The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  Once they’d reached their designated floor, Percy showed them in through a narrow door and into his workshop. A very dim room; also very peculiar. It was so tiny in comparison to the rest of that monstrous tree palace. One wouldn’t have presumed space to be an issue in such a place. But, evidently, that wasn’t the case here.

  The room was desperately cluttered with all varieties of curious and wonderful gadgets and gizmos. Finned contraptions and mock-ups were dangling from the ceiling everywhere. Little clockwork soldiers were set up in battle formations on a table at the back. More models and half-assembled devices, with springs and pins were in a mess amid rickety stacks of loose notes. Winged devices. Balloon machines. Assortments of tool racks covered the walls while every other spare inch of space was consumed by blueprints and sketches of all shapes and sorts. And lastly, wouldn’t you know, the entire chamber was stifled with cobwebs, but thankfully they were uninhabited.

  “Before you say it, I know the place is a muddle,” said Percy, “but this is just the way I like it. I know where everything is, you see.”

  He was about to give them a short tour of his latest inventions, but first, he took their damp hoods and hung them on the coat rack just inside the door.

  He commented on William’s cloak, as it so happened, asking him if it was a comfort cloak and how it would be a great idea to turn it into a tunic so as to prevent a gust from the front. Always thinking, old Percy.

  Removing another coat from one of the hooks, he handed it to William and said with a smile, “Do you know who owned this?”

  Giving it the once-over, William shook his head and said, “Doesn’t look familiar to me. A friend of yours own it?”

  “A friend? I should be so lucky. For this once belonged to Mysun Margyle himself!” replied old Percy with a chuckle, massaging his hands.

  With the cuffs buttoned over the forearm, it was a long raven coat of distressed leather, and of a musty scent. There were some rips and imperfections to it—as clothing normally acquires through time—and the inner layer was of a fine, green silk. Running from the right shoulder to the left hip was a leather scabbard, basted into the leather.

  “It has no magic about it, if any at all,” said the old man, doting over the coat. “Not that I can see, anyway. But when Mysun left us all that time ago, I found it tossed away, hanging from a branch in some crevice back east. He must’ve lost it. I keep it as a souvenir. Though I will give it to you now, if you wish it, William. Oh…er…but I’m not too sure if it’d fit you.”

  He had a point. Mysun was a tall man, so it would’ve sagged off William like a tent had he tried it on. And what a shame it would be to modify it, as the sentimental value of such a garment was probably priceless to most. Besides, even holding onto it made the boy feel somewhat uneasy, let alone having to actually wear it. Hence, he courteously handed it back to Percy in an attempt to deter the discomfort. Curiously enough, when the fabric left his hand, he felt an instant change in himself. Bizarre; yet not odd enough to mention.

  “So, what kind of doo-daddies have you got down here, Percy?” Icrick asked, being ever so excited about such things.

  Percy didn’t have to be asked twice, so he produced a mortar from a shelf by his knees. It was full of green powder.

  “I’m always on the lookout for the next best thing, and this is one of me latest inventions, me fluffy chum,” he said proudly. “Explosive grains!”

  Taking a pinch, he flung it against the wall and it popped with a great flash of green smoke.

  “Humph!” went William, after surmounting his trance. “Gunpowder!”

  Gawking awkwardly at him, Percy replied, “No. Explosive grains, my invention.”

  “Sorry. Explosive grains then,” William sniffed, as he nosed about in the other little widgets.

  He was about to lift up a tarp, under which he saw an immense bronze leg of a mechanical nature, when Percy quickly grabbed it and yanked it down again, with a very ‘hush-hush’ wag of his finger.

  Making his way across the room, he went on, “And this is the one I’m working on right now,” before giggling weirdly.

  Reaching up to one of the higher shelves, he took down a jar full of blackish liquid. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he soaked it in the jar and wrung it out.

  “Now, are you watching carefully?” he asked, and they all observed intently.

