by Taki Drake
Before Genevieve could say anything, the Badger Hole Bar added its own bit of drama by flashing lights all over the taproom and creating a staccato reverberation on the roof. The bartender laughed, putting his cloth down and leaning closer to the mysterious tray.
“If the BHB is playing herald, it must be something good!” said Brechal. Madrik was speechless with the look on his face that said he was trying to understand what BHB was telling him. Even over the short time that Genevieve had been an Anchor, she had learned to recognize the expression of abstract contemplation that signaled someone trying to interpret one of the building’s mental images.
Picking up on her cue, Genevieve gleefully took the cover off with an extravagant flourish. A beam of light found the cookies as if directed by a theatrical specialist. They looked perfect. Lightly browned, some of them iced with multicolor frosting and various decorations, the cookies were so gorgeous that Genevieve could feel her mouth beginning to water. A soft puff of escaping warmth wafted a multitude of delectable aromas to the woman and two men that were closest.
“Cookies?” Madrik asked looking at her in bewilderment.
Genevieve laughed in a full-throated explosion of joy and pointed a shaking finger at his face as she danced from foot to foot. “Exactly. That's the same question I asked when I realized what Star Child handed me.”
Brechal carefully moved the glasses he had been wiping to a safe place and draped his bar towel over them. Deliberately, he examined the tray and picked up one of the cookies, a brightly-iced sugar cookie. The bartender bit into it, and a look of pure bliss rolled over his face. That was all the invitation Genevieve needed. The smell had been driving her crazy since Star Child had handed her the tray and there was now no reason to restrain herself.
The Clothier grabbed a cookie and bit into it daintily. After that first bite, it was all that she could do not to stuff the rest of the treat in her mouth and grab frantically for a handful more. As wonderful as the smells had been, the taste of the cookie was even better.
She was not the only one that was having problems with self-control. Brechal was already on his third cookie, making subtle moaning sounds as the taste of each mouthful hit his tongue. Madrik had popped one of the smaller cookies into his mouth whole and had a look of ecstasy on his face.
The overwhelming enjoyment that could be clearly seen on the Anchor’s face took years off of his age. The naked emotion and relaxed stress gave Genevieve a glimpse of what he might have looked like as a young man before grief and loss had drawn indelible lines.
The BHB added his enjoyment and pleasure with another round of flashing lights and clumping noises on the roof. A fire in the fireplace flashed up and down several times before returning to its unlit status.
Others in the bar made an appearance, drawn by the smell and the BHB display. Coming out of the kitchen almost at a run, Najeer and Wynn slid to a stop in front of the tray on the bar. From upstairs Genevieve could hear the rapid footsteps that signaled the two bouncers on their way to the stairwell. Soon, the entire core staff of the BHB was crowded around the tray at the bar.
Around a mouthful of baked goodness, Madrik asked, “Not to look a gift cookie in the mouth, but why these? Star Child Grace knows that we could whip up a batch of cookies fairly quickly in our kitchen.”
Najeer demurred, saying apologetically, “I am not sure that I could create anything this wonderful. However, I would love to speak to the Baker!”
Genevieve was not paying much attention to the conversation. Instead, the usually very proper Clothier was busy licking the tasty crumbs from her fingers. It was at that moment that she realized that her skin no longer itched. Instead of irritability and a feeling that she needed to be somewhere, she was happy and amused, calm and content. Looking around her, she saw that same relaxed enjoyment on everyone else’s face.
Chapter 3 – Visitor Bearing Gifts
Out of the corner of her eye, Genevieve saw movement and an indistinct shape. Startled, she turned around and saw a stranger standing in front of the fireplace outlined in fading sparkles. The woman closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them the strange sparkles were gone. I might be getting a headache, she thought.
If Genevieve had been back in New York City, the stranger’s appearance would have been frightening. He looked like a vagabond, someone that might rob a small, defenseless woman. The impression was someone who didn’t care about their appearance and probably had an offensive body odor.
In the BHB with the protection of two large bouncers, a demonic -looking bartender, and a sentient building, Genevieve wasn’t at all worried. She realized to her surprise that she trusted them to protect her. The impact of that plank of trust dropping onto a pictured foundation in her mind felt like the beginning of something that was building inside of her soul. An unknown tension released. Only with the easement of that burden did she realize that it had been with her for a long time.
Drawing a deep breath, the woman returned to her examination of the stranger. Looking again, she saw that he was less disgusting than she had thought. It was the combination of his grooming and clothing that made the impression.
Genevieve found herself examining the old man with the scraggly beard. Something about him drew her, and she could feel Doucet’s awareness joining her as if her companion was peering over her shoulder.
The woman was not sure exactly at what point she stopped looking at him as Genevieve, the woman, checking out a stranger and slipped into her persona of the Clothier. Analyzing his garments, she recognized the change and the tingling feeling in her hands. Doucet sent his approval along her companion bond like a one-armed hug around her shoulders. She felt a flash of pleasure at his approval but then returned to her analysis.
