The Fez Journeys On

by L. T. Hewitt

  This settlement, which he had viewed so little but had missed and reminisced upon on his travels, showed an unconscious love for culture like few places had on Dave’s home planet. The jam in his bag advised Dave to look for the Oak Tree, but was understanding that the alien would wish to see the other parts of the foreign land.

  Given that he was – as had been acknowledged and mostly brushed over on his extraplanetary excursion – a lost alien, Dave headed for the most homely part of the city, which was (as in any settlement) the library.

  ‘Dave, I do know who you are,’ the jam said.

  “I know,” he replied. “It’s an alarming fact.”

  ‘I mean, you don’t have to keep hiding from me.’

  Dave walked steadily along the street, glancing at the buildings either side of him and hoping this would conceal his shifty eyes. “I’m not trying to hide from you,” he lied.

  ‘I know you’re an alien.’

  “What‽” Dave screeched.

  ‘It’s not that uncommon here.’

  Dave still wasn’t comfortable. “How long have you known me? I wouldn’t impart that knowledge to someone, even if I’d known them for a really long time.”

  ‘How long had you known the Space Chicken for when you told him?’ The jam already knew the answer.

  “How long have you known me for?”

  The jam remained silent. Dave didn’t imagine he could ever live on Glix for longer than a ten days. Ten days, he figured, was a round number, but also a great enough period of time to change a traveller’s thoughts from ‘Oh, this is nice and a bit different’ to ‘Why don’t they serve [any given food product] here? All this region’s food is weird and too spicy/plain’. Dave had already spent three weeks on Glix: one week at the hospital; one walking to the Fez; one at Calvin and Oprah’s house. It startled him that he had been on Glix for more than ten days. He had assumed that after ten days – even in unfavourable circumstances – whatever forces had caused him to be stranded on this planet would have safely sent him back home. Another ten days would definitely be too much.

  “I’ll be alarmed to find out I’ve known you a few months.”

  The jam didn’t answer. If it had eyes, it would have given Dave a look which would make him rethink his suggestion. Dave was expecting such a look, but of course, none ever came. Like many jams, the jam in Dave’s backpack had no eyes.

  Dave wasn’t enjoying this game anymore. “A year?”

  The jam remained silent.

  “Ten years?”

  The jam didn’t answer. Dave saw his own life draining away before his eyes.

  “You don’t have to answer me. Your lack of response isn’t negative or positive, it’s simply that: an unloaded lack of response.” Dave smirked a little at the fact he’d let himself believe something so ludicrous without any form of proof. Then he talked to jar of jam about immortality and the future. “How old do I live to?”

  ‘Now that I can’t tell you.’

  “What do you mean?”

  The jam remained silent.

  “Are you suggesting there are lots of things you can tell me? You keep loads of things from me already. Who you are, for instance. Who are you?”

  ‘A friend.’

  Dave’s smile had barely appeared back on his face before it was wiped off again. “Have you seen me die?”

  The jam remained silent.

  Dave quickly changed the subject. “What’s the library like here? I’m a bookworm, you see.”

  ‘Most people are.’

  “I wouldn’t say so.”

  ‘Most Glix’ns are.’

  “Is it a pretty redundant statement for me to say? ‘I am a bookworm’ is meaningless, is it?”

  ‘The Glix’ns don’t really use the word “bookworm”,’ the jam explained. ‘Except to refer to the Great Bookworm Plague of... never mind.’

  “No, you can tell me. I find this sort of thing interesting.”

  ‘I said “never mind”,’ the jam informed him, ‘because I can’t tell you when it happened.’

  Dave was discovering more as the jam talked that any mention of time-related secrets made him feel very uncomfortable. “So what is the library like?”

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  The jam directed Dave towards a building which Dave considered to be one of the finest he had ever seen. In Dave’s experience, beauty didn’t often happen for places dedicated to books.

