by M. Garnet
Glancing up at the bright sun in a cloudless sky, she had no idea what time it was and found she was confused if it was morning or afternoon.
Finally reaching an area that was into the trees, Margo was grateful for the partial shade and the fact that the walking was easier. The land moved into a gentle slope that flowed under the trees. There was still a wide path, so it was evident that people went up to the strange house on the side of the mountain.
Thankful for the fact that she took long walks with a friend every evening with their dogs, she continued until she felt that thirst was beginning to be a problem. All she could do was continue and hope she could get water in the village. She also needed to find out where they were located and make a phone call. She hoped they had a sheriff's office.
If she thought things were strange with the tall man in the dark house, she found them worse in the town. Yes, she definitely had fallen down the rabbit hole.
First of all the houses or buildings were the strangest collection she had ever imagined. There was a standard small white church right out of Tom Sawyer. It had a little steeple holding the standard bell and steps up to the clean double doors. Butted up against it was a building that must be about two stories tall. It was made of stone with narrow slits for windows and a metal door. She thought that in another time the slits were for armies to fire arrows at invaders.
Across the wide unpaved road was a home that looked like it came from her own neighborhood with a wide wooden front porch and next to it was a building that was all metal, shiny and without anything that looked like windows or doors.
Margo slowed down as the only people she saw were running from her and hiding as they ran inside the strange buildings. There was a building that looked like a lodge from a Viking movie with carvings in the wide wooden beams in front and from this one there was smoke drifting from a central chimney.
There were several wooden houses, but each seemed to be from a different country or a different period with colors or types of windows that were so ancient looking. There was one that looked like it came from an old western movie with a standing log railing for tying up a horse. Smoke came from the chimney of this building to match the first one.
Finally, a man came out of the open swinging doors of this old building and nodded at Margo.
"Hi." She put a smile in place of her frown. "I seem to be lost, and everyone has gone inside. I wonder if you could tell me the time and where we are?"
The man looked up at the sun and then around. "Well, I guess it’s about three in the afternoon, and this is called Better. I think they call it that because it is better than nothing." The man leaned back and laughed at his joke.
Margo shrugged. "Okay. I need to find a phone to make a call to a friend."
"Never heard of a fone, Miss. My guess is we don't have one."
Margo looked around and then back up at the mountain. "So, how do you call a friend if you need help?"
The guy grinned and yelled. "Hey Tom, what do we do when we want to reach each other for help?"
From a distance, she heard someone yell back. "We yell real loud."
Chapter Three
Margo saw a couple hurrying across the road in the distance, so she left this man who did seem friendly, but not helpful.
"Hello. Wait a minute. I need a ride to the next town. Wait a minute." As Margo raced after the couple, they also hurried faster and were soon inside a house that looked like a small bungalow. It had two shuttered windows and a heavy wooden door that they slammed closed as soon as they were inside.
Margo huffed as she reached the door and decided to pound on it anyways.
"Hey, I need some help."
A man answered inside in a foreign language. She had no idea what he was saying. It wasn't Spanish; it sounded more like Russian or northern European, not that she was sure about those languages.
"Look, I just need to make a phone call and get a drink of water. You know aqua." Margo could hear the couple arguing inside in that unknown language. Suddenly there was a rustle at the door, and it opened partially. A small pail was being held out.
Looking at a small wooden pail that was about a gallon, it seemed to hold some water. Tentatively, Margo reached out and took the handle of the bucket. She put her other hand against the door to enter, but it was pushed closed, and she heard a bar or something dropping to hold it shut inside.
Standing back and looking at the heavy door with cross beams to give it strength, she decided it probably was handmade with large irregular shaped metal nails that left long dark streaks downward in the planks. This type of door hadn't been used for centuries, even in Russia.
Margo moved away to the road and looked at the wooden bucket full of what she assumed was water. By this time she was really thirsty and life was confusing enough. She didn't think this odd couple was out to poison her, so she brought the edge of the wood to her lips and took a sip.
The cool water had no taste except clean and went down her dry throat with ease. It let her tip the bucket and drink enough to clean her dusty mouth and fill her stomach. There was still a lot of water in the bucket, so she took it with her, as she turned to walk down the unpaved road.
The decision of where she was going was easy. Suddenly, as she walked past the line of unusual mismatched buildings or homes, the road ended. There was a line of heavy trees and deep underbrush with the dusty road just stopping at this point. There were no paths or breaks into this forest. It was dense and thick and indicated that neither people nor animals walked through this area.
What was it he had said up in that dark office? You will find you cannot leave the valley or this mountain. Standing in the middle of this strange road and looking up at the mountains until her eyes located the house on the cliff halfway up to the peak against the black sheared rock she was in awe.
It was so high and so far away from where she stood, that no details could be seen as the home blended in to be part of the summit. She did realize that she recognized a tendril of white smoke that marked the top of the black slate roof of his home.
