A Change of Plan

Forty minutes later I find myself back at the inn. The owner of several packages containing carefully folded, tissue-wrapped garments. I remove them from their boxes and put on the dress, scarf and shoes that Albany DeWitt had painstakingly picked out for me.I had to admit he had done an extremely good job. The dress is a loose flowing empire line style made of turquoise silk printed with a paisley design of a sea green and gold, enhanced here and there with tiny glittering glass beads. DeWitt had teamed the dress with a silk scarf of a deeper turquoise shade flecked with silver.  My shoes sparkle with silver straps and gold beading.

I stand in front of the mirror in my new outfit giggling like a teenager. All this way on the back of a flying horse to play dress-ups. I swish the dress this way and that watching the colors shift and dance. My eyes are feeling heavy; Ida’s coffee seems to be wearing off.

I sink heavily back onto the comfortable double bed and look lazily around the room.

Two large leather bags lay on the floor next to the bed. I presume they are mine. I can’t remember packing for this trip. My eyes take in the rest of the room. A dressing table and mirror, a cupboard and thick curtains drawn against a large bay window. I wonder drowsily about the view beyond the window but decide sleepily to check later. My eyes shut and I sleep.

The sky outside the window is dark and decked with stars. A warm breeze stirs the trees in the orchard below lifting the scent of apple blossom to me. Above the trees I notice movement. A large winged shape is forming, moving towards me. Solomon? As it flies closer I see it is a butterfly, bigger than any I have seen before. Its wings brush either side of the window frame as it flies into the room. .They envelope me in their powdered softness, caress me with whispers and light kisses. I can feel the butterfly’s colours dance and shift from its wings onto and beneath my skin into my blood and essence. In front of the mirror I unfurl my wings and wonder at my magnificence and beauty.

I wake up to find Ida looking at me from the foot of the bed.

“I see you found Mr. DeWitt,” she says.

I blush and sitting up try to brush some of the creases out of the dress.

“I wanted something special for tonight,” I explain.

“No time for that now,” Ida lifts the leather bags up onto the bed, “I’ve had notice from Herself about a change of plans. You won’t be needing fancy clothes where you’re going.”

She rummages in one of the bags and pulls out jeans, a shirt, jacket and boots. All decidedly plain compared to my frock.

“Meet me in the kitchen once you’re dressed and bring your things with you.”

“Where am I going?”

“You’re to meet at the circus on Serpentine Rd. Don’t take your horse; she’s got a donkey there for you”

I sigh looking down at my beautiful dress and thinking of my gorgeous horse,

“But I was going to be thrilling.”

Ida chuckles wickedly as she closes the door to leave,

“Plenty of thrills where you’re going.”

Curious and Thrilling

After a filling breakfast of fresh scones, jam, cream and a mug of Ida’s strong coffee I slip into the stables to see Solomon and feed him an apple I had taken from Ida’s kitchen table. He snickers gently to me and chomps the apple greedily.I pat his neck and feel his warm breath on my ears,

“I’ll see you soon boy.”

As I venture forth to explore the town I walk from the inn down to the wide main street. It  reminds me of an old mining town where the streets were wide enough to allow a camel train to turn around. On either side of the street are shop fronts of all sorts, with windows painted, or signs hung up outside to advertise their wares. I walk past a saddler, a bookshop, a tobacconist, rope makers, a coffee shop, a tailor, a gem store and a co-op.

There is one particular shop front that I cannot walk past. Unlike the others who’s windows and doorsteps gleam with polish and bright paint this shop’s windows are dusty and grimy. The faded sign painted on the window reads “Curiosity Shop”. In the window display lies a jumbled assortment of books, broken phonograph machines, coins, hats, umbrellas, empty picture frames and odd boots. I push open the door and step inside.

The shop is dark. Here and there lamps shine pools of light. There does not appear to be any order to the place. Objects are strewn higgledy-piggledy. Tea-sets with flower pots, magazines and birdcages, men’s jackets and old postcards. I absently pick through the flotsam, not looking for anything in particular. Keys, braces, bottles, stamp albums, when a voice pipes out of the gloom,

“Hello dear, is this your first visit?”

“Yes it is,” I reply, peering through the stacks of old almanacs and recipe books to see an elderly man perched upon a high stool, leaning against a beautiful old writing desk.

“I thought as much” he says, adjusting the glasses on his nose, “Those who have been here before know exactly what they are looking for. Whereas you seem a wee bitty lost.”

I had to admit I was. I didn’t know what I wanted or what I was doing here.

The old man jumps from his stool and bows genteelly,

“Allow me to introduce myself”, he continues proffering his hand,” My name is Albany St. James DeWitt.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. De Witt.” I shake his hand, which is no bigger than a child’s.

 With a flourish he produces a business card from a fine silver card holder.

Duwamish Bay’s   Albany St. James DeWitt   Curios and Collectables

 ”Now I take it you need something for your journey?” he asks.

“How did you know?”

