Thomas Kindercook and the Pink Pyjamas

by Gerald Feather

  The whole situation just seemed bizarre, but since Thomas was rapidly turning into a Popsicle, he didn't feel like standing around debating the strange taste in home decor. He took a deep breath, and walked up the steps to the large ornate door beside the oversized comical bear. Thomas was just raising his hand to knock when a voice nearly startled him out of his skin.

  “Excuse me.” Came the deep voice. “You wouldn't happen to have a cookie would you?”

  Thomas jumped back from the door in shock. Had the bear just spoken to him? He looked all around, but there didn't seem to be anyone there but him. No one of course, but the bear.

  The bear cocked its head to one side. “Well?”

  It had talked! Thomas really shouldn't have been surprised, given the strangeness of things he had already witnessed in Alumia, but the talking theme park bear had caught him off guard.

  “Uh... no?”

  The bear drooped it's enormous head and sighed. “Figures. No one EVER has a cookie. Oh but how I would LOVE a cookie.” The bear straightened himself up and regarded Thomas. “Well then. What can I do for you?”

  Thomas wondered if the cold was getting to him. He couldn't be standing here having a conversation with, what for all intents and purposes, looked like an animatronic bear.

  “This isn't your house is it?”

  “My house?! Dear me no. If it were my house, I wouldn't likely be out here on the porch asking any passer-by for cookies, now would I?” The bear stared up to the sky. “Such an odd place for a bear to be during the winter. Standing on a porch asking for cookies.”

  “Why don't you leave then?”

  The bear looked at Thomas curiously. “I can't leave! This is my spot!”

  “Ah.” Thomas was quickly realizing that he was not going to have a meaningful conversation with this being.

  “So if this isn't your house, who's home is it?”

  “Mmm? Oh. This is Mrs Ink's house.

  Mrs Ink. Why did that sound familiar?

  “I see, is Mrs Ink inside?” Thomas could feel the cold setting into his bones now. His joints were starting to numb, and his teeth were beginning to chatter. He doubted he would have time to setup a camp now.

  “Yes, of course. She's always in.” The bear said matter-of-factually.

  “Okay then, I'm just going to knock and...”

  “Oh, I'm afraid that's not allowed.”

  Thomas stood there in confusion. “I can't knock?”

  “No. No one can knock.”

  “But... then how do I get inside?”

  “I'll let you in of course. That's my job!”

  “I see.” Said Thomas, who really didn't see at all. “So then, will you let me in?”

  “Nope!”

  “But you just said you would let me in!”

  The bear smiled. “Of course I will! But first you have to answer the question.”

  “Question?”

  “Yes. Here it is. There are 500 bears in history that held the title of leader of the Tarragon Forests. Which one was responsible for the Great Chicken Monument?”

  “Are you serious?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes. Always.”

  “And if I get this wrong I can't go in?”

  “If you get this wrong, I will have to eat you. Don't take it personally, it's my job.”

  Thomas shook his head. “But how am I supposed to know the answer to such a question? I've never heard of the bears of the Tarragon forest!”

  “Well then I guess you probably won't! Now would you mind stepping over here so I can gnaw on your head please?”

  The bear was moving its massive arms around, but Thomas was beyond its reach, and it didn't seem that it could move from its spot by the door.

  “Oh bother.” sighed the bear.

  Then it hit Thomas. Mrs Ink. Ink and Nibs. That's why it sounded so familiar. Could this be the same Ink as the one that ran away from Mr Nibs? Wait! What was it that Mr Nibs had said when Thomas was leaving... something about a talking bear! The answer, it was a number. What was it again? Thomas thought hard. It was either the seventh or the fourth. Seven was his favourite number, but the fourth had no significance to him, so had no reason to be stuck in his head other than...

  “The answer's the fourth!”

  The bear looked clearly surprised. “What a colossally lucky guess! Well then, I won't have to eat you after all. Lucky for you.”

  “And you will let me inside?”

