The Frog’s Pad Collection
By David Grewcock
The Frog’s Pad Collection
David Grewcock
Copyright 2010 by David Grewcock
Smashwords Edition
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About this collection
I think we can all be inspired from a variety of sources and ideas; this small collection of short stories I think is a good example of that. It may be a view, a situation or a conversation.
I hope you enjoy this collection. The last two stories are the first chapters from my “Black Crane” novels.
Contents
Rowan
The question in this story is one of free will; if you know that your life is dependent upon you living someone else’s life to enable you to exist – what would you do?
“Circus, here next week”.
The poster, hurriedly stuck to a piece of cardboard and hung round the traffic light already looked as if it had been there for months, but Rowan noted it had only appeared overnight. Rowan continued her daily walk, passing the field where the circus traditionally set up. The field, normally left fallow, already looked empty as if it was waiting for the magic to appear.
Later that evening, Rowan sat in the pub as the youth group leaders discussed how the evening had gone. The usual discussions about the same young people and their various behavioural problems – and who should take the responsibility for dealing with it. Rowan listened distractedly – frustrated that everyone was prepared to point the finger, but not to actually deal with the issues. During the lull in the conversations, Rowan took the opportunity to tell the team about the circus – and whether it was something that the youth group would enjoy going to. The response was apathetic, so Rowan quietly withdrew once more to staring at her glass. If James had thought of it, she mused to herself, everyone would have jumped to it – but I’ll go along anyway without them.
A week passed – and the poster hung limply to the traffic light; already the faded, peeling poster was clinging to the sodden cardboard, depending upon its support and existence. The effect of the poster brought a dark mystery to the circus, shading to the smiling circus clown of dark intention. Now, Rowan noted, the field was occupied by the traditional striped canvas of the Big Top. Although clean, the ambience was of the theatre in the day time – the mystery that comes alive in the dancing beams of the spotlights revealed to be the old, battered and used props of constant touring and production.
Outside of the Big top a few fairground rides were also being set up, the red and yellow paint, so gaily decorating the woodwork when it was originally commissioned now looked like the big tent – a mother and her children, a travelling family with the other members of the circus.
Rowan decided to go that evening. It was a night out and apart from the cats for company she didn’t have many friends that she could call upon. Nobody phoned her to invite her out and sometimes the darkness of her life overwhelmed her, but most times she just took life as it came to her – and that was just fine.
As she walked onto the field she recognised that with darkness now descended the bright beams of the spotlights and the coloured lights that surrounded the attractions changed the scene to something warm, magical and timeless. Shadows played upon the corners of the Big Top, encouraged by the entertainers as they strolled around on stilts or juggled various batons, clubs and knives. As approached the tent she could hear the music and the Ringmaster calling everyone to take their seats.
Rowan walked towards the door and was about to pay for her tickets when to the left a cloaked figure spoke to her…
“Rowan – come with me”.
Rowan stopped and looked at the figure – there was no-one in her friends who would have a cloak like that she thought, but she couldn’t see the face of the person.
“Rowan – come with me”.
This had to be a practical joke and Rowan turned back to the door, when the hooded figure reached out and caught her arm. Although Rowan could see the hand was old and wrinkled, it gripped with an intensity that was a little alarming.
“Rowan. Come with me. Now.”
The cloaked figure started to pull at her arm. Rowan’s mind was in confusion – she wanted to see the circus, but at the same time was a little curious as to how this person knew her. She asked the figure “Can it wait? I want to see the circus”.
“Rowan. Come with me now. You will see the circus – but not just yet. I want to show you something.”
Rowan decided that if she missed a few minutes of the circus it wouldn’t be the end of the world although she did wonder what she would miss by skipping the welcome and the first act on the bill.
The cloaked person guided Rowan to a small tent – about 3m tall and circular, not unlike the shape of the Big Top thought Rowan. Inside were two wooden chairs and a card table with a purple velvet cloth laid across it. On the cloth, a set of tarot cards were arranged in a pattern that Rowan wasn’t familiar with at all. The cloaked person drew back her hood, revealing herself to be an old woman, although not frail for her wrinkles and someone with an air that had been with the troop for many years and had always pitched in to get the site set up. Her hair was thin and obviously greying, but with yellowing streaks as if she had attempted to colour it herself.
“Sit, Rowan.”
The old woman beckoned to the empty chair as she sat in the other. The old woman looked at Rowan with dark, burning eyes. Rowan felt uncomfortable as it felt as if she was looking deep into her soul.
“You want to tell me something?” asked Rowan “Let’s start with the easy one – how did you know my name?”
The old woman smiled. She slowly leant down to her left and opening a carpet bag, pulled out an envelope and placed it on the table on top of the cards. Rowan looked at the envelope.
Almost in keeping with the general décor of the circus, it too was yellowing at the edges and was clearly an old envelope. The words written on the front of the envelope were written in italics, a browning ink which looked like an old quill pen has scratched each letter onto the envelope.
“Rowan, 26th August 2010” it said on the outside. Neat trick, thought Rowan, putting my name and today’s date on it.
“Open it” said the old lady.
Rowan turned the envelope over and noted that it had been closed with a red sealing wax. She didn’t recognise the stamp – a five pointed star with the initials RJC visible. With a slight pressure, the envelope opened. Rowan drew the letter out from the envelope and opened it – there were two sheets of paper, folded together – the markings on the fold lines further highlighted the age of the letter – although she knew that prop departments were getting good at making things look old. But something made her stop – the handwriting of the letter looked so familiar. She looked at the old lady, who sat still, staring at Rowan, a faint smile on her lips.
