“Who’s that? Who’s that there?” The Walrus’ voice was high and shrill. He spoke out of both sides of his mouth at once but not from the front of it at all.
It was a jolly voice, one that had obviously been in command before but was now a little muddled.
“Come on old sops, speak up can’t you. Is that the lad with m’ oysters?”
“No, Lord Walrus,” said one of the onlookers, who, at a push, might have been a vizier. He wore a pointed hat, carried a long, knobbly staff and wore a plush gown of orange and cream.
“Actually, I am here with the oysters,” said the boy who had led the pair to the stables.
“What’s that, old fruit?” asked the Sancta, in total bemusement. “Is the lad here or isn’t he?”
“Apparently, he is,” conceded the vizier.
“Oh good, I’m hungry. You know your problem, Stanley? It’s that you don’t pay attention.”
“Yes, my Lord? But, I was trying to tell you…”
“Did I or did I not,” interrupted the Walrus, “ask about the oysters?”
“You did,” said the vizier, with the air of one who has to deal with a master who missed the point on a day-to-day basis.
“And were they here?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Well then, stands to reason.”
“What does, my Lord?”
“I’ve no idea, I got lost half way through that. The old train of thought got derailed or possibly side shunted. Many leafs on the line these days. Yes, yes. Errrm, what were we talking about?”
“You have visitors, my Lord.”
“Visitors?” asked the Walrus, raising his head. “What visitors?”
“A young girl and a scruffy faun,” said the vizier, in a tone which implied they were something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe after a hard walk through a rose garden.
Talbot looked a little hurt at the remark.
Oh, I like that. Yeah, scruffy old goat, chortled Conscience.
“A young girl and a faun? Hmm. Very curious. Very, very curious indeed. Well, come closer then, both of you. Although, why I ask I don’t know. Can’t see a blasted thing.”
“Please approach his Lordship.”
“What? I haven’t got a ship,” said Walrus, puzzled.
“My Lord?” asked the vizier.
“You said, approach his Lord’s ship. I haven’t got one. I don’t need one. I’m a sea mammal. And even if I have a ship, I’m not going all the way there just to see them. No! Let them come here to me. I am a Sancta after all.”
“But…but my Lord,” tried the vizier, but the Walrus was having none of it.
“Oh, do be quiet Stanley. Honestly, I can’t get a blasted thing done around here. Stanley?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“What are you still doing here? I told you to get those visitors.”
The vizier motioned for the pair to approach, with a look that told them that if he could he would have killed both for seeing him embarrassed.
It seemed to Lucy as she and Talbot got closer that most of the Walrus’ conversation happen with himself. It was all side-remarks and getting lost with his own thoughts. It made her giggle.
He’s playing a game, she thought at Conscience.
A game?
Yes, he’s winding the vizier up by pretending to be senile.
I’m not sure he’s winding anyone up.
Of course, he is. He can’t really be senile. He is a deity after all. What kind of god goes senile?
What kind of god gets so fat he can hardly move? What kind of god gets deposed by the Dimn?
“Lord,” said Talbot getting to one knee.
Lucy copied the faun as the Sancta stared myopically at them through eyes the colour of glaciers.
“Where? Oh me? Ah yes, what was it?” the Walrus laughed at himself.
“This is Lucy Gayle,” said Talbot.
“Who is?”
“I is,” she volunteered.
“Ah, you is. Excellent, well that’s as clear as mud. Now that’s all sorted. What’s going on? Where are my oysters?”
“Just over here,” chirped the boy.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Well, bring them over here, old fruit. Can’t eat them all the way over there, can I?”
“My Lord,” said Talbot a bit more sternly than before. “This is Lucy Gayle. She bears the amethyst key.”
“Does she?”
“She does,” confirmed Lucy, who couldn’t resist playing along with the mad linguistic game.
“Oh well then, I assume Cheshire sent you to me.”
“He did.”
“Who did?”
“The Cheshire Cat.”
