20k down another 100 to go, and a snippet from My One Little Mistake

Well I knocked out another 4k on Admiral's Gambit and another 6k on an Urban Fantasy that struck me when I was commenting on an Idea by Christopher Nuttal.

So the total word count of my current projects as of today are:

Admiral Who = 20K

My One Little Mistake = 12.5K

Here's a very rough snippet from My One Little Mistake.  There's been no time to clean it up.  But I realized I haven't posted even so much as one little snippet yet on this blog.  So here you go



My One Little Mistake
By Joshua Wachter


Chapter:  In the Stacks


    “Hello my name is Cordellia Stanfield and I’m an Assistant Librarian looking for a book by Heironeous the mis-enchanter,” I said loudly in case anyone was listening.  The only answer was the dry mumbling of sleepy books.
    I stamped my foot in irritation.  I used the left one because that was my power side but it didn’t really matter which foot I stamped, nothing changed.  That was part of the charm and beauty of working for the Horton Library Emporium and the Mondale Historic Foundation, nothing ever changed.  It was also one of the most frustrating aspects about working here as well, Nothing, Ever, Changed.
    Oh there were always new books to catalogue, register and decontaminate.  Customers came and went looking for whatever they cam to the Emporium for in the firs place but in the end?  Same old same old.  The black magic journals tried to temp you to read them, white magic books were tighter than a drum and like to act all holier than thou or were suspicious until you pulled out your credentials in triplicate and grey magic tombs were constantly on the hustle, part sympathetic bartender and part used car salesman.
    Walking between the stacks to the next set of book shelves I repeated my call for books by Heironeous the Mis-Enchanter.
    All I got for my efforts was one sleepy, “go away,” and you could tell by the timber of the raspy voice that someone needed a new binding.
    I really should go find the damaged book and pull it for repairs but I was running behind and really just wanted something, a diary a journal, anything at all, penned by the late Heironeous.
    Looking around I sighed and headed for the next row of books.  Again it was a bust.
    I really wasn’t sure about this commission.  I mean T.B. had never been wrong before when he offered to pay if I could find a book and write a treaties on it but this time was looking like it might be a first.  This was the third day in a row I’d stayed on after my shift to look for the mysteriously missing works of Heironeous the Mis-Enchanter.  The second day during work I’d even looked old Heironeous up in the official register, just to make sure this wasn’t some kind of wild goose chase.
    After wrestling with the register for a good five minutes, while it questioned the legitimacy of my quest, my credentials and the reason for my search, I finally got it to admit that there were supposed to be three surviving works of the late mis-enchanter stored in the slightly restricted archives section
    I was on about my eight repeat when I heard a raspy voice whispering how it could help me find the missing works of Heironeous if I’d only open it and read a passage or two.
    “Looks like somebody here’s a misfile,” I said grimly and decided to call it a day and give up the search for the elusive works of the mis-enchanter.
    “Where are you, you little gimp,” I called looking around.  But there was no answer.  I quartered a three stack area but the book was wise to my search.  It looked like it was time for the big guns.  I straightened my shirt and puckered my lips.  Sometimes they could see you.
    “Oh I’m just so interested in the works of Heironious the Mis-Enchanter,” I cooed.  A dry rustling sounded as the nearby books on the archives started to take notice.
    “What wouldn’t I do, if only I could find what I’m looking for.  Why if only there was someone… or something that could help little old me.  Can you imagine the gratitude I would feel,” I continued in a syrupy sweet voice.
    “Come here sweet one and the master will teach you everything you need to know,” said the same raspy voice sounding a little hesitant.
    “I can’t find you.  Help me!” I said doing my best damsel in distress impersonation.
    “Keep looking and the rewards will be beyond anything you’ve dreamed,” said the raspy voice, this time there was a gloating sound in its voice at having found such a gullible mark.
    Finally I spotted it.  The little booger was hidden was hidden near the bottom, all the way down at floor level.
    “Got you,” I said triumphantly and grabbed the squirming little journal.  It resisted for as long as it could but in the end it came out with a pop.  I over balanced and landed on my rear end, bumping my head against the stack behind me.
    “Owe,” I said rubbing my head.
    The black magic journal was dressed up like a grey magic tome but clearly that was camouflage.  It just goes to show you can’t always judge a book by its cover.  Although sometimes a book just goes bad, its been known to happen, probably it was just a clerical error.  Someone wasn’t doing their job and it slipped through the cracks.
    That was why this was the slightly restricted archives after all.  There were a couple of ringers strewn about here and there.
    For its part the book screamed bloody murder and promised to seek revenge by turning me barren and causing all my future children to be stillborn.
    When I assured it I was on the pill because I wasn’t very interested in having children and might actually be interested in barrenness, it shut up for a while.  I think it was trying to figure out if I was serious or mocking it.
