The Promptuary

by P J Whittlesea

  The journey seemed to last forever. No one spoke. They shot silent, furtive glances at each other. The stationmaster ignored them and gazed at the rock face flitting by. He played with his beard and munched on his dentures. Anaïs studied him, still trying to work out if she had been dealing with a set of brothers or one person in different guises.

  As the rock changed colour to a reddish brown he pulled the lever towards him, turned it and slotted it into the number two position. The lift slowed. Rock gave way to wooden panelling and the stationmaster repositioned the lever into one. The lift crawled the last few metres, revealing first a floor and then a room. The stationmaster slotted the lever into zero.

  Using a button on the wall he inched the lift up until the floor of the lift was perfectly level with the floor of the room. He unlatched the scissor door and slid it open, skilfully retracting his fingers at the last moment so as not to get them caught between door and frame. It slammed loudly into the housing recessed into the frame. The stationmaster stepped out into the room and moved to one side to allow the women to exit. One by one they got out. Now released from the tight confines of their iron coffin, they stretched and shook themselves.

  Anaïs looked around the bare room. Except for a solitary wooden stool there was nothing noteworthy. The stationmaster directed their attention to a door at the far end of the room. 'Your car is waiting downstairs. I do hope you had a pleasant journey.' He attempted a cordial smile but his dentures nearly fell out. He jammed them up into the roof of his mouth, did an about-turn and re-entered the lift. The women watched him descend before turning to the door.

  'After you,' said Anaïs to the librarian.

  'Oh, no,' she replied and shook her head. 'I insist.' She swept an arm towards the door. She tilted her head and gave the little witch a sarcastic smile. 'After you, Anaïs. Birthday girls first.'

  Mont Saint-Michel

  Unlike the pristine version of its counterpart, the railway station was in a state of total disrepair. Water ran in rivulets down the walls and the whole place had the salty stench of the ocean. In fact, the entire tunnel looked as if it had just drained of water. Algae grew in every crevice. Crustaceans had ensconced themselves in the brickwork and everything glistened like an underwater cavern. The only thing it lacked was fish.

  The conductor helped Anaïs down onto the platform. She was somewhat unsteady on her feet and still getting used to her eight-year-old legs. The ground seemed so far away all of a sudden. It didn't help that the platform was scattered with loose tiles, the mortar under them having crumbled to powder. A rotting, wooden sign, secured with rusted bolts, was attached to the wall in front of her. It declared their destination in faded lettering:

  Mont Saint-Michel

  Anaïs looked up at the conductor.

  'Thank you,' she said.

  She studied his face, trying to adjust to the fact she wasn't talking to his brother, the butler, anymore. She turned her attention to the station itself and looked around her. 'Where are we?'

  'We are in France, miss. Directly across the Channel from our port of embarkation.'

  Anaïs raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, ok.' She waved her arm down the platform. 'What happened here?'

  'I fear very little has happened, miss.' He studied the walls and seemed almost as perplexed as she was. 'We haven't made the trip in quite some time. However, I have to admit I am as confused as you. The station should be better maintained.'

  'How long is "quite some time"?'

  'Years, I suppose.' He pulled off his cap and scratched his forehead. 'I'm afraid I couldn't tell you for certain. We used to be very busy, but things have changed. I have no idea why.'

  'Perhaps your passengers prefer to fly nowadays,' said Anaïs.

  'No, I don't think so,' said the conductor. 'They always flew, so that can't be it. Maybe they just don't have the time. We are not the fastest mode of transport, you know. Although, having said that, my brother is quite capable of getting a fair rate of knots out of The Devil. '

  Anaïs made a mental calculation in her head. 'England can't be that far from here. It took us at least a week. We did it before in less time with a small boat.'

  'I realise that, miss, but it was for your benefit. We are quite capable of doing the trip in a few hours if necessary.'

  Anaïs was surprised. 'Oh, I just thought ….'

  He smiled at her. 'I understand perfectly. It is your first trip. Next time we will make better time if necessary.'

