Abbernathy and Magick's End

(19) - A Fated Meeting -

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THE WIZARD KELLOG needn't have a shadow, not with how Mandon was filling the role perfectly. The assistant stayed within a hair's breadth from the Wizard's heels at all times, should enemies strike. 

"While I appreciate your dedication--" drawled the Wizard, his fingers perfecting the triangle of pocket square peeking from his robe pocket, "there's no need for you to stand so close. I am in no immediate danger within my own Acadium." 

Mandon scowled, his grey-peppered eyebrows kissing over his eyes. "Sir, it is my job to protect you."

The Wizard's gaze darted to the clipboard carried in the man's arms as though it were gold-plated and ruby-studded. "Your job is to organize my itinerary and ensure I'm not double booked." 

They turned down a corridor overlooking the Acadium's quad. At first, the crown had refused his proposal for the lot on which now stood the Acadium. They had wanted to gut it of its natural splendor, siphon the water from the lake into the city's aqueducts, and build a large, beauty salon to appease the ladies in his mother's court, the then prince's attempt to curry favor and secure a wife. 

But the Wizard had always been a most persuasive fellow, and he secured the land rights and the Acadium was completed not four years later. He saved what greenery he could - the lake at the building's back, the small hill studded with Burlas at its front. He was delighted to see it a common place for his students to practice, though that often meant it succumbed to fires and floodings, and all the other dangers associated with young people and their first forays into the magick arts.

Mandon was still pursuing the Wizard, his heels clicking loudly as they mounted the steps leading to the Wizard's office, his sanctuary, his one place of peace, where inside he was insolated from the watchful eyes of the nobility eager for the meagerest tidbits of Wizard gossip and the relentless eyes of the pressers, overly-motivated to snag a front page headline with a Wizard Kellog misstep. He'd endeavored to never sate either group. They could starve at his door for all he cared. 

The Wizard sped up, the cornflower blue door of his office in sight. 

"Sir," called Mandon. "You mustn't speed up like that. What if you tripped? Or a light fixture snapped and fell on your head?"

 The man huffed already, so out of practice. The Wizard had been too easy on him, for far too long. He snickered, snatched up the hem of his teaching robes, and started sprinting. 

"Sir?" Panic wove its way through Mandon's voice. "Sir! Please! We must discuss the meeting at five..." 

Behind the Wizard, rushed footsteps fell across the tile floor. He chuckled, hand on his doorknob and wrenched it open. A second of quiet was not much, but it was all he had since Mandon had become his assistant, and he would savor it.

A minute and a half later, a huffing, red-faced mess of a man hurled himself through the Wizard's doorway. Kellog sat at his desk, posture poised and elegant, a quill scratching away on a parchment. 

Mandon, bent over, hands on his thighs, snapped into place, upright, shoulders back and stiff, like they'd been overly starched. He eyed the Wizard's desk dubiously. "You're doing work?" 

"Mm? Yes." Ink dripped from the tip of his quill, as he paused to address Mandon. "Of course. You said it yourself. I have work needing done." He resumed his work, the quill flying across the page. 

Mandon stalked toward his desk and snatched the paper up. He sneered. The parchment, one which was for requisitions from the Crown, for ongoing construction occurring on campus, had been marred by hastily scribbled lines of a man, hunched over, and untidy. His cheeks blown out, and red. The whole of him drenched in sweat.