Geraldo Fumblethorne was, without question, the worst wizard to ever graduate from the Mystical Academy of Arcane Arts and Sandwich Making. Yes, sandwich making. The academy had added that to their curriculum after a particularly lean year when enrollment dropped because parents discovered their children were learning to turn frogs into slightly different colored frogs.
On this particular Tuesday morning, Geraldo stood in his cluttered workshop, surrounded by spell books that he’d never quite finished reading, potion bottles labeled with question marks, and a pet dragon named Sir Reginald who was actually just an iguana he’d accidentally given mild heartburn to three years ago.
“Today,” Geraldo announced to Sir Reginald, who was busy eating lettuce and ignoring him, “today I shall finally master the Spell of Spectacular Transformation!”
The spell was supposed to turn ordinary objects into gold. Geraldo had been trying to get it right for six months, but so far he’d only managed to turn his hat into a very confused pigeon, his shoes into two argumentative ferrets, and his favorite mug into what could only be described as “existentially depressed pudding.”
He cleared his throat, adjusted his crooked pointed hat (a replacement for the pigeon), and began to wave his wand in what he hoped were the correct patterns. His wand, it should be noted, was actually a breadstick he’d enchanted by accident while trying to make lunch. It still smelled faintly of garlic.
“Transformius Spectacularis Goldinium… uh… Shazam!” He added the last part because he’d forgotten the actual ending and hoped confidence would make up for accuracy.
There was a loud POOF, followed by the distinct smell of aged cheddar.
When the smoke cleared, Geraldo’s workbench had transformed into a magnificent wheel of Swiss cheese, complete with holes that seemed to lead to other dimensions where more cheese existed.
“Well, that’s not right,” Geraldo muttered, consulting his spell book. He squinted at the page. “Oh! I said ‘Goldinium’ instead of ‘Goldimus.’ Silly me!”
He tried again, this time being very careful with his pronunciation. Another POOF. His spell book was now a block of sharp cheddar. The pages, somehow, were still readable, but they were made of thinly sliced American cheese.
“Hmm,” Geraldo said, flipping through the cheese pages, which made disturbing squishing sounds. “This is becoming a pattern.”
Sir Reginald looked up from his lettuce, saw the cheese, and began plotting his escape. He’d been through enough of Geraldo’s magical mishaps to know when things were about to escalate.
Undeterred, Geraldo decided to try once more. This time, he would be EXTRA careful. He practiced the wand movements seventeen times, repeated the incantation under his breath forty-two times, and even did a little pre-spell dance that he’d made up himself and which looked remarkably like someone trying to shake a ferret out of their trousers.
“TRANSFORMIUS SPECTACULARIS GOLDIMUS PERFECTUS!” he shouted, putting all his magical energy into the spell.
The explosion that followed could be heard three kingdoms away. One kingdom thought it was thunder. Another thought it was their neighbors trying out a new type of musical instrument. The third kingdom was populated entirely by deaf moles, so they didn’t hear it but they felt the vibrations and threw a party because they assumed it was their birthday.
When Geraldo opened his eyes, everything in his workshop had turned to cheese. The walls were gouda. The ceiling was mozzarella and was starting to stretch in concerning ways. The floor was a pungent blue cheese that made walking an aromatic adventure. Even the air seemed thicker, with a distinctly dairy quality to it.
“Oh dear,” Geraldo said, then noticed his robes had become string cheese. When he moved, he unraveled slightly. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
Sir Reginald, meanwhile, had been transformed into what could only be described as a lizard-shaped arrangement of babybel cheeses, still wrapped in their little red wax coatings. He was not pleased. He communicated this by giving Geraldo a look that, even in cheese form, clearly said, “I am going to poop in your shoes for this.”
Geraldo rushed to his cheese book, frantically flipping through the American cheese pages, trying to find a reversal spell. But every page that mentioned reversals had been transformed into particularly hole-filled Swiss, making the instructions impossible to read.
“Don’t panic,” he told himself, immediately panicking. “I’ll just go to the Academy and get help. They’ll know what to do.”
He rushed to the door, which was now made of aged parmesan and required significant effort to grate… er, open. As he stepped outside, he discovered the transformation was spreading.
