***
At the time this story begins, the town (which we will call ‘Glenlaw’, even though that is not its name) was famed throughout the region for the carefree prosperity and flawless virtue of its citizens. Unlike other nearby villages, who struggled, poverty stricken, through famine and drought year after year, Glenlaw’s fields were full of crops and its markets overflowing with produce. Where the peoples of other towns suffered plagues and sickness, no such problems came to Glenlaw. For many years, this had been the case - this one blessed place growing and
prospering while all around it, fields withered and peasant people suffered at the hands of the cruel master that is the land in these parts. The reason for this blessing was simple. Almost all of its prosperity the town owed to one single enchantment, a magic spell cast years ago by a long forgotten wizard, which protected the town from all the witches and monsters and wolves who lurked in the surrounding woods and mountains. While other towns suffered the theft of their children, the burning of their fields and their homes, Glenlaw alone was immune to these terrors. For no matter how powerful the witch, no matter how strong the wolf, the spell that protected Glenlaw was such that none of these creatures could so much as cross the threshold to enter this burgh, never mind do anything that might imperil the people who lived there.
In this town lived a boy and a girl – Philippe and Ursula. Born on the same day in the same hour they had been best friends since the first moment they met. All through their childhood they had been practically inseparable, playing together from first light in the morning, to the last minutes of the day when their mothers’ voices would call out to bring them home from the fields and meadows that were the playground of their untroubled youth. “Wherever Philippe goes,” said the people of the town, “so goes Ursula.” And “Wherever you see Ursula,” the saying went, “Philippe will not be far behind.” So was the pattern of their infancy and early years and when they grew older and their interests gradually turned to more, shall we say, mature pursuits, it was again together that they chose to make those final steps towards adulthood. For who would Philippe want to be with, if not Ursula? And who would Ursula want to spend her life with, if not Philippe?
Now, while we have rightly mentioned that Glenlaw was a prosperous town, that did not mean that everyone who lived in it was equally so wealthy as their neighbour. In fact, as in all places, there was a wide and unbreachable gap that stretched between the richest and the poorest of households and it so happened that Ursula’s family was one of the most wealthy and Philippe’s family one of the least. Of course, for all the time they were children growing up none of this mattered one bit – who cares for money when there are trees to climb and butterflies to chase and rivers in which to swim. The older they grew, however, the more conscious they each became of the different worlds into which they had been born. To Philippe in particular, who everyday suffered the taunts and jibes of his peers for the raggedy nature of his clothes and who felt shame every time he visited Ursula without the bouquets and gifts she should have expected from any other suitor; to Philippe the matter slowly became central to his entire being, so much so that he refused to marry Ursula until he had proved himself to her by earning a fortune of his own.
“I cannot bear it,” he said to Ursula. “The way that people will think of you, should you marry me as a poor man. They will think the less of you for marrying a man who cannot afford to support you on his own; they will mock you for having such poor taste in companion. And me? How will they think of me, these rich families who surround us and who we will have to live among? They will hate me as an interloper, a thief who has done nothing to deserve the good fortune I have landed on. They will never take us seriously, Ursula. They will never see us for who we are. Not until I am a rich man in my own right; a man, at least, who can stand in front of your father and ask for your hand without worrying about the tears in my trousers and the state of my shoes.”
So it was that Philippe set himself to work in the town, quickly becoming known as a young man of intelligence and good work ethic who could be trusted with any number of difficult tasks. Even with such a good reputation, however, no matter how hard he worked, the making of his fortune seemed to stretch further away each day. Lacking the connections and good opportunities of his former schoolmates – all of whom found easy jobs managing their family’s estates or entering their father’s firms – Philippe had to resort to the most degrading, least reputable and least rewarding occupations in order to make even the most basic of livings. In the mornings, he cleaned factory floors, polishing machinery and scraping flour from the floor of bakeries as giant ovens cooked the air around him. In the afternoons, he worked in kitchens, washing dishes and preparing feasts he would never share in, and in the evenings, he travelled around the inns and taverns of Glenlaw town, selling cheap jewellery to half-drunk peasants and field workers until tiredness overtook him or he was thrown out into the street. In this way did the early years of Philippe’s adulthood pass - caught in a never-ending daily toil that weakened his spirit and corroded his soul while never seeming to bring him any closer to the dream of being able to marry Ursula and take her in his arms as a free man.