“31st August 1959
Rowan,
This may be one of the most confusing letters you will ever read, but the lady that is sat in front of you is your mother.”
Rowan stopped at this first part and looked at the old woman. No – she had never met her mother; she knew she had been adopted from an early age, but this didn’t make sense.
“Carry on reading Rowan” said the old woman, her eyes sparkling slightly as tears started to well gently in her eyes. Rowan looked back down at the letter.
“What you will now read is something that may confuse you, so I apologise to you if it seems confusing. I was born in 1935 and in 1950 I started on a courtship with a local man, Thomas Crabtree. He had lived in this village as long as I had and with only one school we had grown up being close friends. He had recently been discharged from the army and we had started to work in the local shop. Living together so closely and having so much in common in a small village meant – almost inevitably I suppose – that we would end up together.
“In August 1956 Thomas took me to the circus – this circus. Amongst the lights and the excitement of the fair, he proposed to me and I agreed. It was the happiest day of my life. I just never wanted the day to end. We married six months later and then a year later we had a baby girl, and we named her Rowan. Living in a little village with my childhood sweetheart, a good job and a beautiful baby was all I could ask for – my life was complete.
“However, life has a way of making things complicated and at Christmas Eve 1958 Thomas took his regular delivery of shopping to the local residents who were unable to get out of their houses. It was a job that Thomas would always do – no matter how bad the weather he would always make sure that the elderly residents of the village had a stock of food and would spend a few minutes with each to make sure that they were warm and happy. This day though Thomas’ car hit a patch of black ice and spun into a tree. He was killed instantly.
“My life was suddenly plunged into difficulties. Without Thomas I could not support myself and a young child, having to work all day just to make ends meet – and the income was just about enough when we both worked. With all these worries, my health deteriorated and it was decided for me that I could not look after my child, so it was taken from me.
“My only source of happiness was to go back to the circus and remember the magic of 1956 when Thomas proposed to me. One of the entertainers at the Circus went by the name of Madame Zara, a tarot reader who could foretell the future. After my child had been taken from me, I decided to visit her tent to see if she could tell me if this nightmare that was my life would end. What she told me just confused me, which is why I am writing this to you now.
“What she has said is that she could teach me how I can always go back to the happy days of August 1956 with Thomas. I want that more than ever – such happiness from this life of despair – and I have agreed. Madame Zara has instructed me to write this letter, word for word, to you. “Whilst I don’t understand why I am doing this, part of me is hopeful and at peace that you are reading this.
With love,
Rowan Crabtree”
Rowan looked up at the old woman, whose tears were now flowing fully and completely. The old woman pulled a silk handkerchief from her cloak and dabbed at her eyes,
“Read the second piece of paper” she said quietly. Rowan put the second piece of paper on top, the handwriting was similar, but with a few small changes in the general style.
“31st August 1959
Rowan
Many years have now passed although chronologically time has stood still. The lady sat in front of you is your mother and she has passed this letter to you as I did to her.
When you step out from this tent, you will meet Thomas Crabtree back in August 1956 and he will propose to you. If you accept his proposal, you will experience the happiest time of your life and the greatest despair. You will name your child Rowan and she will be taken from you.
“Once this happens, open the envelope that you are about to be given, where you will learn the craft of Tarot reader and the next steps that you will need to take. Your own child will visit the circus on the 26th August 2010 and you will meet her as I met my own daughter.
I wish you the greatest happiness in the world.
With love,
Rowan Crabtree”
With trembling hands, Rowan put the envelope and the sheets of the paper on the table. The old lady was holding another envelope, much older and with much thicker parchment paper in its construction. Rowan gently took the envelope and started to open the envelope.
“No” said the old woman. “Open it when the time is right. Keep it safe for now. It is truly wonderful to see you again Rowan – look after Thomas for me”
The old lady then sat up straight in the chair, pulled the hood over her head and her head nodded forward.
Rowan made a move forward – but something seemed peculiar. Was the old woman asleep? It seemed too inconsiderate to find out, and so quietly Rowan pushed her chair back and stood up. With a long look behind her, she stepped out from the tent.
“Rowan! Where have you been my love? I’ve been looking all over for you – you’ve got to come and see this, they’ve got a shooting gallery!”
An excitable young man, about Rowan’s age, immediately latched onto her arm, and full of smiles and urgency led her away from the tent towards the shooting range.
“I’ve had a go already Rowan” the man continued “and could you believe it; I, Thomas Crabtree, now have the top score of the day! I’ll win you that Teddy Bear!”
Rowan looked round as Thomas pulled her towards the shooting range. The Big Top, the various rides were all so sparkly and new, nothing was faded, nothing was old – except… that was it; nothing was old – everything was so new and clean. Rowan looked to the road – to see that it was an old country lane.
“Thomas, what is today?”
“Oh Rowan, you’re so silly – it’s 26th August 1956. Now come on, I’ve something to show you…”
OO - - OO
Mermaid’s Song
There are many tales and stories of sailors being shipwrecked as they have sailed towards the rocks and cliffs, apparently guided to their deaths by the haunting melody of the mermaid. So what would happen if a Mermaid was caught – and brought to an aquarium?
Pete stood dumbfounded, staring at the glass.
“Pete – put the magazine down, we’ve got a new delivery!”
