No boxes or locks exist here underground, just buried treasure; folk entrust their gold to dirt rather than risk the capricious mercies of their neighbors. Beware if you are easily beguiled by gold, if you dare touch treasure like this, in a place like this, for their guardians are indeed capricious. He treads carefully.
The voices grew louder. He entered a long chamber lined with boxes of clothing stacked to the high ceilings. A few people pass by ? a long haired woman with bat-like ears (she hears him) and a shorter man guarding her, or the packages they both carry? (Who knows) They stride intently past without a thought. There are always new arrivals in the place that never sleeps, and even sometimes guests wander into these tunnels by chance, to visit. He steps over a hilted golden sword and the ceiling slopes down, and he walks, down, down into softly lit cavern.
Torches light the countenances of a dozen folk in a circle, arguing. Through the patterns of their waving hands he sees a fireplace that?s overflowing its grate, a bonfire. Red shifts into orange and realizes that the gray soot in the flames is not smoke nor smoke but grey hair. So is the red color like overflowing red hair of a hunched figure sitting close.
"What," said tall, dark and bird shaped, who passed around a flagon of something that smelled spicy to the rest of the company, "What is all this blabbing about a whale?"
He settled near the hunched elder's back to listen; never did to pass up a chance to learn about the outside world. Hidden in the shadows, he listened. Fish indeed. They have an audience, him the old woman and a few bored strangers reclining on bundles of hay. It's a wide cavern so the company's voices carry.
"Dogfish," came the swift rejoinder from a woman with flax hair. "Who says they're small anyway. I ent seen a dog, never mind a dogfish. Taste like mouse, maybe."
?In the great north sea lies a dead dogfish that shall be your roast meat."
?A beast of any size, living in salt water,? shakes another?s head, repulsed. ?Thing?s bones must be weighted more than trees. Big things, you know, trees.? The tiny speaker was knowledgeable on the subject of vegetation, having traveled outside their home to forage for supplies, when the time came for such expeditions, one midsummer.
?But be it possible to catch this whale thing??
?? horsemeat??
?Dogfish! ?? a sly eyed, pale and meaty figure protests.
?Whatever it IS. That lives in water you say? You?re pulling our legs again; we?ll wake up tomorrow drunk with headaches from this story no doubt because everything that goes in and out of your mouth be food, drink and lies. Not in that order.?
?Say not!? Sly eyed, pale and meaty defends himself. ?Overheard it proper direct in the throne chamber I did, at feast-time. Saw Himself holding court with three or so humans, all them at the feasting (I did NOT sleep there the whole night, for your information, but there was damn good ale there) So there was lucky me sitting not half a pace behind our Lord. So close I could hear the ghostly voices that accompany him and see the shimmering displaced air along His shoulders wherein His petitioners well, petition. So close I could have poked him with my soup spoon ? ?
?God you did that exact same thing to us just a while ago! What in heaven we were talking about, no one can remember because we woke together, wrapped in each other?s limbs with hay in our teeth. Shit faced. Drunk.
?And everyone wonders why we can?t hold a job for longer than a season, all thanks to you.? someone added dryly.
?That wasn?t my fault; stop making me a scapethingy??
?Whales are fishes that have swallowed too many other fishes,? the bird shaped figure was saying perhaps more scathingly than necessary to the pervious display of ignorance. ?Therefore. Dogfishes are such fishes that eat dogs.?
?Could have sworn He said whales.? was the sulky response.
?Will you two shut up? Anyway, they were clearly new blooded, still mortals because well for one thing,? he paused. ?He indoctrinated them; After tea, mind, made them sign the black book all gentlemen-like. Got them with some bait or another, probably gold. All the mortals love gold. Anyway, they are clearly mortals, as I said, because over the pages of that huge book why, I could see them staring at His hair the whole time. Which is just is not done.?
He paused while the others nodded grudgingly. Humans also have and will be obsessed with gold, this they all know well. Be it gold cups, gold swords, gold hair.
