The Devil's Workshop

by Donnally Miller

  “Everything went along this way for several years and all the citizens were pleased to be able to pay their taxes in this new way. They all praised the genius of Cladibus who had foreseen this new age which surely must be the height of civilization, when all man’s necessities could be provided for not by toil and labor and the sweat of the brow as formerly, but by telling jokes. However, eventually the drought and the famine arrived. When this happened all the citizens looked to Cladibus for relief. ‘There is no grain in the granary, nor is there any treasure in the treasury, but I can tell you a lot of very funny jokes,’ he said, slipping a custard pie from one of his sleeves. However, at this point the people did not find the jokes to be all that funny, and Cladibus was forced to acknowledge that when he had installed the new age of truth he had only been joking. But that joke was not found to be very funny either, so they chopped off his head, put it on a post and threw the custard pie at it. And they all had a good laugh at that.

  “Did you find my story amusing?”

  “No . . . not very,” said Tom.

  “Too bad. I was hoping it would cheer you up.”

  “What made you think I needed cheering up?”

  They laughed.

  That was the last Tom was ever to hear from Colophus. The next morning they came to a tavern on the site of a mill where the wheat that was grown locally was being ground. But this was an unusual mill. The wheel of this mill did not run in water. This mill had been constructed in such fashion that the wheel was turned by an ox that was driven round and round in a subterranean room, and this motive force was conveyed to the wheel which ground the grain. The miller was a feral looking fellow with a walleye that caused him constantly to squint. His ox had died the night before and although some oxen could have been found in the vicinity to take its place, Harry, who’d begun to worry that the blind beggar he’d acquired might not make it to Indradoon, saw an opportunity to get him off his hands. A price was agreed to and Tom was removed from the chain gang and handed over to the miller, who set him to work in the underground chamber where he was chained to a stout piece of timber that he had to push round in a circle. It was perfect work for a blind man so long as he could still walk. Round and round he pushed, hour after hour, goaded on with a sharp stick whenever he lagged, unseeing and unseen by any save the miller. There were brief intervals when he could rest and relieve himself and he was given the tavern’s leftovers to eat and at night they unchained him and gave him a bed on some mildewed straw in back. His only prayer at night was not to wake in the morning. But death was busy elsewhere and chose not to come so quickly, and day after day Tom kept at his task, pushing the log in its eternal circular groove. There was no conversation with the miller. Not being accustomed to speaking with his ox it hadn’t occurred to him to speak with its replacement. The only sounds were those made by their feet and the swishing of the log in its circular course and the grunts that were all the expressions needed.

  Meanwhile Katie and Tavish resumed their journey. They arrived at Kashahar towards twilight, weary and saddened. Ever since leaving Port Jay Katie had been making plans for her arrival in Kashahar, picturing herself searching for Tom and seeking information at the docks, but now she had no use for her plans. Tavish had been trying to lead her gently, as he always did, toward making an accommodation to life. He saw the shape this accommodation would take, even if she didn’t. At the moment they were looking for a place where they could find a bed for the night. A man in a tattered blue coat approached Katie and asked for money. Despite all her troubles still there was room for pity in her heart. The man had a little sea-captainish look to him, albeit dashed to devastation, so she fumbled through the few coppers she had and gave him one, but the man insisted he wanted all.

  Tavish, who’d been watching this exchange, asked him, “You mean you’re trying to rob us?”

  “Yes. Your money or your life.” He held up a blade to make his intentions clear.

  This was more than Tavish could stand. “We’ve been robbed by better than you,” he answered with a note of disdain. He dealt the man a blow which toppled him and put him on the ground. Then they moved on.

  It might be noted in passing that this ineffective bandit was none other than our old friend Ramsey. Ever since he’d been battered and dismissed by Barnacle Jack he’d been trying to find some way to eke out a subsistence. He hadn’t found any who were looking to hire a sea-going man of his demeanor, so he’d taken to robbery. But he was so decrepit, most of his victims took him for a beggar just as Katie had. Then, when his larcenous aims were made clear, they’d either cudgel him mercilessly or else just laugh and pass on. Eventually he found a living on the docks where, clad in a colorful loin cloth, he’d perform for young boys by diving for the small coins and other trinkets they’d throw in the water. One day, attempting to retrieve a coin that had been thrown an unusually great distance, he was swallowed in two bites by a hitherto unseen and unsuspected sea serpent. So that’s how Ramsey came to his end, a man who never harbored malice for any, but was perhaps not so observant as he should have been.

  Returning to Katie and Tavish, they found an inn with a room and a bed. There was a stable where Tavish unloaded the saddle bags and gave Neddy over to the ostler’s care. Then he went up to his room where he found Katie seated on the bed, her eyes wearing the lost look they’d worn all day. He sat in a chair across from her and tried to get her to look at him, but the horizon she was surveying was a dim and a distant one. Her eyes seemed vacant, but her gaze was fixed. After some time he spoke to her softly. She tossed his words aside and asked, “When the little one came out, it must have been far enough along you could see it was a boy or a girl?”