* * * *
She sat the empty bucket down just outside his front door as she watched the sun disappear behind the tall peaks. It was almost empty, and she was grateful to the couple for their reluctant gift.
Used to walking every evening on the flat sidewalks of Florida, the hike back up on the gravel path had left her taking breaks and feeling the pull in the back of her legs. Margo had looked between the buildings, as she returned down the road and saw the tight screen of the forest behind each alley.
At last, she decided her best choice was to return up to the black house on the side of the mountain, to try to get some answers. This time as she entered, she looked for wall switches to turn on lights. There were none that she recognized.
About halfway down the hall she found a lamp on a table and tuned it on. She started to walk further, but stopped and leaned down to look under the table to see where the lamp was plugged into the wall. There were no wires and no plug. Looking at the lamp, she shrugged as she had heard of battery operated lights.
This was one weird place with one strange guy upstairs. He had said that the kitchen was on this floor and she was hungry. She hoped his kitchen appliances were plugged in and worked. Ignoring the closed doors, she went back to the stairway and walked beside it.
The stairs were open behind, and there was a doorway that was wider than a double door that led into a high dark dining area. The long table in the middle could seat forty people with side tables up against the walls. It was hard to see any details, but there was light coming from a door at the back.
Using the backs of the chairs on one side of the long table, she felt her way to the open door and a well-lit kitchen. Her comment was out loud. "Shit."
This definitely was not a modern kitchen. There was no problem with plugs, as there was nothing in this room that required electricity.
On one wall was a giant open fireplace with metal doors on
each side that she guessed might be small ovens or heating stations.
On another wall was a huge black iron stove with an open door at the bottom and a wood fire heating the pots that were steaming on top in different sizes. There was a long cabinet on the other wall that contained a sink with an old-fashioned pump that had the handle sitting upright. The rest of the large room was full of a free-standing work cabinet full of vegetables, a cutting area and empty pots and pans.
A loud noise announced a thin older woman coming through a side door with her hands full of raw meat. Both the woman and Margo froze, staring at each other.
The woman moved first, taking her meat to a chopping board on the middle work area.
"Sorry Madame, I understand you are English." The woman spoke with a heavy accent that sounded Italian or Spanish.
Margo still stayed in the doorway as she answered. "I am American."
The woman brought out a large knife to work on the meat. "I am sorry. I do not know where that is in England. But we both can talk in English."
"I'm not English; I'm American. My name is Mar…"
The woman slammed down her knife to interrupt. "Do not tell anyone your name. It gives them power over you. I will call you Penny since you belong to Master Coin."
Margo took a couple of steps into the room, thinking about what this crazy woman had said. "Is that his real name?"
"Of course not. No one would use his real name. I call him Master Coin because he pays me for serving here. He doesn't have to like everyone as I am afraid of him and would serve free of charge. Still, he leaves me coins here on the counter every Friday."
The sound of the big knife whacking down through the meat as she spoke was very disconcerting to Margo. This was one crazy woman who was hired to cook for the man upstairs.
Margo tried a smile, hoping for information. "S, how long have you prepared meals for the Master?"
"Well, I am the thin cook. The fat cook was here almost forty years and when she died he brought her body down to the village, and I took over as the think cook about thirty years ago. He gave her coins that she gave to her family. I don't have any family, so I just keep the coins and spend them at the bar. I don't know how long the other fat cook has been with the Master."
Margo sighed. She wasn't going to get any information from this crazy cook. Unless the crazy woman was talking about the man upstairs and possibly his father before him, who might also have lived in this dark house.
The Cook spoke as she chopped. "You go and leave me to my work. It will take me an hour to get a meal together for the Master. I will make a second one for you."
To Margo, that sounded like a good idea as the big knife hit the cutting board. Margo went back out under the stairway and past the dining area but decided to get nosy. After all, how much more trouble could she possibly get into than the mess she found herself in now?
Chapter Four
Having learned very little on prowling over her hour of going from room to room, she ended back at the large door under the stairwell. The smell from the kitchen was delicious, especially compared to the rooms she had inspected.
She began her tour by opening the closest door that was shut on the first floor. Since the door wasn't locked, she entered the dark room, leaving the door open to see if she could find one of the magical lamps.
What she found on a table by the door was a candle in a protected holder with some large matches in a holder. The holder had a striking place on the back so she let one match burst into flames and she lit the candle.
With the wide protected metal behind the candle, she was amazed at how much light was thrown out from this contraption. The room was full of furniture covered with dust cloths. The shapes of chairs and tables could be recognized under heavy cloths. She took the time to lift one to find an antique chair with the material looking like new. There were double drapes over the windows that prevented any light from entering.
