By Fleedleflump
"Be told, master Raff -- if you burn those loaves, I'll be serving your hide for dessert." She watched the boy race across her kitchen, his expressive mop of hair bouncing, before turning back to her vegetables. Moments later, the room flooded with the magic aroma of fresh-baked sourdough.
"Don't leave the door open! Now get the ox head straight in -- you know Lord Winsome likes the ears crunchy." She didn't watch him -- too concerned with turning carrots against her paring knife -- but she knew it wasn't necessary. Raff was a good worker who just needed to be kept on his toes.
"Lord Mucky Muck had better appreciate this," she mumbled, placing down the last carrot, carved meticulously to the same height and shape as the rest. Turning, she carried her tray of raw vegetables across to the cauldron, picking her way between sleeping dogs. The kitchen was the warmest place in the castle and as such Lord Winsome's hounds were near-permanent guests. Of course, if he found canine hairs in his dinner, that was chef's fault rather than the dogs'.
The vegetables plunged into bubbling water with one deft flick of her wrist, leaving her to perch against a prep surface and take a moment's break. The kitchen sprawled before her -- solid timber work surfaces, stacks of pans and a giant oven met her view. The stone walls were nearly black from soot but they felt appropriate. Raff was stacking loaves onto cooling shelves, his young hands calloused and burned. The kitchen cat streaked between two surfaces in a tabby blur, taking its job as Mouser seriously. All this, she watched through a shimmering curtain of heat.
My world. Here, I'm the lord.
Some time later, she peeped with pent breath from the servery door while the waiting staff dished her meal to the lord and his family. Pride filled her chest at the beautiful meal she'd served up, egged on by frequent nagging to do better. He'd been on a trip to distant lands, and now her cooking wasn't up to par. Well, this time she'd show him. Her food could be the envy of the land, if only he'd let himself taste it.
Winsome was a wiry old bastard with a face like a bird of prey crossed with a rotten grape. His permanently sour expression made him look like he'd swallowed a lemon-flavoured cactus and the stark white military-cut hair did nothing to soften his severity. The family ate in silence, his wife and daughters casting occasional meek glances his way.
For a few moments, she let herself fantasize he was actually enjoying the meal, but then his hand snapped up in that hated, predictable gesture she'd come to dread.
"Bring me the cook -- now." His voice cracked against the air like a whip and she shuddered involuntarily.
The head waiter strode into the servery, not giving away her immediate presence, and cast her a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Lizzy. I hope you have your tough ears on."
She blinked back the tears brimming behind her eyelids and nodded, following him back out into the dining hall. Approaching Winsome's chair, she noticed the ladies doing their best to avoid looking at her, chewing their food slowly as though frightened to make noise. She paused at the appropriate position and clasped her hands behind her, standing to attention.
"You believe you can just take your peasant knife to some vegetables and you'll meet my expectations? Well?"
"I ... it all contributes to the-"
He smacked a ring-clad hand down on the table with a deep bang. "I don't want excuses. The ox cheek is overcooked, the ears are hairy, and these carrots look like a band of Irish infantry marching against me." He growled audibly and shook his head. "I ask for gourmet and you feed me common muck. I want to eat like those bastards across the water. I want decent food. Take this slop away."
The walk back to the kitchen with his unwanted plate of food was the longest journey Lizzy ever made. No amount of blinking could stop the tears falling. She wanted to be angry, to leave the castle in righteous ire and set up somewhere else, but all she felt was despair. This meal was the very best of her work -- almost a full day spent preparing and cooking everything to perfection. If it still wasn't good enough, perhaps she didn't deserve to be the chef
Raff ran up, excited, when she entered the kitchen, his face as bright as she'd ever seen it. When he saw the barely-touched meal in her hands, the expression changed and he looked desolate. Lizzy's heart sank -- the boy never usually looked unhappy.
She ruffled his messy hair. "Never mind, lad. He's just an old meany. I know you did your best -- we both did."
The sound of a throat being cleared echoed across the room, and she turned to see the Lords' manservant in the doorway, his customary smirk in place.
"Marcus. How can I help you?"
The smirk stayed firm, unmoved by her sub-zero tone. "You need a hand, Liz, and that hand's mine."
His eyes glistened hungrily but it wasn't food he wanted -- that much was plain to see. He moved towards her in a confident stalk. "I can help you." The tip of his tongue slithered between his lips and she felt her stomach turn.
"I don't think I want what you do, Marcus."
"Of course you do." He sidled close and she fought to stand her ground -- it wouldn't do to retreat in the face of a snake. "You can be the envy of the castle ladies." A hand squeezed on her hip.
She took a deep breath and smacked his arm away. "I'll bed these hounds before you, Marcus. You can keep your help."
His smirk became a sneer. "Whore." He hurled what looked like a giant green egg onto a nearby surface. "Lord Winsome bade me give you this. Some weird black-skinned dwarves gave it him on his travels. Sod knows what you do with it."
He turned on a heel and stalked from the kitchen. In his wake, Raff peeped from behind a surface.
"What does whore mean?" he asked quietly.
"It means some people don't understand their own words."
