The Collector of Remarkable Stories

by E. B. Huffer

  She looked weakened and exhausted when Spider Beast first saw her – a broken spirit – and it was no surprise really.

  She had lived in a Polish ghetto for three nightmarish years. Hungry and cold, she'd spent her days looking after the children in the hospital, stealing food for them and regaling them in stories of life in America. She, in the shadow of death a shadow herself, brought only sunshine to the children she'd nursed. Then came the day that she was ordered to hand them over to the Jewish police; to be driven away like calves to the slaughter and murdered.

  In the following twenty-four hours she had nearly driven herself insane with panic and confusion. Then she'd gathered herself together and set to work, hiding as many of the children as she could; beneath floor boards, in ceiling cavities, in secret panels, mattresses and drains ... But sadly her efforts hadn't been enough. She'd saved the lives of many, but not enough and she was forced to hand over any remaining children under the age of ten. The sadness she carried with her took Spider Beast’s breath away.

  Poor Haika hadn’t known that not a single one of the children she had nurtured on the ward had been afraid in their final moments for they'd each remembered her words: "Don’t ever be afraid now, you promise me. You are going on a wonderful journey to a place where you will never stop laughing and your bellies with never be empty. And the meaner those men are, and the braver you are, the more food you will be given and the more toys you will get. Ignore them and you will see how right I am."

  "We promise, Haika." the children had chorused, their eyes wide with wonder. For some of them the ghetto was all they had ever known.

  "Have I ever been wrong?" she demanded.

  "Never!" they replied.

  What Haika, their precious and beloved carer, was telling them was more than their tiny, starved imaginations could grasp.

  Not one of her children survived. Not the ones that were hidden. Or the ones that were snatched from their beds. Yet, not one of them was afraid as they met their maker.

  Haika, on the other hand, tortured herself until the day she died in 1976.

  Spider Beast looked at Torquere who held the shoes in front of the cage. He could barely contain the anger he felt. Her story was a bright star among the stories; priceless. And here it was, about to be crushed and destroyed by greed and envy.

  And what of all the other stories contained within the Emporium? The millions of stories, each as unique as a snow flake, that would one day resume its place in the fabric of time and space?

  "You wouldn’t do it," said Spider Beast, struggling to keep his voice from trembling. "It would be pointless."

  "You know it wouldn’t," said Torquere. "These few stories you’ve collected are a tiny drop in the ocean. There were millions of years before the Emporium ... and there will be a million years after the Emporium. It’s just a small sacrifice to make if it will bring Margie to me."

  Spider Beast knew he was beaten. He bowed his head and sank to his knees. Torquere was holding the entire Emporium hostage, millions of stories; billions in fact. It had taken Spider Beast years to accumulate them.

  Defeated, he shook his head.

  "I will bring Margie to you, but you’re making a big mistake."

  Torquere held the shoes out to his side. Bufo hobbled over and retrieved them, bowing slightly before hobbling away to the Avellotractus machine where Haika was about to be robbed of her very essence.

  "Right," said Torquere clapping his hands brightly. "Let the adventure begin."

  Battle of the Malignants

  The stench that had initially woken The Giant from his unconsciousness, billowed out of the cave and cascaded down the mountainside; a ground-hugging avalanche of noxious gas. It smelt so unutterably sickening that it made Margie retch violently. Archie, who was several yards ahead, realised that Margie was no longer following him and stopped. He whispered something to the Luggers and motioned for them to keep on going.

  By the time he reached her, she appeared to be in a trance. The smell, it would seem, had awoken a long lost memory.

  *****

  In her mind's eye Margie could see a young woman whom she recognised as herself. The young woman seemed devoid of emotion as she rummaged through three giant rubbish bins for morsels of food. Feeling that she was no longer alone, the young woman turned. Just a few yards away stood a fox. It also looked tired; its hind legs almost buckling under the weight of his fatigue. Margie blinked slowly at the fox, a gesture of friendship that the fox nervously accepted. And side by side the two of them feasted on scraps of food until the early morning mist enveloped them and they were gone.

