Author’s Note:
I stopped writing Doctor E for a semester of school as updating was incompatible with my schedule, but I did scrawl a little for the beginning of book 2, “Opener,” where book 1 was “Closer.”  This is alternate beginning part 2 of 3.

“Ya name it, an ye own it,” the small (Small?) man noted.  The strange almost-brogue was back, and I think that his discussions with me in my home without it meant something.  I would have to keep that in mind.  Or he had a modern evil twin.  Such tropes were made for faery.

“That implies that owning is the second magic,” I argued.  Naming is the first.

“Hospitality, man.  There lay an angel with’n a flaming sword wit’ nae other purpose but ta block the way back ta Eden, an yet, thousands of years later, nae a one ha’e e’en gone lookin’.  ‘Tis a small thing ta ha’e a purpose?”

“Like those weird elves in Blue Mountain. Door, and Brace.  They weirded me out, really.  All that immortality and magical potential, and they did the work of machines. I thought it too easy to just have blamed it on Winnowill’s madness.”

“I am certain yer meanderings ha’e meanin’ ta ye, but they sound like nonsense ta me.”

“That’s what my mom says,” I reflected with a sigh.

“Indeed.”  He said it like he’d met my mother.  “Are ye ready ta meet our King?”

“As ready as I’m likely to be.  Do I have to change?” I meant it both in a, “dressed-up,” and a, “transform,” way.  I looked at Sir Rent-a-Wreck’s clothing. It was a mishmash of styles, a pair of neutral slacks, mismatched sneakers, a vest that looked made from competing scrap materials, a shirt with the word “Diva” across it in silver sparkles, and a bowler hat.   His hair was a emo dandelion’s puffball of dark green and white.   His face still had that slight strange shaping to it that reminded me of a dog, and he was still the size of a six year old.

“Nay, do they not hae the phrae ta nae sweat the small stuff?” he asked.

“Was that with a capital ‘S’?” I asked.  “Nevermind.  Yes, we have that phrase.  But a King is met in a different way than a man, or I am not showing him Hospitality.”

“An’ he meets a wizard in a way different than a man.”

“I’m not a wizard.”

“So ye say.  So I agree.”

“No, really, the etymology is important to me.”  I hate sounding whiny about this, really, I do.

“Ye can do things beyond the ken of other mortals.  Ist not wizardry enow?” he asked.

“I can do a trick.  I can’t explain how I do it, although I know why it’s important. I understand I can learn a lot more, but I’m not a wizard. A wizard…makes deals.  They think magic first, practical living in this world last.  I’m a dog who goes viral on the internet for being able to ride a skateboard, and then everyone turns to the next big thing, like a cat who can bark, or a singing animation of a toadstool or something.”

“Per’aps,” it sounded like that or maybe ‘praps,’ “yer defined by yer associates.  Ye’ve been rubbin’ some elbows wit’ dragons.”

“It just means I’m out of my depth.  Over my head.”  From ‘ken’ to ‘rubbing elbows,’ I began to feel that the Small World wasn’t a closed one, after all.  Or that Wrecks-A-Lot wasn’t on a short leash.  Dreams have changed their venues.

Of course, if you look at the mythology, the “Little People” could very much be Small’s folk. I hadn’t gotten in the research I wanted to know more about the Small Kingdom, or really, the Seven King.  I wonder if gremlins count as Small things.  No, wait, of course they do.  No wonder Small’s people were familiar with technology.  A glitch is a Small thing that changes…well, big things.

I am guessing there’s no Kingdom of the Big.  Just a guess.

“An’ that be the truth,” Rent-a-Wreck opined. I took it as an editorial comment, anyway. “Nay, a magical wardrobe we hayn’t.  No backpack, nor the proper stone gifted ye by our Knight, ye didn’t prepare ‘tall, did ye?”

“Hey, I was kind of rushed. By a Dragon,” I added, and yeah, it was petulant.

“Oh, a Dragon he says, an complains on the hand widdershins he not be a wizard.”  I liked that. I was going to use, “on the hand widdershins,” if I had a chance, but I didn’t like the sarcasm. No one does who has it used on them, I think.  Rent was still muttering, but he took a step or two lightly towards an old tree, with leaves mostly running from green to orange, a few purple.  I decided that the Small Kingdom and being on acid probably had its similarities, until a Door opened.

I felt it almost as if I had pulled it open myself.  A great yawning gap in what was and what could be, the skin and muscle of a place pulled open to heart and bone.  It hurt, and it was loud, and I clasped my hands to my ears and fell to my knees without intention.

“Ye big baby,” I heard Rent as if he were right beside me.  And he was, which was not what made it strange.  I don’t know how to describe it.  It was as if my sunglasses had fallen off on the mountain and I was suddenly snow-blind.  “Kneel before the king, but not to his Knights or any for whom ye’ve taken nae oath.”

“I’m,” I started to try to describe the idea of overwhelming agony, but it was gone.  It was gone except for the memory which held me back from trying anything.  The memory that says, “Okay, I can’t remember exactly what it felt like, but it hurt, and I don’t want to do that again,” of not putting your hand on the burner.

“Aye, you are.  And I be the knight who welcomes you into the darkness of the Hall of the Seven King.  Open your eyes an be who you are, wizard.”

“He is not a wizard,” a booming voice from around my kneecap complained.

“Then what does he be?”

“Within this court, he is a man of threshholds.  We need him as Closer, as much as we need him as Opener.”  I realized the reason I hadn’t seen anything was because my eyes were closed.  And thus, I Opened them.