A crash sounded from outside the entryway, but Lizzy didn't care enough to investigate -- if Marcus fell flat on his face, it could only be a good thing. She turned to the egg-shaped object he'd tossed onto her work surface. It was large enough to fill both her hands and, whilst she'd have called it green, there were also hues of brown and orange running through it. One end held the remnants of a stalk, indicating it grew from a bush or tree. Firm to the touch, it had the texture of dense skin.
"What are you?" she whispered, rotating the object in her hands.
"It's a Cacao pod," said a strange voice from the entryway.
She squealed as she turned, seeing Raff disappear into his favourite hiding place behind a counter.
"Who are you?"
A man who defied rational description stood in the doorway. His hair was insane -- waving around his head like a highborn lady's. He wore a brightly coloured shirt with a strange pattern on it and faded blue leggings with visible stitching. His feet glowed bright green, clad in some form of cloth rather than leather.
"Well tickle my toes," he said. "This isn't the Channel Four studio."
TO BE CONTINUED
| Author Notes |
.
. Some of you might remember this from my Page and Spine feature last year. Here is part one of the re-edited, extended version. I hope you enjoy the read. Mike . . |
By Fleedleflump
"Loving the ye olde kitchen." The strange man stood with one leg crooked, leaning on an elbow against Lizzy's kitchen doorway. A smile blossomed on his face, packed with easy friendliness and dazzlingly white teeth. She'd never seen anything quite like it.
"Are ..." the breath caught in her throat as he looked at her face, his eyes widening slightly, and the smile got even broader. "Are you the new jester?"
He walked towards her, their gazes never parting. "I'd have one of them hats if I was a jester -- yellow and red with dangly bits hanging off of it." His voice was middling deep and confident, its strident tone suggesting he was used to talking. It was the kind of voice, she thought, she'd happily listen to all day.
"If you don't mind my asking, love, where am I?"
Is this a jest? "Shepton Castle, of course. Why would you not know where you are?"
"Massive!" He punched the air and danced on the spot. "It worked. It only bloody worked!"
Lizzy held up her hands. "What would you have of me? I am only the chef. Perhaps you need an audience with the Lord Winsome?"
"Winsome? Nice name." He grinned again and she felt something flutter in her chest. "Look, I get the feeling from the way you talk and your clothes -- they really suit you, by the way -- that the old man was serious when he sold me this time travel app." He held his hands up as though she were a highwayman, pointing her crossbow at him. "Now, I appreciate that probably made no sense to you, but take my word for it -- it's deeply cool. And since I'm here, I may as well lend a hand to the seriously fit lady in front of me."
Something tapped at Lizzy's leg and she looked down to see Raff crouching behind her -- he'd sneaked his way between hiding places to get to her. "His vernacular is quite strange," whispered the boy.
The man chuckled and she looked up to see him right in front of her. He leaned down and ruffled Raff's hair -- just like she often did. "My vernacular ain't gonna make much sense to you for centuries, mate. Not much I can do, though. My name's Darren Denny and I'm a TV chef." He held his hands up again and she decided it was a highly endearing gesture. "We'll get into that later, love." He leaned towards her and plucked the strange green egg from her hands. Their fingers brushed and his skin was as soft as deer down against her callouses. He held the item in front of her face and smiled. "This is a Cacao pod. You can use it to make chocolate, and that," he knocked it against the side of his head and pulled the strangest expression she'd ever seen, "will blow your mind, little lady." He leaned so close their breath mingled. "I'll show you how."
"I am not a lady," she whispered, staring into the blue lakes of his eyes.
"So much the better," he mumbled. "Now, show me the biggest knife in your kitchen."
*****
For the rest of the evening, Darren showed her amazing things. He hacked into the green egg, wrenching it apart with an assured twist. Inside was a web of white pith, much like she'd seen in some fruit, and suspended in it were dark seeds, or beans, as he insisted on calling them. These he spread out before the cauldron stove.
"In an ideal world, we'd leave these to dry in the sun for a few days but I can't stay that long and, if this is anything like the England I know, 'sun for a few days' is a pipe dream."
He gestured at the cauldron. "What's cooking, Granny Weatherwax?"
"Ox head -- apart from the ears and cheeks -- hooves, and the leftover bones."
He grimaced. "Awesome. I'll have to try that next time I'm on Saturday Kitchen."
While the beans dried, he asked her to get a pot of milk ready and set Raff to churning it. He asked for sugar -- whatever that was -- and settled for honey from the larder after an exhaustive discussion.
At one point, he asked if she kept any E43 Stabilising Agent in the kitchen, but his tone -- to which she was rapidly acclimatising -- suggested he wasn't serious.
They spent a long time grinding the dried beans in her pestle and mortar. "If you want to get the flavour out of anything, mash it," he kept saying. "If it's wet afterwards, heat it until the steam slows, and then mash it again." They ground over and over until what was left resembled a near-fluid consistency. He spoke of giant stone rollers that could turn the beans finer than they ever could by hand, but it sounded like witchcraft to Lizzy.
"We need hot water," he announced eventually. "Not from the ox head pot -- that would be minging. Clean water, if possible."
While Raff boiled a pot of freshly drawn well water, the two of them combined their ingredients -- cacao beans ground to a fine dust, thickened hot milk, and a dollop of honey. The result was a rich, exuberantly brown paste that smelled like quiet evenings in front of the fire, snuggled in the gentle embrace of a lover.
