Paradoxical

by Smaug the Golden

Res Pisces.

Arcane gave me a scathing look. “Why do we have to use powdered candy cane in this summoning recipe? I mean, that isn’t even a magical ingredient! It’s not like it’s tooth of dragyn ancient or leg of cockroach vyle. Where is this alchemist’s sense of magic?” We were currently situated in his house, which was a medium- sized building on the outskirts of the city. He did most of his crazy experiments here, and he had actually received a request that he live on the outskirts so that he wouldn’t destroy any more suburbs with his creations.

I rolled my eyes. Arcane was a genius and a good friend, but at times like this, he just didn’t understand the nuances of true magic. For example, he didn’t understand that cockroach vyle was not what one called the massive creatures that were filled with holes. Obviously, they were called… okay, I didn’t actually know what they were called, but they obviously weren’t called cockroach vyle. Their name was probably something very scientific, such as Plenum Foramina.

“Arcane, don’t worry about it. This alchemist’s recipe is for function, not form.”

“I’ll say,” he muttered. “It’s like he doesn’t understand that things really don’t enjoy being called by their scientific name. I really don’t like the idea of standing over a lake and shouting ‘Res Pisces, I summon thee!’, or whatever it is in the old tongue. Seriously, there’s a reason people don’t use scientific names in common practice, and it isn’t because they’re hard to say.”

“So? It’s not like it’s going to drown you for using its scientific name to address it.”

“Um, yes it will. Kelpies don’t like to be called ‘fish thing’ in the old tongue.”

“That’s exactly the point. We’re trying to annoy the kelpie so that it’ll pay attention to us.”

“Annoy it? We’re going to straight- up insult it!”

I shrugged. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do for science.”

“Such as toss me to a very dangerous kelpie?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to toss you. Maybe give you a push, but that’s about it.”

Arcane gave me another scathing glance, (he was quite good at them), and then turned back to the instructions for the summoning ritual. “Okay, that’s means I can legally mark you as insane,” he muttered.

“I’m most certainly not. I took a test. I was three points below the insane boundary, which means I’m not crazy.” Or was it three points above? I couldn’t honestly remember, as I had been dragged there against my will by Celestia about four years ago for an experiment involving my lunch, a zombie, a lot of carbon tetrafluoride, and Arcane’s breakfast. It’s a really long story.

“Regardless of what the score said, I still find you certifiably insane,” Arcane grumbled.

“Can we forget about me being ‘insane’ and work on kelpie summoning?”

“Fine.” He ran a hoof towards the bottom of the summoning spell. “How are we going to get feather of bird most red?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll just pluck one off of Philomena. No problems whatsoever.”

“Are you crazy? Celestia would pluck her own wings before she’d let you take one off Philomena!”

“But Philomena likes me,” I said wisely, tapping him on the head with a quill. “I’ll just ask her for one, and she’ll give it to me.”

“Good luck, Mr. Optimist.” He waved a hoof in the direction of the door. “Go on, fetch the bird’s feather. I’ll stay here and get the other ingredients, while you go and deal with that demon.” I strode out in a cocky fashion. Philomena would be putty in my hooves when I chatted with her.

An hour later, I walked back into Arcane’s room with a phoenix feather clasped in my magical grip. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You actually managed to get it?”

“Yup, no problem whatsoever,” I bragged.

“Oh, I doubt that. Really, what did you do to get it? Head all the way to a phoenix roost and take one off a nice phoenix?”

“Nope,” I said, grinning. “I just ran up to her, struck up a conversation and plucked it from her. She didn’t even notice it. I think I could make a living at a pickpocket, come to think of it.”

“You could do that, my friend, you certainly could. I expect that Celestia would hunt you down for it, but that’s a long- term issue. Anyway, I set up the spell while you were gone.”

“You did all that without me?” I asked incredulously.

“Starswirl, I get everything done without you. It’s the way we roll. Just hand me the feather so we can get you your kelpie.” I gave him the feather, which he promptly ate. He grimaced. “That has got a terrible aftertaste.”

“You sure you wanted to eat that? I’ve heard that those can burst into flame when in your stomach. It might not start a fire, but it would certainly be painful.”

“Look, the spell requires that the person doing the summoning eats the feather. By the most lawyer-ish of standards, that makes me the one doing the spell. If you had eaten it, then Celestia could say that you had done the summoning, and she could back the fact up in a court of law. Plus, I was smart enough to drink sunscreen.”

I was amazed at how far ahead he had planned. “Wow, I hadn’t realized that you knew so much about magical law.”

“When I’ve got a friend like you around, I do my best to learn all the magical loopholes.”

“Fair enough. So, can I see the set-up ritual?”

