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In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Unhand me, you insubordinate wench!” cried Liz. “How very dare you manhandle me like that!” Liz struggled weakly to free herself of Anna’s vice like grip on her arm.
“Godfrey told me to make sure you stayed in bed,” the new maid hissed, “So you don’t spread your germs to the rest of us. Please,” she started wheedling, “Come back to bed like a good girl.”
Liz sputtered in rage, her face turning an alarming shade of puce. “How dare….” she started, and then doubled over. “Take me to the lavatory this instant!”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“My key won’t work! Let me in!” shouted Finnley, banging loudly on Liz’s front door.
She saw a slight movement at the dining room window and spun around, just in time to see the new maid’s face furtively disappearing behind the curtain.
And then, with a shock of horror, Finnley realised what must have occurred.
“That stupid girl can’t even cook toast! You can’t just discard me after all these years of faithful and devoted service. Goddamit let me in!
“And,” she added loudly, “there is dust!” Finnley spat the word dust with great emphasis and contempt in her tone. “I saw it. I saw it when the curtain moved!”
“Well,” she said eventually, “I’m not one to stay where I am not wanted!” And just as she was about to turn away, somewhat huffily, the front door opened an inch. And then stopped.
“Finnley Finnley! is that you?” hissed Liz croakily from behind the crack.
“Liz? “
“Finnley, thank goodness! You’ve got to help me! I’m sick as a dog and Godfrey is no good … he is completely under the spell of that awful new … “
Suddenly, the door slammed shut.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz left her bed at 8:30am, wearing only her pink and blue doubled cotton night gown, a perfect hair and her fluffy pink blue mules. She had been thinking about her characters while the sun was trying to rise with great difficulty. Liz couldn’t blame the Sun as temperatures had dropped dramatically since the beginning of winter and the air outside was really cold.
When Liz was thinking about her writings and her characters, she usually felt hungry. Someone had told her once that the brain was a hungry organ and that you needed fuel to make it work properly. She didn’t have a sweet tooth, but she wouldn’t say no to some cheesy toast, any time of the day.
She had heard some noise coming from the kitchen, certainly Finnley doing who knows what, although certainly not cleaning. It might be the association between thinking about her characters and the noise in the kitchen that triggered her sudden craving for a melted slice of cheese on top of a perfectly burnished toast. The idea sufficed to make her stomach growl.
She chuckled as she thought of inventing a new genre, the toast opera. Or was it a cackle?
As she was lost in her morning musings, her mules gave that muffled slippery sound on the floor that Finnley found so unladylike. Liz didn’t care, she even deliberately slowed her pace. The slippery sound took on another dimension, extended and stretched to the limit of what was bearable even for herself. Liz grinned, thinking about Finnley’s slight twitching right eye as she certainly was trying to keep her composure in the kitchen.
Liz, all cheerful, was testing the differences between a chuckle and a cackle when she entered the kitchen. She was about to ask Finnley what she thought about it when she saw a small person in a yellow tunic and green pants, washing the dishes.
Liz stopped right there, forgetting all about chuckles and cackles and even toasts.
“Where is Finnley?” she asked, not wanting to appear the least surprised. The small person turned her head toward Liz, still managing to keep on washing the dishes. It was a girl, obviously from India.
“Good morning, Ma’am. I’m Anna, the new maid only.”
“The new… maid?”
Liz suddenly felt panic crawling behind her perfectly still face. She didn’t want to think about the implications.
“Why don’t you use the dishwasher?” she asked, proud that she could keep the control of her voice despite her hunger, her questions about chuckles and cackles, and…
“The dirty dishes are very less, there is no need to use the dishwasher only.”
Liz looked at her bobbing her head sideways as if the spring had been mounted the wrong way.
“Are you alright?” asked Anna with a worried look.
“Of course, dear. Make me a toast with a slice of cheese will you?”
“How do I do that?”
“Well you take the toaster and you put the slice of bread inside and pushed the lever down… Have you never prepared toasts before?”
“No, but yes, but I need to know how you like it only. I want to make it perfect for your liking, otherwise you won’t be satisfied.” The maid suddenly looked lost and anxious.
“Just do as you usually do,” said Liz. “Goddfrey?” she called, leaving the kitchen before the maid could ask anymore questions.