“My dear everyone is on a journey of some sort”
He drifts amongst the detritus of his shop, lightly touching objects here and there.

“So tell me about yours. Where are you traveling to?”

“Well,” I stammer, “I’m not sure. It’s all a bit of a mystery really.”

“Ooh! Mystery!” He gasps clapping his hands together, ” Thrilling! Thrilling! Intrigue, suspense, romance.”

Dewitt paces the cluttered floor, his hands clasped dramatically at his chest.

“Secret meetings with strangers at midnight, clues to ponder”

I look at him,

“Actually I am meeting a stranger at midnight,”

He claps his hands gleefully,

 ” Thrilling! Thrilling! Our glamorous heroine! You must have something fabulous to wear! Follow me!” He commands.

He strides to a door at the back of the shop. I follow him through the doorway into a brightly lit room. It is a stark contrast to the shop. Rows and rows of dresses hang on racks. Full length mirrors line the walls. Shelves hold neatly stacked shoe boxes, handbags and folded scarves in every colour imaginable.

DeWitt walks into the room talking nonstop,

“Sequins, scarves. Chic, sensual, dramatic, feminine.”

“But Mr. DeWitt,” I venture, ” I have a horse to ride and a journey to take. I really don’t think I need a dress.”

“Pish posh!” He snorts. What is it with this place and snorting? ” You must always have one sensational dress. Especially for mysterious midnight rendezvous’. You must look thrilling and I have just the thing!”

I decide it will be easier to go along for the ride rather than try to resist.

“A dress,” I murmur, as I watch DeWitt pulling out dresses, scarves and shoes in frenzy, “How thrilling.”

In a few minutes the room is awash in colour. Dresses, capes, shoes, boas, tiaras, chokers, gloves and stockings have been pulled from their racks, shelves and boxes.

Mr. DeWitt, I ask timidly as he holds swatches of fabric up to my face, tutting and shaking his head, “I thought you ran a curiosity shop.”

“You didn’t turn it over did you?” He asks, nodding at the business card that I am still holding

Albany St. James DeWitt   Dresser and Stylist Extraordinaire

 ”Mr. Dewitt?” I ask again.

“Yes darling” DeWitt replies, “I used to be a fashion and style consultant for a big magazine. I retired here but I never quite left the business behind.”

“But this is Duwamish Bay, all the people I met today were wearing gumboots and overalls. Won’t I be a bit overdressed?”

DeWitt looks at me seriously,

“Listen darling, tonight is a very big night for our town. Everyone will be making an effort. Even Tom Wilcox, bless his heart, will dress up this evening. So you are expected to do your best to spruce up.”

“So how often do you do this?”

“Oh whenever there is a big do here all the locals love to frock up. When the spirit takes me I pack up off to Paris for a few weeks and come back with utterly fabulous and thrilling new outfits for everyone to try.”

“I do so love helping.” He claps his hands together gleefully, “And I am here to help. You shall go to the ball!”

 

A Welcome

We arrive at Duwamish Bay a little after sunrise. Solomon lands gently at the town’s fishing wharf which is already hive of activity. Men are busy stowing pots and nets on board their boats preparing for  the day ahead. The air is thick with the smell of fish and the men’s shouting voices. Men are filling the wharf with coils of rope and stacks of pots, huge boxes of ice and provisions.  The boats’ engines are running, filling the air with the thick stink of diesel. In the midst of all this purpose and action I start to feel out of place and in the way.  Solomon begins to get a little skittish around the bustle and the noise so I slip off the saddle and walk beside him to keep him calm. I try to lead him without getting in the way of the fishermen. I can hear them muttering and grumbling to each other as I try to pick my way through their preparations,

 ”Bloody tourists…bloody horses… it’s not a bloody racecourse”

“Oi! Missy! How much for your horse?” a rough voice calls out. A short, graying, thickset man leans over the side of his boat and grins, ” I could catch a lot of crays with that meat.”

I laugh and Solomon’s ears flatten in dismay. I pat his neck reassuringly.

“I could eat my own weight in cray tails, sir, but this boy is far too precious for bait. I’ll have to settle for paying for them in coin like everyone else here.”

The man laughs and winks,

“I’m Ida Wilcox’s brother Tom. We deliver our catch to the inn this afternoon,  I’ll be sure to let her know which crays are yours. Now you best be quick and grab a room. They’re going fast. Ida’s in a real flap, got some special guest turnin’ up at midnight… why she can’t arrive in daylight like everyone else has got me beat. She won’t say who it is but I’m under strict instruction only to bring the best tunny and cray to her kitchen. Got me confused though, I thought I already got her the best.”

We laugh again,

“Thanks Tom, I’m looking forward to dinner already.”

Tom waves and is instantly lost to me, busy preparing his men and his boat for their trip. After my conversation with Tom the rest of the men resist commenting  further and I make my way in relative peace from the wharf to Duwamish Bay Inn.