?So while Himself blanks out for a bit ? you know he does that sometimes when listening to ghosts? the merry-faced one whispers to his fellows ? and they?re all still blindly sitting at the feasting table though they do not see the tea nor us folk ? he whispers ?Why in the name of all gnawing hunger demons, are we still here??
Even tall, dark and bird-like ducked his head to chuckle, though to his credit it should be said that his was not a nice chuckle. Laughter blanketed the cavern and choked the man who had chosen to sit near the fire. He knew how this story went.
Pale and meaty grins and continues. ?Seems that our guests had gotten themselves lost in a cornfield and were found starving, if you can imagine.? More laughter. ?Well, Himself condescends to offer them tea, and because they refuse, seals their contract with a rather clever riddle clause. And voila~ we can expect new coworkers come seven years later.?
The man who had chosen to sit by the fire finally managed to stand; he wanted to leave, walk away now, quickly; it felt like they were talking about him. His skin prickled to hear the subject spoken of so lightly.
?So what?s this got to do with a dogfish then?? the flaxen haired woman said, impatiently, and the man by the fire was going leave now, really because he does not need to hear this. He would have left except a breath of air has captured his shoulder ? no it?s the old woman?s hand, bone and leather stretched to thin. She won?t let go and he can?t fight her and now she?s gripping harder. Such strength. She may leave bruises. This thought made him oddly happy. ?Listen? she said. So he does.
?What it comes down to,? the sly eyed man said. ?Is simple. In fact, what the riddle all comes down to is feasting. Now, none of us may know of dogfish, but we don?t much know what all we?re feasting on, most of the time! We like our food and drink, and we like our little illusions of splendor every so often.?
?Only when we?re bored, which is like oh every single night!? a smaller figure laughed. There was a frigid pause.
?I warrant that if none of us folk know what dogfish is, none of those humans know either, no matter how starving they be. Therefore.? he drawls out this last word, pronounced exactly like tall, dark and bird-shaped, who stiffens in embarrassment, ?I warrant that this is what his Lordship thought: give the three humans their gold then seven years later, us folk will see them give them at feast-time. They?ll sample our delicacies, maybe get a bit drunk. They will see nothing true: of us, nothing. Never realizing, will they sit on stones and dine on dogfish, sip wine from a horsefoot, or spoon soup with whale bone. They will see nothing save linen, rich kingly dishes of kind each wishes to see. Then Himself will mention the riddle. Himself will say ?What are you eating??Our guests respond accordingly. ?Chicken? may say the round man. ?Peacock? may say the merry-faced man. ?Bread? may say the dour man. ?Dogfish!? we will say, correctly, only they will not hear us. And then they lose their souls as forfeit.?
the rib of a whale shall be your silver spoon and a hollow old horse's hoof shall be your wineglass.?
There remained such respectful silence that follows the telling of a good tale, then ?
?Whales are real?? one outraged voice said incredulously. ?You mean to tell me I?ve been eating water-beasts for God knows when?? Careless hands grabbed the wine flagon from sly eyed and pale, who had been quite selfishly hogging it the entire story, to drink away the unwanted, imagined taste of water.
? Then the normal order of squabbling returned. None notice, but
The man and woman who chose to sit near the fire have since departed.
The journey is long and fraught with pointy rocks, anathema to his unshod feet. Eventually, rusted swords, among other folk flotsam, stop coming into direct contact with his footpath, and his feet begin to heal. As blacked mirror cave stone lightens to coarser quartz, so do his feet begin to protect themselves with calluses. When sloping ceilings curve into hallways, into tunnels, into veins of granite, a smell of chill air permeates the deformed, crooked, threatening to crack any time soon, tunnel. By that time he is crawling on his knees and elbows then?
Harsh light. Blinking, head to the ground, resting. The first thing he sees in this new, above ground world is a algus mushroom growing convinently under his exhausted fingers. White, with no spots. It?s safe. He eats it quickly. Wide expanse of ground with rocks sown like dragon?s teeth. Past this clearing, are a few trees. Great woody stems that grow from sandy rocky soil to claw the endless blue sky.