Where was Goddfrey when she needed him to explain everything?
“You need me?” asked a voice behind her. He had appeared from nowhere, as if he could walk through the walls or teleport. Anyway, she never thought she would be so relieved to see him.
“What’s that in the kitchen?”
“What’s what? Oh! You mean her. The new maid.”
He knew! Liz felt a strange blend of frustration, despair and anger. She took mental note to remember it for her next chapter, and came back to her emotional turmoil. Was she the only one unaware of such a bit change in her home?
“Well, she followed us when we were in India. We don’t know how, but she managed to find a place in one of your trunks. Finnley found her as she had the porter unpacked the load. It seems she wants to help.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“What we all need now”, Liz was thinking out loud, “Is a more relaxed approach. We should stop trying to be proper clever writers and just blather.”
“If it’s supposed to be relaxed blather, why did you just fix three typo’s?” asked Finnley, the annoying maid, who had once again been peering over Elizabeth’s shoulder, looking for something to find fault with.
“Oh come on, that’s a bit much, Liz!” Finnley retorted, accidentally on purpose slopping Liz’s tea into her ashtray, knowing a pet hate of hers was a wet ashtray.
“Do be careful, Finnely! snapped Liz.
“Just taking a relaxed approach to being a maid, Ma’am,” she replied rudely with a flamboyant gesture with her feather duster, which whacked Liz smartly across the back of the head as she swanned out of the room with her nose in the air.
In reply to: The Chronicles of the Flying Fish Inn
“You can’t sell the Inn, you do realize that, don’t you?” asked Bert. “It doesn’t belong to any of you, as a matter of fact. It belongs to me. And it’s not for sale.”
“You?” snorted Aunt Idle. “Don’t be silly, Bert.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz’s smile melted away when Roberto entered the living room, he was covered in dust and spider webs. What flustered her most wasn’t the trail of dirt and insects the gardener was leaving behind him, but that he was not in India.
Liz threw knives at Godfrey with her eyes, a useful skill she had developed during her (long) spare time, but he dodged them easily and they sank straight into the wall with a thud.
Finnley rolled her eyes and ordered one of the guy from the TV crew to take the knives off the wall. “Don’t forget to repaint afterward”, she said with a satisfied smile.Godfrey leaned closer to the door. Liz felt words of frustration gather at her lips.
“I think I slept too much long,” Roberto said with his charming latino accent. At that time, Liz could almost forgive him not to be in India. “Funny thing is I dreamt I was doing yoga in India, near Colombo.”
Godfrey raised his eyebrows and gave Liz a meaningful look, telling he had been almost right all along. He relaxed and smirked. She hated it.
“Well, that must be a clue”, Liz said with a look at the butler. “Godfrey, Roberto needs to be in India, and we need to go with him. Book the plane tickets.”
“Well, technically, Colombo is in Sri Lanka, not India,” said Finnley.
“Small detail,” countered Liz.“What do I do with the knives?” said the TV crew man.
Liz looked at the knives, then at Godfrey.
“I’ll take them back, they can always be useful where we are going.”“What about the interview?” asked the woman from the TV.
“We’ll need a charter,” said Finnley who liked very much to give orders.In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“The mansion to yourself?” snorted Liz. “You, Godfrey, will be going on ahead to make sure everything is ready for us. We’d like a nice leafy garden and a balcony, and do make sure we have a really good cook.”
“And we want first class tickets,” added Finnley. “Because we are worth it,” she added defiantly, noticing the various raised eyebrows. “I’ll go and find Roberto then shall I?”
“That’s a very good question, Finnley. Where the devil is he anyway? Godfrey, perhaps you should go and find him, and lay the law down a bit about wandering off the thread while on duty.”
“Funnily enough,” said Godfrey, clearing his throat, “Roberto appears to have fetched up in Mumbai. He was spotted a few days ago chasing chickens and trying to stuff them into a story thread. I was, ahem, going to mention it…”
Liz was just about to start complaining about always being the last to know what was going on, when a thought struck her about how marvelously fortuitous it was that she wanted Godfrey to go on ahead to India, and to also look for Roberto ~ who was conveniently in India!
