Steele & Butler (2)

Ashan returned after a moment, carrying a tray of still sizzling sausages and bacon, with hash browns and something else on the side. He laid the table, complete with a serviette across Jane's lap, and then stepped back. "Will ma'am be requiring anything else?" he asked.

Jane cut a piece of the sausage and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly. "What are these, Ashan?" she asked, pointing her knife towards the something else.

 "Beans, ma'am," Ashan replied.

"I know they are beans, Ashan, why are they on my plate?"

Ashan tilted his head slightly up and to one side and then down again. Which, through long observation, Jane had learned was his version of a shrug. "I heard they were good for you, ma'am. I thought you might like to try them. Apparently, they are vegetables, a new discovery or so I've heard."

Jane gave the butler a long look. "I will try these beans, Ashan, on the condition that they do not appear on my plate again," she told him.

Ashan sighed ever so slightly. "Very well, ma'am," he said, adding under his breath, "perhaps the broccoli will suffice."

Jane gave him another long look and took another bite of the sausage, brushing the beans to one side. "Ashan," she said after a moment, "there is a young man leaning against the shop two doors opposite. Would you be so kind as to invite him into the lodge for me?"

Ashan's gaze swept to the window and beyond. "The one desperately trying not to enjoy himself?" he asked.

Ms Steele nodded. "That's the one."

Ashan straightened, a firm look coming into his eye. "Of course, ma'am. It would be my utmost pleasure," he said, and heading towards the foyer.

Jane's eyes returned to her food, and she ate with gusto, her novel tucked open under the rim of her plate. It was some time before Ashan returned and by then she was scraping the last of the beans away. The fork was half way to her mouth when she realised Ashan was standing by her shoulder. Resignedly, she ate the last mouthful, making a face for extra effect. "Well?"

"I've had him cooling his heels in the hall for just over ten minutes now, ma'am. Are you ready to receive him?" Ashan asked.

"Excellent. Yes, thank you Ashan," Jane said. She took a sip from her tea cup. "Please sit him down opposite me, if you would."

"Of course. I'll just be a moment," Ashan said with a short bow.

 

Ashan vanished and Jane's gaze returned to her novel. She read in silence, slowly turning the pages until a loud clink roused her back to the world. She looked up directly into the earnest eyes of the young man who had almost inadvertently marked himself as a target in a much larger game. He set down the spoon, an abashed look on his face and cleared his throat. “Ms Steele, I presume?”

Steele & Butler (1)

The tray was sparkling silver in the slanted beams of the morning. Ms Steele watched it come out of the corner of her eye, even as she turned the page of her novel, perched in her chair by the window. It was a comfortable chair, and the spot was perfect for her needs, even as she relaxed in the sun of the mediterranean summer.

The tray made a light ringing as the cover was pulled away to expose two scones slathered in butter and jam, accompanied by a small teapot, two cups, and three segments of orange. Jane smiled to herself and reached out to snag a feg of the orange, her hand snaking past the stream of tea.

"And how are things today, Ashan?" she asked the butler as she bit down on the orange.

"Things are very well, ma'am. Thank you for asking. And you, ma'am? Any adventures on the cards for today?" Ashan laid the tray on the small side table, and offered Jane the plate of scones, the underside neatly cradled by a napkin.

"That's the thing with adventures, Ashan," Jane said with a twinkle in her eye, "you're rarely given time to schedule for them," Jane smiled and took the proferred plate, biting deeply into a scone.

"Very wise, ma'am, very wise," Ashan said with aplomb. "Anything else I can get you this morning, ma'am?"

Jane squinted at the man, trying to determine whether he was ready to crack or not, but his calm face - not dour, she told herself again - betrayed nary a hint of his thoughts. "The usual, but hold the eggs, please," she said, and as he turned away, added, "You will smile for me, Ashan."

"I am smiling, ma'am," Ashan said with no trace of sarcasm.

Jane smiled and returned her gaze to her book, peering above her glasses out of the window. Seven. She shook her head. What was the director up to this time?

The window looked out onto the thoroughfare of a small but bustling seaside town in the middle of nowhere on the continent. Quaint and mysterious stores lined the cobbles streets, and holiday makers and sunny faced denizens alike wandered amongst them chattering in a mixture of languages and smiles. There was no discrimination here, whether new or old, everyone was a friend or friendly, which is why the short haired youngster with the frown on his face stood out like a sore thumb. Jane was quite sure that he was unaware how many other agents were in the crowd, or he would be terrified.