At the inn I find a middle aged woman, dressed in overalls, sitting on the front steps, a mop and bucket next to her and a big mug of coffee in her hands.

“Ida?”

“That’s my name, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve come from Mrs. Luff’s stables. I’d like a room please, only your brother said you were very busy and there might not be  one left. “

Oh, don’t pay any attention to him,” Ida grins,” I always have room for Night Riders, besides that man doesn’t know which way is up unless he’s on a boat. I’ll bet he offered you a crayfish as well.

She drains her mug in a few gulps , stands and stretches then smiles again and offers her hand.

“Welcome to Duwamish Bay Inn dear”, she says as we shake hands,” Tom’s dead keen to ride one of Mrs. Luff’s fancy horses. Hopes he can bribe someone one of these days. Even if he was allowed he wouldn’t. Poor sod’s got no head for heights. That man will stay at sea in the height of a raging storm that would make strong men cry for their mothers.  Yet if I ask him to get up a ladder to wash my windows he comes over all peculiar and has to have a lie down. He catches me good fish though. And always a few extra for my special guests!”

She winks at me and at once I can see a resemblance to her brother.

“Now let’s get you sorted so you can start exploring our town.”

The Sands of Duwamish Bay

 After I had settled Acapella at the stables and put my belongings in a room at the Inn in Duwamish Bay, I decided that I needed to get out and walk around or I would fall fast asleep and not be able to sleep that night. I walked over to the Dolphin Baths, but the dolphins weren’t there today. I walked over by the harbor and watched the gulls flying for a while. The boats were all out and there really wasn’t anything going on here in the middle of the afternoon.

Finally, I decided to walk along the shore for a while. The tide was running out and there would be a good bit of beach exposed for a while. Maybe I could see some sea creatures in tide pools or something.

I took my boots off and tied the laces together to make them easy to carry. Then I set off away from town along the shores of the Duwamish Bay. It was peaceful and the sun was warm and pleasant. I watched shore birds hunting small things to eat and watched the small things try to scuttle away to safety. Rocks divided the shore into little coves - private little sandy rooms.

In one of these coves, I found people digging for clams where the tide had gone out. I watched for a while and then tried my hand at the digging, much to the amusement of the local people. We laughed and they offered me some of the clams, but I declined. I wanted to keep on exploring and didn’t want to carry them.

About half and hour’s walk from town, I started to hear voices - children’s voices. I climbed up on the rocks separating this section of the beach from the next and looked down. This little beach was full of children. It looked like every child in town must be here. Big, small, and in between, they were all busily engaged in building sand castles.

The sand castles were of all sizes and shapes. Some of the children worked alone and others worked in groups. The children were laughing and shouting and planning together. It all looked like fun.

“Hello!” I called, “May I join you?”

The children stopped what they were doing and looked up at me. Several of them looked at each other and the oldest ones - they looked to be twelve or so - said, “All right, sure, only…” They paused and shrugged.

I caught their drift. “I promise not to be bossy and take over or anything like that. It just looks like fun to build sandcastles.”

“Okay!” came the reply and I scrambled over the rocks onto the sand. At first I just walked around looking at what the children were making. The sandcastles were remarkable. They were very detailed - the children were careful to use sand that was just wet enough to mold. They had buckets and tin pails and little shovels and cups which they used to make the basic shapes of the castles. They were decorated with rocks and shells and even feathers left by seagulls. One enterprising child had brought along some leaves and flowers and was using these as decorations. Older children were helping the littler ones and everyone was busy.

Finally I found a castle that I could help on. The children making it were a little bit behind the others and one of them handed me a bucket and asked me to go and get some water in it to wet the sand a little bit more. I did as I was asked and soon I was very involved in creating a large sand house. The children said theirs wasn’t a castle. They didn’t want to participate in the battle.

“The battle?” I asked.

The children giggled and replied, “You’ll see!”

We worked for quite some time and everyone finished up about the same time, just before the tide began to turn. Buckets were filled in the bay and used to fill the moats around the castles. Then several of the children did something strange.

They went over to the rocks and climbed up above the high-tide mark. One of them reached into a small cave and began handing out little boxes. All the other children ran up and grabbed these and took them to their castles. As I watched, the children set up toy soldiers- hundred of them, all in different styles and colors of paint. There were infantry and cavalry and artillery, all sandy and well used.

The children I had helped, and a few others, took boxes that were marked differently. These turned out to be full of doll’s house families instead of soldiers. One smiling child carried off a box that proved to be full of toy farm animals.

The children saw me looking and said, “There’s a set of zoo animals, too. The littlest ones like the farm and the zoo and the Noah’s Ark best. Most of us prefer the soldiers, though.”

The children hurried to set up the toys. There was some discussion over where the soldiers should go, and some regrouping of the little units, but just as the tide turned, one of the older children called out, “All right! It’s time! Here we go!”

And as I watched in wonder, the toy soldiers began to move. They came to life and attacked the sandcastles. The doll’s house families moved, too, and so did the farm animals. All of the toys came to life just as the tide turned.

