Mystical Meeting

Mystical Meeting

Magnus considered the faces of the other guests seated around the long table. According to the note that the butler had secretly passed to him when he arrived, one of the guests was dangerous but not the suspicious-looking one. Of all these, he thought, who looked most suspicious?

It was a moot point. Never before had Magnus seen such a strange combination of characters, each of whom looked dangerous in one way or another. And, as for being suspicious, none of them had relaxed in easy conversation with a neighbour while they awaited the arrival of the host. If anything, they seemed suspicious of each other, the frozen expressions they maintained being broken only occasionally by eyes that glanced surreptitiously at their neighbours.

Much as Magnus was doing now, he thought. In fact, they were behaving very much as if the butler had handed each one of them a note urging them to seek out the most suspicious-looking of the group. It was just the sort of ridiculous game they played at these gatherings of leaders of the mystical arts in the city. Or so Magnus had heard. He was not accustomed to attending such meetings, being as reclusive and secretive as he was. It was only the signature on the invitation that had persuaded him to be present on this particular occasion.

He glanced down once more at the note he held below the level of the table top.

The suspicious-looking guest is not the dangerous one

No ending period, he noted. Was that deliberate or an error? And was he becoming all too paranoid in this atmosphere of suspicion and mistrust? He brought out the note from its hidden position and waved it at the other guests.

“I presume we’ve all had one of these,” he announced.

The man sitting opposite in the magician’s outfit, a bow tie and tuxedo, produced his from a top pocket. “I have one.”

There was a chorus of agreement as the guests waved their little slips of paper in the air. None of them remained quiet, as far as Magnus could see.

“Well, it’s quite clear that these are just making us all look suspicious,” he said. “I suggest we recognise it as a silly game and get on with the proceedings, whatever they may be.” There was a murmur of assent and a cascade of white flashes over the shoulder as the notes were disposed of. Magnus turned and beckoned at one of the waiters standing along the length of the great hall.

“I don’t suppose you could enquire of your master when exactly he proposes to turn up?” he asked.

A voice answered from the head of the table. “I thought about now would be appropriate.”

All heads turned to see the tall, red-robed man standing where the last unoccupied placing had been. As they they rose to their feet in honour of the master, he continued speaking.

“No, no, don’t get up, we are all friends here. Even the reclusive Mister Griffon, I’m sure.” He indicated Magnus with a wave of his hand. “I’m sorry to have kept my guests waiting but I hoped that you would have the opportunity to get to know each other in the meantime. As I see you have, thanks to Mister Griffon. And, as for me, I think you all know me but, for the sake of formality, I should introduce myself. I am Aloysius Manticore, of the Firenze Manticores, present holder of the Shield of Turin and Master of the Society of Mages.”

There was a brief round of applause and then the Master sat down, the waiters moved forward from their positions and the meal began. Although appreciative of the quality of the food presented, Magnus remained alert, unconvinced as he was that these people had enough in common to be without malicious intent towards each other. Especially as he was the closest thing to a stranger in that company, never having attended a Manticore Dinner before.

Whether from an excess of caution or purely for amusement, he continued to search among the faces, looking for one who seemed the most suspicious. The magician fellow who had spoken up in his support so immediately was crossed off the list straight away. Not for his apparent act of support but because, now that he had relaxed, his conversation with his neighbour showed a certain dullness of wit and his dining manners a lack of finesse.

To Magnus’ left sat a woman dressed in widow’s weeds, black mascara ladled too liberally about the eyes, dark hair that ignored her efforts to keep it from her soup. Magnus felt she had too much on her plate to bother with being suspicious or even dangerous.

On his other side, a large woman pressed on seriously with her meal, eating everything presented to her by the perspiring waiter behind her and taking no time for words with other guests. Clearly, she was engrossed in exercising her greatest skill and would be an unlikely source of danger to him.

Magnus’ eyes progressed from one to another of the guests, noting, assessing and calculating until he thought he had the measure of them all. In all that company of the great and dark, he found no one he considered his equal. With one exception. The Manticore, Aloysius, was patently a powerful mage, one to be respected and avoided if possible. He looked ordinary enough, chatting to his near neighbours easily and merely picking at the food before him, but his movements spoke of great strength in that human form and his confidence was so apparent that it had to be founded in reality.

And so the meal progressed, Magnus now concentrating his observation on Manticore, certain that he had identified the main threat to himself. He had never liked the idea of this meeting but knew it was inevitable sooner or later. Manticore was bound to resent even a hint of independence within his fiefdom.

When the meal finished and coffee was being sipped by the guests, Manticore stood and addressed the assembly.

“I presume everyone received their slip of paper from the butler?” When all nodded their heads or mumbled their replies, he continued. “And who have you decided is the most suspicious at this table?”

There was a moment’s pause, then all heads turned to focus their gaze on Magnus. So it was going to be overt so soon, he thought. But Manticore was still speaking.

“It seems that no one trusts you, master Griffon. This is entirely understandable, I think you will agree, considering how you have refused all my invitations to join our merry band. To make yourself so obviously independent of all support leaves you dangerously vulnerable, I would have thought.”

Magnus shrugged. “It suits me. Look, why don’t we cut the crap and get down to the real point of this meeting? You’re determined to make me one of your willing servants and I’m as adamant that I remain free and in charge of my own fate. What do you propose to do about it?”

For answer, Manticore gestured at the waiters and they took a pace forward, producing scimitars in their hands, apparently from mid-air. The guests, including Magnus, rose where they stood.

Manticore extended his hands to indicate his advantage. “Twenty guests, twenty servants and myself against one, Mister Griffon. Unfair odds, you see, but it’s my house and my rules. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Magnus shrugged. “It’s what I’m here for. Get on with it then.”

In the brief moment that followed, he began the transformation and became Magnus the Griffon, He was not surprised to see that, away at the head of the table, Manticore had changed into his beast form, the sphinxlike manticore, so similar in its lion body to the griffon but sporting a human head rather than Magnus’ eagle visage. This would be an interesting struggle. He leaped upon the table and began to run at Manticore. The hall dissolved into a chaos of transforming creatures, some apparently taking Magnus’ side since they attacked the guests and waiters, others trying to reach out at the griffon as he ran.

Magnus ignored them as he hurtled towards Manticore. There was only one fight that mattered in this confusion and this was it. With a great roar from each of them, the two joined in battle.


Word Count: 1,404
For SCREAMS!!!, October 05, 2020
Prompt: The suspicious-looking guest is not the dangerous one.