NOBODY GETS AN APPOINTMENT
And so we travelled on, short in the telling, long in the doing. We followed the bird into a town but it flew through a grate at the side of the street which seemed to lead into a basement. Greatly intrigued, sensing something uncoincidental we determined to discover where the bird had gone. As the boy put it, 'I have a feeling the Mother of Meaning is at work'.
The house looked like any other in the street but all the windows were tightly shut and a large muscular man, twice as high as the boy, with a foreboding scimitar in his broad belt, stood at the door. The boy tethered his horse to the grate, went up the three steps to the guard and asked, 'May we enter this building?'
The guard did not even blink. The boy turned to me, shrugged and moved to grab the door handle. The man's hand stopped the boy, covering his chest.
I took the boy by the arm and led him back into the street. We stopped a passer-by and questioned him. 'You must be strangers here,' he said, 'for everyone knows this is the house of Mr Flint, the Money Manager.'
'How can we get inside?' I asked.
'Nobody gets inside without an appointment.'
'How can we get one of these appointments?'
The man laughed, 'To get an appointment you have to see Mr Flint. He hasn't left his house in ten years. So, nobody has had an appointment for ten years.' and he walked away, shaking his head.
'Perhaps it was a mistake to follow the bird.' said the boy sullenly.
'Don't worry,' I replied, 'I know an old trick.' I took him out of sight of the large man at the door and emptied my sack. 'Get into my bag and be still.' I told him, 'And when you hear me whistle get out quietly and find the nest of that bird. If nobody has an appointment, Nobody will have an appointment.' He climbed into the bag and I carried him back up to the doorway.
'Hello.' I said to the rock faced guard, 'I have an appointment.' The guard blinked. 'That's right, an appointment with Mr Flint. An appointment we made ten years ago. He has been waiting for me a long time.' The guard looked at me suspiciously, I tapped my nose, 'I have a great deal in this sack for him to manage, if you catch my drift.' He looked ahead again. 'My name is Nobody, so if you would be pleased to announce me I'm sure he would be grateful. Ten years is a long time, he would be most upset if he knew I had not been able to see him.'
After thinking hard, a fly scaling his moist forehead, the disgruntled guard finally responded, 'I will check.' He spoke into a brass horn protruding near the door. 'Mr Flint.' he said and an abrupt voice came back through the horn, 'What?'
'Sir, Nobody is here to see you.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Nobody says they have an appointment to see you.'
'Of course, you imbecile! It's as I expect. Nobody has had an appointment for ten years! Why are you bothering me? I told you before, 'Let nobody in!'
'Yes, Sir!' Somewhat flustered the guard opened the door and let me in. I left the bag in the hall just inside the door then found Mr Flint in the first room on the right. It was a sparse room, empty of all things except a battered old chair and table at which sat Mr Flint, thin and pale, hunched over a piece of paper, scribbling calculations. He was astounded when he saw me. So shocked he could barely whimper. As he stood and cowered against the wall I moved around to the other side of the room so that in facing me he faced away from the open door, and spoke, 'Hello Mr Flint. I mean you no harm. I have a proposition for you, which I am sure you will like. There is a great deal to be gained, more than you could dream.' His curiosity slowly overcame his fear, so I punctuated my lies with a whistle, and as I spoke, 'Yes, that's right. A financial enterprise to mutual benefit. As you may have heard, disaster has stricken the Lucky City from which I have come, but we have developed a way to refine Happiness. Imagine, sir, what you could gain from the townspeople, your grateful clients, if you could give them Happiness. How they would love you. A happy worker is a good worker. And they will be happy to accept your services. Not that they aren't already...' I saw the boy slowly creeping past the door.
The boy was gone for a long time. It was difficult to maintain the charade, setting up five year plans, waiting while he calculated, listening to his demands for cost and productivity margins, his repeated, 'And if we sell it to them, it's their own choice, only themselves to blame.' while wondering if the boy was safe and what he might have found that would keep him so long. Then suddenly Mr Flint remarked, 'Your little friend was caught trying to steal my treasures. He has been captured and so, my friend, have you.' I could not fathom how he received this information. The guard entered and held my arm in his iron grip. I could not struggle free. I was taken upstairs, my arms chained and thrown into a room with the boy, also in chains. The door locked behind me.
The boy was unhurt. 'What happened?' I asked. Beneath the house he had discovered, among many sacks of treasure, a girl, chained to the wall, but could find no way to release her. In the darkness he could not see her but they had spent the hours listening to each other's voices. He had told her of his city and his quest and she in turn had told her own story. She was the daughter of Mr Flint and, as he regarded her as one of his possessions, he kept her locked away with the rest of his belongings. When she was of marriageable age, which she now was, Mr Flint would marry her, so that nobody else could have what belonged to him. Over the long years trapped in the basement, however, she had befriended the birds, feeding them crumbs of her food through the grate that led to the street, and had forged such an understanding with them that she was able to send forth the red tailed bird to get help. The boy had been caught when the guard overheard their excited voices rising through the grate. 'But' he concluded, 'the more there is to struggle against, the more meaningful my quest becomes. It would mean a great deal to set her free from this Mr Flint. These shackles have only made me stronger. I have a plan.'
Shortly, I screamed out at the door, 'He has escaped! And attacked me as he went! I'm wounded! He got away!' The guard's eye appeared in the little peep hole to see me clutching my arm and the little boy nowhere in sight. His keys jingled, the door swung open and he stepped inside. From the ceiling beams the little boy dropped upon the big man's back, wrapping his chained arms around his neck. He pulled the chains taut and when the guard reached up I snatched the keys from his belt. As he drew his scimitar I unlocked myself. His heavy blows were hampered by the choking chains. Dodging them, I leapt upon his back beside the boy and unchained him. We dropped to the floor and ran out the door, locking the guard in behind us.
We crept along the passage and down the creaking stairs, sure that Mr Flint could hear the bellows of the guard. With the keys the boy guided us into the locked closet beneath the stairs, through the trap door and down the ladder into the dark basement, where he quickly unchained the maiden. But as we made our way back towards the ladder Mr Flint leapt from an inscrutable corner and snatched her away from us. In the darkness we heard his laughter and the struggles of the girl. We crept towards them. 'Yes, come closer. Steal from me if you dare.' cackled Mr Flint. But with the next step we were falling. I clutched at a rope which somehow was unravelling and falling down with us and the boy managed to grab my leg. We held tight - above us, the trap door, a lighter square of darkness, and below, impenetrable black, as if we dangled above a bottomless abyss. A foul smell rose from it.
The head of Mr Flint appeared, silhouetted above, 'No, no! Let go!' He yelled. The rope began sliding, slowly lowering us. 'No! No! You'll not get away with my treasure! It's mine! All mine!' The rope was tying a great, heavy bag of treasure closed. Mr Flint held the bag, trying to stop it sliding into the pit, but our weight was too much. He was pulled down with us, the three of us splashing into a river of sewage. The boy and I stayed afloat but Mr Flint, clinging to his treasure, was dragged under, never to be seen again.
We could not tell how long we were carried along by this stinking, twisting and turning river for we were far from sight of the daily passage of the Sun. Nor did we know, when we emerged, dumped into an
open river, how far we were from where we left and in what direction it was. We cleaned ourselves upstream and went asking in every place we came to. Eventually, in a public tavern, we heard tell of an heiress to an old Money Manager who promised to give, from her father's hoard, the most meaningful thing in the world to whoever could answer three riddles. Many had tried and failed already. After a few inquiries we set forth. As we went I told stories to pass the time.
In The Light Of Memory Page 5