by Alex Duncan
‘“Are you the one some call Olkys and some call Orbog?” your father asked the man.
‘“That I am, hmm,” he replied in a high, raspy voice. “Some know me by those names and many others,” he said bowing low and full of grace. “Perhaps the names suit me, perhaps they don’t, hmm,” he smiled and laughed in a vile, tinkling manner. Then for the second time that evening your father explained his predicament to a stranger and pleaded for help. As soon as his woeful tale was done, Olkys clapped his hands together with glee.
‘“What luck!” he exclaimed, jumping from one foot to the other like an excitable child. “What delightful luck that you should be sent my way. If the sun was shining I might shout hoozah and dance in the air!”
‘Your father was quite struck dumb by Olkys’ glee at his misfortune and again pleaded for help to save his poor wife and child.
‘“A wife! A wife indeed! This is the luckiest of days! Well sir, you wish for my help, hmm? Tell me again exactly what it is you wish for, as everything can be bought if the price is right.”
‘Your father nodded and asked again if the small gentleman might save the life of his wife and his unborn child. He fell to his knees and tears welled up in his young eyes at the very thought that he might loose his beloved Daisy. He implored Olkys again, asking if there really was nothing he could do.
‘The small gentleman smiled his sharp toothed smile and tapped a finger to his chin. “Why my dear friend, a problem can always be solved, especially if you answer the right questions with the right answers. I shall be quick about it. You wish for your wife to live, hmm?” Your father nodded. “You wish for her to cheat death, hmm?” He nodded again. “You would die for her, hmm?” He nodded a third time. “Then it shall be so. She will live. Simply shake my hand, and it shall be so.” The small gentleman removed an embroidered glove and held out a small hand to your father and waited quite happily for him to complete the pact, for all the world as if they were bargaining over sheep or corn…’
‘Don’t tell me he made the bargain grandpa, not with that little pipsqueak.’ Rosie protested.
‘Of course he did girl,’ Henry retaliated, looking up at her for the first time since he began the tale, his eyes glowing and weary in the shifting firelight. ‘What other choice did he have left? To hold the hand of his wife as she passed away? This way at least he knew she’d be safe, he knew she’d be alive, so he shook Olkys’ hand and headed back home.’
Rosie shook her head.
‘It was a cold and empty bed in a cold and empty house that was waiting for him on his return. Daisy, his wife, was gone. All that remained was her stone wedding band.’ Henry pointed over at the stone ring in Rosie’s hand. ‘He wept like a hurt child that night did your father and he’d not be ashamed to admit it. What a fool he’d been to trust that Crow, that deal breaker. Olkys.
‘Over the headlands and into the forest he returned, running back and forth through the trees until at last he recognised the path that led to the wide oak with the door no higher than his waist. All was still in the forest then, not even the lonely whisper of the wind could be heard passing through the trees.
‘Beyond the battered wooden doorway was no room bathed in golden light. There was nothing but the bark of the tree. Your father beat his fist against the trunk. Calling for Olkys and a thousand other names of mischief. But no one came.
‘When his voice finally cracked, the mewling, helpless cry of a babe cut through the quiet of the night. He looked around him and followed the wailing until he came to the tiny shape, wrapped in the remains of his wife’s dress, eyes all puffy and squeezed shut, red lips shaking with each pathetic sob. It was, without any doubt, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.’
Rosie’s grip was so tight on Sam’s hand by now that he nudged her to slacken it, but she held firm, staring wide-eyed into her grandfather’s face, their eyes never wavering from the other’s stare.
‘There was no note. No sign of Daisy. No sign of that mischief-maker Olkys. There was only you, snuggled into your mother’s dress. And there the story ends.’
Rosie leapt to her feet.
‘Ends?’
‘Aye girl, ends,’ said Henry folding his arms. ‘‘Tis as good a place as any.’
‘As good a place as any would be the true end grandpa, what are you keeping from me? It’s not some jesters tale we’re after, but the truth.’
‘Truth?’ said Henry, grunting a pitiful laugh. ‘Aye girl, you may want the truth, but the truth comes at a price.’
‘Go on Henry Versatile,’ said Zanga in his deep, warm voice, patting the old man gently on the back. ‘There is only a little more to tell.’
Henry rubbed his eyes, sighed and went on.
‘Your father was to discover that making a deal with that Crow, Olkys, came with a curse. Cruelty and malice are his shadows. He was to learn this more than most.’
‘You mean he was sent mad and raving into the night?’
‘Worse, for the mad man knows not that he is mad.’
‘Then what curse?’ asked Rosie, swallowing back her fear. ‘What did he take from my pa?’
‘Days girl,’ the old man said. ‘He took days and weeks and months and years and all. Thousands of mornings he stole, mornings to see you rise and wish you a good day and just as many thousands of evenings to tuck you in and watch over you at night. Your father began that night as a young man…but by sunrise he was as old and crumpled as a piece of parchment.’
Rosie’s hand fell from Sam’s and she leaned away from the old man.