  Rambling over to the wooden wall, where it was very dark, he dangled the handkerchief into one of the shadows, where it literally seeped into the shade, only to disappear inside of it, hand and all. Percy could even move his arm from the hosting shadow and move it elsewhere around the wall, all of its own independent shade.

  “Shadow-water, I call it.” said he, proud as punch. “It only works with the shadows of firm surfaces, like wood, rock, or steel. But if you dipped yourself in a bath of that stuff, there would be a whole new meaning to ‘hiding in the shadows’!”

  He let out a wriggly little cackle at his own joke.

  Intrigued by his wizardly demonstration, they proceeded to browse for more interesting things.

  “What’s this then?” Khrum asked, with a big, black velvet purse in his mitts (to any average-sized person, it would have been fairly small).

  He emptied its contents onto the counter, and out tumbled a pair of polyhedral dice with different shapes on each face.

  “NO!” Percy implored, waving his hands about. “Don’t touch those!”

  It was too late. Khrum had already tossed them into the corner of the room, seeing as that’s what one normally does with a pair of dice. It wasn’t his intention to stir up trouble, but he managed it nonetheless. A baleful looking portal suddenly whooshed open on the wall before him, forcing Khrum to tumble back into a pile of springs. Apart from the spookiness of a daunting breeze, its inner reaches remained as dead as a graveyard on a dark winter’s eve. Nobody moved; only watched. Something told them to beware this gateway, and yet it did nothing to threaten them. It was Percy who was making them nervous.

  He waddled over to the dice, shoved on a pair of glasses, and in analysing their markings, he blessed himself and gasped, “Oh, may the Lord and saints preserve us!”

  Snatching them up, he scuttled back to the other side of the room, where he readied himself for another roll.

  “What’s wrong? Why the fuss?” Wren nervously asked of him.

  The old man explained, “These dice aren’t fully tested. While I’ve seen what they can do, I don’t know what they’re for. I dreamt about them one night, so I ended up designing them as a project the following morn, without considering the consequences. Now, in order to undo the leprechaun’s throw, I must roll two blank sides.”

  A vile rumble yawned from within the deep of the portal, as if something was charging from the other end. Something very large. Anxiously they retreated, step by step. Percy, on the other hand, was up in a heap as he rattled the dice, with a few blows for luck.

  Beads of sweat suppurated from his forehead and his glasses fogged up too, as he pleaded, “Come on! Come on. Lucky throw. Lucky throw!”

  With a final shake, he cast them against the wall. Unlucky for him, he didn’t get the roll he was after. The charging had grown so loud that the room was virtually quaking; jars, and bottles, and models were hopping all over the place. Some smashed into smithereens on the floor. Percy had another throw, only to fail yet again.

  “Hurry up, Percy!” Wren panicked, oblivious as to what was on its way up through the portal.

  “I’m trying!” he urged.

  The room shook like a family of giants were outside, hammering upon its walls with their mighty clubs. And as it worsened, the beastly snarls of many creatures were fast approaching through the portal.

  Giving the dice one last shake, Percy pelted them against the wall with a womanly shriek, and thus, he found two blank sides looking up at him. Not a moment too soon, either, for as the portal shrank, a large bullhorn jammed itself through from the other side. Whatever it
was, wrenched it back out again before disappearing into whence it came, and the tiny hole sealed itself up with a dragging shluuurp.

  “Okay, now, w-w-what was that?” shivered Khrum, pointing.

  “I already told you…I don’t know who they are!” snapped Percy, snatching the purse from Khrum’s hand, and making him feel the right little pest.

  “He didn’t mean it…” William stepped in, defending his friend.

  “Oh, you’re right I suppose! I’m sorry! No need for me to be losing the head like that at all. And there was no real harm done in the end. But please, just ask before touching me things again. Some of this stuff isn’t entirely stable, and it’d be a shame to get blown up or devoured before we all got to know one another.”

  Khrum agreed, but not without an air of regret which Percy found warming.

  “Good! Much obliged, me tiny friend,” he said, and smiled. “Now, I was just about to dish out some grub. Hope you’re all hungry?”