His garden gnomes were now crafted from various artisanal cheeses. One was a delightful smoked gouda gnome with a brie beard. Another was a camembert gnome that was starting to run a bit in the morning sun. His prized roses had become cheese flowers, which attracted a confused group of mice who couldn’t believe their luck.
“It’s spreading!” Geraldo yelped, running down the path toward the village. Behind him, the cheese transformation rippled outward like a dairy-based tsunami. Trees became towering columns of Swiss. Rocks transformed into rounds of aged cheddar. A passing butterfly briefly became a delicate arrangement of shaved parmesan before the wind scattered it into delicious confetti.
As Geraldo reached the village of Lower Bumbleshire, he could see the townsfolk going about their morning routines. Mrs. Pemberton was hanging her laundry. Mr. Wickles was arguing with his neighbor about proper fence height. The Thompson twins were playing their daily game of “who can balance the most turnips on their head” (the record was twelve).
“EVERYONE!” Geraldo shouted. “TERRIBLE NEWS! I’VE ACCIDENTALLY—”
But it was too late. The cheese wave hit the village like a lactose-intolerant person’s nightmare.
Mrs. Pemberton’s laundry became sheets of sliced provolone flapping in the breeze. Her clothespins were now tiny mozzarella balls that bounced away merrily. She stood there, mouth agape, as her favorite dress became a fashionable frock of pepper jack.
Mr. Wickles’ fence transformed into a row of cheese wedges, which actually looked quite stylish. His argument with his neighbor ceased immediately as they both stared at what was happening. The neighbor’s prized petunias were now cheese curds arranged in a festive pattern.
The Thompson twins’ turnips became balls of fresh mozzarella, which were significantly harder to balance. They managed three before the whole stack toppled, bouncing down the street like delicious bowling balls.
“FUMBLETHORNE!” roared Mayor Bigbottom, storming out of the town hall, which was rapidly becoming a giant cathedral of cheddar. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?”
Mayor Bigbottom was a large man who took his job very seriously and had a mustache that he waxed daily into points sharp enough to open letters. The mustache was now string cheese, hanging limply down to his chest. This did not improve his mood.
“It’s a minor setback!” Geraldo said, backing away as the mayor advanced on him. “I was trying to turn things to gold!”
“GOLD?” the mayor bellowed, gesturing at the chaos around them. “THE ENTIRE VILLAGE IS CHEESE!”
Indeed it was. Houses had become elaborate cheese sculptures. The cobblestone streets were now a patchwork of different cheese varieties, creating a sort of edible mosaic. The village fountain sprayed liquid cheese instead of water, which a group of cats had already discovered and were treating as the best day of their lives.
“I can fix this!” Geraldo insisted. “I just need to get to the Academy!”
“The Academy is fifteen miles away!” Mayor Bigbottom pointed out. “And at the rate this is spreading—”
He was interrupted by a distant scream. They turned to see Farmer Henderson in his field, watching in horror as his entire corn crop became popcorn-flavored cheese puffs. His cows, however, seemed thrilled with the situation and were eating everything in sight.
“Right,” said Geraldo. “I’ll run faster.”
But running was becoming increasingly difficult. The cheese transformation had reached his shoes, turning them into soft brie that squished with every step. Plus, the entire landscape was becoming a cheese-based obstacle course. Hills of hardened parmesan were difficult to climb. Valleys filled with fondue had to be carefully navigated. A forest of string cheese trees created a tangled maze that required careful unraveling.
As Geraldo struggled through what used to be Whispering Woods but was now Cheese String Forest, he encountered others affected by his spell. A group of bandits who’d been planning to rob travelers were now made entirely of swiss cheese, which made them significantly less threatening since people could see right through them – literally.
“Oi!” one of them called out, his voice echoing through his cheese holes. “You there! Give us all your… actually, what’s the point? We’re cheese. We can’t even hold weapons. Our fingers are too holy.”
“Sorry!” Geraldo called back, not slowing down. “I’ll fix it soon!”
“Take your time!” another bandit yelled. “This is actually quite relaxing! I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t stressed about robbing people!”