Jane caught her lip between her teeth in momentary worry, her hand resting against her thigh reassuringly. She shook her head then, and dismissed it. The lodge was a bastion in these wilds, unspoken protection against all sorts of hidden and not so hidden dangers that lay in her line of work, and it was unyielding. She yawned and wiggled her toes inside her soft leather ankle-high boots, and took another bite of the scone. Well, it was none of her business, at least not yet. Eight. She grit her teeth on a bite as the youngster looked at her again. The rookie was going to get himself killed.

Learning to fall again

I never thought I'd be this person.

I had a dream last night. I dreamt of a girl, someone I remembered having dreamed of before. My dream girl, as it were, sparkling in delight at seeing me again.

And I was reserved. Inside I overflowed with joy at finding her again but outwardly I was cool, reserved, matter-of-fact. And I realised that I had doubts. I had fears. I was wondering if I was right or if she wasn't actually the one. My dream girl. Sure she wasn't perfect, and was perhaps a little inebriated and giddy, but she was everything I wanted. And as her bright eyes looked at me, I felt a surge of joy, and then promptly began avoiding her gaze, turning brusque and businesslike.

To her question of why I didn't find her, I replied that she could hardly expect me to find someone who disappears so suddenly. Dream me is a real square, apparently.

It gets better. In the throng of the underground bazaar, I lost her somewhere, only to find later that she is in a ring about to begin a bout. The doorman told me that if I went up there, I would have to fight too. That gave me pause and I clearly remember my sense of helplessness, wondering what I could do. It apparently being obvious to myself that I couldn't fight.

Bruised and bloody, she ends up in my arms, as I carry her looking for someone to bind her wounds. I'm sure she runs a finger along my cheek before she disappears again. The dream shifts, but it hardly matters any more...


I never thought I'd be like this. Someone too scared to love again, too scared to try because it might not be right again. Someone who is all duty and responsibility, and sheds passion and energy like they are a dark plague. Someone afraid to fight for what he loves.

I think I have become a little too restrained. Repressing my desires and passions, my excitement and naked frustration, getting used to disappointment and all the while smothering my flame.

This is not the person that flew half way around the world for love. This is not he who marries happy and ridiculous with thoughtful and serious. This is not him that believes. Who takes hope as his eternal spring.

This is not me.

I refuse.


Next time we're going to fly. And I'm going to fall...

She who is

Storming as a thundercloud,

bitter smile to match,

shadow of the vaunted halls,

wake of ember and in ash

This is not your glory, no,

though fierce you oft may be,

huntress with a heart of gold,

that they will never see

Stirred chaos is no home to you,

some day will surely show,

the light that flares beneath the skin,

in burning afterglow

One day you'll blossom, screaming skald,

as every secret does,

and on that day know then as now,

that you are my beloved.

---

So the original version of this was quite different (or rather the final original), but I thought I'd include it anyway. A little more prosaic perhaps (and certainly less prophetic!), but although the end turned to romance it was more about seeing beneath the skin of a regular person and...wanting to tell them that they are seen.

Stalking like a thundercloud,

your scowl schooled to match,

you storm along the corridors,

cleaning up all the ash

But that is not your story, no,

though quiet you seem to be,

a huntress with a heart of gold,

is what they fail to see

For what you do is not all you are,

as some day will surely show,

the light that shines beneath the skin,

and leaves you all aglow

One day you'll blossom, pale and proud,

as every lady does,

and on that day know then as now,

that you will have my love.

The problem with being part human

I started late. Really I did. At least by society's standards.

I stumbled into my first relationship at the age of twenty-seven, if I recall correctly, and after that there was my most serious relationship and since then, nothing really serious. It takes a while to heal, to regroup, to re-align. That's natural.

But the problem with being part human is that that piece is the part that usually gets you into trouble. Well, scientifically speaking, 99.1% of the time. Really, that's a fact. And what I haven't been prepared for is, after realising that I can actually be in a relationship with someone, how seductive that idea really is.

For me, it's always been about finding the one. Finding the mate that I wish to wake up next to for the rest of my days. The one that will understand the depths of my heart and soul, and be with me through all the trials and fun ahead. But now I find myself faced with a different human problem; desire.

I can be alone, really, I can. And I am no stranger to desire, having gone many years desiring the company of many different women. The problem now is that although I have the same desires at times, I no longer feel the same limitations. Both companionship and romantic relationships are now within my reach. And although there's no guarantee my ardor would be returned, I still find myself reaching to begin relationships.

