Nobody was behind the counter with the ancient cash register, but Peter decided to poke around anyway. Everything was blanketed with a thin layer of dust, and he sometimes had to closely examine objects to discover their identity. On an old fashioned mahogany desk he noticed an eye-catching vase. It looked Greek or Roman, like something straight out of "Gladiator". He picked it up to admire the designs on the sides, and realized that there was something else inside it. Peter turned the vase upside down over the desk, and a feather fell onto the mahogany. No, not a feather- a quill. This must be an old writing desk! He examined the quill. It was jet black, with flecks of midnight blue. It was in surprisingly good condition! The quill would make a nice addition to his desk at home... But the shop owner wasn't anywhere to be seen. Oh well, he could come in and buy it some other day. But what if somebody else had the same idea? This was his quill! Why should he pay for it? The thought surprised him. No! He would take the quill, but the next time he came by, he would pay for it. His mind made up, he put the quill in his pocket and made for the door. Just as he was about to reach it, he froze. He had noticed a plaque above the door. In gold, spidery lettering it read, "Take something from this shop and claim it as your own, but now be forewarned that you will learn from your loan". Peter shivered in spite of himself. "What a weird sign!" he said out loud as he pushed open the door.

As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he could have sworn that he had heard a chuckle from inside the little shop. Turning back, he saw no one. "Old hinges," he muttered to himself as he continued on his way. He suddenly quickened his pace. He had realized just how long he had been in the shop. His boss was going to murder him! Already, he must be at least ten minutes later than usual! Glancing at his watch, he stopped. He was still early. "...How?" Peter asked himself. He didn't have an answer. His watch was still ticking. Peter took a deep breath. "Okay!" he told himself. " There is a completely scientific and logical explanation for this!" He didn't believe himself for a second.

Back at home later, Peter had almost forgotten about the day's strange events. He placed the quill with an inkwell that his Aunt had given him last year on his desk near a fresh piece of paper. His Aunt would be happy to hear that Peter had actually used the silly inkwell! He poured himself some coffee and sat down to watch the news in his cramped living room. When it was over, Peter switched off the television and returned to the office of his small home. He still had an article to finish for the newspaper. As he sat down at his computer, the bright sunlight coming from the window reflected off of the screen and made him sneeze. Muttering to himself, Peter closed the curtains. Why did he even bother to open them? As he turned around again, Peter happened to glance at his cheap desk. What he saw on top of it made his eyes bulge and his jaw drop with shock. Everything was exactly as he had left it. The quill, the inkwell, and the piece of paper. But the piece of paper had now been written on.

Peter staggered out of his chair, knocking it over onto the peeling paint of the wall. He paid no heed to this , however, as his entire attention was focused on the piece of paper. He had left it blank- he was sure of it! Unless... Unless in some absent-minded state, he had scrawled across the piece of white paper. Yes, that must be it! He lived alone, and there was no way that someone could have walked in the locked front door, hid from him, and written on the piece of paper when Peter wasn't looking. Unless it was an invisible person... "Stop it Peter!" he said to himself. "Your imagination is going haywire!" "The imagination of a writer!" his parents used to exclaim proudly. "You did it yourself!" Peter told himself out loud. He wanted to believe it, and yet he couldn't shake the nagging thought that he couldn't remember using the quill. But there it was: Scrawled across the formerly blank piece of paper in a flowery hand was a single word: "Gesundheit!"

Peter woke up the next morning, happy to finally have a day off. Lying in bed, he had come to a shaky conclusion: The quill had written on it's own! He made himself a quick breakfast and finished it in record time. "Okay!" he told the quill. "Let's see what you can do!" If he was right, then this quill could make him millions! Peter could see people lining up at his front door already, waiting to see the magnificent quill that he had found! He put a piece of paper on the desk again and placed the quill on top of it, beside the inkwell. "Write!" Peter commanded the quill. The quill didn't move an inch. "Write!" he said again. "I know you can!" The quill remained motionless. "Okay, okay!" Peter said to himself. "What did I do to make it write yesterday?" He peered at the piece of paper from yesterday. "Of course!" He smacked himself in the forehead. He turned to the stubborn quill. "Achoo?" he said hopefully. The quill stayed as it was. "Urgh, come on, I can't have imagined this!" exclaimed Peter. He glared at the stubborn quill. Just as he was considering going to a psychiatrist, it moved.

