hiram and hermione - 4. the announcement

by florine di fabrizzi

illustrated by danny delacroix and eddie el greco

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

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hiram harris had been a dull boy. harriet had often despaired of making anything out of him. if she could not make him adventurous, intelligent or energetic, she could at least make him dutiful and punctual. and she did. or maybe he had just inherited these qualities from her, and all her efforts at training him had been superfluous. in any case, by the time he had been entrusted with the nominal management of the factory, he had become even more a creature of habit and routine than his mother. hiram departed the factory on foot at quarter to three every afternoon "leaving" it in the care of the foreman bud riley, and arriving at the family home for dinner at exactly three o'clock. a curious time for dinner, but one that suited harriet unless she was entertaining guests, which she only did under the most severe and unavoidable exigencies. it only spasmodically and fleetingly occurred to harriet that her lack of sociability might have a negative effect on her ambitions in the town. the table was always cleared at five minutes to four, and hiram made his return journey, arriving back at the factory at quarter past four. he remained there until nine o'clock, an hour after the gates had been opened for the workers to depart for their homes or for the saloons. when hiram got home at quarter past nine, he invariably went to bed, after drinking a glass of milk and eating a slice of pie and reading a page of the bible. harriet and hermione would already be in bed at nine, sparing hiram the tedium of talking to them and saying good night to them. poor hermione had restless dreams and often cried out in the night. no one ever responded to her cries. harriet usually slept soundly, no matter how much annoyance she had suffered during the day. hiram always slept soundly. on the day in which our story commences, the sky was a brilliant and cloudless blue as hiram wended his way home - the same sky whose benign influence had caused bob fisher and sam wilson to decide to abandon the office of the times-gazette and go fishing at shag creek. the same blue sky being observed with satisfaction by doc wilson (no relation to sam) as he sat on his front porch in a rocking chair sipping a cool glass of lemonade. he had put harriet harris and her imminent demise completely out of his mind. the same blue sky that millie porter, behind the counter at the general store, glanced at out of the corner of her eyes as she slapped together two enormous ham and cheese and tomato sandwiches for bob fisher and sam wilson to take with them to shag creek . the same blue sky that was blotted out of bob fisher's vision as he reached deep into the ice chest at millie's for a couple of cold bottles of sheboygan ginger ale. hiram was mildly surprised when he arrived home to find hermione seated beside harriet in the parlor. hermione usually took a nap just before dinner and had to be awakened when it was being served. mildly surprised and mildly perturbed, as he always was by the slightest deviation in his routine. harriet, in her usual fashion, got right to the point. "be seated, hiram. i have an announcement to make. i have waited for your return to make it to both of you, as i do not wish to waste such time as i have left in repeating myself needlessly." "such