fabulist [ˈfæbjʊlɪst] noun, c.1585–95; < MF fabuliste, equivalent to < fābul (a) fable + -iste -ist; also storyteller, writer, or author

1. Denizen of the Clockpunk Wizard world.
2. A human person who invents or recounts fables and stories. Their magic is with words, imagery, and turning coffee beverages into fanciful literary romps into the absurd. Sources of these absurdities are the voices in the author’s head, mundane media, and observation of other human persons.
3. A human person who is a liar. Most everything they write is made up, a contrivance, or a deliberate effort to foist dreadful poetry upon willing Gentle Readers.
4. Regarding Spontaneous Animation: Caution is advised when reading a Fabulist’s accounts aloud near unsecured clockwork. The sheer descriptive force of the prose has been known to cause temporary sentience to inanimate objects. If your teakettle begins reciting poetry, or your toaster attempts to flit around the room like a panicked starling, close the book immediately and apply a cooling wet washcloth to your forehead.
5. On Temporal Displacement: Readers are warned that a Fabulist’s narrative flow may not align with standard mechanical time. Those immersed in a Clockpunk Wizard chapter may find that while only ten minutes have passed on their pocket watch, three days have vanished in the mundane world. Do not read while operating ornithopter carriages or during delicate alchemical infusions.
6. About Ink-Stain Contagion: Be wary of ‘Secondary Character Bleed.’ Prolonged exposure to a Fabulist’s descriptions can cause the reader to manifest minor traits of the subjects described, such as: (1) a sudden, inexplicable odor of ozone, (2) a craving for sourdough toast, or (3) the shimmering of the air around one’s hat. If you begin to feel ‘fictional,’ consult a licensed Wizard or stand in a drafty hallway until the sensation passes.
7. Personages: Lita Burke.
8. See “About Lita” and “Sir Bright’s Startling Clockwork Automata Gift“

“What I need now is a drying spell.” Lita draped the towel over her shoulders. “Kadmeion, would you please lend a hand?”

That is why I sent the rain, the towel replied in mind voice.

The clever wizard had infused the towel with a delightful skin-tickling spell. His ~twisty~ magic whisked the water from her sodden clothes. In a moment, her garments were dry and silky soft. The sweet scents of rosewater and lavender wrapped around Lita. Invisible, gentle fingers then caressed her head and transformed the mop of wet strands into dry glossy tendrils. The spell eased her curls upward. A clock chime reverberated. A magenta hair ribbon appeared and wove itself into the uplifted tresses, creating a fetching crown braid on Lita’s head. Kadmeion’s spell then caressed her cheek with an affectionate light touch and withdrew.

“That was lovely, Kadmeion.” She fanned her hot cheeks with fluttering hands. These charming magicians could be so forward.

The wizard’s magic had distracted Lita from the transport’s movements. The floating purple whale now loomed alongside the transport. The hatch hissed open. The transport spat its gangway into the connecting hatch on the whale. A canopy blossomed over the gangway to shelter it from the rain.

Here’s Sir Bright

Sir Bright crouched in the vestibule of the purple whale, holding a pocket watch. He stood, tucked the magical timepiece away, and beckoned her to join him. Lita all but skipped across the gangway.

“Hail, fellow magician well met, Brighton Twice-Seventh Son Mage.”

“Welcome, Milady Fabulist Lita, my darling magical scribe.” Bright swept her up into a twirling embrace. She giggled with delight. The elf-kind set Lita back onto her feet, held her at arm’s length, and grinned. “Let’s have a spot of tea, and a chat. You’ve been away a long while. I have much to share.”

The tea service had followed her from the transport. It now floated to the large wooden table next to the ship’s wheel. It settled into place and landed on the table with a gentle plunk.

Lita glanced around the ship’s bridge. “I expected to see the Patsy Nottle, not this fine whale of a ship.”

“The wizard and I crafted this custom airship for a client, and I’m delivering it after my visit here with you.” Bright held out a chair for Lita. “After delivery, I’ll return to the Patsy Nottle.”

“Wizard Kadmeion couldn’t join us?” She saw to the matter of pouring their tea, then selected a scone. The fragrant hot drink went well with the cold rainy day.

