There was a window above Ellen’s head that had begun to bathe her freckled forehead in faint sunlight, which helped her to groggily swim back through the veils of sleep to the first disappointments of consciousness. Looking through the window above was like a story, like finding a large bill in her pants while doing the wash, like the best romance novel she had ever read. She hadn’t noticed the window last night in her rush to get under the covers after eating too much in the kitchen while the man she thought of as “Banner” went out to a meeting with their benefactor.
Though he had told her his name was “t-JINK-care,” she was still having difficulty letting the name she had made up for him go.
But today, judging solely by the quality of light hitting her face through the small, overhead window, looked glorious in its own right, with blue skies, a gentle breeze from the swaying of the branches of a tree she could just see at the edge of that same window, and, she was sure, blue birds singing to put even the most saccharine laced of animated films to shame.
Now that her mind had engaged, Ellen came awake instantly. It was her curse. …or, one of them, anyway. She felt she had a surfeit of curses in her life…Every morning, when the sun had reached its exact midpoint while rising to the horizon, Ellen’s eyes flew open, and she was awake and ready for the day. If she had not set her alarm for an earlier time, she would always pop right out of bed at the same time each day. Never a hint of grogginess about her in the morning, her brain started, and she was go, go, go all day. She would admit to being slightly worried about the time difference between the State of Virginia, and the small city in Scotland where she had lived most of her adult life. It used to be called “jet-lag,” though her father termed it “travelers’ remorse.” In recent years, she had heard it called “Aero-lag.”
But today it hadn’t arrived as she had feared it might.
Not to say she didn’t enjoy her tea with breakfast, but unlike most others she
knew, she had no actual need for the stimulant. It was all about the flavor for Ellen.
And today it would just not be needed.
Ellen had been met by adventure and death, acts of fear inspired bravery and confusion, and now she was in the softest bed she had ever been in, and was waking up in North America. This part of America, unlike much of the stuff shown in vidcasts and streamshows, seemed to be an absolutely huge city, by the standards of Scotland, at least, but with a small town appeal that she appreciated as she looked out the front windows of her third floor room to the activity on the street below.
Of more immediate importance, by the smells that were now ruthlessly mugging her nose, this house had the world’s best chef in residence. Or, possibly, she was still hungry despite having indulged in a late night meal before retiring for the evening.
The window above her head was just gathering enough light to let her know that the day was beginning in earnest; a pleasantly thick leafed tree limb was just outside her window, waving slightly in a mild breeze as if to give her a jolly great “Hello!”
Bright happy flowers, strangely shaped, but as big as her two fists together ornamented the tree’s boughs.
Throwing back her covers she bounced up and into the small water closet for her
morning ablutions, and a quick change into a pair of casual trousers and a blouse. She thought
briefly about asking after shopping in the area; most of Ellen’s wardrobe was still in her
flat, and the two pairs of trousers she had stuffed into her travel bag two nights ago would get bothersome if she stayed here more than a few days.
Stepping out into the hallway brought her hunger crashing back with a vengeance
as she smelled good old toast, eggs and sausages from the kitchen, along with the odd and
strong odor of coffee. Other scents crowded in and crowed for Ellen’s attention as she made
her way down the rich, dark brown wooden stairs of the old house.
Ornate woodwork met her every glance as she moved down the stairs through the house. Acorns had been carved into every available surface and while the walls had been painted a crisp, clean white, the wooden accents and trim around her was as dark a brown you could claim without moving into black. All polished and well attended by whoever it was here that did the cleaning and upkeep.
She could almost smell the wood polish in the air, were it not for the siren song of bacon on the breeze.
Hardwood floors gleamed at her around the occasional tasteful area rug, and the curtains on the windows on lower floors kept the eyes on the street out, but still let in the early morning light. This small front parlor had a wood stove radiating heat and a strangely comforting scent that made her feel especially cozy as she stood near it to look out the windows, ignoring the lavishly overstuffed brown couch that any other time would have lured her to it with its implied comfort and warmth.