Peter laughed with relief and amazement as the quill dipped itself in the inkwell and began to write. "Yes yes yes!" he sang out loud. He was going to be rich! His smile froze on his face as the quill stopped writing and he leaned over to read the message. In the same experienced writing, the quill had written: "You truly are a moron!" Peter gasped. "You... you have intelligence?" he asked the quill. If only his friends and family could see him now. He was talking to a quill, for crying out loud! He watched again as the quill moved quickly and confidently across the white sheet: "More than you will ever possess!" "What's that supposed to mean?!" Peter asked angrily. The quill didn't move, but if it had a face, he was certain it would be wearing a smug expression right now. "A quill that can write on it's own and answer questions!" Peter exclaimed. "I'm going to be a millionaire!"

He decided to call his friend, Nick Tatts, who was an antique dealer. Nick would be astounded with his find, and he might make a partnership with Peter! Humming to himself, he picked up the phone. As he was dialing, however, he noticed that the quill had begun to write once more. Nick picked up after the third ring. "Hello?" Peter's reply stuck in his throat. The quill had written: "You may come to regret your decision." He shook himself. The dumb quill didn't know what it was talking about! "Yeah, this is Peter," he replied after the clumsy pause. "Peter! What can I do for you?" Nick asked. "Always right to business, eh?" Peter smiled. "Well, I bought... something at a curiosity shop, and I wondered if you could come over here and take a look at it." "Sure!" said Nick. "I've got nothing going on at the moment, so I'll be right over!" "Okay, see you then!" Peter replied. As he hung up, he glanced at the quill again. It seemed to have an aura of grim satisfaction about it. "You gonna say something again?" he asked it. The quill did write. It seemed to have a gleeful attitude as it wrote: "Consider yourself warned, fool." The message sent a shiver along Peter's spine for a moment, but then he smirked. "What are you going to do?" he asked. "You're a quill!" The quill didn't move. It's message had been sent.

Nick gave Peter one of his ever-present salesman's smiles as he stepped into the house. "You've cleaned up a bit since I was last here!" he said approvingly. "So, where is this... thing that you want me to cast my experienced eye over? Is it a piece of furniture or something?" Peter smiled nervously. "Er, no, it's a quill." "A quill?" said Nick incredulously. "I know it sounds weird, but just take a look at it! It has some... interesting characteristics," said Peter assuredly. "Lead the way!" said Nick. He followed Peter into the office.

Seeing the quill on Peter's desk, he began examining it immediately. He looked it over for several minutes, turning it this way and that. When he didn't say anything, Peter asked tentatively, "So, um, what can you tell me about it?" Nick glanced up. "That it's a quill." "So there's nothing really special about it?" "Not that I can see, anyway," said Nick. "It could be ancient or brand new, for all I know... I don't even know what kind of bird it came from, if it even came from a bird!" "Ah, but this is the interesting part," said Peter. "Watch this!" He put a fresh piece of stationary on the desk and lay the quill on top of it. He placed the inkwell beside it. The two of them stood there for a couple of minutes, staring at the quill. Nick glanced up at Peter. "Um, what exactly are we supposed to be watching here?" "Shhh!" said Peter. They resumed their stare. When Nick started giving him funny looks, Peter finally said, "The quill writes on it's own! And it has intelligence!" "Right," said Nick, glancing down at the still motionless quill. "I'm not crazy!" Peter burst out. "Write!" he commanded the quill. "Achoo!" He was struck by some sudden inspiration. "What's the capital of Mozambique?" he asked the quill. "What's two plus two?" He was beginning to become extremely frustrated. The quill had remained lifeless the whole time.

"Look, maybe you're just stressed out from work," said Nick in a soothing voice. "You should really get some more sleep." "Yeah, maybe I'll do that," said Peter in a bewildered voice. As Nick headed towards the front door, the quill scribbled furiously across the white sheet. "Nick! Nick, come back, it's doing it again!" Peter called after his friend. Nick rushed back into the office to find Peter with a furious expression on his face and the words " Ha ha ha!" now written on the paper. "Look!" said Peter. "The quill wrote that all by itself!" Nick sighed. "I know it did, buddy!" he said with a sympathetic smile. "Now you should really take my advice. Get some rest!" he called back as he walked out the front door.

Peter glared at the quill. He was surprised that it didn't burst into flames from his fury alone. "Why did you do that?!" he yelled. "What can I say?" the quill wrote. "I warned you!" "But why?" Peter asked, despair creeping into his voice. "You are not my true owner," the quill replied simply, as if it were the most obvious reason in the world. "Then who is?" Peter was curious now. The quill wrote quickly: "My only owner is my creator." "All right." Peter slumped into his chair. "I want you to tell me all about yourself and your owner. What are you? And who is this mysterious owner?" The quill wasted no time in beginning it's tale: "My owner is the Magus. He is a being of great power, and he is old. Very old. I call him a being because I do not know if he is truly a man. I know that he travels the world, learning new and more powerful spells to write down in his large books of magic. On one of these such travels, he discovered a spell that would allow him to enchant a quill to write on it's own. He decided to do so, as he would no longer need to do the exhausting labor of recording the spells in his gigantic volumes. The Magus plucked a feather from a magical bird of paradise and fashioned it into a quill. He enchanted it to create me. He ordered me to write out the spells, day in and day out. However, he soon found out that I was clumsy and made many mistakes, as I had no intelligence of my own. He cast a new spell, and placed all his knowledge of writing into me. Therefore, I am connected to him as much as he is connected to me. I even write in his hand." Here the quill stopped.

