As a Doctor of the Ars Magicka, I have been privileged throughout my career to work, both with and for, some of the most interesting personages in history. I have been involved in political intrigue, I've solved crimes, I've defended cities from attack, and I even accompanied a hero or two on quests.
But perhaps the weirdest case I ever worked on started with a house call to the Palace of King Midas in Phrygia. This is not to suggest that I never make house calls, no indeed. Should the price be right, I am always willing to attend a client in need. A client in need is a client indeed, as we used to say at the Collegium Magicum. Well, I received an urgent summons from the King one afternoon as I was about to sit down to luncheon with the inventor Daedalus. He had been by early that morning to discuss a problem he was having constructing a working pair of wings. Well, Midas was not one to wait patiently, so I made my apologies to Daedalus and headed to the palace.
Once I arrived, I could tell immediately that something was wrong. There was a very unpleasant odor in the air, almost as if someone had left a sack of vegetable peelings out in the sun too long. I proceeded towards the rear gardens where Midas was wont to spend his afternoons. He was standing with his arms crossed on his chest, looking very serious, his youth still evident on his features. The king, who could not have been more than 21 at the time, was in a right state of distress.
He told me that he had been cursed by the god Dionysus for comparing the grapes in his vineyards to the nectar of the gods. As punishment for his hubris, anything Midas touched would be infected with mold.
Now, I know the legend says that Midas was gifted with the touch of gold. That was the story Midas circulated later on. In reality, he had been cursed with the moldy touch. He had already ruined two days supply of bread when he went looking for a snack earlier. He had killed off several rows of roses when he unknowingly brushed against them during a walk. And worst of all, so he confided in me, he had put his wife in a terrible way.
I asked him to be more specific but he became rather redfaced and reticent, and I could get no information out of him. Instead, he led me inside the palace and upstairs to his bedchamber where I found his wife lying in bed, several damp towels on the floor and others placed all around her. When I demanded to know what had transpired, he eventually confessed that, feeling very randy the night before, he had proceeded to be amorous with Queen Lila. After touching her in her most private of areas, he had apparently infected her with the most terrible case of yeast anyone had ever seen.
I know. Ewwww.
She had been leaking a bubbly liquid ever since and had been sedated all night to keep from scratching herself raw. None of the medical doctors had been able to help her, for which they had all been beheaded. I was Midas' last hope.
My first thought was, "A yeast infection? Damn it, I'm a doctor, not a baker." Looking around at the profuse amount of foamy liquid on the floor, I then thought, "Or a wet-vac."
I know. Ewwww, part deux.
Well, after a bit of investigation, I managed to break the enchantment on both Queen Lila and King Midas. For the Queen, I had her bathed in a tub filled with a 1 part vinegar to 1 part water mixture, a very effective douche, if you know what I mean.
For King Midas, I had him covered in a cream made of buttermilk, lavender, mint, and bergamot oil. I, of course, applied this to him personally to make certain that it was done correctly. After all, special attention had to be paid to his feet, his chest, and certain very sensitive spots and orifices. I could not let amateurs ruin this very delicate operation, which is why I made certain that we were alone the entire time. The servants were instructed to not enter the room, no matter what sort of gasps or moans they might hear.
Once the cures had been effected and everyone was cleaned up, Midas thanked me for my magical expertise and my magic fingers. He wanted to reward me handsomely for my services, but I could not accept. I told him that curing him from the enchantment and making certain he had a happy ending, if you'll pardon the pun, had been more than enough reward for me.
Every now and then, Midas summons me back. He seems to be convinced that some of the curse lingers because he begs me to reapply the healing balm, which I am always happy to do. Strangely enough, the Queen has never had a relapse.
Odd, that.
Excerpt from The Memoirs of Dr Mandragora: From the Maudlin to the Macabre