‘You’ve never once said his name grandpa.’
One lonely tear spilt from the old man’s eye and trickled down his cheek as he stared across the fire at Rosie.
‘Henry was your father’s name, Henry Versatile, and I would have you mention him no more.’
‘But that would mean you’re my…’
‘No more I said!’ the old man shouted.
‘You’re my father?’
‘Don’t call me that! Your father died that night, or at least he might as well have done for all that you were left with is this old and withered thing before you. Now rest easy girl, there’s nothing more to tell. The story is at an end.’
◆◆◆
But for the gentle, percussive swaying of the nearby trees surrounding the clearing by the old mill and the quiet, constant babble of the stream, there was silence around the fire. Not a word was spoken by any of the four figures that sat hunched over the flames in a circle. Sam, Zanga and Henry watched Rosie, awaiting a reaction from her that didn’t seem to be coming as she stared off through the winding smoke into the dark distance, her eyes glazed and expressionless.
She felt numb. The same numbness she had felt in the thick of some near forgotten winter, not a pain but a softness in all her extremities as if her body were slowly giving up on her and leaving her behind. Her fingers felt stubby and tingly and useless, her mouth was dry and her throat felt coarse and rough. There was an incessant ringing in her ears and the smoke from the fire stung her dry eyes and made them water. She didn’t know what to say. She looked across at the old man, her grandfather, no that was wrong, her father, sat on the opposite side of the circle and then back out towards the trees. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. But she knew that it was.
The old man was her father.
‘Rosie I…’ said Henry, but she had already lifted her arm in one swift, smooth motion for him to stop.
‘Don’t,’ her voice cracked. ‘Don’t speak. I…don’t…it’s...I…’
Henry turned to Zanga, lifted his hands up to his sides and dropped them down onto his knees with a slap. It was his insistence that he tell Rosie in the first place. If it had been down to Henry he would have taken his secret to the grave, for his daughter’s sake.
On the other side of Rosie, Sam sheepishly wrung his hands together and didn’t know quite where to look. He was not a young man to be at ease in such silences, they made him feel awkward
and self-conscious. He couldn’t help but think that, for no apparent reason, everyone was waiting for him to break the unerring quiet and offer up some profound statement that would magically settle everyone’s spirits and allow conversation to flow naturally once more. He raised his hand into the air and Henry glowered at him.
‘Erm…’ he said, still thinking of that profound and comforting declaration that would cheer the heavy gloom around the fire. ‘Well, that’s that out in the open isn’t it…better out than in I say…always good to know these things…get it off your back…clear the…air.’
He swallowed. The scolding faces turned his way didn’t suggest that he’d been of any help, but he was on a roll now and couldn’t seem to stop himself.
‘I…er…know that this is quite a delicate matter for the two of you…family reunion and all that…’
Henry dropped his face into his hands and shook his head.
‘…but I can’t quite grasp what this has all got to do with what’s happening in the town…not that I’m trying to be insensitive to your…please don’t think that I’m being…I’ll be quiet now.’
Rosie seemed to return to herself a little at Sam’s words and turned to look over at her father with cold and distant eyes.
‘He’s right, what’s this got to do with Hope?’
Henry leant forward and whispered through his teeth.
‘Because he’s here. Olkys is here in Hope. I don’t know how, why or wherefore, but he’s here. And he wants that ring.’ He pointed down at the stone wedding band in Rosie’s hand. ‘Perhaps someone invited him in from the other side of the door I don’t know. But he’s here and he’s dangerous and, though I’d sooner run a hundred miles from this place than let you or I go within a footstep of that thing, we have to return to the town and finish this business and send him back. There’s not even any point in us discussing or arguing it, Zanga knows we go back. He’s seen it.’
Rosie slowly stood up and calmly turned to the black prince by her father’s side.
‘Is this true Zanga? Have you seen me forgive everything that’s been said and politely return to the town and do as I’m told like a good little daughter?’
Zanga smiled his warm smile, so full of understanding and sympathy.
‘I know you are there at the end of this Rosie Versatile,’ he said. ‘Your grand…I am sorry, your father is right. I have seen it.’
‘Is that so?’ she asked, raising one eyebrow. Zanga pointedly nodded his head in reply. ‘Then tell me Zanga, did you see me do this?’
Rosie turned on her heel, kicking dust into the fire and walked away towards the darkness of the trees.
‘Rosie?!’ shouted Henry, rising to his feet. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Away from here,’ she yelled back, not turning around. ‘Away from you.’
‘But Rosie we’ve got to…’
‘No grandpa…father…whoever you are,’ she shouted, turning to face him. ‘We don’t have to do anything. You forfeited your right to tell me what to do when you decided to lie to me for my entire life. I…I can’t even look at you!’
‘But…’
She had already turned her back again and was running off, heading into the low branches of the trees, and within a moment she had disappeared from view.
‘Is that what you saw happening Zanga?’ spat Henry.
