The Tale of Mortimer Madigan

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Part One

The old man woke in the early gray dawn of the late winter morning. Perhaps it was not entirely accurate to call him “old”, however, as he was only in his mid to late thirties, but his premature white hair and beard, paired with a lifetime of hard work as a farmer that had taken it’s toll on his joints and muscles, made him feel a lot older than he was.

The old man rose carefully and swung his legs over the right side of the bed. He looked over his shoulder at his wife who still slept in the bed next to him and smiled to himself. She was seven years younger than him, had all her hair, had all her hair color and was plump the way a goodwife and farmer should be. After three children, backbreaking work and many years of marriage, they were still very much in love with each other. The old man marveled at how lucky he was to be able to have found such a perfect match for him and how joyful every day he was to have her in his life.

The old man got out of the bed, put on his robe and slippers and went out into the living and kitchen area, passing his children’s rooms as he went. The oldest, his only son, slept in his own room while his twin daughters slept in theirs. Soon, he thought, the son would be leaving his home to join the Cormyrian Army. The old man was proud to hear that his son would be choosing a life of service to the Crown. Indeed, the old man had done so for a time in his own youth and found it to be a valuable experience.

The old man went into the kitchen area of the home and put some kindling and then some wood in the oven, lighting it with the little fire-sticks that his best friend and priest of Gond had presented him with. People still used the embers from the fire of the night before to light the fires that they needed the next morning, and the old man certainly had those embers in his own fireplace, the fire having had kept the house warm against the cold winter night, but he enjoyed the progress of technology the same as his friend did, and was happy to use this little convenience to light the oven and boil the water for his wife’s morning tea and his morning coffee. Soon the water would be boiling and the old man would prepare the tea and coffee as he had done so many times during his life with his wife.

As the water boiled on the oven top, the old man went into the living room area to stoke the dying embers from the night before into a full fire to light the room and warm the house. By the time the fire was well underway the water was too so the old man went back into the kitchen to pour the water and make his cup of coffee and his wife’s cup of tea.

With the two steaming cups the old man went back into the bedroom where he would wake his wife with her tea. As he passed his son’s bedroom he heard him stir and begin to wake. The old man opened the door and nudged it almost shut, keeping it only slightly ajar so he could hear his children as they woke themselves. As he entered the room, he found, unsurprisingly, the dog lying on the bed next to his wife. Walking around to his wife’s side of the bed, he set the cup of tea on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed as she stirred, then sat herself upright. Her bleary eyes hardly focusing, she reached for her tea, picked it up, smiled, and leaned in to meet her husband for their good-morning kiss.

After A few moments of silence between them, punctuated by the sounds of the children rustling about as they themselves woke and rose from their slumber, the old man’s wife spoke.

“Good morning, Mortimer,” she said hazily, “thanks for the tea. I can see that there’s going to be no work for us today, what with the snow on the ground and all.”

Mortimer smiled at her in the way that a child might smile when he knows he is going to get away with something.

“We’ve got enough stored for food this winter, wood chopped, home patched up against the elements. I think we can indulge in a few lazy days, don’t you?” He asked.

“Mm-hm,” his wife said in her tea, “I fully intend on sitting myself in front of the fire and knitting and enjoying our children’s company, especially Rylan before he leaves for training.”

The pair drank their drinks in silence for the next second or so, both knowing what subject would be brought up next. It wasn’t that she minded or that he was cowed by her, but it was fun to sometimes play the roles of the comedic henpecked husband and the overbearing wife they saw in traveling performing shows that would sometimes stop by their little village. Mortimer’s wife took the plunge and asked her husband the question that was on both of their minds.

“What do you plan on doing today, dear?”

“Well,” he thought for a few moments, “I’m going to make breakfast (as I am the one who cooks breakfast in this family), then after relaxing a little more this morning, I figured I would go see Michael over at the temple.”