“Kadmeion sends his regrets. He had an urgent magical matter concerning a troll’s wardrobe. He left a summary of his predicament on the manuscript shelf in the Belfry.”

“I’ll see to that unfinished story soon,” she said. “What of this gift you mentioned in your note?”

The narfleet set down his teacup and half-eaten scone, stood, and went to the pile of navigation charts on the far side of the bridge. He selected a paper halfway down the stack and returned to his seat at the table. Bright handed the schematics diagram to Lita. “Please look at this first, then I’ll give you our gift.”

“You look anxious.” Lita turned her attention away from Bright’s handsome blue eyes and looked at the paper. “This is a Leonardo’s Airborne Contraptions original design?”

“Yes. Kadmeion and I made some adjustments.”

Lita studied the blueprint. The Clockpunk Wizards had made her a mechanical automaton—a magical sentient creature with a metal body—constructed by Bright and animated by a minor demon summoned by Kadmeion.

Here’s Archytas of Tarentum

“Says here that Kadmeion summoned a high-class demon.” Lita looked at Bright. “Which one?”

“Archytas.” Bright selected another scone and slathered it with cherry preserves. “We had high ambitions since it was a gift for you.”

“I know of him. That demon was a scientist. Founder of mathematical mechanics. Plato’s friend.” Lita smoothed her hand across the parchment. “I understand that Archytas of Tarentum created a flying wooden dove that used an air current mechanism hidden inside the body.”

“Yes?”

Lita studied the notes on the margins of the schematics drawing. “An ornithopter corkscrew propeller, and bird wings? Leonardo must have added the propeller. The bird design, of course, came from Archytas. The mechanical automaton is also a…toaster?”

Bright nodded. “A heroic toaster.” The elf-kind poured more tea for the both of them. “That’s how he describes himself. Heroic. He also insisted on having wings and the propeller.”

Her darling magicians had made Lita a most unusual gift. “I still have questions.”

“The homunculus can speak about itself.” Bright took out his pocket watch and cupped the timepiece in his palm. “He calls himself Archy. Named after his demon Archytas of Tarentum. He’s prepared a song for you. The Archytas demon sings in the key of G. Does our Startling Clockwork Automata Gift please you?”

“I’m very pleased,” Lita said. “Please ask Archy to join us?”

Bright whispered a word to his pocket watch, then tucked it away. He picked up a clean empty plate from the tea service tray.

A faint whir-click-click sounded from the bowels of the whale. Whir-click-click. WHIR-CLICK-CLICK.

Here’s Archy

In flew what the schematics identified as Archy 2.0 (Modified Mechanical Avian Form). The automaton’s corkscrew-type ornithopter flight gear hummed like a friendly bumblebee. Archy wore tinted aviator goggles. He flew a graceful figure-8, paused, and ejected a toasted slice of sourdough at Bright. The narfleet caught the buttered slice on his waiting plate and offered the treat to Lita. She took the plate.

Archy hovered a few paces away from her. “Greetings, Madam Lita. Sir Bright and Wizard Kadmeion speak highly, longly, and oftenly about you.”

“Well met, Flying Toaster Corkscrew-Powered Automaton named Archy.” Lita picked up the toast, nibbled a corner, and set the crunchy delicacy back onto the plate. “That’s delicious. Why don’t bread slots appear on your schematics?”

The flying bird-shaped toaster did an aerial somersault. “I have bread-slot sized interdimensional portals linked to an endless sourdough bread source. Those schematics represent my physical aspects. The clockworks. Gears. Corkscrew propeller. But my bread slots? Not merely holes in metal; I say again that they are interdimensional portals.”

Lita looked at Bright and raised an eyebrow. He grinned.

“What Archy is trying to say is that Kadmeion used a spell that links to a sourdough tree on Lah-dee-dah Island. When you ask Archy for toast, the spell fetches a fresh slice from the tree. The minor demon powering our heroic toaster crisps the bread inside of the bird’s belly. The spell opens the hidden bread slots and ejects your toast. Hold a plate about an arms-length away from Archy to catch the toast.”

“That makes sense.” Lita turned to the hovering toaster. “Call your bread slots whatever you wish, even though your explanation is not quite clockpunk magical science.”

