The Tragical History of Otto Proudfoot: Act II

Scene: An elegant sitting room. A bookshelf covers one wall; the opposite wall holds a marble hearth inlaid with astrological symbols in semi-precious stones. Two comfortable leather chairs face the fire. The rear wall opens onto a hallway, as in the Proudfoot home. An odd skeleton hangs from the ceiling—some kind of animal, but nothing easily recognizable. As the curtain opens we see Ebard (Applejack) in a silk dressing-gown, pacing back and forth with an open book. His lips move, but we hear no sound. Suddenly, the fire in the hearth turns green and a puff of foul vapour rises up. There is a knock at the door.

EBARD: Come in!

Holfast and Otto enter 

HOLFAST: Well, here we are. Can you use the boy for a couple of hours?

OTTO: Good afternoon, Master. 

EBARD: My word, you’re soaked! Hang your cloaks there by the fire, and dry off for a spell.

HOLFAST (approaching the hearth): Is it safe? 

EBARD: Of course not! Since when has fire been safe?

OTTO (hanging his cloak): It looks a bit unusual at the moment, Master. 

EBARD: Eh? Oh, that. Just a bit of alchemy...a colleague has been trying to treat logs so that they last longer.

HOLFAST (hanging his cloak): Not much of an improvement, I’d say. 

EBARD: Care for a drink before you go? Just last night I opened an exceptional brandy...

HOLFAST (turning from the fire): Aye, that would take the chill off. This fire feels colder than it ought. 

Ebard opens a hidden bar in the bookcase, and busies himself with drinks,

OTTO: Well that makes sense. 

HOLFAST: How so?

OTTO: Each log has a certain amount of fire inside. If it burns longer, the fire must be coming out more slowly. 

EBARD (passing a snifter to each hobbit): Sound logic, Otto!

HOLFAST (sipping): Ah, that is fine. Thank you, Ebard. 

OTTO (looking at the fire): Thank you, Master.

An impish face suddenly appears in the fire, and gestures drinking. 

EBARD (jumps back): You’re both quite welcome.

HOLFAST: I still say the fire is too cold. Wood is plentiful—the experiment seems impractical. 

EBARD (pausing too long, looking about wildly): Indeed, indeed... a very good point... Ah! Otto, we really must bring you up to date on elemental transmigration. Prolix has much to say on the subject... the conversion of water to air, for example.

OTTO: Really, Master? 

EBARD: Be a good fellow and pour brandy on the log, to observe the vapour.

OTTO complies. The face in the flame burps and disappears, and the fire turns back to red. 

OTTO: How can the cloud rise, if it is made of water?

EBARD: A very good question! 

HOLFAST: I hate to interrupt, but I really must be heading on. Ebard, don’t let him distract you!

EBARD: It’s no trouble, Holfast. Really, it’s the least I could do for Lucretia’s son. 

HOLFAST (obviously uncomfortable): Still, you’re doing us a favour. So get some use out of him! Hard work is what the lad needs, not more fancies.

OTTO: I do work hard, father. 

HOLFAST: Yes, you do. But natural philosophy won’t earn you a living! A skilled trade puts coin in your pocket.

EBARD: Truer words were never spoken, Holfast. 

HOLFAST: There you are. So let Ebard do his work as I do mine.

OTTO: Yes, father. 

HOLFAST: Well then, I’ll see you both later.  (Exits)

EBARD (Looks out the window): To work, then! Today you can dust the living room and do the dishes... I just need to finish this chapter, and then we can talk. 

OTTO: Master, may I ask you something first?

EBARD: Certainly! 

OTTO: I’ve been coming here for almost a year now, and you’ve taught me so much...

EBARD: It’s been a pleasure, my boy. And you’ve helped me a great deal. I never could abide servants. Take that Colim fellow, for example. I don’t think he’s ever had an original thought in his life! Now, you I can talk to... 

OTTO (interrupting): Can you teach me magic?

EBARD: What? 

OTTO: I’ve seen you use it, though you usually don’t bother. I think my mother had a book of it once.

EBARD: I remember. 

OTTO: You’ve taught me that anything can be learned, if we just put our minds to it.

EBARD: Otto, my boy... 

OTTO: I need to learn!

EBARD: Otto! 

OTTO: Sorry.

EBARD: Go make a pot of tea, and we’ll talk. 

OTTO (excited): Yes, Master! (exits)

EBARD goes over to the fireplace and picks up a locket on the mantle.  

EBARD: Like mother, like son. Lucy, what am I to do? He yearns for it so badly, and today I must disappoint him. At least you got to taste adventure before settling down. Not that you settled for very long...but look at him! He can’t stay here much longer, I fear.

Otto enters, bearing a platter. He puts it down on a small table, and they sit. 

