The Professor and the Starlight Phoenix

by Nathan David Ward

  “Correct my stubbornness, Mr Brown. But would I be right to think the Defence Minister is now plotting against the Count's movements?” The shadowy figure asked, remaining calm and collected with its body firmly resting against the faded pillow cases that were wedged along the back of the arm chair.

  Kenneth paused before speaking, recalling what he had done - persuading Robin to scarper from Vinemoore, to detach himself from the solution that he had sworn to abide by. He had broken his word and now he and his family would surely suffer for his act of kindness. Because it wasn’t in a Reaper's nature to be forgiving, the Morient world knew that all too well, especially Kenneth Brown...

  He took a step towards the back room where the shroud of figures stood. Some small, some tall but all equally still and silent.

  “Oliver, my boy. Are you in there?” Kenneth called, peering through the doorway and met with the harsh glare of the orange skies, shining through the wide kitchen window, silhouetting the band of people stood in the centre of the room.

  “Are you out of your mind?” roared the voice of the Reaper that was now stood directly between him and the door frame, hindering the path to the back room, his breath gently wafting against the sore, dry skin about the left of his eye as he spoke with a raspy tone.

  “To betray the Count, you must be mad. You’re lucky to be alive, I was ordered to execute you the moment you arrived home, yet here you are, breathing the same air as I!”

  Kenneth met the gaze of the Reaper, stood stiff and on edge. Tensions were rising as the two men took a breath.

  “The Count does not need professor Robin Occamy, I know where the Phoenix is. I can lead him to it. Robin's story has been told, leave him be, allow me to bring the beast to him!” Kenneth begged, glancing over the Reaper's shoulder, trying to make out the shape of his wife and kids.

  “Time is wearing thin, Kenneth. The Count's patience is at the end of its tether, we cannot be running in pointless circles forever. Recover the starlight phoenix before the eleventh hour of the final day and if you succeed, we shall release your family. Failure, Kenneth, will result in...shall we say, unpleasant consequences,” said the Reaper, coldly and calmly. His emerald eyes glistened as the sun's rays cast long trails of light across the metal of his mask and the bare flesh of his face. He was certain that Kenneth Brown had received and understood the message by the rush of blood that had drained from his face, leaving it pale and chilled further by the breeze blowing past the ajar front door. Escape from the Count's clutches now seemed near impossible as Kenneth imagined the sharp, claw-like hands of his superior, clamp around his body and fondling his heart like a play toy, dangling by a whisker thin thread. He had no choice but to follow the command of the Reaper that had held his family prisoner, or ultimately lose everything, every purpose he had ever lived for, he realised as he slowly began to turn away and wander towards the front door.

  “I’m coming back,” he muttered, but clear enough for the Reaper to hear, who stood dominantly, watching as Kenneth drew back the door and latched it to its closed position.

  The Reapers bare eye fastened to a slither as he cast a thought, wondering if it had been the right move to let the man walk free, at least if he valued the lives of his family and friends... He knew that Kenneth would have no choice but to return - but with the phoenix? There was no chance, and death most certainly loomed, riding the sun until the final day where it would be dealt out in more than necessary sums.

  The Reaper smirked, then cracked a dark chuckle that echoed about the walls of the silent household, lingering like the endless fear that ran through the fragile veins of Kenneth Brown.

  * * *

  As a clap of thunder struck in the Morient world, the vast gold doors slammed together behind Silverstein as he strutted his way back inside the council chamber, surrounded by the institute's professors, perched on the metal of their personalised thrones.

  Lightning flashed, zigzagging down from the angry skies, illuminating the transparent glass dome that sat directly overhead. The sight was majestic, the Ruby phoenix twinkled a rich red and light reflected from the gold and silver positioned around the room, lighting it up like the insides of an ornate jewellery box.

  “Silverstein? W - Where’s Kenneth?” asked Magenta, sat comfortably in her fluffy pink coat and vibrant cotton scarf wrapped around her neck.

