‘What is wrong, Queen Beatrice? All week the gnomes have been thinking they might have upset you.’
Beatrice Faraway burst into tears and Oliver put his little chubby arm around her and tried to comfort her.
‘Whatever is the matter my good Queen Beatrice Faraway? Please tell me so that I can try and help you. We all love you so much.’
‘I stole you from the gardens in the town and now the townsfolk and the police want you back. I’ve told them where you are in a letter to the newspaper and I’m scared they might take you away and I will get arrested and go to jail. I have invited them all to a party here tomorrow so they can make up their minds. I’m so sorry and very worried. I love all the gnomes very much.’
Oliver the gardener gnome comforted Beatrice Faraway. He told her again that the gnomes loved her dearly and that they trusted her. That is why they allowed her to be the first human to see them moving around and doing things. They had been treated well by the townsfolk but they were never spoken to, or told stories, or fed like they were with her. The gnomes also loved the strange garden and had made friends with the stone angels, the dragon statues and all the other creatures. He promised that if they were sent back they would all come and see her every night if she would open the big oak door for them. Also, if Beatrice Faraway was taken to jail the gnomes would be able to get the keys and help her to escape and they would run away with her and look after her.
Beatrice Faraway felt much better. She was still nervous and she didn’t sleep very well, but she got out of bed on the morning of Christmas Eve full of hope. She went downstairs and started to prepare for the party, making all the food and drinks. She asked the gnomes to move the tables and chairs into her biggest room downstairs. The gnomes did this with great ease as they are much stronger than people.
It was nearly midday and time for the party. Beatrice Faraway went to open the big oak door to the garden and the gnomes all stood perfectly still because they didn’t want any other human to see them moving. When she approached the oak door, Beatrice Faraway could hear people outside and she wondered what was about to happen. She knew she had to open the door so she took out her iron key and slowly turned it in the lock and pushed the door until it creaked open.
Beatrice Faraway had the biggest surprise of her life. All the townsfolk were wearing stripy party hats and holding balloons or trays of mince pies and jars full of colourful sweets. A big brass band dressed in bright red started to play. Everyone cheered and wished her a happy Christmas. Beatrice Faraway was so happy she wanted to kiss and hug everybody. In they all marched, smiling and joking and full of love. Some of the folk looked in wonder at the statues, some of them picked up the gnomes fondly and others headed straight for the stew. All of them told Beatrice that they loved her idea. They would be happy to leave the garden gnomes with her. They are only pots, they said, lovely, but only pots. It’s not as if they are real, they just stand there looking, well, like gnomes. Even Sergeant Plodfeet said that whilst stealing is wrong, he would forgive her because she had been so honest in the end.
Everyone was happy about the idea to open the Palace to visitors and help to make the town a good place to visit. The townsfolk wanted to make people from all over the world welcome. The Mayor, who looked like Father Christmas, rang his bell and made a speech. He sounded really grand and important.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. We are gathered here today to celebrate the wonderful idea of our town’s most famous resident, Ms Beatrice Faraway.’
The townsfolk cheered and clapped until the Mayor continued.
‘All the townsfolk welcome her wonderful and generous idea to open her house, the Delightful Palace of Earthly Delights, to people from all over the world so that they can see where the world of the little people was created by Beatrice and George Faraway. Adults and children from every continent, every country, will be welcome. Hotels will be built, shops opened, and the town will be prosperous once again. So three cheers for Beatrice Faraway!! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!’
The whole town joined in, hats were thrown in the air and the day became one big party with everybody chatting to Beatrice Faraway and talking excitedly about the future. Beatrice Faraway felt so happy. She even caught the gnomes sharing some of the stew and mulberry wine when they thought no one could see them moving. They would be happy, of that she felt quite sure.
