I don’t believe in magic. I test it, and rely on the results. It’s my experience with magic that guides me, not my belief.

Strolling into the field, I opened my umbrella and waited. Ether rained on me, and if I absorbed any more I’d succumb to intoxication. Now I had reached equilibrium, and wanted to stay there.

Soon, the puffs of purple smoke heralded the invisible train. Right on time, for once. Magic runs by its own timetable, but the clans have agreed to share the use of this train, and it’s a blessing when it adheres to the schedule.

I nodded to the conductor, an old comrade. Drops of ether sizzled as they struck his flaming skull. “Nice to see you, Juan,” he whispered, tearing my ticket with his skeletal fingers, returning the stub to me.

“Likewise, Phastos, always a pleasure.”

I boarded and took my seat amongst a mixture of elves and fairies, chattering away. None took much notice of me as I settled into my seat. I shut my eyes to contemplate my task: how to capture a giant.

I’m often enlisted in tasks like these, as a journeyman wizard. Retrieve a magical talisman, drive away a ghoul, make peace with a tribe offended by a community, etc. I’d worked with plenty of giants over the years, and capturing one was certainly possible, though difficult.

The train afforded its passengers invisibility as it traveled; no one not a clan member or magical persona otherwise could see it consciously. Sensitives would feel deja vu as it passed, and dream for several nights poignant reflections on its passengers. Contributions to the collective imagination, as I saw it.

I napped while the train rode the rails Phantastique, confident I’d know just how to face and capture the giant when I arrived at the mountain.

I knew this giant, Bucephalus. He wasn’t mean or cruel. Capturing him was only a power play by my employer, a show of force meant to demonstrate to the Giant Clan that they must abide by treaties with the wizards and fairies.

Emerging from the train and bidding farewell to Phastos, I began following the ley lines, trusting them to guide me to my quarry. Trees and mushrooms told me tales. I traced their paths and followed the rivers and streams. Fish told me more, whole schools of their numbers devoured by the giant.

After a few days walking, I came to the waterfall. The great crash of water at the bottom hid the rumbling snore from most ears, not mine. Finding my way behind the falls, there Bucephalus slumbered. I approached him slowly, releasing charms to cause pleasant music to play for him and charming aromas to waft before his nose.

Bucephalus grunted. “Who goes there?”

“Juan X, Bucephalus. My clan wants a word with you, and I have a pocket dimension in my cloak with your name on it.”

The giant’s yawn made the waterfall temporarily cease its flow. “And if I don’t cooperate?”

“Don’t make me bounce like a ball, Bucephalus. You know what I can do.”

His laughter shook the stone beneath me. “Fine. You have coffee in that pocket?”

I nodded. “40 quarts, piping hot in barrels waiting for you.”

Bucephalus nodded and lumbered into my cloak.