Almeric Durfoot sat on the stool before his workbench playing with an armillary when he heard a gentle, inquisitive knock on the door. "Yes?"

Talitha, his wife, peeked in the door. "Someone's coming up the hill, dear." Almeric grumbled slightly as he put away the complicated sphere and got down from his perch. Corinta Albicote, a gray, white and brown cat, fell into the gravity well of his leg and became boneless in a heap right in his path. Almeric stepped over her gingerly and into the main room. He opened the shutter and looked out the front window to see that indeed, someone was walking up the path to their house.

And such a someone. This was no local visitor looking for a wart remover or a poultice for a rash. This someone wore a long gray robe and carried an odd trident. Almeric had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, not unlike the inevitable results of eating the spicy sausage his wife studiously forbade him.

He closed the shutter and turned. Talitha was there with his jacket. She held it up as he backed his arms into it. "Now, invite him for dinner, Alm, as I've got stew enough to feed the entire village."

Almeric shrugged. "Sure if it's food he wants, he would have stayed at the inn. He looks to have more of the magic about him than I have, so what does he need me for?"

Talitha's smile flickered for only a moment and her fists landed on her waist. "And aren't you the finest cure-all in all the eight cities? And didn't the Lord Such-a-one come up that very hill begging you to do something about his gouty foot?"

Almeric smiled and kissed her on the forehead right below her dark bangs. "Aye. You're right. It's not troubles enough we have that I'll be borrowing more from tomorrow."

Talitha laughed and pushed him out the door, giving his kilt a quick tug to straighten it as he stumbled out the door. Almeric stood at the top of the path and called a halloo to the stranger, who did not slow his pace to reply but continued his long walk with the tread of someone who had traveled far and with purpose.

Almeric had time to study this stranger. He was gray of flesh and dressed like the mages of distant Kitali, reputed to be far across the desert. He used the trident like a staff and even from a distance Almeric knew enough rune lore to recognize a sigil of power carved into the shaft of the weapon.

When the mage had arrived within speaking distance, Almeric tried again. "I hope you've a need to speak to the village splint-bones, else you've made a long climb for nothing much. I'm Almeric Durfoot."

The man saluted Almeric with the trident, and the three iron tines of the weapon gathered a blue corona of glowing power. "I am whole. I need no cures. I am Thaxnar of Guel. What I desire is not your skills, healer."

Almeric shrugged, "As may be, and I'm glad of it, for I'd have no one ill even if it means gold in my pocket. But I'll be asking what business brings you up to my humble home so far from your own."

The mage planted the brass-butted end of the trident shaft in the road and leaned on it with both arms. "I have learned you have a book."

Almeric straightened and his eyes narrowed. The mage continued.

"No ordinary book, though any book is precious and valuable. And I will have it of you, make no mistake."

Almeric was at a loss. He had no weapon with him but a dirk tucked at the small of his back in the waistband of his kilt, and that a poor defense against a powerful mage. He crossed his arms. "I have books. And that's as it should be. I'll be knowing what you have to do with my books, then, as I'm not looking to trade them for a tinker's pot."

The mage glowered. "You have an herbary. A noted book of some fame. There can be no trading for a book such as this."

"Then you have naught to do with me and mine, so I'll bid you good day," Almeric answered brusquely. He was about to turn and retreat into his house when the deep, powerful voice of the mage spoke again dangerously.

"You may give me the book, or I shall take it. No other choice I give you."

Almeric turned slowly to face the fierce mage. Thaxnar wanted his precious herbary. It was one of the oldest and most valuable books on Unea. How it came into his hands was a story worth telling, and its value was more than its cost, if it could be told at all. He set his face.

"If you will try to take something from me, then it will cost you perhaps more than you want. But if you've a mind to test that, then I'm your man." It was false courage, and Almeric supposed that being burned to a cinder would hurt only for a moment. He reached behind him and took the handle of his dirk into his hand, preparing to rush the mage in a foolish attack.

Talitha emerged from the door, wiping her hands on her apron. "Alm, I've got a stew of mutton and greens bubbling and squeaking in the pot! Ask your visitor in to sup."

Almeric tried to edge himself between Talitha and the mage. He gave her a look bursting with warning but she missed it completely and leaned round to smile at the mage.