Pete sighed, closed his magazine and allowed the front legs of the chair to come back down to the ground. He looked at the coffee mug on the desk and after casually tossing the magazine onto his paper strewn desk, picked up the mug and drank the last remnants. With another sigh, he stood up and walked out of the small office and into the main aquarium hall.
Pete could see the large lorry carefully reversing up to the loading tank. It stopped and the driver rolled up the back entrance. The aquarium team then carefully brought up a rolling ramp to the rear of the lorry and hitched it onto the back. They then disappeared into the van, before a large acrylic box was carefully, slowly pushed out of the van and onto the ramp. The box rolled slowly, carefully down the ramp until it passed the end and the plastic touched the water of the holding tank. The box then continued to descend at a steeper angle until it was fully submerged into the holding tank. The team looked at Pete, who nodded at the team. One threw a switch on the back of the lorry and the winch started to draw the tank back in. It never stopped looking impressive how this aquarium got its deliveries; the contents (now discharged into the holding tank) were always invisible until the team worked through making sure each fish, octopus, ray, squid – whatever – were healthy. The box was finally replaced inside the lorry and the driver rolled the back door down. The lorry started up and the driver headed off. By the holding tank, the aquarium team had rolled the ramp back and with smiles and back slaps were starting to plan their evening. A couple of the team were already pulling their jackets on and talking about heading to the Dog and Duck.
“So Pete, being a key member of all that down there – you joining them at the pub?” Bob smiled at Pete and Pete smiled back. Both knew that Pete had to be up here – after the incident last year the aquarium had insisted that the onsite manager oversaw operations from a distance that would allow them to spot any problems from a higher vantage point.
“No, I think I’ll miss it this time – I’ll complete the delivery paperwork then head home. Julie said she would be dropping by later to pick up the last of her things; I’ll be glad when those last boxes are out of the flat, so I really don’t want to have to reschedule!”
Bob laughed and with a nod, walked to the metal staircase. “Wait for me!” he shouted to the last of the team as they started to leave the aquarium. Pete turned and re-entered the office, picked up his magazine and flicked through to the last article he was reading. He’d finish the paperwork in a moment.
About twenty minutes later, Pete stared at the computer screen, completing the first stage of the delivery return. He hesitated, as from the outside the office he could hear singing – nothing he’d ever heard before, but somehow deeply mesmerising and sad. He thought that someone might have left a radio on, so he stepped outside. The sounds stopped. Pete stood in the doorway, not moving – suddenly it started again, from the direction of the first holding tank. He walked down the metal steps from his office and onto the main floor of the aquarium – the sounds getting louder and clearer until he was at the glass of the holding tank. Although the lighting was poor, Pete could see about 200 fish swimming around the holding tank, all of various shapes and sizes… when suddenly there was a shimmering flash of a colour and size Pete had never seen before. He peered more closely, interested to get another glimpse of this unusual fish (Pete had always prided himself on being able to identify fish faster than anyone else in the aquarium). As he stared deep into the water, the luminescent flash of colour past by again. Pete smiled – this fish was playing a game!
But suddenly something happened – and Pete stood back, his smile dropping from his face and colour drained from his cheeks. A human head, a female with golden hair, suddenly appeared in front of him. Her eyes were shut – but then they opened and stared, cold staring eyes straight into Pete’s. And then the head smiled! A hand appeared and waved! The head looked up and like a rocket shot up vertically – the colour flash quickly followed!
Pete stood dumbfounded, staring at the glass. There was no way he had just seen that, he decided. This was far too freaky weird for a Tuesday. But then the head slowly drifted back down – the eyes looked quizzically at Pete again, before looking up and then woosh (or rather a silent whoosh). Pete looked at the top of the tank. The head was smiling and looking down at him. With a beckoning hand, she waved Pete up – and that music started, mournful, enticing, captivating – encouraged Pete to climb the inspection steps to the top of the pool. When he got there, this beautiful water creature was there, ready for him, smiling. She held out her hand – and the soulful music, so enticing, so hypnotising, so distracting – made Pete reach out for it. As they held hands she smiled – and he smiled back. He then stepped into the water tank.
Bob was first to arrive at the aquarium in the morning. His head was a little sore from the night’s drinking, but was immediately suspicious that the main door was unlocked. “Hello?” he called out.
Bob carefully walked round the aquarium – everything seemed in order, everything as it was last night. He climbed the steps to the office… everything was as it was last night; Pete’s magazine was lying discarded on the desk, the delivery screen was blinking on the computer to complete the transaction – and Pete’s jacket was still hanging on the back of the chair.
“Oh come on Pete, what’s happened to you?”
Suddenly the desk made a buzzing sound and a few papers started to move. Bob moved the papers – Pete’s phone was ringing. He noted on the screen it said “Julie”. Without thinking, he answered.
“WELL THANKS FOR NOTHING” a female voice shouted down the line. “THREE HOURS I WAITED FOR YOU AND YOU COULDN’T BE BOTHERED TO SHOW. WHAT WAS IT… MORE FISH?”
“Err, Julie?” Bob tried to cut in.
“BOB? WHY ARE YOU ON THE PHONE? Have I dialled the wrong number?”
“No, you dialled Pete’s number. Pete’s not here – no I have no idea where he is. Everything is here –keys, this phone, his jacket – just not him. I don’t know what’s happened, he’s so good at telling me where he’s…”
A scream cut through the air, visceral, loud, insistent.