Mortimer’s wife pursed her lips in the way that wives do when they’re smiling and frowning at you at the same time. Then her face relaxed and she smiled, knowing that this was exactly what her husband wanted to do today, and she was more than happy to let him go and do it, boys being boys, even if they were old men.

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Part Two

Mortimer rose from the side of the bed he was sitting on with his wife and made his way to the kitchen.

“Out of the bed,” he said to his son playfully as he passed the lad’s room, “any good soldier knows to get up and at attention when his commanding officer passes by!”

Rylan grinned at his father from his bed, then leapt out of the bed and gave his father a salute as he passed. The twin girls, Wren and Lyndall were also coming out of their rooms and smiled at their father and their mother as they passed, and made faces at their brother.

As the family settled into their morning, Mortimer went into the kitchen to prepare their breakfast meal. Pancakes and breakfast sausages (burnt on the outside as it was his wife’s preference, of course) drenched in maple syrup. It wasn’t often that the family had such an extravagant breakfast, most of the time it consisted of something heartier like eggs and porridge and less fanciful than what was ultimately a dessert of a breakfast, but as it seemed to be a day where no serious work would be done, a serious breakfast would not be necessary.

After the family ate their breakfast and shared their dreams from the night before and their plans for the day ahead, Mortimer and the children cleared off the table and took the dishes to the kitchen. The two girls began to wash the dishes while their father went into the living area to kiss his wife, cuff his son gently and playfully on the arm and go into his own room to get dressed. When he was dressed and ready, Mortimer came out, took his coat and hat from the coat rack and put them on, kissed his family goodbye, and strode out of the door.

The mid-morning snow was white and reflected the sun back into Mortimer’s eyes as he walked through the village. As he passed the people of the village he doffed his hat politely and smiled, and the villagers did the same. Soon enough he reached the temple of Gond. Some would have thought it odd that the little village that Mortimer called his home would have a temple dedicated to the god of invention, but it was not so as the villagers made much practical use of the inventions brought about by the Wonderbringer. Mortimer opened the door to the modest building and entered the temple of Gond.

Lined up against the wall on shelves and on the floor were a number of inventions, some relatively mundane and others bizarre and incomprehensible in their intent, but each fascinating to Mortimer.

After he closed the door and moved further into the temple, he was greeted by a portly man in a priest’s robe. Smiling and laughing gently, the man met Mortimer halfway and shook his hand.
“Morning, Mort,” the man said cheerfully, “good to see you!”

“Good morning, Michael,” Mortimer said, smiling at his friend, “what’s new?”

Michael laughed at Mortimer’s little joke. “Of course there’s something new, it’s my calling!”

The two men proceeded further into the temple and into one of the side rooms. Inside was where Michael and Mortimer spent time dreaming up ideas and inventions, had a bottle of ale or two and enjoyed each other’s company in general. On Michael’s desk was a new contraption that looked like a handle attached to a wheel and cogs and copper.

“Look at this,” Michael said, “I just got this from Lantan. Completely incredible. I crank this handle, and…”

Michael turned the handle quickly. The handle turned a contraption of metal blocks inside another metal body coiled with copper. From this two other wires led, and from these wires small flickers of lightning could be seen sparking from one to the other.

Mortimer looked on in complete amazement, awe and stunned silence. It was nothing he had ever seen before. But Michael wasn’t finished yet. He stopped rotating the handle and affixed the wires to a curious box filled with copper plates and, of all things, what looked like water. Michael then continued to crank the device.

“This thing I’m turning is a lightning generator, “Michael explained, “It creates the energy you see there. Now this box of salt-water and copper is called a lightning containment box. It actually stores the lightning for use later!”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to have a wizard or a sorcerer just zap it with a lightning bolt spell?” Mortimer asked, playing devil’s advocate.

Michael thought about it for a moment, then laughed, “Maybe, but it wouldn’t be as much fun for us, I imagine!”