"Hot stew'll not wait for your business, and cold stew is cold comfort!"

The mage looked nearly as bewildered as Almeric felt so he seized the delay as a chance to diffuse the situation.

"Well, the wife is a good cook, and that's sure," Almeric said sincerely and gestured the mage to approach.

Talitha was already hurrying back to the house. As the mage drew even with Almeric he said softly, "I suppose we can kill each other on a full stomach better than on an empty. But we leave my wife out of this."

As they reached the doorway, Thaxnar passed his trident in an arc over the door. He stepped into the dim light of a room which was homey and comfortable. At the table were wooden plates with bread loaves and bowls filled with a bubbling hot stew. The smell was intoxicating and Thaxnar began to salivate immediately and copiously.

Almeric tentatively gestured for the mage to take a seat and then sat carefully opposite him, scanning the room for possible weapons. Thaxnar cast a spell to test the food for poison and was already tearing a piece of bread and dipping it into the hot stew. He flinched as the cat hissed at him from beneath the table and then made as if to strike her with his trident. The cat streaked behind a pile of nicely chopped wood next to the hearth.

"Talitha is my wife," Almeric said quickly. "The cat is Corinta Albicote."

"You would suffer such a creature in your own home?" Thaxnar began with disdain, speaking with his mouth full and overflowing.

"Not everyone has the gift for celibacy," smiled Almeric.

Talitha bustled in all good cheer and laden with delicacies.

"Be at home, good sir," she said, "I don't set a fancy table, but no one goes away hungry." Talitha set a crock of her famed pickled peppers on the table and set another loaf of bread on the table.

Almeric's eyes got big, "Pepper bread!" Talitha slapped his hand as he reached for it.

"Never you mind, Alm. You've got plain bread before you, and I'll be back in a heartbeat with your supper. The pepper bread is for our guest."

Thaxnar was immediately suspicious as if others had tried to poison him before. He passed his hand over the new food and muttered the common testing spell again. When he looked up, Almeric smiled wryly at him.

"I've not poisoned a guest at table yet, though some's as would deserve it for their long stories and bad manners."

Talitha was back through the swinging doorway, with a bowl of pale pasty substance which she set before Almeric and gave him a kiss on his head. He caught Thaxnar's suspicious look.

"A fine bowl of Guel porridge is all I'm good for. Can't eat anything with a bite to it." He smiled and motioned for the mage to continue eating. "You might as well eat what I can't.

Thaxnar did not smile, but resumed stuffing pepper bread, stew, and slimy green vegetables from the crock into his mouth as fast as he could. Almeric decided to try diplomacy.

"I can see you've traveled long on an empty stomach and I well understand hunger breeds impatience and fuels a quick temper. Hospitality in these parts is a rich resource and now that you've tasted some, perhaps we can come to an understanding."

He was cut off by Talitha returning with a bowl of cream and a cauldron, its handle wrapped in a rag. "You finished that quickly enough. There's more to be had, and a good appetite is as good as a lord's thank you." She set down the cream and poured more stew in his bowl.

Thaxnar did manage to nod and mumble a thank you, spitting crumbs of the wonderfully flaky and rich pepper bread into his beard as he did. He wiped his mouth with his travel-grimy sleeve and poured some of the thick cream onto his bread.

"I have never eaten so well. There are spices in the stew that I have no name for. And there are beans that I do not know. This food is not like the thick gruel of my homeland, for here there are such flavors as I have not experienced. You have a wondrous way with food, goodwife."

Talitha laughed. "Aye," she began as she poked Almeric in the ribs. "This one married me for my cooking before he knew his stomach would not stand the strain."

Almeric grinned sheepishly. "Aye, it's true. A weak stomach, that's what I have. It's a sad irony. A healer can't be healing himself, you know. And there's not another cure-all but the hedge-wizard at Three Trees, who's as like to give me shingles as take away my pain. It's a sad thing when your wants exceed what you should have, wouldn't you agree?"

Talitha entered the kitchen again. Thaxnar met Almeric's gaze. "I have never been so well fed by an opponent. Give me the Herbary of Seven-Toed Simon and you can feed on bread and gruel again tomorrow. Better that than make a widow of your skillful wife!"

Almeric signaled him to silence when Talitha backed into the room again, with a large tray with a basket and a carafe upon it.