time as you have left? , hermione exclaimed. harriet ignored her. "i was informed this morning by doctor wilson that i have approximately three weeks to live." "you do not say so," hiram replied, as he settled into his chair. hermione screamed and began to sob. "oh, that is not possible!" "it is eminently possible. stop your caterwauling. you sound like a servant girl who has dropped a dish of mashed potatoes on the carpet." hermione put her face in her face and stifled her sobs. hiram cleared his throat. "i suppose doctor wilson knows his business." "i am going to assume that he does. i am going to proceed on the assumption that he does." hiram nodded. the thought flickered through his brain that harriet was enjoying herself - something she rarely did. "now, both of you listen to me. i have never had much hope for either of you. it is more important than ever that you realize that you are a pair of helpless fools and that you must therefore do exactly what i tell you. do you understand?" "i understand," hiram muttered. "speak up! i am not sure i heard you." "i understand," hiram repeated in a clearer voice. "good. and what about you? " "yes, mother." "yes mother what?" "i - i will do whatever you say." "excuse me mum." the cook had appeared behind harriet. "what is it?" "i know you said i might have to wait, mum, but the dinner is getting cold -" "you will serve it when i tell you to. if it is cold, heat it up. is that so difficult?" "no, mum." "then get back to your post." "yes, mum." harriet watched as the cook retreated and waited until the kitchen door stopped swinging shut behind her. "eavesdropping! again!" *** zelda stopped hammering on the old manual typewriter. she pulled the paper out of the roller and quickly scanned it. florine was lying on the bed with her hands behind her head. "finished?" "well, no, i am not finished. i've done enough for now." "you know what i meant." "want to look at it?" "sure." florine sat up on the edge of the bed. zelda handed her the two pages she had just typed up. like many of the girls, florine had dispensed with the services of a maid. and like most of the girls, she had become quite friendly with her regular guards - the persons she saw most of during the day and night. there was no rule against the guards or maids helping the girls with their novels. the rules specifically stated: "contestants are not prohibited from conversation with guards or maids. they may discuss the contest, and even request advice or input regarding the contest. note that staff were not retained on the basis of any presumed expertise on matters relating to the contest." florine had found zelda willing and capable and even eager to not only "help" but practically write her novel for her. zelda sat down beside florine as she read the pages. "like it?" "yeah, it's good." "just good?" "it's great." florine kissed zelda on the cheek. "you know what?" zelda asked. "no, what?" "i've been watching you." florine laughed. "hello! that's what you're here for, isn't it?" "i'm serious." "so serious." zelda pushed florine down on the bed. florine did not resist. "you know what i think?" florine laughed again. "spit it out." "i think you're a fake." "you mean you don't think i really love you?" "no, that's not what i mean at all." florine blinked. "then what?" "i don't think you're really a princess." "yeah, right." "i think you are here under false pretenses. you're some kind of impostor." "you're being silly." "am i?" 5. the minstrel