  “I’m afraid Kenneth, our associate of the Minister of defence, won’t be joining us today, professors.”

  Leonard Silverstein continued his path towards his bronze chair and slumped back, addressing the others concerns with a flicker of his eyes.

  “I questioned him, I set him up…” he added, looking to Grimtale nervously, who had already met his gaze with that of surprise.

  “I used a simple scare tactic. We all needed to know, did we not? Kenneth Brown is no more than a fanatic, working for the Count's pathetic army. He has delayed the capture of the phoenix and now we run the risk of it falling into the wrong hands!” Silverstein reminded them, putting emphasis on the fact that they had all been betrayed.

  Grimtale took a long deep breath then glanced across at Magenta before reverting back to Silverstein.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I simply used an example, an example of what happens to those who betray the dark forces. The families that were found slaughtered in the Havana desert two years back were far from accidental, professor. He has been hard at work, the Count. Building his most trusted allies, waiting for this moment, and now we have flushed one of them from our close knit ranks. He will be on his way back to Vinemoore, but the fate of his family is out of our control...” Silverstein explained on as best he could, vaguely recalling past events before skipping ahead to the conflict in the hallway with Kenneth, not wanting to be reminded of the graphic sights his eyes were forced to be laid on. The Havana massacres, the truth that so little knew because it was better off that way. Better for the people that wished to live in peace, shut off from the world revolving around them.

  “If this be true, Silverstein, the man is a fool, and must not be trusted to return,” said Grimtale abruptly, casting his gaze to his fellow professors sat patiently around him.

  “If he attempts to step foot back inside the institute, you can trust my people to deal with him, professor.” Silverstein assured Grimtale, sparkling under the second bolt of lightning that suddenly lit up the chamber and the metallic fibres of his long silver coat.

  “Thank you,” replied Grimtale, then he climbed to his feet and approached the ruby Phoenix, casting his hand over its surface as he passed.

  “Now, we wait. If Professor Occamy arrives in the Morient world, we must be ready. He won’t be prepared for what he will witness inside these walls.”

  The others adjusted their clothing and leant forward, sharp and alert.

  “What if he doesn't turn up? The old bats good, but she ain’t that good!” stated Magenta, showing no sign of affection for the elderly lady that now lived within Robins’ home.

  “If she fails, and the professor chooses to take his own path, we will leave without him. We must not delay any further. For once we know the whereabouts of the Starlight Phoenix and we must act upon it, before time runs out, before the Count takes control and turns both the Morient and human world upside down. With every passing second I fear for those living under Shoulders Heath, exposed to a creature they do not understand.”

  “You mean Miss Bilshore, Sachester Bilshore, don’t you?” asked Magenta, knowing full well of the affection he shared with her. It was all too apparent, made even more obvious by the turning of his bright red cheeks that had begun to glow behind his dark curly beard.

  “Sachester is perfectly well trained for situations like these, but the people of the villages, especially those in the under dimension, are far from ready,” Grimtale explained, taking a quick breath and glancing to the other professors. He knew in that moment, Magenta's eyes were still set on him like sharp, poison tipped daggers, nipp
ing away at what knowledge was seeping from his extraordinary mind and being projected subconsciously through the language of his heavy, yet expressive body as she kept him in her sights, turning over all he had said, considering the seriousness of their situation...

  * * *

  Where the sun had fallen deeper, setting beyond the south horizon, the storm had been and gone. All that was left was the damp and the calming sound of icicles melting, drips and drops as the wet plummeted from the ceramic cottage guttering and splashed against the doorstep. Robin was glad to see the back of that ghastly weather, he thought to himself as his eyes strayed to the orange rays outside his kitchen window, watching the blackened clouds, pierced by the fiery glow of the sun as they drifted away towards the baron frozen coast.

