The Ice Cream Machine: Story V

He was renowned for his mastery of medicinal herbs, his deep understanding of the cycles of the weather, and, of course, his ability to perform miraculous feats.

But as always, his drawings soon drifted to famous escapades from Socor’s illustrious past.

He drew another of Socor banishing the ravenous gobblemonsters.

He drew an uncanny likeness of Ximena, the legendary enchantress and Socor’s long-lost love.

He only hoped that Socor wouldn’t ask him to fetch any herbs from the garden, moss from the forest, or mushrooms from the bog that day, which would mean additional trips up and down the stairs.

Martin knocked on the gnarled mahogany door and admired the intricate designs carved in the wood.

Martin often dreamed of filling the position himself, but unfortunately, he simply didn’t have “it”: that elusive quality that makes some people magic. “It” is exceedingly rare.

It didn’t require any strenuous physical activity. Unlike collecting falcon eggs or catching toads.

No matter how clumsy or daft or lazy the other villagers might have considered him, no one could argue: The boy had beautiful handwriting.

The devices had been designed and built by the sorcerer himself: a thermoscope (to measure temperature), a barometer (to measure atmospheric pressure), a wind wheel (to measure wind direction and speed), and a moisture gauge (to measure the humidity of the air).

He snooped through the hearth and perused the mantel for clues.

The cauldron was filled with a roiling broth of chunky vegetables and hearty meats.

The robe was no longer on fire. Instead, it was sopping wet. Considerably charred as well.
“Jangus,” muttered Martin as he rubbed the singed edges of the fabric.

Martin dozed soundly for hours.

Martin flipped back through the gigantic tome, hundreds and hundreds of pages dutifully marked with measurements.

A pile of documents cascaded to the floor, and the raven whistled again.

It was an exhausting ordeal for Martin, but for everyone else in the hilltop kingdom, it was the most exciting event of the year.

Once the sun went down, Socor would summon the auroras: neon flashes that undulated overhead, almost like clouds of smoke made of laser light.

The sorcerer would invite all the children to gather around, and as he opened the spigot on the machine, strawberry icy cream would swirl from the spout.

Then the grown-ups would line up to fill their mugs. The knights filled their gauntlets.

The hall was decorated with rich tapestries and illuminated by huge chandeliers filled with hundreds of candles. An opulent banquet table occupied the center of the room, and a throne sat elevated on a platform beneath extravagant stained-glass windows.

An opulent banquet table occupied the center of the room, and a throne sat elevated on a platform beneath extravagant stained-glass windows.

Immediately, a cluster of maidens, musicians, and jugglers rushed in and filled the hall with jubilation.

“Do you know how to conjure the celestial luminescence?”

Martin’s mind started swimming with grim visions of what King Gary might do if he were disappointed.

He shook the buckets over the cauldron, but the few drops left were only enough to coax a weak sizzle from the fireplace, which quickly fizzled.

"Look at you,” she cackled, “with your fancy new robe.” She set down her scrub brush and began a dainty dance.

The washwoman twinkled her fingers and pranced around on her tiptoes.

It was dark, dank, and absolutely swarming with albino bats.

He restocked the supply of spiderwebs, polished the divination orbs, and organized the mountains of mail that had arrived for Socor in his absence.

So he walked as quickly as he could with one hand held in front of the candle to shield the fickle fire from the passing breeze.

A few months prior, he had accidentally lit a shelf of scrolls on fire while searching for a compendium the sorcerer had requested.

He scooped another mouthful with his fingers and relished the cool, milky texture.

His armor was polished to a mirror sheen, ready for battle.

Martin tried to steer the thing, but it was no use; it was going too fast. His haunches vibrated against the bottom of the tub, a trail of pink sludge spraying in his wake.

Martin crashed through a chicken stand. A flurry of fluff festooned his face, but still the tub flew faster.

Cowering inside with his hands over his head, Martin heard a thump, a cacophony of clanging metal, and then...peaceful silence.

He lay facedown and assessed his injuries. He was banged up and sore, but all his limbs were still attached.

No one could stay mad after witnessing the breathtaking beauty of kaleidoscopic colors in the sky.

When he handed the washwoman the finished drawing, she stared at the sheet of paper in silence for a long time. The likeness was uncanny.