“I’ve been to places,” he said. It sounded creepy but given the way he presented, Yas wondered if perhaps he was meaning that he had been to places in his imagination.
“Yeah,” she said as casually as she could. “I find it amazing at what pictures my mind creates when I’m reading a book too.”
She looked at him and smiled. He just stared at her. It was unnerving.
“Well, I’ll leave you then...” she started, trying to make her exit, walking backwards.
“No, I’ve really...” the man started to say then looked confused at himself. He smiled awkwardly and looked down at the books in his hands. “Thanks,” he said.
“No problem,” said Yas. “I’ll just leave you to look around.” She turned and started to walk away. “Shout if you need anything!”
Yas rounded the corner of the aisle and back into the centre of the shop. A taller man stood outside the doorway reaching for the handle. The door opened and the outside sounds drifted into the shop, along with a tinkle from the bell. Yas stood still and watched, then realised that perhaps she was being rude.
“Can I help you?” she asked at last.
Well dressed in a long winter coat, formal pants and shoes, he seemed to disregard Yas for a moment. He took off smart looking leather gloves and looked around.
“Good morning,” the man said with a rather polished accent. He had a presence which spoke of self-importance and over confidence. She took an instant dislike to him. His eyes spoke volumes, and currently they were locked on hers.
“Tell me, where is the owner?” he asked bluntly but not impolitely. He took a few steps towards her.
Yas instinctively tried to take a step back and felt a display table behind her.
“That would be me,” said Ms. McVale very definitely, walking up from the back of the shop. Yas breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good morning, Mr. Penn,” McVale replied. “What can I do for you?”
“Ahh, Ms. McVale.” replied Penn. He smiled, but by the way he tilted his head from one side to the other, it belied a sense of surprise. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know this quaint little shop was yours.”
“Well its not as grand as your media empire,” shot back McVale. “But, yes, its my labour of love.”
Yas was intrigued. She didn’t know who this man was. ‘Quaint’ felt like a put down and provided more evidence to match the ‘better than you’ attitude he had displayed from the first moment he had stepped into the shop.
He looked about the room. “I believe my... charge is here?” He paused for a moment.
‘Charge!’ thought Yas. Who talked like that? It added to the arrogance that she was growing to hate.
“Wesley?” he called out, walking towards the left-hand side of the shop. There was a muffled thump from the aisle where the younger man had been browsing. He’d dropped the books he’d been holding. Penn continued to the wall, turned and must have moved close to Wesley because he started talking to him.
“Come along,” he said. “These aren’t suitable for you.” There were more muffled bumps as books that had been picked up were dropped again. It sounded as though a polite struggle was occurring.
Yas found herself walking back around to the aisle where she had just been to see what was happening.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. She could see Penn hunched over Wesley prying the books out of his hands, like a parent would to a small child. She knew she had no right to pry, but there was something about the conversation that struck her as wrong and she didn’t like it.
Penn stood up and looked at Yas, giving a final tug on the book Wesley was holding onto. “Yes,” he replied. He glanced down at the book in disgust and tutted, before placing it on the edge of the shelf. Then, with one hand on Wesley’s shoulder, he manoeuvred him in front and marched him back passed a confused Yas and towards the front of the shop. He looked at McVale and stopped, taking his hand off Wesley. Yas followed to keep them in sight but stopped as she rounded the corner.
“I’m glad I bumped into you,” he said, continuing his polite, greasy tone. “You do have your invite for the campaign dinner this Wednesday?”
McVale looked at him for a moment. Her expression was blank.
“Yes,” she said at last.
“Good,” he said over enthusiastically. “I think you’ll find our candidate is very persuasive in his arguments. One hopes we can bring these disturbances to an end, hmm?”
“Disturbances?” Yas asked. She was shocked at herself. She didn’t mean to say it out aloud, but given the news reports this morning, and him mentioning this, it felt closer to home than she had thought.
Penn turned around to face her and smiled. “I take it you have been following the news, young lady?”
“Yes,” replied Yas.
“Good,” he said. “Then you won’t hear about what’s really happening.”
“Oh?” said Yas, surprised. “Why’s that?” she asked. She thought that was odd coming from someone of importance within a media organisation. Surely, he had ways and means to get a message out.
“In my experience,” he continued, “what’s valuable are the actions that are not newsworthy. Too small and insignificant, but they add up to getting the job done.” He changed his position to look at McVale.
“Will you be able to join us,” he asked.
“I’ll have to check my diary,” she answered simply, avoiding the question.
“Bring your assistant if she’s free,” he added patronizingly, glancing back at Yas. “I do so enjoy engaging with the youth of our community.” Penn moved forward, and Wesley took that as a signal to move also. Wesley opened the door and went through.
“Good day,” said Penn, taking his gloves out of his pocket as he followed the younger man out of the store. Yas stood and watched the two of them go down the steps and out of earshot before venting.
“Well, he thinks highly of himself, doesn’t he?” she said, walking back over to the counter.
