Short Stories
Crystal's Journey
(A sequel to The House of Stone & Skyelights )
In Drab Villas, an award-winning development (circa 1910) in Wherewithal, Cinders Ella ceased poking the smoking fire in the grate and sailed ethereally to the window, but it was too early for 'her men' to be passing.
Ella imagined waving her magic wand. She executed theatrical bird-like swoops with her arms imitating wings as she pirouetted around the end of the sofa then squeezed between its back and the mountain of old newspapers en route to the mirror.
The mirror was dusty. Indeed the cobwebs hanging over the mirror were dusty, and the older dust was itself gathering fresh dust.
'All I need is provided for me in this best of all possible worlds,' she recited while gazing imaginatively into the murk.
Unfortunately the spell was broken by the more adventurous of the old newspapers. They caught the edges of her slippers; a trick they'd been perfecting with daily rehearsals, sometimes with encores, for many months.
Ella lunged for the back of the settee to stop her fall. Her tobacco stained fingers settled into the shiny patch that daily repetition had produced, and the loose threads on the settee caught the loose skin around her concave nails causing them to bleed.
Ella steadied herself, cursed as daintily as she felt able and sucked her sore fingers. The combination of blood and nicotine annoyed her, as ever, and provoked two major resolutions.
1. She'd ask Scot, the intrepid adventurer, to move all these old newspapers for her.
2. She'd get Stooperman the Infinitely Capable to put up some shelves for her, and while he was on the premises he could advise her how to cut down on the cigarettes.
She lit another, checked her watch and began inching carefully past the papers towards the window overlooking the street, opening a fresh can of beer on the way.
♥
Scot of the Antacid rose rapidly from his bed, rubbing his poor painful stomach and gulping down his glass of water and medicine. He performed his practised routine of washing, dressing, clamping the rucksack with his day's requirements over his shoulders and was out of the flat within minutes.
Five miles it took to placate his seemingly untreatable bowels. Five miles whatever the weather, and he had to complete that before he dare eat his packed breakfast. He avoided the lift (once it had stuck between floors and walking five miles in a crowded lift proved to be both difficult and unpopular) and jogged down the stairs for thirteen floors.
♥
Stooperman lay on the floor, irritable and sweaty as he tried to secure his hernia support over his underpants and beneath his trousers without it sliding out of position.
As usual, he lost patience, tied it on anyhow and fitted his newest, powerfully elasticated black swimming trunks over his trousers for added support.
He secured his cape over his shoulders to keep the wind from aggravating his arthritis and took the lift down to the ground floor.
♥
Scot of the Antacid bounded off the final concrete step and around the corner past the lift. The lift doors creaked open and Stooperman emerged.
'Morning Scot,' he said rather grimly.
'Ey up Stooper,' Scot replied. 'Ready for a brisk walk?'
'I'll do my best,' said Stooperman.
They ducked under the cloud of debris that the gales were teasing out of the huge refuse bins, waded through the broken glass between the burnt out cars and headed across the road past the small park towards Drab Villas.
They made a detour around Duffy the Carpet Layer who had a paranoid fantasy that anyone wearing black was a vampire, and some of Duffy's tools were very sharp.
♥
Skye puffed up the hill towards Wit's End, vainly trying to keep up with Urchin. More than once she'd felt certain she saw sparks struck from the concrete kerb stones by the strange heavy-duty nails in the soles of Urchin's boots. He just sailed up the hill like it was level ground.
An image of Urchin in the army insinuated itself into her mind. He could certainly do the marching, though what personal freedoms or wealth he had to 'defend' she couldn't imagine.
Skye turned the corner into Wit's End and collided with Urchin who'd stopped short and was goggling. Crystal was waiting by her front door.
Skye checked her watch. Okay it was over two hours since they'd left Fidget, but all the same.
'Following wind,' said Crystal. 'No waiting room!' she added.
'Let me guess,' said Skye. 'You didn't have to queue for a ticket?'
'I'll phone Drainpipe, shall I?' asked Urchin. 'When we get indoors? He's the man for printers.'