  “It’s rough out there.” Robin thought out loud, met by a look of confusion from across the table where Kirsten sat, her mouth filled to the brim with roast potato and steamed vegetables.

  “It’s winter,” said Mrs. Jillings as she rose from her chair and began to collect the empty china plates from the table.

  “Did you enjoy that?” she asked in a child friendly manner, peering down at Emily, who was staring back with a messy grin, nodding her head frantically.

  “It was lovely, Mrs. J!” she yelped, reaching for her glass of apple juice with one hand and wiping away the gravy from her mouth with the other.

  Robin was still anxious, glancing around the kitchen, taking advantage of the silence and listening out for the sound of the mysterious ticking that had been said to come from an old grandfather clock, one that had resided within the cottage for many years - yet no one had ever seen it. Perhaps knowing that was enough to encourage him as Robin felt the sudden urge to discover it by the evening - which wasn’t so far away, he thought with the warmth of the sun cast along the side of his face, as it broke through the angry storm clouds.

  While Mrs. Jillings got on with the dishes, Kirsten and Emily had returned to the living room where all the toys and colourful gifts had spent the day, waiting to be played with, allowing Robin to get back on to his hands and knees.

  Mrs. Jillings had already sighed and rolled her eyes as she felt his stray hands brushing by her ankles, patting around the base of the kitchen cupboards.

  “It’s got to be somewhere. Let’s just start small and scour the kitchen first...for the fifth time today,” his mind spoke silently back at him, ensuring that he was taking the appropriate action to find the clock - no matter how disapproving the expression was, etched to the wrinkled face of Mrs. Jillings as she wiped away the gravy stains from the china dishes and submerged them into the bowl of boiling water.

  Hinges squealed as exploring hands pulled at the cupboard handles, one by one crashing back to their closed positions while Robin moved on to the next, then scuttling to the nearby counter where another pair of doors awaited, but much larger, double the size of the other compartments with a peculiar set of paper notes pinned to the inner panels. Robin paused as the parchment drew his attention and a curious hand proceeded to peel away the golden blank notes until finally, something to digest was revealed as the ink ridden parchment appeared, cast in a layer of shadow; and it read:

  The perfect roasted spud

  By Kirsten Mae Withers

  Firstly, peel away the potato skin.

  Drop the potatoes in a pan of water and place on the stove till boiling for fifteen minutes.

  Take a deep ceramic pan and preheat with a block of cooking oil and any desired seasoning.

  Once fifteen minutes have passed, rinse the pan dry, leaving the potatoes steaming hot. Now give the pan a shake until the potatoes are nice and fluffy, then place them in the hot pan of season, but don’t forget to coat the potatoes with a spoon so they roast to a lovely golden colour.

  Cook for twenty minutes then they’ll be ready for turning over, spooning the oil back over them then placing back inside the oven for a further twenty minutes.

  It wasn’t what Robin had hoped to find under the kitchen sink but it had brought a smile to his face nonetheless, seeing his partner's handwriting hidden out of sight. He’d not known about these notes and they had been there all this time, he thought as he cast his eyes over the parchment once more.

  “This explains how she always got it right, the perfect meal, time after time,” he muttered with a charming smile, holding the papers between his fingers and admiring the scribbles that accompanied the written directions.

  * * *

  As time went by, the golden glow from the sun had now turned to darkness and Mrs. Jillings was no longer cleaning dishes at his side, he noticed as he glanced over his shoulder. It was almost time, he wasn't going to find the clock sat on his knees at the centre of the kitchen, Robin realised, knowing he’d have to get a move on with the nineteenth hour drawing close. The parchments were pinned back inside the cupboard and door slammed shut behind them, bringing the kitchen search to a close, as sure as he had been, the clock was not there...

  Robin climbed to his feet: patted down the white of his shirt, rolled his sleeves mid way up his arms and fastened them around his elbows before marching towards the foot of the staircase, determined to find the source of the mysterious ticking noise, the grandfather clock where Mrs. Jillings was expecting to meet him.