“Yes,” Arcane said wearily. He waved a hoof towards his back door. “We were supposed to have a good- sized lake handy, but we didn’t, so I had to borrow a neighbor’s bathtub for the kelpie to be summoned in.” He led me out of his house to where he had set up the spell.

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure that this is how it’s supposed to be set up?” Arcane had probably done his best, but I didn’t think that it was up to snuff. He had set a medium- sized bathtub in the center of a wide circle made of what looked like the candy cane he had complained about. A small sandwich was placed, somehow floating, on the top of the water in the bathtub, and iron was sprinkled in an oval around the bathtub.

“Look, Starswirl, that spell was made for major-league warlocks. The two of us are just a pair of stallions who make our living helping out around the city. I also highly doubt that the kelpie will care that we gave it a cheese sandwich instead of the blood of an enemy. Besides, where would we get the blood of an enemy?”

I gave that question a long thought. “Well, there’s always Ber--”

“That was rhetorical. Don’t ever answer a question like that,” he snapped. “Now, let’s get your kelpie and get this over with.” He strode over to the bathtub and stood over it. He set his front hooves over the water in it and began chanting. Say what you will about Arcane Convoker, but he knew how to chant like nobody’s business.

“Res Pisces profundis! Voco te! Sum piger et non possum cogitare de alio!” And with those words, the bathtub’s water began to bubble and froth. “It’s coming,” Arcane muttered to me. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

I was about to answer when the kelpie burst forth of the water. It looked like a normal, green pony from the front hooves and up, even having a surprisingly pony-like muzzle, but it had a sea serpent’s characteristic tail instead of hind hooves and a mane. It also looked pretty cramped in the bathtub.

It opened its mouth, probably to say something cliché that all monsters like to say when summoned, such as ‘who dares summon me,’ 'you face this kelpie,' or something else, but I stopped it dead in its tracks. “Look, I need to ask you a few questions.”

The kelpie looked severely irritated, and it set its head on its hooves. “Drat, not another truth-seeker trying to get me to confirm that I’m the living embodiment of evil. Well, I’m not, so you can release me now.”

Arcane promptly fell over in surprise. “Okay,” he said. “I’m used to the things I’m summoning to tell me to release them or offer me power, but I had yet to meet one that seems to be ticked off about what we’re going to ask it.”

The kelpie gave him a scathing glance almost as good as his own. “I have the right to be annoyed by the fact that a pair of unicorns summoned me from a party I was attending. Besides, wouldn’t you be irritated if someone else’s magic swept you up out of nowhere?”

“Not really," I commented. “It would just allow me to learn something else. I mean, a friend of mine once let foreign magic bring him back to life in order to work on something.”

The kelpie groaned. “You’re not a friend of Never Quits, are you? Cause let me tell you, that guy was a pain to work with. Didn’t even have the decency to tip me for my hard work.”

“This guy knows Never Quits?” Arcane asked me.

“Apparently. He did say he made a pact with something, although I didn’t know it was a kelpie.”

“Oh, just pretend that I don’t exist,” the kelpie muttered under its breath. “I won’t mind if you discuss my business behind my back.”

I gave the kelpie an appreciative nod. “Thank you for understanding.” The kelpie spluttered, but I ignored it. “So,” I said as I made a huddle with Arcane, “what should we do with it?”

“You’re supposed to bargain with it,” Arcane hissed. “You know, make it agree to answer your questions truthfully and all that. But remember, don’t give it your name. It’s very dangerous if it has your name.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of giving it my name.” I strode over to the kelpie. “How’s it going? The name’s Arcane Convoker.” I heard a thud, presumably Arcane banging his head against something. “I need your help with a spell I’m working on, so I need to strike an agreement with you and all that.”

“So, what kind of contract are you looking for?” the kelpie asked suspiciously.

“Oh, you know, the standard,” I said calmly. “The twenty questions deal.” The kelpie slammed its head into the rim of the bathtub so hard that it caused cracks to appear.

“You,” it said, “are so empty headed you make zombies look smart. There is no twenty questions contract. I either grant favors or answer questions, three of each, and the price gets heavier with the complexity of the task. So, what do you want?”

“Questions three,” I said calmly.

“Alright, so what are your terms?”

“The first is that you speak the truth and the whole truth. Second: you don’t question my questions. Third, you get paid in slices of cake.”

“Cake,” the kelpie said, “is not an actual monetary unit in any country, so I can’t accept that. Your soul, sure thing. Servitude, no problem. I could even take your firstborn child, but I can’t take cake.”

“That,” I said, playing my trump card, “is where you are wrong. Here in the wonderful world of Equestria, Celestia herself is willing to trade favors for cake, so why won’t you do it? I mean, what would the faery economy do if the services of a nation’s ruler were cheaper than your nation’s people?”