“Julie – I’ve got to go; I’ve no idea what’s just happened, but it seems I’m in charge right now. I’ll phone you back.” Bob hung up and rushed out the office.
Samantha and Mike were at the holding tank, peering into the glass. Mike was holding Samantha who looked clearly distressed. Brian came running from the main tanks with a long pole.
“I’ll get it” said Brian.
“Get what?” asked Bob.
Mike turned his head. “Samantha said she saw someone in the holding tank. We’re just checking it out now.”
“OK.” Bob looked at his watch. “We’d better delay opening for the minute.”
Brian was at the top of the tank, pole in the water. “I’ve got something, I’ve… oh no. Oh, god no. I’m going to be… blerrggh” Brian was immediately sick into the tank – the top of the water was suddenly a feeding frenzy as the 200 fish came to the surface to feed. Bob quickly climbed the stairs; Brian was regaining his composure.
“What was it?” asked Bob.
“Hang on, I’m going to try again” replied Brian.
With more care and control, Brian carefully moved the pole around until it caught on something. He carefully started to pull the pole up – it was a body. Bob moved in to grab hold; he got a firm grip on the jacket and heaved it out. Already, he knew the worst. He turned the corpse over. It was Pete. But he was smiling – a fixed smile, permanently etched to his face.
Weeks passed. There had been an inquest – the coroner had declared that Pete had taken his own life, but there was some confusion and concern at the state of the corpse – it was as if something was missing from the body, but yet it was all present, said the report. Bob had cleared up the problems with the dispatch notes and had sorted out all of Pete’s affairs. The holding tank was been processed and cleared – although Samantha had noted two very peculiar fish as she moved them through to the main tanks. They had such strange markings, like a luminescent glow in the tail – and they had seemed happy somehow in each other’s company. They did try to separate the two apart – but no matter how much they tried it had been impossible – so they decided to just let it be and hoped that (like so many other fish) they wouldn’t just turn and fight each other.
The delivery van left. Bob stood where Pete had stood weeks before and shouted down to the rest of the team “I’ll be with you in a few minutes! Get me a cold one!” Everyone smiled and the team headed out to the pub. Bob stood facing the computer.
“Better get on with this quickly then” he thought – and then he stopped. There was a sound – a musical sound, coming from the main hall. He looked out and it continued. He climbed down the steps, following the call. He got to the main tank, entranced by the call. He stood, watching the fish, when a female’s head appeared at the glass. Bob was about to fall back when a male head appeared next to it! Bob’s face started to drain as he realised – he knew who that male was… it was Pete! Pete smiled, as did the female. They looked at each other and then back at Bob, who was stood dumbfounded. They waved and smiled – and like a robot Bob waved back. Then with a flash of colour, they were gone.
Bob stood staring at the tank. He could not make sense of what he had just seen. Then the music started again – this time from the holding tank. He walked almost in a trance, back to the tank, where another lady, with long blond hair was staring from inside the tank. She smiled and darted upwards. Bob looked up at the top of the tank and the beautiful lady looking down. She smiled and held out her hand. In a trance, Bob started to climb the ladder to the top of the tank….
OO - - OO
Generation Zero
I’d been reading some Science Fiction comics and a Steampunk novel whilst staying in York; wandering through the old streets of York this confused jumble of ideas brought forward this:
“I thought I’d jot the following notes down into my diary – you know, just in case my writings become popular and future readers want to know more about my life once I’m long gone – you know, like those really old writers and poets… Milton, William Shakespeare, Ben Elton, Dan Brown; well, you get my drift.
“Well it’s the year commonly known as Zero Plus Ten and the new world order has really got underway. Just in case someone hasn’t picked up, there was a new calendar started ten years ago to replace the previous one (although it was only ten years ago, I think the last one finished about 2038CE or similar – doesn’t matter now). It was a global decision to have a standardised time the world over, mainly because the world now works all day, every day without a break. The fact that a warehouse in America is controlled by computers in Belgium with the operations managers based in France meant that using the international date format started to become irrelevant. Back in the previous years, I seem to recall a watch company coming up with a standard time stamp… well, it’s now a reality. This new era was called Generation Zero because of a stupid throwaway statement by the global president; he said “with robots running our shops, our factories, our industries, mankind is now no longer needed; we are the Generation Zero.” Of course, it isn’t wholly true – mankind is still needed, but mostly to watch the computer screens to confirm a robotic decision or to fix a broken computer – or more commonly to be a part of the growing leisure industry.
“I was lucky – at least I think I am; I decided about fifteen years ago to become what is now known as a “crash-worder”; in oldern times it was a writer of short stories. No-one reads full length stories anymore – just don’t have the attention span, the time or even the intelligence. In fact my job is fast becoming obsolete as the spoken word becomes far more popular than ever – and even brevity is praised on this. I think I saw on my phone that the number one crash-word story has now been far ecplised by it being translated into crash-audio and the author is planning to never write again; just bang another pencil nail into that coffin.
“As I said, I got out – so I have my own accommodation, my own space. It’s a lovely little cottage in the middle of nowhere; I have the upstairs and a couple live below. I think at one time one person had the whole place to themselves… can’t believe it now. Mind you, this isn’t the idyll that many settle for. Most workers now live at their work – cubicles have beds above them so the workers can be available 24/7 and travel is down to zero; perfect for hanging onto your job. Also, the factories and offices are better climate controlled than ever before – with the erosion of the ozone layer the suns rays are more intense, so bio-domes have been created with embedded solar panels in the glass – these power the factories and the aircon units – constant pleasant temperatures. Our cottage is in a “country bio-dome” – so as well as a couple of cottages we share with the hydroponic plants and animals. It’s great – we get a mixture of wet and dry, heat and cold, light and dark. I know for many city folk they just like the one setting – saves on clothes buying – but for me it’s the closest I’ll get to how my family once lived (at least, that’s how I think they lived).