Taking her candle with her, she went to each of the doors and found the same thing. Why would one need so many sitting rooms? There had been one door locked, so she had no choice but to finally return to the kitchen, leaving her blown out candleholder on a table in the hallway.
Allowing the sweet smells of the kitchen to clear out the dust from the rooms along the hallway, she stepped in with some noise so as not to surprise the thin lady.
The cook was busy loading up a long wooden tray that already had two covered plates on it, as she added rolls and a small dish of butter. She added some utensils as she looked up and gave orders in her accent.
"You take this big tray. I will bring the drinks. He eats in his office. Follow me."
Since the woman was starting around the work stand with her hands full, Margo decided not to argue and went over to reach across and pick up the big tray. It was heavy and smelled good, so now Margo realized she was hungrier than she had thought earlier.
At the man's office, the woman kicked the doorframe as a type of knock and then without hesitation she went to the wall that held the door, and there was a long empty desk. The woman put down her load and pulled out a leaf on the table to expand it into the room.
Margo set her big tray on the table and just watched. The cook pulled over a chair that was sitting by the desk. She stepped back and then walked over to another wall covered with books. She put a bunch of books off a chair onto the floor. She pulled that chair to the table and was heading past Margo to leave the room.
"Halt."
His low sharp voice seemed to reverberate across the room. The cook halted in the doorway still facing the hallway.
"Two chairs?"
The cook nodded without turning. "The American from England needs also to sit while she eats."
"No." His answer was a grumble. "I always eat my meals in here ALONE." The last word was a shout.
But by this time the woman was gone. Margo could hear her soft steps going down. Margo wished she had gone with her, but she wasn't going to let this keep her empty stomach from that food next to her.
He moved in a fast, quiet way to the table and picked up a metal food cover to throw it out past Margo through the doorway.
"Look, I will just take my plate and go back downstairs. There are plenty of empty rooms, so I can sit in one of them and not bother you." She was reaching for a covered plate when his hand was over hers.
"Sit and eat. I am busy, do not talk."
He picked up a piece of bread and some meat along with a big white napkin and went back to his desk. To Margo, the meat looked so good she took him at his word and sat down in the first chair and grabbed a fork.
Margo had to admit that in that big old-fashioned kitchen, the thin lady really knew how to cook. The meat was tender and flavored with onions and some herbs. The small red potatoes had a hint of pepper, and the bread was freshly baked with country rich butter.
If she ate like this all the time, she would have to climb that mountain a lot to work off the calories. She used the last of the second piece of roll to sop up the juices on her plate before he came back standing to stuff potatoes into his mouth as he was reading a paper.
He ignored her as he grabbed a roll, smeared it into the butter and started to walk away.
"The cook calls you Master Coin. She is a bit nuts, you know."
He hesitated and then went on to his desk to pick up another paper. Actually, they all looked like scrolls. Was he studying history?
Wiping her mouth on the pristine napkin, she got up and approached him. Margo was tired of being confused by this weird man.
"I want to return to Florida."
He wiped his own fingers on his napkin and threw it on the floor so that he could spread out a scroll on his cluttered desktop.
"I want to return to my home," Margo spoke louder as she reached down to pick up the napkin and put it on the scroll.
He quickly pulled the cloth off, twisting it in his long fingers. "You fool; do you know how old that sheepskin is?"
"Damn it; I
don't care. I want out of this dark marble monstrosity, and I want to return to the sunshine of Florida, right now."
"You can't." He turned his back to her and tilted his head up to the ceiling. She realized he was tall, probably several inches over six foot.
Reaching out she hit a soft punch into his wide shoulder. "Why?"
He turned and looked down at her face with those strange eyes reflected from the one lamp on the desk. "Because there is no Florida any longer."
Taking a step backward, she locked her legs so her knees would not drop her to the floor. "The big wave was real?"
At last, she had absorbed his words, and she believed him. "My home is gone from one big wave?"
He walked over to a shelf and pulled down several scrolls. Coming back to the desk he continued. "There were many big waves."
Thinking about the United States map she tried to remember the ground elevations. "So people live above Georgia. Why did you create that storm?"
Now he sat down and seemed to relax into the chair. "I don't create storms, I control them and sometimes I can direct them so that they die down."
"Who are you?" She was getting answers, and she had so many questions.
Suddenly he moved out of the chair; his attitude changed while he went back to the shelves to hunt for something else.
"I am a man who likes to be alone. Leave me. Go and find a bedroom that suits you and stay there or sleep in the hallway. I don't care, just stay out of here." With this growling statement, he slammed some large books to the floor.
Margo decided not to push her luck. She wasn't a tiny woman, but he was a big guy. He wasn't built like a wrestler, but he was tall with wide shoulders, constructed like a swimmer or hard working ball player. She decided she wouldn't win a match with him.
She moved out of the room quietly but grabbed the big pitcher of water as she left. Margo decided she would insist on a conversation later.
Chapter Five