The kelpie paled visibly, making it look like it wanted to lose its lunch. Which, considering what I had just suggested, was a possible option. “All right, all right, I’ll take your stupid cake. However, I want the exact same stuff that you’ve given to the ruler. I also want half of my payment up front.”

“No problem,” I said calmly.

Arcane came over with what looked like a proverbial thundercloud over his head. “You know, you just made it so that we have to break into Celestia’s or Luna's kitchen to pay this kelpie.”

I gave my best forced grin to the kelpie. “Pardon me for a moment.” I huddled once more with Arcane. “Don’t worry,” I said to him. “I’ll just take a slice from the kitchen. It’s not like Celestia would notice. She has food flowing in and out of there like it’s a trader’s exchange.”

“You’re going to get into so much trouble,” Arcane muttered.

"It's something I have to deal with," I shrugged. I turned back towards the kelpie. “C’mon, kelpie, you can come and inspect the goods for yourself.”

“The name’s Riptide,” it muttered darkly, flopping out of the bathtub. At this point, I felt that I had gotten enough info on the kelpie to label it as male.

“How are you able to traverse land?” Arcane asked, voicing the question I was too nervous to ask.

“I’m a kelpie,” Riptide muttered. “I make a living coming onto land and dragging ponies into the water. I’ve got my methods.”

“So,” Riptide muttered, “let me get this straight.” The three of us had gone into the castle, snitched some of the food that was for the banquet, and had come back. “You two are working on a spell, and you think that only a kelpie such as myself can help you? You’re also going to pay me with the most ridiculous of commodities, and you intend for us to depart with no hurt feelings?”

“That’s correct.”

Riptide sighed and set his head against the bathtub’s rim, where he had made cracks earlier. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Well,” I said, preparing my next words carefully. “How is it that a constantly changing element, like water, is influenced through magic?”

“Okay, first: water is not an element,” Riptide hissed. “Second: you dragged me all the way here to figure out how you influence water with magic? The answer is you just use magic on it! Is it really that hard? Why not just toss all decency I have out the window?”

“Don’t worry too much,” Arcane said. “He makes everyone feel that way. It’s only natural if you feel like he’s mocking you. He’s just really bad at realizing the obvious.”

I blinked a few times. “Wait, you just use magic on it? You don’t, you know, have to perform special rituals or something?”

“It’s just liquid,” Riptide said. “It’s not like it’s some special, magical substance. You just use magic on it like you would anything.”

“Oh…”

“Can I go now?” Riptide pleaded, glancing at Arcane.

He shrugged. “Sorry, but you’ve still got two questions to answer.” Riptide swore in something that sounded like the old tongue, and turned his attention back to me.

“Alright,” I said, “how bad would it be if I ended up messing up history?”

Arcane’s jaw dropped, and Riptide whistled, something that I had to give him credit for, considering his lack of lips. “Now that is an impressive question. Strictly speaking, you can’t actually mess up history, as far as I can tell. Anything you do will have already happened, it being history and all, so it will have already happened. That, or you would probably end up killing yourself and save me a lot of trouble. There, now make use of your last question. I want to get away from you two.”

Arcane came over and began whispering to me. “You know, you could just ask him for whatever spell you’re trying to get.”

“That would be silly,” I whispered. “No one ever does that in the faery tales.”

“You’re an idiot at times,” Arcane muttered. “A likable idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.” He turned to face Riptide and promptly used my last question. “Okay, Riptide, how does one travel through time?"

Riptide jaw dropped which then began a smile. “Finally, you two make some sense.” He disappeared into the depths of the bathtub, a feat I had to give him massive credit for, and left Arcane and I hanging.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Arcane asked.

“Eh, probably. He hasn’t answered our question yet, although it would be like a kelpie to stiff us.”

“Hey!” Riptide snapped, materializing out of the depths of the bathtub once more. “That’s speciesist! Anyway, here.” He tossed a thick volume at the two of us, which struck Arcane in the chest. “There you go. Have fun.”

“Wait,” I snapped, turning the book open for him to see. “There’s nothing in here about a spell to travel through time!” I dropped it as I focused all my attention onto Riptide, which caused Arcane to grunt.

“Do I have to spell this out for you? There’s this marvelous little thing called research, my friend. Give it a try sometime.” Then he grabbed the cake we had promised him and disappeared back into the bathtub’s depths.

Author's Note:

Truly, Starswirl is a master scientific names. After all, changelings should be called full of holes. I will neither confirm nor deny that the old tongue is Latin. Oh, and Riptide is best kelpie.

Comments

[Lunae Lumen]

Oh great fish thing! I call thee! I am lazy and can't think of anything else!