"These are a special treat. Almeric can't eat them anymore, so it's a courtesy to me if you'll enjoy them."

Thaxnar muttered the testing spell over the basket and the carafe. He bit into the pastry from the basket to discover a heart of spicy pate inside. He washed it down with a goblet of wonderful hearty red wine. Almeric had finished his gruel and plain unbuttered bread. He drank from a plain pottery mug. Thaxnar nodded, indicating the mug, "Do you not drink wine? Is that your vow?"

Almeric grinned. "Nah. I have no vows, so's you call them. This is buttermilk," he said indicating the contents of his mug. "A poor substitute for the wine of Endeara, I know. But my wife won't let me drink it."

Talitha rushed into the room and put three plump sausages on Thaxnar's plate. "Won't let him! Aye, to save us both, I won't! He drinks a single drop and he's moanin' the whole night about the pain in his yeasty gut."

Thaxnar chuckled, impolitely, snapping off hunks of sausage with the air of one who knew he had already triumphed. Almeric said softly so Talitha wouldn't hear from the next room, "I beg you, sir, to look around and understand. Perhaps things are done differently in your land, but hereabouts you don't take from a poor man what little legacy he might possess. I cannot let it pass into another's hands but that of my own flesh and blood not yet born. If it's a spell you need, let us make a bargain for the knowledge, as men of good business."

Talitha entered on that last word. Almeric said quickly, "There's not a crumb left that would serve to feed a mouse, my dear."

Talitha smiled and feigned indignance, "And there are no mice in this house, I'll have you believe. Else Corinta Albicote can find herself a new place to live." At the sound of her name, the cat emerged from the woodpile carefully, watching Thaxnar suspiciously. "But as you two have business, I'm sure I can find aught to do." She made for the kitchen and turned just before she left. "And I'll clean up after you're done, and no hurry."

In the quiet of the room the two men faced each other over plates and bowls and utensils. Thaxnar grunted and levered himself up with the trident that was never far from his reach. Almeric could see the blood red sigil on its shaft, the Guelga rune for fire. The mage lifted his trident and spoke a few words of ritual. The blue glow about the tines intensified and bathed the room in its coruscating light. "Show me the book, healer. I've no desire now to destroy this house or to harm you, but I shall. I must have that book."

Almeric rose carefully and reached behind him for the dirk. In the close quarters of the room, he had a better chance of scoring with his weapon, but he didn't really fancy his odds. The mage had the book-weary eyes of a scholar and an expression of ruthlessness that Almeric could never develop. Almeric was only as much of a scholar as was required and he would never willingly give up his comfortable life with a young wife and a cozy home and children soon to come. Not for the celibate, austere life of a mage. Power is a poor thing compared to contentment.

Thaxnar nodded slowly, as if reading Almeric's mind. "The knife at your back is too hot to touch."

As sure as he said it, the hilt of the dirk Almeric clasped in his fingers grew as hot as a coal straight from the glowing red center of the hearth. With a gasp he dropped it on the floor.

The mage smiled condescendingly, "I've sent far more powerful warriors and mages into the long way than you, healer. Do you even have a staff?"

Almeric shook his head. "No, and I've not been one to hoard my power and abuse it, as some do."

"You know nothing, then. Please yourself. If you will not give me what I ask for, then I shall kill you and take it." He walked to the door, and strode outside saying, "I shall burn your house down, if we battle inside. As the book is no doubt in there, that would defeat my purposes. Leave your wife something to remember you with, for I shall leave nothing of you but cinders in the passing wind."

Almeric hesitated. He looked around his comfortable home. He listened for a moment to Talitha humming as she scraped things in the kitchen. His gaze met that of Corinta Albicote. "What am I to do, cat? There are some things a man can't allow." Corinta had no answer for him, so, with a sigh, he followed on out the door.

When they had walked a little distance from the house, Almeric listened to the distant sound of his sheep bleating. He took a deep breath, and then faced the mage, ready to do battle.

Almeric swallowed. He passed his hands before him, tracing the rune of healing in the air. Then he shut his eyes and meditated on the spell he wanted to cast. Thaxnar waited, curious to see what would happen, but unworried. Moments passed, nothing happened. Almeric opened one eye and peeked at the results of his work, then he opened the other.

"And what was that?"

