THE FRUGAL WIZARD’S HANDBOOK FOR SURVIVING MEDIEVAL ENGLAND

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Part One: The White Room

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Your Own Dimension

  Chapter Three

  FAQ: Have I Time Traveled?

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  FAQ: Why Do Some Things About My Dimension Contradict the Historical Record?

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  FAQ: What Can I Expect from My Dimension?

  Chapter Nine

  You Are a Wizard

  Chapter Ten

  Part One Marginalia

  Part Two: How to Be a Wizard Without Even Trying

  Chapter Eleven

  FAQ: Can I Have a Dimension Full of Talking Bananas?

  Chapter Twelve

  FAQ: All Right, WHY Can’t I Have a Dimension Full of Talking Bananas?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Our Fantastic Packages!

  Chapter Fifteen

  FAQ: How Can I Be Certain My Personal Wizard Dimension™ Won’t Be Corrupted by Other Visitors?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  FAQ: Can I Transfer Things Between Dimensions?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  FAQ: Why Does Everyone in Britain Speak Modern English in My Pre-Norman-Conquest Dimension? Shouldn’t That Require an Incredible Alignment of Social and Linguistic Factors That Would Never in a Million Years Align in Such a Convenient Way?

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Part Two Marginalia

  Part Three: Bagsworth Ruins Everything (Again)

  How to Be a Wizard

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  FAQ: Wait. Did I Just Do a Colonialism?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  FAQ: What If I’m Still Worried About the Ethics of Essentially Colonizing the British Isles, Influencing the Course of History for an Entire People?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  (New!) Better than True Life™ Experiences

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Part Three Marginalia

  Part Four: No Refunds

  FAQ: What If I Don’t Like My Dimension? Are Refunds Available?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Wizard’s Burden

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Part Four Marginalia

  Epilogue

  Postscript

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  Copyright

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  Front Endpapers

  Frontispiece to the Handbook

  A Person Stencil

  Your Own Dimension

  You Are a Wizard

  Part One Marginalia

  Water, Fire, Wyrdness

  Our Fantastic Packages!

  Part Two Marginalia

  How to Be a Wizard

  Better than True Life™ Experiences

  Part Three Marginalia

  Defiance

  The Wizard’s Burden

  Almost as Bad as Bows

  John’s Soggy Sacrifice

  Part Four Marginalia

  Rear Endpapers

  To see high-quality versions of this book’s art, visit:

  For Matt Bushman

  Who is our wonderful family skop, always ready with a song, though never a boast. So I will do it for him.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Not all the wizardry involved in this volume was mine. In fact, a whole ton of people helped make this book a reality. In particular, though, I want to single out three. The first is the amazing Steve Argyle—a great friend and brilliant artist. I basically handed this book to Steve and said, “This is yours to play with—do whatever you would like to make it awesome.” And man, even with my high expectations, his art blew me away. If you’re listening to the audiobook, I suggest you stop by my website to see the art Steve did, because it’s incredible.

  The second special note is for Dr. Michael Livingston. Probably best known by my readers for his scholarly work about Robert Jordan and The Wheel of Time (check out his volume Origins of The Wheel of Time for an in-depth look at the story behind the story), he also has written some fantasy stories of his own, which I recommend you check out! He’s a medievalist and professor of history, and he gave me a great in-depth read to help correct some of the inaccuracies in the volume. If that weren’t enough, he rewrote all of my attempts at Anglo-Saxon poetry to be more accurate, and his poems are far, far superior. I’m indebted to him for the time he spent on this project.

  Third is, of course, my wonderful wife—first reader for all of these “secret project” books and the person for whom I wrote them. It is because of her encouragement and excitement that you have these books!

  A lot of the rest of the folks working on this project are members of my company, Dragonsteel. In the Art Department, we have ᛁᛋᚫᚫᚳ Stewart as the art director for the project, Rachael Lynn Buchanan and Jennifer Neal in his department helping, and Bill Wearne as our go-to printing expert to help put this all together. These books took a lot of extra art and printing work, so I appreciate all of them for their help.

  Editorial is headed by the inland Peter Ahlstrom, and Kristy S. Gilbert was lead editor for this project. Also rendering invaluable editorial services were Karen Ahlstrom and Betsey Ahlstrom. Kristy Kugler did the copyedit.

  The Operations Department is overseen by Matt Hatch. His team includes Emma Tan-Stoker, Jane Horne, Kathleen Dorsey Sanderson, Makena Saluone, Hazel Cummings, and Becky Wilson.

  Publicity and Marketing is headed by Adam Horne, and his team includes Jeremy Palmer, Taylor D. Hatch, and Octavia Escamilla. Their work on the Kickstarter was a big part of why it went so well. I believe this is Taylor and Octavia’s first appearance in an acknowledgments! Nice work, both of you.

  Fulfillment and Events is headed by Kara Stewart. Her people are the ones who are in charge of shipping out hundreds of thousands of copies of books to you all, and they worked extra hard this year getting everything sent out. Many thanks to them for their hard work! This team includes Christi Jacobsen, Lex Willhite, Kellyn Neumann, Mem Grange, Michael Bateman, Joy Allen, Katy Ives, Richard Rubert, Brett Moore, Ally Reep, Sean VanBuskirk, Isabel Chrisman, Owen Knowlton, Alex Lyon, Jacob Chrisman, Matt Hampton, Camilla Cutler, and Quinton Martin.