The children cheered on their favorites and watched excitedly as some of the castles began to fall to the little soldiers.

One of the children explained, “We try to see who can make the best castle. The ones that last the longest are the best. But it doesn’t count if you just make a big pile of sand. It has to look right, too. Some times we put two sets of soldiers on one castle. The set that gets their flag to the top first, wins.

The children were running around and supervising the battles, picking up the toys that had gotten knocked down and putting them in their boxes. “If they get knocked down, they’re out,” the child beside me said. One child ran around refilling moats, carefully avoiding stepping on the toys.

The children with doll’s house people and farm animals were contentedly watching their toys go about their business. Little piles of shells, rocks and vegetation were being used by the toys to make things and decorate the houses. One very small child told another, “I think they like the house better this time than they did last time. Look! They’re really fixing it up!”

I was entranced everything and had forgotten about the tide. I was surprised when the oldest ones called out, “Tide’s almost up to the rock! Get ready to pick everything up!”

As the water reached the lowest of the rocks, all the toys fell still once more. The children discussed whose castle had looked the best and which ones had withstood the battles the best as they picked up all of the toys and placed them carefully back in the boxes.

“Would you make sure everything gets picked up?” a sand-covered child asked me. I did, rescuing one little soldier from the bottom of a moat and another from underneath the ruins of a tower.

By the time the water reached the first of the castles, everything was picked up. The children sighed contentedly and lined up to put the boxes back in the cave in the rocks.

“That was fun,” the one of the children I had helped said. “I wish it happened more than once a month.”
“No,” replied another, “then it wouldn’t be as special.”

I went over to the older children who were up in the rocks and began handing up boxes.

The children putting away the boxes explained to me, “Every month, on the full moon, this happens. The toys come to life just from the lowest point of the tide until the tide reaches the first rocks. It’s happened for years. We call it Cove Day. Our parents used to come here and do this, and so did their parents. Some of the toys that we play with were theirs, even. We don’t know why it happens, but it’s only in this cove. Usually, our parents make sure we have Cove Day off, if we’ve been good. You better believe we try to be good, so we aren’t grounded! No one wants to miss this. Sometimes our parents aren’t too busy and come along. That’s okay once in a while, but…”
“I know!” I laughed. “Thank you for letting me stay. I’ve seen some amazing things in my time, but this one was special. Thanks for sharing!”

The children finished putting things away and then stood at the top of the beach to watch the bay roll in and wash away the castles. Then, sandy and happy, they ran off for home and their suppers.

I walked back slowly, savoring the magic of the day along with the sunset.

- She Wolf (c) June 2007

View from Duwamish Inn

We have arrived safely, and the view from Duwamish Inn is spectacular. Love the mulled wine, as well.

Gail Kavanagh

An Unexpected Flight

We, all four of us travelers, seat ourselves in a banquet room in the Inn. We do not talk to each other. We make no sound. We all intently listen to the rain fall on Duwamish Bay, while we watch for the long-waited approach of Enchanteur. When I stare out the window closest to me, the rain pours with more force and red lightning dances in zigzags between the darkened gold clouds. The jeweled stars are still visible, although a low mist envelops the town. As lightning lightens the ground, I see a shadow out in the garden. Slowly, it approaches the window and I watch it carefully. Is it Enchanteur?

No, it’s Joey! Rainwater streams down his coat as he neighs softly. His green eyes are studying me seriously. When he spots me near the window, he bumps his nose slightly against the pane and turns his head as if I am to follow him.

I excuse myself from the banquet, although I have yet to see a morsel of food and I my stomach is growling with hunger pangs. As I reach the side door of the Inn, I realize I am dressed in my ball gown and high heels. Not exactly the kind of outfit to go flying in the air on the back of a horse.

I open the door an inch. “Joey. I need to change my clothes. I’ll hurry.”

“Bo! Really, really hurry. It’s important. I’ll get my blanket and meet you by that old shed. And don’t forget Enchanteur’s Bag.”

We meet outside in less than five minutes. I carry my emergency plastic poncho and wear my exploring clothes. My heavy traveling shoes are caked with mud, but they seem to fit better than usual. My toes aren’t pinched. I settle our outerwear around us. Joey’s blanket is mysteriously dry,and my bit of plastic somehow warms both of us. Once we are dressed, we huddle next to the shed. The eaves partially spare us from the wicked weather.

“We’ll stay here for a little while, Bo. No one will hear my tale. I spoke to a black Raven not fifteen minutes ago. He was gleaming with such magnificence, I could see the jeweled stars reflecting on his feathers. I knew he was a Messenger the moment I spied him. Did you know that Ravens and I share one of the magic languages?”

“I’m not surprised, Joey. What did the Raven say?”

“He passed on surprising news, a rather complicated story if I say so myself. I understood much of what he said, but he was speaking in an awful accent and I might have missed a bit.”