  'Good to know,' said Anaïs. 'I'm sorry to hear you don't get a lot of passengers. I enjoyed my trip. Perhaps there are just more flights than there were a few years ago? The skies are crammed with aircraft.'

  'I am fully aware of that,' said the conductor. 'Although, I do have to admit it has been quite some time since I've gone to the surface.'

  'Really? You never get out? You stay here in the tunnel?'

  'Of course! We are on standby for every emergency, big or small.' He puffed out his chest proudly. 'We are here to serve. Unfortunately, I think my brother has been slacking off.' A look of concern clouded his face and he inspected the floor. He flipped a loose tile over with the point of his polished boot. 'The station is in a disgraceful state.'

  'Do you mean your brother, the engineer? It's not his fault if he's stuck at the other end of the line.'

  'Oh, no, he has enough to do. This is not his job.' The conductor swept his hand around the tunnel. 'My other brother, the stationmaster, takes care of this.'

  Anaïs rolled her eyes and snorted. 'Naturally!'

  She quickly covered her mouth, realising it wasn't a laughing matter. Maybe the man was dead. If the train hadn't made the trip in many years anything could have happened. She suddenly felt sorry for the conductor.

  'One moment, miss,' said the conductor. He stepped to the middle of the platform and cupped his hands around his mouth. He called out, 'Hergé? Where are you?'

  There was a moment of silence. It was punctuated by a deafening blast. A jet of steam shot from the locomotive and filled the platform. Anaïs jumped in surprise at the sound. The engine hissed its boiler empty and once again silence prevailed. A shrill voice followed, emanating from the far end of the platform. 'Ok, ok, I'm coming. Hold your horses!' It was accompanied by the sound of a walking stick clacking on the tiles.

  Emerging out of the steam at the head of the train an incredibly wizened old man hobbled towards her. Except for his age, he was the spitting image of the other members of the train staff. He was hunched over a short, crooked walking stick. An immaculate, ivory-white beard flowed down his body. It tapered to a point and glowed starkly in the dimly lit tunnel. The tip of it almost touched the ground.

  Anaïs turned to thank the conductor but he had vanished. The old man gave her no time to consider his disappearance. He stopped next to the locomotive, the steam dissipating around his legs, and waved her over to him. 'Right this way, missy. I have no desire to escort you all the way to the lift.'

  'Lift?' The librarian climbed down from the carriage.

  Anaïs couldn't rid herself of her curiosity. 'Did you see the conductor?'

  The librarian raised an eyebrow. 'There was a conductor?'

  Anaïs was more confused than ever.

  The Lift

  They clambered into the lift. There was barely enough room for all of them and Nan brushed up against Immi. She shivered and shrank away from the shade's cold touch.

  'Give me a bit of room why don't you,' she hissed through gritted teeth.

  Anaïs looked at her ruefully. 'It would help if you didn't insist on wearing so much clothing.'

  The librarian pulled her enormous fluffy coat in tightly around her and hunched her shoulders. 'I'm cold.'

  'Still …' began Anaïs.

  'Now, ladies, let's have little calm in here,' said the stationmaster. He gave them a stern look. He flicked his beard over his shoulder like a scarf and squeezed in between them. He turned and slammed the lift's elaborately decorated wrought-iron scissor d
oor shut. They all cringed as it screeched loudly on its rusted metal runners. He turned a key in the door and latched it. He rattled the door to make sure it was secure.

  The lift was ancient, dating back to the 1890s. It had mirrored walls which were speckled, showing their age and barely offering any reflection. Plush red velvet was fixed to the ceiling with studs like a seat cushion. The stationmaster forced his way between the women with a plethora of 'sorry's'. Crammed in shoulder to shoulder, there was not enough room. They shuffled as one in an anti-clockwise direction to allow him access to the lift's control console. He made some space for himself and, standing in front of a giant brass L-shaped lever, planted his foot on a button coming out of the floor. He straightened, cracking his back. Using both hands he pulled the lever towards him and cranked it to one side. The numbers zero, one, two and three were embossed on a brass plate behind it. The stationmaster slotted the lever into three.