  The building was largest in all of Carpe Yolu and Dave was surprised he hadn’t noticed it in the eleven days total he had spent there. Monterey Jack Hospital was actually taller and Dave had stayed on one of the highest floors, but the library was as broad as a street and nine storeys high. Its brown, wise front stood proudly before the city, watching all that happens and every advancement with an unjudgemental, vacant gaze. But that was its purpose: to absorb all the wisdom and stupidity of Glix equally and without praise or prejudice. Above this omniscient cuboid perched a glass pyramid, pointed towards the sky. And it shone in the gloom.

  Dave went inside through the library’s grand arch. The entrance room had a beautiful rustic feel to it, as if it had been born directly of nature. Everywhere Dave looked, he saw enthusiastic faces. The rich, the poor, and everyone in between were readers. The old, the young, and everyone in between were readers.

  They were all happy. They were more than happy. Most of them understood something more than happiness. Most of them had the power to read a book and experience things deeper than sadness, anger and hatred. Some of the books were making them feel depression, injustice and love. But then not everyone felt this. Some readers were staring blankly into books, ignoring the themes and oblivious to the messages. They were happy. And that was the most basic, lightweight and shallow – yet most consistent – feeling the authors had been trying to get across.

  The jam was examining its surroundings and just about coming to the conclusion that it would be some time before the Great Oak Tree was planted. As such – to avoid embarrassment (and embarrassment came quite easily to a jam sandwich) – he kept quiet, not caring to insist upon Dave’s travelling any more. The jam allowed Dave to spend many hours in the library, during which time Dave signed up to the national scheme and got himself a library card.

  Dave examined all the fiction floors of the Carpe Yolu library, flitting between a number of books, reading fragments of authors such as Dirring, Bitlerson, Yurbst and Atloc.

  ‘You know who my favourite author is?’ the jam asked.

  “I don’t know many Glix’n authors, so it’s doubtful.” This comment garnered some strange looks.

  ‘Trawe Mit. You probably haven’t heard of him.’

  “Where might he be found? I don’t quite understand this organisation system.”

  ‘Well, it’s alphabetical by overname, just like any other library.’

  “No, it’s not.”

  ‘Yes, it is. Look, he should be here under M.’ The jam guided Dave towards that section, although Dave still wasn’t convinced.

  “When was he writing?”

  ‘Around... Actually never mind. He won’t be here.’

  Dave lifted his rucksack close to his mouth and muttered, “Is he from the future?”

  ‘Dave, you don’t need to be so secretive about time-travel. It’s quite common here,’ the jam informed him. ‘Well, it will be. Which means it already has been. I think your main concern ought to be that you’re standing in a library claiming aloud that you know nothing about Glix’n literature and seem to be talking to your bag.’

  In his travels through the wealth of Glix’n knowledge, Dave discovered many pieces of information about his new home. He discovered that the continent of America was square and split into the four triangular regions of North, East, South and West, even though those measurements of direction aren’t commonly used on Glix. He discovered that the largest river on the planet ran through the air, waving between clouds as a steady stream of thick, dense steam.

  Fr
om the non-fiction sections of the library – the research leading to the advancement of Dave’s knowledge of his own surroundings – Dave found himself drifting towards the fiction and literary sections of the home. The more works of literature he read, the more he felt a compulsion towards activism and the progression towards a more meaningful existence. Then, when he got bored of learning, he read simple fiction for plain pleasure without such intense thought as was present in complex literary works.

  Dave eventually discovered his favourite author was Adam Terrance and selected his The Darker Day’s Sun to read. He used his library card to rent the novel out, but remained inside the building anyway, heading up to the top floor to read.

