Anaïs drew her eyes away from the road ahead. Watching it was lulling her to sleep. She took off her beret and searched for her promptuary. It was easy to find. For some reason the book felt warm. She pulled it out and held it between her hands. It was more than warm; it was fever hot. In particular the star on its cover. She brushed it with a finger and felt it burn like a glowing ember. It scalded her. She sucked her finger to soothe it. The light which slowly pulsed from the star was definitely much brighter than it had been. Anaïs sensed they had very little time.
She had no idea what would happen if the promptuary truly overheated. Was it possible the handbook could present a fire hazard, or, even worse, explode? She closed her eyes and held it tightly to her chest, being careful to avoid touching the star. She willed it to keep going, to hold out a little longer.
She whispered to it like a small child. 'You can do it. Just hang on for me.'
The librarian glanced down at her. 'What did you say?'
'I don't think we have a lot of time. It's very hot.' She held the promptuary at arm's length.
The librarian reached across to touch the book. Before she could make contact a spark snapped at her fingertips. She yelped and retracted her hand.
'I'm not sure I want to be in the car with that thing.' She massaged her fingers. 'Can't we at least put it in the back with them.' She indicated the shades. 'They might cool it down.'
'I doubt it,' said Anaïs. 'I'll hang on to it. It's staying me. If it goes, I go with it.' She slipped it back into her beret. 'Let's just hope we don't have far to go.'
The librarian nodded grimly. 'Yes, let's hope.' She crossed her fingers and held them up. 'I don't think this will help, but it's worth a try. It's the only magic I have.'
Instruction Manuals
The problem with instruction manuals is that no one fully understands them. That is, until they have actually made whatever it is a manual instructs. An instruction manual is written from the point of view of someone who already knows the inner workings of a piece of equipment. This presents a problem.
The writer of the manual has usually built whatever it is in a particular way. Sometimes there is more than one path to an end result. Often the manual's author will decide to omit a few crucial steps. To them, some steps may seem unimportant or they decide it is common sense. If this sense is uncommon to the readers, they hit a snag.
The whole idea of a manual seems counterproductive. You might think: if you already know how something works why would you need such a thing? Particularly if it is useful only after you have constructed a piece of equipment. Then you can sit back and say, 'Oh! That's what you meant.' Once you have this knowledge, an instruction manual is superfluous.
There are certain ubiquitous blocks with little bumps on them. Modern Lego sets are one of the few pieces of equipment with manuals which come close to doing an effective job. This is mainly due to their use of images—pictures help. You are walked through stages of adding this block to that block in simple steps. However, they are also not perfect. For a small child they are difficult to comprehend. And that is exactly who they are intended for. Generally, an adult is required to explain the method of communication. For anyone who is colourblind, they also present a major problem.
Anaïs was not exactly a small child, but without a guide or instruction manual she had to rely on instinct. Her lot was not easy. She would have to harness the inner workings of her tool alone. It was a case of learning on the job. Only through trial and error would she learn its full capabilities. This is not an ideal situation, although, in general, information gained through practical usage tends to stay embedded in the brain. Learning on the job is often far better than going to school.
Certainly a school is useful in teaching you the basics, but, regrettably, they will also teach the unnecessary. You will learn subjects and exercises which, later on, you will never implement. This is a waste of time. Honing your skills requires knowledge within a certain set of parameters. All the extra stuff will only create a diversion. It will confuse things. Having done a course or studied is no guarantee you will successfully make use of any of the information. It is like having the instruction manual but not knowing what the intention is.
For witches, experience is key. Practical knowledge is far superior to regimented schooling. As witches cannot gather together in one place, a school is also impractical. Most of what they learn relies on what they pick up along the way. Almost everything they learn is immediately put into practice. It is a risky method of education. Not everything is going to produce the desired result. A slow, gradual and sometimes frustrating learning curve, it requires hard work. There are no shortcuts in witchdom, just as there are none in life. We all have to dedicate time and energy to acquiring useful knowledge.
Promptuaries work on the assumption the user knows what they are doing. Only by giving the correct command will the promptuary oblige and fulfil the user's wishes. You will first have to use your acquired knowledge in order to work out what it is you wish to achieve. A promptuary instinctively knows what to offer, but only if you ask the right question. It takes some practice and helps to have a plan of attack. But using it correctly will give the best results.
There is an inbuilt safety mode to protect the innocent from inadvertently blowing things up, but it is not infallible. Certain functions will be triggered whether you like it or not. It is far better to make the right choice in the first place.
Correct use of a manual will eventually get you to the final stage of whatever you are trying to piece together. However, as I noted earlier, a decision may be made along the way to omit a fundamental step or two. This usually occurs with instruction manuals when we think we know more than we actually do. Only once a task is completed will you become fully aware which steps are crucial to the whole process. In most cases, you cannot take one step without first completing the previous one. It is complicated and patience is required.
Fortunately, witches are blessed with a heightened sense of logic. However, they do need assistance. It is advantageous to allow your witch's handbook to be your guide. A promptuary will try to help its owner and magically nudge them towards the right course of action.