"Sorted," said Darren, and she couldn't help smile at his latest strange expression. "Now, you can put this in moulds and leave it somewhere cool to set, or slap some in the bottom of a mug and top it up with boiling water -- lovely jubbly." He set about doing the latter with a ladle of Raff's bubbling water and a tankard she'd provided.
"How do you know all these things?" she whispered, watching his confident movements.
He turned that sun-like grin on her. "I may be a TV chef these days, love, but I held two Michelin stars once. The Roux brothers call me one of their proteges. I was the pride of London's pastry world." He passed her the tankard of steaming liquid. "For the lady."
She giggled as she accepted the drink and hoped she wasn't dreaming. If anything, it tasted even better than it smelled, deep and complex flavours cascading across her tongue and slipping like liquid silk down her throat. Warmth spread a fluffy blanket across her chest and she took a sharp intake of breath. "That's amazing," she said.
"It's not the only thing," he whispered, before pulling a palm-sized, shiny black object from his strange leggings. He tapped at it for a moment before nodding to himself. "I been here a few hours -- better be getting back. It's been fun, Lizzy."
Something cold tugged at her spine. "You are leaving?"
"Yeah." He smiled at her -- carefree, happy, handsome. "But I'll be back again soon if I have any say in the matter. Ciao, Raff!" He waved at the boy and jogged from the room.
Raff ran out after him but turned, baffled, in the doorway. "He's gone, Miss Lizzy."
"Perhaps we dreamt him," she said, looking at the crop of chocolate on her work surface. "If so, let us hope we did not dream the flavour of this beverage."
| Author Notes |
.
. I hope you enjoyed part two of the adventure :-). Mike . . |
By Fleedleflump
Winsome sipped at the hot drink, his wrinkled mouth puckered up like a dog's backside. Lizzy watched his expression, her breath held like captive bees in her throat. For the longest moment, his face remained impassive as he swilled the drink back and forth. Then he swallowed and a satisfied smile flitted across his lips before he could stop it.
"You say this is made from the green egg I brought back?" he asked eventually. She nodded. "And you can make more with what you have?"
"Perhaps another two or three cups, my lord."
He nodded. "This is acceptable. I will have more shipped here in the coming months. Well done, chef -- this is the standard I expect."
She almost skipped on her way back to the kitchen. At last, she'd managed to please the sour old bugger! The problem was, without any more of the ingredient, she was at a loss for what else to serve up. For two days, she held Winsome's interest by following Darren's 'mash it' advice -- one day serving a carrot puree and the next a turnip paste along with meat. By the third day, though, things were looking desperate. The lord now expected interesting meals every day but Lizzy was out of ingredients and ideas.
It was rapidly approaching time to serve when Darren strolled casually back into her kitchen, acting for all the world as though he'd never left. He wore the same blue leggings, this time with a blue jerkin so bright she thought the sky might get jealous. He was carrying a small sack across one shoulder.
"How's things, love?" he asked, gesturing his hand in the air.
She smiled despite being unsure if she wanted to kiss or hit him. "You are real."
"I hope so," he said, winking, and she felt herself flush. "Here, I brought you some things. After last time, I thought you'd like some new ingredients." He upended the sack onto one of her surfaces, disgorging a multi-coloured collection of shapes. "There's some vegetables you'll not have seen before, some fruit, exotic cheeses and some secret weapons."
She blinked. "You brought weapons?"
"Flavour weapons." He grinned, holding up two pots with garish designs emblazoned on them. "Got you some pickle and a jar of barbecue sauce. They can make boring food taste interesting -- you'll see." He peered at her expression. "What's the matter, sweet cheeks?"
She flushed again as she gestured at the goods. "It is wonderful that you have returned, but I must serve a meal in short order, and I do not have time to prepare any of these new ingredients like I did with the cacao."
"No problem." He grabbed a serrated knife from her collection. "If you have bread, I can whip you up something he's never seen before in a London minute."
"What is a London minute?"
He grinned. "We just wasted one, now let's go!"
*****
"It's called a sarny, my lord."
"Bloody stupid name for it." He clutched the meal awkwardly in both hands, balancing it upright as though he thought the sliced cheese and vegetables would fall out from between the bread. Lizzy admitted inwardly, for the first time, she actually sympathised with Lord Winsome. She'd watched Darren compiling the meal and decided he was actually a madman. Only time would tell if she was about to poison her employer, but a little devil at the back of her thoughts didn't care -- it just wanted to sit back and enjoy the show.
His jaw opened wide with an audible creek, brown teeth parting wet company, and he placed the sarny between them. For several moments, she watched him eat in obvious pleasure before a line of seedy dribble escaped the corner of his mouth and her stomach turned. He seemed to have forgotten she was there, so she took that as her cue to leave.
She rushed as quickly as she deemed polite through the castle, plunging through the kitchen entrance with joy suffusing her chest and throat.
"It worked!" she said, and then ran headlong into a kiss from her strange visitor. His arms, open and waiting for her, folded across her back as momentum carried their forms together. Shock made a brief nod toward outrage in her mind but was swamped by the warm rapture of his lips. Her hands, having stiffened at the initial shock of his daring, found themselves defining the shape of his back.