gertrude - 5. the woman in the blue dress

by dorine de santos

illustrated by eddie el greco and danny delacroix

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin gertrude

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the mountain had turned upside down in the rain, like a branch floating in a swollen stream, and gertrude was walking through the clouds with her favorite sheep, the one which had been carried off by a wolf the previous winter. the old woman was a rock and was waiting for her on the other side of the mountain. the rain was not getting them wet, but they had to stay on the clouds to keep it from doing so. suddenly the sheep turned into a gray cat and the clouds disappeared. saint james and the archangel and a third person - a young woman in a long blue dress - appeared out of the rain. saint james pointed to gertrude and the other two laughed. gertrude woke up. she immediately forgot the dream, as she always did. nor did she wonder "was it a dream?" she never did. something was pressed up against her - not a sheep or a dog. it was dark - pitch dark. she was in a hut, and could hear a very light rain beating on the roof of the hut. she remembered she had accepted the offer of denise, the sheep-shearing girl, to spend the night in her hut. it was denise who was pressed up against her, with her left arm across gertrude's back. they were both lying on a straw pallet in the middle of the hut. there were no windows in the hut, and only one door, which must have been shut tightly as no light was coming in from the edges of it. gertrude gently pushed denise's arm off of herself, and sat up in the darkness. she had never slept so close to another person, when the old woman was alive they would sometime sleep together in the hut on winter nights but with gertrude in a corner and the old woman in front of the door. she remembered denise giving her some food on a plate and herself eating more than she had ever eaten at one time in her life before. and denise laughing at her because she ate so little. and denise had given her a little cup of what she called wine. gertrude had heard of wine before, but had never tasted it. she remembered denise talking. and talking and talking and talking. and then something else had happened. she could not remember exactly what. gertrude either remembered things or she did not. denise had kissed her a couple of times, she remembered that much. something strange had happened. life was strange - gertrude accepted that. but what had happened, whatever it was, was really strange. stranger than the old woman dying. or her favorite sheep being carried off by the wolf. stranger than meeting st james, or the archangel. suddenly the room was filled with bright light. gertrude was blinded, and threw her hands up in front of her face. when she was able to adjust her eyes to the light and lower her hands she saw someone standing before her. for a second she thought it must be denise, but then she saw it was the young woman with the blue dress from the dream, who had laughed when st james had pointed to gertrude. denise had not awakened. this frightened gertrude, much more than the appearance of the young woman in blue. was she dead? gertrude reached back and touched denise's arm. "why are you touching her?" the young woman asked her in a sharp voice - the sharpest and clearest voice gertrude had ever heard. gertrude stared up at her. "i wanted to see if she was alive." "she is alive. do not worry about her. pay attention to me." "who are you?" "you do not know who i am?" "no." the young woman laughed. "so what they told me was true. but you do know, do you not, that you are wicked?" "no, i do not. i do not know what that means." "it means that you are damned." gertrude did not know what that meant either. she looked back at denise again. how could she not wake up? "i told you to look at me, not her." *** dorine put her pencil down. she was well ahead of schedule, so she felt no pressure to keep on. but she did not feel like continuing. it was late. she knew she was not going to get to sleep. she got up and went to the window and looked out into the darkness. "anything out there?" marisa, lying on the bed, asked. dorine could never tell if marisa was trying to be humorous. "no," dorine answered seriously. "i just wish i had asked to go out when i had the chance today." marisa had become her regular night guard. she and dorine did not have a lot to say to each other. she was one of the youngest guards and claimed she had never been away from the village. and did not show any great interest in the world beyond it. but she was cheerful enough, and dorine usually let her make herself comfortable in the room instead of having to sit outside in the corridor. "i don't see why we can't be let out for walks when it is dark," dorine said. "how is it that different from the daylight? where are we going to go?" "i told you before, sugar plum, take it up with prue. i can't help you." "i already did." "oh?" "she wasn't very receptive." marisa laughed. "i can just picture one of you getting lost or running off and the whole staff running around in the dark trying to find you. prue would love that." "i wonder if miss prue could even make the decision herself to change the rule." "i don't know. i can't help you there either." marisa sat up on the bed. "you want to sleep?" "no, not for a while." "you want the bed?" "no thanks. i'll let you know if i do." dorine continued to look out the window. dorine liked marisa but was frustrated by her imperturbability. she wanted to draw her out, try to get a hint - just the barest, tiniest hint - that she might be receptive to helping her, not necessarily to escape, but to bend the rules in little ways that might lead to something that might lead to something… almost three weeks had gone by. three weeks! dorine felt that she was getting nowhere, either with the staff or the other girls. but she was resolved not to give up. 6. the message of the woman in blue