Skye made a ceremony of handing the keys to Urchin. She turned to crystal.
'Once he gets going there's no stopping him!'
'We need a couple of cheap old LIGHT printers, Pipe. Yeah, that's right. And when you get here, don't stare!' said Urchin.
He pointed to the phone. 'Thanks Skye. Drainpipe is on his way. Via the depot.'
'The depot?' asked Crystal. 'You're so well organised!'
Skye and Urchin laughed.
'The depot is really a lock up shed on Meredith's allotment! That's where we keep a few spares.'
♥
Cinders Ella cackled merrily, spat into the flower pot inside the front door with the precision that only decades of regular practice can achieve, and opened the door.
Her eyes watered in the wind as Stooperman and Scot of the Antacid marched towards her. Stooperman's cape billowed behind him as he marched athletically towards her. The muscles in his thighs bulged, the effect being heightened by the tight swimming trunks he wore over his trousers.
Scot the intrepid adventurer marched by his side, the huge rucksack he always carried seeming no effort at all to such an outdoor type.
Ella smiled happily, wobbled unsteadily from the shelter of her doorway closer to the pavement and raised a summoning hand in greeting. Scot and Stooperman swept past her, muttering 'Can't stop now, appointment.'
Ella shrivelled on the spot, a picture of disappointment. She made to re-enter her home and shut out the wind, but saw an astonishing sight. A golden-haired slender giant was pushing a huge heavily laden bicycle along the roadside, her golden ponytail leading the way over her right shoulder, almost horizontal in the wind. Even Stooperman and Scot looked small next to her.
She looked happy. Diabolically so, given the weather. She paused to regard Ella, and gave her a sympathetic though strangely unnerving smile.
Ella returned indoors, collapsed in the chair by the fire and wept without being at all clear what she felt. Her can of beer spilled on the carpet and the fire smoked uncooperatively.
♥
Crystal first cycled then walked uphill away from the motorway bridge and onto the moor. She felt giddy and mildly sick amid the desolation of the moor. The dead trees and swampy, acidic, moss-strewn ground didn't feel right.
Twice she got up to continue her journey, but each time the giddiness returned and she sat down again. As soon as she stopped trying to leave, the giddy feelings vanished.
'Okay!' she said. 'I'll stay here!'
Crystal took in the view. Just over the horizon to her left was the motorway. In front and to the right the moorland felt gentle undulating. It may have been volcanic once; it may have been carved by a passing glacier, but you'd never know it now. This was old land; settled, established, possibly even pensioned and middle-class.
As if to prove it, a small herd of golfers came into view down the valley. Crystal recognised the uniform, the trolleys and the non-uniform motion. The herd progressed purposefully for about one hundred and fifty yards, then appeared to separate and nose about the undergrowth for a while before progressing again.
Crystal had heard reports on the radio of tame golfers apparently going wild and escaping from their reserves. The reports were supported by the Couch Potato Weekly and denied by the Daily Mule, so it was handy to see the evidence in the flesh.
The spot was just about out of earshot of the motorway, but a hollow surrounded by rocks a little way downhill towards a stream looked even better; protected from both the motorway noise and the prevailing wind.
Crystal found the softest patch of ground, pitched her tent with the opening at the top of the mild slope, clambered inside and settled down for a lengthy spell of whistle playing. Occasional gusts of wind moved the sides of the tent in a surprisingly soothing manner.
As soon as it grew dark she fell asleep.
Dozens of ravens filled the air at once, coming from all points of the compass and gathered in the stand of bedraggled conifers near the standing stones.
The girl looked on in wonder as the ravens grew silent, hundreds of them together now. The keening noise grew more insistent then settled into a less disturbing mode. A regular pulse resembling a heartbeat developed. A very slow heartbeat, maybe fifteen beats per minute, reverberating between the stones.
The ravens departed in small bands and headed purposefully towards residential areas. One group converged in a stand of alder trees on the wealthy outskirts of Wherewithal and called to the blackbirds and robins. The smaller birds rapidly congregated and a great deal of nodding of beaks and shaking of heads occurred.
Funny dream, thought Crystal.