    Before it had time for any more threats and then simply degenerated into every piece of foul language written inside it, I snapped open my brown satchel and slid it inside.
    That satchel was my pride and joy.  I’d made it myself at magic class back during my college years, when I’d still believed I’d grow up to become a great and powerful magic user some day.
    Like most young girls I’d believed in unicorns and prince-charming and that someday I’d tap into my very own hidden wealth.
    College, at the Horton Mondale Fine Arts Academy, had taught me three thing.  Unicorns are mean and not worth your time, boys are only good for one thing and that’s not settling down with, and the only way a girl on the lower end of the magic spectrum could hope to finish her degree in Advanced Magical Practice, was to give up on becoming a great Enchantress or some other magical powerhouse, like a Sorceress, and strike for plain old Librarian instead.
    It was a lot more work because you had to pull a double major in Advanced Magical Theory with an extra minor in Magical Storage.  But like many a starry eyed young hopeful, my guidance councilor, Mrs. Pettyblock, had gently but ever to so firmly steered me to that fateful, tear streaked day, when I was forced to the realization that my ‘latent power’ had already manifested itself and whatever ‘hidden wealth’ I possessed, wasn’t of the magical variety.
    Inside my bag the black magic journal gave an angry shake and I gave it a thump for good measure.
    I shook my head at myself.  Here I was staying after hours to try and earn an extra hundred bucks and instead of finding what I was looking for, in other words the book I needed to finish a paying job, I’d found something that needed doing but could have and should have been done while I was still on the clock.  It was time to get my head out of the clouds and back in the real world.
    I gathered my feet underneath me and the book gave another angry shake.  It must be more powerful than I’d giving it credit for if it could move around like that inside my brown satchel.  The satchel had been constructed with a rune of protection on one side and a rune of silence on the other.  That should have put the whammy on any book trying to actively do me harm.  Yet here it was still squirming away.
    My charm bracelet gave a jingle, letting me know I was late for the bus and I growled in frustration.  Then I heard what sounded like the enticement of another mis-filed journal.
    This sure seemed to be my day.  Now I would either have to walk over two streets for a longer bus ride or wait another hour for the next bus to swing by the library.
    Once again I heard that faint enticing voice from further down the stacks.
    Somebody sure was persistent, I had to give it that.  But I’d had it.  I was officially off the clock and already done abusing my status as a library employee by going into the slightly restricted section on a personal money making project.
    As far as I was concerned my conscience was clear and I’d done my good deed to make up for that abuse of privilege by wrangling the angry black magic journal currently in my satchel.  Putting two in there was asking too much, especially since I hadn’t actually found what I was looking for yet.
    “I wish finding the works of Heironeous The Mis-Enchanter was as easy as wrangling a black magic book like you,” she signed, patting her satchel.
    “Then I could just go home and write the blasted paper,” she said.  Then she cursed as she realized what she’d said and where she’d just said it.  Belatedly she slapped a hand over her mouth.
    “Speaking theoretically and entirely within the Bound/Unbound Wish Fulfillment Accords,” she added hastily and in a rush.
    She squeezed her eyes shut but when nothing immediately happened she breathed a sigh of relief.  Getting up she bumped into the stack behind her and used it for support to get up.  Half way up she must have jostled something because a book fell off the top shelf and struck her in the head.
    “Owe,” she said falling to the floor and covering her head with her arms.
    When nothing else fell on her and all she heard was a distant chuckle at her expense she picked up the fallen tomb and slowly got to her feet.  This time careful not to disturb the stacks.
    Looking down at the book she saw that it was listed as the second Workbook of Heironeous the Great, the much Maligned and Unappreciated Enchanter.
    Feeling a flash of fear at this unhappy coincidence she picked up the book and scurried out of the slightly restricted archive.  Any magical entity tried to mess with her and she was calling a Wish Arbiter and the Black Magic Hazmat team down on their butts.  Then she’d stand back and watch whatever it was tremble.
    Grabbing her rain coat and umbrella on the way out, she scribbled a hasty checkout slip for the Heironeous book, another nice perk of being an assistant librarian. Then she filled out a second slip so she could drop off the black magic book for reshelving in the appropriate black magic section, before scurrying outside.  Pressing into the driving rain she was determined to stop at the first Licensed Curse Breaker or un-bonded street side Un-Hexer she ran across.  Just to make sure she hadn’t picked up anything contagious back in the stacks.
    The last thing she needed was to be on the hook to some unknown entity for a book that was only going to net her a measly 100 bucks.  If anything like that tried to mess with her it was going to be in a world of hurt.
    Her wish insurance was up-to-date and covered by the Mondale Historic Foundation as part of her job.  The Foundation had some of the best lawyers and arbiters in the state.  Maybe she could even get in on a class action lawsuit against whatever it was, she thought brightly.