  “Certain it was.”

  “I never looked, but I wanted to know . . .”

  “Shall I tell you?”

  “If you’d be so kind.”

  “’Twas a girl . . .”

  “Spared the little colleen a world of trouble . . . I would have called her Lacey. A brave name, is it not?”

  “I don’t know what made him hit you like that.”

  “It was just a random vexation, I’m sure. And that was the same man killed Tom.”

  “You don’t know for certain he’s dead.”

  “I do.” They looked at one another. “I even think I know when it happened. It was the night Tommy Dog ran away. He died that same night . . . So what are we about then?” She rose and looked out the window at the street below. “Where am I to go in this world?”

  He came and stood behind her. “We’ve about spent all we brought with us,” he said. “We haven’t sufficient to return to Port Jay, nor any idea what sort of shambles we’d find there. Tomorrow we must start looking for a situation here, in a rich man’s house or a tavern, somewhere we could fit in.”

  “There’s a place we fit in then?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Yes. We can fit in. We’ll be alright,” he said. “We’re strong enough we can work, and I’ve no doubt there’s work to be found here . . . Won’t you turn and face me?”

  She turned. He ran his hands down from her shoulders and let them rest on her hips. “Tavish,” she said, “I can’t . . .”

  “Rest easy. I’ll take care of everything. We’re better off than many.” He kissed her on the cheek. She didn’t resist, so he slid his hands around her back and held her. He kissed her again on the lips. “I love you,” he whispered. “Always, I’ve always loved you.”

  Katie, for her part, was frozen, but her body knew what to do. She felt the tiny hairs on her neck rise when he looked at her, and she felt her nipples harden as he caressed her back. Even so soon after all was lost, her flesh hungered for the sweetness of love, and she became moist at Tavish’s touch. They spoke no words, their bodies communing with one another, conspiring together to give them what they were in need of. They undressed in silence. As she lay on the bed Tavish took a moment to admire her holy nakedness. She was skinny from lack of food; her face was drawn
and haggard; there were shadows under her eyes and in her cheeks. Everywhere she showed signs of fatigue and care, of a burden borne past bearing. Her beauty, that he’d always thought so fragile, had never been so apparent, or so useless. He lay beside her on that old worn bed in that tavern in Kashahar and as gently as possible, with every softness he knew, he took her as a man takes a woman.

  When it was over Katie lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, oblivious to everything; her thoughts at that moment were a mystery to her. She asked, “What is love? Why does it have to be so big, and why does it ask for so much? Why is it the only thing there is, that makes everything else not matter? Why are we slaves to it . . .? And then when we’re out of love, why is it all we want to do is fall in love again?”

  Tavish, lying next to her, answered, “It’s like falling into a pool of water that has no bottom. You keep thinking you’ll hit the bottom and bounce back up. But you never do.”

  “Do you love me?”

  Tavish thought a good while before he answered. His first thought was why does she have to ask. His second thought was he wouldn’t dare ask her the same question. So then he knew why she’d asked. She knew the answer. Finally he said, “Love’s too small a word for it. I adore you. I cherish you. Everything else inside me’s been scraped bare to make room for you. You’re the reason I get up in the morning. I wouldn’t do anything for me if I could do for you instead. My every hope has been to be the man who’d light up your eye. Like if you walked into a crowded room and looked around and all of a sudden your eyes would shine when you saw I was there. That would be the height of everything I could wish for, just knowing I was special for you like you’re special for me. I’d want to protect you and save you from every kind of trouble you could endure. And if life rubbed you too raw, I think I’d take my own skin off and put it on you . . . I don’t know if there’s anything else I’d ever want . . .” He looked at her to see how she was taking his words, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing steadily. So he let her sleep as he made plans for the morrow. And as his thoughts drifted this way then that he slipped into a dreamless slumber.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  IN THE DEVIL’S WORKSHOP

  Apart from a few scraggly pines, the white surface of the snow stretched unbroken from horizon to horizon. The only sounds were the wind and the shirring murmur it made in the branches. There was no sign of any animal life apart from Stuart Lovejoy and his horse. There were no birds, no tracks in the snow, no noises in the night. He was completely, absolutely alone, under a gibbous moon, in an alien landscape of pristine, unbroken white. Even time seemed to have come to a halt, as the moon stood stationary in the sky above. It was impossible to say how long he’d been traveling or how much distance he’d covered. He looked back and saw the tracks left by his horse, but as he watched they vanished under freshly fallen snow. It was cold, and when his horse stopped, the cold crept under his jacket and into his bones. So he kept moving.

  Eventually he encountered something of the work of men. He came to a bridge across a deep ravine. It stood on three arches, the legs of which disappeared into darkness. Far below he heard what he thought was the chuckling of water over stones, though it could have been the gnashing of tireless teeth for all he could tell. He was unable to see anything on the other side and was uncertain whether to cross. Though of course in the end he did.