“Did what?”
“Sent us to you.”
“Ah right, well then, that’s all settled. There’s just one more question. What are you doing here, and who sent you?”
Talbot’s eyes closed, and he spoke as if it were the hardest thing not to lose his temper. His teeth grated on every word like he was chewing chalk.
“The Cheshire Cat sent us to you.”
“Ah! Oh, well why didn’t you say so? Come along old camel toes, keep up will you?”
“My Lord,” said the boy with the sallow face as he managed to elbow his way to the crowd’s front.
“What is it? Ah, my oysters! I knew the little devils were around here somewhere. Put them in the trough.”
The boy tipped his basket full of bivalves into the trough attached to the head of the stall. A fresh aroma of the sea came wafting up from them.
The Walrus, quite forgetting that Lucy and Talbot were there, stuck his massive, flabby head into the shells and began to munch. A thick, jowly, squelching sound came as he chewed through the oysters, shells and all. Half masticated oyster flesh and juice flew in a fountain of sea water from the corners of his mouth as he ate.
Lucy was a little disgusted at the sight of the glutton gorging himself so openly. She looked over at Talbot. He gave her a puzzled look and a shrug, indicating that he’d didn’t understand either.
“Walrus?” she asked, in a voice that was thin and almost unobtrusive. She didn’t know whether it was polite to interrupt a deity during his meal. But, flip-it all, she was apparently important to this world. She was the key’s keeper, wasn’t she? The prophesied one? Well, she should be treated with some respect—even by deities. She shouldn’t be forgotten at the mere sight of some dead molluscs.
She tried again and her voice grew in stature, like a lion rearing on its hind paws. “Walrus!”
“Hmmm? Who?” The Sancta’s head raised from his trough.
His whiskers dripped with a mess of shells, oyster flesh and general slop. His tiny eyes squinted at them. “What? Oh yes, me. Ummm, well?”
“We were sent to you for aid.”
“Aid? I’m eating. Go away and come back tomorrow.”
“We were sent by the Cheshire Cat,” she continued.
“Cheshire?” The glutton’s face beamed with happiness. “How is the old fur ball? Well, well, you know Cheshire, eh?”
It struck Lucy like a snowball in the face: The Walrus wasn’t playing any kind of game, linguistic or otherwise. He wasn’t acting bemused in a good-natured, kindly, grandfather way. He really was senile.
“Walrus, concentrate please. I am Lucy Gayle. I am the bearer of the amethyst key. I have been sent to you by the Cheshire Cat, for aid. Will you help me?”
The Sancta considered this for a moment.
“Not right now,” he said. “Go away and come back tomorrow. I am eating.”
“But we can’t come back tomorrow. We have to be on with the quest. There can’t be any delay.”
On with the quest—up the river—to the Falls of Wanda—heal the world—return the magic, chanted the spell in her chest.
And besides, Lucy thought to herself. I have to go home, and the only way home is to finish the quest. I’ve had to be pushed to start this blasted thing, but now I’m stuck in
the middle of it there’s only one way out, and that’s to complete it.
“No, no, old bean,” said the Sancta, “can’t see you today. No, no. Go away and come back again tomorrow.”
“But…” she protested again.
“You heard his Lordship. You shall be seen tomorrow. Good day, Lady Lucy. Good day, faun,” said the vizier as he herded them towards the stable door.
The anger rose in her like lava in a volcano. It was too much to bear. She was supposed to be special here. The blasted Sancta had wanted her, hadn’t they? She was the prophesied one, wasn’t she? It was them, and that wizard, that had dragged her into this mess. They had put the coercion spell on her, so she had to go along with it. And now she had to wait for this fat pig to finish his basket of oysters?
The rage built steadily up inside her, a torrent held back just behind the dam of her good manners and upbringing. She was angry now, and she had to do something fast or she and Talbot would be thrown out, and then they’d have to wait. Wait one whole day, a day that might allow the Ega to catch up with them.