  A whirring came from above. The lift shuddered and began its ascent. Metal grated on metal, emitting a high-pitched screech and causing the women to clap their hands around their ears. It rocked violently to one side, throwing them off balance. They all searched in vain for something to hold. The stationmaster steadied himself against the lever.

  'Sheesh,' yelled the librarian above the din.

  Mercifully, the squealing and scraping of metal gradually ceased as the lift accelerated. It rumbled along on its runners, gently swaying from side to side. Through the door they could watch their ascent. Layers of sedimentary rock flashed by. It was as if they were travelling up from the bowels of the earth. The dank, salty smell of the railway station receded as they climbed higher.

  The journey seemed to last forever. No one spoke. They shot silent, furtive glances at each other. The stationmaster ignored them and gazed at the rock face flitting by. He played with his beard and munched on his dentures. Anaïs studied him, still trying to work out if she had been dealing with a set of brothers or one person in different guises.

  As the rock changed colour to a reddish brown he pulled the lever towards him, turned it and slotted it into the number two position. The lift slowed. Rock gave way to wooden panelling and the stationmaster repositioned the lever into one. The lift crawled the last few metres, revealing first a floor and then a room. The stationmaster slotted the lever into zero.

  Using a button on the wall he inched the lift up until the floor of the lift was perfectly level with the floor of the room. He unlatched the scissor door and slid it open, skilfully retracting his fingers at the last moment so as not to get them caught between door and frame. It slammed loudly into the housing recessed into the frame. The stationmaster stepped out into the room and moved to one side to allow the women to exit. One by one they got out. Now released from the tight confines of their iron coffin, they stretched and shook themselves.

  Anaïs looked around the bare room. Except for a solitary wooden stool there was nothing noteworthy. The stationmaster directed their attention to a door at the far end of the room. 'Your car is waiting downstairs. I do hope you had a pleasant journey.' He attempted a cordial smile but his dentures nearly fell out. He jammed them up into the roof of his mouth, did an about-turn and re-entered the lift. The women watched him descend before turning to the door.

  'After you,' said Anaïs to the librarian.

  'Oh, no,' she replied and shook her head. 'I insist.' She swept an arm towards the door. She tilted her head and gave the little witch a sarcastic smile. 'After you, Anaïs. Birthday girls first.'

  The Ballroom

  Tentatively, Anaïs cracked the door open and peeked through to an enormous hall. Tall windows lined one wall and ran floor to ceiling. Intense morning sunlight flooded through them. It threw bright rectangles upon the dark, polished wooden floor. She cast her eyes around the hall. Dusty chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was vaulted and decorated with frescos. It looked like a ballroom waiting to be filled with dancers. Although it was silent, Anaïs could almost hear the resonating sound of an orchestra playing and imagine the room filled to bursting with partygoers.

  Anaïs stepped through the doorway and walked out into the centre of the hall. Just like the room she had left, it was devoid of furniture. The walls were lined with portraits of generations of noblemen and women. Long, tattered banners hung from rails which skirted the ceiling. Although there was a layer of dust on everything, an amazing conglomeration of colour jumped out from the walls.

  Nan and Immi moved into the hall. The door clicked shut behind them. Anaïs turned to look and it took her a moment to find it. The door had virtually disappeared. Disguised as part of the wall, it was embedded in wooden panelling and skilfully hidden in full view.

  The librarian assessed the room and chewed on her lower lip. 'Impressive,' she said and put her hands on her hips.

  'Yes, it's quite something,' said Anaïs. 'Shall we keep moving?'

  The librarian nodded and led the way towards double doors at the far end of the hall. Anaïs followed her and stopped when she realised Nan hadn't moved. She pulled her sunglasses out of the beret and put them on. She looked at Nan. The caretaker stood in awe, gaping at the ceiling.

  'Nan?'

  The nanny reluctantly pulled her gaze away from the ceiling and looked at the little witch. 'Oh, sorry Anaïs. I was just having a look, reminiscing. Sometimes it's nice to stop. You know, take a moment and have a good look around at your surroundings.'