There was a considerable amount to analyze. In addition to a straggly beard, the man had a dull brown cone hat that was pulled down tightly around his head. Tufts of hair stuck out around his ears and escaped along the back of his neck. His coat was not much better. A rather peculiar shade of green, both it and the hat clashed terribly with the coloring of the man’s skin.
The coat was obviously well worn and effectively shapeless. Hanging like a robe over the man’s scarecrow figure, it covered him from chin to knees. Dilapidated orange-brown boots completed the ensemble, blending into a picture of a vagabond who probably survived by begging.
Genevieve would have dismissed the man, but the Clothier part of her was intrigued. Despite the almost nauseating color combination and the poor quality of the garments, small bright sparks appeared briefly from the coat as the man brushed snow off its surface. << Magic, the man has magic, >> Doucet said over the companion bond.
That was not the only surprise.
The man looked up at the clump of people around the bar that were all staring at him and smiled. It was a pleasant, even happy smile that showed even white teeth and eyes that twinkled slightly. In a melodious and joyful bellow, the man said, “Hello there! I am delighted to see that you are open again.”
Alastair drew in a sharp breath, and Madrik and Genevieve looked at each other in surprise. The Badger Hole had been a thriving community once many years before. After a devastating attack, the whole pocket universe had been in limbo, floating and waiting for the right Anchor. Other than Star Child Grace, there were very few who remembered it from before.
“I had a bit of business to take care of and was happy to see the light on. On my way back, I thought I could stop in and fortify myself while making a delivery here.”
Before Madrik could say anything, Najeer ran over to the old man and excitedly asked him, “Did you get it? I have so many plans for it!”
“Of course, I did. Where do you want it dumped?” answered the old man.
The Cook grabbed Alastair by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen, muttering excitedly to the enormous bouncer. After a few moments of stunned silence in the barroom and noises of movement in the kitchen, Alastair staggered out of the kitchen holding a
sturdy, insulated container.
Measuring 4-foot in height and almost 3-foot-wide, the container was nearly more than the big man could carry. Genevieve could clearly see the strain in his throbbing veins and hear it in his labored breath.
“Don’t strain yourself, young fella. Just wait there, and I’ll bring my stuff over and dump it in,” called out the old man.
Moving sprightly across the floor, the scarecrow-like man in the ragbag clothing was suddenly next to Alastair as the bouncer gratefully placed the insulated container on the floor. “WHEW! That thing is heavy,” Alastair said. “What do you need for me to do?”
“Just hold the lid open, and I can do the rest.”
Alastair obediently opened the lid which puffed out a chill gust of air that reminded Genevieve of snowfall in the country. The woman suppressed a shiver. Idly, Genevieve noticed that she had goosebumps on her arms and that Wynn had unconsciously moved between Madrik and the other bouncer for warmth.
Ignoring everyone else, the old man reached inside his coat and drew out a small casket from one of his pockets. Positioning it over the open chest, the old man completely missed Alastair’s disgusted and disbelieving look. Genevieve could almost hear the bouncer questioning the necessity of hauling such a big container out of the kitchen.
It was just as well that he didn’t give voice to that thought because as the old man opened the small casket, snow began to pour out into the larger container with a shimmer of ice crystals. The illumination in the BHB glinted off the facets of the river of snow and threw a cascade of scattered light around the room.
The Clothier could feel Doucet’s pleasure at the sheer theater of the moment and smiled. The indulgent grin on Madrik’s face told Genevieve that the BHB was equally enthralled.
The snow kept coming. Already many times what was physically possible to store in such a small container, Alastair watched in disbelieving wonder as the large insulated box that he had dragged out was entirely filled with a delicately scented snow.
At that moment, Najeer emerged from the kitchen and clapped his hands in joy. “Thank you, a thousand thanks!”
Finally, Madrik found his voice. “Is that some sort of special snow? And why did we need so much of it?”
Najeer answered, beaming with the broadest smile that anyone had ever seen on his face, “It is a key ingredient in a very delicate mousse that I am hoping to make. The flavor that the pristine snow from the Arctic Circle on Earth imparts and the aroma of it chilling the mousse is an intense pleasure and one that I wanted to create as a gift to all of you.”
Alastair had a different question, only this time it was directed at the old man. “How did all of that snow get into that little tiny box? It looks too small to hold it!”
With another smile, the old man answered, “It’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. And it’s not all that unusual because I have several bags just like it. However, I was worried that it might get a little bit too warm in the bag and getting water out of those bags is terrible.”
The bouncer had the look of a terrier after rat as he asked, “Where did you get it? Are there more of them? How do I get one?”
“I have no idea how you would get one these days. Perhaps at the Crossroads Souk. They seem to have everything, although the trick is finding it.”
Madrik nodded his head, and said, “I have heard about that place several times. It seems to be similar to this dimension, but it is designed to provide a unique shopping experience for many races and dimensions. Our bankers talked about it and warned me on what to do, and not do there. I would like to go sometime.”
For the first time, Wynn spoke up, “Oh! Shopping!” Sighing deeply, the woman continued, “I would love to just go window shopping if nothing else. Without any money, I couldn’t find anything, but it would be fun just to look.” Turning to Genevieve, the waitress continued, “We can get the Anchor to the Brewery, Sage, to go with us. We might even make it a girls’ night out. Of course, we would have to take some guys to carry the packages, assuming that we could buy anything.”