Almeric shrugged. "Not as much as I'd hoped, I suppose."

"Then give me the book, now. I have no heart to burn you to death."

"And I've no desire to be burnt. But it's you who'll be burning before I give you the herbary."

He knew as he said it that he had phrased it wrong, for he had not said that Thaxnar would not get it, just that he would not give it to him. But Thaxnar's scowl did not diminish.

In fact, Almeric was surprised to see the mage reach up with his left hand and wipe sweat away from his face. Almeric had cast no spell, he knew. He had tried to improvise something about the man's blood and decay, but he hadn't the book learning to do it. The spell had slipped away like pure mercury.

But Thaxnar looked worried. The sweat continued to bead on his face. He lifted the trident, but he was not as sure as he had been. Almeric was just about to concede and tell the mage where to look behind the loose stone above the hearth's mantle when Thaxnar clutched at his chest.

"What magic is this?" he shouted. "You cast no spell!"

Sweat ran down his face now as it twisted in pain.

Almeric took a step back, toward the house, toward the pile of wood by the front door. Behind him was a common axe, that might make an uncommon weapon. He took another step back. Thaxnar noticed the furtive movement and lifted his trident over his head with both hands. Now his words were not muttered, but growled in the fierce Guelga of the desert tribes. Blue energy began to gather, and Almeric knew what the mage intended, although he could never have imitated the magic he witnessed. Thaxnar gathered the fire magics within him and would soon be able to breathe fire upon him. Suddenly, he faltered and staggered, the trident lowered as he again clutched his chest with taut fingers. He grimaced.

"The fire I gather consumes me from within." As the mage shook his head, droplets of his perspiration flung about. He lifted the trident and spoke a word of power.

When Almeric saw the mage open his mouth, he expected him to breathe dragon's fire at him, to incinerate him completely in that dread scorching liquid. But nothing came. In fact, Almeric imagined that he could see hazy wisps of smoke comically emerging from Thaxnar's ears. He took another step back and another while Thaxnar tried again to cough something up, like a man desperate to belch. When his hand closed on the axe handle, he pulled it free of the stump and charged the mage, yelling.

Thaxnar's eyes grew wild and he clumsily tried to use the trident to parry. Almeric swung the axe clumsily, but the trident's shaft splintered easily when he connected. Thaxnar screamed in agony. He emitted a terrible sound, like a hideous parody of the sound a horse makes when it snorts through its blubbery lips, a greasy, wet, flatulent sound. And then he exploded.

Almeric fell to his face and covered his head, dodging the gouts of plasmic fire and flaming flesh which rained about the smoky ruin of the mage. From behind him, he heard Talitha scream. When he picked himself up, he saw Talitha throwing a bucket of water onto their flaming thatch roof.

It was the frantic work of a few tense minutes to put out the fire. They were both covered with soot when they finally collapsed onto the ground. The air was still smoky, mostly from the burning thatch, although the acrid smell of burning flesh and grease still hung heavy in the air. Almeric nodded and smiled gently. Talitha threw her arms about him and sobbed in relief.

"And what's that for, now the fire's out?"

Between hiccupping gasps for breath, she answered, "I'll be forever cleaning the house of the soot now. It's worse than when the flu was shut and the smoke turned into the house last winter."

Almeric laughed and Talitha hit him with her tiny fist. "And where's the wizard? Did he leave without even a word to thank me for my vittles?"

At that Almeric shrugged and indicated the still smoking patches of earth near where Thaxnar had stood. He stood up and searched about, Talitha rising and watching from near the doorway. Even Corinta Albicote emerged from the house to watch, although she showed her obvious distaste for the unpleasant odor with the haughty arch of her tail. Of course she also took to licking at a cooling piece of something that Almeric thought it better not to notice.

With a grunt of discovery, Almeric bent and picked up the charred metal remains of the trident with the edge of his kilt. "Well, this is what the mage left us. It may not be worth the meal we served, but it's better than what he had planned for me."

Talitha frowned at that. "Then I hope he had collywobbles and the nether airs before he left."

Almeric nodded and smiled. "Aye, love. I believe he did."

After the serious nature of our last story, I thought our first Editor's Extra for 2003 should lighten the mood. And how better to do that than with some refined bathroom humor? My thanks to Mr DeVera for this incendiary tale.