‘She needs time Henry Versatile, time and a friend. It is a lot for her to take in. But don’t worry yourself, she will be there at the end…’
‘Do stop saying things like that. How can you be so sure? What if something changes? The future is a fragile thing. Every slight variation affects it. A leaf may fall to the ground, but who are we to say we know exactly where it will land when the tiniest breath of wind or the beat of a sparrow’s wings will change its course and mean that it lands elsewhere. Who are you to say you know the future when it can change in a heartbeat? What if I do this…?’
Henry reached out and snatched a pistol from Sam’s belt and cocked the hammer.
‘What if I do this and pull the trigger?’ He lifted the pistol and pushed it against his temple. Sam went to restrain him but Zanga held out his arm to stop him going any closer.
‘If I pull the trigger, I might have a chance of joining my wife again and being rid of all this nonsense. What’s stopping me doing that, hah?’
‘I wouldn’t bother if I was you,’ said Sam, pushing Zanga’s arm aside and stepping into Henry. ‘It doesn’t work, the pistol I mean. I’ve already tried it once this evening.’
Henry dropped the pistol down to his side and threw it off into the clearing where it thudded in the dry earth and accepted Zanga’s comfort to cool his rage and frustration as he placed a large hand on his shoulder.
‘You will not take your own life Henry Versatile, because you love your daughter and somewhere deep down inside of you, you know that you want her to love you too, love you like a father. And you will return to the town and finish this business because you care. It is as simple as that. You care. That is why you are so good at your job.’
Henry let his head fall down onto his chest. He felt heavy and old and slow and weary and sore and angry, but most of all he felt full of regret, regret for never telling Rosie the truth. He knew he’d always been afraid of her rejecting him as a father but seeing that look of disgust in her eyes as she ran off made his heart break for the lie that he had told her for so long. He sighed and looked back into Zanga’s calm face.
‘If you say you have seen me there at the end, then I suppose you must be right, but I’d have us all go back into the jaws of Hope. Sam…’
The young man shuffled nervously over to him.
‘Zanga said Rosie may need a friend. I hope that you can fit that bill, for we move round so often we have had little chance of friends in our line of work.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Sam groaned.
‘Go and see to her,’ the old man said. ‘Go and find her and see if she’ll join us in the town to finish this.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Then we’ve nothing to fear my lad.’
Sam smiled and ran into trees where he saw Rosie retreat only minutes before.
Once the two of them were left alone in the clearing, the fire gradually dying beneath their feet, Zanga clapped his hands together and slapped Henry heartily across the back.
‘This is good Henry Versatile. We will go back to Hope. This is what happens.’
‘Not exactly,’ said Henry.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we’re not going straight back to the town.’
‘We are not?’
‘No, there’s someone I’ve got to pay a visit to first.’
‘What? Who is this? No, no, you are joking with me, I did not see you visit anyone in my mind’s eye.’
‘That’s because I only just thought of it,’ Henry muttered. ‘You see, I’ve changed the future already. Exciting, isn’t it?’
Zanga frowned. ‘I do not like this Henry Versatile. I have not seen it. Who are we going to visit?’
‘An old friend of mine who goes by the name of Minimus Underfoot, he’ll not be too far away.’
Henry dusted himself down and headed back towards the path that ran along the riverside, with Zanga trotting behind him in pursuit.
‘An old friend?’ he asked, still flustered. ‘Is this a man that will be willing to help you?’
‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ smiled Henry. ‘He’s been dead for over two centuries.’
◆◆◆
Rosie ran as fast as her legs would go. She had no sense of the direction she was going in or where the maze of trees might lead her but she didn’t care, she wasn’t running from anywhere or to anywhere, she was running from her own rage and confusion, kicking at her heels. Sharp branches seemed to stretch away from the trees and snag her coat and breeches, like witches fingers reaching out to catch her, but she ran on. Leaves and loose twigs clipped across her face a
nd she felt the tiny cuts of the wood slice against her cheeks and hands, but she didn’t once stop. She ran on until her heart felt like it was pumping boiling oil around her body and her legs ached with a fierce burning.
A fallen log blocked her pathway and as she went to leap over it her legs were too heavy and weak and her toes clipped the top of the obstacle pitching her up and over, headfirst into the path. She landed with a dull thud onto the bracken and pine covered forest floor and, try as she did to stop herself, burst into tears.
The sobs came hard and fast and she found herself doubled over, clenched up in a ball as she was racked with tears. It wasn’t the shock of finding out that the old man she had always called grandfather was in fact her father or the yarn he had spun about this man called Olkys who had taken his wife, her mother, it was that he had lied to her. The one person who she trusted in all the world, the one person who had never let her down or tired of her company had lied to her. How could she ever trust him again? How could she ever trust anyone again if he had let her down? What was the point in putting her trust in anyone if all they were going to do was to abuse that trust and hurt her?
The tears came on, gushing out of her as if they would never stop. She hit her fists down into the dirt and screamed out her frustrations only stopping when a twig snapped behind her and she span around as quickly as a cat and crouched down behind the log on all fours.