The Promptuary

by P J Whittlesea

  The librarian didn't look at her brother but cocked her head towards her mother. 'Maybe it would be better if she explained it.'

  'Somebody better start explaining something,' said Anaïs, fuming.

  The high-pitched peals of Marilyn's laughter cut through her skull. Anaïs slapped her hands around her head. 'Aah!' she cried.

  'This just gets more entertaining all the time!' Marilyn chirped. 'I like you people. You're a riot. I think I'll stick around.'

  Anaïs spun around, glared at the shade and snarled, 'Get out of my head!'

  Marilyn sank deep into the couch and raised her hands in defence. 'Sorry I opened my mouth.'

  The air hostess waved her arms and beckoned for calm, 'Why don't we all settle down?'

  Anaïs was confused. 'If you are not Caput Mortuum, then who are you?'

  'I am Sojourner Pink,' said the air hostess. 'I thought you knew about me.' She turned to the librarian. 'Didn't you explain it to her?'

  Immi hunched her shoulders. 'A little,' she said.

  Sojourner Pink scrunched up her face in annoyance. Her make-up cracked. She shot a dark look at her daughter. She inhaled deeply through her nose and looked down at the little witch. 'Anaïs, I was given the task to find out what happened to you in Amsterdam. Do you remember now?'

  Anaïs scratched her head and grunted, 'Vaguely.'

  She thought for a moment. Then the conversation she had with the librarian in the Morris Minor came back to her. With all that had happened in between it was not surprising she had forgotten. But how could she forget about the witch with the really cool name? And Sojourner Pink had stood by her. She was the only one who had tried to defend her in the presence of Caput Mortuum.

  Anaïs nodded. 'I remember now. You took me by surprise and, well, I didn't recognise you.'

  'I understand,' said Sojourner, looking down at her uniform. 'I had to borrow another body.'

  'Another body?'

  'You do know that we can do this,' said Sojourner. 'Take possession of a natural.'

  'Yes, I know. I wish I could do that,' said Anaïs, running her eyes over Sojourner.

  'You will learn in time, Anaïs.'

  The little witch nodded slowly.

  'So we are clear? You know who I am?'

  'I don't know everything, but yes, now I know who you are.' She tilted her head towards the librarian. 'She did tell me.'

  'Good,' said Sojourner. She eyed her daughter and glanced around the room. Spying Marilyn on the couch she gave the shade a stern look. 'I see you are still up to your antics.'

  The shade shrugged.

  Anaïs gawped at the witch and then at Marilyn.

  The shade batted her eyelids. 'I told you, you were not the first one I'd met.'

  Anaïs overcame her initial surprise. Marilyn had indeed said she had met other witches.

  Sojourner turned her attention to Nan. 'And who is this, then? The one you claimed was my daughter.'

  Anaïs looked uncomfortably at her caretaker and then at the witch. She cleared her throat.

  'This is Nan,' she said softly.

  It was now Sojourner’s turn to be taken aback. The pencilled eyebrows jumped on her forehead. She stared at the shade in astonishment.

  Anaïs gave her caretaker a nudge. 'Tell her, Nan,' she said.

  An Escape Plan

  'I'm so glad you have been found, Nan,' said Sojourner. 'What a relief. We were very upset when we heard what had happened.'

  'I can imagine,' said the caretaker flatly.

  Sojourner lacked the second-sight of Anaïs's sunglasses but it was clear from Nan's tone that she was not at all happy to see another witch. Even if they were there to help.

  'I am truly sorry, Nan. This should never have happened,' said Sojourner gently. 'We will work it out. I honestly have no idea what we will do, but we will find a solution. Your mother was very upset.'

  She looked Nan in the eye, but they were dead even to her.

  'I'll survive,' murmured the shade. 'And please, don't mention my mother!'

  Nan practically spat the last sentence. Sojourner fiddled nervously with the lapels of her uniform. 'The main thing is you are still here. You are one of us, Nan. Your survival is of utmost importance. It is, and always will be, our job to protect. Above all, we never sacrifice our own.'