Geraldo pushed on, leaving the philosophical cheese bandits behind. The transformation was spreading faster now, racing ahead of him toward the Academy. He could see it in the distance – a tall, imposing tower that was already starting to turn a distinct yellow color at its base.
“No, no, no!” Geraldo ran harder, his brie shoes now completely dissolved, leaving him to run barefoot on the cheese ground, which ranged from pleasantly soft mozzarella to unexpectedly sharp aged cheddar.
He burst through the Academy gates just as they transformed into a massive cheese wheel that rolled away down a hill, chased by an increasingly large group of delighted mice, cats, dogs, and one confused bear who’d been napping nearby and woke up to find paradise.
Inside the Academy, chaos reigned. Student wizards were panicking as their spell components turned to various cheeses. One student’s attempt to summon a familiar resulted in a small cheese golem that wandered around bumping into things. Another student’s potion homework had become a fondue pot, which wouldn’t have been so bad except it was supposed to be an invisibility potion and now it was just very visible cheese.
“PROFESSOR WISEBOTTOM!” Geraldo shouted, racing through the halls, leaving cheesy footprints. “PROFESSOR WISEBOTTOM, I NEED HELP!”
He found Professor Wisebottom in the Grand Library, calmly reading a book even as the shelves around him transformed into towering cheese sculptures. The professor was an ancient wizard with a beard so long he had to tuck it into his belt, and eyes that twinkled with either wisdom or mild insanity – no one was quite sure which.
“Ah, Geraldo,” the professor said without looking up. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. I see you’ve been experimenting with transformation spells again.”
“Professor, I’ve turned everything into cheese!”
“Yes, I noticed.” The professor closed his book, which immediately became a block of swiss. “The smell gave it away. That and the fact that my tea has become a cup of liquid brie, which is actually not as unpleasant as you’d think.”
“Can you fix it?” Geraldo pleaded.
Professor Wisebottom stroked his beard, which was rapidly becoming string cheese. “Well, that depends. What exactly were you trying to do?”
“Turn things to gold!”
“And what incantation did you use?”
Geraldo repeated the spell, and Professor Wisebottom winced.
“Ah, I see the problem. You used a breadstick as a wand, didn’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Because breadsticks have a very specific magical resonance. They’re attuned to Italian cuisine frequencies. When you channel transformation magic through them, there’s a high probability of dairy-based results. It’s covered in chapter forty-seven of ‘Wandlore for Dummies,’ which I distinctly remember assigning you to read.”
“I may have skimmed it,” Geraldo admitted.
“Skimmed. How appropriate.” The professor stood up, his robes now made of sliced provolone. “Well, the good news is that this is reversible. The bad news is that the reversal spell requires a wand that hasn’t been affected by the transformation.”
“Where do we find one of those?”
“That’s the problem. By my calculations, your cheese spell will have covered the entire kingdom in approximately…” He pulled out an abacus, which turned to mozzarella balls strung on string cheese before he could use it. “Soon. Very soon.”
As if to emphasize his point, a student ran in screaming, “The spell has reached the kitchen! All our food has turned to cheese! Which… actually isn’t that different from normal, but the cook is very upset!”
“Wait,” Geraldo said. “What about the Emergency Wand in the Tower of Last Resort?”
Professor Wisebottom’s eyes widened. “The Tower of Last Resort? Geraldo, that’s called the Tower of Last Resort for a reason. It’s at the top of Mount Impossible, guarded by the Dragon of Unnecessary Difficulty, surrounded by the Moat of Excessive Inconvenience, and can only be opened by solving the Riddle of Overly Complicated Wordplay.”
“So it’s a bit of a challenge?”
“The last wizard who tried to reach it came back speaking only in limericks and couldn’t stop. He’s still rhyming to this day. His grocery shopping takes hours.”
“But it’s our only hope!”
The professor sighed, which caused his string cheese beard to flutter dramatically. “I suppose you’re right. But you’ll need help. Take some of the senior students with you.”
“Professor,” the student who’d reported about the kitchen said, “all the senior students have locked themselves in the dormitory and are having an existential crisis about being cheese.”
“What about the junior students?”