Genevieve concealed a smile at the look of pure horror that crossed Alastair’s face. Somehow, she knew that if schlepping were involved with the trip, it would be Vincent that would be playing pack mule.
The old man had not forgotten the bouncer’s other questions and chose that moment to answer another of them, “The casket and the three bags are things that my father left me. There are a few other interesting items, but those are the ones that I use the most. He worked most of his life as a Plane Walker with Star Child Grace. When he retired, he concentrated on enjoying life to the fullest, almost as if Papa knew when he would die.”
“With Star Child Grace? Then your father must’ve been ancient,” Madrik said in a burst of surprised words.
“Yes, he was. I heard many a story about the Badger Hole Fortress that was here before. My Father always said that the Badger Hole would rise again and so I have checked every once in a while to see if things had changed.”
Najeer came flying back out of the kitchen and laid down a tray of exquisite little appetizers. The usually reserved Cook was practically dancing with joy. Smiling around at everyone there, Najeer said, “Here are some savory items to go with the sweet cookies. I hope you enjoy them, and I look forward to working with such a unique component for my dishes.”
Turning to the old man, the Cook continued with his thanks, “I cannot tell you how much this means to me. It is the perfect gift. Please tell me if there is ever anything at all I can make for you!”
The old man responded, saying, “Your joy is all that I needed. Of course, when I stop by, I would not say no to more of your exquisite food.”
Alastair had still been staring at the old man disbelievingly, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of something being bigger inside than outside. He looked like he wanted to argue but realized that the evidence of his eyes supported what the old man had said. With a deep sigh, the bouncer began the laborious job of getting the container back into the kitchen.
Chapter 4 – Nerves
The old man plopped down in an overstuffed armchair conveniently located by the bar. Genevieve knew that there had been no such chair there a scant moment before. In the back of her mind, she heard Doucet whisper, << The BHB made it for him. Apparently, his father was a favorite visitor before, and the BHB is pleased that his son has continued to visit. >>
Stretching out his legs with a sigh of contentment that resonated in the sinews and bones of everyone who heard him, the old man said, “If you would be so kind as to … Oooh...”
The man popped out of his chair as if his legs were tightly wound springs. His eyes lit up and twinkled with glee. “Do I smell cookies?”
Genevieve couldn't help but be enchanted by the man's childlike enthusiasm. He moved next to the bar and examined the cookies that were still on the tray. He and Brechal fell into a rapid discussion of what the cookies that were left tasted like and their overall textures. His excited tones and intense joy seem to spill over onto everyone around him. Here was a man who felt things deeply and shared those feelings with others.
Amused and contemplative, Genevieve watched the old man as he carefully selected a trio of cookies. Even Madrik got into the discussion, talking about his favorites. When the old man brushed the Clothier’s arm as he reached for his third selection, Genevieve’s mind began to whirl.
Sparks began to flow from the old man into the Clothier. She could feel her power rise, starting with a swirl around her body that felt like tender kisses of warm air. Slowly, magic built up from her feet, flooding her core and spilling out down her arms and into her hands. Doucet was very present, not only watching over her shoulder but also reaching his invisible hands to touch the swell of magic that she could feel building in her fingers.
The man's clothing was simply all wrong for him. Genevieve knew this in the deepest part of her soul. Her fingers itched again with a powerful urge to move them. Her spine reson
ated with the harmonics of pent-up action and she couldn’t stay still. At least this time, she knew the origin of the feeling and didn’t feel frightened of the creative urge.
Doucet said clearly over their bond, << He needs new clothes! It is a travesty to fashion that he is dressed in such a manner! Such a kind and generous man should not be faced with having to overcome such a horrible first impression. >>
The Clothier was seized by an overwhelming desire to sketch a new outfit for the stranger. Realizing that she had not brought her regular bag with her, Genevieve knew that her sketchpad and drawing materials were still back in her studio. The urge was so intense that she didn’t want to take a break and run to get them, so she turned to Madrik to ask him for something to draw on and with.
The BHB had anticipated her need. Sitting on the bar top was a beautiful, smooth-papered sketchbook with just the sort of specialty paper that she preferred. Arrayed in a fan next to it were pencils, charcoal, and colored pastels, all brand-new and just begging to be used.
“Thank you,” she said quietly as she picked up the sketchpad and her favorite brand of pencil that had appeared on the counter. A flare of light and the echo of cheerful music was the BHB’s response to her thanks. Sparing a split second to realize that there was more than one way to communicate, the Clothier was quickly sucked into her creative effort. Blindly, she settled onto a barstool that the thoughtful BHB had placed next to her.
Lost in the swirl of her magic and supported by a resonating bond with Doucet, Genevieve was in a blissful state. Lightning quick options floated through her mind to be eliminated or quickly drawn on the paper. She heard nothing of what was going on around her, so lost was she in her Muse. The act of creation called her, consumed her. Until that need was expressed, she knew that she would not be able to concentrate on anything else.