There was a time in my career when I became one of the foremost experts on ghosts. This was during a brief time in modern history when the world was overrun with spirits, specters, poltergeists, and spooks. In fact, back then, a day could not go by without one dowager widow or other running through the streets of 18th Century Mulrovia screaming that her old dead husband was returned from the grave. Really, I remember thinking, well perhaps he wouldn't be so upset if he didn't see his wife cavorting with the beautiful 18 year old stable hands. Not that I was against people cavorting with stable hands, mind you. Some of them were rather pleasant company, particularly Francois, on a cold wintry day, when the fire was crackling welcomingly. If there is one thing I love in the winter, it's lounging on a rug by a fire and getting my hands on some warm chestnuts, if you know what I mean.
Well, it so happened that one afternoon as I was seated at my favorite cafe, the Cafe du Flore, enjoying a light snack with my friend Charles, Baron of Tremant, I spied four of King Gerald XVI's Royal Guardsmen approaching at a very brisk pace. Picking up my cup and taking a sip of the Flore's most excellent brew, I watched in anticipation to see what poor soul would be accosted by the dour-faced men. It seemed that more and more people were being detained by the King these days for an ever increasing litany of crimes against the Crown.
With a stamping of hard-soled boots and a clattering of sabers, the Guardsmen stopped right before my table, their captain catching my eye. "Dr Mandragora?" he inquired politely.
Putting my cup down on the table with a sigh, I answered "I am, sir. What seems to be the problem?"
Smiling and looking around at the people watching us, the guard captain merely shrugged his shoulders and in an official sounding voice announced, "Your presence has been requested by the King, Doctor. May I suggest we hasten ourselves back to the palace?"
I was so irritated at being interrupted, I briefly considered incinerating all four Guardsmen right then and there. But, knowing full well they were simply doing their jobs, I bid adieu to my friend the Baron and followed the Guardsmen to the grand and glorious palace of the Mulrovian kings.
Upon arriving, I was quickly ushered into a side parlor where I came face to face with the most hideous woman I had ever seen in my life. Now, to be fair, I am an excellent judge of male beauty, having been an admirer of it for millenia. Female beauty, however, I am not so good at. But I think it fair to say that with her puffed and wrinkled visage, her scowling jowls, and unpleasant body odor, this woman was either very ugly or doing a great imitation of a bulldog.
The woman, I was made aware, was the mother of King Gerald XVI, and had a task for me to perform. The king, it appears, was being plagued by spirits and was forced to sleep in a side bedroom away from his wife in an attempt to protect her from harm. The king himself was waking every morning with puffy lips, bruised spots on his flesh, and was more often than not unable to sit comfortably the next day due to the pain. The night guardsmen had even reported hearing the king cry out, though since his door was locked, they were unable to see what was attacking him.
I was not aware of any spirit that assaulted its victim in such a manner and was concerned that the king had come to the attention of a demonic presence. Needless to say, I could not sit back and allow harm to come to someone when I had the ability to help them, so I accepted the Queen Mother's task with the final understanding that the king was not to know I was on the case. In a misguided effort to protect those around him, King Gerald had forbidden anyone from doing anything at all about the spirit and was content to suffer alone.
For that reason, I was to be found that night standing quietly in a corner of the King's sumptuously furnished room, wrapped in a glamour that made me invisible to sight. I was amazed at the luxury the King afforded himself in his bedroom. There was an enormous bed in the middle of the room with a very comfortable looking mattress covered in pillows and silk sheets. Placed here and there were small tables, armchairs, and even a fainting couch. Candelabras were interspersed around the furniture which gave a warm golden glow to the beautiful room. I could not imagine such a quiet and tasteful room becoming the scene of a ghostly attack, if the Queen Mother was to be believed.
At that moment, King Gerald entered the room, shooed his bodyguard away, and locked the door behind him. The king quickly shed his brocaded and expensive clothes, throwing them carelessly on the floor. I expected him to change into his evening wear, or at the very least a nightshirt, but all he put on was a very small pair of underwear that hugged his nether regions obscenely closely, not that I was complaining. Thus dressed, King Gerald then went to the fainting couch and arrayed himself upon it, one leg on the couch, the other not, one arm thrown artfully over his eyes as if he were asleep. If I didn't know any better, I would imagine that these were not the actions of a man afraid of an impending attack from the spirit world, but rather the behaviors of someone anticipating a romantic tryst.
As if on cue, that thought was accompanied by the sound of stone grinding on stone, and I saw a section of granite wall slide into the room. A figure covered in a dark cloak entered quietly, shoving the secret door closed with one hand. I raised my hand in preparation of defending the King from an assault but paused when the person removed the hood. I knew this person. As the cloak fell to the floor, I saw it was a naked man. In fact, it was my dear Francois, the stablehand from the coach house where my carriage was stored. I would recognize that shapely bottom anywhere.
I watched as Francois tiptoed over the King Gerald and began to nibble at his lips and run his roughed fingertips over the King's chest. Because of his very revealing underwear, it was evident that Gerald was enjoying the caresses and was responding accordingly. Now, not to be prurient, but over the next several hours, it was clear where the King's puffy lips, round mouth shaped bruises, and difficulty walking and sitting in the morning were coming from. As the night progressed, it was abundantly clear that if the Queen Mother really wanted to help her son, she didn't need a magician, but rather someone who could deliver lubricant in bulk.
Now, far be it for me to ruin someone else's fun, so I certainly wasn't going to report what I had discovered to the Queen. The King, though needed some help in covering his tracks. So, as soon as morning arrived and both King and stablehand dispersed, I set to work. I cast an enchantment over the room to dull any sound that was made within; the guards should not be hearing any of Gerald's cries after that. I also placed an enchantment on his royal ring that sped up healing. The puffy lips, small bruises left by Francois' mouth, and even his sore bottom would disappear immediately upon his slipping the ring back on his finger each morning.
I knew the Queen Mother, however, would not be satisfied with my simply saying the ghost had been dealt with. So, I conjured a whirlwind and sent it careening through the palace, the whole while running behind it and yelling that the spirit was angered. After causing enough damage, I sent the whirlwind out through the front door and declared that the spirit was gone and would never again disturb the palace.
In return for my services, the Queen Mother granted me a parcel of land and the title of Count Mandragora. I was also commissioned as the Court Magician in perpetuity, and with my lifespan, that means something.
Excerpt from The Memoirs of Dr Mandragora: From the Maudlin to the Macabre