Archy pirouetted on an outstretched wing and ejected another toast slice at Bright. The nimble elf-kind caught it, set the crusty confection next to the first slice, and used his napkin to wipe the butter off his fingers.

“I wrote a song for you,” Archy said. “May I sing it to you, Madam Lita?”

“Please call me Lita. I’d love to hear your song.”

Archy started a waltz tempo using his distinctive whir-click-click. After two introductory bars, the Archytas minor demon began his song in the key of G. [Lita’s Note: See the sidebar for the lyrics.] 

At the start of the second verse, Sir Bright stood and asked Lita to waltz with him. They had the flying heroic toaster repeat the song many times while they danced to Archy’s whir-click-click clockworks sounds. They spun about and talked at length about clockpunk magic. Lita and the elf-kind magician waltzed until the rain stopped, then it was time for her to go.

Next Time: Bestiarum Vocabulum: Fabulist

Then After That: A Job for Archy

Come closer, they said with mind voice. Come see.

Lita stepped near, planted fists on her hips, and leaned in to inspect the scroll. One inscribed tail said “For Madam Lita.” The other asked “Do You Fancy Some Toasted Bread?”

She pulled the ribbon tail labeled with her name. Best to save the toast issue for later.

The parchment unrolled with the tick-tick-tick of a fine pocket watch. The aroma of sweet elf-kind magic puffed into her face like the softest kiss. The familiar writing inside the scroll spoke this dreadful poetry:

There once was a narfleet named Bright

Who asked Lita to take a flight

On a flying fish

Colored purplish

For a gift made smart by a sprite.

Lita squealed her delight, tucked the parchment into a pocket, and crossed the room to the balcony door. The weather was different up here than it was downstairs. Thunder muttered far away, and raindrops ticked against the belfry windows. So be it about the weather. Lita released the door latch and nudged her hip against the stubborn door to open it.

Chilly wind slapped her cheeks with stinging raindrops. A gleeful gust jerked the door out of her grasp, flung it wide open, and crashed it against the stop. The wind reversed its strategy and now refused to relinquish control of the belfry door so she could close it.

I am the author here, she hissed with mind voice. Stop it. I want to see Sir Bright, and I want my gift.

[Lita’s Note: Yes, you can hiss with mind voice. You can also scream in mind voice, but your recipient will wince, profess they have a headache, and will go take a nap instead of helping you with the screaming matter.]

Pragmatics often work as well as spells. Lita won the struggle against the wind. She pushed the door closed and felt the click of the latch into the door jamb. Lita turned.

A small airship dock stretched from the belfry balcony into the intensifying rainstorm. A bulbous one-person transport squatted at the end of the dock. A hatch opened, and a short gangplank shot out of the transport like a bullfrog’s tongue. Lita peered through the rain. Inside the transport, mellow lights showed a comfy mint-green velvet settee sitting next to a table ladened with a steaming tea service piled high with golden scones. Just inside the transport door was a table stacked with fluffy drying towels.

Her hurried walk to the gangplank took long enough for the storm to soak Lita’s tunic and pants. She drew near the end of the airship dock. The gangplank jumped, then sprouted a handrail. The handrail made a bonging noise, shimmied like a dog shaking water from its back, then mercifully went still.

She all but flew into the dry interior of the transport. The hatch clicked closed behind her.

Lita grabbed a towel, patted dry her face, and leaned over to peer out the closest window. She saw the larger airship now. Hmm. It was not a flying fish, but a whale. Hard to tell with the rain, but it just might be purplish. Lita squinted. The wheelhouse was just visible through the thicket of trees that grew on the purple whale’s back.

Next: Sir Bright’s Startling Clockwork Automata Gift

Open The Vault? Tap, tap, and tap. Yes.

Lita lifted the key that had taken her back to the castle and fitted it into the keyhole behind a book with a binding the color of old blood. Snick. The bookcase moved aside, and behind it was The Vault where Lita stashed her unpublished stories. These were the abandoned tales set aside over the many years past.

