by tantan
aged lady with all the courage she could muster. She was dressed in furs, which was a good thing since the temperature had fallen drastically with Mary's appearance. She still maintained her figure despite her age. Her face was pretty for a forty year old woman, and still contained hints of the allure that had captivated Lord Saint Lanternberger during her coming out.
“Your son Thomas,” said the spirit, “is on a great quest. He shall succeed and come back to you again. Do not worry. He shall be safe. And Charlie-Go-Lucky shall win the Ascot Gold Cup.”
The crowd of ladies sat up straight on hearing this and forgot to tremble in fear. One of them rubbed her hands together with glee. Mme. Bovine and Anne looked like they were going to faint. Talismans and brooches kept falling off Mme. Bovine’s shivering body. Lady St. Lanternberger was fanning herself, the cold aura surrounding Mary not reaching her. She felt faint. Her only son, dead! Her dear dear Thomas.
“Anne!” said Mary again, this time in a softer voice, looking directly at a very scared Anne, “I have a favour to ask of you. Will you do it?”
“What?” asked Anne in amazement. “Wh… What Favour?” How did this creature know her name?
“I want you to accompany me back to the Afterlife dimension”.
“I’d rather not” replied Anne her face turning as white as a ghost's.
“Don't worry. You shall return to this world as good as you’ve ever been.”
Anne looked at Mme. Bovine who nodded. “It’s yer choice me love,” said Mme. Bovine, fear bringing our her native accent. “This be the safest way maybe. Fer everyone. The spirits, can straike back they can. With balls of fire and ice, seeking vengeance on the living.”
Anne shook her head with sorrow at her mother’s cowardice, and readiness to sacrifice her daughter to the land of the dead. Being a foundling was never easy. You never knew for sure if your adopted parents really loved you or if they were just saying it. It was during times like these that you found the truth. Times of crisis…
“All right!” Anne said with a courage born from anger. “Take me.”
The Marquis
Thomas St. Lanternberger, Marquis of Whatsitshire, sat back in his chair smoking a pipe, his legs resting on the surface of a mahogany finished table. He would be going. No… he would be forced to go to Noxford the next month to begin his studies. The fact that he didn’t have the slightest inclination to go didn’t seem to matter to his loving parents. He didn’t really want to study anything, but if there was something he definitely would not want to study with all his heart and soul, it would be Law. Again, this didn’t seem to make a bit of difference to his parents’ resolve.
“For God sake, Thomas,” he mimicked his mother, “just grin and bear it like a man! Stop making a complete mess of your life”. And then she’d bring in how he was ruining the family name. And what a proud old family they were! The only reason they were better than other people at all was because they stole from the rich and gave to... well, nobody really. They stole from the poor as well. In fact they stole more from the poor than from the rich. This seemed to be family tradition. His ancestors had been pirates who plundered from the country’s enemies during times of war. This had earned his so noble forefather a dukedom from the King.
Thomas was enjoying his solitude at the moment. His mother had gone to a séance party, leaving him in momentary peace.
“Good old gullible mother” he thought. “Astrology, Phrenology, Mesmerism and now Spiritualism! No wonder she’s so …” His father entered the room making Thomas stop mid sentence.
The Duke was a brute of a man, 6 feet 3 inches, and weighing nineteen stone, or so said ‘The Who’s Who in the Peerage’. It also said that he was a champion boxer during his college days, and still kept himself fit playing tennis and the occasional cricket match. Thomas knew he was all this and more. The Duke could also make his son feel he was trapped in all the circles of Dante’s vision of damnation for eternity.
Thomas quickly threw his lit pipe out the window, where a gardener hooted in joy at getting that little bit of baccy he was praying so ardently for a minute ago.
“Thomas, this is Mr. Hearthoff a friend of mine from childhood,” said the Duke, ignoring the smoke inside the room.
Thomas nodded pleasantly and shook hands with the short, balding nondescript man who’d just walked in after his father. The man didn’t let go of Thomas’ hand, making him quite worried.
"Howdie do,” said Hearthoff, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree I see. He looks just like you did back then James.”
“Quite” replied the Duke.
