[RiddleRose]: 298.Gold Dust - NaNoWriMo '07.Chapter twenty four

Chapter twenty four.

At this point, Wren woke up out of sheer boredom. He did not wake up for long, as he was a tired lad, but he did wake up. And it was definitely from boredom. Mowing lawns and cleaning garages was about as boring as you could get. He counted to ten, which had been his mother's way of getting rid of bad dreams, and went back to sleep.

Apparently his mother's method worked, because his dream now was nothing like the lawn and garage one. In this one, there were a great many trombones. They were growing from the ground like flowers, or small trees, and every now and then a trombone player would come along and pick one. Wren was aware that there was something terribly wrong with the trombones. 

He could tell that something was terribly wrong with the trombones because at the moment there were many which were twisted out of shape, and several were frozen, and unable to slide up and down the scale. There were trombone players past their prime who were frantically trying to control the disease. Wren could tell that for every plant they saved, two more died, and he thought of giving them a hand. 

However, as soon as he set foot on the field, the trombones all let out a terrible, drawn out howl, as if they were in agony. Wren jumped back, off of the field, and trombone player gardeners began to converge on him. They were all waving their arms about, and soon Wren found himself being escorted politely but firmly away by two very large tuba players in marching band uniforms. They were apparently there as security.

Wren tried to ask what he had done wrong, but the tuba players could only speak in tuba noises, which was highly unhelpful. Wren gave up eventually, submitting to the weirdness of this dream, and letting himself be dragged away. 

He was brought to a plain off white chamber, and strapped to a chair. His ears were professionally cleaned out. He was worried. It looked like he might be tortured. His two tuba player guards stood at attention by the door, and put on very large ear muffs, after plugging their ears with soundproof ear plugs. Wren wondered whether he was to be treated to a series of very high noises designed to cause piercing pains to shoot through his head. He cringed at the thought.

However, this horror was not to be. Instead, a large group of elementary schoolers filed into the room, all of them holding various instruments. Wren was confused. Were they going to batter him with piccolos? Soon his questions were answered. A conductor walked in. he was tall, and bald, and the kids obviously loved him. He joked with them for a few minutes, then rapped his music stand with a baton. The kids, which Wren now perceived to be a band, put their instruments up to their lips.

The music started. Wren winced. It seemed as if every possible wrong note had been hit, every incorrect cadence and rhythm found, and every single downbeat mangled until it became a sort of sideways tangle. The two tuba players were watching him intensely, and occasionally grimacing as if in extreme pain. Wren noticed that this tended to come when one of the particularly bad trumpet players let out an ear piercing squeak.

It was fairly awful, but Wren had heard worse. He sat through it stoically, knowing that a group of elementary school aged children would soon tire of this, and go away. He was right. They left, after the end of the song had been reached, with a mistimed crash of symbols.

Wren was relieved, and was more relieved still to find that he was fading out of the chair he had been strapped into. The two tuba players were looking astounded, and he was beginning to see two images, layered on top of each other. One was a small cottage in the woods, and the other was the band room. He concentrated on the cottage, and it gradually got clearer and clearer. It had neat little starched white curtains in the windows, and a little welcome mat on the front doorstep.

There was singing coming from inside the cottage. Wren could hear it more and more clearly as he solidified. He tried to get closer, but couldn't. He frowned. He wanted to see who was in there! With a supreme effort he managed to get himself over to the door. He tried to open it, but kept failing. His hand seemed to be somewhat insubstantial, and it kept slipping through the doorknob. He tried all sorts of ways of getting it to turn, including trying to use the Force on it, but it just refused.

Wren decided that it was obviously a satanic doorknob, and should be exorcised. That meant he needed a bell, a book, and a candle. The fact that he was not a priest would be no barrier. He could feel it. 

He went searching through the stuff he had on him at the moment, some string, a pack of cards, a bottle or two of Gold Dust... and eventually found a small book. He opened it, and found that it was a pocket book of vintage porn. Wren wasn't sure that this was exactly the right thing to be confronting a satanic doorknob with, but decided, in the end, that it was better than nothing.

He found a candle outside the cottage. It was on a stump, and had strange symbols drawn around it in charcoal. It was black. Wren wondered if it was used for practicing evil satanic rights. It looked like it. He then wondered why there were bloodstains all over the stump. He subsequently wondered whether using a satanic candle and a book of porn to oust a satanic and clearly evil doorknob would be effective. He decided, again, that it was better than nothing.