“But although people are much closer to work, and working longer hours (well, there’s no pension any more or public healthcare, so you work – or you die) the global working initiative still insists on the working week being no longer than six and a half days – with each working day being no longer than fifteen hours in length. This means that the time off is spent relaxing far more intensely – and this is the target time for me, selling my short crash-words to those who want to read them. I‘ve had to come into the city to see my publishing editor – normally we do our business over video conferencing, but he wanted to show me the latest box that would translate my story into crash-audio – the ultimate cross-over device (and something that would keep me in business). Because I’m not limited to my working week (I write, I get paid) I can also look round the city – inspiration for the next story. I’d found a favourite haunt of mine, an old public house which was now a caffeine-shop (I remember sitting here and drinking a cold beer; now everyone dashes down the latest energy-buzz drink so they don’t waste their R&R). The décor is still the same, cosy little booths amongst the dark wood and…”
I looked up from my notepad. I saw in the booth opposite a young red-headed lady in obvious distress. A slim-framed worker was looking a little too eager, desperate for something and he was tugging at her arm. She was trying to pull away. I could see that the worker really hadn’t spent any time in the gym or in fitness training – his shirt hung off his skeletal arms and she clearly had more strength than he had.
“You will come now!” said the man, raising his voice. I looked round, everyone else staring hard at the tables in their own booths, not wanting to get involved – if only because they didn’t want to waste their spare time – but also because there was no police force in operation these days and we were reliant on the army (trained to shoot and kill) to police the streets. It was like letting a fox look after the chicken shed, as my great grandmother was fond of saying.
I couldn’t let this continue. I had nothing better to do – and a sense of chivalry kicked in. So I stood up and walked over.
“Let her go, man” I said “or just talk – I’m sure you don’t have time to waste these days.”
The girl looked up at me, her face frozen with the last of her words hanging in the air. She blinked. The man let go and spun round.
“Frag off – nuthin for you here to bother with – unless you want to cause something?”
I was stunned at this guy’s attitude. Even if I say so myself, I keep myself pretty fit – brain works better when the blood flows round it freely; so I used martial arts to keep my mind firing quickly.
“Just ease back – don’t want to cause trouble; but that lady doesn’t want what you’re offering.”
“I pay her, she does what I want. I mean, where you from? Pre-Zero?”
I looked across at the red-head and she looked down. Ah, I thought, she’s in the leisure industry too – I guess we all get our money from somewhere. Change of tact, I thought.
“I’m sure what you’re asking for is more than she’s prepared to offer – or are you being cheap?”
“Told you – frag off. What I want from her is none of your business.”
OK, that’s it. This guy is really bugging me. I wanted a quiet drink, but this guy thinks that because he works in an office he can determine everyone’s time off. Enough.
“Look, I just want a quiet place to think and you’re starting to ruin that. Can you please just let it – and her – go….”
I hadn’t seen the two big guys in the corner. She had – and her eyes flashed upon them. The first hooked my arm and spun me round – the second laid into my stomach. It didn’t feel like a punch – it felt deeper. My stomach felt warm, wet – and I felt the strength leave my body. I didn’t see any more.
Rachel:
I’d not seen this client before. I really didn’t like what he was offering, or what he was offering to pay me for it either. Brian, my manager, had said that we could argue some control, but ultimately we had to go along with whatever was asked for – or it would cost him (Brian) money, clearing up after his “security team”. His “security team” went everywhere with us girls – I think to make sure that we followed Brian’s instructions, but also because I think they enjoyed sorting out these problems.
So this client’s asking – I’m saying no – then this stranger comes up. This has never happened before – I’ve never been thought of as anything other than what I am. And here he is, this dashing stranger. Of course, the “security team” are on it. I’m on my own again, with Brian “looking after” me. Waiting for the next white knight. I saw his book on the desk opposite – perhaps in my time off I could try crash-words, or even crash-audio, sounds fun.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, the security team also made the client “go away” too. As they used to say, pre-Zero, there’s never any Police around.
OO - - OO
The Tomb of Tut-Ankh-Ra
I had an idea to write a collection of “Black Crane” short stories – perhaps one day it will see the light. Until then, enjoy this story. My inspiration for this came from a small Lego model…
Black Crane sat back in the arm chair in his drawing room with Commander Kimble, Lady Millicent and Lady Audrey.
“What’s with the crystal on the shelf?” asked Lady Millicent “it’s unlike you to have such a trinket.”
“Oh that” replied the Black Crane “That was a souvenir from a long-dead Egyptian king”
“A souvenir? What, he gave it to you from his own boney fingers?”
“Actually – yes he did. It goes back about ten or so years when I spent time in Egypt. The date isn’t specific but we’d sailed from Southampton around the May of that year. The trip was smooth and we dropped anchor just off the coast. We then transferred to a small skiff to sail into the harbour.
