Chapter 9: “I Owe it all to a Crisp!”

When demons raged, mountains shook. Tsunamis swept the oceans. Lightning crashed from the skies. Yet no longer in the form of a demon, Lord Azanth the crisp could only quiver a little inside his Tupperware box. How dare this boy, a pathetic level 4 Mage defy a demon lord? Never, in decades, had anyone disregarded the will of Lord Azanth. On the Seventh Plane of Wickedness, to have done so would have been to have invited a visit from pain and devastation. For two days Lord Azanth gave in to his fury and his thoughts were constantly turning to scenes in which the wretched human had to abase himself and apologise most pitifully for having spurned the demon. After which, Liam Nowak was destroyed in a variety of painful ways.

At last, however, the storm abated and Lord Azanth could control his feelings once more. Coldly, with calculation and dispassionate mind was how a fallen demon must comport himself. What lessons had he learned from the experience of being kicked away from his host? Firstly, that the qualities of the boy’s character were challenging. He was not as pliable as most humans and if Azanth were to progress in level, rank, and star rating, then either he must find another adventurer to group with or he must find a means of driving Liam onwards that was less crude than offering him a way of obtaining money by cheating at poker.

Secondly, he must look at himself with unflinching honesty. Expert liars cannot afford to lie to themselves. Gone – for now – was the powerful demon. He was a crisp with but three levels and two skills, telepathy and fortify. To behave as such was true wisdom. When ambition and possibility are out of alignment, tragedy invariably follows. For now, his ambition must only be his next level. Calm and resolute. Grounded. Clear minded.

The next time the mage came within range of the snack press, Lord Azanth spoke to him.

My companion, a word.

Oh, you are speaking to me again?

Apologies for my lack of communication. It took me some time to re-evaluate our strategy for progression in the light of your reluctance to obtain money from other people in games of chance.

My refusal to cheat, you mean?

Quite so. I believe it would be much more in accord with your moral precepts and character were we to enter the First Plane of Wickedness and while questing, search for magical items or rare crafting items that you could then sell to your fellow students and other adventurers.

That sounds good. The human sighed. It’s just a question of time. I’m behind in my coursework as it is and I’m rostered for twenty-four hours of deliveries in the next three days.

What would be the consequence of not performing those menial tasks? Do they really matter when put into perspective against the larger vision of your triumphant mastery of the world?

Liam Nowak chuckled and Lord Azanth joined in, as much as a crisp could chuckle. The boy and he shared an appreciation of the incongruity of daydreaming about immense power while the demon was only a level 3 mage in the form of a crisp and the human was but a level 4 mage with no ranks or stars. Nevertheless, daydreaming about revenge took up most of Lord Azanth’s time and he was therefore relieved when the human formulated his next thought.

We could go farming skeletons after class for about two hours tomorrow and see how we get on.

I look forward to it very much and to demonstrating to you that this is a viable strategy. Perhaps in the meantime, you might take me out of the snack press and allow me the more stimulating environment of the world around you?

Perhaps. I find it intrusive though, that you can read my thoughts. Is there a way in which I can shield them from you?

… Many, but not at your low level or with your lack of the wherewithal to purchase, for instance, an Amulet of Non-Detection.

In that case, I’ll put you in my locker for the day.

What could Lord Azanth say to this humiliation, other than to accede?

Very well. One more thought. I mentioned that I have enemies, in response to which Thomas McCardle made a joke that many – yourself included – found to be entertaining. As I’m sure you appreciate, the very real danger of my enemies finding me and stamping me out of existence is not a proper subject matter for jokes. Please, be mindful of this as you mix with your fellow students and say as little about me as possible.

About that. How well can you see? Can you read a newspaper?

I cannot achieve the necessary resolution.

How about through my thoughts?

That would indeed be feasible.

Here.

The mage picked him up and carried him to the area in which Liam and his brother spent time playing computer games. There was paper on the table and moment later Lord Azanth was looking at it through Liam’s eyes.

By Martha Cullinan

Junior Fresh Mage, Liam Nowak achieved every new student’s dream last week when he jumped from level 2 to 4 and gained a powerful magic item. He says he owes this all to a crisp!

A member of Professor DuFrey’s mage class, Liam was taking a practical at the Garden of Roses on the First Plane of Virtue. Many readers of TN will be familiar with that venue, which is popular among first years because of the possibility of also getting quests from the Gardner. I should say ‘was’ because the poor chap is no more, as I found out after talking to tutor Robert Garcia.

“We were about halfway through the practical when a maze of thorns sprang up all around us. It was magic of tremendous power. Fast and dark. I was a bit spooked to be honest because there was no way through the walls or over them. And then we found the body of the Gardener. I looked it up afterwards, he was level 56. I had a class of new students and I was in a maze with monsters that could kill someone level 56. Can you imagine?”

Then, to make things worse, one of the students, Liam, disbanded from the group and strolled off into the darkness. Was it bravery or foolishness? I ask him when I catch up with him in the Buttery.

“Mostly foolishness,” Liam replies modestly. “I mean, the crisp was promising me it was safe but I couldn’t know that for sure. Like, what does a crisp know about anything?”

Liam is smiling as he says this, and no wonder, because the crisp did lead him safely through the maze, where he solved a puzzle inspired by the game of chess and obtained a magic wand. I ask to look at the wand and he hands it over. You really wouldn’t have thought it was anything special, it’s a pale stick of hazel and even has a few knobbly bits. Yet it can cast a coat of thorns on an ally up to three times a day. Very handy!

I ask Liam how he came into possession of this remarkable crisp. His brown eyes shine with amusement. “Pure luck. I’m more of a salt and vinegar guy. The vending machine that morning only had the one packet of crisps, way at the back. Prawn cocktail flavour.”

“But how come it is alive?” I ask, “And how could it steer you through a dangerous maze?”

“I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask him. But he’s not very forthcoming about that.”

“It’s a ‘he’? It’s a male crisp?”

We are both laughing now.

“That’s right.”

Unfortunately, the crisp is no longer talking to Liam and when I ask if the magic has maybe worn off he shrugs. “I don’t think so; I think he’s just sulking about something.”

The interview leaves me with more questions than answers. Why did the maze appear? Is it a coincidence that a magic crisp showed up around the same time? Does it matter that the crisp is prawn cocktail flavour? And is Liam dating anyone?

A chill ran through Lord Azanth’s potato body. If Earl Clarence or any of his mages were to read this, they would understand at once that the demon was still alive on the Plane of Life and they would send someone to kill him.

This newspaper, is it widely read?

Not at all. Just students at Trinity College and only a fraction of them.

Then perhaps I am still hidden. Ireland is a small country, I believe. At least I am unknown to the rest of the world.

About that.

The human put the paper down and concentrated on his phone.

And this journal is read widely?

Worldwide.

It mentions me?

Well, we had to.

I feel a great rage welling up inside me… You may put me back in the snack press for a day... no, two.