With and Without, Within and Without

by Euan McAllen

  The four visited the market place together to peer, poke and purchase; and walked past The Village Hall, together wondering what went on inside it. They almost skipped past The Village Church, as if it was tainted as if the vicar might leap out and drag them in to listen to one of his sermons.

  And when they went their separate ways again, each felt invigorated, as if a dose of happiness had been injected into their veins. Rufus and Tilsa had fresh things to talk about, whilst Timothy and Esmeralda were left to contemplate how a baby would change their lives forever, and whether they would be able to cope.

  ***

  This time when Rufus and family arrived home, they received a big shock to the system. Their previous world had jumped out of the shadows, from behind a wall, from out of the Maze; to slap them in the face; to pull them down a peg or two; to rattle their cage of domestic duties.

  Prince Mozak, now Prince Regent, was sitting in their house – sitting like he owned it – and looking dreadful: unwashed, sweating; smelling like shit. He had the look of death about him. Right now he did not look like a prince – though he was working hard to act like one. Rufus put it down to the stress of responsibility, hard work, and the very act of fighting his way through the Maze – for what reason, he was intrigued to know.

  And there was Lady Agnes Aga-Smath by his side, zombie-like, dishevelled and feeling very sorry for herself: she was not the kind of girl who liked camping out under the stars; she was a girl who preferred bedrooms. She was desperate for a bath. She glanced up sharply at Tilsa before retreating: there had better be a bath in this place! She’s no lady, thought Tilsa. She’s a tramp – a tramp with attitude.

  Both dreadful, thought Tilsa as she hugged her baby close to her heart. Both dangerous, she thought. They want my baby! And with that thought she started to become hysterical. Rufus had to rescue her and calm her down. That said, neither of them could hold back their tears of moral outrage and primitive fear. Only Rufus Junior kept his cool and remained aloof, for he had no idea of the universe beyond the end of his nose, his throat, his range of sight, the tips of his fingers, and the crack in his bum. The party host, the Last Builder, staggered by their response, shrivelled up in the corner of his own home, looking both guilty and innocent of all that was happening around him. Maze aside, he was not used to a life of complications. He and his dog Shep sat, obedient, looking up; pleading to be patted, or paid attention to in any way. They were ignored by all.

  And there were two other men: one a soldier, a fighting man, confident but quiet, almost detached, perhaps still on guard; the other much older, less sure of himself, almost apologetic. One was Captain Mutz. Rufus looked at him, suspicious of his soldier-like stance, trying to place the face. The other was the Royal Doctor: a doctor who looked ill, agitated; a doctor who did not inspire confidence. The four were sipping water and nibbling on cheese like long-term prisoners who had just been released – some gnawed like rats, some nibbled like mice.

  Doc had suffered the most. He was the oldest and had been dragged along against his will. Mutz was the strongest, most thick-skinned, driven – and restrained – by a sense of service and duty that left no room for weakness or complaint. Mozak, the Prince Regent was the weakest – though he would never admit it – which was why he was there. He needed to be made better, healed, double-quick, for he had a kingdom to rule. Lady Agnes Aga-Smath was hanging on and hanging in there. She had been at the end of her tether when forced to come with him – her prince, her lover, her headache – on his quest into the Maze; having to leave behind all the creature comforts that she, his loyal mistress, had come to expect.

  Rufus looked hard into the face of the royal fart he had once served, who could so frustrate him at times as to make him want to chew his own face off. He still remembered the spots, the spats, the pretensions, the poison, the stupidity, the self-entitlement, the dumb questions, the deliberate insults. This face had changed: it looked particularly hard, unforgiving, unloved – but also fragile? Mozak stared back but said nothing, so Rufus switched his attention on to her ladyship Lady Agnes instead. She avoided contact and kept her eyes glued to the floor. Tilsa continued to hug her child tight, still wanting to scream the situation away, wishing for her house to be empty of these ghosts from her past. Rufus Junior felt the distant thunder of her heart working overtime but did not question it – for questions had yet to enter his mind, a mind still essentially foggy and very forgetful. For him, the past had yet to exist, while the future was something beyond his universe of the present.

