Prologue
Once upon a chime, a long, strong, gong-like chime ago, there lived me - Argyle Archibald Worgscoth. Curse my mother who came up with that name! My whole life I have been tormented, been called things like Rayon, Nylon, and the worst – Polyester. Of course, once I learned how to work my magic properly, I magicked all who taunted me into pairs of socks. The socks hung in various places around my house, decorating it beautifully. It was fitting, for I must admit, I was not ugly. Every day I would stare in my mirror, admiring myself. I was tall, with long, wavy chestnut colored hair and dazzling green eyes. And I was powerful. There was only one person more powerful than I and that was my rival, the Wicked Ritch.
Ever wonder why every story, if it's not about a king and queen, is about someone poor? It's because the Ritch is so dam rich! She has all the money and, since our government is so dam corrupt, she doesn't share it with anyone except those in power. Dam her. Excuse my influx of beaver language. It is my theory that we were all beavers anyway. I mean, think about it. It makes perfect logical sense. We can't fly, can't make volcanoes erupt, and we have eyes. How much more beaverlike can we get? Slowly, over time, we've evolved into the warped species we are now. It's a pity really.
Back on topic. So yeah, I was a handsome guy. But I was smart, too. I didn't fall for any of those 'damsel in distress' types who thought that the way to get a guy was to make him feel like a hero. Honestly, how dense can you get?
The Ritch, however, decided she knew what was best for me. She thought I was too vain, too haughty, too good for her liking. So she turned me into a clock. Just like that! She burst through the door, marched right up to me, and said, "Argyle, enough is enough. If you can't tell a disaster from your own ego, then you might as well just tell time."
"It's six-thirty," I said before I could stop myself. In horror, I turned to look in the mirror. Staring back at me was my own stunned face with lots of numbers circling around it; twelve at the top, three towards the east, six at the bottom, and nine towards the west. In between each of the numbers were fourteen lines, and there were three pointer thingies circling around them from the tip of my nose, pointing to different numbers and lines. Down my body swung a heavy bronze thing with a disc on the bottom.
"I'm a – a clock!" I spluttered in astonishment. The Ritch laughed.
"That you are, my friend. And remember, time is an illusion – or maybe that's just you."
I rounded angrily on her.
"I am not an illusion! You turn me back at once, you old hag!"
The Ritch laughed again. She was not really an old hag. She was quite young and beautiful. Dam her again!
"Now, now, Argyle. I won't have you fussing." She looked me over critically. "I see I shall have to make you a bit more convenient."
Uh oh. I didn't like the sound of that.
With one hand on her hip and the other contemplatively tapping her lip, she suddenly snapped her fingers and the room began to grow. The mirror was high above my head, so high that I couldn't even reach the bottom of it if I jumped – not that I could really jump much as a clock – and the Ritch was a giantess!
Okay, I'm lying. I was just miniature.
"You shrank me!" I gasped in horror.
The Ritch lifted me in her arms and said smilingly, "And I know just where to put you, too."
With a wave of her hand, the room around us swirled. It spun faster and faster until all I could see was a blur of colors. I had done this kind of thing before myself, but never as a twelve-inch high clock. It was quite unnerving.
When it finally stopped, it took me a few seconds to regain my bearings. I staggered a bit as the Ritch set me down on some sort of mantelpiece and my eyes widened. I was in a castle!
"Well," the Ritch said smartly, "this should do."
"No it should not!" I insisted, stamping my little clock foot. "I demand to return home at once or I shall turn you into a warty toad!"
The Ritch laughed gaily and patted my head.
"I'll have none of that from you now, my little clock-friend. Though I cannot take away your magic, I saw to it that you cannot do any except on the hour. As it is now six forty-two, I'm afraid you cannot turn me into a warty toad. Or anything else for that matter."
It was then that I realized the seriousness of my situation.
"When will you turn me back into a wizard?" I asked rather pitifully.
"When you're ready," the Ritch replied and took a step back. "Goodbye Argyle. Be a good little clock."
And with that, she vanished.
So begins the story of a whole lot of mixed up people tangled up in each other's paths until things, as they are wont to do, began to sort themselves out.