Hearing motion from the direction she remembered from last night as the kitchen,
Ellen came to a halt in the large dining room. Dark woods, and muted Victorian colors
surrounded the nurse as the large oaken table before her arrested her wanderings. If it
would seat one, it would seat twenty comfortably.
The thick battleship of a thing had been carved with the same acorn and oak leaf motif she had seen in the rest of the home’s woodwork. Gentle curving leaves, gracefully incised nuts and twigs giving a lie to the truth of several hundred pounds of wood before her. The heavy iron candle holder hung above this masterwork of woodcraft, black and crude by comparison. Much too harsh to ever be called “chandelier” though it now held at least thirty candles, each as thick as one of her ankles and a hand high. In all, the great gravid thing was ponderous, pendulous and out of place over such a fine behemoth as the great oak table before her.
She felt dwarfed by the scale of the thing. Rare feelings for her, indeed.
As Ellen turned away from the center of the dining room, she stopped at a
window to peer out at the street. Few people were about as yet.
Those that were out this early looked like students carrying portfolios and a strange variety of what could only be called toolboxes of some sort; thought she might ask about that later. While she was at it she might ask about the bizarre nature of the clothing the people carrying portfolios had. It was uniform in its complete lack of unity; a wave of youth all being nonconformists in the exact same way. It reminded her of a school of tropical fish.
Distinct, pretty, of infinite variety, and confusing in its myriad of forms.
She continued watching the street, letting her mind wander; she remembered her
arrival last night from the airport.
What had at first glance been a major thoroughfare through a large city turned
quickly into a pleasant tree lined street. Tall, narrow stone and wood row homes and
businesses sat just back from the street off the sidewalk. Most also had small grass and ivy patches in front of their entrances. Trees had been planted at regular intervals along
the walkways to either side of the street, and some smaller trees and shrubs dotted the
little iron fenced enclosures before many of the dignified row homes.
The smells from the dining room intruded on her thoughts once again like the bang of a gun, as the sound of a swinging door squeaked and shushed itself closed behind her. Turning
she found the table had been set, and bedecked with enough food to feed more people
than could possibly be here in the house this morning.
As she watch the kitchen door open yet again Ellen found herself facing an ugly
little man in a very well cut suit. His warm smile almost completely hid the fact that he
was about as unattractive a man she had ever beheld who had not actually been deformed.
His nose was too wide, his mouth too broad, his skin had the grainy look of someone who, though pale, had possibly worked in a coal mine all his life. Wide brow, and dark eyes she could have imagined as sinister on anyone else, made this fellow look thoughtful and warm.
The kind smile said simply “Hello, I’m glad YOU are here! YOU matter to me.”
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It was a warm breeze across her soul to see it as he walked toward her with his hands
outstretched in greeting.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet with you last night when you arrived, please forgive
me.” His lips parted, turning a warm smile into a blazing white flash of sunlight in the form of a greeting.
“I had some meetings with some men from the city last night, and I just couldn’t get here in time for your arrival. Then I had to meet with ‘Tj’Chin’Ker, and that was complicated for… several reasons. Once I had finally made it here, you had already drifted off to sleep. I do hope you slept well”
His tone was friendly, and deeply soothing, but the hard Southern accents in his speech almost seemed forced to Ellen’s ear; it reminded her of the blustery cartoon rooster from the old shows, just much more friendly and inviting. Ellen sometimes caught the ancient, animated programs when she was younger. Not having a wide range of experiences with Americans, she didn’t know if his way of talking was affected or real, but it sounded cheerful and kind to her. The best of both worlds, Ellen supposed.
She noticed the thick sheaf of paperwork on the bureau behind him for the first
time, and realized it had to have been something he had brought with him and set there
upon entering the dining room.
Most of the papers protruded from the little overworked manila folder, and they had the look of official documents, some of which were yellowed and curled with age at their edges.
