The Sorcerer's Tome

Chapter 2: Breakfast with the Professor

"You there! What manner of creature are you?"

The rather high-pitched voice that shrilled consciousness back into Tom was accompanied by a painful prod just below the left shoulder blade. Tom groaned and rolled over slightly, opening his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he could make out a tall thin figure. It sprang back when Tom moved. He managed to raise himself up onto one elbow, it was a struggle because it seemed that every part of him hurt as soon as he moved.

"I'll ask you again. What are you?" demanded the prodder.

"What do you mean, 'What am I?'" said the boy massaging his aching ribs. "I'm Tom. Where am I?"

"What is a 'Tom?' I don't know that species," said the man impatiently and prodded him again with what turned out to be a walking stick. He started back again when Tom flailed out with his arm to ward off the offending article.

Tom's eyes were beginning to clear now, and he could see his tormentor more clearly. He was a rather elderly man, tall, very thin with white hair that appeared to have had an argument with itself about which direction it wanted to go, so it went in every direction. He was wearing a maroon cravat, dark waistcoat with a long-tailed jacket over the top and pinstriped trousers. Tom noticed that the strange man's clothes were tatty and full of repairs and patches.

He hauled himself to his feet and swayed unsteadily for a moment. The man was clearly agitated, stepping from one foot to another like a small child in need of the toilet. He ventured a little closer, brandishing his walking stick in front of him like a sword. He looked with great interest at Tom, or at least at parts of him. His ears, the top of his head, his mouth, his feet and even his backside.

"I see no pointy ears or horns. No fangs or hooves. No tail. Are you a Lycanthropoid?"

"A what!" Tom exclaimed.

"Lycanthropoid! Lycanthropoid!"

Tom looked blank.

"One who has been infected with Lycanthropy..." Then with exasperation at Tom's blank look, "A werewolf," he cried. "No, you are fully dressed, and anyway the full moon was more than a week ago."

"I'm just a normal human kid."

"You're... you're human!" the man said, staring at him.

"Of course I'm human," said Tom rubbing the back of his neck. "What did you think I was; a duck?" He looked up and saw a shaft of daylight pouring through a hole in the roof, then looking around him found he was in a barn of some sort with a few bales of straw against one wall. There were bits of old rusty farm equipment around, an old fashioned plough, the kind you see at the summer county show, drawn by large horses with polished brass on their harnesses. In the centre of the barn was something about the size of a large car or van covered in a big brown tarpaulin.

"Are you sure you ARE human, Hmm? Not a Polyprosopus?" said the man backing up again.

"A ploppy what?"

"Polyprosopus...Poly, Many - Prosupus, face... A shapeshifter," the man shrilled.

"You're having a laugh," Tom replied aghast.

"I can assure you, young...er...whatever you are, I find nothing amusing about your presence here. You have quite ruined the roof of my larger workshop, just a few short weeks after having had it repaired following a somewhat volatile experiment with a lightning conductor, several yards of copper pipe and a vat of beetroot brandy.

"If you are indeed human, I suppose you were dropped by a gryphon or some such, eh — no doubt taking you back to her nest to feed her cubs. Then I expect you decided to stay here until the curfew was lifted. Am I correct?"