Elf and Bear: The Fifth Transmogrific Cycle

 

“Good afternoon, Doctor.  You’ll never guess what that fool Bear’s done now.  After all my hard work and planning, what does he do but…”

“Goes on the carpet,” guessed the old man.  He selected a relatively clean pair of retorts, and uncorked the cut-glass bottle.  “My sister had a mastiff that was exactly the same way.  You can never make large animals too particular in their habits.”  He poured out a generous portion from the bottle into each retort and pushed one over to the flabbergasted elf.  “Here’s to your health,” he winked, raising his glass and downing it with relish.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.”  Thornbriar waved the suggestion away as the aged alchemist sighed in contentment.  “He devoured an entire pie that I had made particularly for today.  Didn’t even leave me a slice.  That’s the thanks I get for taking him in out of the wild.”  The preoccupied elf took a sip from his retort, then frowned and held it up to the light to look at its color.  The liquid was a very light brown.  “What is this stuff?”

“Barley water,” said Dr. Gilpin, taking another swig.  My niece brews it herself.  Very healthful, they say.  Keeps the workings regular and the wind away.”  He held out the bottle.  “Top it off for you?”

“No thanks, this is fine,” said the elf, setting the retort down carefully.  “Anyway, I’ve a mind to boot him out.  Besides all the food he gobbles, he snores, Dr. Gilpin!  Snores fit to crack ice.  And he leaves hair everywhere!  I have to sweep at least twice a day.  A bear!  What was I thinking?”

“What you need is sanicle.”

“What?”

“Sanicle and lungwort.  They clear congestion and stop snoring.  Of course I can’t guarantee the complete effect on ursine anatomy, but…”

“No, that’s not the point,” said Thornbriar.  “Bear has got to…”

There was a muffled explosion from the inside of the furnace that made both jump.  “Good Heavens!” Gilpin cried.  “There must be an adverse reaction in the fifth transmogrific cycle!”  He hastily snatched up a pair of pliers and some padded gloves.  “I’m sorry, Thornbriar, but I must see to this!”  The oven was pinging and shaking as if it were full of popcorn.  The doctor approached it and cautiously opened the door.

There was a lick of flame, and Thornbriar saw, in the middle of the fire, what appeared to be a face of molten brass changing from frowning to smiling to frowning again in quick succession.  The Doctor began shouting some sort of Latin chant and throwing herbs on the fire.  The elf watched a moment, then when it became apparent the Doctor would be busy some time, he shrugged impatiently and made his way out.