He slid his grip down until his hands melted into the curves at the back of her hips.
Her breath burst from her nose, mingling with a hot rush from his as their lips slid together, malleable to moist pressure but firm in their attachment. His mouth felt like satin fire on a bed of plump rose petals. Eyes closed, Lizzy lost herself in the passion of subtle friction and the shared taste of excitement. When his tongue slipped forth and slipped alongside hers, clouds of blossom burst in her consciousness and all the cares of life diffused into a pink blanket of natural bliss.
She didn't notice when they stopped kissing, but some time later they sat on kitchen stools and melted into one another's gaze.
"Oh my," she whispered, feeling a shudder deep inside.
"I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you." His eyes were subtle beauty, tinted with just enough wisdom. He reached a hand forward to stroke hers and the tingle of his touch set her heart buzzing.
She took a breath and fairies danced on it, all the way to the centre of her chest. "This is but a dream, offered cruelly by the lord of lies. Such happiness is not for the likes of me."
He smiled. "If it's a dream, love, we're sharing it."
"Why do you always call me love?"
"Where I come from, it's a general friendly term of reference for someone you like. It began like that with you, but I think it quickly became more."
A thought tore through her like an ice pitchfork. "You make everything better, Darren. You are my hearth and my heart. If you do not return again, I will be lost forever."
"Is everyone here as melodramatic as you?" His words might have been reproachful if not for the playfully gentle way he spoke them. "I've got a lot more to show you than hot chocolate and a cheese and tomato sandwich. I'll have to leave soon, but I'll return -- on that you can rely."
They spent some time going through the other ingredients he'd brought, him advising on what went well with the food she already had available. Some things -- notably the containers with bright etchings -- he described as cheats and short-cuts, but others were exotic ingredients he promised came from the earth.
With a final, bliss-soaked kiss, he ran from the kitchen and was gone, but not from her thoughts or her heart.
*****
Over the next weeks, he visited often. Always, he brought new ingredients -- some so bizarre, she couldn't imagine how they were ever conceived of. They'd split their time between cooking and kissing in a way that made Raff's face go bright red. As her knowledge and -- more importantly -- her larder expanded, Lizzy found life at the castle increasingly happy. Lord Winsome even started to smile at meal times. Her confidence grew and soon Lizzy was devising her own dishes from the amazing foods Darren brought her.
He never stayed for very long, always getting to a point where his small black box summoned him away, but she came to understand he'd always return. Slowly but surely, Lizzy fell head over heels in love with her strange, TV chef visitor.
Perhaps that love was apparent, because Raff's face when he approached her after Darren's last appearance was a picture of awkward fear. The boy's face was pastry-white, a picture of trepidation and sobriety.
"What is the matter, Raff?"
"I..." he studied her face for a moment, perhaps deciding whether to continue, and then his mouth pursed with determination. "I saw him leave."
"You followed him?" Her heart felt heavy and part of her didn't want to know, but it was overpowered by curiosity -- Darren always left the room in a hurry when he was going.
Raff nodded. "I watched it happen. He," a tear trickled down the boy's face. "He is not what he says, Miss Lizzy."
"Why Raff, whatever did you see?"
The boy's expression was utterly hopeless. "I am sorry. It is really bad, but you must know."
She knelt down so their faces were at the same level. "Dear Raff, I know you never would hurt me if you had a choice. I'm stronger than I look, I promise. So take a deep breath, swallow, and tell me."
Raff took her advice, his throat constricting visibly, and did as she bade.
| Author Notes |
.
. I hope you enjoyed the continuing adventure. Next, time, we switch to Darren's perspective. Mike . . |
By Fleedleflump
Darren Denny blinked himself awake, suppressing a groan at the sand packed inside his eyelids.
Hopping back in time to visit Lizzy was the most amazing experience of his life but it certainly came with side effects. The last thing he remembered was rushing from her kitchen as his phone buzzed, nagging him with the reminder he was about to zip back to the future. Warmth and soft fabric enveloped him -- he'd woken up in bed, lying on one side, which was an improvement on some of the other situations he'd returned to.
Something was wrong, though -- it nagged at his bleary consciousness like a bee trapped in a hot car.
A warm breeze wafted across his back and it clicked.
I'm not alone.
The strangest sensation washed over him -- simultaneously terrifying and comfortable. A surreptitious glance over his shoulder revealed a familiar face, thankfully lost in slumber. A jolt of near-panic shot through his skeleton from neck to toes. It was his wife Sandra. What was she doing in bed with him? This was just too weird. He eased himself from the bed and sneaked out of the house. There was only one thing to do when life was this confusing.
*****
Their glasses clinked in alcoholic greeting and Darren took a long pull on his pint.
"So, just to clarify," said his friend Jim. "You're feeling guilty because you might've cheated on your girlfriend from the past ... with your present day wife."
"When you put it like that, I sound like a right numpty." Darren surveyed the huge pub floor but nobody was close enough to their booth to be listening. Even in times of austerity, when nobody had a job to distract them, mid-morning wasn't a popular drinking time. "You got to understand, mate --Sandra and I haven't slept together for years. She made it clear long ago I didn't do it for her. We're only still married because our publicists both agree it's good for our images."