  *****

  The memory came as a shock to Margie. Was this really her? Was it possible that she had once been so desperate? Her life so grim? For the first time she wondered why she was making the journey to the Darkest of All Places. On reflection none of the memories of her former life were happy ones. None of them fuelled her desire to complete the journey. The woman she had just seen in her mind's eye was hollow, empty.

  Sensing a change in Margie's mood, Archie gently nudged her. "You okay, bucko?"

  "I'm okay ... Yea, I'm okay."

  The two sat awkwardly for a short while.

  "So," asked Archie eventually. "What do you know of the Darkest of All Places?"

  Margie shook her head indifferently.

  "You must know something?"

  "Spider Beast said something about a star. A white star. Follow the white star and once it's disappeared ..."

  "... you've reached your destination."

  "Yes. That's exactly what he said."

  Archie tutted. "And I suppose he said it was one straight road as well did he?"

  "What of it?"

  "Well, for a start, you're not going to just skip along like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and suddenly bump into the Darkest of All Places. Why? Because it's on an island that floats above the Sea of Sorrow. I've never seen it with my own eyes or anything, but I've been told that it's a sight to behold. Spectacular. All covered in mist and ice towers and stalagmites that stretch right up as far as the eye can see."

  "Ice?" said Margie. "I never imagined it would look like that. I imagined it would be ..."

  "Dark?"

  Margie smiled. "Yea."

  "I expect it will be when you get there; I haven't heard of anyone throwing snow balls in the Darkest of All Places. Actually I've never heard of anyone who's ever been there and come back again."

  "It's the curse on my back they want ... not me."

  "Who's they?"

  Margie didn't answer.

  Archie shifted uncomfortably then held his hands up in front of his face and studied them. "I'll do what I can to help you, even with these worthless hands."

  Suddenly and inexplicably Margie could feel the blood rise up across her chest and neck and spread into her cheeks until her ears were burning.

  "Are you blushing?"

  "No!" she replied defensively, "It's the smell. It's making me feel sick."

  "You are, you're blushing."

  Again, the blood rose up across her chest and neck and spread into her cheeks.

  "So you will help us reach the Darkest of All Places then?"

  "Of course."

  "None of your funny business!"

  Archie held his hands up in mock surrender.

  "What are you hoping to achieve when you reach the Darkest of All Places anyway?"

  Margie shrugged. "I'm hoping they'll take away the pain."

  Archie gazed at Margie for a long, long time. There was a sadness in his eyes that suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

  "What then?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I'll head back to the Emporium and try and figure out who I am."

  Margie placed her chin on her knees. She was beginning to doubt if she did want to know any more. It seemed to her that the more she remembered, the sadder she felt.

  "What happens when the collector takes your story. I mean, where do you go i
f not here?" she asked.

  Archie shook his head and sucked in through his teeth like an old cowboy builder. "You really don't want to know!"

  Margie lifted her head and shot him a scolding look.

  Archie laughed. "You become part of a collective energy that makes you part of everything that has ever lived or ever will live."

  Margie raised her eyebrows.

  "I've heard it's very nice. By all accounts you feel the love of millions, nay billions, of people. Imagine that. It's supposed to be very nice."

  "Why wouldn't you feel the anger or the hate of millions too?"

  "Because it's the angry and the bitter who choose not to relinquish their story. They're all right here with us, keeping us company."

  At this Margie and Archie both laughed.

  "Does that include you then?" asked Margie.

  Archie manoeuvred himself awkwardly onto his feet then attempted to blow some dust off his trousers.

  "What I mean is, does everyone get a choice as to whether they come here or not?"

  "Of course they do, whether they know it or not."

  "Did you choose to come here?"

  "I chose not to relinquish my story, yes."

  "Why?"

  Archie spat a bullet of saliva which hit the ground with a thwuck. "Unfinished business."