“Joey, I’m feeling testy. What was the message? Who was it from?”

“Anonymous, Bo. It was from Anonymous.”

“Tell me the whole message or I’ll notify Tillie that we aren’t compatible. Do you want me to demand a different steed?”

“No, Bo. We’re a team. I’ll tell you everything. A very large raven, double the size of most ravens, flew into the open door of the barn and landed on my back. He asked my mistress’s name and then gave me this message. “Leave immediately,” he said. “Prepare for a journey of great distance and difficulty. Do not travel above the rain clouds for it is not safe. Stay just above the trees for camouflage and keep your eyes alert. Travel only in dim light.”

“Anything else, Joey?”

“There are extra supplies stashed for us. They are in a bundle on the second branch of the fifth maple tree east of the crossroads between Duwamish and the trail through Casper Mountain. Or maybe it was the fifth branch of the third oak? I can’t be sure, but we as a team can find it. No problem.”

I try to keep my spirits from sinking, but I do wish Joey listened to instructions. He repeats himself. “We are a team. No problem.”

“So where is our destination?”

“Ah, that I remember clearly. I even carry a map the Raven supplied. We head through Casper Mountain pass until we reach the Murmuring Woods. There we search for the Faraway Tree. It is the tallest tree in the woods and shan’t be hard to locate. The two of us must climb the tree, (although climbing trees is not one of my better tricks,) until we come to an opening in a thick ring of clouds. There we will enter the Land of Fairy Tales and there our adventure will begin in earnest.”

“But, Joey. We’ve just reached Duwamish Bay. It seems a shame to leave without exploring and crossing on the ferry.”

“A mystery for you to ponder, Bo. Now one last command from the Raven. Fetch the medallion of the unicorn from Enchanteur’s bag. Look carefully at the unicorn.”

I gasp in alarm. “It has a remarkable resemblance to you, Joey. Is this an ancestor of yours on the medallion?”

“For now, that is a question I choose not to answer. Sorry, Bo. Looks like I do know more than once appeared. Now place the medallion over my neck and wrap us with your poncho to keep us dry. The trip will sorely test us. Climb on, Bo. I do believe the ending of the tale is worth the danger, or I would not allow you to come.”

I take a glance back at the hotel, as more travelers arrive for the feast. The banquet hall is lit like a Christmas Tree, and music floats through the air. “Oh, Joey! I was so looking forward to the banquet.” I nearly weep.

“Do not fret, Bo. There will be other banquets for you to attend.”

I look at Joey as he takes a running leap and then he slides between the raindrops and into the sky. I stare hard. Joey’s coat has turned the color of gold and he sports a spiraled horn and a billy-goat’s beard. His swishing tail is that of a lion. Joey sneaks a look at me and winks.

“Yep,” hoots Joey. “I couldn’t tell you first off, but I am a Golden Unicorn. I shall be at your service, and you shall be at mine.”

I try to clear my mind from incoming confusion. “Do I still call you Joey?”

“Bo, I must travel incognito. All who see me see a horse and all call me Joey. No one sees a golden unicorn, except the one who placed the medallion upon his neck. When our adventure is complete, I will grant you one wish for being the Assistant to The Golden Unicorn.”

I am flabbergasted, but I follow the instructions and soon we find the supplies. I gobble down four peanut butter sandwiches and two yellow pears. Joey eats what appears to be a bar of soap wrapped in hay. He tucks his remaining energy bars and a white flag under one wing, and promises me more food when we reach the mountain. He takes out a bladder flask and we drink slowly of red unicorn wine which warms me and heightens my awareness. Now I can understand the words Joey thinks to himself, so we need not speak aloud when in danger.

Joey consults a hand-drawn map and follows the tracks which eventually lead us to Casper Mountain’s pass. For once, Joey concentrates and pulls no pranks. I can’t believe I am flying on my Joey who now is transformed into a unicorn. As we fly over the tree tops, I lean into his soft mane, promising myself that I will close my eyes only briefly. Then I fall into a dreamless sleep.

Reaching Duwamish Bay

Strangely enough it was a smooth sailing, especially given the dire predictions of squally storms the evening before. Yet here we were, visitors all — some new, others returning to see if they could find again what they seemed to have lost. And not one of us, even those with the most delicate constitutions, had suffered the ill effects of a rough sea. The splendid dinners we had enjoyed on board that most hospitable ship remained where we had put them.As the sun rose higher in the vast and cloudless blue sky, reflected in the calm sea waters, the temperature of the air rose accordingly. The ship turned away from the horizon to begin it’s docking at the harbour of a tiny inlet known throughout these parts as Duwamish Bay. As the ship slowly edged its way to the wooden gangway we all began to emerge from our cabins in pairs and small groups to get, for some at least, a first glimpse of the island which promised all its visitors a journey such that no traveller has ever before experienced. A more unlikely and motley gathering of tourists has yet to be seen, and yet we all shared a taste for something previously unknown, a hope to see beyond the veil, if only for a brief moment. Such as we were, young and old alike, we hungered for the touch of what we knew not.