  “Of course! That's my job. That and eating those who get the answer wrong.”

  The door swung open on its own.

  “There, it was a pleasure meeting you, um...”

  “Thomas.”

  “Really? You don't look like Thomas. He's taller than you.” The bear leaned as close as it could to Thomas and whispered. “And between you and me, he doesn't shave nearly as often as he should.”

  “Ah.”

  “Well get on inside. Mrs Ink doesn't like it when I let cold air in.

  Thomas shook his head and walked in the door. It swung shut behind him. What an odd place.

  After meeting with a talking bear at a colonial house in the middle of no where, the inside of the house didn't surprise him all that much. The main entry opened on a massive room. It looked even bigger from the inside than it had on the outside. The floors were tiled in a pattern of deep marbled greens and dark greys. A carpet ran from the entrance to the staircase that swept off to the right and the second story. There were several beautiful paintings of scenery against the far wall, as well as an antique sofa that looked as if it had sat undisturbed for centuries. A great bowl shaped chandelier of opaque glass hung above the centre of the room just before the staircase. Thomas had the odd feeling it was watching him. It indeed had a pattern that made it look as if there were pairs of large eyes staring down from the great bowl.

  “Hey you!”

  Thomas jumped. Now what?

  “Down here!”

  Thomas looked down at the foot of the staircase, and saw one of the Balustrade's staring back up at him.

  “Do I know you?” said the balustrade in an accent that sounded very much French. Considering where Thomas was, that seemed very odd.

  “No. I don't think so.”

  “Are you sure? You look very familiar.”

  “I think I would remember talking to you.” And would probably spend the rest of his life trying to forget. Thomas realized that it wasn't just the one balustrade that was staring at him. Every balustrade that made up the handrails for the staircase was trying to turn in his direction. It was quite unnerving to be stared at by at least fifty pairs of wooden eyes. What kind of place was this?

  “I never forget a face. It will come to me. Now! What can we do for you? Not a lot eh? We are kind of stuck here.”

  “I was wondering if I could speak to Mrs Ink.” Thomas wasn't sure this was what he wanted anymore. Something about a talking bear and balustrade made the thought of trying his hand at camping outside seem more appealing than it had.

  “That, we can do something about.” The balustrade swivelled in place to face the next in its line. “Company to see Mrs Ink!” It announced to the next one. In turn the next balustrade swivelled to face the next, and so on until the message had reached the next floor. The message came back down the line from the balustrade at the top of the stairs, and before it even reached the bottom, Thomas knew what it was.

  “Who is it?”

  “Thomas.” Thomas replied feeling a little weary of this lengthy message process. The message was sent up the stairs in the same fashion that it had been before. As the message progressed to the top, the first balustrade turned to look at Thomas.

  “Thomas? You are Thomas? I admit, you have similar looks as Thomas, but you are much much younger! I think you are pulling a joke on me, no?”

  “Maybe you are thinking of a different Thomas.” Thomas hoped he wasn't losing his mind. A talking bear and balustrade should stick out in his mind.

  �
�Maybe.” The balustrade said in a suspicious voice.

  This time there was no reply. Instead, a lady in her sixties or seventies stepped out from one of the doorways upstairs and made her way down the staircase. The slight lines that marked her face hinted at a cheerful disposition. She herself was a bit of a larger woman, the type that would make an excellent grandmother in a few years time. Her hair was pulled back behind her head, and she wore a simple, yet clean outfit. She said nothing as she gracefully descended the staircase, she just walked down to the bottom and took Thomas in with a smile that set him at ease.

  “You are certainly looking well dear.”

  The familiarity that the old woman addressed Thomas with threw him off what he was going to say for a moment. Usually people greeted others with a 'Hello' or 'What are you doing in my house at this hour?'

  Thomas found his train of thought again. “Um, sorry for barging in like this. It was cold outside, and I saw your house. I was hoping to find a place to stay for the night.”