She twisted under the vizier’s outstretched arms and ran back to the Walrus. The greedy guts had his head buried deep in his trough again. The sounds of his eating deafened him to her approach.
He was still ignoring her. Well, she’d put that to rights straight away. No one ignored Lucy Alice Zara Gayle, no one.
She kicked the trough. She didn’t kick it over. It was too heavy for that, but she gave it a resounding clout with her right foot. A splosh of greenish oyster liquid splashed up onto the nape of the Walrus’ neck. He raised his head quizzically, and Lucy slapped him hard across the snout. The sound reverberated around the stables, coming back off the walls with an audible bounce. It sounded like a sack of cement being hit with a wet fish.
There was a gasp from the assembly. She had just struck a deity.
“How dare you!” she yelled. “How dare you! It was you and your kind that kidnapped me from my home. You who gave me this responsibility, who said “go here” and “do that.” You even twisted my arm to make me do it. I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to be a part of your story or whatever the flip is going on here. You made me do it. And now you say, wait one day. Wait for me to finish my food before you’ll see me? You’re nothing but a pig! A greedy pig, that’s all. If you won’t help me…then…then, I guess I’ll have to find someone who will. Come on Talbot, we’re leaving now.”
She turned on her heel, saw the gaping mouths of the crowd. Then she walked away with what she hoped was her haughtiest strut. She was almost level with Talbot when she heard the sound of laughter. It boomed like a ball bouncing down wooden stairs. She turned back to face the Sancta as he chortled at her.
“Oh my, oh my, you do have some iron in you after all.”
“What?” she raised one quizzical eyebrow at him.
“You have iron in your belly, and you are going to need that. Yes, you are, old sausage, going to need that quite a bit. Slap a Sancta, eh?” The Walrus shook his head in wonder.
She took two trembling steps towards him. She’d been had, she knew it. The old glutton had got right under her skin to test her, to see what she was made of, and she’d fallen for it. He wasn’t senile at all.
“Did you just test me, to find out what I was made of?”
“Sort of, odd socks, sort of,” he laughed.
“So, you’re not really senile then? You just did that to annoy me and wind me up?”
“Oh no. I am senile, I’m afraid. Quite, quite mad.”
Lucy was terribly disappointed. “But I don’t want to go among mad people.” The quote was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“No point whining about that, pumpkin. We’re all raving looney around here. Now, come closer, Lucy. I have a little gift for you.”
“Can you transport us to the Falls of Wanda? Something like that? I complete your quest thingy and go home?”
Get home, she thought, maybe to Ravi. To Ravi, if he’s real—if he’s really there waiting for me. She hadn’t given up on that idea.
Umm, who’s Ravi?
Blast, she’d let Conscience hear her thoughts about Ravi, and after she’d been careful to hide it from him.
I’ll explain later, she thought.
“Transport you to the Falls? Oh dear me no.” The Walrus laughed again. “There’s not enough magic in the world to do something that complicated. That would break the prophecy, that would. We’d have bits of prophecy everywhere. All over the whole of time and space mucking things up. It’d be chaos. Well, it’s pretty close to chaos anyway, but never mind that. I can’t transport you, but I can help your backbone a bit.”
“Backbone?” she asked, in confusion.
“Yes, old slop bucket, you know. That bit of iron I just uncovered for you. I’ll make it better, sharper. You’ll need that where you’re going, my word you will.”
“How are you going…to…do…”
The Walrus smiled at her, and his myopic eyes twinkled like tiny diamonds in a coal seam.
“No! Don’t you dare! It’s crowded enough in there already.”
Even so, it was too late.
“Leo ferrum!” exclaimed the Sancta.
There was a brief pause, and then nothing happened.
“I don’t feel anything,” said Lucy.
“Of course not, old fruit cake. You’ll feel it when you need it, like a good sword. You can’t be angry all the time. But, when you need to be, you’ll be powerful. Only watch out, you’ll be using magic and that’s in short supply in these parts, well in all parts really. But, that’s what you’re here to fix, so you already knew that, eh?”