  After crossing the bridge he saw a distant light that hadn’t been visible before. Fitful at first, it soon took on a steady glow, warm and yellow like candle light, grateful in a palette of black and white. As he drew near he saw that it shone from a window at the top of a tower, as if it were a beacon, summoning him from the dark. When first he’d sighted the tower he’d thought it must be far in the distance, but as he approached he realized it was none of the biggest – scarce thirty feet high — and was actually very close. He came to its foot and dismounted, tying the reins of his weary horse to a post. He walked round the tower till he came to a door that stood open, so he entered and climbed a circular stair to the top where he found a large table and four personages seated around it. Actually, not all were seated. One of them, a young man with wings, who was facing the door at which Stuart stood, appeared to hover slightly above the table. He was looking in the Lieutenant’s general direction but couldn’t see him due to the fact that he was wearing a blindfold. He was holding a bow, and a quiver of arrows was strapped to his back. Seated to his right was the most beautiful woman in the world. Everything about her bore the marks of the most ravishing enchantment. All her grace and glory had been designed to reach the absolute peak of exquisite perfection at this exact moment and seen in this light and it was inconceivable that they would ever again be so overpoweringly magnificent, and yet every gesture, each slight turn she gave to her lips, or twist of her fingers, unfolded beauties unmatched by any that had come before, every heartbeat embodying a new loveliness. Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from her he looked at the one seated across the table from her, to the youth’s left. This one’s features bore every mark of the utmost idiocy. His oafish eyes peered in different directions and his witless mouth hung open, a line of spittle continually drooling from one side. He was dressed in motley like a fool and there were bells in his hat that jingled when he moved. The fourth figure sat across from the youth so that Stuart could see only his back. He appeared to be wearing a mask, at least Stuart could see the sides of the mask and the string that ran between them round the back of the man’s head, but the head itself wasn’t there, or rather what was there was a sort of nothingness that filled the space where the head would have been but which was constantly falling away. It’s impossible to describe what it looked like because although it continuously filled the space where the head should have been it wasn’t actually there any longer, as though it were a waterfall from which the water had been removed, leaving only the fall. The table they were sitting round bore a map of the Coast, rather like the large map in the war room in Port Jay, but this one was drawn so realistically that it actually looked like the Coast in miniature. Stuart could see water and forests and what he took to be little creatures that were scattered about in some places and in other places were piled up in countless multitudes. It was curiously detailed and remarkably life-like, so much so that it gave the impression one was actually floating in space looking down at what was happening. Although the details were inconceivably miniature, when one looked at them closely, without becoming any larger, somehow they became more distinct and clearly visible, almost as though if one looked closely enough one could see each tree or individual exactly as it appeared, although the table must have been incredibly small in comparison to the landscape it contained. The four sitting around the table were all holding various cards and there were other cards scattered in piles around the edges of the table. They were also rolling a number of dice. As they rolled them they would engage in complex contortions, such as holding them over their head or shaking their hands from side to side, and then when they rolled they would utter exclamations like ‘Heads over ends’ or ‘Quart tierce!’ and then blow on their fingers, as though needing to cool them off. The number and size of the dice changed from roll to roll, but once a roll was completed one of the players – because they were clearly playing a game – would enact some business on the board and then hand the dice to the next person. The entire table was lit by a chandelier hung from the ceiling containing many candles, casting the table and the four players in a warm light, but leaving the corners and the walls in darkness.

  Stuart watched for some time, letting the snow he’d carried in on his clothes melt in puddles at his feet. Eventually the one with his back to him turned around. He could now see the mask. It was a jovial face with dimpled cheeks and a wide smile expressive of gleeful hilarity. It was impossible to imagine the visage that was being masked because all Stuart could see through the eye holes and the mouth was the nothingness endlessly falling away. The man was dressed in black evening wear and wore a p
air of white kid gloves, but between the gloves and the shirt cuffs, where his skin should have been visible, there was once again just the falling nothingness. He nodded to Stuart as though they were friends and then rose and came to greet him. Placing a monocle in one eye, he gave a small bow and said, “Stuart Lovejoy, I presume?”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I’ve been expecting you, ever since you opened the back gate. Come in.”

  Since there was no muscle in the mask’s eye socket, the monocle fell out and dangled at the end of its string. When the man replaced it in the eye of the mask, it fell out again. This happened repeatedly throughout their conversation. He was constantly placing the monocle in one eye socket or the other and then allowing it to fall. Since, as far as Stuart could tell, the person behind the mask did not possess an eye, he wondered what the point was. However, the man seemed completely unperturbed, so Stuart decided to pay no notice.

  “I don’t recall opening a gate,” he answered, entering the room.

  “That’s what we call it, though it doesn’t look much like a gate. But allow me to introduce myself. I am Father Time.” He held his hand out for Stuart to shake.

  “This is an honor.”

  “This,” pointing to the most beautiful woman in the world, “is Venus.”