Although Anaïs was still learning, if she stuck at it, she would eventually harness the full power of her handbook. She had to be careful, though. If she rushed the job she could put herself in danger. If she circumvented the fail-safe she would fail to be safe. And nobody wants that. There is no going back from magical mishaps.
If we understand the whole warped logic of a manual and take time to decipher it properly, there should be no disasters. Even if you are not a witch, follow your manual carefully. Try to understand it by putting yourself in the shoes of its creator.
Amalfi
The sun barely penetrated to the foot of the narrow valley. The steep, almost perpendicular cliffs rose on either side and blocked out its full strength. The town was sandwiched in the rift. Daubed in thick white paint, the houses lined the hillsides, covering them completely.
Amalfi had been a fishing village and centre of industry for centuries. It showed. Time had seen layers of construction build up and fill the confines of the valley. From where she stood in the harbour, Anaïs looked up at the jumble of buildings which cascaded down the hillsides. They flowed into the base of the gully and towards her as if there had once been a landslide and the buildings had surged down the slopes and collected at the bottom. Bare rocky cliffs formed a rim above it all.
Behind her the waters of the Mediterranean crashed against the large stone blocks which ringed the harbour. The waves were enormous and pounded loudly against the stone barrier. Anaïs looked out at the open waters and the landless line of the distant horizon. It appeared nothing interrupted the sea in its northerly flow from Africa. Spray hung in the air and salty droplets showered her. She moved away from the water's edge and sought shelter. She made her way through the nearest archway leading to the relative shelter of the town's tightly packe
d housing. Nan followed closely on her heels.
They began to negotiate their way through the tapering streets. It was hard going. To call them streets was to go too far. It was a labyrinth. A jumbled sequence of dim corridors and alleyways zigzagged their way between blocks of housing. It was a city planner's nightmare, clearly built before wheelchair access was considered a necessity. Steep ramps transformed into narrow staircases which dived further into dark tunnels and back out again.
Anaïs sensed they were gradually climbing the hill even though the alleyways rose and fell. However, she had no idea where they were. In the tight confines it was impossible to get a sense of direction. Occasionally she could see through a gap in the houses. She then spotted the face of the opposing hillside with its own farrago of buildings.
The beret on her head became too hot. She took it off. The source of the heat was not just from her own exertion. The promptuary added to the temperature. Anaïs wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
She pulled the handbook out of the beret, taking care not to touch the star on the cover. She held the promptuary out in front of her and used it to guide their way. In the dark stone corridors the pulsing light of the star provided some form of illumination. Even in its disabled state it was useful.
Eventually, they picked their way out onto what appeared to be a main central road. Only then did they have the opportunity to ascertain their true position. Looking down towards the harbour, she could see they had climbed about halfway up the hill. Rows of shops lined the road, which snaked its way down the hill. In contrast to the narrow corridors the road was thick with tourists.
Anaïs whispered to Nan. 'Maybe we can do some shopping?'
'Maybe later,' said the caretaker. 'Let's see about your book first.'
They both jumped when the librarian jammed her finger down on the Bambina's horn. The road was just wide enough to allow a car to pass. Somehow it had also carved a path through the throng of people.
Immi stuck her head out the window. 'I told you not to walk, but you never listen do you?'
Anaïs stuck out her tongue. 'No not to you anyway.'
The librarian chose not to respond. She rolled her eyes and flicked her head, indicating they should get in the car. Anaïs considered her for a moment and then decided she had a point. The Bambina knew where to go. She didn't, even though she sensed they were close to their destination. The road wound its way up the hill and seemed to lead to a dead end. Anaïs dropped the promptuary back in her beret and stuffed the hat in her coat pocket. Putting it back on her head was no longer an option. Following Nan's lead, she got into the vehicle.
'This is very familiar,' said Marilyn from the back seat.
Anaïs half turned to look at her. 'You think you've been here before?'
The shade nodded. 'Yes, it's possible.'
'I thought you could remember everything.'
Marilyn shook her head. 'Nobody remembers everything.' She peered out her window and studied the shop fronts.
Anaïs swung around in her seat and turned her attention to the road ahead. The Bambina inched through the crowd. As they climbed higher the road widened and the crowd dissipated. A few moments later the car stopped and cut its engine. Before them stood an ancient stone building. It seemed to grow out of the sheer cliff face it was nestled up against. Anaïs opened her door and stepped out of the car.
Heavy storm clouds hung on the hilltop at the pinnacle of the valley. Anaïs felt a tingle of electricity in the air. It raised the hair on her arms. As she walked the final steps up the road to the building the clouds receded in the distance, almost as if she was forcing them away with every step she took.
Antica Cartiera
Except for its rear wall the building was completely surrounded by water. Small streams were directed and redirected through pipes, tunnels and channels. Narrow aqueducts funnelled water into miniature waterwheels which in turn fed it back into the system. There was the constant sound of it gushing through the waterways and the hiss of the spray as it tumbled down into large cisterns.