“You haven’t changed a bit James,” his friend chortled. “You’re still as vocal as ever I see. Anyway, down to business... Lad, the reason we came here was to ask you if you’d like to accompany me on a trip to Wotland. A little bit of adventure before you continue your studies and all that.”
“Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” cried the gardener from outside, happily puffing away on his new pipe.
“Egad!” cried the duke, his face slowly turning red with anger. “Can that man not stay away from his cups for even a second?”
“In vino veritas, James, as those old drunken Romans used to say,” Hearthoff grinned merrily, his eyes twinkling. “Let the poor man be, as long as he still waters the flowers adequately.”
“Hmm...Yes. I seem to recall that you used to water the flowers adequately enough when you were inebriated. Well Thomas, will you go?” asked the Duke...
“Ye... Ye... Yes Sir” Thomas replied, his standard response to anything his father said.
“Good. It’s all settled then. You shall leave tomorrow. Pack enough clothing to last you ten days.”
“Ye... Ye... Yes, Sir.”
“Make sure you pack warm clothing. It’s cold around there now.”
“Ye... Yes Sir.”
“I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow then, lad,” said Hearthoff slapping Thomas on his back. He then walked away with the Duke to discuss the current futures market.
A Roundabout Journey
"We're going to travel to Wotland in a curricle?" Thomas asked incredulously the next morning.
"This will do fine, lad. It has wheels and can be drawn by horses. That's about all we need," said Hearthoff. I hope you've packed light. Whoa, two suitcases? Too much! Get rid of one."
"But…" said Thomas
"Only the essentials lad... Pack only the essentials. One coat, one cravat, two shirts, and two pairs of pantaloons… and some small clothes of course. Get rid of all your pansy-nancy beauty creams and scents."
Was this man mad? How can anyone manage with one cravat and still remain civilized, thought Thomas.
But instead of protesting he just said "Yes sir" and instructed his valet to unpack his luggage. Hearthoff nodded, satisfied when Thomas came back with one suitcase.
"That's it lad," he said, "a properly packed suitcase. Now run along and say goodbye to your father."
"He's probably busy."
"Then un-busy him, or you're going to wish you said goodbye the whole trip, and nag me about it for the whole trip."
"Yes sir," said Thomas, retreating to disyllabic safety again.
Thomas finished his goodbyes, and left the country house cramped in Hearthoff's curricle. Hearthoff sprang the horses, making Thomas blanch every time they barely managed to make a bend in the road.
"Why don't you have a groom?" asked Thomas.
"I don't trust grooms with my steppers," he said, springing his horses again.
"How long are we going to spend away?" asked Thomas, when the road had straightened out again.
"I don't know lad. About a year..."
"But I thought that we were only going to be away for ten days. I only packed for ten days," he said, scared that he'd have to wear the same pair of pants and shirt for a month. And the same cravat and coat for two months, God forbid!
"That's right. Ten days…maybe less. Don't worry about clothes and all the rest of your thin
gummies. We shall buy what is needed when we need it."
Even ten days would be difficult with the frugal amount of clothing he had brought. They would have to buy some clothing at the first decent sized town."
"No more questions till we stop lad," Hearthoff said, forestalling his next question. Might break a tooth talking to you on this rickety curricle. Should've checked the springs before we left."
"But…"
"Hush!"
The curricle raced on. It seemed to move in the embrace of a cool westerly wind.
"Zephyrus," Hearthoff muttered under his breath, and sprang the horses again, not caring about how this would affect the curricle on the bumpy road. They passed the English countryside and then the Arabian desert. Thomas pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. I'm hallucinating he thought. "Wh…Wh…Where …"
"The Sahara. Now keep quiet for the love of God. Have pity on this poor old man who has a phobia for dentists."
They passed through an Indian jungle, and then they got a first class view of the Great Wall of China. They then travelled through the Steppes and ended up in Rome. Hearthoff then chanted something and they got transported to the front of the Wottish inn where Peter was sleeping off his drunkenness of the night before.
"We're here," Hearthoff shouted loudly, his sense of volume temporarily defunct by the monotonous four hours of travel they had just gone through.
"This is only a dream…only a dream," chanted Thomas, his face a sickly yellow. He had kept up that chant for the last three and a half hours or so, hoping that he'd wake up in his own