Jim shifted as though uncomfortable and took a long drink before speaking. "Some might say if you don't remember it, it don't count. Seriously, though -- I can see that expression you're giving me --you were at Shepton Castle in the distant past, schooling Lizzy in your strange futuristic ways. You weren't here, sleeping with Sandra. So why worry about it?"
"Because I don't know what happened between us while I was off travelling. How did I end up in bed with her? Is there like an automaton version of me that managed to satisfy Sandra while I was cooking with Lizzy? Have I unwittingly reconciled with my wife while I wasn't even consciously there?"
"You're asking me because, what -- I'm the local expert on time travel? Daz, I'm still not sure you're sane, never mind qualified to debate the philosophical implications of something that's meant to be impossible." Jim grinned. "It's weird to think of you getting some with two women at once, though. Does that count as a threesome?"
Darren ran a hand through sweaty hair and drained his pint, deciding to ignore the last question. "What do I do?"
"Talk to the bloke who sold you the time machine. If it didn't come with a guide book, he might know something."
Darren chuckled and dug his phone from his pocket, swiping a finger across the screen and turning it to show his friend. "It's not a machine -- look."
Jim's mouth dropped open. "Seriously -- there's an app for that?"
"I was drunk and lonely, and the Chinese man who sells DVDs in here on Friday nights said he had something special for me."
"Did you enjoy your something special -- did she love you long time?"
He reached over and batted his friend across the head. "I'm serious, dude.
"Well, it's your fault for trusting the dodgy DVD guy." Jim chuckled. "He runs a market stall in Strutton Ground -- you can walk there in ten minutes. Go talk to him, and hope like hell it makes sense before Sandra decides to make a booty call."
"You're such a comfort," he said standing up and pulling on his coat.
"Happy to be of service," said Jim as they parted ways.
As Darren strolled through the narrow back streets of inner London, he mulled over the emerging questions about his visits with Lizzy. It'd seemed magical at first -- almost a game -- but, after several trips, it just became part of his life. Add into that the sublime beauty of their time together and it hadn't occurred to him to wonder how it all worked.
He'd assumed his body moved between the times and he simply didn't exist in the other place while he was traveling, but perhaps that was an unsafe assumption. Every time he returned to the present, he was in a different place and situation -- sometimes an alleyway, others a park, and one occasion clutching a manky, half-eaten burger in a giant bin behind a fast food restaurant.
Even the wisdom of movies wasn't helping him now -- it was a long time since he'd have passed for Marty McFly and he wasn't sure the worldly outlook from 'The Time Machine' had much to offer.
No, he'd have to figure this one out in the real world.
Sure enough, the DVD seller occupied a stall in Strutton Ground, lurking behind his wares of questionable provenance. When he saw Darren approaching, a sly smile pulled his mouth to one side. He remembered reading how, in Far East cultures, a smile was often a sign of nerves rather than humour, so he wasn't sure how to take it. The seller beckoned with one finger and shuffled into the small shop behind his stall, leaving a young boy to tend his goods.
The shop looked like it should have an illegal gambling den in the back, but Darren decided that had more to do with his preconceptions than reality. What it did have, in a nod to stereotype, was a bead curtain separating front from back, and the Chinese man headed straight through without glancing back. As they slipped between the hanging strings, incense and spices descended like a cloud of cloying scent. It might have been pleasant, but Darren got the feeling it masked an altogether less welcome smell.
"I have been expecting you," said the DVD seller in a voice packed with implied wisdom.
"If the next sentence out of your mouth starts with 'Confucius say', I won't be held responsible for the stereotype you're propagating." He looked round the small space, which by rights was just a storage room. It was packed with boxes and crates sporting ominous logos, a couple of desks and a computer. If the A-Team ever got trapped in here, they'd surely be able to build some kind of tank/truck hybrid and bust their way out. Something in the lighting brought it down, though, decking the walls in wreaths of shadow and convincing him there were eyes in the darkness. It was like a supervillain's lair on a shoestring budget.
The man chuckled quietly. "A chef, and also a stand-up comedian. So clever, Mr Denny, and yet you come here to seek my counsel."
Darren perched on a table with scratches hundreds of years old. "You could've just given me the instructions to that app when you sold it to me. Then I wouldn't need to be here."
"You were not in a position to listen." The smile was still in place, but it looked slightly different --possibly more genuine. "Do you recall the bargain we made?"
Something cold and heavy settled in his stomach. "Bargain?"
"Not sinister, I promise, though I understand the setting may make you uncomfortable. Not every enterprise I find myself involved in is so ... benign. I gave you the app, and in return you promised to use it for improvement."
"Of what?"
"Of the life you were lamenting so bitterly. The app is your chance to realign yourself."
He scratched his head. "Perhaps I started this conversation wrong. Who developed this app?"
"That is a complicated question." The smile broadened to a grin -- more full of humour than he'd have liked. "Suffice to say, he enjoys observing the mayhem he creates."
"I see I'm being too circumspect, so I'll ask directly. What happens to the 'me' here when I time travel?"
The DVD seller paused for a moment as though baffled by the question. "There is only one 'me' to be concerned with -- that is to say, only one you."
"Give me strength." Darren slapped a palm to his forehead. "Okay, I'll try again. Why do I keep reappearing here in different places -- what governs where I turn up when returning from the past?"