EBARD: Otto, you have a fine mind and I relish helping you fill it. Half of what you’ve learned here is probably wrong, but that’s just the inevitable consequence of our wretched mortality. More importantly, you’ve learned to think for yourself and recognise weak thinking in others. Take heed of this skill now, and don’t interrupt!

Otto nods and sips his tea. 

EBARD: There is nothing I would like better than to teach you magic, but it is impossible.

Otto freezes. 

EBARD: First of all, my own skills are limited and highly specialized. I am not a magic-user in the traditional sense, but an illusionist. Although I wish it were otherwise, even the most common arcane spells are alien to me. The world has branded me a deceiver, and I must work with the tools I was given.

I have tried to master more practical magic. I understand how the spells are supposed to work. I can recite the proper incantation, and fancy that my gestures have more flair than most. More importantly, my will has been trained to channel arcane energies. Yet even the simplest cantrips escape me—they are nothing but inert rituals in my mind.

I have heard that true masters of my art can learn other forms of magic, given time. But I am now old, and have long accepted that I will never reach such heights.

OTTO: If you can create true illusions, then why the sleight of hand? I love learning your tricks, but I know they’re not magic.

EBARD: I said, don’t interrupt! But to answer your question, I learned that art before I learned magic. (winks) And folk tend to ignore real magic if they already think you a charlatan.

Now before you ask, I cannot even teach you my magic. Illusionism is practiced only by humans and gnomes. The gnome race is fey-blooded, so of course many of them can use it. The gift is quite rare among humans. Perhaps one of my ancestors was a changeling, or perhaps humans just have a knack for deception far exceeding the other races. But whatever the reason, no one has ever seen an illusionist who was not a human or a gnome. 

OTTO: Well no offence, but I too would prefer to learn the other magic. Could you find me an apprenticeship?

EBARD: No one can teach you that magic either.  

OTTO: It doesn’t look that difficult...

EBARD: Otto, have you ever seen a hobbit magic-user? 

OTTO: Of course not, they all just want a good job and plenty to eat. I hate to say it, but most of my folk aren’t very curious.

EBARD: Your mother was. 

OTTO: But look at my father—to hear him speak, you’d think him the ordained saint of chair-warmers! The workbench is his world. I could never live like that.

EBARD: He just wants to pass on hard-won knowledge. 

OTTO: You give him too much credit. He wants to pass on his business, so that in twenty years he can live comfortably while I do all the work.  

EBARD: Otto, every parent wants to teach.  

OTTO: Even if the student can’t learn?

EBARD: Otto, no one has ever seen a hobbit magic-user. Nor a dwarf, for that matter! And as far as we know, none of the savage races have that art either. We don’t know where arcane talent comes from, but it looks as if some races just don’t have it. Didn’t your mother ever tell you this? 

OTTO: She never wanted to talk about it. Are you saying I shouldn’t even try? Magic is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to learn.

EBARD (goes to get a thin book): Try if you like. Here is a book of cantrips—a primer of sorts for magic-users. 

OTTO opens the book, turns some pages.

OTTO: ‘Firefinger?’ 

EBARD: The spell creates a small flame. Most books of magic are written in obscure symbols and codes to hide the details from any but their author. I value this one highly because it is written in plainer language.

OTTO: Wow, thanks! 

EBARD: You can study it here as much as you want. Make a copy of the instructions for that spell, and take it home. Even if you practice every night, it won’t work for you.

OTTO: But that doesn’t make sense. 

EBARD: Otto, it doesn’t work for me either. None of the spells in that book do.

OTTO: So I can never learn magic? 

EBARD: I’m sorry.

OTTO (growing angry): And just like that, I’m supposed to give up my dream? To forget about the hidden things of the world, and pretend that I’m happy playing with scraps of metal? It’s too much to ask!

EBARD: But you can’t change Nature. 

OTTO: What is magic for, then? Not lighting fires—I can do that myself. No... I’ve read the journals you own, and while a few magic-users crave only power most of them are looking for more. Magic is a path to understanding the world, and my mind is as good as theirs!

EBARD: Well, I’m certainly no high-minded sage myself. 

OTTO: You may not be high-minded, but you are a sage.

EBARD: Ha! I’m just a wanderer with a few books—these shelves represent the limit of my knowledge.  

OTTO: And if I went to Greyhawk? Their University is full of sages, I hear, and their library holds countless histories. What will they say of hobbits? 

EBARD: That like the dwarves, your people are hopelessly mundane. But you give those ‘sages’ too much credit. 

OTTO: Surely a second opinion couldn’t hurt?

EBARD: I doubt you’d even find the first. In that temple of learning, how many books do you think contain original ideas? How many sages go looking for answers themselves?  

OTTO: I couldn’t say.