  The older woman smiled at Thomas, which strangely made Thomas feel a little more at ease. “Of course you can stay here for however long you want. I don't get a lot of company. It's nice to have someone to talk with.”

  “I'm Thomas.” Thomas offered his hand to the older Lady.

  “And you may call me Indya.” The lady took Thomas' hand and shook it gently. Thomas thought he caught a hint of sadness in the lady's voice as she introduced herself, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why that would be.”

  “I was just about to have dinner when you came, I wonder if you wouldn't like to join me in the kitchen?”

  Thomas was actually on the verge of starving. Since the night before, he hadn't really stopped to eat. The situation with Alanna had consumed him until he had stumbled across the odd house.

  “That would be wonderful.” replied Thomas gratefully.

  Indya lead Thomas through a set of saloon style doors into a warm kitchen filled with boiling pots and wondrous aroma's promising great food being baked in the oven. Thomas' hunger hit him like an anvil walking into the utopia of scents.

  The kitchen was fairly large for someone living alone. There was an antique wood-fire stove with wonderfully crafted legs and ornate handles. The surface looked to be made of sections of cast iron and there was a manhole styled covering with a handle on the surface, presumably for throwing wood into. It amazed him how much antique appliances took on the appearance of fine furniture and art when compared to what he was used to- a square electric box made of cheap metal, with glowing numbers. Sometimes progress saddened Thomas.

  Indya sat Thomas at a large oak table, which, true to the decor of house, had an air of style and craftsmanship of a bygone age.

  “Well Thomas, What brings you to the middle of nowhere?” Indya continued to move briskly around the kitchen, checking her soups, peeking in the oven.

  “I'm on my way to Westminster to see a friend.”

  “Really? How interesting. Travelling alone then are you?” Indya brought some fresh bread out of the oven and plopped it down on the counter. It smelled amazing.

  “Well, I was travelling with friends, but something came up.” Thomas didn't feel there was any point in telling his story to this nice lady.

  Indya tapped the sides of the bread pan and rolled a loaf of bread out onto the counter. She knocked on the bread a few times and smiled. “The bread is done!” She proceeded to baste the crust of the bread in butter and got out some plates and bowls. “The secret to knowing when bread is done is the sound it makes when you knock it. If it sounds hollow, it's ready.” Indya ladled some soup from the pot on the stove, put a couple of slices of fresh hot buttered bread beside it and set it down in front of Thomas.

  Indya sat down across from Thomas with her own bowl of soup and fresh bread. Thomas hastily picked up one of the pieces of bread and let it melt in his mouth. There really wasn't anything that compared to baking done in a wood stove.

  “I have to ask a question if it's alright.” Thomas had finished one piece of bread in a heartbeat and was on to the second, casually dipping it into the soup as he spoke.

  “What's on your mind?”

  “Well, earlier I met a man. His name was Mr Nibs. The store he ran was Ink and Nibs. I was wondering if you might be the 'Ink' of Ink and Nibs.” There couldn't be too many people with the last name Ink. At least, not where he came from.

  Indya's expression soured slightly. “So you've met Erin have you?”

  “Erin? Is that his name? He ran a writing supply store.”

  “Yeah, that's his name. Where's he set up this time?”

  “I met him in BlueShift. He said that you had run off or something.”

  Indya laughed out loud. “Ran off did I? More the other way around! Erin's my husband.”

  “He ran off?” Thomas finished up his soup quickly and tried to ignore his stomach's requests for more.

  “Yes.” Indya stared at Thomas for a few minutes. It made Thomas feel a little uncomfortable, as if she were weighing him on an invisible scale, trying to make a decision. “Erin and I had a disagreement. He wanted to involve himself in something that wasn't our place to meddle in, and I wanted to leave well enough alone.” Hearing a cue from Thomas' stomach, Indya got up from the table, refilled Thomas' soup bowl and laid out two more slices of bread for him.