During this period, Philippe fell briefly, and unfortunately, under the influence of a trader named Murnock. A small, mean-spirited man with long fingernails, red hair and a fiery temper, Murnock was feared and mistrusted throughout the town, the sort of man about whom dark rumours were often whispered, though never openly and never in his presence. Philippe had been carrying out some small, unimportant jobs for this foul creature when, against his better judgement, he found himself in a bar in the man’s company late one evening.
“I have a small job that may interest you,” hissed Murnock in a whispery, insinuating voice that caused the hairs on Philippe’s neck to curl in distaste. “A small job, but one who’s rewards may be quite considerable.”
“I don’t think so, Mr Murnock,” said Philippe. “My card is quite full at the moment already. I fear I shall not be able to take on any more work for several weeks now.”
“Quite so, quite so. I understand. Only, hear me out for a moment, my boy. Allow me a moment’s indulgence. I promise you will not regret it.” Murnock shifted in his seat and leaned forward towards Philippe, his small, leathery hands rubbing over one another slowly as he spoke.
“As I hear it, you are a young man of considerable qualities and ambitions. You are not like these other brutes in here who work all day only for the brief pleasure of drinking away their earnings when evening comes around. You have a plan and a prize you are working towards. And what a prize! That fine girl who waits for you. Very admirable, my boy, very admirable. Only, I ask myself – ‘how can a young man like Philippe ever hope to earn sufficient monies to buy his way into the life he wishes? By running errands? No. By selling trinkets on the street? Never!’ My dear boy, the way you are going you could work until you were an old man like me and still never have the opportunity to wed that fine, soft young woman who waits for you – waits so patiently for you! – in that rich house by the riverside.
“It is difficult, I know. But it is true. And yet, there is this one job, this one small job you could do for me which, if successful, will in one swoop bring you all the riches you desire. You can have that girl, my boy. You can have her on your own terms, if you want it. What do you say?”
Philippe said nothing but without looking the old man in the eye, nodded his head slightly as though to bid him continue. A smile stretched across Murnock’s face and he lowered his eyes in satisfaction, in much the same way he did on making a sale or on hearing of the death of a rival. He leaned in further again and lowered his voice to a more confidential, conspiring tone.
“I have a client. A foreign gentleman. A fine man of noble breeding. He lives, at present, on the far side of the mountains but has long cherished a desire to relocate himself here to this fine, upstanding bur
gh. Now, I, through certain connections and relationships I have developed, have been able to secure the title deeds to some properties here which meet his rather specific requirements and which I am willing to exchange for a suitably large sum of money. All that is required is that the gentleman, a Duke, no less, sign the title deeds and the deal will be concluded.
“Unfortunately, however, it seems that the Duke has become detained in some other urgent business in his home town and is unable to leave it at present. As such, he has asked for me, or an appropriate emissary, to travel to his castle so that he can sign the documents I have prepared for him and finalise our business. Now, clearly, I am in no fit state to be making such a trip myself, for the journey crosses two valleys on the far side of the mountains and will be, it must be said, a treacherous one – we all know the tales of the creatures who live in these hills, after all. But you, you Philippe could easily make the trip for me! Just one short trip - a week, no longer than that – and my business will be done and you will have earned yourself a percentage of the fee large enough for you to end all this toil and take that girl in your arms just as you have always wanted. What do you say, my boy? What do you say?”
Philippe said yes. How could he do otherwise?
The Shorecliff Horror and Other Stories Page 15