  Pouncing at the offer of food, Icrick said, “Starved, as always!”

  “Very well then. Follow yours truly!” chortled Percy, grabbing a little black lantern.

  They found their way up some winding stairs. Such a terribly tight squeeze; as such, they kept a close eye on their footing, for the steps were rather high and altogether treacherous to climb.

  “Why on earth do you have everything so tight in here, Percy?” Wren griped, as she squeezed herself along. “God knows you can spare the space.”

  “Never use more than what you require, young Wren!” answered he, making his way with ease.

  She replied, “Bit of an aul’ skinflint aren’t you, when it comes to proper breathing space? You could barely swing a rat in here…never mind a cat!”

  “Nothing miserly about being a touch economical,” he answered.

  “Economical—skinflint; what’s the difference?”

  “Oh, hush your gob!” moaned Percy, seeping out one of his little giggles.

  Crosco had an appalling time trying to ascend that stair. The steps were far too slender to accommodate his clumsy feet. He practically had to work his way up on his toes. And with each step, Ifcus was on his back, petrified, gazing back down the deepening stairwell, hoping that Crosco wouldn’t lose his balance, fall backwards, and end up squashing him into an even worse state than he already was in. But he was pleased to learn that the kitchen door was only a few steps away, so he went back to focusing on his belly again.

  It was yet another dusky section of the tree, the kitchen, because not many candles were lit. Percy didn’t like to waste good candles, especially when it was normally just himself who dined therein. Not that it mattered all that much, because the sparse candlelight actually made it feel really comfy, and that homely smell of cooking only added to the comfort.

  At one end of the kitchen there was the stove, with lots of bubbling pots and pans frying up a storm on it. In the room’s heart, a rectangular table awaited them. Interestingly enough, its stools—as well as every other piece of furniture—were carved from living wood, which meant they were permanently affixed. Chests of drawers, carving counters, chairs, sideboards, cupboards, and even the stove itself, were all whittled in the same way. To spare disaster, the stove had to be varnished with a specialised lacquer to prevent it from bursting into flames.

  While Percy was busy serving up their dinner, they took it upon themselves to settle where they so wished, and readied themselves to eat. Beef and pumpkin was their evening dish, and with it, Percy had prepared a most marvellous relish, one which I insist you try sometime. It was an extremely flavourful dish, consisting of cheddar cheese, tomatoes, garlic, capers, olive oil, ham, chillies, and red onions, all finely diced into a glistening garnish. It proved very complimentary to their lean beef and buttery pumpkin. It also married exceedingly well with the crackers and cheese they had for afters. A large pot of it was set centre table for all to share. Ifcus, however, almost wolfed the whole lot down by himself once dinner had started. He couldn’t get enough. But there was plenty more where that came from.

  And so, they partook in a hearty and most scrumptious meal. All except for Khrum, whose appetite was borderline due to Percy’s spiders staring out at him from inside his hairy ears. Every time he went to have a nibble he’d spot one scurrying about in the corner of his eye. And this went on until, before long, he was turned off his meal entirely.

  “Not hungry, me leprechaun friend?” asked Percy, helping himself to a dollop of garnish for his cracker.

  “Oh…ah…well…um…ya see…” Khrum blathered, glancing about for support, only nobody really knew what was wrong with him, so they said nothing.

  Ifcus, however, was wise to it. But as soon as he’d gotten the scent of food, he ignored his disgust and tucked in without a second thought. And now that Khrum was the centre of the attention, his eyes were grinning away, as his little friend sat stewing in awkwardness.

  “Here, try one of these spring onions. Grew them in the garden meself.” said Percy, handing Khrum a scallion. “Such a sweet taste. Although not without a hint of bite.”

  Khrum was really apprehensive about accepting it, but he didn’t want to appear ungracious, either. Particularly after his little incident in the workshop earlier.