Some stories were little more than piles of miscellaneous bones that still sparkled with the energy of an idea, a scrap of a dream, or the echoes of ill-formed yet charming characters. Other stories waited, full-formed and ready to stomp through the vast grasses of the world outside—but they still waited in The Vault—their time had not yet come. But soon now.

What stories are here in the Enchanters’ alcove? Ah, here waits the full tale of Lanith, the Enchanter Grandmasters, and Church magicians. Sciomancers lure the mundane ghosts who wear carnival masks to hide their deceit. His Divine is ever hungry to enslave the Enchanter’s magic. Tredan’s cursed journal lurks in the shadows and wants to take down everything dear to Lanith.

Beyond the Enchanters’ alcove is a narrow dusty passage to the First Age of the Enchanters’ world of Sye, telling stories long before Lanith’s tale starts. Just look at the many manuscripts and papers that define the spells that Enchanters use to thread their sensual magic. The stacks stretch oh, so high.

Next Time: The Belfry with Outrageous Clockpunk Wizard Yarns

The ink of my written words ran thin while I was away; I allowed distractions to consume my wits. My fantasy worlds trailed into silence.

Time passed.

I trudged over moors and mountains to my castle in the Northern Realms; as a traveler I returned to a ruin with the key as a torch to reawaken the way. I kindled the castle’s cold hearths and swept away the accumulated filth of neglect. The relit lanterns again warmed my study.

My sleep is still heavy with shadow-wrought omens, but for the first time in a decade, the ink flows. The once-abandoned stories resume their breathy whispers. Again, I will transcribe the eager words of the beguiling Enchanters, and mad clockwork wizards.

Next Time: Lita’s Literary Skeletons

Previously:

• Welcome to the Dreadful Poetry Book Release Party
• Searching for Auntie Em in Dreadful Poetry
• The Dreadful Poetry Cake

We had so much fun today during the Dreadful Poetry book launch party, hobnobbing with the wizards and talking with the naughty woodland fairies that made us blush. Bright’s cake that he made from magical powders was tasty, and the champagne tickled our noses.

Kadmeion’s Auntie Em has summoned her pumpkin coach. See it waiting for her over there, by the forest’s edge?

Here are some cookies to take with you, Gentle Reader, fresh-baked just this morning by Wizard Kadmeion. Not to worry, he went out early and bought some proper flour. He put a gentle spell on their box that will keep them warm all the way home. Tuck your hands around the box, and the spell will keep your fingers warm, too.

Marty has your cloak right here. Bundle up. The snow is falling again outside.

Don’t forget your Dreadful Poetry book. Curl up tonight in front of your fireplace, and join the boys on their adventures at the university. We told Auntie Em that you would read about her part in the story. And be sure to think of Bright the next time you see a butterfly.

To all, Lita wishes you a magical goodnight.

Previously:

• Welcome to the Dreadful Poetry Book Release Party
• Searching for Auntie Em in Dreadful Poetry

Brighton M’Choakenchilde is the seventh son of a seventh son elf prince. He came into his magical ability after meeting Wizardling Kadmeion in Dreadful Poetry.

In addition to being Kadmeion’s assistant, Bright is their airship mechanic. He has his father’s handsome elf features. Bright’s magic is scented with sweet pine, and the gentle aroma of violets.

Lita: The cake for the Dreadful Poetry book release party is lovely. It looks just like the book cover. Did you start with a cake and make it look like a book, or did you do it the other way around?

Bright: I started with a cake. Sort of.

Lita: Explain?

Bright: We were all out of flour, and Kadmeion told me last night that the party was today. I improvised by using some of our magical powder stock instead of flour. I found it difficult to change the bright colors into a presentable cake, but I tasted the batter before baking. It came out fine.

Lita: What magical flavor is the cake?

Bright: Chocolate.

Lita: Will eating the cake turn your guests into something, um, unnatural?

Bright: It will make everyone unnaturally happy to read a story about our college days.

Lita: We each will have a piece of cake please, and some of the champagne. While you’re serving, tell us about the significance of the butterflies on the book cover.

Bright: [The elf-kind serves us chocolate cake, and glasses of chilled champagne.] My first high magic enchantment was to create a butterfly. I could not have done it without Kadmeion. He took on my case when no other wizard or sorceress would work with me.

