THE THIN LADY with bright yellow hair elbowed her way through bemused crowds with a determined air. It was early morning but there were plenty of people about. Especially those pesky joggers who looked upon steps as a challenge rather than an obstacle to overcome. Having begun her journey down on the beach front, surmounting the various terraces upon which this part of Cherryball Flats was built presented a challenge indeed if one did not have a mind to it.
Finally she reached her chosen destination on a more gently sloping incline and turned into a narrow shaded lane still bright with whitewashed walls and posters even amid the shadows. It was easy enough to find the place because of the smell and sounds of slaughter.
The lady ignored all that and clumped up the wooden steps on the outside of the building before banging on a glass-panelled door so vehemently the squealing and death-rattles below halted for a moment, suggesting the slaughterer held his hand just to listen. It was possible to see that the writing on the door had altered a lot in recent months as if the occupants within needed to keep up with changing times. The most recent label said 'Fur Up For Fun,' which might mean anything really. Poor customer targeting, the lady thought.
The door opened abruptly and there was an added silence as visitor and occupant sized each other up.
"Hullo Lemon. What brings you to this part of paradise?" came a somewhat sullen query.
The sharp, angry face of Lemon Curl melted into a beatific smile most unexpected.
"Had a thought I have, Mully Craftit," she said in a modified shriek. "Been looking at all that beauty out there." At this point the sounds of slaughter resumed in the butchery below but Lemon Curl pressed gamely on with her message. "Someone said to me, strange little body with hair almost as beautiful as mine, there's way too much beauty for any single person to enjoy in a lifetime, so best enjoy what you can when you can."
Then she held up a carrier bag full of tins.
"What say you we enjoy it together?"
"Who's that shrieking at the door?" a large lady bustled forward.
"Lemon Curl with an offering, Share," Mully said sleepily.
"A merger?" and Share Wellin frowned suspiciously.
"More a mingling," Lemon said. "I got cream buns too," and she held up another bag.
"Ooh," Share replied, eyes wide. Suddenly the end of the world needed to be a long way off if such a feast were to be given the right kind of attention.
"Enter," she said, shifting her vast bulk to one side. "Oh, and mind the bones."
***
THINGS WERE changing in many different places and the blue-haired girl was more than a little perplexed. Such transformations she had not witnessed before in her young life.
Truancy Mundane sidled down Passing Lane in the great shadow cast by a warehouse that fronted the straggling line of small, unfrequented shops and marvelled at the light and colour that marked the middle building.
She had passed through this lane many times on her way to more curious locations where there were flourishing flower shops and hopeful shops in search of fulfilment, especially along Wonky Lane. Never before had she noticed this flaring intensity.
Remembering a recent past, Truancy recalled a toy shop on that spot, a sad little place devoid of life, its inmates yearning with an intensity too painful to witness. She had felt aggrieved at such despair and sought a pledge to alleviate it. Dolls there were, sat in rows upon shelves, waiting for that miracle day when they might come alive and be a part of some family. Yet they sat on and stared and waited.
So she blessed them with a hidden animation, like souls on the point of inspiration.
Might this gesture have caused all the liveliness she could see through the glass of the shop front?
There were people in there, happy people. A child's shrill cry could be heard and there was laughter that greeted such cries. Truancy moved closer, blending with some aspect of the building so she could investigate more intimately. She was thrilled at the thought of the good she might have done, helping these people find some lightening of their hearts. Feather light they were now.
"This seems as good a time as any to break out some of Granny Plot's Old Sherry," a man's voice could be heard over the general sense of contentment.
"Should we, though?" a lady's voice replied.
"Won't do you any harm, nor the youngster neither."
"I'll be the judge of that," another man's voice said. "My Deesie's a little young to be imbibing such a concoction," and there was general laughter.
"I mean," the earlier female speaker pursued, her voice still edged with a little worry, "should we be celebrating. I fear the wrath of the Faceless where excess merriment might be noticed."
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"We have a right as much as any to be happy," the man said and Truancy wanted to pitch in, to tell him he was more right than he knew. As he spoke he was pouring out some ruby liquid into simple tumblers and handing them to a number of others in the shop. Truancy could see another rather well-dressed couple with a little girl in their midst, a man in an apron that gave off the scent of pine varnish and a number of others who looked merely like passersby who for once decided not to pass by but drop in and were mightly pleased they had done so.
"Besides, that girl, blessed if I can remember her name, she was such a self-effacing little body, had such a sureness about her and the way she shaped ideas into words and words into action that no powers above could oppose her."
"A little blonde thing she was," the woman explained to an interested audience. "From that odd school on the mountain. Blessed if I know what they teach them up there, but she was so full of joy she looked fit to burst."
Joy.
Truancy heard the word with amazement. So full of joy. It could have been only one person.
Vetta Mindal.