“They’re having a cheese fight in the courtyard. It’s actually quite entertaining.”
“The freshman?”
“They turned into cheese curds and rolled away.”
Professor Wisebottom rubbed his temples, which made a squelching sound since they were now soft brie. “Fine. Geraldo, you’ll have to go alone. But take this.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a small compass. It immediately turned to cheese, but maintained its magnetic properties somehow. “This will point you toward the Tower. Don’t ask how a cheese compass works. Magic is weird sometimes.”
Geraldo took the compass, which felt unsettlingly squishy. “Thank you, Professor. I won’t let you down!”
“You already have, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now go! Before the entire world becomes one giant cheese platter!”
Geraldo rushed out of the Academy, following the cheese compass, which left little grease marks on his palm but did indeed point steadily in one direction. Behind him, the Academy’s tallest tower became a leaning tower of cheese-a, threatening to topple at any moment.
The journey to Mount Impossible was treacherous even under normal circumstances. Now, with everything made of cheese, it was borderline ridiculous. The path wound through the Valley of Eternal Echoes, which now repeated everything in a voice that sounded like someone talking with their mouth full of cheese.
“HELLO!” Geraldo called out, testing it.
“HEWWO!” the valley responded, sounding deeply embarrassed about its predicament.
He passed through the village of Upper Bumbleshire, twin city to Lower Bumbleshire but with the significant difference that they put their butter on the bottom of their toast instead of the top. This had caused a centuries-long feud that seemed pretty silly now that everyone was made of cheese and couldn’t eat toast anyway.
The villagers stood in their cheese forms, looking confused but not entirely unhappy. One entrepreneur had already set up a stand advertising “Authentic Cheese Person Tours – See Yourself in Dairy Form!” Another had started a betting pool on how long it would take for someone to fix this mess.
“Three days!” one cheese person called out. “I bet three days!”
“You’re on!” another responded. “I say a week! Fumblethorne’s disasters always take at least a week to sort out!”
Geraldo hurried past, trying not to think about the fact that the village apparently had a standardized time frame for his magical mishaps.
As he climbed higher into the mountains, the cheese transformation created increasingly bizarre scenarios. Mountain goats made of goat cheese grazed on grass made of shredded parmesan. An eagle soared overhead, its wings now fondue-dipped nachos that somehow still provided lift. A mountain stream had become flowing queso, which a family of cheese bears was enjoying immensely.
The path grew steeper, and Geraldo had to use his hands to climb over boulders of aged cheddar. His clothes, now entirely string cheese, kept snagging on every protrusion. By the time he reached the base of Mount Impossible, he looked like he’d been through a pasta maker.
Mount Impossible loomed before him, its peak hidden in clouds that were definitely not clouds anymore but some kind of aerosolized cheese powder. The mountain itself had become a massive stack of different cheese wheels, each more precariously balanced than the last.
At the base of the mountain was the Moat of Excessive Inconvenience. Usually, it was filled with water that was just too cold to be comfortable but not cold enough to be dangerous, with stepping stones placed just far enough apart to be annoying. Now it was filled with fondue. Very hot fondue.
“Of course,” Geraldo muttered. He looked around for a way across and spotted a bridge. Well, what used to be a bridge. Now it was mozzarella strips braided together, sagging dangerously over the molten cheese moat.
He tested the bridge with one foot. It stretched but held. He took a step. Then another. The bridge bounced with each movement, like the world’s most dangerous trampoline. Halfway across, the mozzarella began to stretch too thin.
“No, no, no, no—”
SNAP!
Geraldo plummeted toward the fondue, frantically windmilling his arms. At the last second, he managed to grab onto a string of mozzarella, swinging Tarzan-style to the other side. He landed in a heap, his heart pounding and his clothes now featuring artistic fondue splatters.
“Right,” he panted. “Dragon next.”
The Dragon of Unnecessary Difficulty lived in a cave halfway up the mountain. As Geraldo climbed the cheese wheel mountain, trying to find footholds in the various textures, he heard the dragon before he saw it.
“WHO DARES APPROACH MY LAIR?” the dragon boomed. “PREPARE TO FACE CHALLENGES THAT ARE NEEDLESSLY COMPLICATED AND SERVE NO REAL PURPOSE OTHER THAN TO WASTE YOUR TIME!”