fenwick - 6. the castle

by minette de montfort

illustrated by roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

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admiral morwyn stood looking out the north facing window of the "conservatory" on the top floor of castle morwyn, as had been his wont, at that particular time of day, for as long as any living morwyn, or any of the servants, could remember. behind, him "aunt" morwyn, so called because she was the oldest of the numerous aunts - all the others of whom had to make do with proper names - "aunt sophie". "aunt jane", etc - asked him, "what are you looking at, out that window?" "i am looking out the window." "i know you are looking out the window. but what do you see, looking out the window?" "what would there be to see?" "whatever is out there." "it has not been my experience that there is a great deal to see out there." "you are testy this morning, admiral. have you not had your breakfast?" "it is not morning. it is afternoon. the sun has reached its zenith, as is it is inclined to do, and is now beginning its pitiless descent into oblivion. an oblivion all too short lived, as it will be back to do its mischief again tomorrow, all too predictably." "i asked you if had had your breakfast. i did not invite your tiresome philosophical musings." "observations of the sun's path hardly qualify as philosophy." "they did in babylon and chaldea. and perhaps in assyria and the minoan empire as well." "perhaps," agreed the admiral. "but not in today's world." "today's world! what an expression! what other world would it be, but today's world?" the admiral did not deign to answer. he stood silent, continuing to look out the window. behind him aunt morwyn remained silent also. the subject of the admiral's breakfast was forgotten, or at least no longer alluded to, which is not the same thing. is anything ever totally forgotten? a question which has perplexed, or at least engaged philosophers in times ancient and modern. "modern!" what an absurd concept. reader, we take a stand with aunt morwyn, in regarding the word as totally ridiculous. human language is a dark overgrown jungle in desperate need of judicious pruning. at least ninety percent of the words which clutter it should be eliminated. what better place to start, than with the word "modern" ? reader, if you exist and wheresoever you be, we promise that that word will no longer deface this narrative. to continue. aunt morwyn and the admiral continued their silent observations, the admiral of the world outside the castle, and aunt morwyn of the admiral's back. they were old hands at both of these occupations - silence and observation. the sun continued its pitiless descent into short lived oblivion. after an eternity - eternity! another word to be consigned to the dustbin! reader, consider it consigned. … aunt morwyn ventured to observe, "soon it will be time for tea." the admiral nodded, without averting his gaze from the spectacle outside the window. "the servant who brought the tea yesterday… or was it the day before….", aunt morwyn began. the admiral interrupted her. "a servant did indeed bring tea yesterday. and the day before. and the day before that." "i was referring to a particular servant. the one that brought tea yesterday. or perhaps it was the day before." "so you can tell the servants apart?" "sometimes. especially if one is male and wearing trousers and one is female and wearing a dress." "indeed." more time elapsed, or passed, or evaporated. "and what was there, about this particular servant, that so excited your interest," the admiral ventured at last. "i am afraid i have quite forgotten. you caused me to lose my train of thought." if aunt morwyn was expecting an apology from the admiral for causing her to lose her train of thought, she did not get one. "if you have a problem with the servants, you should take it up with beckwith." at the admiral's intonation of the word "beckwith" a chill fell over the room and down the spines of aunt merwyn and the admiral himself, even though it had been he who uttered the name. beckwith was the chief butler at the castle, and ruled both the servants and the morwyns with an iron hand. "yes," aunt morwyn replied after a pause, "beckwith will know what to do. if i recall the problem i had with the servant - if it indeed was a problem, and if i can recall which servant it was, and whether it was a man or a woman, and whether it was yesterday or the day before or last year, then, yes, perhaps i shall consult beckwith. but, then, beckwith is a busy man and does not always take kindly to being addressed regarding what he considers trifles." "indeed he does not," agreed the admiral. more time elapsed, or passed, or evaporated. the sun, softening its assault just a bit, continued on its path. "i see something," said the admiral. "i should hope you do. for what indeed, would be the purpose of looking out a window if one did not see anything?" "i see a man." visitors were not common at the castle. both the admiral and aunt morwyn would have been hard pressed to remember the last one. "oh? is he coming up the path?" "no, he is crossing the lawn. he seems to have burst through the hedge." "not some sort of tramp or beggar, i hope." "it is difficult to tell, as he is covered from head to foot with leaves and brambles from the hedge. he is coming closer now, and picking the leaves and twigs off his person with one hand and waving a stout stick distractedly in the air with the other." "i ask you again - i put it to you directly, my dear admiral - does he look a vagrant or beggar?" "i should say - as a tentative observation - that he attempts to present himself as a gentleman, but not quite successfully." "not quite successfully?" "now that he has continued his progress, and i have a better view, and can make a better judgment, i shall revise my estimate and say not at all successfully." "then he is not quite out of the top drawer?" "he does not seem to be out of any drawer at all, " the admiral replied emphatically. 7. a man not to be trifled with

imperialism - 4. hot

by sabine sablon

illustrated by danny delacroix

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

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click here to begin the 14th princess