Lita: Will you show us the spell?

Sir Bright cups his hands, and sings a short wizardry spell. A dot of his magic glows like a candle’s flame within the shelter of his palms, then morphs into a blue-and-green butterfly. The magical creature flutters about, and perches on Gentle Reader’s champagne glass. The butterfly is lovely, and the cake is delicious. We thank Bright for his Glamour-filled elf-kind magic.

Next time: Dreadful Poetry Book Launch Party Ends

Previously: Welcome to the Dreadful Poetry Book Release Party

Wizard Kadmeion’s aunt, Sorceress Emily (“Em”), is a renowned magical horticulture practitioner. Her specialty is growing root vegetables into human shapes. Magicians seek out her wares so they can animate the tubers with minor demons. These flora homunculi are popular as garden workers.

Lita: Em, we are so pleased you could join us today at Kadmeion’s affair.

Auntie Em: I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Who is this lovely person you’re with, Lita?

Lita: This is Gentle Reader.

Auntie Em: Enchanted to meet you. Did you two hear that Kadmeion searched for me during much of his Dreadful Poetry story? I was quite the star, and I wasn’t even there.

Lita: I know all about it, Em. Remember that I am Kadmeion’s scribe, and he natters at me using mind voice. The wizard and I have coffee together in the early morning, and I transcribe what he says while we chat. Gentle Reader will learn about your part in the story the normal way by reading the book.

Gentle Reader: [Methinks Auntie Em is as daft as sitting on stilts while doing some knitting. Ask her why she has grass for hair.]

Lita: Love your new hair style, darling. Usually, you wear mushrooms and leaves on your head. Is that Kentucky Bluegrass you have on today?

Auntie Em: This is Fine Fescue. [Auntie Em pats her head with a manicured hand. The elegant long fingernails are painted pine-tree green.] I don’t need as much water now when I shampoo, because the grass is drought resistant.

Kadmeion and his Auntie Em excuse themselves. They step away to talk with the other guests. Sir Bright comes over, and invites us to join him. We follow him across the room to the buffet table. Hungry? Time to eat something.

Next time: The Dreadful Poetry Cake

Glad You Came

Love your beautiful hair and outfit, my dear. Is that big purple and white flower on your dress enchanted? Oh, it giggles, and smells like good luck. Yes then, it’s the perfect thing to wear today to the wizard’s affair.

See that homunculus with the three legs standing just inside the door? That is one of Sir Bright’s clockworks creations. Disregard Marty’s somewhat frightful face that looks like a metal triangle. Hand your cloak to him. Marty will remove the snow with a brush made of dragon eyelashes, and hold your garment in the atrium until it is time to go.

The rest of the guests are gathering in the forward lounge. Kadmeion, his elf assistant Bright, and the wizard’s cynanthrope familiar Furgo are here. The woodland fairies flit about, are always ready to perch on your hand, and talk about their naughty ways. Wizard Morton from the university arrived earlier, along with a few Magic Guild cronies.

Before you go inside, take a moment please, and step to the display table over here. This will take only a moment.

Spells Transport Your Copy to You

Get your very own copy of our wizard’s latest story, Dreadful Poetry. Today is release day!

Dreadful Poetry tells about the wee bit of trouble the boys had while at the university. Bright was not always a mage, and Kadmeion had quite the time of it with his field study. For a while, it seemed that both of them would land in magician’s prison.

Thank you for the small amount it takes for the wizards at Amazon to fuel the transport spells that whisk an eBook immediately to you. Their clever enchantments will deliver your book to these magical locations around the world: US, UK, CA, AU, and IN.

Look Who Just Arrived

Kadmeion’s Auntie Em just stepped in. Let’s give her a few minutes to greet her favorite nephew. Oh, look. The wizard is bringing her over to say hello to us.

Next post: Searching for Auntie Em in Dreadful Poetry

The affair will be this Saturday, the 17th of December, starting at sunrise, here on Lita’s blog.

Wands, broomsticks, and pointy hats are not required. Refreshments will be served. A splendid time is guaranteed for all.

Don’t miss out on the clockpunk fun. Pre-order Dreadful Poetry now.