The smile was entirely gone now. They must be heading into serious territory. "The laws of quid pro quo. You see the universe as a hall of mirrors, many versions of you in different places. This is not so. All things exist once only, and all things have their place reserved."
He thought about that for a moment. "So ... you're saying when I go back in time, I'm not really time traveling, rather I'm changing my reservation."
"Indeed." The smile returned, slipping across his face like dawn upon the landscape. "Quid pro quo, Mister Darren. Quid pro quo."
| Author Notes |
.
. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. We're now seeing event's from Darren's perspective. Mike . . |
By Fleedleflump
As the app finished its work, Darren looked around the stone walls of Castle Shepton. He had to admit, the act of travelling -- or 'swapping' as he was coming to think of it -- was a little disappointing in the special effects department. It was like turning the light off in a room, then turning it back on and finding one's self in a different room. If this was TV sci-fi, he was on a Seventies Doctor Who budget rather than Stargate SG1.
He was in what looked like a medieval armoury, packed with halberds and leather breastplates. This time, for the first time, it all made a little more sense. He'd appeared in various places around the castle when he visited and had a pretty good idea where he was going, so he headed for the kitchen.
As he walked, all the possibilities of the situation ran through his mind and he realised how lucky he'd been not to appear in front of Lord Winsome, or in a compromising position with a maid.
Worry weighed heavy on his mind but it was wiped away in a moment when he strode into the kitchen and saw Lizzy standing over her cauldron, stirring with a thoughtful expression on her face.
When he looked at her, everything else became superfluous. It wasn't just her soft features and nervous smile that so arrested his attention -- it wasn't even those gentle curves or the way her cheap clothes swayed when she moved. It was her genuine personality, no thought of pretence or front to mar her reactions.
He was utterly besotted with her, he realised, which might have been why he walked straight into the slap she delivered when he approached. Reeling, it was all he could do to hold his cheek and look at her tear-stained face as he felt his mouth drop open.
"What was that for?"
"Do not attempt to fool me, Marcus. I know it is you in there, hiding behind a facade. Raff saw you -- he saw you change. Whatever witchcraft you are using for this cruel game, I will not fall prey to it again."
"Who the hell is Marcus?" She turned away, refusing to answer him and concentrating on her stew, but things were starting to fall into place. He thought back to what the DVD seller told him once they got discussing. Quid pro quo. "Oh, love, no -- you misunderstand. I think I see what's going on here. I just found out that, when I travel here to see you, I have to swap places with someone from here. It's an immutable law of reality, or something. I don't really travel anywhere, I just take up an already occupied position. This Marcus character must be the person whose place I take, and he takes mine while I'm here."
She stopped stirring but kept her back to him. The tense set of her shoulders told him she was fighting tears.
"I swear to you," he continued. "I have no idea who Marcus is. I'm Darren Denny, and I come from a place where I'm deeply unhappy through a magic app I don't understand but am deeply grateful for. Because when I'm here with you, Lizzy, the world seems saturated in colour. I want to cook with you until we wither away, to hold you till we share our last breaths, to be your man -- if you'll have me --and dedicate the rest of my life to making you happy."
"The way you kiss me," she whispered. "The tender caress of your hand. These things are your own, and have never put me in mind of Marcus -- a vile man by any standard." She turned and stared into his face. "Can it be true, this thing I hoped so hard was real -- are you really here for me, forever?"
Darren realised he'd been uncertain up until this point, genuinely torn over what he wanted to do.
The Chinese man's parting words came to him on the wings of haunted memory.
"You must make a choice -- a permanent one. Every time you switch places, your hold loosens. If you don't pick one to stay in, you will be unable to hold on to either."
"What happens then, if I don't have a reservation?"
"If you don't have a reservation, you cannot get in."
"What does that mean?"
"Believe me, Mr Denny -- you don't want to know."
Everything he knew, everything he owned, was in present day London -- friends, colleagues and a successful career he'd spent decades building. But he knew -- right here, right now -- staring into Lizzy's astonishing eyes, the love of his life lived in Shepton Castle long before he was born. Really, with that revelation, it didn't feel like there was any decision to make.
"Yes," he answered, the word a bold note of joy on the faintest of breaths.
The moment held for a wonderful eternity, their eyes aligned to the soundtrack of a gently boiling stew.
Then something hard and heavy smacked into his shoulder.
"Traitor!" shouted Raff, brandishing the fire iron he'd just hit Darren with. "Leave her alone, Marcus -- I will not let you harm her!"
"Oh, sweet boy," said Lizzy, stepping between them and snatching the iron. "How brave of you to defend me, but I believe this is Darren. I think I always believed it. This is not Marcus."
"Indeed," added Darren, "if I'm right, when I come here to stay, you'll never have to see Marcus again." Although, I get the feeling my wife knows who he is!
"You aren't staying now?" Her eyes looked as big as he'd ever seen them.
He shook his head. "I have some loose ends to tie up, and I have to collect together some amazing ingredients to bring with me." Excitement was racing through his system so he was almost buzzing.
"I should get on with it, before anything happens to get in the way."
Her hand touched his a moment before her lips. "Stay with me a little while first," she whispered.
