Old Norse Viking
The Summons of the Magic Lab As carved upon the runestone at Arlington, in the fifth month, in the year two thousand and twenty-six
Hear me, ye who have ears and are not yet dead.
The season of conjuring is ended. The great works have been wrought. The Lab of Magic — whose deeds are known from the harbor of Boston to the further shores of Somerville, and whose name causes the weak to tremble and the strong to nod respectfully — has looked upon its labors and found them good.
And so the Jarls have spoken from their hall on Scituate Street.
There shall be feasting.
Felice the Producer, she whose organizational powers are sung of in the old verses, she who hath never once lost a receipt or failed to send a follow-up, hath declared the seventeenth day of the month of May a sacred day of eating and drinking and sitting around the fire saying things like remember when that one trick worked really well.
All warriors of the Magic Lab are summoned. All friends of warriors are summoned. All friends of friends who are decent enough people are summoned also, though perhaps tell someone you are coming.
You shall appear at the great hall — number seventy, Scituate Street, in the land of Arlington — at the first hour after midday. You shall come through the side gate to the Rear Garden, which is where the fire is. You will know the fire by the smoke. You will know the smoke by Jeannine.
Of Jeannine
Lo, there is a woman who stands at the grill as Odin stands at the threshold of Valhalla — without hurry, without doubt, with complete authority over who eats and when.
She is called the BBQ Dad.
This is her kenning. It is a great kenning. Do not question it.
Her mastery of flame is such that the gods themselves have inquired after her methods and been told, politely but firmly, that it is a matter of heat management and patience and perhaps they should go stand somewhere else. She tends the coals as the Norns tend the threads of fate — with precision, with purpose, and without taking requests.
To eat what comes off Jeannine’s grill is to understand, briefly and completely, why the warriors of old were willing to sail into uncertainty. It is worth it. It is always worth it.
The Law of Provisions
Each warrior who comes to the feast shall bring an offering. Food or drink, as the fates allow. The warrior who brings nothing shall be remembered in the sagas, and not in the good way.
The coordination of what each warrior shall bring is forthcoming. The Jarls have said this. Trust the Jarls. They have not yet led anyone into a fjord.
The Terms of Battle
These are the facts of the appointed day, as sworn upon the sacred implement of the grill:
When: The seventeenth day of May, at one o’clock, when the sun is still climbing and the coals are ready.
Where: The Rear Garden of the hall at seventy Scituate Street, Arlington, in the kingdom of Middlesex.
Who: The Magic Lab entire, and those they name as friends, and the friends of those friends, and honestly just come, there will be enough food, Jeannine always makes enough.
The Skald’s Closing Words
It is said among the old people that a season well-spent deserves a feast well-attended. It is said that fire and fellowship are the twin pillars upon which civilization rests, the other pillars being good drainage and someone who actually knows how to work the grill.
Jeannine knows how to work the grill.
Come then. Come to the garden. Drink the drink and eat the meat and sit with your people in the May afternoon and let the season be over and let the next season be far away and not yet thought of.
The smoke rises.
The coals are good.
Jeannine has not yet looked up, which means it is not ready, which means wait, which means drink something and talk to someone and be glad you are not dead.
This is the whole of the wisdom of the Magic Lab.
Skål.
Carved by order of Felice and the Jarls. Anno Domini 2026. Rear Garden. One o’clock. Bring something or be remembered poorly in the sagas.