  'Yes, you're right,' said Anaïs. 'We don't do that enough.'

  'It's a beautiful room. They must have had the most fabulous parties here.'

  'Yeah. You know what? I was thinking exactly the same thing. I could almost hear them when I entered.' She moved into one of the sunlit rectangles on the floor. The warmth of the winter sun recharged her. She looked up at the portraits on the wall and grinned. 'Echoes of the past, eh Nan? Grand ball gowns and servants and all that stuff. How wonderful it must have been.'

  Nan flashed her a wicked smile. 'Yes, and how very decadent.'

  Anaïs smiled back and then frowned. 'Times have changed, though.'

  'Indeed, times have changed. But it doesn't have to be that way.' She folded her arms. 'We could throw our own party. We used to do that, just the two of us, remember?'

  Anaïs nodded.

  'It's your birthday. We should dance.'

  Anaïs shook her head. 'Oh no, don't be silly. We don't have to do that.'

  'Why not? It's not like you to refuse an offer to dance. Or do you only dance in front of the mirror in your bedroom?'

  Anaïs coloured red. 'How do you know that?'

  'I have eyes and ears.'

  Anaïs looked around the room. The librarian had stopped at the double doors and was waiting for them. She tapped her foot impatiently.

  Nan stepped into her line of sight. 'Don't worry about her. She can wait.' The shade offered her a hand. Anaïs took it and stepped in close. She stiffened and resisted the urge to shiver. She looked into the nanny's eyes.

  The caretaker held her by the shoulders and out at arm's length. 'Wow, you really have grown.'

  'Yeah, it's weird,' said Anaïs. 'And you used to be so much bigger.'

  Nan grinned at her. 'You used to be so much smaller.' She pulled Anaïs into a waltz position and dipped her head. 'Ready? One, two, three.'

  They set off together, launching themselves with one great stride. They spun around the room. Both of them broke into laugher. The witch's shoes squeaked on the floor as she twirled around. The sound of the shoes and laughter echoed loudly in the cavernous room.

  The librarian stood with one hand on a doorknob and watched them with a sour look on her face.

  Anaïs stepped out of Nan's embrace. She skipped around the circumference of the room. She moved into the centre of the hall and stopped. She attempted a pirouette and almost fell. Throwing back her head she yelled at the ceiling in delight. 'Happy birthday to me!'

  Her voice resonated back down at her from above. It bounced off the walls a
nd ran around the room just as she had done. The dusty portraits on the wall glared down sternly at her. She poked her tongue out at them.

  The librarian shook her head. 'Shhhh,' she hissed.

  Anaïs shrugged and held up her arms. 'What?'

  'Quiet,' said Immi. 'Someone might hear you.'

  'I don't care.' Anaïs waved her arm dismissively up at the portraits. 'And it's not like they're going to mind. I'm sure they're grateful for some entertainment.'

  The librarian looked up at the faces. She eyed them suspiciously, half expecting one of them to jump down off the wall. 'I didn't mean them.'

  Anaïs huffed and dropped her arms at her sides. 'Fine, we'll go.'

  She walked over to the nanny and grabbed both her hands. A chill shot up her arms but Anaïs held them firmly. She looked the shade squarely in the eye. 'Thanks, Nan, I needed that. I'm so glad you're here.'

  'Me too, Anaïs,' said Nan, her eyes glinting through her camouflage. 'I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.'

  Mainland

  The French namesake of their place of departure was a good deal larger than its British counterpart. Anaïs exited the ballroom and walked out onto a large balcony. It was bordered by a waist-high stone parapet. She peered over the edge and medieval buildings fanned out beneath her. Unlike the island in Cornwall, this one housed more than just a fortress. It was also a town. Ancient houses were stacked up on one another. They tumbled down the hill below the little witch. Crooked, narrow streets sliced their way with irregularity between the buildings.

  The town was one thing. More startling to Anaïs was the view beyond the island—if it could be called an island. It appeared to be encircled not by the sea, but by sand. It stretched as far as she could see. There were odd patches of water but, for the most part, everything was white, almost as if they were on an island in the middle of a desert.