it was hot. bloody hot. the trees they were walking through, though giving a bit of shade, made it even hotter. wilkinson wanted a drink. margrave needed a drink. mercer was on the verge of weeping for want of a drink. however, as the assistant manager of the main plantation, and de facto manager since the murder of hawkins, it was up to him to escort the man from the colonial office, who had arrived to investigate the crime, around the plantation and the settlement. despite their differences, wilkinson, margrave and mercer had been united in hoping the colonial office fellow would regard his mission as a formality, and quickly retire with them to the relative cool of the bar at the hotel. but ashley, the man sent from cairo, was having none of it. right keen, he was, and determined to "get to the bottom" of the matter. he insisted on being led to the spot where the body of hawkins had been found. the spot mercer led him to was quite indistinguishable from the rest of the path and the wood around it. ashley looked around. "so, this is where the body was found?" "close enough," mercer answered, after a slight hesitation. "close enough, eh?" ashley snorted. he looked the sweating mercer up and down like a colonel inspecting a private on parade. "but it was you who discovered him, was it not?" "one of the boys discovered him. he came to me. i was the first white man to see him." "so far as you know you were the first white man to see him." mercer winced. behind him margrave and wilkinson rolled their eyes. "what is that supposed to mean?" mercer asked. "what does it mean? it means that if he had been shot by a white man, that white man would have been the last to see him, would he not?" "he wasn't shot by a white man. he was shot by a native." "you know that, do you? how do you know that?" good god, was this son of a bitch a bloody barrister as well as a sniveling bureaucrat? "it's what the natives do," mercer answered gamely. "besides, none of us had any reason to kill him. why would any of us want to do him in?" "why, why does anybody do anybody in? an argument over money, a woman, perhaps - " "there are no white women here , " margrave interjected. ashley just laughed at this. "i am aware of that." "surely you don't expect a chap to kill another over a native woman," wilkinson put in. "expect has nothing to do with it, " ashley answered impatiently. "i am just trying to find the facts." "but surely you have never seen such a thing?" wilkinson. "a chap killing a chap over a black woman?" "have i seen it? why, yes, as a matter of fact i have, all over the empire. over black women, black boys, over great strapping blackfellows who could beat a tiger with a riding crop." ashley looked up at the almost white sky, which was beating down hotter than ever through the trees. "look here, this is enough of this palaver." he turned away from mercer and fixed his gaze on wilkinson. "you are acting chief of police, are you not?" "why, yes, but i am not actually a policeman, you know. the bailiwick is hardly big enough for a real force. somebody has to have the title, and i stepped up." "no need to get your back up, old chap, i understand how things are done in these places. it is what i deal with. i just have a few questions, if you don't mind. i will be as happy as you to get them over with and get out of this sun. " wilkinson stiffened. "fire away." "you are sure the fellow was shot?" "i know a bullet wound when i see one. " "no doubt. but no bullet was recovered?" wilkinson hesitated. "no." "was one searched for?" "none was found." "as i thought. and no bullet was found in the body?" "he had been shot clean through." "was an autopsy performed? " "doctor wilson had a look at him." "and he determined what?" "why, he determined that he had been shot and that he was dead as a dog." "of course. of course." ashley sighed. "look here, i want a thorough search made here for the bullet. within a radius of a thousand yards of the spot i am standing on." " but - " wilkinson hesitated. "but what?" "it has been over a week," margrave put in. "anything could have happened to the bullet - if there was one - in that time." 'if there was one?" ashley replied. "i thought we had established that there was. and what could have happened to it?" "why, a native could have picked it up. you wouldn't believe what scavengers they are. or a wild dog. or the ants." "ants? what use would ants have for a shell casing?" "who knows what an ant wants? any more than what a native wants?" "we have some bully ants here," wilkinson added. "they can drag away the carcass of a rhino. they wouldn't have any trouble with a bullet." "and have you ever seen these ants drag away the carcass of a rhino?" "not myself, no, but i've heard tales -" "i am sure. enough of this. have the area searched. as soon as possible. it will be one thing done and out of the way. we can proceed from there." "but, look here," mercer put in. "we can tell the boys to search, but unless we stand over them the whole time they won't really do anything. in fact, they are as likely to hide the bullet, out of spite, if they do find it." "well then, stand over them, captain jenks, stand over them when ready, if that is what it takes. or get down on your hands and knees and search yourself. " "what is the point?" margrave was close to losing his temper. "we know he was shot. what will finding the bloody bullet do?" "the bullet might be matched with a particular gun." "oh come, that's all mumbo jumbo." "hardly. in any case, it's regulation mumbo jumbo. his majesty's regulation mumbo jumbo." suddenly all the fight went out of wilkinson and margrave. the two of them, and mercer, who had no fight in him to begin with, looked down at the dust, surrendering to the man from cairo. the sun had reached its zenith. "so you will have the search done this afternoon?" "yes," wilkinson muttered. "excellent. with any luck we will spared the nuisance of digging up the poor chap." they all nodded. "i need a drink," margrave declared. "of course, " ashley agreed. "of course. i could use a glass of club soda myself. with ice. you do have ice, do you not?" "yes, we have ice, " wilkinson answered. "we are not completely uncivilized." 5. suspicion