  Dave found in the highest room a calming area where it seemed everything was possible, but only good was wanted. The original flat roof of the library was grown over with a carpet of moss, and had subsequently been covered with a glass pyramid and used as a place both to read and grow fruit. He lay down on the floor – as seemed only natural – and gazed up at the purple sky for a moment. He placed his bag next to him, preparing for a long period of rich solitude intertwined with companionship: the very heart of reading. The jam confirmed for him that it was all right to read, as he would be drifting off in his own thoughts anyway, but could remain there for company. Dave took hold of the book, taking care not to damage its paperback spine.

  And that’s when Dave vanished. Not visibly, of course, though that would have been more ordinary. He disappeared into the world of The Darker Day’s Sun. He felt himself being introduced to all its characters. Its story – which was about a corrupt government – moved him forever. He had heard people say they had been changed by a book. This, of course, he cared very little for. Having a book change your life is a very minor achievement. A good book will keep you exactly the same, but change your opinion, or give you an opinion where you previously had none – or at most a very weak one. This is what The Darker Day’s Sun did to Dave.

  Dave stared up at the sky again. It felt different now. It was exactly the same, the building was identical and Dave’s life hadn’t been changed. Yet the sky was richer, a little bit more clear. Dave’s mind had been opened slightly. The Darker Day’s Sun filled Dave with regret. He regretted that he had not taken an interest in politics before. The key reason most of the population takes no interest in politics is that the politicians pretend it’s too confusing for them. But now Dave knew. Now he understood its simplicity and that he could have a say in the world. There was no-one here to tell him who to vote for, no family and friends to say what was right. He could truly make up his mind for himself.

  “I didn’t like the government on my home planet.”

  ‘Here we have lots of different governments.’

  “Well, we had separate governments on my home planet. I just didn’t like the one in Britain.”

  ‘Okay. That’s a perfectly ordinary feeling.’

  “No, I mean I really hated it. I should have said something earlier. I wish I’d said something while I lived there. The men in charge said lovers of the same gender couldn’t get married, that people with less money were less important, and that not everyone was entitled to a perfect education. None of these things are okay, so why did I say they were? I kept quiet and didn’t say anything because I thought my friends and family were holding me back. They weren’t. How could they be? I was trying to keep myself to myself, but I kept myself to from myself.”

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Dave.’

  Dave turned and looked at his bag. “You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you?”

  The jam was silent.

  “Well, for once, I do too. We’re going to go and find that oak tree you were talking about. Or was it an Oak Tree...?”

  ‘Um, Dave, you might want to stay here a bit longer.’

  “Why?”

  ‘Because... this is a lovely library!’

  “It is rather beautiful. Who made it?”

  ‘It was designed by a number of the finest architects, from Pasker to Bredzell, during the 1230s. It has since had a number of refurbishments and extensions. Most recently, it was repainted and then opened by David Gratton.’ Then the jam said, ‘I’m not sure I was meant to say that.’

  “David Gratton. I’ve heard of him,” Dave said, thinking. “And that’s uncommon for someone of Glix. He’s that guy that the Space Chicken accused me of being.”

  ‘I’ve said too much.’

  “No, you need to tell me right now,” Dave said sternly.

  ‘It’s just some guy.’

  “Why does David Gratton keep coming up? What are the chances of me coming all this way and hearing more of David Gratton again? What’s he got to do with me?”

  ‘He did a lot, that’s all. In David Gratton’s life, he went a lot of places, gave a lot of talks, opened a lot of buildings, that’s why you keep hearing of him. He’s no-one important.’

  “He’s very important, clearly. Why else would the Space Chicken care if I were him?”

  ‘Try to forget about David Gratton. There’s nothing you can do.’

  “But it concerns my future. What happens to David Gratton will change my life.”

  ‘Not really.’

  “Don’t lie to me. I know you well enough to tell when you’re lying.”

  ‘And I know you well enough to tell that you needn’t worry about David Gratton.’

  Dave gave up. All his attempts at anything seemed to result in failure and humiliation. “We’re going to find the Oak Tree.”

  Chapter 16

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit extreme?” Quack asked down the phone.

  “But You said he’s evil,” the Space Chicken countered.