It was then he remembered old man Tantulus? tree fruit by name and for some time while he searched the wood for edibles, dreamed about the taste of apples.
On the second day, he rolled onto his right side.
On the third day, he was tired of sleeping, and gathered wood to make a fire. It was an easy matter, collecting the dead wood; from all the dead branches and pine needles that piled up under the trees, it was evidently autumn. Craning his head back, he could stare, up, up into the trees. There were so many of them. A clearing, a forest.
Long ago he had stood in a forest much like this one, full in the midst of ripening autumn. This had been in his youth, before the incomprehensible blur of circumstances which had brought about his death. In the forest. He shivered. The past was better left forgotten for the time being. She had said that his memory of his previous life would return gradually, as he experienced the course of this new life.
He stumbled over a few branches and noted for later the usefulness of certain plants which might come in handy for food. On second thought... he picked a few berries to eat.
When he returned, to drop of his newly acquired tinder at the entrance of a shelter ? a larger, shallow cave that at one time had housed a family of bears ? he found the Devil waiting none too patiently, and his fire already started ? from its claws, the devil was throwing bear bones to the fire tendrils, feeding the fire with new life.
Crackle.
In the growing light, he saw the Devil as a slender dragon. A haze like an amorphous, boiling cloud surrounded the Devil?s slender shoulders like a robe, and his head ? crowned with ghosts. They seemed as fragile as melting wax dropped in pan, always shifting, reforming the displaced air above; he could hear their whispers just below the threshold of hearing. He shivered. Memories.
?It?s cozy here,? he Devil said with too sharp teeth smiling, sitting back straight, dragon wings furled into the shadows. ?Come sit with me. We have much to talk about.? But its intended audience did not move, paralyzed, be it from awe or fear or newly created mortal stupidity. When a hind leg shifted, rocks groaned in sympathetic response. The earth moved. What the hell.
?What the Hell?? was all he could think to say. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, unused and echoed through the cavern. ?Sit down, already. I?ve got other appointments.? The Devil?s eyes gleamed like mavelant rubies.
Once his legs regained proper working order he sank onto a pile of furs. This put him in direct sight of Burnished golden eyes surveyed him calmly, lazily. Amazement ?That used to be me there riding the air currents near your neck.? Uncomfortable, I imagine,? the Devil rumbled, trying to sound sympathetic but failing.
?I used to be a ghost, I used to be dead! But I fought. From the lowest point of your form, I had to fight for the privilege ?? the man?s fists were clenched. He was angry. There was a tight well of emotion locked behind his lungs, an it was opened, all coming out like bad blood. Clearly, the man had forgotten.
?And I heard your petition. Your timing was.. Fortunate.?
? your arms, then elbows, then head... ? ay, there were always so many, too many souls who wanted peace. Some gave up easily, others stayed to fight other ghosts for the pride of place near your ear. There weren?t any weapons except our hate and desire, we honed those meticulously like a blade, let me tell you.?
?Yes, well. It was an unpleasant experience,? said the Devil. ?But now, we must speak of other things, such as your errand.?
?You know that spirits died? They lost their link to the second existence and perished. We fought, but knew each other. But I didn?t care, you understand? I didn?t care who lived or died or whose? sister was murdered and needed vengeance. None of us cared enough to listen to each others? cries of pain. We only cared about assuaging our own.? His voice was wild; now that the words were free, they would not stop flowing. Who was this being who could stand there so calmly listening like none of it mattered? A mighty tail thumped, sending minor rock slides onto their heads.
Just when the Adversary thought this is starting to get irritating the man stopped midword. Overcome with emotion most likely, or the ghosts ? oh yes, they bounced from their fellows to slide down the man?s neck in number. The effect, was much like a bath in ice water. Cold. It effectively shut him up. With no needless blood spilled!
?Now,? said the Devil. ?Your Quest. I am here to answer any questions you may have, considering that the last time we met, things were rather rushed. But quickly, I am not a patient being. There are other fledglings like yourself to train, souls to procure, civilizations to influence. A war.?