And so it came to pass. Beatrice Faraway put everyone to work preparing for the opening of the Palace to visitors, the town was covered in lovely trees and bright flowers, all the buildings were re-painted, shops were opened, the children had nice shoes to wear and news of the town and the Palace spread quickly throughout the world. When everything was ready people came from China, Russia, America, Japan, France, Norway, Australia, Egypt and Sudan, and all the other countries of the world. The whole town looked so much better and everybody was happy. And that is how it is today.
Beatrice Faraway signs all the books for sale and, when she isn’t too tired, takes people on tours of the Palace. The gnomes love the changes and are happy to stay still and watch until night-time, when they come out to play. Beatrice Faraway still reads them stories and feeds them their favourite foods. Every Friday the Palace is open in the morning to the townsfolk so that they can call in to visit the gnomes.
And that is nearly where our story ends. There is one more thing that the reader needs to know. Do you remember that Beatrice Faraway wanted to write her own story about the little people, but couldn’t do it? Well, dear reader, she did write a story and it is read by children throughout the world. You have just read it yourself.
HENGE
David Rix
‘No curtains?’ Aiko asked.
The landlady shrugged. ‘This is how she left it.’
Matt stared around the bedroom, pointing his camera this way and that. Even after seeing many apartments filled with the diversity and mess of London, this seemed an especially curious one. Not the furniture—that was basic, old and rather minimal, chests-of-drawers with one drawer not quite closing, a wardrobe with doors ever so slightly off symmetrical, mysterious stains on the tabletops—the sort of thing you might find in any London flat that a basic human being could afford. Not the building, which was just another of those once-large blocks that might not have even been residential originally but was now subdivided into tiny apartments, like a game of Tetris. It was the decoration that covered the walls that did it. Hand drawn and painted shapes and figures, scribbled handwritten text that a casual glance couldn’t decipher, and the many mirrors that gleamed everywhere. Decoration that made him feel as though he had walked inside some deranged yet intricate and beautiful artwork. It was safe to say that he had never seen anything quite like it before . . .
And Aiko was right—no curtains. Not even lace. Stark naked glass was the only thing between them and the outside world.
‘Of course,’ the landlady said, pushing open another door, ‘you’ll have to use some imagination. We still need to do the place up—get rid of all this mess, paint the walls. It’s only been on the market for a few days and we haven’t had time.’
She gave a prim sniff, her fat face wrinkling as though tasting something sour.
‘Or the money. Her deposit won’t begin to cover all this and we can’t get any more out of her. She’s dead.’
Matt and Aiko looked at her warily, trying to detect humour in her voice.
‘Dead?’ Aiko asked. The landlady sighed.
‘Knocked off her bike and squished in Shoreditch Highstreet,’ she said with some bluntness. There was a silence. Matt covered the increasing discomfort by aiming his camera round the room—the living room, he supposed, since it didn’t have a bed in it. Now, with the artwork on the walls came the realisation that it was a glimpse into the world of one who no longer existed. That was a somewhat haunting thought. There were still a few mundane possessions hanging around as well, giving the whole thing a sharply personal touch.
On the wal
l opposite the window was the most massive painted design of all—a huge curved squarish shape of interacting lines and colours. He stepped further in and examined it with interest. It was safe to say that this was far more than just scribbles or bad graffiti, and he actually found himself prickling slightly as he looked at it. There was a mirror placed in the middle—a large one—and when he tried to look in it he realised that it was a trick. It was slightly curved, distorting his image into a skinny freak.
‘What the heck is all this?’ he demanded.
The landlady shrugged with a hint of resentment. ‘Like I said, this is how she left the place. I’ll have to paint it over.’
He glanced briefly at her two rather dull grey orbs, then photographed the design a few times, the flash ringing out with unexpected power.
They crossed to the window. More buildings rose up tall on all sides, it seemed. Not far below, about one storey down and just a few slot-black feet from the wall, ancient brickwork supported the massive weight of four railway tracks. The paradox of an elevated railway at the bottom of a city canyon. And even as he watched, there was a rush as a small urban commuter train rattled past, left to right.