  “That’s not really evidence to go on, is it?”

  The Space Chicken was flabbergasted. “But You said that. And You’re omniscient.”

  “Semiscient, I think you’ll find,” Quack said, straightening his metaphorical tie. “Which means I’m unreliable. Some of the time. I’m sometimes wrong. At least if I were wrong all the time, I’d be consistent. That would be useful. But I’m not.”

  “How would Your being wrong all the time be useful?”

  “Because you’d always know what was right.”

  “How?”

  “Because it would always be the opposite of what I said.”

  The Space Chicken put the phone down. Any sort of illogical logic was fairly distressing, but pious inconsistencies could be infuriating, which meant they imperatively were.

  “Can I go now?” asked Michael Rowland Daffodil, a possible criminal. But only in the future.

  “No,” the Space Chicken said. “But I will remove your hand-wingcuffs, provided you stay in the car.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Michael Rowland Daffodil. “You haven’t got a car.”

  “I will have soon enough. I’ll also open the window slightly so you can get some cool air.”

  The Space Chicken walked up to a sailor who was standing by the side of the river Prong. After leaving the train, with his wing cuffed to Michael Rowland Daffodil’s wrist, the Space Chicken and Fred Jr, his son, had wandered around for a while, hoping to find the their prize, which was sitting in the major river of Gord. “Excuse me,” the Space Chicken excused, “but you look like a man wizened to the ways of the water. Would you might helping me?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking to retrieve a holy grail. It shouldn’t be too much of a trying task.”

  “It’s always me,” the sailor grumbled. “Listen, darlin’, this God or god hasn’t spurken to you. You haven’t been sent on some mission or owt by ‘Im, so just farget abaht it.”

  “Look at me. I have been sent on a mission. I’m not like the other nutters who pass through here. I’m a different nutter.”

  The sailor looked at him. “Do Ah knoo yous from somewhare?” the sailor said to the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.

  �
�Do you know who I am?”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re that one as told us the world were gonna end.” He chuckled, though out of stubbornness, arrogance and antipathy, not out of humour. A difficult laugh to pull off, but the trained mariner achieved it. “You’re the Paternal–”

  “No, I’m not!” the Space Chicken squawked. More calmly, he added, “I’m the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.”

  “Ah, reeght,” he said, both of them well aware that the sailor didn’t know the difference. “In that case, Ah can get yer hahly greel fer yiz.”

  The sailor used a variety of levers, pulleys, nets and rods to retrieve the grail. Soon afterwards, the Space Chicken, Fred Jr and Michael Rowland Daffodil wound up in Gary’s Vehicles, celestial treasure in wing.

  Arriving there, they were promptly struck by how the majority of the interior of the shop was taken up by the gargantuan Spaceboat. The Space Chicken found Gary, and, exchanging the aforementioned valuables, was entitled to take the Spaceboat.

  Things were just about beginning to match up.

  Chapter 17

  “Clint?”

  “Clein?”

  “Are we going anywhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re going to the Fez, of course.”

  “Yes, but are we actually going anywhere?”

  “We’re going Nekken, if that’s what you’re asking. I checked a proper compass this time.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You can’t pull that lie on me.”

  “Of course I know what you mean! Do you think there’s a chance in Tartarus I could fail to understand you?!”

  “Clint,” Clein said. “We both know we’re both thinking it. Are we really going anywhere? Do we really need to follow the Fez again?”

  “Look, it’s just what we felt like doing. Some people feel like going to university. We didn’t, because we knew something else would come up. This is it. The Fez is a different path we can take.”

  The Space Chicken and Fred Jr drew up in the Speedvan. “This might help your journey to go a bit more quickly.”

  “Space Chicken!” the twins exclaimed in unison.

  “Don’t ask how I got this Speedvan back from Oprah. I’m suffering from quite a lot of timelag as it is and I don’t need a headache on top of that.”