You can see me, little girl?
“I see who you really are behind the doctor. You’re the torturer, an agent of him!”
“Torturer? Lucy I’m Dr. Bhat. I’m here to help you. I want to help you.”
Ha, ha, ha! You see very well. Let us see if you can see so well without your eyes.
The doctor edged towards her slowly and steadily.
“Stay back. My eyes, you can’t have my eyes!”
“Your eyes, what about your eyes? Do they hurt? Can you see me? Lucy, focus on me. Nurse, she’s still too far gone to be examined. We’re going to have to increase the dosage.”
I shall pull out your eyes one by one and eat them. Squish them between my teeth and drink the juices—ummm yummy. But first, I think I’ll scald you with the branding iron.
He etched red wheels across her forearms. Welts crawled up her arms and dark pain ground through her.
“Nurse, the rash is back. She’s going into some sort of shock state… It’s the penicillin not the spirochaete. She’s allergic to the damn penicillin!” shouted Dr Bhat.
“Oh God, we’ve pumped her full of the stuff for weeks!” said the nurse, concern eating at her voice.
“We need some epinephrine and some doxycycline. We’ll have to reduce the penicillin for now and desensitise her later. Go, nurse, get the epinephrine.”
I’ll burn you and eat your eyes. Tell me of the quest.
“I won’t tell. Conscience? Where are you, Conscience, when I actually need you?”
“Ssshhh, Lucy it’s all right. You’re having a bad reaction to the medicine, but we’re all here to help.”
Conscience? Is that the spell in your other head? We might have to visit him someday. Now, tell me of the war plans. What are the Sancta planning? I’ll rip your heart out if you lie.
“I won’t tell. I don’t know any plans.”
She pulled at her restraints trying to flee. Get free! Make her mind go back to her other body, her real body.
Dr. Bhat was close by her bed, leaning in.
“There, there Lucy, it’s all right. We’ve got you. You’re in good hands. Nurse, where’s that epinephrine? Ah good, hand me the syringe.”
As you wish Lucy Gayle. Torture it is. I do so enjoy my job.
She could see the red-hot branding iron, the syringe. She could see it coming towards her eyes, going into her arm. She could feel the iron’s heat on her cheek as it touched her eyeball. She could hear the liquid inside start to boil, sense the pressure in her veins as the epinephrine raced through her body.
There were trees. Dappled sunlight cast poured through a verdant forest. The aroma of fresh, wild garlic and hyacinth surrounded her. Birds chirruped and chorused overhead, and the fading voice whispered…
“She’s crashing. Too much stimulation on her heart. Nurse, call the crash team. Stay with me Lucy.”
We’ll meet again, Lucy Gayle, and then you’ll beg to tell me all that you know.
There was a second onrushing voice of…
Right leg up. Left leg down. Take the weight on the knee.
Conscience?
~
Sparks flew from the brightly lit control panels on the flight bridge. They spat fire through the air like a dragon with hiccups.
Conscience and his faithful crew had tried to cope with the walking, but it was tearing the ship to pieces. Large blocks, of admittedly Styrofoam, kept falling down onto the crew as the ship rattled and lurched. Piping and electrical wire hung in loose vine coils from the ceiling, spitting yellow sparks at the unwary.
The motion of Lucy’s walking threw the whole bridge from side to side. Conscience’s revolving chair spun in sickening circles as he held on for dear life.
The captain’s log rolled across the floor. It smacked into the root of his chair and then bounced away again as the ship pitched back in the other direction. Conscience had yet to discover the purpose of having a large, dead bit of timber at his disposal but Miss Pride insisted he needed it.
Miss Pride, get me the engine room, he yelled at his first officer.
A loud whistle screeched to life from the overhead Tannoy system nearly deafening him.
“Engineering here, Miss Ingenuity speaking,” said a faintly Scottish sounding voice over the loud speaker system.
Smarty, how are those dampeners coming along? We’re having one hell of a ride up here.