They made love in the skullery, perched precariously on the crockery preparation table. For Darren, it was a loving morass of lips and love, passion and tenderness. There was no trickery to Lizzy - no need for gimmicks or quirks or roles. It was honest, and that was something he hadn't felt in too long.
After Raff shouted at them from the main kitchen, they rushed together a meal for Lizzy to present to Lord Winsome, giggling and throwing one another gazes as they went. By the time his phone buzzed, warning him he'd need to leave, Darren was already compiling a mental list of people he needed to talk to, things to buy, and preparations to be made.
There was just time to arrange a nasty surprise for Marcus. Raff showed him back to the armoury and he placed himself crouched over a spiked mace. Unprepared, there was no way Marcus would avoid sitting on it. At Darren's ushering, a giggling Raff fled the room and, hopefully for the last time, Darren headed back to the future.
| Author Notes |
.
. I hope you enjoyed the chapter :-). Mike . . |
By Fleedleflump
"What have you done with him -- where is he?" Sandra was about as unimpressed as Darren had ever seen her, and he'd seen her pretty damned unimpressed.
He was tempted to deny all knowledge but knew it would be petty. "If you mean the old fashioned guy who keeps cropping up places you'd expect to find me, he'll be back soon -- I promise. You'll see as much of him as you could ever want to."
"Old fashioned doesn't quite cut it." A small smile crossed her face as she stirred her coffee. They had the small cafe to themselves. Darren returned from the past looking sideways at a urinal in the bathroom -- Marcus must have been inspecting the plumbing or something. Sandra's face when he emerged from the loo in Marcus' place was a picture he'd never forget, and it segmented neatly into a conversation he'd been wondering how to start. He got himself a coffee before he sat down, though -- it felt like a way to control the situation.
She chuckled. "At first, he was so imperiously rude to me, it was funny."
Darren nodded. "That tallies with what I've heard about him."
She shrugged. "It didn't last once I put him in his place. Now he'll do anything to please me." She looked up from her coffee to make sure she had his attention. "And he does -- please me, I mean."
"That's all I needed to hear. Just so you know, I'm signing everything over to your name -- the house, my business and both cars. I won't be needing them anymore." He saw the suspicious expression creeping across her features. "Don't ask questions -- it'll only end up with both of us nursing headaches. There's no catch, I'm not playing a game and I wish you all the best. I only wanted to be sure you'd be happy."
"What's going on, Darren? You're saying all the things I want to hear -- the why and what of it, but I'm not hearing about how."
He sighed. "That sounded like a question." She raised her eyebrows at him and he deflated a little. "If I go into detail, this conversation's going to start sounding ridiculous. Just trust me, Sandra. You'll be happier, I'll be happier, and it sounds like this other guy will be too." Sirens sounded from outside -- not unusual in London, but a nagging suspicion was tapping away at the back of his brain. He looked directly at Sandra and she gave him a sympathetic look.
"Sorry -- I called the police when you were getting a coffee. I didn't know what else to do!"
Fear flooded Darren's stomach. Under normal circumstances, he'd have realised it was irrational, but all he could think about was seeing Lizzy again, of folding her up in his embrace, cooking meals with someone who was actually interested, escaping the complex trappings of modern life. All that seemed in jeopardy, the odds stacking against his ever getting back.
So, as the front door opened and admitted two uniformed characters, he bolted for the back door, crashing through the cafe kitchen and heading for the alley beyond.
*****
"Jim! I need your help -- I've been arrested. You can't call me back because they took my phone off me. Thing is, mate, I want to go back. For keeps, I mean. I want to be with Lizzy and I don't care what other shit comes because of it. But my phone was low on battery even when I got here and I reckon this is my last chance. I only got hours at most and my window disappears. The Chinese guy, he reckons I got to choose. He says I can't keep changing or I'll get lost in between. Look, you're the only one who's got any clue what's going on with me, okay? Sandra thinks I'm mental and let's face it -- she's probably right. Just come and pay my fine, can you? I'll pay you straight back. I need you, mate. I'm begging."
*****
Several sweaty, nervous hours later, Darren was herded to the front of the police station. Rather than his mate Jim, it was his ex-wife's face he saw, wan and scowling, in the waiting area.
"I spoke to Jim," was all she said while he collected the various possessions he'd taken in. A quick glance at the phone showed the battery indicator blinking to say it was critically low. Darren felt tears stinging around his eyes.
As they exited the station, his legs wobbled. "I got to go now," he whispered. "I can't prepare -- I have no time."
"You're full of shit, Daz," snapped Sandra. Then she sighed, hauling him onward. "But maybe, this time, you're telling the truth."
They walked as far as a public bench and he slumped into it. All he could think about was being stuck here, in the modern world, for the rest of his life. That felt like fire sloshing around in his gut. He looked at the woman he'd ignored for the last few years and saw the merest glint of what drew them together in the first place.
"I remember how much I loved you, Sandra. It almost hurt when you weren't near. You were better than me at nearly everything -- a goddess I had to worship. That's how I feel now about Lizzy."
She blinked. "It's your problem, hubby. You fall too hard. You can't just be someone's companion -- you need them to be some kind of perfect dream they can't possibly live up to." A small smile twisted her lips. "Not even me. I can see the state you've got into -- I know where you're headed. Just ... remember what I said, okay? Let her be flawed."