“We moored the small skiff against the dockside. I got out and made the arrangements for all my suitcases to be taken to the dig site. I’d been sent an invitation by Professor Willis – a good friend of mine from many years ago. He’d taken up archaeology and in particular had been become quite interested in Egyptian myths. Studying a scroll he’d discovered years before he had become alerted to a carved cave a little way from the more popular sites and had made arrangements with the local authorities to investigate the contents. The cave had lain undetected for many years – there was a popular story that the cave was haunted, a curse having been placed on it. Anyway, I’d been invited to help the professor unseal the tomb and document what had been found.”
Lady Millicent couldn’t hold back.
“What story? I’m sure that’s important!”
“Actually Millicent, it is important. The Emperor, Tut-Ankh-Ra, was a clever Emperor and had managed to carefully explore trade routes and developed strong communications with all the countries around. However he was also very astute and didn’t want to broaden his holdings; instead he would work to strengthen bonds with those rulers. There were neighbour rulers who thought Tut-Ankh-Ra was weak and simple and attempted to build on their lands and attacked. Tut-Ankh-Ra would be quick to stop the attack and would then quietly arrange for that ruler to meet with a quick end – it was always carefully arranged to look like natural causes or death from another course. That country would find a new ruler and the advisors would caution against the wrath and hex from Tut-Ankh-Ra. His followers thought he was the incarnation of Ra, the sigil of the Ankh was worn proudly by all his people that they would live forever in his kingdom.
Sadly even though Tut-Ankh-Ra was wise and clever he did not see that his own people wanted to please their ruler and that they wanted to show how proud they were – and decided that they were strong enough to take on neighbouring countries. They started to attack the smaller principalities at first – if they were successful, they told Tut-Ankh-Ra that the beaten people wanted to join them; if the defeat was heavy – well, they’d been attacked and Tut-Ankh-Ra, being a benevolent person to his people, would exact revenge.
Finally though, his people attacked a neighbouring country at the same time that Tut-Ankh-Ra was visiting. Tut-Ankh-Ra was furious and sought the leader of his attacking people. Set-Nuin was the leader of the charge and explained to Tut-Ankh-Ra what they were doing. Tut-Ankh-Ra was furious and immediately drew his sword. Set-Nuin was a seasoned soldier and also drew his sword. However, Set-Nuin had a special sword and scabbard that held a powerful poison. As he drew the sword it coated the blade with the poison. As they fought, Set-Nuin cut Tut-Ankh-Ra and the poison immediately starts to take effect. Paralysis set in quickly.
Tut-Ankh-Ra was taken back to his palace. Set-Nuin had to act quickly and convinced the people that Tut-Ankh-Ra was being held under a magic spell by the neighbouring country. He convinced half the palace to arrange for immediate and bloody retribution – which they did; the other half of the palace arrange for a place to put the body of Tut-Ankh-Ra. They didn’t have enough time to build a pyramid, so a team of carpenters set to work creating a palace in the living rock, using their skills to carve and colour the sandstone to make a palace. Finally, they moved Tut-Ankh-Ra into the cave tomb. The paralysis had passed and rigor mortis had taken over. They bound Tut-Ankh-Ra and fixed wings to his back. Set-Nuin could not bring himself to place his king into the sarcophagus, but instead said to the people that Tut-Ankh-Ra would decide for himself when he would get in. they then sealed the tomb shut.”
“Wow” said Lady Millicent, “so the people would still believe he was alive!”
“Yes and that’s how it remained to this day!”
“So what happened to Set-Nuin? I don’t ever remember reading about him!”
“Actually, that’s quite interesting really. As they believed their ruler wasn’t dead, they also believed that if he was to come back to life he would need someone there that he could trust. So as well as two servants, they also entombed two soldiers and as a people decided that Set-Nuin would be one of the soldiers!”
“So he was entombed alive!”
“Yes, so our opening the tomb was going to be quite a spectacle.”
“So, what did you find?”
“Well, when I got there Professor Willis had already made a lot of work clearing the sand that had blown up in front of the tomb door. The rock was intricately carved and it had taken the professor nearly two weeks to detail all the carvings. We carefully made space to one side and using blocks and tackle we slid the rock open. The smell of the sealed tomb was incredibly strong, even after the many years that had passed. But we persevered and entered.
What surprised me first was that it wasn’t dark – there were flames still glowing from the lanterns. Our investigations shown that the tomb had tapped into a natural resource of flammable oil that was slowly feeding the flames – that in itself was a surprise. The tomb itself was huge. Unlike some of the other burial tombs, this was almost simple in the fact it was a single room. Directly opposite the entrance stood the mummified remains of Tut-Ankh-Ra, behind him the sigil of the Ankh and his golden staff. Each side of the central dias were his two servants. Just in front was the stone sarcophagus still closed. But standing to one side was one of the soldiers, motionless like Tut-Ankh-Ra and lying in the wooden box was the second soldier.”
“Lying in a wooden box?”
“Yes, it was as if he had decided to use it as a cot to sleep in!”
“So what happened next?”
“Well that’s when it really started to get odd. Professor Wilis was walking round, cataloguing everything he found and carefully annotating where each item lay, when one of his assistants started to open the sarcophagus. I was interested in this as well, so I started to help him. We had just slid the lid open a little when… when the soldiers started to move.”
“WHAT!”