“We’re having some trouble loading the program into the computer, sir,” said Smarty. “I’ve got three of my best working on it. Miss Cleverness, Miss Inventiveness and Miss Ingeniousness are all busy with it right now. It should be up in five minutes or so.”
There was a final shudder, and the ship stopped its lurching.
Smarty? he said, slowly.
“Yes, Captain?” replied the engineering officer, just as slowly.
Are you often in the habit of wildly exaggerating your estimates for the time it will take you to do things?
“Of course, Captain, it’s standard engineering procedure. How else can I keep up my reputation as a miracle worker?”
It had some merit, Conscience had to concede. All right are we all ready? Right leg down. Watch out for the dodgy ankle.
The view screen’s edge flashed red in warning. He had no idea what it meant. He was also far too busy to care.
Right leg up. Left leg down. Take the weight on the knee.
Then, Lucy spoke.
~
Lucy had come back to herself and the captain and his crew, were relieved of that particular duty.
Conscience explained to her, leaving out the most vital details, how he’d taken control of her body.
So, I’ve been following the goat and keeping up a limited conversation, mostly about birds. We’ve seen wood thrush, wood pigeons, three wood warblers and a pelican flying overhead. It’s all very silly, ornithologically speaking. We’ve been walking east for about four hours. I think he said we’d soon see this Marsh place.
Talbot was a little way ahead of her just off the path they’d been following. She could see, past him, blue sky and a drop to the landscape below. She joined him on the hill’s ridge and surveyed the surrounding countryside.
The market town of Marsh lay before them, like a dropped egg—fat, rich and splattered all over the place. Outlying farmsteads congregated to form a larger more consistent township culminating in an impressive wooden clock tower at the towns centre. Four roads met at the tower, each from a point of the compass. These formed a natural square and market junction which was filled with stalls.
Marsh was nestled in the lee of a large mountain to its south. To its north, was an arc of smaller foot hills, so it was almost completely surrounded by higher ground. A river ran from the southerly mountain bisecting the town and winding away through the foothills, like a lost snake.
The party descended the dirt track down to the valley floor.
I should probably tell you, the cat was right, thought Lucy. The hospital I go to when I’m not here. It’s part of the Dimn or something like that. I saw through it when I was there, just a few minutes ago. It was a torture chamber.
Oh dear. So, half of you is being tortured? Well, at least you know now.
But then again, maybe that’s not true. I suppose it’s possible that I am the author. I am making this up. I could be having some sort of hallucination. But, seeing through the hospital makes me more sure that isn’t the truth.
Oh good, I’m glad to know I’m not just a figment of your imagination, said Conscience, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. So, this is an hallucination, or we’re in a book, or it’s all real? I’m still voting for it’s real.
I think it’s a book. Why are you so convinced it’s real? She asked as
They continued to walk down the hillside path. The view had become obscured by a dappled tree line and overhead two large kestrels hovered.
My reality depends on it. I was created by the wizard. If he’s just a character in a story, then so am I. I don’t wa
nt to be a character. I want my decisions to be mine, not someone else’s.
You know, that’s about the most mature thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.
Really?
Yes, you want to take responsibility for your own actions and decisions. I’ve seen people, even old men and women, who don’t do that. They blame it all on fate, or luck, or god. Even so, you really want to be your own thing don’t you?
Yes, I want it. I want to be responsible for me. It’s not a nice idea to be the play thing of someone else. If that’s the truth, then I’m nothing more than a marionette—a literary allusion. I don’t want that. I want to be Conscience—nothing more, nothing less. You know, this should count for you as well?
What? Lucy asked.
Talbot had come to a gate in the road, rough wooden slats thrown across their path. The faun hefted himself over, and Lucy followed.
If this is a book, said Conscience in a perfectly reasonable tone, then you don’t get your own thoughts either. It’s just what the author is writing.
I didn’t think of that.
Well of course not. Why would an author allow you to become self-aware? That’s the point: are you thinking your own thoughts?