  To Rufus, it was clear that none of them wanted to be here so why were they here? To haunt him? To annoy him? To insult him? The Last Builder had no answer: he was easily bemused by the little things in life, so the big things simply passed by over his head – much like Rufus Junior, but without the poo. He had fed and watered his unexpected guests and then sat back and waited for Rufus to appear and take charge.

  No one spoke. No one wanted to speak first. It was left to Mozak to break the pack ice for even here, far from the Castle, he was deemed to be the one in charge. His greeting and subsequent warm-up talk were hopeless: it lacked warmth, sincerity, even energy; and he mumbled his words like a man coming out of a coma – or going into one. Rufus, unable to take it anymore, cut in, and cut him down with the sharpest of words.

  ‘You found me then. Why exactly are you here? What do I have that you could possibly want?’

  Mozak did not want to answer that question. The others dared not. The doctor began to cough. Mozak ordered him to stop. He couldn’t. He spluttered on and off, looking more and more unwell with each blast from his failing lungs.

  ‘I think I have a minor fever,’ he admitted.

  Mozak gave him a look that could kill even a younger, stronger man.

  ‘No problem, your Highness. It will pass with rest.’

  This was no meeting of friends or minds, but enemies. Mozak was hoping that he and Rufus would have lots to talk about. He was sadly mistaken. Rufus wanted him gone, out of his house. Tilsa wanted him and his woman to rot in hell. Mutz and the doctor were stuck in the middle. Neither had anything to apologize for, for they were there under orders. Mutz felt an apology hanging in the air: it needed to be pulled down, plucked from the tree, and handed over. But he had no permission to do such a thing. He was under orders, as always.

  Mozak said he was passing through. ‘Pass-through then,’ said Rufus.

  Mozak asked about their new life: were they enjoying it; was their baby making them happy; no regrets? Lady Agnes nodded throughout as her master and lover spoke. Good questions. He was making an effort. He got little in the way of answers. Rufus and Tilsa – and even the Last Builder now – just wanted them gone. Their presence was bringing the place down. Only Rufus Junior remained immune to the gloom. The doctor tried to help things along by enquiring after the health of the baby.

  ‘He’s fine, fit and healthy,’ said Tilsa. I don’t need your help looking after my own baby, she thought.

  Lady Agnes asked if she could hold – or just touch – the baby. No, was the firm answer Tilsa gave her. But ‘no’ was not a strong enough answer for Lady Agnes and she rose from her seat and closed in – in Tilsa’s mind, as if for the kill. Tilsa drew back, maintaining an arm’s length until the woman got the message and sat back down.

  Mozak fumbled around, trying to make conversation while he fumbled around his thoughts. He gave Rufus an update on life back at the Castle – it was his version of the truth, no one else’s. It sounded bland as if nothing much had happened. Lady Agnes didn’t care about his lying – lying to himself as well as the world. Mutz did but had sworn allegiance to his Prince Regent. He knew his duty. He stuck to the high standards of moral code and duty he had adopted since becoming a captain in the new army. Their hosts were not impressed. They were not interested. Go back to your fucking castle and leave us alone, thought Rufus. Tilsa thought muc
h the same. The Last Builder felt worn out by the bad vibes and wanted it to end immediately – as did Shep.

  Finally, having run out of words, and fed up with trying to be nice and build bridges, Mozak came to the point and made his request. With his arrogance as strong as ever it almost sounded like an order.

  ‘Take me to Tascho, he is living in The Village, yes?’

  ‘Yes. And his name is Timothy.’

  ‘Whatever. I’ll pay you.’

  ‘I don’t want your money.’

  ‘Think about it, but quickly.’

  ‘I will, but I’ll take my time.’

  ‘Well, I’m not leaving until you do.’