He still had to find a bell though. He rooted through his pockets again. Nothing. He looked down the well. A well monster. He looked in a hollow tree. A sleeping owl. He looked in the branches of the tree- he did a double take and looked back in the well. The well monster was still there. It was blue and spiky, and it was holding a bicycle bell in its mouth. “'ere!” it said in muffled and gruff tones, “'ell!”

Wren wrinkled his forehead in confusion, “Hell?” he said.

The well monster shook his head emphatically, “'o, 'ell!” it said with great emphasis. It shook its head, causing several spikes to scrape on the well wall, and the bicycle bell to ring faintly.

“Oh, bell!” said Wren, reaching down and taking it. “thanks!”

“No problem,” said the blue spiky well monster, “I'm Alf, short for Dredalfgo'rih-ton'nakihd'va'mo'ose. Most people call me Alf.” It extended a very long spiky blue arm, with long spiky blue fingers.

Wren shook its hand in a friendly manner, and said, “Hello Alf, I'm Wren. Thanks again for the bell, that doorknob is satanic, and I really need to exorcise it before it causes someone to die from frustration. Anything I can do for you?”

Alf grinned spikily, “yeah, actually, there is. People always throw pennies down here, and they keep landing in my bedroom. I actually had one land on my head yesterday, just as I was nodding off! I still have a terrible bruise,” he pointed to a spot on his spiky blue head that was perhaps a little spikier and bluer than the rest of him, “See that? It hurts something awful. So maybe you could post a sign or something. You know, “BEWARE WELL MONSTER” or something like that. To make people stay away.”

Wren made sympathetic noises, and said, “thats awful! They must be mistaking your well for a wishing well. Terrible. But don't you think the sign might scare away people who just want water?”

Alf looked thoughtful, in a blue spiky way, “well yes... I suppose so. And I really don't mind people getting water. I sometimes send up little notes and things. But the only people who ever stop for water are the two in the cottage over there, so just tell them it's okay, and everything should be fine.”

Wren grinned, and made a sign of frightening proportions. It was two feet long, and three and a half feet wide, and a half inch deep, and other measurements as well. The letters were in red, and they dripped satisfyingly and frighteningly down the sign, giving the impression of spilled blood. The sign was unquestionably scary, and Alf actually fell into the well in terror when he saw it. He climbed back up quickly though, and pronounced it marvelous. Wren set it up above the well, and said a brief farewell to Alf. He had to go exorcise the doorknob.

He went. He tried to exorcise the doorknob. It wailed and screeched, sounding rusty, but when Wren held the book up to it, it went very silent. At the first sight of the candle it squeaked in fear, and then it began to reflect and shine, after much threatening. The bell was the clincher though. As soon as Wren started ringing the bicycle bell, all the fight went out of that poor satanic doorknob, and it just wilted. It opened of its own accord.

Lessa looked up from where she was stirring a pot of something over the stove, saw Wren, and screamed. Nash appeared at her scream as if from nowhere, and Wren felt the completely unique sensation of having a razor sharp blade resting lightly and purposefully against his neck. He froze, book open, candle smoking, and bell silent. He noticed absently that Nash was wearing only a towel. He must have come from the bathroom. Wren wondered if they had showers here. 

He wasn't particularly worried. Lessa or Nash would recognize him and let him go eventually. So he held very still and tried not to get cut on the rapier that Nash was holding. And then Lessa recognized him, and ran to him. She hugged him delightedly, and Wren realized that this was the first time he had been able to touch her. It was also the first time she or anyone else in his dreams had been able to see him.

Nash slowly lowered his sword, and stood there in his towel, looking a little sheepish, but not apologetic at all. Lessa chattered to Wren, so Wren shrugged at Nash, and allowed her to lead him around, and show him the toys Nash had made for her, the meal she was cooking, and her pillow that she was making for the well monster. “His name is Alf” said Wren, and then she was off again, talking about how Nash was wonderful, and was taking her on a grand adventure, and showing her all sorts of interesting things, like how to whittle, and how to ride a horse astride and sidesaddle. 

He was also apparently teaching her archery, and to demonstrate this she dragged Wren outside, and showed him the targets Nash had set up, and the little bow he had carved for her. Wren just nodded and smiled, and noted absently that she was older. She was perhaps ten now. That meant that Jamie, wherever he was, would be twelve. Her age showed. She was more capable, stronger, and had more of a sense of responsibility. 