Geraldo reached the cave entrance to find the dragon had become an enormous sculpture of smoked gouda, which actually made it look more impressive. Its eyes were two balls of fresh mozzarella that somehow still conveyed annoyance.
“I need to reach the Tower of Last Resort!” Geraldo declared.
“THEN YOU MUST FACE MY TRIALS!” the dragon announced. “FIRST! You must organize my treasure hoard by date of acquisition, cross-referenced with the phase of the moon when each item was obtained!”
Geraldo looked at the treasure hoard. It was all cheese now. Different types of cheese coins, cheese jewels, cheese crowns.
“But… they’re all cheese now. They all have the same acquisition date – today, when I turned them into cheese.”
The dragon paused. “Oh. Hmm. That does simplify things. VERY WELL! SECOND TRIAL! You must compose a haiku about your journey, but it must rhyme, which haikus aren’t supposed to do, making it unnecessarily difficult!”
Geraldo thought for a moment, then recited: “Cheese is everywhere, I really messed up this where, Fix it? Yes, I swear!”
The dragon considered this. “That’s terrible.”
“Yes.”
“The rhyming is forced and the meter is off.”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s so bad it’s actually impressive. FINE! THIRD AND FINAL TRIAL! You must answer my riddle!”
“I’m ready,” Geraldo said, though he definitely wasn’t.
“What is yellow and white and holey all over, speaks without a mouth, runs without legs, and has turned an entire kingdom into a dairy product through sheer magical incompetence?”
“Is… is it me?”
“NO! It’s cheese! But also yes, it’s you. Whatever, close enough. You may pass.”
The dragon stepped aside, revealing a path that wound up the mountain. “Good luck, wizard. Try not to turn anything else into cheese on your way up.”
“No promises,” Geraldo muttered, beginning the final ascent.
The climb was exhausting. The cheese wheels that made up the mountain would occasionally shift, sending avalanches of grated parmesan down the slopes. Geraldo had to dodge rolling balls of mozzarella and leap over crevasses filled with cream cheese.
Finally, gasping and covered in various cheese products, he reached the summit. There stood the Tower of Last Resort, a tall, imposing structure that had somehow resisted the cheese transformation. It stood in defiant non-cheese glory, made of good old-fashioned stone.
“Oh thank goodness,” Geraldo breathed. Then he noticed the door. It had a large sign that read: “To Enter, Solve the Riddle of Overly Complicated Wordplay.”
Below was the riddle: “What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening, but also sometimes hops on one leg while juggling pineapples on Wednesdays, unless it’s raining, in which case it uses a unicycle, except in months that contain the letter ‘R’, when it actually just stays in bed, and what is its favorite color?”
Geraldo stared at the riddle. He read it again. Then a third time. It didn’t get any better.
“This is ridiculous,” he said to no one in particular. “The answer to the classic riddle is ‘man’ but all this extra stuff… how can anyone solve this?”
He thought about it. The riddle was called the Riddle of Overly Complicated Wordplay. Maybe the answer was about the riddle itself?
“The answer is…” he said slowly, “that the riddle is overly complicated?”
Nothing happened.
“The answer is ‘purple’ because that’s a random favorite color?”
Still nothing.
Geraldo sat down on a conveniently placed cheese wheel to think. As he did, he noticed something. The tower didn’t have any windows, but there was a small sign near the base that he’d missed before. It read: “Tower of Last Resort Customer Service: If you’re having trouble with our riddle, please take a number and wait.”
Below it was a little dispenser with paper numbers. They had all turned to cheese slices, but they were still numbered.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Geraldo said. He took number 47 and sat back down.
Immediately, a small window opened in the tower door.
“Number 47?” a bored voice called out.
“That’s me!” Geraldo jumped up.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“I can’t solve your riddle. It’s overly complicated.”
“Yes, that’s the point. It’s the Riddle of Overly Complicated Wordplay.”
“So what’s the answer?”
“Oh, there isn’t one. We just like to see how long people will stand there trying to figure it out. The door’s actually unlocked.”