  Thanks to our friends at Kickstarter, Margot Atwell and Oriana Leckert; our friends at BackerKit, Anna Gallagher, Palmer Johnson, and Antonio Rosales; and our ever-vigilant friends at Inventor’s Guide, Matt Alexander and Mike Kannely.

  Alpha readers for this book (who read an actual print copy!) included Brad Neumann, Kellyn Neumann, Lex Willhite, Jennifer Neal, Christi Jacobsen, Ally Reep, and Tyson Meyer.

  Beta readers were Drew McCaffrey, Brian T. Hill, João Menezes Morais, Richard Fife, Joy Allen, Glen Vogelaar, Megan Kanne, Bob Kluttz, Paige Vest, Jayden King, Deana Covel Whitney, Chana Oshira Block, Christina Goodman, Heather Clinger, Zaya Clinger, and Chris Cottingham.

  Gamma readers included Brian T. Hill, Joshua Harkey, Tim Challener, Ross Newberry, Rob West, Jessica Ashcraft, Chris McGrath, Evgeni “Argent” Kirilov, Glen Vogelaar, Frankie Jerome, Shannon Nelson, Ted Herman, Drew McCaffrey, Kalyani Poluri, Bob Kluttz, Christina Goodman, Rosemary Williams, Jayden King, Ian McNatt, Anthony, Lyndsey Luther, and Kendra Alexander.

  Brandon Sanderson

  I came alert, fists raised, an electric jolt of adrenaline surging through me. I spun, light on my feet, looking for someone to punch, sweat streaming down the sides of my face.

  I was in a field.

  A sunny field, with a forest nearby.

  What the hell?

  What the ever-loving hell?

  Heart thumping like a bass beat, I tried to make sense of things. Something sounded behind me and I spun, hands back up at guard.

  It was only a bird. This was just a field. Ridged and furrowed, with undulating lines in the earth. There was a burned-out section around me, marked by charred stalks of grain and smoldering ash. I searched my memory for clues and found it blank, like a white room ready for paint.

  Empty. I was empty. Except for…a vague dislike of swimming?

  At the moment, that was the sum total of what I could remember about myself. No name. No background. Just a latent fear of large bodies of water.

  I raised a hand to my head and glanced around, trying to make sense of my emptiness. The plants growing outside the burnt area were a few inches tall. My inability to distinguish the variety indicated I probably wasn’t a farmer.

  The strange burn marks made a circle, maybe ten feet in diameter, with me in the center. Looking closer, I noticed that the plants under my feet hadn’t been burned. I glanced behind me, and found an unburned portion in a distinct human shape. My shape. A person stencil.

&nb
sp; Maybe I was fireproof? Perhaps I had augments to that effect. I appeared to be male, of average height and muscular build. I wore a pair of sturdy laced boots, a long shirt, a brown tunic on top of that, and a vibrant cloak over that. So I probably wasn’t going to get cold any time soon. Under the tunic…

  Blue jeans?

  With a tunic and cloak? That was odd.

  Oh hell. Was I a cosplayer? And why could I remember that word, but not my own name?

  Right, so I’d gone out into a field to take pictures for the local Renaissance faire or whatever. I’d brought along pyrotechnics to make for a cooler shot, and I’d accidentally blown myself up. That seemed plausible enough.

  So where was my camera? My phone? My car keys?

  My pockets turned out to be empty except for a ballpoint pen. I stepped away from the me-stencil, my feet crunching on the crispy remains of the former plants. The air smelled of smoke and sulfur.

  I quickly searched the area, but I didn’t find anything of note. Dirt, vegetation. No pile of belongings; I was beginning to doubt my photoshoot theory. Maybe I was simply a weirdo who liked to dress in old-timey clothing to…go explode in fields?

  You know, as one does.

  In the distance, I saw a dirt road leading to a cluster of antiquated wooden buildings with thatched roofs and few windows, with a taller structure beyond them. They were partially obscured by a hill, so I couldn’t tell much else about them. I shook my head and let out a lengthy sigh. I had to—

  Wait. What was that on the ground?

  I rushed over and plucked a fluttering piece of paper from between two larger plant stalks. How had I missed this? The edge was burned, and it had only a few lines of text on it.

  The Frugal Wizard’s Handbook for Surviving Medieval England

  Fourth Edition

  By Cecil G. Bagsworth III

  I read the words three times, then glanced at the old-timey buildings again. I wasn’t a cosplayer. I was visiting some kind of theme park. Was that more or less nerdy?

  Now that I knew what to look for, I spotted another loose piece of paper over near the woods. Maybe it would have a map on it—or at least list where I could find a first aid station. I’d obviously hit my head or something.

  This page was burned worse than the other one. Two chunks of the text were legible: one on the front side, one on the back.

  can be traumatic, though don’t worry! As part of your package, a suitable location will be chosen for you to recuperate upon arrival. In addition, it is suggested that you use the handy notation page at the back of the book to record pertinent information about your life.