Wren could tell that she still loved being a lady, because her dress, while much simpler than the ones she had worn in the city, was still pristine, and her little apron had a few ruffles and bows. He hair was beautifully clean and shining, and her complexion, while no longer a perfect rose petal pink, was still quite lovely. She was also wearing gloves to protect her hands from chores. She was old enough to be pretty, instead of cute. Wren suspected that by the time she was fourteen she would be beautiful, and by the time she was seventeen, she would be stunning men with a glance.

Her eyes had darkened a little, so that they were no longer sky blue, but a slightly deeper greener blue. They reminded Wren of a clear summer ocean. She was also much taller than he remembered her being. She had apparently begun her growth spurt.

Nash looked tireder and warier than Wren remembered. He would be thirty now, and caring for an energetic young girl must be exhausting, especially since he seemed to view it as his personal task to keep her completely safe, all the time. Even though, when Wren thought about it, thirty wasn't that old. But Nash had a few lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before, and though he still dressed like a dandy, his clothes didn't seem to hang quite right. He looked like he had lost some weight too. He was definitely as charming and courteous as ever however. Once Lessa had finished chattering, and gone back to making food, Nash and Wren sat together and chatted.

“How long have you been here?” asked Wren curiously, “it looks like almost two years, but that seems like a long time for you two to be away from society.”

Nash grimaced, “It has been two years. Two years an a couple of months actually. We had to run from Wolf and his men, they've been trying to get her since she was a very little girl. I'm a... a freelance protector of sorts, from the agency that fights Wolf. I get assigned places by my superior, and I then decide whether I want the job or not. I liked Lessa as a baby, so I agreed to take the posting. We all thought that Wolf would lose interest after a while, he usually does.”

Wren nodded understanding, “and then he didn't, and you ended up stuck with her for longer than you expected?”

“Well yes,” Nash agreed, “but I do enjoy it. I mean, she's like a daughter to me at this point, I've been more of a father to her than her own father ever was, and more of a mother too. You know, when she was too young to need a tutor, I was a handyman at her house. Then she got older, and I became a worldly gentleman piano and dance teacher for her. It was fun... Wolf left her alone for a few years. I hardly had anything to do. I got smug. I also got taken off the assignment.”

Wren was confused, “But you stayed?”

Nash grinned, “I stayed. How could I not? I meant what I said when I said she is like a daughter. Also, there was Jamie. That kid has so much potential, and it was all being wasted, because no one saw it for what it was. I trained him, and a few of his friends, and they protected her in places I couldn't go without being noticed. She gets everywhere, I swear. 

“Then one day I got word from my organization. They hadn't contacted me for a while, assuming, I assume, that I was just doing my job. They said that Wolf had resurfaced after two years of inactivity, and that this time he was moving with subtlety, instead of his usual, “kill everything” approach. I was worried. I started planning an escape route from Lessa's room. I made a secret door, and a passage that led out of the estate.

“I only got it finished just in time too. Barely a week had gone by, when Wolf and his people came a bashing at the door. I didn't want to scare Lessa, and I wasted some time getting her out. I was sloppy. I nearly got us caught. We came here, and I started making connections locally. Lessa was eight. I was twenty eight. Now she's ten, and I'm thirty, and completely exhausted. Wolf's been trying to find us continually, and he's come awfully close a few times. In fact, as long as you're here, I really need some sleep. Wanna keep watch for me? Just for a few hours? If anyone at all comes knocking, wake me up. Unless it's Neil. You know Neil, yes? Good. He can come in. He doesn't come often though. Good morning!”

And off Nash trotted to beddie byes. Lessa served Wren some sort of completely delicious soup, and then decided to play piano for a while. She had gotten quite good, and Wren realized that Nash had not just been protecting Lessa, but also continuing her lessons. Wren in his dream had no sense of time, so he had no idea how long Nash slept, but at some point, he woke up on his own, to find Lessa and Wren popping corn in a skittle, and watching it fly all over the floor.

He looked in, and his face softened. Lessa was laughing and squealing every time a piece of popped corn flew into the air. She had gotten all dressed up, which she did now and then, and she was wearing a white and yellow dress, and long yellow gloves. Her butter yellow parasol with white roses embroidered on it lay by her side, and her long curling golden hair made a shining aura around her head.