  Rufus nearly choked on his words, unable to respond. It was typical bloody Mozak. Tilsa grabbed his arm and held on – perhaps to stop her man attacking the prince.

  The mood worsened.

  Mutz closed his eyes, wishing to be back home, in his uncle’s house. Lady Agnes remained a zombie, switched off and shut out, and not minding it. It was what she was used to.

  Mutz excused himself by saying he was going outside to check the horses and sharpen his sword. ‘Would that be possible?’ he asked the old man. ‘Yes,’ was the grudging reply. The Last Builder did not like men with swords in his home.

  ‘And sharpen mine while you’re at it,’ said Mozak whilst continuing to stare Rufus into the ground.

  Mutz was gone in a flash, followed by the Last Builder.

  ‘You don’t need me to get to The Village,’ said Rufus.

  ‘I can’t remember the way. Nor my man, Mutz. I dare not get lost. I need to get there fast.’

  ‘Fast? Why?’

  ‘None of your business.’+

  ‘Wait here,’ said Rufus, doing his best to make it sound like an order. He was determined to take charge, to be king in his own home.

  Together, he and Tilsa retreated to the kitchen. His intention was to say no, but she quickly persuaded him that the money would be useful to cover the extra costs of baby care. ‘To raise their child right required money,’ she said. ‘Take the money.’

  ‘It’s not far so, why not? And he’ll get there with or without your help so you may as well take his money. Better we have it and put it to a good cause than see it used for something awful.’

  Her logic and clarity of thought were immaculate – God how he loved that woman! And after all, money is money, regardless of whose hand it falls out of or into, Rufus told himself. He was convinced, easily, and together, head-on, they tackled the issue of how to cope with their uninvited guests in the meantime.

  Rufus would take them tomorrow, he announced to an impatient-looking Mozak. Tilsa made it clear that they all had to sleep on the floor – getting her words in before her stuck-up ladyship could start making requests. Rufus persuaded her to hand out all the spare cushions and blankets. Lady Agnes, her confidence and sense of self-importance partially restored, wandered around, examining her stopover with unconcealed distaste. She was after all the prince’s mistress and expected the best.

  ‘You really live in a place like this?’

  Tilsa wanted to thump her, rip her hair out. Rufus had to hold her back and calm her down again. ‘It’s just for one night,’ he kept reminding her.

  After insulting her hosts, Lady Agnes next had the audacity to request (politely at first but not for long) and then demand (quietly at first then loudly) a bath. Getting no answer, she was forced to beg – which made Tilsa burst out laughing. After she calmed herself back down, satisfaction written all across her face, Tilsa informed her ladyship – her loathsome ladyship – that there was no bath. Her ladyship would have to stand in a tin tub and pour water from a bucket over her body and scrub fast. ‘Cold water,’ said Tilsa. Lady Agnes looked like she was going to throw up, which made her prince laugh, and Mutz smirk on being told later by his now jolly prince. Alone, Mutz and Doc passed comment on this old man their prince had told them was ‘the Last Builder’. Both agreed: as a descendent of the Maze Builders he came across as totally under-whelming. That night, no one slept well, except Shep, but he was a dog.

  ***

  The next day Tilsa ensured the unwelcomed visitors were up early, and out. Rufus kept his word and took them on their way – after little in the way of breakfast: they got nothing from Tilsa; they got some bread and warm milk from the Last Builder. He led the way, on his slow donkey, in front of four sometimes impatient horses. Mozak and Mutz had memories to fill the time. The mistress and the doctor had nothing to do except hang on in their saddles, follow, keep the faith, and trust that their master knew what he was doing. The subtly changing dynamics of the Maze would occasionally prompt the same external question for all of them, though at different times. Why? Why was it like this? Was it always like this?

  They passed by the home of the family in black, quickly. When Lady Agnes asked if they could stop and ask for refreshments, for a hot meal at a proper table served on a plate with knife and fork to match – with the offer of cash of course – she was quickly put down by her prince. They were definitely not stopping there.