After disembarking the tiny groups began to drift off in various directions. I stood awhile on the shore, watching in wonder as a mist began to roll in from afar, way beyond the horizon, from further than any eye could see.

”Strange,”, I thought, ‘’since while we sailed there was no such mist in view, nor at least any that I could see.”

Where had such a dense fog emerged from so suddenly and in the wake of our heels as it were? And why did it seem to surround the entire island, or at least as much of it as I could make out from my present vantage point? Now it appeared as if the island had become completely cut off from all contact with any world beyond it’s shoreline. Was this the start of the storm promised the night before, or was it something else altogether? And why did no one else seem to notice?

Looking about me I saw then that someone else did indeed notice after all, and she also was watching the waves of mist drifting around the island, yet never actually passing beyond the shore. Was she as baffled as I about such a phenomenon? I began to walk slowly in her direction, holding my skirts up high as I tried to negotiate the many stones and small rocks scattered hither and thither around the beach.

”I really must find some more suitable footwear for this journey,” I thought to myself as I stubbed my toe yet again an a sharp stone.

As I drew closer to her I could see that she was quite young, hardly much more than 20 years or so. Her hair was long and wavy, held in place by no more than a thin ribbon tied around her forehead, with the long remaining fringes flowing down the length of her hair. Her attire consisted of little more than a white shift, and a long colourful skirt caught up in a rope tied around her tiny waist and revealing her slips underneath. She had the look of a gypsy about her, and yet there was an air of something else, something both almost familiar and yet mysteriously unreal.

”Good afternoon”, I greeted her with a friendly smile, catching her eye momentarily before glancing back out to sea.

”Hello”, she answered quietly, though not as timidly as I had expected.

”Have you just arrived off the ship just now?”

”No ma’am. I have been a resident in these here parts for some time now.”

”Do you have family or friends nearby?”

”No, neither friend nor foe await me here. I arrived alone and have remained so.”

This scanty information I had managed to glean so far merely whetted my appetite and curiosity for more!

”Are you perhaps following the path of she whom we know as L’Enchanteur?”

On hearing L’Enchanteur’s name she lifted her head and looked me in the eye. A glimmer of recognition passed across her face, and the beginning of a smile played at the edge of her lips.

”Indeed yes I have heard of your L’Enchanteur. This island is one of her many favourite haunting spots. But no, I am not a follower of hers. I work for her.”

And with that answer she threw her head back and laughed full out loud.

At first I felt completely startled by this outburst, but then her humour was so infectious that soon I too began to laugh with her, although what exactly we were laughing at I was not quite so certain. A small voice at the back of my mind fervently hoped that the joke was not on me.

When her laughter and merriment had spent itself she turned to look at me, taking in my appearance from head to toe. A strange sensation overtook me. It occurred to me that this was not a superficial assessment based on my clothes and appearance. Rather I felt as if she penetrated my my inner being and saw me as I am, and not as I project myself on to the world. This brief encounter, for such it was, left me feeling quite vulnerable and unsettled. But then she laughed again and taking my hand in hers began talking to me, soothing me even with the musical lilt of her voice.

”Come this way with me. I know somewhere where you can stay while you are visiting this island. Later we shall send word back to the ship’s porter and have your luggage sent up to your rooms.”

And so it was, that without even knowing her name, I entrusted my self to the care of this young gypsy woman.

Soul Sister

At the Inn, Part II

A silence fell over the dining room as the shaking gradually came to a stop. The patrons crawled from beneath the tables. They stared at the wrought-iron chandelier that had crashed to the floor, narrowly missing some diners, and then turned to each other, waiting to make sure that the shaking had truly stopped. Then, a collective sigh rose from the crowd and the room bustled into action. Some patrons rushed through the front doors, heading out to see if any damage had befallen their homes and businesses. Ida barked orders to her staff to begin cleaning and repairs.

“No time to waste. No quake’s gonna keep ‘em away at lunch time!”

Ida hustled me up the stairs to one of the guest rooms and settled me into bed. She sent Mimi to find the doctor. A short while later my wound was cleaned and stitched and a tetanus shot administered.

After the doctor left, Ida stood at the foot of the bed. “Now, dear, tell my how you came to my front door.” Mimi scurried around the room, tidying up and pretending not to listen.

I related my story from the beginning—how I found Lemuria and embarked on my first heroic journey last year, then how I found Cyberia and acquired the Tavern.

“You won the Taverna di Muse in a game of poker?” Ida let out a hoot and a hearty laugh. “Oh, how I wish I could have seen the look on Ethel’s face!”

I continued my story and told her how I embarked on a second heroic journey, and my encounter with the jaguar and Amara Von Saxonberg.

“It’s no small thing to do the journey once, but a second time?!. The deeper into Lemuria you delve, the greater the danger.” Ida lightly patted my bandaged leg. “What else did Amara say to you—besides just sending us her regards?”