Anaïs had decided to go it alone and left the others in the car. She picked her way between the channels, over small bridges and down a flight of stairs. She found the entrance to the building, a simple door with a decoration on the lintel above it. Into the lintel was carved an intricate relief of a book with open pages. The words Antica Cartiera were etched in the wood above it. In the centre of the door was a small imprint of a star, similar to the one on the front cover of her promptuary. Anaïs went to open the door but it beat her to it. It anticipated her arrival and swung open. She retracted her hand and hesitated. Nobody stood in the entrance.
Anaïs shrugged and stepped through the doorway. It was not the first time she had experienced objects moving of their own accord. Inside it was cold, dark, damp and clammy. She pulled her coat tight around her body and turned the collar up. She shivered. It felt like stepping into a room full of shades.
A single naked lightbulb flicked on and lit up the room. It was cave-like and bare. She heard footsteps descending a set of stairs at the far end of the room. They were carved out of solid rock and worn deeply in the middle by thousands of feet over the centuries. A man dressed in a body-length black tunic paused at the foot of the stairs. His face was obscured by a hood and she could only make out his lips.
'This way, Miss Blue,' he said in a deep voice. He turned and mounted the stairs.
'Thistle,' murmured Anaïs under her breath. She followed the man up the stairs. At the top they walked along a small corridor before descending down another set of stairs. All the while the sound of running water engulfed her on all sides. She had the impression they were moving under the sea. At the base of the stairs they passed through a doorway and entered another room.
It was full of ancient machinery. Everything was constructed of wood. There were pulleys and an enormous, slow-turning waterwheel. A gigantic press with a sizeable screw handle held a stack of paper over a metre high between its plates. The waterwheel powered conveyer belts which stretched at odd angles along the walls and across the room. From the shadows at the end of the room came a gentle, rhythmical pounding, like something heavy punching a pillow. Sheets of paper hung drying on horizontal poles suspended from the ceiling. A giant stone cistern stood in the centre of it all.
Anaïs stepped over a small ditch carved into the floor. A slow trickle of water ran out of the base of the cistern and along the ditch. The water flowed out through a small hole at the bottom of a nearby wall. The man stopped beside the cistern.
Anaïs furrowed her brow. 'Were you expecting me?'
The man spoke with a thick Italian accent but his English was impeccable. He measured every word. 'Certainly,' he said. 'We have just had a visitor. She advised us you were coming.'
'A visitor?'
'Yes. She did not say who she was but presented us with this.' He held out his hand. Draped over it was a thick piece of black cloth. Strands of gold thread ran through it. They winked in the light.
Anaïs took the cloth from him. It felt strange. The material pushed back at her fingers. It was finely sewn, the thread spun by hand. A loose gold thread hung from the piece of cloth. Anaïs carefully pulled it out. The thread curled into a ball. Anaïs used her thumb to press it into the palm of her hand. It was spongy.
'I believe you have a book which needs repairing?'
'Yes,' said Anaïs, looking up from the ball in her hand.
'May I have it?'
Anaïs gave the cloth back to the man. She dropped the ball of thread into one coat pocket and pulled her beret out of another. She reached into the hat and produced her promptuary. She considered the man for a moment, not sure if he could be trusted with her most prized possession. She handed it to him. The moment he took it she felt her body pulled towards the book. She felt herself drawn up onto the tips of her toes. She fought the urge to topple forwards and flexed her calves.
The man turned it over in his hands. The
y were covered in thick gloves. He ran his index finger around the edges of the star on its cover. He pressed the star with his thumb and held it in. Anaïs felt the pull on her body subside. She relaxed and stopped tensing her legs.
'Your promptuary has been damaged and will require a new index. We are making the pages at the moment but it will take some time.' He waved his hand towards the cistern. She looked over the edge. It was so tall her chin rested on the stone lip. The cistern was full of cloudy water. A large wooden pole stuck out of it. The man wrapped the promptuary in the black linen and placed it on a table. He moved back to the cistern and began to stir its contents with the pole.
'Shall I show you how we make your new pages?'
'Yes, please.' Anaïs nodded and grinned at him. He did not return the smile. Only the edges of his mouth twitched.
He picked up a flat sieve stitched into a square wooden frame and plunged it into the cloudy mixture. Carefully he drew the sieve out of the liquid and waited for it to drain. A thin layer of pulp coated it. He put the frame facedown across a semi-circular drum which had a layer of cloth draped over it. He removed the frame and the pulpy remnants were transferred to the cloth. It was the size of a small sheet of paper.
'Your pages are being made in another room. They require special treatment. I can be of no further service at the moment. We will have to wait. Your book will be ready tomorrow.'
Anaïs smiled and nodded.
'I would advise you not to go too far. Your promptuary will want to follow you, but in its present state I can keep it here with the cloth.' He nodded at the table. 'Your best option is to stay the night in the tavern across the road.'
Anaïs nodded. 'When will I know when it’s ready?'
The Promptuary Page 16