Maybe, she thought, that’s a folder of his work for the day, and he deals with things like property deeds and legal notes…bureaucracy looks the same everywhere, I guess…
He quickly glanced back at the papers, and shrugged his shoulders in an
expansive show of helplessness, “Paperwork and real-estate were the topics of
conversation at my meeting last night, and I can’t help but bring my work home with me
lately.” He pulled a heavy chair from the table and held it for Ellen to sit down. “Please
sit, we’ll start the day with a nice breakfast, the others will be down soon, and I just can’t
wait to get started.” His eyebrows sketched a playful bow to her as he sat across from her
at the gigantic table.
“Oh, is this your home? It’s so beautiful; I absolutely love this house. Thank you for your hospitality, last night I slept so soundly in that big comfortable bed.” Ellen smiled at the little man. She realized she really was enjoying his company this morning.
“I’ll be your host this week. My name is Elgin.” He said, his rich, deep voice reminding her slightly of the resonances of Banner’s voice when he spoke. ”Elgin Stark; please try the
cinnamon buns, they’re fantastic. This is one of my properties here in the city, that I generally reserve for entertaining special guests. I’ve just had a very late night so I’ll be grabbing for that pot of java, first. I thought you might not be a coffee drinker, so I’ve had Cole brewing you some tea as we speak…But do try his coffee at some point, it’s worth a trip from Great Britain to
have some…I got in the habit of using chicory blends while doing business further south.
Not many folk drink chicory anymore, sad but true. My lovely wife, Ahoo, and a select few others should be joining us for breakfast soon. We just managed to beat the rush!”
Ellen watched as Elgin began to fill his plate as full as he could, and nodded
occasionally when he offered to pile mounds of food on a plate for her to enjoy as well.
She came close to laughing out loud as the thought intruded on her mind that she had begun eating better in the last three or four days than she ever had in her life. Giving up every
aspect of her stayed and calm existence had opened her up to such wonderful and new
culinary experiences.
Finally seated once more across from her, Elgin began to tell an odd little story of
an ancient greedy king, who in the end had his comeuppance when he had tried to hold a
god hostage for the sake of looking good for his upcoming political marriage. It almost
sounded like the tale of King Midas, but it took weird and winding turns from the story
she had known from school. It was funny, how it fit with her life these last few days; the story she thought she knew inside and out was unraveled and rewoven to fit someone else’s life, yet she enjoyed it now more than ever.
His voice dipped low at some points, raising gooseflesh on her arms, and at other times, he spoke in the lilting, soft, feminine voice of the soon to be wed princess. He was excellent at telling entertaining little tales, she learned through the course of breakfast.
At the tale’s end he laughed in deep and booming bell tones to shake the room
around her; the genuine smile and good nature in it was uplifting, but a shade in the
wrong tone and it would have sounded sinister, Ellen realized. She once had an old aunt who would cackle at jokes like the wickedest of witches, but if you knew her, she was as likely to be
as wicked as the average duck.
He caught her looking deeply at him, and quickly tried to turn her focus
elsewhere. “Now, see here young lady! You need your strength to meet the day ahead,
trust me on this now.” He was shaking a sausage link at her in a clever parody of a
concerned father. “I didn’t shake poor little Cole out of his bed so early just for you to
worry about your figure,” she snorted at that, “nothing I like more than seeing a skinny
little waif, like yourself being fed-up nice and proper.” Ellen let slip a guffaw at that, even followed with a quick and embarrassing snort; which redoubled her laughter. “You’ll not waste
away on my watch, little missy! If you lose any weight while here as my guest, I’ll sign
over the deed to this house to you! Free and clear!” He said this last word “cleee-ah!” She
answered with more undignified snorts and decidedly un-girly guffaws.
At that moment Cole came in carrying a large tray of roasted pork in thick slices, with a large bowl of thick, pale gravy that gave off a wonderful sweet and peppery smell. There was a look of concern on his face as he watched Ellen turn pink, then crimson with repressed laughter.
Stark eyed the new tray with skepticism. “Am I to take it that Mr. Weathers is to
join us this morning?” There was no disapproval in these words that Ellen could find, but
Elgin was asking something of Cole, she just didn’t know what.