  The transfer process can leave the mind muddied—a few facts about one’s life can jog loose other details. Don’t stress the initial disorientation. It is a common side effect, and all you need to do is

  What a perfectly awful place to cut off. I flipped the page over.

  seem that the offerings of more expensive packages, sold by so-called premium companies, might be more useful in helping you recuperate. Servants, a luxury manor, and medical staff. Though we can accommodate such requests, don’t fear if you can’t afford them! The Frugal Wizard™ doesn’t need to be so extravagant. Indeed, such services might make things too easy! (See the study done by Bagsworth et al., page 87.)

  Yes, the Frugal Wizard™ is capable and confident on their own, and does not need coddling. Read on to learn all the tips and secrets you will need for

  All right, so I’d bought some kind of travel package. One that was…really hard on the body, for some reason? A thought flickered at the edge of my consciousness.

  I’d chosen this. I wanted to be here.

  For a moment, I felt close to answering the more important questions. Then it was gone. I was back to staring at a white room inside my brain.

  Regardless, I hadn’t arrived at a “suitable location” to recuperate. I’d woken up in the middle of a burning field. The review almost wrote itself. An ideal experience, if you happen to be a pyromaniac cow. One star.

  Wait.

  Voices in the distance.

  My body moved before I registered the sounds. In seconds I’d slipped into the forest and put my back to a tree trunk. I reached to my side by reflex for…

  Hell. Was I reaching for a gun? I wore nothing of the sort, and was also uncomfortable at how quickly—and silently—I’d dodged for cover.

  It didn’t necessarily mean anything nefarious. Maybe I was a champion hide-and-seek player. Paintball hide-and-seek?

  I’d been thinking about finding help, so I should have been happy to be noticed. But some instinct kept me hidden behind the tree, my breathing slow and deliberate. Whoever I was, I had experience with this sort of thing.

  I was close enough to hear when the people arrived.

  “What is it, Ealstan?” a timid man’s voice said—speaking perfect, modern English, albeit with a vaguely European accent. “Landswight?”

  “This was no act of a wight,” a stronger male voice said.

  “Logna’s flames, maybe?” a woman’s voice said. “Look at the outline of that figure. And there were all those incantations scattered about…”

  “It looks like someone was burned alive,” the first voice said. “That clap of thunder on a bright, sunny day…maybe fire from heaven consumed him.”

  The deeper voice grunted. I resisted the urge to peek. Not yet, my instincts whispered.

  “Call everyone together,” the firm voice eventually said. “We’ll put out sacrifices tonight. Hild…that skop. Did she leave yet?”

  “Earlier today, I think,” the woman said.

  “Send a boy to chase her down and beg her return. We may need a binding. Or worse, a loosening.”

  “She’s going to like that,” the woman said.

  Another grunt. The crops rustled as the people retreated. I finally peeked around the side of the tree and picked out the three people walking toward the distant buildings. Two men and a woman in archaic clothing. Tunics and loose, baggy trousers on the men—weren’t they supposed to wear hose? I could swear I’d seen that in a museum. Their clothing was dyed in faded earth tones, though the taller of the two men wore an orange cloak—a color so vibrant, I had trouble believing it was period authentic.

  The woman had on a sleeveless brown dress over a slightly longer white dress with long sleeves. Other than the colorful cloak, they looked the part of old-school peasants—at least, better than I did, with my jeans. Another point in favor of this being a theme park?

  Yet, wouldn’t workers in a theme park speak with old-timey British affectations? “Thees” and “thous” and “mi’lords” and the like. But would they keep up the act when nobody was around?

  I needed more information. I noted another person running up to them, carrying something. Scraps of burned paper. Most of the pages of my book must have blown toward the town, and someone had gathered them up.

  All right. Mission accepted.

  I needed those pages.

  Part of me wanted to stalk out and demand answers. Play the role of irate customer, make them break character.

  Yet… Something about all this…

  A part of me was convinced that they weren’t actors. That—insanely—this was all authentic, and I should stay hidden.

  Damn. That sounded ridiculous, didn’t it?

  Nevertheless, my gut said I was a person who trusted his gut. So I stayed put, watching covertly from the shadows as the sunlight waned. I waited a little too long, because eventually, the place went dark.

  Basement from a horror movie dark. Clouds moved in, obscuring the stars—and there was apparently no moon tonight. Plus, I didn’t see a single light in the town. I’d expected some torches or bonfires.

  I patted the tree I’d been hiding behind. “Thanks for the cover,” I whispered. “You’re a good tree. Tall, thick—and most importantly—wooden. Four and a half stars. Would hide behind you again. Half a point off for lack of refreshments.”

  Then I paused.

  It was the second time I’d done something similar, and I found myself itching to record the experience and my thoughts about it in a notebook. Was that a clue to who I was? Some kind of…reviewer?

  I slipped out from behind the highly rated tree and found that my skills as a sneak were exceptional. I moved through the rows of partially grown plants, barely making a sound, despite the darkness. Awesome. Perhaps I was a ninja.