I looked at Ida and cautiously said, “Not much else, really. Why do you ask?”

Ida rose and walked to the window. “Amara’s been flittin’ about Lemuria for quite a while now. Said she was a professor of some sort in the Real World until she, as she says, ‘fell down the rabbit-hole’ or some such nonsense. .. Anyhow, she keeps a room here at the Inn but spends most of her time ‘exploring’?

“Exploring for what?”

Mimi ceased her puttering. “She says she trying to find out what’s wrong with Lemuria! I don’t know what’s she talking about. Lemuria’s just fine! Just some bad weather and earthquakes. We’re fine, aren’t we, Ida?”

“Mimi, dear, run on down to the kitchen and see if Earl’s got some food for Lori. It should be ready now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mimi chirped.

After the door shut, Ida pulled up a stool and sat.

“We don’t talk much about this—people are nervous enough as it is…. There’s something afoot in Lemuria—something dangerous. A few months ago, we started having bad weather, crops failing, fish disappearing from the bay—first flooding rain, now drought. Then the earthquakes started. And…. if what you are saying is true…. The dead are arisin’ and walking about.”

“We haven’t had any of this in Cyberia. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s seems to have started in the Unknown lands of Lemuria and it’s spreadin’. If it isn’t stopped, it’ll reach Cyberia soon enough.”

“No, that can’t be. Lemuria is a refuge. It’s the place we escape to FROM the Real World.

“The peace of Lemuria is fragile and I’m afraid if something is not done soon, it will be beyond fixin’.”

“What’s causing it?”

“We don’t know. The Elders have convened and discussed it. I’m told that even Enchanteur has been ponderin’ the matter.”

“How does Amara fit into all this?”

“As I was sayin’ the Elders were discussin’ things a few weeks ago when Amara jumps up and says she’ll go lookin’ for the reason. She’s an impulsive woman to be sure, wild and unpredictable. Good-hearted to the last but no common sense. We had a big to-do about it, she and I, and she ups and runs off. Since then the earthquakes have been getting’ worse. I think she may have stirred things up even worse.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“We sent the Ravens with a message to Enchanteur askin’ what’s to be done. Just yesterday we get a message back from her. It only said ‘Watch for the Wounded Wanderer who bears the mark of the Panther. She will lead the way.’” Then Ida fell silent.

It took me a moment to process what she just said and then a realization hit me.

“What? You’ve got to be kidding. Me?”

“Aye. You.”

 

To be continued.

Lori Gloyd (c) 2007

At the Inn, Part I

“Ida, Ida! She’s comin’ round!”

I heard the chatter and mumble of many voices as I opened my eyes and tried to focus. I was in a large room with sunlight pouring through bay windows, and I could see Duwamish Bay Harbor, boats gleaming in the morning sunlight.

I was seated at a wooden table next to a large stone fireplace with a crackling fire. A crowd of strangers surrounded me. I closed my eyes again and tried to remember the night before. I could not recall anything beyond the grey figures marching towards me and my lighting the candle. I felt my wounded leg throb.

“Get out of my way!” A matronly woman dressed in a plaid flannel shirt and dungarees pushed through the crowd.

“Sit down, all of you. Let the poor girl breathe.” The strangers returned to their respective tables, but they continued to stare at me and whisper to each other.

“You gave us quite a scare. We found you this morning curled up on the front porch, clutching a cold candle. We couldn’t wake you up. Were you out there all night?”

I nodded.

“Good heavens, girl, why didn’t you knock? Earl is our night clerk. He’s always here, aren’t you, Earl?”

“That’s right, Ida. Dinna hear a thing all night.”

I found my voice, “But I did knock. I pounded and yelled, then those people….”

Ida and Earl exchanged glances, then Ida said, “Earl, get the girl some breakfast, will you, dear?”

“Coming right up.” Earl hobbled through a swinging door into the kitchen.

“Well, dear, tell me your name.”

“Lori.”

“Well, Lori, I’ll get you fixed up in a room right quick before I take the next ferry across to the Island.”

“You’re a ferry woman?”

“Indeed, I am. Nigh on thirty-seven years, this winter.”

“I have a message for you.”

“Really? From whom, dear?”

“Dr. von Saxonberg.”

As I suspected, everyone in the room had still been listening; their conversation and movements came to a complete stop and all heads turned to me.

“She does, does she?” Ida frowned.

I was immediately sorry I had said anything. “It’s nothing—she just sends her regards, that’s all.” My leg was still throbbing and beginning to feel hot.

Ida stared straight into my eyes as if searching for something. Then she said, “Have you been injured in anyway?”

“Well, as a matter of fact….” I pulled away the rip on my trousers to reveal the wound. Blood has soaked through the layers of gauze. “I think I may need some stitches and a tetanus shot.”

“Good heavens, girl! Mimi!” She called to a serving girl standing at the counter. “Get a bed ready right now!