He fought back tears. She understood -- as always, he'd underestimated what a lady she was. He wanted to hug her, to thank her for understanding, but he knew that wasn't what she wanted. There was no point making things awkward. "I had so much to do and now I can't. So many things I wanted to take but the time's gone. I have to go right now."
"Hold on a couple more minutes." She was reading a text. "Here -- sign these." He took the wad of documents and pen she was offering. "I spent some time with our lawyer. This liquidates your assets and signs all the kit and businesses into my name. There's a divorce agreement in there too. I know it's probably irrelevant for you but it'll help me. I hope that's okay. I sent Jim on a shopping spree. He's almost here."
He blinked but couldn't stop the water from trickling down his cheeks. "You believe me."
"Jim believed you. He's a twit, that one, but not stupid. And I know that look in your eyes. Whatever else, you're definitely in love."
Before he could respond, Jim's familiar work van screeched to a halt in front of them. "I hope you appreciate this," said his friend, hopping from the driver's side. "I paid the congestion charge for you -- you know that goes against my life philosophy."
"Being stingy isn't a philosophy." Darren grinned. "Mate, I don't know what to say."
Jim gripped his hand, wrist to wrist -- a man's shake. "Then don't say anything. Right," he opened the van doors and pulled several huge bags from it. "I wanted to buy you a blender and bowl mixer but Sandra spoiled that with common sense -- something about a lack of plug sockets in medieval kitchens. Anyway, I got you every manual gadget I could find and stocked up on dried herbs and spices -- you got enough for several years here. Don't know if they'll help, but I got seeds for most of them too." He leaned into the van and dragged out a sack that looked heavier than everything else put together. "Also, I figured money was useless in the past. So, I went round every pawn shop I could find and bought their gold." The sack clanked to the pavement, yanking his arms with it. "Hopefully, this'll carry some weight -- if you can lift it."
Darren felt the feelings welling up through his chest -- a most bizarre mix of love and excitement. He stood up and embraced his friend. They thumped fists on one another's backs, saying more than words ever could.
"Alright," said Jim eventually. "Now sod off, will you? If your battery runs out now and you're stuck here, this'll be the most awkward moment in history."
Sandra tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to find a fabric wrap pressed into his hand. "Here," she said. "A cook is nothing without his knives."
"But ..." he ran his thumb over the familiar texture of his prized possessions. The handles, so well used, they'd shaped to his hands, answered his touch with their curves. "These were your wedding present to me."
She kissed his cheek. "Now they're a parting gift." She stepped back. "Go -- before we all start to regret it."
Darren pulled his phone from a pocket. He swiped his finger across the screen. There was no way to recharge it in the past. When he ran the app, he would be using every last drop of juice -- a one way journey. He grabbed up the bags that represented his life -- and enough gold, he thought, to buy Shepton Castle if it came to it.
"Say hi to Marcus for me," he said. "Jim, kick his medieval arse if he treats Sandra wrong."
Closing his eyes, he thought about Lizzy, the way her eyes shone a light into his mind.
And pressed the button.
*****
"Can I bring somebody back with me, here into the present?"
"No. The app gives you control of your own reserved place and, indirectly, that of the one whose place you take. You cannot directly control the position of another -- it goes against every law of causality."
"So I can't have my success and the woman I love -- what kind of choice is that?"
"Search your heart, Mr Denny. What is success but an ephemeral set of invented goals designed for the purpose of bragging? You must decide what makes you happy."
"Then I must stay with her, permanently."
"As I say, the choice is yours."
*****
He arrived in the castle weighed down by a rucksack so big and heavy he could barely carry it, but feeling lighter than ever before. He rushed to the kitchen to show Lizzy all the amazing things he'd brought with him and they kissed long and passionately. A thousand questions rushed through his mind about how on Earth he was going to fit in to a castle's life and society but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
It was some time later as they rested in one another's arms in Marcus' quarters that they finally spoke.
"There is one thing I am concerned about," said Lizzy.
He searched her beautiful face. "Not me. I've found somebody I adore -- a better cook than me, a better person than me, and she's still willing to humour me. Nothing will ever concern me again."
She giggled. "That's all very well, but I've got used to having fresh ingredients every time you visit. If you're here to stay, where will I get my new foods from?"
"Well, I brought plants so we can grow something, and lots of tinned food -- I'll explain that later, but it basically lasts forever, and really --" he paused, a suspicion creeping into the panic he felt. "You're joking, right -- you're having me on?"
She smiled -- cute, adoring, perfect, and Darren's heart melted all over again. "I suppose you'll have to stick around and find out."
*****
"Is there a catch -- something you're not telling me?"
"Yes, and you will not like it. But ask yourself, before you make me tell you -- will knowing it affect your decision, or simply introduce resentment? The women in your life will be happy, of that you may be certain. Any more, I cannot say."
"I think I understand. It's not the consequence that governs decisions, but an abiding sense of doing what's right -- here, inside. Whatever reservation we choose for ourselves, we do so because it feels like home. Goodbye."
"Buy a DVD before you leave -- very cheap."
"No, thanks. Where I'm going, I won't be needing any."
| Author Notes |
.
. Thank you to those following this for your patience while I finished off this final chapter. I hope you enjoyed the read :-). Mike . . |
|
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