  'A lot of good that does me now.'

  Anaïs moved between her caretaker and Sojourner. She fixed the witch with a steely glare.

  'Nan will be fine,' said Anaïs defiantly. 'She is with me.'

  The older witch frowned at Anaïs. Then her face mellowed. She looked down at her with a mixture of sadness and concern. 'I know you want to help, Anaïs. But I don't think you have the expertise to solve this problem.'

  'We will see about that,' said Anaïs with determination.

  Sojourner gave her a stern look. 'I can understand that you're upset, Anaïs, but you must trust us. We are here to help.'

  The little witch was unconvinced. 'You or someone else from the Organisation should have come to see me earlier. Maybe then this wouldn't have happened.'

  'Perhaps,' said Sojourner. They all fell silent. Sojourner glanced furtively from the little witch to the shade.

  'We will deal with Nan later,' she said. 'Right now, we have a more immediate problem to solve. You are in danger here, Anaïs.' She glanced around the room. 'You are all in danger. I understand there is the situation with your promptuary, Anaïs. Without it you will not have the necessary protection.'

  'How do you know about my promptuary?'

  'We have ears,' said Sojourner.

  'I'm afraid to ask whose ears those would be,' said Anaïs. She glanced at the librarian.

  The older witch chose not to respond to her comment. She smoothed down the front of her uniform. She tilted her head towards the Apothecary. 'Hamish here will make the arrangements.'

  Anaïs grinned at the Apothecary. 'Hamish?'

  The Apothecary grimaced and turned bright red. He scratched the stubble on his chin. 'I prefer Hank if you don't mind.'

  'I'm not surprised,' said Anaïs and chortled. 'Hamish!'

  Sojourner frowned. 'Enough of this! We don't have a lot of time. Whoever is chasing you will not be held back for long by a child's trick.'

  Anaïs stopped smiling and cleared her throat. 'What do you propose?'

  'You will need to get to Italy,' said Sojourner. 'That's where your handbook can be repaired.'

  'Ok, but how are we supposed to get there?'

  'You will do as everyone else does,' said Sojourner. 'Use modern magic and fly.'

  The Airport

  Anaïs took one last look at the Morris Minor. She was sorry to leave it behind. It had become an integral part of their little company. Most of all she would miss the music. It was the Morris Minor's secret weapon. The car instinctively knew how to shut everyone up, particularly the librarian. Although imbued with special talents, Anaïs knew it was just a piece of machinery. It did have a personality, but it wasn't a person. Yet, of all her travelling companions, the car was the one she could best relate to. Just like her, it was small, tenacious and independent. It could also get its way if it wanted.

  The car regarded her with its headlights. It wasn't really looking at her, or was it? The bug-shaped headlamps were a little too intense for her liking. Anaïs averted her eyes from them. She moved closer to the car and stood beside the front wheel well. She ran her hand slowly over the curve of fender, practically stroking it. The heat of the engine filtering through the metal was warm like a body. Reluctantly she retracted her hand and turned away from the car. She went to walk across to the entrance to the airport terminal when a movement caught her eye. She sucked in her breath and held it.

  There he was again, standing defiantly on the curb on the other side of the road—the shade with the thick-lensed spectacles. The same one who had stopped her on the streets of Amsterdam. What was it with this guy? And how had he got here? He was certainly persistent. She had to give him t
hat much. As far as she was concerned, he could try all he wanted but what she did was her business. Right now she had her hands full anyway. He would have to get in line.

  He didn't move. Good, let him stand there for all eternity. Ok, maybe that's a bit unfair. She was supposed to help them. Only this one was far too pushy. What was it he wanted again? There was something about a girl. He had drawn her name in chalk on the footpath. Yes, that was it. She looked at the ground and tried to visualise the letters he had written. Julia, that was her name. Julia. Well, right now he could take his Julia and shove it. She had more important things to do.