“There’s all sorts in this world,” mused McVale in reply as she walked to the back of the store. She disappeared for a moment inside the back door to grab her bag, and then came back to the counter. “He’s the co-owner of the largest TV, radio and publishing media group in this and the neighbouring states,” she explained. “Inherited from his father. Powerful man and doesn’t suffer anyone gladly. Entitled, you might say.”
“Entitled,” continued Yas. “Rude more like. He said ‘quaint’” she quoted with her fingers. “And ‘young lady’”, again quoting the words. “And who says ‘Charge’ anymore? I thought that died in Victorian times!” She stopped and looked at McVale. The older lady just smiled.
“What?” Yas asked, seeing McVale’s expression.
“You remind me of your brother,” she said simply.
“Oh,” said Yas, taken aback. She wasn’t sure she liked that comparison.
“There’s often rudeness where there is perceived difference, whether intentional or not. I’ve given up trying to point that out to people. It just makes them angry at me instead of angry at whatever else they’re dealing with.”
“Are you going to go to the dinner, then?” asked Yas, moving to join her at the counter.
McVale paused for a moment. “I’m off to run some errands. I’ll pop into the café on my way back. Anything you want?”
“Err, no thank you. Its okay,” replied Yas, switching gears to the change in the conversation.
“Ok,” she replied, “I’ll just get your usual, shall I?”
Yas smiled. As always, she wasn’t sure if McVale had intentionally ignored her or not. Either way, it was okay. Yas felt like McVale cared about her wellbeing. It was part of what had always drawn her to this place.
“The trick is understanding what it is that these people are really about,” said McVale as she walked around the front of the counter.
“What?” asked Yas, trying to remember the first part of the conversation. “Oh, yes.”
>
“Maybe I will go along,” confirmed McVale, walking towards the front door. “See what I can learn.” She reached out to grab the door handle. “You’ll be alright for about twenty minutes?”
Yas nodded.
“Good.” The doorbell tinkled as she opened it. Then McVale stepped outside and the door closed behind her.
Yas stood and reflected on the conversation with Penn. Why had it irritated her so much? The words were plain enough, but what riled her was how he seemed to make ‘quaint’ sound like something very unpleasant. The energy from the two males seemed to remain with her and influence her thoughts. Penn clearly either wasn’t aware of his tone or he had intended it and Yas was not party as to why. Finally, she decided to switch tracks. She remembered the book McVale had mentioned, the gift from her grandpa. She wanted to have a look and now was the perfect opportunity.
She walked to the back of the shop and grabbed the kick-step. She moved it and nonchalantly stepped up on top of it. As she did so, she felt something brush past her leg, like a draft of air, yet more substantial. It startled her and made her step one foot back down.
There was no bell tinkle, so she knew it wasn’t the front door. She looked around her. There on the floor near her foot was a yellow leaf, about three inches long. It looked too large to have been tracked in on the bottom of someone’s shoe, yet too far from the door to have been blown in. No matter, she figured. It wasn’t important. She’d put it away in a moment.
She took a step back up and reached for the top shelf. Immediately, her head felt a little light and she could have sworn she heard someone call out “Psst.” She stopped still, reaching out to the shelves to steady herself.
“Hello?” she called nervously, looking left and right around her. Had someone sneaked in without her being aware?
She strained her ears to hear. Nothing. Only the electric buzzing of the lights overhead. Odd, but not overly suspicious, she returned her mind and eyes to the task. She reached up, to grab the book. Her hand on the shelf should have given her more stability, but it started to vibrate under her touch. The original sense of movement also returned, this time for longer. She glanced down. Her light headedness made the floor seem much further away.
The shelves too started to move, and her hold was more akin to a sponge than a solid piece of wood. The intensity increased, vibrating, much like a truck passing outside, except deeper and stronger. The bookshelves started to wobble in front of her eyes, and she swayed backwards and forwards in response. Yas moved her right hand to gain a solid grasp of the book, but in doing so, her left hand was absorbed inwards to the shelf. It pulled her forwards and off balance. She cried out in alarm, and then stopped and tried to regain her composure. Perhaps this was another mild earthquake she figured, but the sponge like shelves indicated that this was something more. She wasn’t sure whether to try and step down or stay put.
The vibration increased in intensity. Now a deep roar, it was accompanied by more movement of the shelves. In her head, the sound was like a swarm of angry bees, but deeper, and which vibrated through every fibre of her being. A headache appeared behind her eyes, with flashing lights. It was the type she remembered from her younger years. That worried her. She wasn’t sure if what she was seeing around her was the result of distorted vision or really there. The bookshelves now also seemed to be swaying back and forth. They were fluid, instead of fixed, the shapes changing. The books were sliding backwards and forwards and taking on this sponge like fluidity, also. She felt nauseous and was going to hurl at any moment.
She made a move to step down. As she did so, there was a new sound, like a ‘whoomph’, and the air changed around her. Whether related to the migraine she thought was arriving she did not know, but ultimately, the floor was not where her foot expected it to be. That coupled with her left hand not finding the solid purchase she was looking for, she lost her balance. The top half of her body wanted to fall further forwards, so she leaned backwards to counteract that, hoping to find the floor. The floor wasn’t anywhere close, so she started to fall backwards, flailing with her hands for some other grip. She shrieked out in alarm, both bracing herself for a hard landing while also looking around herself in desperation for something to grab onto. She had a split-second image of herself landing heavily on one foot and then limping around the shop the rest of the day. To her surprise, there was no such landing.