  “It has to be here, it has to be!” Robin repeated, ascending upstairs towards the dimly lit landing.

  Here the moon’s rays had begun to highlight the edges of the furniture and the door frames, casting its soft white glow through the upper window directly opposite the landing banister where Robin was still holding tight, catching his breath for a brief moment and listening out for the sound of the tick-tock motion that he had always been able to hear, just never thought anything of it. The sound had always been peaceful, but it was now a pain in his backside, he grunted, advancing around to the hallway. It was far cooler here, the light looked almost blue as it shone through the bedroom doorway and across Robin's face as he passed on by, moving towards the circular pane of glass situated at the end of the hallway. It was a round window that looked out in the direction of the black mountain and the land of Shoulders Heath. It was quite the sight, even at night as the tall, wide mass towered high at a distance, lit by the spotlight in the sky, the moonlight glow, reminding the villages people of its importance, forever dividing the land from the supposed nightmares that dwelled beyond it.

  Robin leant against the wooden ledge and peered out across Vinemoore, lost on a train of thought that was far from the subject of ticking clocks. The view seemed enchanting by the distance his eyes had widened, glistening, almost twinkling like stars.

  “I always knew there was more to this world. Now it’s got me stressed beyond belief! But it will be worth it, if a greater power really does exist, then perhaps I really am the key to curing Kirsten,” Robin sighed, reminded by the heavy ticking and the sound of a pendulum swaying in his right ear. It was like the rhythm of a heartbeat, a river of life thrusting against him, calling for him, begging for him to see it. He could feel it, Robin turned towards the sound expecting the clock to be stood there, smooth and slender as the smell of fresh varnish wafted by his nose - but he saw nothing. The energy he felt was unquestionable, but the image that Robin had painted in his mind was nowhere in sight.

  “But I could have sworn...”

  He blinked, rubbing away the blur from his eyes and scouring the hallway once more, certain that the clock was beside him. Perhaps it was, maybe it was invisible, he chuckled, raising his hand and slapping it against the air, where suddenly a sharp stinging pain electrified his palm as it came to an immediate halt, firmly pressed against the side of what felt like glass, or perhaps, varnished wood. Whatever it was, it was out of this world and transparent to the human eye. After all this time and searching, had he really found the elusive, invisible clock?

  CHAPTER 8

  A Painful Farewell

  He wasn’t sure what to make of it - the obstruction, the invisible object bes
ide him.

  There was that smell again, riding the draft that had crept along the hallway from the buckled attic hatch. The scent of fresh varnish with a pinch of mahogany, dry yet bitterly crisp and undeniably welcoming. Robin was not fearful, he was now curious and convinced that he had found the infamous clock that had tormented him for as long as he could remember. He ran his hand down along what felt like a side panel to the tall structure that was still cloaked by some form of enchantment, one that softened at the edges and rippled as Robin poked and rubbed his hand against the polished woodwork.

  “It has been very well hidden!” Robin remarked, watching as the jelly-like cloak rippled.

  As he remained caught in a web of fascination, Robin had failed to notice a streak of shadow ready to extinguish the twinkle from his eye - A dark figure had begun its approach, carefully shuffling along the carpeted hallway, drawing closer, one short step at a time. Robin could feel the further presence but it was one he felt at ease with, he needn’t look away as the black mass closed in at his side, wrapped by a heavy navy cardigan.

  “It would seem by accident you have discovered your past, present and future. The contraption that has left a charming notion, wouldn't you say?”

  Robin shifted his gaze to Mrs. Jillings who was stood at his side, removing his clammy hand from the clock and placing it upon her shoulder.

  “How has it been here all this time? How have we not stumped our toes? Quite frankly none of this is making any sense, but it’s bloody brilliant, really brilliant!” claimed Robin, reverting back to the transparent mass, listening closely to the swing of the iron pendulum.