Musky Pauper and the Judiciary's Decree

The world's wealthiest wizard faces an adverse judgement.

Musky checked the security scrying pools to see who might be lingering outside. It was his aide, Decamp.

Decamp knew better than to knock at the door or send a message. Musky always checked security. If security wasn’t tight, reporters might come slithering in.

Decamp hopped foot to foot, looking at his enchanted mobile phone which was scrolling information too quickly to be good news.

“I don’t want to hear it. Go away,” Musky said over the speaker system. He’d seen already.

Decamp’s face looked weird. He looked like someone was pulling his nuts off under his robe. “I have the, ah, stuff?” he said. He checked his shoulder. The entrance to the Pauper estate was well secured. Why was Decamp acting like he had some-

In the security scrying pool, Decamp said, in a hoarse whisper, “I have the OTHER items?”

Musky remembered. The package from Zebulon. He twiddled his fingers over the golden dials and the door opened. Decamp scuttled in.

Musky snatched up his black robe, snaps and buckles jingling. As he did, though, something twigged his ear. He whirled to look at the security scrying pools again and saw someone’s back. Someone that was not Decamp.

“Son of a bitch,” hissed Musky. He lunged for the lever that would enable extra charms and locks over his door, but he was too late. They’d already thrown it open.

Zafer Kurt strode in, flanked by Olek Kaan and Isim Dinser. Behind them bobbed the stunned form of Decamp who was, Musky noted, still clutching a satchel.

“It pleases none of us to have to do this-” said Zafer Kurt.

Musky whipped off a series of curses, but Isim was too fast. She deflected them easily. One of the ricochets zipped past Musky’s ear. A warning.

“I don’t give an old witch’s fat tit what pleases you,” Musky said, his voice a snarl. “I’m the world’s greatest wizard. I’m the innovator. You think I give a shit what some wizarding council said?”

“We are concerned, sir,” said Olek Kaan. His hands were up, calming. His voice was gentle.

Musky huffed. “Concern? This is business.” He realized, as he said this, that the buckles on his robe were lopsided. He’d matched them up incorrectly in his haste. He dashed off a charm to sort that out and stood up a little straighter.

“What’s in Decamp’s satchel?” Isim asked. She knew damn well what was in there. He’d offered her some weeks ago and she’d pretended not to hear.

Zafer Kurt didn’t wait for an answer. “We are worried about your welfare,” he said. “You’re partying a lot. Your messages on wizarding social media are…” he twirled a finger.

“Erratic,” Isim finished for him.

“Erratic,” Zafer agreed. “And with this judgement, well, it’s a lot of money.”

Musky remembered that the most powerful person in any room is usually the one person sitting, so he sat. He spread his arms over the back of the couch to show dominance, but the padded shoulders of the robe rose up around his ears. He thought that might look weird, and he could feel the hem of the robe inching up to show his legs which he knew to be extremely pale so he put his arms back down.

“So, what is this, then? A welfare check?” he laughed. Great joke. But it didn’t seem to be landing as a joke. Why not? Holy shit, that was it. He read it on their faces. They were doing a welfare check. On him. Musky Pauper, the wealthiest and greatest wizard. The chosen one. The innovator.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Totally fine. Business is business, you know? It’s business. It is what it is.” He shrugged, being careful to transmit the shrug without hitching up his robe too much. He needed something to say to show he was handling this. “Anyway,” Musky continued, “I think we should just move the HQ to Texas. That’ll show that we’re not just gonna take the ruling lying down.”

“Musky, listen,” said Isim. “It’s really not time to be erratic. We want to show a steady hand.”

Musky realized he wasn’t going to get rid of them, so he stood again. He snatched the prototype broom up and it thrummed to life at his touch. He was careful to keep his thumb off the button that would trigger the fart noise. It was hilarious but this wasn’t the time.

“I’m the steadiest of hands,” he said. “Im the innovator. The best there is.”

“Please don’t run away,” said Kaan in his gentle voice.

“Run away? Who is running away? I have another meeting,” he threw his leg over the broom, but the hem caught on the sticks at the rear. He made it astride but his right leg was bare up to the knee. He didn’t look down at his pale skin but he knew they could all see it. He zoomed out of the window into the sky.

Damn it. He’d left that satchel with Decamp.