Before the girl could scurry up the stairs, a low rumbling filled the room. The bottles behind the counter shimmied and the glass in the bay windows rattled in their frames. The patrons’ tables and chairs vibrated, and silverware and china danced across the tops. The dining room’s huge wrought-iron chandelier swayed overhead

Somewhere in the crowded room a voice called out, “Earthquake!”

“Here we go again!”

The room rocked from side to side. A number of voices rang out “Get under the tables!”

Ida grabbed my shoulder and pushed down. “Quick, sweetie, get down!” As we both dove under the table, I heard the sound of cracking wood followed by a deafening crash.

 

To be continued……..

 

Lori Gloyd © 2007

 

 

 

The Duwamish Bay Show-Down

Joey travels powered only on jeweled star power while we try to follow the map and catch sight of land or sea. Night passes into dawn. Then the golden luminescent fluff-clouds break up enough to view the shore from the sky. “Joey, look,” as I point to a crescent of beach below us. We could see a village nestled between a thick copse of trees and green translucent seawater. “Duwamish Bay. I’m certain, Bo. I knew I wouldn’t get us lost on our first trip together.”

Joey dips toward the sea, and then slides onto the Bay as if he is on water skis, (an acrobatic maneuver that I did not yet know he could perform.) Throngs of neon sea horses, each flickering in fluorescent pinks and yellows, welcome us. Joey and the sea horses dance on the water’s surface, a hula-tango-twist melange, while I try my best to stay planted on Joey’s bouncing back. Unsuccessful against such unbridled leaps, I fly from his back and somersault into the air. Villagers transfixed by the sight of the horses dancing in the Bay, now stare at me as I tumble into space and fear impact with the ground.

A woman with a long scarlet skirt watches me fly head over heels, then takes off running after me. “Sweetheart! I’ll catch you!” She bunches her billowing skirt into her hands, and traps my hurling body just before I smash into the cobblestones. I land squarely into her skirt and she bundles me into the silky fabric before lowering me to the ground. The two of us attract a crowd, and their whoops and cheers sing into the air, so boisterous they attract Joey’s attention. He takes three leaps and stands sheepishly at my side.

“Bo, are you hurt? I was dancing and having fun and I forgot you. Oh, thank you, Esmeranda, for saving my Bo from a large bump on her head.”

But the Scarlet Lady, instead of smiling at Joey and petting his forehead, lets out an angry cry, scolding and haggling at him. She speaks in a foreign language, but one which Joey obviously knows. Eventually the lady quiets and leans over to brush a few tears from Joey’s nose.

“Ah, Joey. I should have known. A new traveler and so Tillie gives you another chance. I don’t know why she treats you like royalty. You, dear boy, act more the buffoon than the prince.”

This conversation was making no sense to me. “Hey, could I interrupt a minute? Joey, you know this kind woman? Her name is Esmeranda, right? Esmeranda, you know Joey? And you claim Joey isn’t the finest horse from Tillie’s Stable?’

Esmeranda nods solemnly.

But you called him a…a…a buffoon? What’s going on here?”

‘Randa and Joey shoot bullets into each others eyes. The entire crowd draws silent, so as not to miss any of the explosion. I stamp my feet in growing irritation,feeling like I’ve been left out of a secret. “Well, is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”

A petite, rosy cheeked girl, not seven years old, steps forward. “Here’s what’s going on. ‘Randa gets mad at Joey every time he comes to Duwamish ’cause he plays around and doesn’t do his job. Then everything gets all messed up and ‘Randa has to rush around like crazy and fix everything.”

“Yeah,” interrupts an older boy. “‘Randa told Tillie that Joey couldn’t take any more travelers, but Tillie loves Joey most of all…”

‘Randa finishes. “And so Tillie gives Joey more and more chances. But I won’t fix things again. No more. Joey, this time you’re on your own. And may the goddesses protect Bo. If she’s smart, she’ll ground you and send for another steed.”

“Ohhhhh, nooooo!” snivels Joey. “Bo and I are a team. I’ll be careful. Cross my heart.”

Esmeranda hesitates. “This missive did just come by Raven for you, Bo. Maybe you should read it before we make any decisions.” ‘Randa pulls an envelope trimmed in gold from her sleeve. “Go ahead. Read it.”

I scan the letter. “It’s from Enchanteur. We’re to meet her at the Duwamish Inn for a banquet. Oh my, it’s at eight o’clock tonight.”

“I still have your traveling things,” says Joey. “We can be ready by eight. Let’s get a room.”

Esmeranda still frowns. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“‘Randa, I’ll stick by Joey. I like a little excitement in my life and I’m sure together we’ll have a grand old time.” I grin at Joey and he nuzzles my neck. “So it’s off to the Inn to get ready for the evening. Joey, I’ll find you a comfortable stable out back and have them treat you like a prince.”

“Thanks, Bo. Tillie knows I’m really a Prince, and now you know my secret, too.”

by Bo