I think so. How can I tell?
I have no idea, said Conscience, in a worried tone.
The travellers came to a fork in the path. Talbot chose the left one, and Lucy followed.
Let’s assume that I am thinking my own thoughts. Why would an all-powerful author make me come and do this? Why does he need a real person?
I don’t know.
Ah ha! Maybe he needs me because I can think creatively. I’m real and I don’t obey his instructions, and he needs this input for something.
That doesn’t fit. You haven’t been creative so far. You haven’t been given the scope for it. The compulsion spell means you are going to do the quest whether you want to or not. It’ll keep you on the path. That doesn’t sound very creative to me.
Lucy sighed.
So, perhaps it’s real. Or maybe it’s my hallucination.
But, I wouldn’t be real, if it’s an hallucination.
Also, I can’t go around thinking I’m hallucinating, can I? There would be no consequences to anything I do.
True. That would be stupid. It’s also silly to go around thinking that everything is controlled by an omnipotent being—an all-controlling author.
The fact that I appear to have free will means I shouldn’t go around believing everything is controlled by some all-powerful being who’s watching me.
The path the companions walked was straight but beginning to narrow. The trees closed in on all sides hiding any possibility of seeing the view.
Good, so it’s real?
Until I come up with another argument. Yes. I still don’t like it, she huffed.
That’s another good reason for it being reality. Not many people like reality. That’s why they live in their past or in their future but not in their present.
All right, all right, you win. You’re making my brain boil. Come on let’s go and see this market town.
Conscience, feeling very pleased with himself, began to hum as Lucy caught up with Talbot on the path.
Chapter 14 Walrus
We have all been afflicted. Some of us with wrath, some of us with pride. I pity the poor Walrus though; his is the heaviest burden.
From “Gospel of the Cheshire Cat”
The first thing Lucy noticed, as they entered the outskirts of Marsh, was the smell. A rank odour of rotting vegetables, open sewers and unwashed population assaulted her nose.
The town didn’t so much start as accumulate. At first, she and Talbot were walking through sparsely populated farmsteads, then the farmsteads conglomerated together, and before she knew it, she was inside the town’s boundaries.
The buildings grew in stature as they got closer to the central square but the building material didn’t change. All the town houses were wooden, like the farmsteads, but they were now three and four storeys high.
Despite the place’s obvious prosperity, it was still lacking in a basic sewerage system. People seemed to just throw their waste from their windows and let it pile up and rot in the streets.
This place stinks, Lucy huffed at Conscience. All these people living so close together. They don’t bathe and they don’t throw their garbage away properly. The whole town reeks.
Yes, it does. Your olfactory system has hit the red line. But, then again, you’ve been on the road now for a week and a bit, and you haven’t washed once. I doubt you smell like a bunch of roses either.
You’re right. That is odd.
What? That you can’t smell your own sweat? It’s not that odd. No one really knows what they smell like.
No, not that. The fact that I’ve been walking for over a week, and I’m not tired. Well, I am tired but not “walking for a week” tired.
Come on, don’t let the goat get too far ahead, or we’ll get lost.
Lucy doubled her pace and caught up with Talbot as he trotted along the roadway. They were definitely in the town. Black and white timber buildings lined the street; each successive floor stuck out over the preceding one like a badly stacked column of books.
The town was alive with noise. Merchants shouted about their wares, fish mongers proclaimed the freshness of their fish, smithies hammers rang, creditors shouted about their bad luck. The whole place buzzed with excitement and noise. After being virtually on her own for so long the noise was incredible.
“Stay close,” hissed Talbot, “we need to find a friend.”
What friend, whose friend? asked Conscience.
“Talbot? Who are we looking for?”
“I told you, a friend. I’ll know him when I see him,” said Talbot, not really paying attention to Lucy as he searched the crowd of people.
“Well, what does he look like? Maybe I can help spot him,” she replied, trying to identify people in the crowd too.