“Exactly! I thought it was a trick, you know, the movement of air, but the standing soldier started to turn towards us. I then saw the red eyes staring at me. I looked around and realised that all the mummies were starting to move. I called out to the professor, but he ignored me at first – but then he saw that the soldier in the box was now standing up! They all had swords drawn. The professor’s assistant fainted, so I had to pick him up and drag him to the exit. I realised that the professor was still inside, so I rushed back in. As I re-entered I saw an unconscious professor being hauled onto the lid of the sarcophagus. I rushed forward and drew my pistol. I fired – but it had no effect on these creatures. Then I saw it – Set-Nuin’s sword, hanging loosely by his side. I rushed forward and grabbed the sword and pulled it from its scabbard. It was not a blade weight or shape I was used to – more like a scythe – so all I could do was whirl it round my head and decapitate these mummies. As soon at the sword struck they collapsed to the ground, breaking to dust as they landed. The two servants remained sat, their heads looking to their king.
I picked up the unconscious professor and turned to leave. That’s when I heard a noise. I turned to see – straight into the red eyes of Tut-Ankh-Ra. He smiled at me, and then stepped forward. I quickly put the professor down and pushed the lid more open. Tut-Ankh-Ra stepped slowly forward, dust falling from his body as he moved. Finally he reached the edge of the sarcophagus. He looked at me and I picked him up and lifted him over. He collapsed into the stone – and into dust. I pushed the lid back shut, then picked up the professor and carried him out. “
“Good grief! Was the professor alright?”
“Yes – by the time he had come to we had resealed the tomb. I’d arranged that we would then further seal the cave shut and no-one would know about it again. The professor agreed – and later that night he burned his notebook as we sat round the fire. As I was going to my tent, I took off my jacket – and found that crystal in my pocket. It could only have been put there by Tut-Ankh-Ra in thanks.”
“Well that is a good story” said Lady Audrey “although didn’t I see you buy that at Sameby’s Auction house last week?”
Black Crane laughed “Now Lady Audrey, we’ve known each other long enough – which version do you want to believe?”
OO - - OO
Holly – a mote in time
Sometimes in life, an author is presented with a series of observations and events which present a story idea. The nagging doubt that then strikes the author is whether anyone will read into the story and think “I wonder if this is about me?”
Jonathan scrolled through the list of emails on his computer screen. It had been a few days since he’d last checked, but was still surprised at how many of them he was deleting without reading – offers from companies that he’d signed up to, spam email, junk mail… he’d started to get into an automatic process until … something stopped him. An email from Richard. “Old Friends” said the subject title.
Jonathan quickly checked the deleted emails folder to make sure that he hadn’t inadvertently deleted another email wrongly before returning to his inbox.
“Old Friends”.
Jonathan clicked the “read” button and the message popped up on screen:
“Hello everyone!
I’ve been going through my old photo collection and decided to scan a few in; hopefully you’ll enjoy them! Bob – that picture of you with the inflatable tree is in there..!”
There was then a link to a web page. Jonathan smiled at the comment to Bob; what a great weekend that had been and how Bob had been a good sport when he was left on the beach, clutching an inflatable Christmas tree to spare his blushes whilst the rest of the gang leaned by the cars a few hundred yards away. Richard was always one for capturing those pictures, which then turned up at Christmas parties years later, typically when someone had come along with a new partner who was introduced to everyone. Older, but never wiser.
Jonathan clicked the link and the browser page opened up.
“Old Friends” said the title.
Jonathan reflected that Richard had been busy. So many memories now trapped digitally, all those incriminating pictures displayed side by side, revealing Richard’s knack for catching people when they least expected it. There were several pages of thumbnails, so Jonathan paused momentarily and poured himself a whisky, then sat back down and clicked the first image.
As the images lit up his face, each one brought back its own little snapshot of history. The first camp that they all went on, that trip to the pub when they were all under age but still managed to get drinks served; that tent that would not stay up no matter how many pegs were banged into the ground…
Sometimes, the snapshot in time wasn’t to do with the picture at all. Jonathan recognised that some of the images were taken on camps and events that he hadn’t been to – whilst his friends had gone off together to Europe backpacking (or the infamous Ibiza adventure) Jonathan’s other interests took him in different directions. There was a little regret lodged in Jonathan’s mind, but this was quickly dispelled as he then remembered the adventures he had instead.
Then Jonathan was brought back to earth with a bump. Holly.
The photo was a fairly candid one of Holly and himself at a Christmas party. Both were laughing and looking straight into each others eyes. It was clear that these were two people who were oblivious to the world around them, just wrapped up in each others emotions and arms. Yes, thought Jonathan, I remember that night. It had been a magical, wonderful night. They had left the party fairly late, but he’d promised Holly’s dad that he would get her home before midnight; and yet even though he was going to make that time… well, if they were a little late at the end of her drive, her dad wouldn’t have minded; they seemed to get on so well. That walk home, as the snow fell insistently, silently, muffling the sounds of the passing cars and dimming their lights to a yellow glow, they walked hand in hand and step in step. The warmth that flowed from hand to hand ensuring that they really didn’t notice the snow as it wetted their hair. And before they had got very far from the party, Holly had pulled him to her for that electric, wonderful kiss. Jonathan could still remember the warmth through the snow-chilled lips, the streetlight back lighting them in that classic, iconic pose of lovers the world over. Cars still drove by, but with the snow falling heavily no-one tooted their horn or offered any words. They were together, alone, but displaying their love to the world. It was a magical night – their first night when they arrived at the party as friends, but left as lovers. Jonathan felt the warmth flow through his heart, he felt the smile in his eyes as he recalled those perfect, honeyed days.
Click.
