The dawn came misty and gray, but Tuka had managed to gather more than a hundred villagers in a glade near the town, and Sasha had dutifully collected the admission fee from each without once having to touch her weapon. The business had gone so well because even though there were skeptics in the crowd, nobody wanted to be the one to miss the big show and have to hear of it secondhand if he was wrong. This was the greatest thing to hit town in

"Ladies and gentlemen," intoned Tuka, clapping his hands for quiet. "You've heard about his exploits. Now meet him in person. Would you welcome a prestidigitatious prodigy… that lord of legerdemain… the mighty mage… Wiglaf… EVERTONGUE!"

The applause was muted but present as the berobed Wiglaf appeared. He was steady on his feet, but moving with much greater deliberation today. The crowd arranged itself in a circle around him.

Wiglaf still wasn't sure what had happened the night before, but he knew in his heart that the robe had helped him. He had felt it from the first moment he put it on. Somehow, it had brought forth his innate magic abilities and multiplied them manyfold. He had never heard of a more impressive display of burning hands… and there were plenty more spells where that came from! Even his powers of memorization had improved, as a quick look at the old mage's private stock of spells had shown this morning. Most importantly, Wiglaf felt confidence for the first time in his magical career. He had been vindicated. It was easy. Only a fool would waste his time with endless conjugation when he could be out there speaking the language. And Wiglaf was about to talk the talk.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to begin by showing you one of the most beautiful of magical sights," he said. "If you will all look up at the sky…" He produced some phosphorous from his pocket and made the motions to bring forth a harmless display of dancing lights.

Later, many would swear that they saw the intricate signs on Wiglaf s robe begin to dance and shift. They would say that one large sigil in particular, just above Wiglaf s heart, took on a crimson sheen and softly pulsated. But in truth, nearly everyone had followed the young mage's advice and was instead searching the sky, waiting for the magic to begin, ready to ooo and ahh. What they actually saw would be the spark for hearty ale-soaked conversation for years to come.

There was a rapid series of dull popping sounds, like fireworks heard from a great distance. Then into the sky rushed a torrent of vegetables.

Shooting upward at rapid speed were heads of lettuce, ears of corn, stalks of celery, hundreds upon hundreds of cabbages, kumquats, beets, okra, eggplant, radishes, cauliflower, tomatoes, artichokes, carrots, parsley, spinach, kale, peas, basil, cucumbers, turnips, rutabagas, squash, broccoli, peppers, beans, asparagus, sprouts, green onions, white onions, red onions, yellow onions-all manner of produce, some varieties quite new to the region. A cornucopia of sensible dining was streaking heavenward in a thick stream and finally disappearing well beyond tree level with inverted POP sounds.

A yelp of shock caused them to turn away from the ludicrous sight and look back at Wiglaf. The spellcaster was as entranced as they were, still extending his fingers in a heroic conjuror's pose, but now ruining the effect by gaping with slack-jawed disbelief as the perishables poured into the sky before him.

"Quick, get the baskets and a ladder!" howled an onlooker, and the crowd erupted in laughter. Wiglaf dropped his hands in confusion, and the edibles vanished as quickly as they had come. His forehead began to glisten with sweat.

"A little comedy to start the show!" Tuka said forcefully. A few audience members applauded weakly. "Go on!" he stage-whispered to Wiglaf.

"Uh, well, yes," said the shaken wizard. "Er, okay. Magic-using is more than just, uh, dazzling beauty." A stifled laugh in the crowd became a snort and then a hacking cough. "It's also essential in a tight situation. If a magician knows what he's doing, he can outleap the strongest fighter." Sasha blanched at the reference. "Stand back, folks, and 111 show you."

In his mind, Wiglaf went over the incantation for the spell that would allow him to jump thirty feet in the air. Then he'd softly feather fall back to the ground and shut them up for good. He bent his knees and crouched, ready to spring. "Watch closely. Here… we… go!"

He mumbled and uncoiled.

A five-foot pit irised open beneath his feet.

For an instant, he hung suspended. Then he shrieked and disappeared into it with a clump.

They saw his hands first. With an effort, he clambered out.

"We'll try another one," he snarled.

People were clapping each other on the back, doubled over with laughter. Others were losing interest and starting to heckle.

He tried to conjure a magical light and found himself staggering out of a cone of darkness, unable to see or hear. He tried to generate a blinding spray of colors and levitated a poor woman into the air; she was saved from a nasty fall only because her husband held onto her legs for dear life as they rose past his head. He tried to raise an acorn to ten times its size and nothing happened-but later that afternoon, the owner of the adjacent farm was surprised to discover his prize hen proudly strutting around an egg two feet long. He tried to erase some writing from a scroll and gave himself a hotfoot. He tried to enlarge the fire from a torch and teleported a cow up a tree.

With each grandiose failure, both the laughter and the grumbling grew louder. But it wasn't until he tried to mend a volunteer's hem through the force of his will, and the force of his will pulled down thirty people's pants, that the Amazing Wiglaf Show finally turned ugly.

Wiglaf was devastated. He had never been so miserable. Last night he had been the most important man in town.

But today people only pointed and laughed-or pointed and cursed, depending on their degree of participation in his ultimate, showstopping feat. He felt ridiculous. The sight of Tuka, Sasha, and Fenzig returning all the money had been bad enough, but many people in the long refund line had also shaken their hands and thanked them for a wonderful time. Wiglaf was the town clown, and as he sat alone at the Ale amp; Hearty, he had plenty of time to think about it.

Maybe the robe had helped focus his magical power. So what? What good did that do when he didn't know enough about magic to wield it in the first place? He should have stayed in Calimport. He should have stayed a baker. He should have stayed in his mother's womb, where it was nice and safe.

"Buy a girl a drink, magic man?" It was Sasha.

"I'm broke, remember? Not even the bartender wants to be seen with me."

"Tough day, huh? Oh, well, I'm not the kind of girl who gets drinks bought for her, anyway." She smiled grimly and sat. "Listen, Wiglaf, I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. I just didn't believe you were really a magician."

"I'm not. Just a student who didn't even have the sense to keep on studying."

"Maybe you're finally learning something."

"This robe. It… changed me. But whatever it did was an illusion. A fake. It's like… I took something that wasn't mine. I took a reputation I didn't deserve. An ability I hadn't developed. I called myself a magician and insulted everybody who really is one." Wiglaf s eyes became animated again, and his voice rose. "And I know what I'm going to do about it right now. I'm taking this robe back, if I have to fight ten packs of dogs to do it."

Sasha's smile revealed a perfect set of teeth. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, Wigla-"