Jack and Tollers: The Editor Appears (Episode 2)

Welcome to Episode 2 of the interactive serial fantasy story, Jack & Tollers. If you missed Episode 1, don't worry! Read it here. Then vote on this episode's options. Voting for Episode 2 closes on Monday, June 20th, 2016, so I can write Episode 3.

Recap: Jack has chosen his supernatural ability (aka "skill") and none too soon, for the place where the ship is taking Jack offers a challenge that will test Jack's wit and abilities.

Warning: Don't read if you dislike puns, wordplay, and whimsical humor.

Episode 2
The Editor Appears

From Episode 1: Jack must invent a supernatural skill that matches the title of "handyman."

Jack smiled. "The power is not in my hands, Ciprian, but in the hands of others. I can, temporarily, borrow the skills of another person. For example, you are a water-skiller, so, if I wish, I can copy your skill and use it. This ability to wield many skills is why some call me Jack-of-all-trades."

"This is a wondrous skill, O Jack son of... Whose son did you say you were?"

"Gerald Alexander of Ace Hardware."

"You must be from a very far-away place."

"You have no idea." Jack surveyed the sail-less ship and the rugged waves chafing the waters around them. He pointed to a distant shoreline, which appeared like a smudge of brown along the horizon. "Where are we heading?"

"The port of Smorion."

Jack laughed aloud and spoke to the sky. "Tollers, you're still thinking about those s'mores we had last night, aren't you?"

The grain pattern of the boards at his feet rearranged themselves, lines sliding along one another as though they were living creatures trapped within the wood, and rearranged themselves into letters.

CHARACTERS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO ADDRESS THE AUTHOR.

"It's my story," Jack replied. "I can do whatever I want in it."

REMEMBER THE EDITOR.

"Haven't seen him yet, and I don't give a pickled fig for what he might do."

YOU WILL. TRUST ME.

Jack laughed again. Then he turned to Ciprian. "And what awaits us at the port of Smorion?"

"Why, the Festival of Heroes, of course! The champions of many lands come to do battle, for the honor of their people and the glory of their names."

"Sounds fun." Jack tried to lean casually and heroically against the ship railing and found that it was more difficult to do than he expected, since the ship pitched from side to side abruptly. "What is the prize?"

"Ah! That is the greatest test of all. There are three prizes, and whichever of the three that the champion chooses influences his destiny forever."

"Huh. What prize did last year's champion choose and how did it influence his destiny?"

"The champion chose a dagger with an eye upon it. Ever since then, when someone displeases him mightily, daggers have shot out of his eyes and slain the offender."

Jack rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, musing, "If looks could kill..."

"Yes," continued Ciprian, evidently gratified to find a captive audience. "The year before last, the winning champion was a man known as the most nosy gossip of his people. He chose a closed box, because it piqued his curiosity, but when he opened it, there was nothing in it. However, it is a mysterious fact that, ever after, whenever he sought to know other peoples' business, all the cats in his vicinity died and the rat population increased so much that they had to abandon the palace."

Jack snorted, then choked, and Ciprian slapped his back so heartily that Jack nearly tumbled over the railing into the sea. "No stomach for the sea, eh, Jack of all trades?"
​
It took some time for Jack to retrieve his breath.

The ship remained true to its course and Jack soon noticed other ships on the horizon, all converging upon the port. Most had sails but a few, like the one upon which he traveled, were mere hulls with figureheads. Before they cast out the anchor, an apparel-skiller kindly offered Jack a change of clothing--something a little more suited to the Festival of Heroes and little less clingy with saltwater. Jack did not care much for the large, bell-shaped sleeves that cinched at the neckline and wrists, but he did like the looks of the scarlet jerkin, a long sleeveless quilted tunic secured around his middle with a braided belt. The boots were surprisingly comfortable, but the trousers...

Jack borrowed the apparel-skill and changed them from wool to cotton.

BUT THAT'S NOT AUTHENTIC! screamed the floorboards.

"Wool is scratchy. And don't give me that blather about cotton 'not being authentic.' It's fantasy, Tollers. Own the genre."

Jack thought that the wind sounded a little like Tollers sighing.

When the sailors anchored the ship a little distance from the port docks, Jack expected that they would send out landing boats. Instead, Ciprian lifted his hand and the water rose at the side of the ship like a shining, transparent platform with a twisting stem beneath. Each passenger took up a curving board--the fantasy equivalent of a surf-board, Jack supposed--and, balancing on it, went two by two at Ciprian's command. The water-skiller sent them toward the docks on the crest of great curling waves. Then they leapt off their boards lightly, landing on the docks with a clatter of boots.