  Archie wasn't born a fighter. Truth be told at the age of seven he'd harboured a secret desire to cut hair after he'd found a book called Art de la Coiffure des Dames. It was written by the greatest French hairdresser of the eighteenth century, Legros de Rumigny and although he didn't understand a word of it, he had become obsessed with powder puff coiffures. He lazily dreamed of studying at the Academie de Coiffure... until one day, whilst carelessly gazing at a great powdered wig in a shop window, he was snatched off the street and coerced into life on board ship.

  It was a square-rigger called Honesty. The most beautiful thing Archie had ever seen.

  "The most beautiful thing I ever saw. Never stopped taking my breath away, no matter how many years I worked her. Quick as a fish too."

  But, like a rotten apple, the beauty of the boat's form belied the Hellish nightmare that was being suffered by five hundred or more slaves below deck. Shackled ankle to ankle and branded like cattle; men, women and children were wedged together, barely able to move in coffin-like cells, enduring the cruellest of tortures in temperatures exceeding ninety degrees.

  The shrieks and groans burnt into the minds of all who sailed with any sort of heart. Archie, being the soft hearted fellow he was, did all he could to relieve their distress without bringing too much attention to himself, for the captain of this ship had as little pity for his crew as he did for the slaves.

  It was during one of his secret mercy missions with food and water that he found his soul mate.

  Archie paused for a moment, clearly remembering the moment. Then a shadow fell across his face.

  "She was one of the slaves. Number eighty-six. Nyabinghi. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. Her eyes, nose and lips were strong and powerful yet so gentle. She was chained up with hundreds of other slaves, chained so tightly to a plank bed that she couldn't even turn onto her side. Whenever I saw her, my heart fell into my feet. I could barely function. She was all I could think about. I felt like I knew her. That she knew me."

  Archie shook his head at the memory.

  "If you think it stinks around here, you have no idea. The sweat, shit, piss, vomit. The smell of death and decay. Hundreds of them all squashed into the smallest space, nothing but death and disease for company. You know, they used to throw them overboard. The sick and the dying. Didn't even wait for them to die sometimes. "

  "Still alive?" gasped Margie.

  "Still alive! The captain would get no insurance for a slave that died of disease but he would get money from throwing them over board because killing a poorly slave deliberately for the 'safety' of others was legal. They killed people to reduce their losses, do you see?"

  "That's awful!"

  "Yes. Then one day they brought out Nyabinghi. She was sick. Dying. She was chained to a few others. I don't know, maybe twelve. She didn't look at me. I begged to have her. Told them that I wanted to violate her; that after I'd used her I would throw her to the sharks. But I didn't. I hid her. For a week or more I gave her food and sang to her. I tried so hard to get her to smile. And that's when the most amazing thing happened. We were captured by pirates."

  "Pirates?"

  "Real ones. It was the best thing that could have happened. They were my salvation. I joined their crew and they let me keep her. It was against pirate rules, but I signed away my right to any profit in return. I didn't need any gold or silver. Nyabinghi was accepted by everyone and in time we had a son, John. The first time she held him in her arms was the first time I ever saw her smile. It was a wide smile bursting with beautiful African teeth. I don't think I could have been happier myself. And then in the blink of an eye it was all gone again. The ship was recaptured by a rogue named Mathew Carter. The pirate slaves were sold back into slavery. And my beautiful, gentle, sweet Nyabinghi was tied to an anchor along with our baby son and thrown overboard; so disgusted was Carter by our love."

  Archie remained silent, staring into the distance, his teeth clenched. A tear rolled down his cheek as he recalled the agonised look of terror on Nyabinghi's face as she looked into Archie's eyes for the last time.

  "If Carter is here, I will find him."

  "That's really sad."

  "Yes, it is."

  For the briefest moment Margie wanted to throw her arms around Archie and hold him.

  "Why did you choose to find Carter ... and not your wife and son?"

  Archie didn't get the chance to answer. He was interrupted by Rohland, a tall broad tattooed man with a pony tail and beard who hurried towards them urgently. He appeared breathless and anxious but relaxed momentarily when he observed the scene.