“Yes, sir. He stayed in one of the guest rooms off the kitchen last night…”
“Annnnddddd?” Stark drew out the word into far too many syllables while raising an eyebrow, much like her father did when he knew there was more to the story.
Cole’s skin looked to turn a shade gray as he hemmed and hawed over an answer
that might not get him, or anyone else, in trouble. Literally gray. Like the stone of the front steps of the building.
“We had some trouble after we left…” Cole gave Ellen a significant look. “ …the bar last night, sir.”
His shoulders slumped, and with a sigh he gathered his will to let the dam holding back his story burst. “A large group of Amra’s men stopped us on Floyd, while we were trying to get Mr Tinker back here. Mister Trout and Mister Tinker both got their hands dirty, and Kurt came back over from his place to help finish it. He said he was up anyway, and when he heard the ruckus…well, he says he saw that it was your car and stepped in. uhm, Sir.”
Cole began to fidget with his apron as he stood awaiting judgment from his
employer. What he must have thought were covert glances he continuously threw toward
the swinging kitchen door went a far distance to show her how upset he was at that
moment; he wanted nothing more than to scurry back to the kitchen to finish cooking.
“How is everybody?” Stark asked in a deep monotone.
“We’re all fine, sir.”
“And how are your assailants?” Stark’s monotone was worrying to Ellen.
“They’re all being held in Oregon Hill, sir; all taken care of.” The sweat on Cole brow glistened in the morning light filtering in from the curtains.
“Did anyone see?” The way Stark said the word see, gave Ellen to believe there
was more to see than she might have thought; but that was her life now.
“They, uh, brought some, uhm…”he glanced at Ellen, then to Stark to see how
much he might safely let slip. “They brought some more of their friends…” The poor young man looked miserable. “They had a group with them from Hollywood, Mister Stark.”
Elgin Starks jaw muscles tensed and bulged farther than she had seen a man’s jaw muscles flex in her life. He was mad, and he didn’t want her to know, but the look he
gave the ceiling told her he knew she knew, and his anger was increased just that much
for it.
“Were these gray friends…or red?” The way his voice curled and caressed the two
colors in his question made Ellen all the more curious about what complications of this whole event might have been.
Cole’s eyes told of tragedy beyond his young years as he replied simply “Red,
Sir.”
“How did they get their invitations to this party, Mister Cole?” If Ellen didn’t miss her guess, the little man was coming very close to a fit of rage, but holding it back with some willpower. Stark was being obvious in not wanting to blame Cole, but the messenger stood before him, the target all the more shiny simply for being there. “Did you find anything in Hollywood to show you?”
…what the hell are they talking about Hollywood for? Her thoughts were running
so far behind their conversation, Ellen was loosing faith they were even speaking English
anymore.
“We found the invitations, Sir; they’re all cleaned up now, too.” Cole should
have looked proud of having anticipated the need, but something was missing from
Ellen’s side of this little talk.
“Dare I ask if you know, or were able to find out from what was left, who left
Them?”
Cole’s small frame slumped in despair and remorse. “No, Sir. That was denied us
by whoever sent them.”
“Well…we know who sent them; it’s just a matter of getting Him to pay for
them.” Elgin settled down, his tension ebbing as he leaned back in his seat. “Go on, now.
I’ll see you at the office. And bring Miss Amy with you, if you please. Get her out of bed
in time to get herself cleaned up, too; her Grandmother will be there to pick her up from
the shop around ten.”
As Cole turned to leave, Elgin said, “Cole, you’ve done remarkably well last night and this morning. Thank you.”
The look of relief and joy on the younger man’s face was beatific, as he turned a paint pink color, and walked back into the kitchen.
From the front of the house, Ellen heard a door open, and then shut. The sound of footsteps drawing near were accompanied by a rich, husky woman’s voice. It was slightly accented, though Ellen didn’t know where the accent originated.
“Elgin! My love! Did you drink all of the chicory already, you little monster?