Then, Jonathan’s world stopped. The smile dropped from his lips, the pain welled in his eyes.
Holly again, but this time lounging on a bench, her back arched ever so slightly with her head turned towards the camera; her eyes slightly closed but still burning with that passionate intensity. This was a photo for a lover, not a friend and there was no hint in the picture that it was anything else. Holly was looking at her lover in the picture, not the camera, and there were no shadows around the picture to show other people in shot. This was a photo that Richard had taken, of Holly, on holiday. There had been rumours of holiday romances and though never spoken of, were sometimes cautiously hinted at. Well, I guess I’d not been an angel on holiday, thought Jonathan – remembering the camp that he had attended with other friends and whilst his friends got serious with girls, he and Annette had sat, stoking the campfire and talking about their own respective partners who weren’t with them. And he certainly had not stopped Annette when she said (pretended?) to be tired and leant on his shoulder, or the quick gentle kiss before she had gone to bed that evening. But it was nothing… so was this picture a snapshot of nothing too?
What to do?
But Jonathan could not do a thing. Unable to click the mouse, he just sat staring at Holly and that picture. He found himself trying to put himself into the picture, but he just couldn’t. He questioned if Richard had thought at all about the emotions that would be brought to the surface by publishing a picture from…. Jonathan stopped himself. This picture was now about 28 years old. Why was he being so foolish to get so emotional about something nearly thirty years old?
Jonathan then heard the familiar sound of plates being restacked from the dishwasher, which brought him back to the present day. His wife, whom he’d now been married to for over twenty years, was sorting things out. His wife, who he’d met at one of the gang’s summer parties just shortly after she’d had a major break-up with her old partner; her partner who was a good friend… of Richard. Jonathan paused for a moment, and quickly thoughts flooded into his mind of the happy times that he had shared recently and how only yesterday he’d considered made life perfect.
“Hmm, life does run in circles”, thought Jonathan. “I really must thank Richard for putting these pictures up. I wonder what Holly is doing now? I hope she’s happy”.
With that, Jonathan drained the last of his drink, and moved the mouse across the screen.
Click.
OO - - OO
Willow
Different trees are often identified as having particular characteristics or associated with emotions. I thought about how a tree might acquire those attachments…
Willow was a reasonably normal child – at least, normal as much as any child could be. She wasn’t overtly destructive of her toys; she could play nicely with others and had a keen mind. A mind that wanted answers. A lot of answers. So Willow asked a lot of questions. Willow also seemed to want to share a lot of things with everyone – and that included those thoughts that should best remain as thoughts.
“That man has sticky out ears – why have you got sticky out ears?”
“That boy is walking with a limp – why is that boy walking with a limp?”
“Why does that man smell?”
“Why does that woman look funny?”
For some people they would look at Willow, perhaps tut to themselves and move on. Others would wonder why Willow’s parents had allowed her to be so free with her thoughts. The truth is, Willow’s parents despaired that their otherwise normal daughter could be, well, so thoughtless at times, but hoped that she would grow out of it as she got older.
Willow had a favourite walk to school. It took her down a country lane and along a path that followed the side of the river. On her way, she would pass a strange little cottage that backed onto the river.
One day, Willow walked past the house and saw a little old lady washing her clothes in the river.
“Why are you washing your clothes in the river?” she asked
“Because they are dirty, child” the lady politely replied.
“Why don’t you use a washing machine?” Willow quizzed her
“Because I don’t need one – I’ve got the river”
“Why do you not have a washing machine – we’ve got a washing machine – everyone has a washing machine – why do you not have a washing machine?”
“Because I have the river. Oh, I’m done now” and the lady went inside, and Willow carried onto school.
The next day, Willow passed the cottage again and saw the little old lady hanging her clothes on the line.
“Why are you hanging your clothes on the line?” she asked
“Because I’ve just washed them, child” the lady politely replied
“Why don’t you use a drier?” Willow asked
“Because I don’t need one – I have the wind”
“Why do you not have a drier – we have a drier – everyone has a drier – why do you not have a drier?”
“Because I have the wind. Oh, that’s the last one hung” and the lady went inside and Willow carried onto school.
The next day, Willow saw the old lady working in her garden.
“Why are you digging in your garden?”
“Because I have planted some vegetables.”
“Why don’t you just buy them?”
“Because I’ve planted them in the ground.”
“Why don’t you buy your vegetables – we go to the shops and buy ours – everyone goes to the shops and buys theirs – why don’t you buy yours?”
“Because I have ground to grow them. Young lady, you do seem to ask a lot of silly questions” said the old lady, politely.
“Why are you such a funny old lady?” responded Willow
“Why are you such an impolite young lady?” replied the old lady.
“Why do you do the things you do – no one else does them – why are you so odd?” badgered Willow.
“I’m going inside now, but please; don’t ask me any more questions.”
The old lady walked back inside, and Willow carried onto school.
The next day, most young people would have not spoken to the old lady, except perhaps to say good morning. But they aren’t Willow.
“Why are you hanging your washing up on the line?” She questioned again. “And why are you only in your night clothes – why haven’t you got dressed – I’m dressed – everyone gets dressed before they leave their house – you haven’t – why are you not dressed”.
The old lady turned and with a very serious face said,
“Young lady; Please, don’t make me cross. You ask a lot of questions that you should keep in your head. Please, don’t ask me any more silly stupid questions or I will help you learn to keep your thoughts in your head.”
She turned and walked back inside.
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