“I don’t know what he looks like yet, I haven’t seen him,” said the faun.
“If you’ve never seen him, how will you know him?”
“He’ll be carrying food, lots and lots of food. Ah ha, there’s the fellow.”
Among the throngs up ahead Lucy could see a small ruddy looking boy carrying an enormous basket filled to the brim with oysters.
Talbot was next to him in a flash.
“Hello friend,” said the faun in as kindly a manner as anyone can say that phrase.
The boy turned and stared at them with the kind of look that comes just before the dampening of gussets. His face was sallow, and he had a horrible, swelling boil by his nose. He wore a plain burgundy smock and hose. His hair was cut into a short pageboy bob, which didn’t suit his jug ears at all.
“Fr…fr…friend?” he stammered.
“We need to see the Sancta,” said Talbot with a wolfish grin.
Lucy realised he was enjoying this.
It must be the first time he’s ever had power, coming from the desert and all, and he’s enjoying the feel of it, she thought.
Yeah, the goat’s gone power mad.
“Y…you need to see the Sancta?” stuttered the boy.
“That’s what I said. I think he’ll be expecting us.”
“Wh…what makes you think I know anything about the Sancta? They’ve been outlawed. I don’t know nothing about anything illegal.” The boy tried to back away, but he was caught between Talbot and Lucy.
“And all those oysters are for you? Were you going to make a ton of angels on horseback?” asked Lucy.
The boy’s face clouded in non-comprehension.
“Is she right in the head?” he asked the faun.
“Ignore her, and answer me,” insisted Talbot. “The oysters are for the Walrus? Yes?”
Sweat began to run in rivulets down the boy’s pale face.
“W…W…Walrus?”
“Yes, a walrus,” said Lucy, with a smile. “One that talks of shoes, and ships, and seali
ng wax.”
“Of cabbages and kings,” said Talbot.
The boy’s eyes dropped to the ground. Lucy could see the game was up.
“Look, I can’t,” whined the boy, “they’d kill me for taking anyone to see the Sancta.”
“He’ll want to see us,” said Lucy.
“How do I know that? You could be from the Dimn.”
Show him the key, hissed Conscience.
She reached into her pocket and her fingers closed around the lump of amethyst, which still hung on the cut thong. The coercion spell, the constant song in her chest, redoubled its voice as she brought out the key.
On with the quest—use the key—to the Falls of Wanda—defeat the Dimn—save the world.
The amethyst dangled from her fingers like a fly caught in a silken web, the light spinning, reflecting and dancing inside its crystalline structure. The little tan coloured swirls swam inside its inner depths like an oil scum on water.
The boy’s eyes swirled and danced as he gazed on it. A far away dreamy look glazed across his face. His jaw grew slack with wonder, and drool dripped from one corner of his mouth.
“I…is that? Is that it? It is; isn’t it?”
His hand raised, feather-like, to paw at the air in front of the shard. His fingers closed around its lilac glow like a kitten snatching at a dream.
“Enough of that,” said Talbot clutching at Lucy’s wrist. “Put that away. Do you want to get killed by the guards?”
She slid the key back into her pocket, and the boy’s eyes focused once again on the faun.
“Take us to him,” he insisted
The boy gave up protesting and beckoned them to follow him.
~
The stables were such a stupid place to hide the giant Walrus, demigod and one of the Sancta, that the Dimn’s men never bothered to check them.
Lucy and Talbot entered the stables with the sun making a rectangular foothold into the dingy interior. There was a crowd of people surrounding one of the stalls. Some had short swords; others simply looked like hangers on. The travellers were shoved to the front of the crowd and came face to face with the Sancta.
The Walrus was large, in fact, Lucy would have described him as vast. He must have been seventeen-feet long, at least seven-feet high at his shoulders, and he was fat—very fat. His short head just stuck out of the stall, but his body filled it, like a lump of freshly cut lard.
Ravens and Writing Desks: A Metaphysical Fantasy Page 15