He aimed his camera at the view and pressed the button. It beeped.
Aiko took his arm, looking a little dubious. ‘It’s a bit . . . shadowy,’ she murmured. She was right. With the buildings clustered round, there was little direct light down here, save for a couple of thin bars of sun cutting across the tracks. Matt found himself rather liking the view. It was urban and dramatic. It was the side of the city that was the obverse of the glitzy façade—almost the secret side. The utilitarian railway, usually out of sight behind walls or high on arches, here ruled the world and across the way he could see glimpses of other people’s lives through windows or hanging about on balconies. It was these kinds of details that he loved about the city—not the grand classical buildings or gleaming towers that it liked to show off to the world. He turned back to the painted design on the wall and realised that its placement wasn’t chance. Somehow, through some process not immediately apparent, it formed a projection of the window, an arced, stretched square filled with intricate lines and shapes across the old paintwork.
The landlady was pointing out some small cupboard or other that was presumably supposed to contain your life’s possessions and still droning on, but he wasn’t listening until she said, ‘Well, there it is. What do you think? I should warn you, places go quickly here. It’s a good location.’
‘Whatever you ask, right?’ Matt said with just a hint of acid. ‘They come clamouring round?’
The landlady shrugged, not showing any offence. ‘It’s a fair market price,’ she said. ‘And places in this building are never empty long.’
‘That’s London I suppose,’ he said, turning away and staring round again. He glanced at Aiko but she was just waiting with a subdued look on her face. She flashed a dark look at the woman, then a ‘please can we get out of here’ glance at him.
‘Okay,’ he said, trying to sound formal. ‘Thank you. I think we have seen all we need to. We will be in touch . . . at some point.’
The landlady shrugged and gave a weary smile. ‘Okay love, I’ll show you out.’
‘Baka,’ Aiko muttered under her breath.
***
What was her name?’ he asked, a few days later.
‘Who?’
‘The woman who lived here before.’
The landlady frowned.
‘You know, I can’t actually remember what she put on the agreement. People just called her Feather.’
He nodded.
‘Artist?’
The landlady shrugged carelessly. ‘I suppose, if you count this lot,’ she said gesturing at the walls. ‘As I said, I will get rid of it all before you move in.’
‘No,’ he said with what he hoped was firmness. ‘Leave it.’
‘Huh?’
He stared into her blank face, which seeded a nasty feeling deep inside.
‘Clean the place up, fix the kitchen and everything, but don’t paint. We will take care of that.’
The landlady shrugged. ‘Well okay, that will save a bit of money.’
Yeah, about one forty-fifth of our first month’s rent, he thought, but did not say.
‘Are you crazy?’ Aiko demanded as they walked down the high corridor towards the stairs. ‘That’s her job. Why should we pay to do it?’
He smiled. ‘Because I don’t want to do it at all,’ he said. ‘At least not yet. Look at this stuff—it’s fucking amazing. And I would like to . . . photograph it. It reminds me of some of the stuff in the Outsider Art show they put on in Primrose Hill. You remember?’
‘Yes, but for how long?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Just enough to look at it a bit.’
Aiko gave a sigh and a smile. ‘You are crazy, Matt-chan,’ she said.
‘Well, what’s wrong with living inside an artwork?’ he asked with a grin. ‘Not many can say they have.’
She tugged her lower eyelid in a rude Akanbe gesture, then gave a shrill giggle. He made to chase after her and they stumbled out of the main door together, ignoring the surprised look from a woman just coming in.
‘Why are you suddenly in such a good mood?’ he asked.
‘I’m just relieved,’ she said. ‘It is sorted.’
‘You think the place will be . . . okay then?’ he asked anxiously.
‘It’s somewhere to put our oshiri for a year or so. The rent is three times what it’s worth, the kitchen you need to . . . to cover yourself with oil to get into, but who cares! We won’t do any better.’