Thus silenced, the man tried to think of something, anything to question. The golden-ruby eyes that scrutinized him were powerful and old, not wise perhaps but filled with a sense of cunning; these eyes which naturally inspired fear and obedience. Looking into those eyes, he wanted to question his orders, but as he had no cause to be curious before, this was difficult. Ah but... ?Where can I find dogfish? I?ve heard the gossip; Dogfish and whales swim in water. How can this be? Where are waves big enough to hide such monstrous fish??
The fire had bloomed into a bonfire now, built of sticks and ancient animal fat. And good thing too, because night had snuck into their cave unawares. The light flickering only brought to sight more shadows. The Devil looked thoughtful and more dangerous.
Do not imagine Cornfields Inn to be a charmingly rustic cottage. True, on a clear night moonlight may whistle through these fields like the grassy roar of the sea, and nightingales may sing, even have breath enough to sing at Cornfields Inn, which is so far from the civilizing vapors of Europe?s flowering industry. Even the gentry will agree with most peasants (the majority of our patrons) that choking nightingales are not pleasant to the senses, nor conducive to sanitation. It is even true, that the Inn, having been built a few hundred years ago with aged oak beams and Inglewood fireplaces, could be considered ?rustic.?
But a word of caution to the Non-English reader. Cornfields Inn sits in the middle of not, as its name would suggest, a cornfield.. Instead it sits cheerfully in the middle of a wheat field. Many gentler tourists have expressed disappointment, having held rather a fancy to behold an impressive vision of tree-like corn stalks while dining on the Inn?s porch, should weather, sufficient pillows and tea be provided.
Another note of caution to gentler tourists: The roof leaks. Also there are mosquitoes and bugs that seep through the Inn?s uncaulked walls, the very walls which you earlier might have found so sweet, so ?rustic? how the patches of sunlight warm your face on a summer?s day. Walls, which if I may repeat, are uncaulked. Also the outhouse remains outside, not for your convenience inasmuch as for your and your fellow guests? health and comfort. It is a rather heavy structure and not physically able to fit through a door, nor a window, nor through any other orifice. Nevertheless, it is Cornfield?s primary (only) facility. Please accept this. Please keep this mind, Londoners.
Also Thursday is Rarebit Night. Please do not persuade the cook otherwise. Also the cornfield is not for sale. Nor the hired help. Nor the Inn.
Sincerely, The Owners
At that tone of voice, I looked up somewhat alarmed. Sure enough, my tutor was glaring again and, suspended shadow glaring on the yellowed pages of the book in my lap; his face was scrunched into a weird shape, like he had bitten into a cranberry. One day his face would freeze like that.
"Huh...?" I blinked.
Mr. Cameron?s posture (Straight as a straightbacked chair! Oh blessed civilized methods of deportment) wavered as he swept though the drawing room, circled an armchair, then sat and said again in a calmer voice? Do not answer a question with another question, Alair. To do so is considered impolite.
I had this speech memorized: its variations, nuances, hand motions. Mr Cameron was sweeping the room again, flared waist coat flying like flag behind him. I had always entertained the possibility that in his pervious position of Work, Cameron had been an orchestral conductor.
Think of the Queen, my dear boy. Think of what the Queen would do, given your situation. This is how you must think.
And so my head dropped, and irritably tugged the ghost-turned hair out of my eyes; thanks to the morning sunlight, to refocus on the page which had waylaid my attention, robbed it of all interest and abandoned it to hungry carrion. Not that I was bored, mind. But ancient hieroglyphics from the East would be more comprehensible than algebra. Far more interesting too.
From out the window warm sunlight, that the tried draperies tried to mask, warmed my left side and fingers, making them feel heavy and cumbersome, there was not much else to do except puzzle out the meaning of x and y's relationship (torrid love affair, they had too many children to be legal), that or listen to another unneeded Cameron style lecture on the virtues of Good Study Habits, and The Queen. The Queen inevitably made an appearance in each lecture. X = y x = 1 if by the conditions met...