Instead, where there should have been a dark blue carpet with small orange diamond motif pattern, she seemed to fall much further. Into what, she did not know. The world around her turned darker and the air smelled different, an outside smell. She heard and felt herself smashing through leaves and slender branches, until two limbs caught and held her, firm but not rough. The limbs creaked and cracked as she was lowered gently to touch the mossy ground below. Then they let go slowly. She realised that her fall had ended, and she was laying on her back, on damp, cold grass.
Chapter 2
The Great Oak
Mentally she checked through her body for any signs of pain. There were none. A forest scene came into focus around her. Looking up, she saw the branches of a tree between her and a blue, partly cloudy, sky. A huge trunk was at the top of her vision, behind her. It seemed so tall that she couldn’t tell where the tree ended and the sky began. There were other trees around her, but not as tall or as full of leaves in their canopies. They let in wider shafts of sunlight. Remnants of leaves she had crashed through floated down through the beams of light along with twigs, branches, nuts, and flies that had been disturbed. The tree’s limbs swished and swayed back to their original positions. As the scene stilled around her, she noticed other sounds and smells. In the distance, there was bird song. She could smell a freshness she associated with morning dew, along with damp bark and soil. The whole scene reminded her of a forest she had once visited as a child on a school trip to England. The New Forest, she remembered it being called. And this place looked so neat and tidy, as if it was new.
She chanced movement into a sitting position, incredulous that she was where she was. One minute the shop, now a forest. She figured she must have taken a bump on the head and that the world was going on around her unconscious body. Soon she’d be waking up in a hospital with her worried parents looking on.
“Wake up,” she commanded herself. “Come on!” She tried hitting herself on the arm. It didn’t work, so she figured that she’d need to deal with wherever she was.
She heard a light rustling nearby. Its lightness suggested a small creature searching through the leaves for food. She moved her head slowly, so that she didn’t frighten it. There was still no pain. That was a good sign. From what she remembered of the view above her, it was probable that she had fallen a very long way indeed and she should have been injured.
Looking to her side, she glanced movement. About ten metres away was a small grey squirrel, searching.
“Where did I put it?”
That surprised Yas. A talking squirrel. It immediately triggered thoughts that challenged her perception of reality. What was she was experiencing right now? She was clearly concussed, she figured, but what state was she in physically back at the shop? Had McVale arrived back yet from her chores? Maybe she had tried to wake her up and failed? That was a worrying thought. She’d call the paramedics, Yas reasoned. They’ll be picking me up and carting me off to hospital. That’s what would be happening now. This was her mind’s way of keeping her from the shock of serious injury. Then another line of reasoning caught up. Hold on, I only fell from a kick-step. How bad could it be?
“It was here a few moments ago,” the squirrel carried on. “I don’t know, where the blinking hell is it?”
Yas figured that if this was what her mind was presenting to her right now, then perhaps she should go with it. She found herself quite taken by the squirrel’s musings and was compelled to ask.
“What have you lost?”
The squirrel stopped abruptly and looked up, alert, ready for flight. After all,
not many things in the forest were likely to make the sort of sound it had just heard and be friendly. The squirrel cautiously surveyed the scene, its nose and short fine whiskers twitching. It caught sight of Yas and seemed to relax.
“Oh, bloody hell, it’s you,” the squirrel said. Then, he added “You gave me quite a start!”
Yas was a little taken aback.
“I’m sorry,” she said in surprise. “You know me?”
The squirrel sat up on its hind legs and waved one of its front paws, as if in dismissal. Then it shook its head and raised that paw briefly to its mouth.
“Of course,” it said, puzzled at the question. It looked at her and twitched its nose. “Don’t you remember?”
Yas smiled at the ludicrous situation. Of course, she couldn’t remember, because she hadn’t been here before. But then she realised, this was a place made up in her mind. Maybe it was an old dream, coming back into play somehow.
“I’m Red,” said Red, gesturing to himself. “Surely, you remember me?” He looked at Yas, pointedly.
She shook her head. “Sorry, I...”
“You're kidding me, right?” He sighed. “Grey squirrel called Red? Irony that is!” He paused for a moment. “Anyway, I was beginning to wonder when you would be coming back!”
“What? Coming back?” exclaimed Yas, looking around. “I don’t understand... I've not been here before.”
Once again, she wondered about injuries from the fall. She looked herself up and down for rips, cuts and bruises, or worse. Other than dirt and a few small scrapes, there was nothing. She thought perhaps that it could have been one of those chance blows to a weak spot on her head. The type that could cause a healthy person to have brain swelling or be in a coma for weeks or months.
“Oh, you have no injuries”, said Red, waving his paws in dismissal again. “Relax! The Great Oak saw to that.” He shook his head and muttered to himself. “Good job he was here, really. Not off galivanting like some guardians we could mention!” He stared pointedly at Yas for a moment, then resumed his search.
The Word Guardians: and the Battle for the Peacekeepers Page 3