He gave her a wry look, trying to work out if any of that was positive. But maybe she was right. Any place to park their arses for a year or so was a good place.
***
‘Why are there no curtains?’ she demanded, sounding seriously fed up. ‘This is a furnished fakking flat. Why are there no curtains?’
‘We will have to order some,’ Matt said, deliberately calm, switching the computer on with the uneasy hope that it still worked after its wild journey across the city. Boxes were all over the floor, some trailing scattered contents—clothes, books, unidentifiable fabric and packing material. The bed and the computer were sorted, but that was about all. And nerves were fraying.
‘This Feather person must have been crazy,’ she muttered. ‘Look at all these mirrors. There’s five in this room alone. Was she obsessed with her own face? A dozen mirrors but no fakking curtains. And why can’t the landlady get some? The price we are paying you would think she could . . .’
Matt rubbed at his forehead fretfully. It was getting dark now and he had had enough. He grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her down on the bed, ignoring her startled look.
‘Okay,’ he said with a grin, ‘shush. Enough work and enough worry.’ He plucked a bottle of wine from his bag and smiled. ‘Let’s just drink a quick kanpai to the new place and relax a bit.’
She grabbed a glass gratefully and he filled it.
‘Cheers,’ she said, her accent startlingly British. Outside, the low clanking rumble of a freight train passed by and she looked up in annoyance.
‘Close the window can you please?’ she asked.
‘Must I?’
‘But . . . that noise,’ she protested. ‘I never thought there would be trains this late.’
Matt sighed. The freight trains probably ran throughout the night, and the occasional sound didn’t bother him much—less than the ubiquitous noise of traffic and sirens from all around that was the continuous soundscape of the city. But he didn’t argue, pulling it closed, grabbing a glass of wine of his own and settling back comfortably on the bed. It slipped his mind soon enough anyway when she switched the light off and dropped on top of him, grabbing him into a hug.
‘What do you think, Matt-chan?’ she asked. ‘Shall we . . . what’s the word? Consecrate the new house properly?’
‘Sekkusu wo suru ka?’ he murmured in awk
ward Japanese, and she gave a shrill giggle.
‘Do you have any idea what that sounded like?’
‘Um . . . maybe I don’t want to know,’ he said with a laugh.
‘I think it’s a very good idea though,’ she said, sitting up. ‘You are ecchi, Matt-chan.’
‘No I’m not,’ he said with a grin.
It was only after things had cooled down again, with Aiko sprawled out comfortably half on top of him, that he noticed the lights on the ceiling and walls. Three or maybe four glowing blocks cast by the various light-sources outside the building. Some orange, one a dim and puzzling green. They formed a complex shape and he found himself staring at it, feeling dreamlike. Patterns in the light . . . patterns in the dark . . . and not so different in some ways.
Aiko gave a sigh. ‘We must get curtains soon,’ she said. ‘It is hard to sleep when so much light comes in.’
He gave a dry smile in the darkness. ‘Almost more light at night than during the day,’ he said, trying to imagine where the sources must be to cast such a pattern. And even as he watched, a passing train, left to right, sent a second pattern flashing across them, from one side of the room to another. As it did so, the green light flashed to red, solving that mystery at least. Railway signal.
Aiko sat up, then tramped off to the bathroom, leaving the door open and letting yet another block of light in from the hall. Matt crossed to the window one last time and stared out. There were lamps in the areas surrounding the buildings beyond the railway, some cutting through narrow cracks. There were lighted windows. The signal stood beside the tracks only a few metres down the line to the right. He studied it for a moment, allowing himself to be surprised at just how bright it was, cutting through the London night like a searchlight. Powerful modern LEDs that almost hurt the eyes.
Against all this city light, the sky was nothing but a hazy darkness with no stars, brighter than the dark spaces down below. Matt smiled and returned to bed, tucking himself down into the covers and trying to shut out the glow.
Strange Tales V Page 16