And I probably shouldn't.

The problem really manifests when I see someone I want. Someone I want, but not where the world is shattered and I need to be with that person. Just someone I would like to be romantically engaged with. Someone who it would be nice to while away the time with, talk with, explore and be attracted to, seductive with.

But not someone I'd smash through the boundary between worlds to be with.

And that's just not my kind of thing. I want the earth-shattering, lightning-struck, time-stopping love. I want that bolt of recognition, and steaming, jittery excitement. I want to feel magic coursing through my body from my feet to my fingertips. I want to step into a dream of a world that I never thought I could reach, and find her there. Most likely on her own adventure.

I don't want in the mean time, I want the all time.

But the problem with being part human is...in the mean time if I can reach out and hold something, I probably will. Not because I should, but because I can.

So I sleep, and count the minutes, hours, and days until I do something that will send me hurtling through the abyss. Hoping beyond hope that she will somehow show up to save me.

I can wait, but as the seconds tick by I realise every second I am without her is an eternity too long.

And in the mean time...

Recipe for Disaster

"You're not coming back," he said. His voice rippled out among the crowd and they looked at each other in confusion.

"That's what I said. You're not coming back, and neither am I," he told them. His voice was a nearly a whisper but the microphones relayed his words throughout the crowd, hundreds of thousands strong. "This will be the last time we see this world again. This is the last time we will breathe the air as we know it. This is the last time we will see our loved ones. In this world." His words died out and here and there from the older of the soldiers, there was nodding.

That was it. That was the point of the speech. That was what he thought. Not to lie to them, but to tell them the truth, that this would be the last time any of them would be alive. But now he was there he knew it wasn't enough. Oh they would fight and die, sure enough, to secure tomorrow, but somehow that wasn't enough. Not now.

As the officer walked forward to relieve him, he suddenly spoke up. "If that's what you want," he said.

There was a confused murmur among the crowd and as the seconds ticked by it turned angry. "What's that supposed to mean?" someone yelled from the front row.

"If you want, we can fight, and win. If that's all you want, our children will be safe, and perhaps even their children," he said.

"Aye, that's what we want," the soldier from the front yelled back.

"Is it?" he asked. "Is what you want just for your children to be safe? For your country to be safe for a time? For the survivors to be old and decrepit by the time the next war arrives?"

"What else is there?" another soldier at the front called.

"Seventy-five years ago world war two ended. Seventy-five years is all it took for us to repeat our mistakes. They said there would never be a war as terrible, that we would never let it happen again. Seventy-five years ago to this day our forefathers swore never again." His words were powerful as they washed over the crowd, but he wasn't really talking to them he realised, but himself. "When is it going to end?" he called. "This is the largest group of people ever in the history of mankind to work together, the largest movement that the world has ever seen. And tomorrow we just go home? Who's home? Where?"

"I don't know about you mate, but I'm going to my own bloody home," someone called and a laugh followed.

"Exactly." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the man. "We go our own separate ways and leave the world to fend for itself. The same world, repeating the same mistakes over and over. No one ever thought a nuclear deterrent wouldn't be enough, but now we know different. How many hundreds of years will our cities be uninhabitable? How many holes are we going to make in mother earth before we realise?"

"What are you getting at, lad?" An older soldier called out.

"Humanity lost hope long ago. Long before this war started, we had lost direction. We had lost faith in our future. We had lost our dreams. And what I want to say is a dream, and I'm sure you'll all laugh at me for having it, but if there was ever a time for dreams it is today. The day before our long sleep."

"Say your piece then, boy, I've no plans tomorrow." Another veteran, tough and grizzled, told him.

He bowed his head. "This may be the last time we gather. The last chance in our lifetimes to really try to change the world for the better. And it is a good thing we are doing, a noble thing, finally for the right reasons. But is it enough?" He sighed, the breath rushing from his body as he panted. His heart felt tight, as though he was about to say something forbidden. The crowd hung on his words unsure, as he was, as to what he would say.

He opened his mouth, and somehow the words poured out of him as though he were merely a conduit. "Why can't we change the world? Why can't we make it better? Why can't we make it different instead of fighting the same battles? Why can't we come home tomorrow to not the same world, but a new one? One where the old distinctions do not exist, black, white, brown, bronze, we are all in this crowd, together. Old and young, rich and poor, knowledgeable and ignorant, the bombs didn't care. European, American, Asian, African, we all stand together here." He took a deep breath.