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“I am so tired of my “Remember Your Dreams’ group, Finnley. Shall we go to India instead?” remarked Liz.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Godfrey hoped that the week end respite would allow him to remember some of his dreams. With Liz going out for a picnic, and the day off of the staff, he would have the mansion all for himself.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Oh, I almost forgot to give you this,” added Finnley, presenting Liz with a packet of cotton wool. “It’s to put in your ear while you’re in the foetal position, like the statue.”
“How did such a large statue come out of such a small packet?” Liz asked, wonderingly.
“Never question the mystical wonders of the great ascended master. Just place the cotton wool in your ear as instructed by the Great Lord of Kale.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
The door bell rang and Finnley left Liz confused by the present the maid had brought her from Bali. It was the statue of a man in a strange position. Liz had no clue what he was doing, but the statue was so big she could imaging using it as a stool with small silk cushion to make it more comfortable. It was made of wood. Liz touched the head of the statue and felt a momentary lapse.
“hum!”
Liz started. “Oh you’re back”, she said to Finnley with a smile. Finnley looked at her suspiciously.“Did you take something while I was answering at the door?”
“Oh! right the door. Who was that?”
“Journalists. They are here for the documentary movie.”
The fleeting state of bliss was gone. “Journalists? For me?”
“For who else?” asked Finnley, raising her eyes. “Godfrey?”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“I brought you a present Liz,” said Finnley, looking relaxed and sun kissed. “From my holidays. I hope you like it!” she added, proffering a small gaudily wrapped gift.
“Where have you been?” asked Liz, with a beady glare of suspicion. “Why am I the last to know?”
In reply to: Seven Twines and the Dragon Heartwoods
Rukshan had stayed awake for the most part of the night, slowly and repeatedly counting the seconds between the blazing strokes of lightning and the growling bouts of thunder.
It is slowly moving away.The howling winds had stopped first, leaving the showers of rain fall in continuous streams against the dripping roof and wet walls.
An hour later maybe, his ear had turned to the sound of the newly arrived at the cottage, thinking it would be maybe the dwarf and Eleri coming back, but it was a different voice, very quiet, somehow familiar… the potion-maker?
He had warned Margoritt that a lady clad in head-to-toe shawls would likely come to them. Margoritt had understood that some magical weaving was at play. The old lady didn’t have siddhis or yogic powers, but she had a raw potential, very soundly rooted in her long practice of weaving, and learning the trades and tales of the weaving nomad folks. She had understood. Better, she’d known — from the moment I saw you and that little guy, she’d said, pointing at Tak curled under the bed.
“He’s amazing,” she’d said “wise beyond his age. But his mental state is not very strong.”There was more than met the eye about Tak, Rukshan started to realize.
For now, the cottage had fell quiet. Dawn was near, and there was a brimming sense of peace and new beginning that came with the short silence before the birds started again their joyous chatter.It must have been then that he collapsed on the table of exhaustion and started to dream.
It was long before.
The dragon is large and its presence awe-inspiring. They have just shared the shards, each has taken one of the seven. Even the girl, although she still hates to be among us.
The stench of the ring of fire is still in their nostrils. The Gods have deserted, and left as soon as the Portal closed itself. It is a mess.“Good riddance.”
He raises his head, looking at the dragon above him. She is quite splendid, her scales a shining pearl blue on slate black, reflecting the moonshine in eerie patterns, and her plastron quietly shiny, almost softly fiery. His newly imbued power let him know intimately many things, at once. It is dizzying.
“You talk of the Gods, don’t you?” he says, already knowing the answer.
“Of course, I am. Good riddance. They had failed us so many times, forgot their duties, driven me and my kind to slavery. Now I am free. Free of guilt, and free of sorrow. Free to be myself, as I was meant to be.”
“It is a bit more complex th…”
“No it isn’t. It couldn’t be more simple. If you had the strength to see it, you would understand.”
“I know what you mean, but I am not sure I understand.”The dragon smiles enigmatically. She turns to the lonely weeping girl, who is there with the old woman. Except her grand-mother is no longer an old crone, she has changed her shape to that of a younger person. She is showing potentials to the girl, almost drunk on the power, but it doesn’t alleviate her pain.
“What are you going to do about them?”
The Dragon seems above the concerns for herself. In a sense, she is right. It was all his instigation. He bears responsibility.
“I don’t know…” It is a strange thing to say, when you can know anything. He knows there are no good outcomes of this situation. Not with the power she now possesses.