I still don’t understand, she thought.
He means, be careful when you use your magical powers because you’ll run out of magic, and it’ll take a while to power up again.
This gets more and more like a computer game. Every now and then, I get new powers, and the stakes keep getting higher.
“Now, buzz off, old fruit fly. Go away! I’m hungry. Go on, off with you. Can’t you let a walrus wallow in his trough?”
“Come on, Lucy, let’s go. We still have some supply shopping to do,” said Talbot, gently herding her away from the crowd.
I can’t believe you did that. You slapped a demigod, and you weren’t turned into a pillar of salt.
I did get another blasted spell put on me though, didn’t I? she huffed.
Yes, but you slapped him. You showed him who was boss. I don’t think I could ever have done that.
No, you couldn’t have because you’re a coward Conscience.
Sticks and stones, Lucy. But, I don’t mind being a coward. Cowards live longer.
Yes, but they don’t have as much fun. I quite enjoyed hitting a deity. Remind me to do it again if I get the chance.
No fear, he scoffed. If you get turned into a pillar of salt or a beetle and then get squished, what will happen to me?
“Come on, let’s get going.” Talbot said. “It’s shopping time, and this is a market town. Maybe we’ll find something useful like a magic carpet or a teleportation door—anything to make this journey shorter.”
I think this journey is going to be as long as it needs to be.
Lucy and Talbot left the stables and headed out into the main square of the market town of Marsh as the sun crept slowly from morning to midday.
Chapter 15 The Riddling Box
Alice, lost unto herself,
longing to be free,
Sweet dream bliss,
through an insect kiss,
riddle this for me.
Found engraved, anachronistically,
on the inside of a suit of armour
belonging to Lord Falcrum after his victory
and his death at the Battle of Cantab,
Year After Ice 15099
“The first riddle anyone ever solves is: who am I?”
General Thrax, Year After Ice 11946
The town square was large;
it had to be at least thirty feet on any one of its sides. A prodigious clock tower dominated the square’s south side, its facings a stark green and purple against the timbered houses’ black and white. It rose thirty feet in the air but was dwarfed by the huge mountain which stood behind it. The mountain was easily the most impressive thing Lucy had seen in this world. She guessed it must have been bigger than most mountains in her world. It was Himalayan in stature, but it rose on its own, like an ant mound in flat African savanna.
“That’s Black Crack Mountain,” Talbot whispered when he saw her gawping at it.
Lucy could see why it had that name. A massive fissure wended its way down the mountain like a scar on a bar fighter’s face. It was from this enormous chasm that the river flowed, probably from the melting ice at the peak.
The melting ice formed the river, the river ran down, the town grew up around the river. It was all very simple and straightforward.
The marketplace, in which she stood to make these observations, was busy—really busy. People jostled her from all sides and all directions. Drovers with their sheep and dogs, fruit sellers with their baskets of freshly picked fruit, jewellers, fishmongers, ironmongers, all gathered in the one spacious square. There were stalls for leather goods, stalls for swords and weapons, stalls for trinket cases, stalls for food. Even so, it was the people that caught Lucy’s eye.
All the people were dressed in what she took to be 14th Century Medieval outfits. Most of the men dressed in smocks, but a few, of what she took to be the noble classes, wore doublet and hose. They had elaborate flowing capes draped around their shoulders, swords at their hips and an air of superiority.
The women, most of whom seemed to be peasants, wore rough woollen dresses with thin cord belts at their waists. The noble women, of whom she could only see three or four, all dressed in brightly coloured gowns of velvet and taffeta and had remarkable pointed hats.
Oh wow, said Conscience, it’s like something out of a fairy-tale.
Or a badly researched novel.
You aren’t going to start that again, are you? You’re like a broken record. Can’t you say anything else?
Ravens and Writing Desks: A Metaphysical Fantasy Page 16