"Wow," said Peter as he absorbed all of this. "So... what do you want?" "Return me to the Magus," ordered the quill. "No!" said Peter. "Somehow, you are going to make me rich!" "You haven't learned anything, have you?" asked the quill. "You will either return me to the Magus the easy way, or the hard way." "Oh? And what's the hard way?" asked Peter scornfully. The quill seemed to take a diabolical pleasure in replying: "You will try to use me to get rich, but I will never write at your command. Worst still, I will insult all those who you show me to. Believing you are writing these insults, they will cast you out and abandon you. Eventually, you will become a cringing shell of a man, a shadow of your former self. I will break you. Begging for mercy, you will return me to my master. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but the quill interrupted: "I would also like to add that I can not be destroyed by any means you are capable of."

Peter opened and closed his mouth for several minutes, unable to speak. Anyone observing him at this moment would have assumed that he was imitating some kind of aquatic animal. Finally, he spoke: "I will take you back to your owner." "You have made a wise decision," the quill informed him. "Shut up!" Peter yelled. He was getting quite sick of this magical quill business. Placing the quill in his pocket, he went out the door and walked quickly in the direction of the little shop that had caused all of his problems.

As he stepped in the door of the small store, Peter noted that everything was just as messy and dusty as when he had first been inside. Again, nobody was at the cash register. It was quite strange how the door was unlocked yet the owner was nowhere in sight. Peter decided to put the quill back exactly as he had found it. He dropped it once more inside the vase on top of the antique desk. "Oh, good, you decided to bring it back the easy way!" said a cheerful voice.

Peter almost shot through the ceiling. Spinning around, he saw a man. The Magus, he presumed. He didn't look old, but then, he didn't look young, either. There was nothing peculiar about the man, except for his eyes. These were vibrant green, and they held Peter's entire attention. The stare that the man held him in was ancient, and Peter felt that behind those eyes lay infinite wisdom. "L-listen!" Peter stammered. "I didn't want to- I mean- the quill! It-" The Magus held up a hand to calm Peter down. "I know," he stated calmly. Looking into those captivating eyes, Peter didn't doubt for a minute that he did. "Just what was all of this crazy business about?" asked Peter. His shock at seeing the Magus was beginning to wear off, and his courage was returning. "I am making the world a better place, one person at a time," explained the Magus. "I randomly pick a person off the street, and they feel drawn to this store. When they go inside, one of my many enchanted objects calls to them, and they feel an irresistible urge to steal it. When they take it home, the object... teaches them." The Magus grinned. "In your case, you aren't really a bad person, so your lesson was a very simple one. You're lucky that you didn't feel drawn to my enchanted back scratcher!" The Magus pointed to a clawed object that Peter thought looked more like a device of torture than a back scratcher. "Well, I can tell you that I'm never coming to this store again!" exclaimed Peter. "I know." The Magus smiled. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He didn't want to know. "Was... is your store always here?" he asked. "No, it moves to locations all over the world," explained the Magus. "And wherever it goes, it changes so that it doesn't look the least bit out of place!" Peter felt overwhelmed. He just wanted to go home! As he turned to leave, he had a thought. "You said I learned a lesson. What was it?" he asked the Magus. The Magus merely smiled and pointed to the mysterious plaque above the door that Peter had noticed last time. Glancing up at it, however, he noticed that it had changed. Now it simply said: "Never steal from a Magus." When he turned to look at the Magus again, he found that he had disappeared into thin air.

The remnants of amused laughter still hung in the air along with the dust. Shrugging, Peter left the store. He was sick of the whole business. But when he was almost out of sight of the shop, he turned back to look. Instead of the curious shop, there was an alley full of dumpsters. A stray cat was prowling it's "territory". It was as if the shop had never been there. An icy sensation ran through the length of Peter's body, and lingered in his head, seeming to clean out his brain. He shivered. Coming to his senses, he continued on his way home. Why had he just been staring at that alley? There was nothing unusual about it, and he passed it every day! Peter doubted he would ever know the answer. There were some things in this world that he would simply never know, and at the moment, he had no desire to try.