Geraldo tried the door handle. It opened easily.
“Are you serious?”
“Welcome to the Tower of Last Resort, where everything is unnecessarily difficult until it isn’t. Emergency wand is on the top floor. Elevator’s broken, naturally.”
Geraldo climbed the tower’s spiral staircase, which had exactly one more step than was comfortable, ensuring everyone who climbed it would stumble at the top. He found the Emergency Wand in a glass case labeled “In Case of Emergency, Break Glass. Note: Glass is unbreakable. Good luck with that.”
He was about to despair when he noticed a small hammer hanging next to the case, labeled “Glass-Breaking Hammer. Note: Only works on Tuesdays.”
“What day is it?” Geraldo asked himself. He honestly couldn’t remember. The cheese incident had started on Tuesday. How long had he been traveling? Time seemed meaningless when everything was dairy-based.
He tried the hammer. The glass shattered immediately.
“I guess it’s Tuesday,” he said, grabbing the Emergency Wand. It was a simple wooden wand, unremarkable except for the fact that it hadn’t turned to cheese.
Now he just had to get back to the Academy and reverse the spell. He looked out the tower window at the landscape below. The cheese transformation had spread even further. He could see distant kingdoms succumbing to the dairy disaster. Ships at sea were becoming floating cheese boats. Birds were falling from the sky as their fondue wings proved inadequate for flight.
“Right,” Geraldo said. “Time to fix this mess.”
The journey down the mountain was faster but no less ridiculous. He slid down slopes of cream cheese, bounced off trampolines of stretched mozzarella, and at one point had to surf down a fondue waterfall on a plate-sized wheel of aged cheddar.
The Dragon of Unnecessary Difficulty waved as he passed. “Good luck! Try not to make things worse!”
“That’s the plan!” Geraldo called back.
By the time he reached the Academy, the situation had evolved. The cheese people had organized themselves into a functioning society. They’d elected a cheese mayor (not Mayor Bigbottom, who was still too angry to campaign effectively), established a cheese currency (holes in swiss cheese, with more holes equaling more value), and even started a cheese newspaper called “The Daily Dairy.”
“FUMBLETHORNE RETURNS!” the headline read. “SALVATION OR MORE CHAOS? BETTING POOLS NOW OPEN!”
Geraldo ignored the odds (which were not in his favor) and rushed to find Professor Wisebottom. The professor was in the Great Hall, which had become a sort of cheese command center. Wizards made of various cheeses were trying different solutions, none of which were working.
“Professor! I have the wand!”
“Excellent!” Professor Wisebottom said. His transformation had progressed to the point where he was now an artistic arrangement of multiple cheese types, like a walking cheese platter. “Now, the reversal spell is very specific. You must say it exactly right.”
“What is it?”
“Reversium Cheesium Totallius Normallius.”
“That’s it? That’s suspiciously simple.”
“The universe has a sense of humor. Complex problems sometimes have simple solutions. It’s the simple problems that have complex solutions. Remember when you tried to light a candle and accidentally summoned a rain cloud that only rained on Tuesdays?”
“Good times,” Geraldo said, though they had decidedly not been good times.
He raised the Emergency Wand, took a deep breath, and spoke clearly: “Reversium Cheesium Totallius Normallius!”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, starting from where Geraldo stood, a wave of normalcy spread outward. The cheese walls became stone again. The cheese people became flesh and blood. The cheese compass became a regular compass and immediately pointed north like it was embarrassed about its cheese phase.
The wave spread throughout the Academy, down the mountain, across the villages, through the forests, and beyond. Everywhere it went, cheese became what it had been before. The only evidence of the Great Cheese Incident was a lingering smell of dairy and some very confused mice who suddenly found their paradise vanishing.
“I did it!” Geraldo exclaimed. “I actually fixed something!”
“Indeed you did,” Professor Wisebottom said, his beard once again made of hair instead of string cheese. “Though I do hope you’ve learned a lesson about using proper wands.”
“Absolutely. No more breadstick wands.”
“And reading the assigned texts?”
“Every chapter.”
“And perhaps practicing spells in a controlled environment?”
“That seems wise.”