When Ciprian lent Jack a board and motioned to him to join the next pair to disembark, Jack shook his head. "I got this, remember?"

Stretching one hand out toward Ciprian, he felt the power of water-skilling enter his hand, like an electric current pulsing through his veins. The duplication of Ciprian's ability only took a moment, but it took Jack's breath away momentarily, the same way that a sharp jab with a needle had always affected him.

Jack saluted Ciprian jocularly and, lifting the board, Jack cast it over the ship's railing and leapt down upon it. The sea rose in a sparkling curve and sped him toward the shore at a dizzying speed, ripping the wind past Jack's face. At the last moment, Jack mentally released the water and it disintegrated in a spray of white as he landed on the dock in a crouching pose that, he thought, looked very superhero-like. He glanced back at the waves to observe the following message written exuberantly in streaks of foam:
​
WELL DONE, JACK! OH, WELL DONE INDEED! THAT WAS... AHEM... ANYWAY, BACK TO THE STORY...

At that moment, Jack noticed a man with a tasseled hat that looked like a cushion approaching him at a swift pace.​

Jack blinked. The hat ​was​ approaching him, on tiny little brown feet that skittered across the boards of the dock. Its owner came behind it, his handle-bar mustache and hound-dog face giving him a mournful appearance.

Jack stared at the impossible hat until--​crack!​--a man appeared next to Jack. This man was even stranger in appearance than the walking hat. His hair stuck out in wild directions and changed color every few moments. He wore spectacles that looked as though two styles had been fused together at the nose-piece--rectangular on one side, and round and goggle-like on the other side. His clothing was even stranger, representing a confusing conglomeration of styles from many eras, from the stiff, Dracula-like collar to the blue suede shoes. On top of that, he possessed only the right half of a black goatee and the left half of a suavely curled mustache. He held a clipboard in one hand and a quill in the other.

"Ghastly!" cried the stranger. "Just ghastly. Oh, hello Jack," he said, turning to Jack. "Let me just review this bit here and I'll set it all right..."

"Who are you?" Jack asked. The hat nudged him experimentally with one of its little feet and Jack nudged it back with the toe of his boot.

"I'm the Editor. I try not to get involved if I don't have to, but ​really​! A dangling modifier! Tollers should know better."

He picked up the hat by one of its tassels and beheld it with open disgust. Flinging it away, he tapped the quill down the clipboard, reading in a gravelly mutter. " 'At that moment, Jack noticed a man with a tasseled hat that looked like a cushion approaching him at a swift pace.​' Ah! That's where the trouble is. Now, let me see..."

He paused, scribbled furiously, then turned to Jack and beamed. "All fixed!"

Then he vanished with another clap like muted thunder.

Jack felt a disorienting rush of wind and time, then...

At that moment, Jack noticed a man approaching him at a swift pace. The man's hat looked like a tasseled maroon cushion and his jerkin was of the same color, with his name stitched on his left shoulder in gold thread: Gavin, Memory-skiller.

"Memory-skiller?" Jack tilted his head. "What does that mean?"

"I remember everything," Gavin replied in a melancholy voice.

"Cool trick." When Gavin only looked mournfully at Jack, the main character cleared his throat and remarked, "You look very official. What do you, er, officiate?"

"I am in charge of registration. Your name and occupation, please?"

"Jack Lloyd Alexander, handyman."
​
If Gavin thought that "handyman" was an odd skill, he said nothing about it, for he responded only with, "In Round One, you must work with a team and your personal skill will be blocked until Round Two in favor of the team skill. Choose one of the following:

Option 1
"Team Cyclops will be endowed with the greatest raw strength and stamina. However, you will all only have one eye each, with an extra, magical eye that you can swap amongst yourselves as you have need. You'll find that the extra eye has certain important abilities. And don't worry. You'll get your own second eye back at the end."

Option 2
"Team Centaur will be endowed with the ability to grow any animal appendages or features that they find useful during the challenge. However, you will also be subject to unexpected swapping of those features, and end up with your teammate's dolphin flipper or wolf-jaws. As an added bonus, some heroes find that their animal features remain after the challenge, to disappear days or even decades later."

Option 3
"Team Minotaur will be endowed with the ability to reason and recall on a superhuman level--very useful in challenge landscapes like labyrinths--and to see in the dark. However, you will all be unable to communicate with one another except through gestures and animal sounds, such as bellowing like a bull. You may find that you communicate better with actual animals than with your fellow humans."