Once upon a chime, a long, strong, gong-like chime ago, there lived me - Argyle Archibald Worgscoth. Curse my mother who came up with that name! My whole life I have been tormented, been called things like Rayon, Nylon, and the worst – Polyester. Of course, once I learned how to work my magic properly, I magicked all who taunted me into pairs of socks. The socks hung in various places around my house, decorating it beautifully. It was fitting, for I must admit, I was not ugly. Every day I would stare in my mirror, admiring myself. I was tall, with long, wavy chestnut colored hair and dazzling green eyes. And I was powerful. There was only one person more powerful than I and that was my rival, the Wicked Ritch.
Ever wonder why every story, if it's not about a king and queen, is about someone poor? It's because the Ritch is so dam rich! She has all the money and, since our government is so dam corrupt, she doesn't share it with anyone except those in power. Dam her. Excuse my influx of beaver language. It is my theory that we were all beavers anyway. I mean, think about it. It makes perfect logical sense. We can't fly, can't make volcanoes erupt, and we have eyes. How much more beaverlike can we get? Slowly, over time, we've evolved into the warped species we are now. It's a pity really.
Back on topic. So yeah, I was a handsome guy. But I was smart, too. I didn't fall for any of those 'damsel in distress' types who thought that the way to get a guy was to make him feel like a hero. Honestly, how dense can you get?
The Ritch, however, decided she knew what was best for me. She thought I was too vain, too haughty, too good for her liking. So she turned me into a clock. Just like that! She burst through the door, marched right up to me, and said, "Argyle, enough is enough. If you can't tell a disaster from your own ego, then you might as well just tell time."
"It's six-thirty," I said before I could stop myself. In horror, I turned to look in the mirror. Staring back at me was my own stunned face with lots of numbers circling around it; twelve at the top, three towards the east, six at the bottom, and nine towards the west. In between each of the numbers were fourteen lines, and there were three pointer thingies circling around them from the tip of my nose, pointing to different numbers and lines. Down my body swung a heavy bronze thing with a disc on the bottom.
"I'm a – a clock!" I spluttered in astonishment. The Ritch laughed.
"That you are, my friend. And remember, time is an illusion – or maybe that's just you."
I rounded angrily on her.
"I am not an illusion! You turn me back at once, you old hag!"
The Ritch laughed again. She was not really an old hag. She was quite young and beautiful. Dam her again!
"Now, now, Argyle. I won't have you fussing." She looked me over critically. "I see I shall have to make you a bit more convenient."
Uh oh. I didn't like the sound of that.
With one hand on her hip and the other contemplatively tapping her lip, she suddenly snapped her fingers and the room began to grow. The mirror was high above my head, so high that I couldn't even reach the bottom of it if I jumped – not that I could really jump much as a clock – and the Ritch was a giantess!
Okay, I'm lying. I was just miniature.
"You shrank me!" I gasped in horror.
The Ritch lifted me in her arms and said smilingly, "And I know just where to put you, too."
With a wave of her hand, the room around us swirled. It spun faster and faster until all I could see was a blur of colors. I had done this kind of thing before myself, but never as a twelve-inch high clock. It was quite unnerving.
When it finally stopped, it took me a few seconds to regain my bearings. I staggered a bit as the Ritch set me down on some sort of mantelpiece and my eyes widened. I was in a castle!
"Well," the Ritch said smartly, "this should do."
"No it should not!" I insisted, stamping my little clock foot. "I demand to return home at once or I shall turn you into a warty toad!"
The Ritch laughed gaily and patted my head.
"I'll have none of that from you now, my little clock-friend. Though I cannot take away your magic, I saw to it that you cannot do any except on the hour. As it is now six forty-two, I'm afraid you cannot turn me into a warty toad. Or anything else for that matter."
It was then that I realized the seriousness of my situation.
"When will you turn me back into a wizard?" I asked rather pitifully.
"When you're ready," the Ritch replied and took a step back. "Goodbye Argyle. Be a good little clock."
And with that, she vanished.
So begins the story of a whole lot of mixed up people tangled up in each other's paths until things, as they are wont to do, began to sort themselves out.