“Good. Now, as punishment for turning the entire kingdom into cheese, you’ll be teaching the remedial wand safety course for the next semester.”
Geraldo groaned. Teaching remedial wand safety was notoriously boring. The students were usually there because they’d done things like use carrots as wands and accidentally turned their homework into salad.
As he walked back to his workshop, he found Sir Reginald waiting for him, no longer made of babybel cheeses. The iguana gave him a look that suggested their relationship had been fundamentally altered by the day’s events.
“I’m sorry about the cheese thing,” Geraldo said.
Sir Reginald continued staring.
“I’ll give you extra lettuce for a month.”
The iguana appeared to consider this.
“And those fancy strawberries you like.”
Sir Reginald nodded once, then went back to his favorite basking spot, apparently willing to forgive but not forget.
The next morning, the kingdom woke up to find everything normal. The only lasting effect was that cheese sales plummeted for several months as everyone was thoroughly sick of dairy products. The kingdom’s cows were greatly relieved.
Mayor Bigbottom issued a proclamation that Geraldo was banned from transformation spells for a year. The Thompson twins discovered they actually preferred balancing mozzarella balls to turnips and started a new sport. The philosophical cheese bandits had enjoyed their brief existence as swiss cheese so much that they gave up banditry and became monks dedicated to finding inner peace through meditation and hole contemplation.
The Academy implemented new safety measures, including a mandatory “Is Your Wand Food?” checklist that all students had to complete before casting spells. They also added a new course: “Dairy Disasters and How to Avoid Them,” taught by a professor who had once accidentally turned himself into yogurt for a week and never quite got over it.
As for Geraldo, he spent the next few weeks reading every single textbook he’d been assigned, taking detailed notes, and practicing basic spells with a proper wand made of elder wood and phoenix feather (synthetic phoenix feather, as real phoenixes were endangered and also tended to set things on fire).
One evening, as he was studying chapter forty-seven of “Wandlore for Dummies” (the chapter he should have read in the first place), there was a knock at his door.
It was Mrs. Pemberton from the village.
“Mr. Fumblethorne,” she said, “I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me? For turning you into cheese?”
“Well, not for that part. But when I was made of pepper jack, I didn’t have my usual joint pain. It was the first time in years I could move without hurting. I know it was an accident, but for a few hours, I remembered what it felt like to be young again.”
She handed him a pie. “It’s apple. NOT cheese.”
After she left, Geraldo sat thinking. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to this cheese spell. Not turning the whole kingdom into dairy products, obviously, but perhaps a controlled version? Medical applications? Temporary transformations for therapeutic purposes?
He made a note to research it properly. With supervision. And absolutely no breadstick wands.
Sir Reginald crawled over and settled on his lap, a sign that all was forgiven. Outside, the village went about its evening routines, decidedly non-cheese-based. The Academy’s towers stood tall and stone-like against the sunset. And somewhere in the distance, a group of mice held a candlelight vigil for the greatest day of their lives, when the world had been made of cheese.
Geraldo picked up his proper wand and practiced a simple levitation spell. A book rose gently from his desk, hovering in the air. No cheese. No dairy products. Just good, clean, boring magic.
“Progress,” he said to himself.
And for the first time in his career as a wizard, that felt like enough.
Of course, three weeks later he accidentally turned the Academy’s lake into chocolate pudding while trying to clean it, but that’s another story entirely. One disaster at a time was Geraldo’s new motto, and he was sticking to it.
The kingdom eventually erected a small monument to the Great Cheese Incident. It was a bronze statue of a cheese wheel with a plaque that read: “In Memory of the Day We Were All Cheese. May We Never Forget, and May It Never Happen Again.”
Every year on the anniversary, the kingdom celebrated Cheese Day, where everyone ate cheese-free meals and told stories about their brief time as dairy products. Children dressed up as different types of cheese. There was a parade with floats designed to look like giant cheese wheels (but made of wood and paper, not actual cheese).
Geraldo was invited to give a speech at the first Cheese Day celebration. He declined, sending instead a written statement that read: “I have learned that with great power comes great responsibility, and with breadstick wands comes great amounts of cheese. Please enjoy this cheese-free day, and remember to always read your textbooks. Especially chapter forty-seven.”