  With little else for it, he slowly went to take the scallion from Percy’s hand. But the second he wrapped his hands around it, a set of legs scurried out from inside Percy’s sleeve and made for the onion too. Well. Khrum sprung like a toad on a hob when he saw it coming at him. He’d gotten such a fright that, not only did he let out the weirdest noise ever, but he also tried disguising it by yelling out a threat in mid-leap, as if he’d gotten there first…

  “BLURGHARUA! I have ya now, ya little…” he cried, and the others laughed themselves into tears.

  ‘Twas a laugh sorely needed in those otherwise arduous times, and no better person to deliver it than the comical little Khrum, whether he’d intended to or not.

  All throughout dinner, by the dim candlelight, they had many discussions. Some were humorous. Some were grave. Some were humdrum. Others were emotional. Eventually, William decided to ask about the exiles, and how they—Percy included—managed to live on Lythiann when it was said that the Pooka refused to share his land. With Wren contributing here and there, Percy explained that, if Drevol was to strike out on the innocents of the land again, it was up to the people to have a backup plan ready; that folk would presumably have some alternative refuge to which they could retreat. It was believed that, if he couldn’t locate these refugees, he’d simply return to Lór and aspire to find them another day. But never would he forget them, not by any means.

  That’s how they explained it to William, both of whom felt it a pitiful way to live out their lives, running in fear all the time.

  Percy then told them all about the enchanted tree in which he lived, and how it folds down its branches when the first indications of danger arises on the winds. To an unwary traveller the tree looks just like a high, pointed hill, what with the leaves bearing an uncanny likeness to grass after flattening so. Usually the threat ends up passing right by it without taking a blind bit of notice. Meanwhile, Percy sits inside, safe as can be.

  He went on to describe how the trees and plants can perceive peril days before it actually presents itself, and how they’re probably the wisest of any life form. You have to remember that he was a gardener, after all, and he knew much about plants and how they worked. Inventions were merely his hobby. This also explained how he was so undeniably certain when he was preaching about the lunar eclipse, because many of his calculations involved technical waffle based around wind speed, wind trajectory, humidity, as well as all sorts of other botanical terminology. None of which they had the faintest clue about.

  Bringing a goblet of mulled wine to the table, he then asked William’s opinion on Mysun’s coat. Diverging from Percy’s topic somewhat, on account of the peculiar sensation that befell him when he held it earlier on, William decided
to enquire as to how Percy actually managed to reclaim it in the first place.

  It was an intriguing topic for all but Khrum, who was hypnotized by the delicious aroma of that sweet, sweet wine. Even the spiders couldn’t lure his attention from it, regardless of how or where they chose to scuttle. Icrick just turned the leprechaun’s cheek away with his finger every time, and continued to do so until Khrum eventually conceded. Percy had otherwise started with his tale.

  “Let me show you something,” said he, in the gloomy light, appearing very mysterious. “But it is not to many people’s liking. They usually find it grotesque and horrid. But to me, it is a great gift!”

  “What are you going to do?” Crosco anxiously inquired.

  Wren sat back with a grin, knowing quite well what was about to happen.

  Percy glared at them, deep into their eyes. They all leant in closely with anticipation. He held out his hands and, slowly, pulled the fingers off his gloves, one by one. He watched his audience closely, and Ifcus was so terrified that something was going to fly at him that his eyes were barely peeking over the table.

  Both gloves were just about hanging from Percy’s fingers now. Two pallid scars encompassed his wrists.

  Then, without so much as a warning, he let out such a roar from the height of his lungs, “GOTCHA!”

  In one swift movement, he flicked the gloves from his fingers and, with them, came his very hands. They detached from his wrists, like creatures of independent minds, and landed centre table.

  Well, didn’t the fun start. Like he was on roller skates, Ifcus was slipping, and sliding, and scrambling, barely keeping his hooves, all the while the hands were scampering around the table like phalangeal arachnids. Percy himself just sat there, doubled over in hysterics, with his stumps resting on his heaving belly. Poor little Icrick was over at the door, bawling. He nearly had it ripped from its hinges. Last of all, Khrum—the tiny soul with a lion’s heart—had scurried under an overturned bowl.