"And who says we can't change the world again? We had peace before and will again, but the world hasn't changed, we are still the same, the same hate, the same divisions. We never really learned to embrace our differences. We never saw ourselves as a world." He spread his arms. "But if this isn't the world, I'm not sure what is. All people fighting as one." He laughed. "Aye, and fighting another one people." He shook his head. "The only thing we ever agree on is killing people. Can't that end? Can't we just say enough is enough, and when all is said and done we're all...human?"

He took another deep breath, but his voice was quiet when he spoke. "A long time ago, Christmas came. Soldiers crawled out of the trenches and realised the truth. They laughed, drank, and shared gifts with each other. And then the next day, cried as they shot each other."

"They cried because they took a human life. They cried because they realised it was wrong, but the only thing any of us understand is a bullet, is a gun. They realised that that sometimes doing the right thing requires doing the worst thing. And they knew it was the worst, because it hurt, inside. These weren't their lovers, their loved ones, they pals, mates, or countrymen. These were the enemy. They only had two things in common; they were human, and they were there to kill each other."

"Today, we re-enact that war a thousand-fold." He looked across the crowd as the tears streaked down his face. "Shouldn't it be the last time?" he asked. "Don't we owe it to our children and our dead, to try to do things a different way?"

A gruff soldier removed his had and sighed. "The words are good, but how would we do that? In practice it's impossible, the world just doesn't work like that." Many heads in the crowd nodded at his words.

The speaker sighed in an echo of the soldier, then he blinked. "We do it the hard way," he said. "We don't leave it to the politicians, to the leaders, to the orators." Here he pointed to himself, then his hand spread across the crowd. "You do it. You all take charge. You vote on everything. You run the world just as you would run the countries, each and every one of you. You be responsible. You take the burden on your backs. You lift the world on your shoulders. You join hands with every other human on the planet, and piece by piece you come to decisions together."

He laughed, it was ridiculous as he said it, but somehow he couldn't help believing it was possible. "Who cares whether there is a god in heaven or not? That's your business. Your individuality doesn't end if we work together, it will always be what makes you unique. But instead of joining all these tiny clubs across the globe, you'd be part of the biggest community from birth. Not just in name, this time Human will mean something."

"This time Human will mean everything."

Negotiations

A little excerpt from my Nano "Filler" (wip title! :-p) that I had fun writing...reaaally slowly, because I'm behind again. As always.

The door swung open violently and Swansong slid through, two flintlock pistols trained on the warrior. "As a rule, I don't like people getting shot on my boat, so kindly put down your weapon before my cabin gets dirty," she said coolly.

The warrior looked around quickly, searching for a way to escape. Finally she sighed and uncocked her pistol, handing it to Ceres. "It's not loaded anyway, I lost my powder pouch on the way down."

Swan nudged her head in the direction of the bed and the warrior reluctantly moved over and sat down on it. "So what now?" she asked.

Swansong shrugged. "I don't have a small boat for you, so you're just going to wait until we hit a place for repairs. Then you get off."

"That's it?" the warrior asked.

Swansong shook her head. "That's the easy way. The other way is I shoot you in the foot and have the boy lying there like a plank bind it, and then we drop you off somewhere you won't make any noise for a while." She smiled. "Your choice, of course."

"I think I'll take the former," the warrior said wryly.

"Good, because these aren't loaded either," Swansong said, uncocking her pistols and holstering them.

The warrior raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You just expect me to stay here and play nice?"

"Hell no!" Swansong dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. "This is my cabin."

Combusto!

It's very cool how things work out sometimes. I'm writing a steampunk fantasy for Nano, and my airship features sails, levitation magic, and a combustion engine, instead of the more traditional balloon and propellers model.

Just now I'm writing them passing through storm clouds. Their engines are spent, their sails are shredded and they're moving on inertia alone. I decide to make the craft have some kind of lightning channel to direct the damage away from the ship, and possibly stored as energy for later.

Debating what role that much electricity would play on the ship, I realised that generally speaking a jet engine needs a charge to jump start it. The kind of charge my combustion engine (which makes up part of a jet engine - if I got this right) could well make use of.

All of a sudden I realise that the situation feeds perfectly into the circumstances of the story. And while I couldn't understand quite as much as I wanted in my engine research, it sounds close enough to fudge. After all, although I have magic for buoyancy, I still want some things to be grounded in reality. I mean, I can't pretend a ley line is a superconductor, can I?

Can I?