  ‘Too weird,’ said Mozak, remembering that this was where Marcus was born.

  ‘Very weird,’ added Rufus.

  And for a fleeting moment, it was almost like those two were reliving the same adventure. Memories of their first game of football came back to both.

  They didn’t know it, but the father of the family was playing the Good Samaritan whilst unbeknownst to him his eldest daughter was playing God with her sex and grooming their guest, their patient. In her mind, it was better to shackle a man to her rather than be shackled to him. They had discovered they were kindred spirits: both full of fire; both driven to fulfil a mission; both ambitious; both closer to God than those around them.

  Left alone, they held hands. Their eyes met and locked, and there was an intensity of thought which words did not need to express. No one else in the house saw it. It was their secret. She refused be a girl anymore. He was a sick man, refusing ever to be an average man; his mind ravaged by his unbroken spirit.

  Her face had rarely lit up at home, but that had changed since they had taken in the poor, distressed man of God in need of shelter and care. His weak condition was the trigger, the provocation for her repressed soul to start its rebellion and smile again. The child inside had a way out. The colour need not be black. There was a confused world out there, he told her. A world of isolated people who needed his help, his God. She wanted to help him, she said. She would make him better, she promised, and bring him back to the best of health. For now, the world passed them by.

  The party spent a night under the stars. Lady Agnes huddled up in the arms of her prince and, hiding under a blanket, trying to pretend she back in the royal bedroom, trying to rebuild her nervous system. Rufus, Mutz, and Doc kept their distance from both of them. Two of them made chat while the other contributed the occasional coughing fit.

  When they reached the bridge – a massive construction in the middle of nowhere – and twin towers, an exhausted Lady Agnes was astounded. For a while, it shook her out of her malaise. She had not expected to encounter anything remotely civilised, sophisticated or stupendous here, in the middle of nowhere. There was more to this Maze than met the eye. For Mozak, it invoked more memories of the strange adventure he had once had and all that had happened because of it. Dismounting from their horses, Lady Agnes squeezed Mozak’s arm. He was her prince, her lover, her protector; and she needed to be reminded of that fact. She needed physical contact.

  ‘Impressed?’ asked Rufus.

  ‘No,’ she replied.

  He looked at her prince and got the nod: the lady was lying.

  ‘I am,’ said Doc, and he began the coughing again.

  Mozak paid the silly toll fee to the silly man in the silly uniform and received his receipt. He waved it at the
others.

  ‘For the refund on the other side,’ he explained. ‘Agnes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No ladyship now. No lady. You’re just Agnes from now on. Understood?’

  She didn’t reply, but he knew she had got the message: her lips were screwed up in protest.

  Rufus led them on across the bridge.

  As he crossed the bridge, Mutz experienced the weirdest feeling. He had crossed it once, and now he was crossing it again, in the opposite direction. It felt like his life was going backward, back downhill.

  On the other side, Mozak signed the book and received his refund. He signed his name ‘Marcus’ – almost with relief, as if wishing to escape his true self for a while: Marcus could be whomever he wanted him to be.

  As she waited outside for Mozak to complete his business, Lady Agnes looked around as it dawned on her that the walls were now much closer. They were closing in, like a trap. The Maze was not always the same thing. It changed. It was trying to change her, but she refused to change and gripped the reins of her horse tight as she struggled to stand. She felt faint. But this was not just exhaustion: she felt a fever coming on – possibly the fever. And who was to blame? Mozak of course – her wonderful prince and lover, Mozak. You paid the price, she told herself. You took the goods, so you had to pay the price.

  They pushed on, into a new type of land, a cultivated land where soon they would be rubbing shoulders with the people who worked it. When she spotted some, her immediate thoughts were ‘peasants; the world is full of peasants. I hope they get the plague.’ Mozak saw the ‘no pissing’ well, and the dilapidated cottages, and remembered, and tried not to. They saw sheep and cows gathered together in their tight little groups: the sheep always nervous; the cows always suspicious.