by James Gault
Chapter 7
Antonia knew she was back in her own bedroom. The purple and orange flowery curtains, the black and turquoise diamonds on her bedspread, the rainbow swirls on her bedroom carpet were unique. Only her mother could have chosen these things. Although her head was spinning, she recognised them right away.
So she knew where she was, but she was beginning to get totally confused about when. She supposed she was suffering from time-travel lag, because she couldn’t focus too well and she was having difficulty concentrating. Travelling at breakneck speed across time and continents couldn’t be good for you. It was hardly surprising that Ogg, Great Being though he was, made the occasional faux pas. How many wars could have been avoided if he had only paused for long enough to take a couple of travel sickness pills?
Ogg, seeing how pale she was, handed her a glass of water.
“You get used to it after a while, Ant. Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks Ogg. When are we?”
“Just exactly ten seconds after the time we left for our first trip. But if you want to be sometime else, we can go.”
“No, please. Don’t move me again! Let me stay here a few seconds and I’ll be O.K. I want to think.”
“Excellent idea, Ant! Nothing like a good bout of thinking to put the colour back in your cheeks! I’ll just shut up and give you a bit of peace for quiet reflection.”
“Please!”
When it comes to doing nothing, Great Beings have a pretty low attention span, and Ogg began his bored, tuneless whistling almost as soon as he had finished this last sentence. Antonia forced herself to speak before she was really ready, just to shut him up.
“I have a theory, Ogg,” she said.
“Oh, are you feeling better then?”
“No, but I’m allergic to whistling, especially tuneless whistling?”
“I can understand that. Me too!”
“Don’t you want to hear my theory, then?”
“Only if you’re up to it! Maybe you should give yourself another couple of minutes.” And he started to whistle again.
“No, Ogg! I want to tell you know. Please shut up and listen!”
“Of course!”
“My theory is that the world is threatened by dark, magical, mythical, evil forces.”
“Ah!’ said Ogg.
“Ah what?”
“Just ‘Ah!’”
What kind of response was this to a serious scientific suggestion? Wasn’t he going to explore her theory, balance it against the facts, question her assumptions? Weren’t they going to think about it in the correct rigorous manner, subject it to algebraic proof, examine it carefully for dodgy deductions and careless conclusions? Antonia waited. Apparently they weren’t.
“Well, Ogg?”
“Quite well, Ant, thanks!”
“Look, I know I’ve mentioned something like this before. But you’ve been teaching me, and I’ve been learning. I’ve really thought this through. This is a solid, well constructed theory based on the facts, with a minimum of assumptions thrown in to make sense of the whole thing.”
“Oh, yes?” said Ogg.
“Take my great grandfather’s evilness. Where does it come from? Not from the family. His dad’s a gentleman and his gran’s a dear. His descendents, from my grandfather right down to me, are paragons of virtue and goodness.”
“If occasionally a touch immodest” Ogg interjected. Antonia appeared not to hear.
“But Antonio’s a vindictive, opinionated, unreliable slob who never thinks of anyone but himself. A perfect example of evilness personified, I would say. And he certainly didn’t get it from his dad.”
“Maybe his father gave him the evilness and in that way got rid of it himself.”
“Stupid idea, Ogg! No, the evilness comes from somewhere else. It’s in the air, waiting, watching, looking for a likely body to which it can attach itself. It’s the only logical explanation”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. And that’s our mission. To neutralise the evil spirits, and save the world.”
Antonia couldn’t understand why Ogg was so silent. And why was he frowning? Didn’t her theory fit the facts? Wasn’t it the only possible explanation? And how much clearer could the way forward be? Say something, Ogg! He did.
“Ant, exactly how evil do you think your great-grandfather is?”
Antonia’s theory didn’t have a mechanism for measuring the extent of evil. She hadn’t supposed it would be needed. It was annoying how Ogg caught her out every time she made the tiniest little slip in her thinking process.
“You know him as well as me. He’s certainly not very nice.”
“You see, Ant, I’ve seen a lot of wickedness in my time. In fact, I’ve seen it all. And your great-grandfather’s contribution to universal malice is really pretty insignificant, I’m afraid.”
Antonia didn’t find this observation all that comforting. She didn’t want a black sheep, but if she had to have one, she wanted a good one. What right had Ogg to slight her family’s claim to notoriety? Leering at lovely ladies, worrying weak old women, following fascist fanatics and ruining her enjoyment of ice-cream maybe didn’t amount to much compared to warmongers, torturers, and mass murderers. But this was the young, unformed Antonio. With age, he would undoubtedly get better at badness. Abandoning her great-grandmother and their new baby was already a step forward. Ogg may only have seen him as a sheep of an insipid sort of grey, but she was certain that his colouring had the potential to darken considerably.
Ogg meantime was struggling with another problem. Antonia’s latest attempt at logic hadn’t been too impressive. What she had come up with was frankly a badly conceived and silly sort of theory. There was a lot of evidence of emotional involvement in her thought processes, and she didn’t seem able to divest herself of this irrational penchant for something magical. But how to tell her without damaging her confidence too much? Maybe there was a way. She was always enthusiastic about learning new things.
“You know, Ant, I’m not sure you fully understand exactly what ‘evil’ really means.”
“Evil is bad”
“If only things were so simple, Ant. Come with me!”
And, although Antonia hadn’t yet recovered from their last whizz through time and space, off they were again.