  She stopped staring at the pavement. She raised her head and looked across the road. He was gone. Strange. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine. Even with her knowledge of the world this was eerie. Shades just don't disappear of their own accord. Forget it. Get a move on. If he really wants help, he'll be back. She looked around. There was nobody, just her and the Morris Minor. Where was everybody anyway? It was an airport. Shouldn't it be busy? She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose. Pull yourself together. She turned to face the entrance to the terminal. She clenched her fists and marched across to it.

  The moment she moved through the revolving doors she felt it, a chill in the air. Outside it was unseasonably warm, the mercury creeping above twenty degrees centigrade. Inside was a different matter. The drop in temperature came not just from the air conditioning which blasted down at her from an outlet above the door. There was something else. Her core body warmth dissolved. The cold cut her to the bone.

  Anaïs walked further into the terminal and looked around. It was busy. She spied the librarian nervously standing in a corner, trying to remain inconspicuous in the company of the two shades. Immi had no cause to worry. The shades were not alone. Anaïs pulled off her beret and stuck her hand into it. Feeling around she found what she was looking for. She donned her sunglasses and scanned the expansive entry hall. There were shades everywhere.

  A woman with a child in her arms hovered lethargically by a set of turnstiles. There were others. Tourists dressed for the beach, some in board shorts and bikinis, looked out of place dressed in their summer garb in such chilly conditions. An elderly man in a hospital gown trailed a multitude of plastic tubes, as if he had recently got up and walked away from his bed, presumably deserting his life support system. There were many more. They stood hovering on their shadowless spots. Living, breathing commuters wended their way between them. The naturals oblivious to what they were in the midst of.

  Anaïs slid the sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. She peered over them. With their camouflages holding firm, the shades blended easily into the crowd. Apart from the fact they were static, there was nothing visually unusual about them. The naturals in the terminal were too intent on getting to their destinations to pay any attention to them. For the shades it was different. They had no destination. They had no choice. They were going nowhere.

  Anaïs pushed the sunglasses back up her nose. How am I supposed to get through this? She scanned the hall for any telltale signs that she had been noticed. She reassured herself. You'll be fine. Just act normal, whatever that means. She assumed the air of a harried traveller and stomped defiantly across the hall to her companions.

  As she sidled up to them, the librarian smirked at her gait. 'What's wrong with you?'

  She hissed loudly through her teeth at the librarian. 'Let's get out of here before I'm spotted.'

  'Why? Are we in danger?' Immi's eyes flitted around the entry hall.

  Anaïs lowered her voice, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. 'You aren't, but I could find myself dealing with some unwanted attention.' She pointed at her sunglasses. 'We have company.'

  The librarian glanced furtively around the hall again. 'Really? Where?'

  'Everywhere,' said Anaïs. 'And I mean literally, everywhere. More than half of the people you see here are not alive.'

  'Oh?' The librarian swallowed hard.

  'Let's just go.'

  Immi nodded.

  Anaïs turned to her own shades. 'Are you two coming?'

  'Yes!' Marilyn and Nan chimed in unison.

  'Good, then let's try and get to the plane.'

  'How are we going to do that?' asked Nan.

  'Sojourner said she would solve it. We just have to find her. If not, we're stranded.' She scanned the terminal in search of the other witch. 'Although, I suppose if all else fails we could get back in the car.'

  'No, anything but that,' said the librarian in mild panic. 'I've had my fill of magic cars. No offence, but if I have to drive, I much prefer to be in control of where I'm going. Let's just get moving.'

  Immi ushered Nan and Marilyn together and pushed them in front of her. She then slapped her hands together, rubbed them vigorously and cupped her palms. She blew warm air into them. 'You guys are freezing!'

  The shades looked at each other and shrugged. Immi pulled her arms up into her sleeves and gave them another shove. 'Come on, you two, this way.'