EBARD (going to the bookcase): Precious few! Lauren Fifthson here hails from Greyhawk, yet he “proves” all his ideas by citing other books. Not once in this frantic scrawl does he resort to logic or describe his own experiences. 

OTTO: That one is indeed a fool, but...

EBARD: I have been there. They are all fools, gluttonous toads who won their bench by demonstrating a mastery of obscure knowledge to masters just like themselves. 

OTTO: Yet they do hold some obscure knowledge...

EBARD: Granted. 

(A short pause as they sip tea)

OTTO: You yourself said that powerful illusionists can learn to use magic. Is that true? 

EBARD: Yes, indeed.

OTTO: Have you seen it? 

EBARD: Not firsthand.

OTTO: So how do you know?  

EBARD: My own master, Galliard, was not skilled enough to do so. But he had a book from his master that contained simple magic spells side by side with powerful illusionist formulae. According to Galliard, his master was capable of making objects grow and shrink.

OTTO: So magic is alien to you now, but in the future it might not be. It is just very difficult. 

EBARD: But I can already do some magic.

OTTO: Is it the same kind?  

EBARD: Apparently not...but I presume they are related.

OTTO: Why?  

EBARD (smiling): Because Galliard’s master was able to learn it.

OTTO: Aha! 

EBARD: All right, all right! You’ve caught me in a loop. I don’t know.

OTTO: Well then, it may be possible! If hobbit magic-users are unknown, you need look no further than hobbit culture for the reason. Dwarves, I hear, are even worse—they hate magic with a passion.  

EBARD: I suppose it may be so.

OTTO (taking the small spellbook): Then I will be the first! It may be difficult, extraordinarily difficult, but you cannot tell me it is impossible. 

EBARD: But is it really worth doing?

OTTO: Of course! Think of what it could mean! Perhaps I could find a better way of learning magic, and teach it to my fellows. Or if they don’t care to, then I’ll just walk among them and shake things up! They can be more than burghers and housewives! 

EBARD (taking back the book): It won’t work.

OTTO: Of course it will! 

EBARD: As a friend, it seems I must open your eyes to hard truths. First, consider your father. He barely tolerates your coming here as it is, out of his own need and a vestige of duty to your mother’s memory. If he thought I was teaching you magic, let alone giving you tools of the art, he would forbid you to see me.

Second, you would waste half your life on meaningless toil! Even if your dream is possible by dint of great effort, would you really spend years or decades chasing it? These are precious moments, time that could be spent improving your lot in life, making new friends and founding a family of your own. Your youthful years are for creating a heritage!

You owe yourself a good life, Otto. It’s what your mother wanted for you.

OTTO: Don’t bring my mother into this! She may have wanted it for me, but not for herself! 

EBARD: I’m sorry, but it’s true.

OTTO: She was never happy at home. Don’t think I was so naïve as not to notice! My father and I loved her, and still she left. What good does it do to build a home? It only takes one person to break it!  

EBARD: Otto, this dream will ruin you.

OTTO: This is the only thing that matters to me. I know I need a trade and money to live. Yet I will learn! 

EBARD: Very well, I see your mind is set. But please do not ask me to teach you. I cannot do so in any case, and would not have your father blame me for your folly.

OTTO: You fear to confront him? Not I! 

EBARD: I am old and lazy. I would like to remain your friend without fighting Holfast.

OTTO: So be it. I’ll work on his locks for a few months longer, and stop coming here. Blame me if you like—he already thinks little of my diligence. But soon I will go my own way. 

EBARD: Otto...

OTTO: I don’t blame you, Ebard. Or should I say Applejack? But I cannot deny this conversation has left me in sour spirits.  

EBARD (brightening): Just the thing! (He goes and fills two glasses)

OTTO: A toast to disappointment? 

EBARD: To life (drinks). Too much of it is sour already. Otto, don’t forget to be happy.

OTTO: Uch. And this rotgut is supposed to remind me?  

EBARD: Pain is a great teacher. Have you heard of the Circle of Eight?

OTTO: No. 

EBARD: They are a cabal of archmages, the most powerful wizards of Oerth.

OTTO: What do they do? 

EBARD: By all appearances, nothing! I bring them up because one shares your name.

OTTO: Is that so?  

EBARD: Otto the Irresistible, he styles himself. I have heard he is much like a hobbit in his tastes. He roams Greyhawk in disguise, sating his gourmandise at restaurants and dancing like a madman at balls. There is a magician who never once forgot that life is meant to be savoured. We only get one, you know.

OTTO (smiles): Otto the Irresistible? Who does he think he is? How do people know this, if he is disguised? 

EBARD: He takes a perverse delight in revealing himself just before leaving.

OTTO: Is he mad, then? 

EBARD: I think not... but with wizards, who can tell?