The statement was read aloud by Professor Wisebottom, who added his own commentary about the importance of proper wand selection and the dangers of culinary-based magical implements. His speech went on for three hours and included a detailed history of food-related magical disasters throughout the ages. By the end, half the audience had fallen asleep and the other half had developed a profound fear of using kitchen utensils for anything other than cooking.
The breadstick wand was eventually put in the Academy’s Museum of Magical Mishaps, in a special exhibit titled “When Good Spells Go Dairy.” It sat between a ladle that had once turned the ocean into soup and a spork that had caused everyone in a three-mile radius to speak only in food puns for a week.
Students would often visit the museum as part of their studies, and the breadstick wand became a cautionary tale. “This,” professors would say, pointing to it, “is why we have regulations.”
Geraldo himself became something of a legend at the Academy. New students would whisper about the wizard who turned the world into cheese. Some claimed he did it on purpose. Others said it was part of a larger plan to end world hunger. A few conspiracy theorists believed the mice had paid him to do it.
The truth, as Geraldo would tell anyone who asked, was much simpler: “I was just trying to make gold and forgot to read the instructions. Let that be a lesson to you all.”
And it was. The Academy’s graduation rate improved dramatically after the Cheese Incident, as students became much more diligent about their studies. Nobody wanted to be the next person to accidentally transform the kingdom into foodstuffs.
Years later, when Geraldo had become a reasonably competent wizard (with only minor mishaps involving a brief period where gravity worked sideways and that one time he made it rain butterflies), he would look back on the Cheese Incident with a mixture of embarrassment and fondness.
“It taught me humility,” he would say. “And the importance of proper wand maintenance. Also, I can’t look at cheese the same way anymore.”
Sir Reginald lived to the ripe old age of forty-seven (ancient for an iguana), having been sustained by the finest lettuce and strawberries as promised. He never let Geraldo forget about the cheese incident, occasionally giving him meaningful looks whenever dairy products were present.
The spell that Geraldo had accidentally created was eventually refined and controlled by better wizards. It became known as “Fumblethorne’s Folly” in academic circles, but was used in small doses for various purposes. Temporary cheese transformation became a treatment for certain bone conditions (cheese having no bones to ache). It was also used in the culinary arts to create dishes that were impossible through normal cooking methods.
A famous chef once used a modified version of the spell to create a seven-course meal where each course transformed from cheese into different foods as diners ate it. It won awards and confused food critics, who weren’t sure how to categorize cuisine that technically started as cheese but ended as everything from roasted vegetables to chocolate soufflé.
The Dragon of Unnecessary Difficulty enjoyed brief fame as the only creature to maintain its personality while made of cheese. It wrote a memoir titled “My Life as Smoked Gouda” which became a bestseller among both dragons and cheese enthusiasts. Critics called it “unnecessarily long but oddly compelling.”
The philosophical bandits who had enjoyed being swiss cheese founded a monastery dedicated to the study of transformational philosophy. Their central question was: “If you turn into cheese and find inner peace, were you always meant to be cheese?” They attracted followers from across the land who sought meaning in temporary dairy transformation.
The Tower of Last Resort added a gift shop that sold “I Solved the Riddle of Overly Complicated Wordplay” t-shirts (even though no one actually solved it) and small replicas of the Emergency Wand (non-functional, to prevent future cheese-related disasters).
And so life in the kingdom returned to normal, with only the annual Cheese Day celebration and the occasional whiff of aged cheddar on warm summer days to remind everyone of the time their world went briefly dairy.
Geraldo continued his magical studies, eventually becoming a professor himself. He specialized in teaching “Magical Mistakes and How to Fix Them,” a course he was uniquely qualified to instruct. His first lesson always began the same way:
“Let me tell you about the time I turned the entire kingdom into cheese. It started with a breadstick wand and ended with everyone learning an important lesson about reading the instructions…”
The students would lean in, eager to hear the tale, and Geraldo would begin the story once again. Because if there was one thing the Cheese Incident had taught him, it was that the best mistakes were the ones that became the best stories.
And what a story it was.