“You better find out quick…” and wake up,
wake up, WAKE UP !
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Finnley! Finnley!” Liz’ called from her boudoir.
“What is happening with the ceiling? There is water dripping everywhere, it is ruining my last manuscript! You surely haven’t left a window opened upstairs, have you?”She tutted, her hair in disbelief. “With that storm outside, at least that idiot Walter did well to take this ghastly frog trenchcoat back with him.”
She paused her litany to contemplate her latest treasure, carefully arranged at the bottom of a large envelope. Seven green potsherds sent by her old friend with a note attached: “Some patterns ideas, I’m sure you’ll know what to do with them.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“So, that’s where the gardener has been hiding all this time…” Godfrey thought, quietly stepping out of the shadows into the sinkhole tunnels. “Maybe I’ll just tell Liz’ he has resigned. Although she seemed more taken by this one than with the previous guys…”
While the gardener was snoring loudly, he took time to look around, and noticed the sprouting sack.
“How curious that those old books have started to come to life again…”An idea had crossed his mind, both dreadful and exciting. The portal…
Leaving the gardener to his dreams, and taking another secret exit out of the dark tunnel, opening another succession of doors with the turn of a key hanging from the watch chain of his burgundy waistcoat, he soon found himself reappearing into a deep secret place. A small round room, almost like the inner chamber of a burrow, with no visible door, no window, seemingly lit only by a single ray of light coming from the pinhole in the ceiling, reflected on the glittering curved walls. At one side, was a well, and one could hear the humming sound of flowing underground water.
On the well, where deeply carved words : “HC SVNT DRACONES”. Just below them, painted in white in Godfrey’s flowering handwriting : “Here be dragons!”There still was the heavy latch, bolted by a large futuristic-looking lock.
Phew, still closed. Godfrey sighed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t imagine the damage to Liz’ frail hold on reality, where she to find about what was lurking behind.
Popping a peanut in his mouth, he smiled wryly, reminisced of what Finnley had said about her “discovering” of the attic; yes, their secret was fine with them for now. At least so long as what was locked on the other side stayed there of course…
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Jingle, where are you?” asked Finnley grumpily, peering into the darkness of the attic.
“Here”, hissed Jingle from behind some boxes. “Has that dreadful man gone yet?”
“Nope, still here. Drooling over Liz no doubt.”
“I won’t go back to my mother! That awful woman!”
“Well you can’t stay here so you had better go out the window.”
“What window? There is no window!” whimpered Jingle.
Oh for Flove’s sake! thought Finnley. No imagination. That’s her trouble.
Adroitly, she whipped out some power tools and cut a hole in the roof.
“There!” she said, taking a step back to survey her work. “A window. Now, off you go. And don’t come back.”
“Oh thank you, Finnley. You are wonderful!”
“I am, aren’t I,” smirked Finnley.
And after all, Liz didn’t even know she had an attic so she certainly won’t notice a window.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“You incredibly rude fuckers after we were obliged to listen to yours for years,” Elizabeth’s fingers tapped loudly on the keyboard. “It would be at the very least polite to show a little interest, even if it is feigned, but no! Stuck up your own arseholes as usual!”
“You can’t say that, Liz!” Finnley gasped, looking over Liz’s shoulder.
“Fuck ‘em!” replied Liz, thrusting her keyboard to the back of the desk with a satisfied smile. “You just can’t get the crowd fillers these days. Now then, were is that tasty gardener?”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Pepe pulled his truck up at the polling station,” Liz wrote, suddenly seized with an idea, “And voted for the nice man with the straggly beard. He knew that he would win, and wanted to add his voice to the collective choice.”
“That’s outrageous, Liz!” spluttered Finnley. “You can’t tamper with elections by writing the outcome into the story!”
“Can’t? I just did!” she replied grimly.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Godfrey might have heard the postman knocking at the door if he hadn’t had his earplugs in, and Roberto, had he been gardening as usual, might have seen the postmans’ approach. Liz, had she been downstairs in her sitting room, might have heard the knock. The postman knocked again, wondering whether to leave the parcel on the doorstep, or take it back to the office. He decided to leave it inside a large urn under the window, rather than carrying it back again, and made a mental note to mention it on his next visit to the house.