  "Hey dude, you feelin' sorry for yourself again?"

  Archie stood up quickly and straightened his shoulders. "What do you want?"

  Rohland lowered his voice. "There's word of an attack tonight."

  Archie shook his head and frowned, almost unable to believe what he was being told. "But we're not prepared."

  "We have no choice in the matter; the Malignants have a large army located west of the portal." He looked over Archie's shoulder. "Where's The Giant you spoke of?"

  Archie seemed agitated. "He's not ready. He's still with Phagge."

  Margie stepped forward. "What do you mean? Ready for what?"

  "It doesn't matter," insisted Archie.

  "It does matter. What is it that he should be ready for?"

  "We don't have time to wait. We have a couple of hours at the most to prepare," said Rohland. "What are we going to do with the girl?"

  "Bring her with us."

  Rohland frowned. "She'll be a distraction."

  Margie grabbed Archie's arm angrily and pulled him towards her. "You wanted him to fight in your battle didn't you? That's the only reason you helped him."

  "It was only part of the reason," said Archie. "And now is not the time for you to be fighting me." Archie let out a long shrill whistle followed by three short ones.

  Margie let go of Archie's arm.

  "Wait here," he said. There was a tension in his voice. "Do not move until I get back."

  "How long will you be?"

  "Not long. Someone will be here soon. They will escort you back to the camp."

  " I can fight!"

  "Righto," said Archie scornfully before turning and walking away."I'll bear that in mind."

  Archie hadn't gone more than a few metres when a stone hit him square on the back of the head. He spun around, his useless hands unsuccessfully trying to feel the damage to the back of his head. "What the ..."

  Margie stood, feet wide apart, hands on hips, brow set in a determined frown.

  "I can."

  "That bloody hur
t, you little wench!"

  "I could bash every one of you and your army. I'm not afraid of anything."

  Rohland raised an eyebrow, his right hand fingering the handle of a dagger tucked into his belt.

  "I believe you," said Archie clearly irritated. " In fact I think with your stone throwing skills we'll be in very safe hands tonight."

  "You will," said Margie defiantly.

  "I suspect," said Rohland winking at Archie, "that the Malignants will be quite intimidated by your superior strength, courage and daring."

  "The Giant taught me to look after myself. He's a butcher. He taught me how to use a knife." Marge flicked a look at Rohland.

  "And what else did he teach you?"

  "He taught me how to carve up a pig in less than three minutes."

  Archie and Rohland erupted with laughter.

  Before Margie could retaliate, a younger man came running from the same direction as Rohland and whispered something in Archie's ear. Archie nodded, his expression suddenly grim. "Thank you Viljar," he said to the young man, "your job is to look after Margie tonight. Do not leave her side and make sure she stays out of trouble."

  Viljar was quite small, with fair hair and a wide, friendly smile. "Where's The Giant?" he asked.

  Archie threw Viljar a look which slapped him into an abrupt silence.

  "Whoops, there go the size nines again," he laughed.

  Archie rejoined Rohland and together they marched purposefully ahead. Viljar motioned for Margie to join him and together they too set off at a pace.

  "So, you and the tall guy are friends?"

  "Yes."

  "How long have you known him?"

  Margie shrugged apathetically.

  "Why are you so angry?"

  "Archie lied to me. He told me he was bringing The Giant to Mons Morsus to be healed. He forgot to mention the bit about fighting in a war."

  "That might have been his intention when he found you, but you're lucky he did. He doesn't usually travel that far. It's thanks to his bird that your friend was found. He wouldn't have survived otherwise. And neither would you."

  "Survived for what? So he can be slaughtered in some war he knows nothing about?"

  "You are jumping to conclusions. You and your friend aren't forced to do anything. You are free to go whenever you want. You can go now if you like, but I can't protect you. If you want to wait with me until your friend returns then you must do as you're told. It's unfortunate for you that the battle has come early and unfortunate for us that your friend isn't able to return the favour and carry our injured to safety."