  Moving Shades

  You may recall that previously I tried to explain to you the complications associated with getting around as a shade. One of the things I mentioned was the difficulties presented by various forms of transport. I specifically discussed the inability to control or pilot a vehicle of any description. I also related the situation of trying to get someone else to be the pilot. In the end the only real solution is to get yourself a witch.

  At one stage I delved into the problem of air travel. Flying continent to continent is nigh on impossible for a shade. You need a passport and they require things such as photographs and fingerprints. The photograph is an impossibility, if you cannot be seen. Or if you are barely there. Film will only record something which is truly physical.

  Photography itself is a kind of magic. Especially if you have never encountered it before. Technology in the past two centuries has moved forward at such a fast pace. In the beginning the natural world had trouble keeping up. So many wonders occurred. Naturals could not judge what was real and what was not. They were flooded with all kinds of new and fantastic developments. One of those things was the advancement of transportation. Another was photography.

  During the early days of photography there were those who attempted to use this new technology to prove the existence of the spirit world. The camera was the chosen form of proof for many unexplained occurrences. For some reason we are more willing to believe the lens than what we see with our naked eye.

  One instance of an attempt to capture the unknown was the Cottingley Fairies. Two girls in the early twentieth century took photographs of themselves with what they purported to be little winged people. They managed to convince themselves and everyone else for sixty years that what they had recorded was real. In the end they owned up to fabricating the photographs. However, by that stage, because they had sworn blind to this fallacy for so long they were less than convinced of what the truth actually was. They believed their own lie.

  Film also has a mind of its own, and what we try to harness could in fact be harnessing us. What we see with our eyes can fool us most of the time. Particularly if it is something we truly want to believe. Sometimes we should pay more attention to our instincts and ignore our fantastical desires.

  Ancient cultures have always had trouble accepting an image created by a camera. There is the impression that something put onto film is removing a part of the soul. They may not be that far wrong. If you take a look at Hollywood cinema actors, it's very clear something drains from them over time. The longer they are in front of the camera, the less three-dimensional they become. Quite often, towards the end of their careers, there's very little left except a shell of their former selves. They almost become shades.

  The development of photography, and in particular film, would not have advanced so precipitously if it hadn't been for witches. Witches had this form of magic harnessed centuries ago. The promptuary would only serve a small part of its purpose if it was reduced to
merely providing static images. Once again, someone did not keep this information to themselves. The result has been quite astounding. A whole industry has now gestated and grown out of this magical process. The moving picture has become the number one manner of communication in modern society. So much so, it is slipping to the point where physical face-to-face interaction is on the decline. But I digress. We were discussing the intricacies of powered flight.

  Owing to the limitations of non-existent photographic images intercontinental flight is impossible for shades. This does not mean they cannot use this form of transport at all. The European mainland has open borders. This provides a golden opportunity for shade conveyance. It means that if a shade can book a seat and get through metal detectors, then they can fly. Lacking ready access to a ticket booking system is a problem. However, metal detectors are not a major obstacle. They are not designed to detect the supernatural and therefore reasonably easy to fool if you do not physically exist. Most shades are unaware of this.

  Of course, some kind of identification is still required at the start of your journey. Any apothecary worth their salt is skilled at manipulating images. Forging documents for witches is one prerequisite for the job.

  If all of these complications can be overcome, then the only barrier is perhaps strip-searching. Thankfully, that doesn't go on as often anymore. Touching another person is considered an invasion of privacy and could land you in court. Security personnel may have a job to do but usually are not paid enough to take the risk.

  Freedom of movement for a shade is not impossible, but they still need help and a successful diversion. A shade in the know can go places, particularly one with a witch in tow.

  Border Control

  The security guards were all due for a coffee break. Some of them were on the frayed edge of nicotine deprivation, treading a fine line between curbing their irritation and fighting to maintain concentration. Putting on a smiling face for hours on end leads to muscle fatigue. Their faces ached. Every new passenger had become a number which had to be shuffled through the security process as quickly as possible.