There was a slight clattering noise by the door and everyone looked. Only the little girl saw what she thought was a shadow. The adults saw nothing and soon forgot the interruption as Granny Plot's Old Sherry mellowed their hearts even more.
***
IT HAD BEEN there all the time.
Like a mist creeping in from the sea. Watch it and it seemed still. Look away and another landmark had been swallowed up by the time one looked back again.
Truancy Mundane saw faces shining with light, heard tunes hummed by feather-light souls in the thralls of joy. Lemon Curl had closed up her tourists of doom stall down by the beach and ceased to scream. Even the beachcombers made merry over something unseen that had been lifted from their burdened shoulders by the blessings of an angel.
"We have a future," they sang happily as they piled driftwood onto a raging fire that stank of burning seaweed. "We have a home. Smells of seaweed but it's our home, our place as long as the world lasts."
This last bit was like a punch to the stomach. For Truancy Mundane did not have a home unless one might look up at the stars above and consider that as a blanket of familiarity. For they were always there. The world might indeed end but the stars would not. They would simply gaze down upon a different scene as serenely as an eternal sigh.
"I will miss you Blushing Beauty," she said fixing her gaze on a particular favourite known to others as the Dove Star among the myriad twinkling things above. "Don't mind me though. Shine, little star, shine."
Then she turned her attention to the glowing things that wandered the Face of the World, especially one particular spark drifting through thick clouds yet seemingly barely diminished in intensity with each passing shadow, so bright was the light.
"I must speak with her again, for I have found her secret," she said and her eyes lifted up to the shadowy heights beyond the glare and colour of Cherryball Flats.
***
BEING SHADOWED is a disconcerting feeling of course, if the stalker was not a besotted admirer of style in search of purpose.
"Who's that?" Pirouette said as the Wonder girls ambled as a group in the twilight. Lessons had ended for the day and no one wanted to immediately return to stuffy rooms. The Perfectine had actually agreed to walk with the others, searching for flaws amid pine cones and uncivilised squirrels and their strange creaking barks that needed oiling to her mind.
"Where?" Meresinth said. She had joined the group in search of mischief, for with Pirouette among them there was bound to be a melodramatic crisis of minuscule proportions about to explode at any moment.
"Behind that ugly tree," the agitated girl said, pointing at a large spruce some way off the amble path.
"Probably a serial killer in search of victims," Meresinth dismissed the matter. "Anyway, I don't see anyone, just spruce bugs."
Vetta stepped forward and peered at the tree with some excitement.
"It is a lovely tree," she said without thinking and the others laughed. And then to their astonishment Vetta stepped over a line of boundary stones and waded through a small mound of fallen leaves and ferns straight towards the tall, dark spruce with its tangle of glossy green ivy and sticky bugs.
"Vetta, where are you going?" Esper asked. Vetta paused and looked back at the others. There was a moment when the two girls just looked at each other as if seeking an understanding and then Esper shook herself.
"Let's get back. It'll soon be time for the evening meal," she said all in a rush.
"Vetta, we're going back," Meresinth shouted at the now distant girl who paused again and waved.
"Yes," Pirouette shouted also, though less loudly and with a modicum of restraint. "There is clearly nothing here that even remotely resembles civilisation." Vetta continued to walk off among the trees towards the spruce.
"It's okay," Esper assured the puzzled Wonder girls. "Leave her. She will return safely, as she always does." With that she began with a show of unconcern to retrace her steps towards the grounds of Miss Plazenby's. She felt a curious thrill but was not sure why.
***
VETTA DID NOT hear these exchanges. Her mind was wandering far ahead of her steps amid rustling leaves. When briefly she thought of the others, she paused one last time to look back at the now distant amble path and found it deserted. She was alone. Yet she knew she was not.
The shadow which had indeed existed, purposely so to attract just the right amount of attention, resolved itself into the slim figure of a girl with blue hair. Vetta smiled.
"This is like that place before," she said, looking around a little uneasily at the leaves upon the ground. They were nice leaves. All colourful and crisp. Yet what might lurk beneath?
"The one with the trapdoor?" the girl asked as if the idea had suddenly come to her.
Vetta nodded nervously.
"Indeed it is," Truancy Mundane said in casual but reassuring tones. "Don't be afraid. It's perfectly safe."
Vetta smiled at the blue-haired girl and then gazed around at the huge towering trees upon the slope, many still reluctant to shed their own leaves. They seemed to guard them with possessive jealousy. One fluttered down as she watched, a tribute to her admiration.
"I can never cease to marvel at these great living things, breathing so quietly with life and stability." She took several steps to where Truancy Mundane waited. Then she disappeared with a scream.
"You really are so delightfully trusting," the girl said with a laugh. She looked around to assure herself that indeed there was no one else around and then moved to where the other had disappeared. She paused in her step when she heard a faint voice.
"That skull's still down here," came a mournful whimper from the bowels of the earth.