  “Thank you.” Thomas hadn't eaten like this in a long while. The food at the palace was good, but this was very similar to what he would eat back home. Only better.

  “What was it that he wanted to get involved in?”

  Indya seemed to be picking her words out and dressing them before letting them off her tongue. There was something about her situation with Mr Nibs she didn't seem to want to talk about.

  “A mutual friend was having problems with his love life. My husband felt that it was only a matter of mus-communication and wanted to get involved. I felt that getting involved could cause... other problems.”

  Thomas didn't see what the big deal was. “That seems innocent enough.”

  “Maybe so, but seemingly innocent things can have large effects. I worried about the fallout from such intervention and what it might mean for the future.”

  It still seemed innocent to Thomas. Not the sort of thing you would desert your wife over. Thomas decided not to dig any further though. Indya didn't seem comfortable with the topic.

  “How about you. You're a pretty handsome young guy. Is there anyone special in your life?” Indya didn't take her eyes off the soup she was eating as she casually changed the subject.

  Thomas felt a little embarrassed talking to a stranger about his personal life, but in truth, felt comforted to have someone to confide in, and Indya's personality made it easy to talk to her.

  “Sort of, yes... I guess.”

  “You seem unsure. What's her name?”

  “Alanna. Her name is Alanna.”

  Indya's composure changed slightly, she seemed to be going through the motions of eating and conversing, but her actions were more deliberate, more measured.

  “Alanna. That's a pretty name. And she feels the same way about you?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “She has said as much?”

  “Yes.”

  Indya stopped eating and looked at Thomas with a very serious expression. “Are you certain?”

  Thomas didn't really understand what Indya was fishing for. “Yes, she told me. We are to be married.”

  “Still?!” Indya stood up from the table so fast that she knocked over her half finished bowl of soup.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.” Thomas was getting up slowly.

  “It's not you dear.” Indya was clearly upset about something. She was chewing on her nail distractedly and focusing on some point off in the distance.

  “What did he say to you?”

  Thomas had felt two steps behind in this conversation from the beginning. “Who?”

  “My husband. Di
d he give you any advice?”

  “No. Not really. To be honest, it was a little hard to understand him most of the time.”

  “So he didn't say anything to you?”

  “Nothing that seemed important, except what to say to the bear. He also helped me pick a journal and pen, but that's all.”

  Mrs Ink stopped staring off into the distance and turned to Thomas. Do you have the journal and pen with you?

  “Sure, I take it everywhere.”

  “May I see them?”

  Thomas got up and grabbed his pack, pulling out the pen and journal from their resting place he returned to the table and handed them to Mrs Ink.

  “I'd rather you didn't read it though.”

  Indya seemed not to hear Thomas as she stared at the Journal and pen. “Subtle. Maybe it will be alright. I wouldn't have thought of that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Mrs Ink turned to Thomas and looked as if she was about to say something when her eyes started to grow wide. She walked across the room to Thomas grabbed his arm and yanked up his sleeve. There, staring back at her, was the dragon tattoo. Indya jumped back as if she had been bitten.

  “WHERE did you get that?!”

  “Alkamire Aqual. It's part of the marriage ritual.” Thomas replied while absentmindedly rubbing the tattoo.

  “Marriage ritual?! That's a death sentence!”

  Thomas sighed. “I know about the dangers of the seal.”

  “Then do you know how many have survived the seal in the history of the blasted thing?!” Indya had worked herself up into a very real rage. “Bring that oaf to me.”

  “The king?”

  “As much as I would like to give him a piece of my mind now, no... the other oaf. My husband.”

  “What makes you think I can?” Thomas asked suspiciously.

  “You're a wizard aren't you?”

  “But how do you know that? I mean... what... what's going on here? You seem to know more about my life than you are telling me.”

  “Take a look around. I have a talking bear, Staircase and if you looked up when you came in, chandelier. I have been around magic long enough to know it when I see it. Bring me that idiot, and I will see that some of your questions are answered.”