The Concarnadine Chronicles #095 -- "New Year"
Title: "New Year"
'Fandom' :: The Concarnadine Chronicles
Claim: General; Characters
Prompt: #095 :: “New Year"
Word Count: c.1375
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The last chapter runs through its ending
Author's Notes: The first wrap-up
“New Year”
“We could just … teleport out, couldn’t we ?”
“I want to make sure that there’s nothing dangerous left up top,” Concarnadine replied, as they picked their way back upwards. “With your help, and your Jewel’s, I’m hoping we can seal off this aperture.” He took a deep breath. “Besides, with the way I’m feeling now, I don’t think I could teleport a mouse.”
Elizabeth wasn’t even sure that the way they were going back was the way they’d taken coming down. Something had happened with the death … Was that the right word ? Did things from another dimension, especially ones that seemed to treat life-force as a commodity, did they really “die “ ? … anyway, the “passing” of Jovimort.
For one thing, the whole world seemed to have collapsed and rebuilt itself, with that indefinable sheen of something brand new covering and infusing everything. And yet, at the same time, what had seemed an ominous and charged atmosphere had become an impression of mundane, almost tawdry, drabness. Finally they dragged themselves up the stairway and into the carnival attendant’s space.
To their mutual relief, the Fun House hoarding had re-opened: it would not be necessary to force open the jaws which had closed on them. Indeed, when they got outside, it was to find that the demonic picture which had formerly decorated the front of the hoarding was now a peeling painting of a clown’s face.
“I never did like clowns,” Concarnadine commented: “Which made a few of my early engagements rather edgy. Once I was established, I made it a rule never to work with them, and never to do circus gigs.”
“You didn’t like clowns ?”
“They come in two sorts, in my experience - the reckless ones and the gloomy ones. I can’t be having reckless people around the sort of stuff I do: there’s too much risk that they’ll mess with it, get their laugh by making me look silly. And I’m no psychiatrist: I don’t have time to counsel the gloomy ones.”
Elizabeth nodded: “I understand - when I was starting out, I didn’t really have the option. On the other hand, there weren’t many of my jobs that involved clowns.”
They made it to the hole in the fence round Merridew’s lot, and helped each other through.
“So, how will we get home ?”
Concarnadine smiled at her. “We’ll wait for -- There he is.”
It was Borin, in the little van they’d used on tour.
“How did you known where we were ?” Elizabeth asked.
“ ‘E rang me,” the dwarf replied, indicating Concarnadine with a jerk of his thumb.
“But, we didn’t take cell-phones with us. Did we ?”
“No,” Concarnadine said. “But you forgot about Urtu-ab. As soon as we’d sent the other fellow back, he was able to find us, and tell Borin where to come.”
“ ‘Ome, I take it ?”
“Via somewhere for breakfast,” Concarnadine said. “And not a hedge-row - I know it’s stoat season but - “
“I resent that - besides, I haven’t brought a bun with me.”
By the time they paused at Marble Arch (to jettison the take-away wrappings and napkins), Elizabeth Stellamer was fighting to stay awake. There was, she knew rationally, little to zero point in letting herself fall asleep - they would be at the Chelsea house in a few minutes, and then she could have a bath, before letting Morpheus claim her. But she was exhausted and -
“Stop the van !”
Borin pulled in just on Park Lane, and turned, to where Concarnadine was also looking a question.
“You found a doorway, in a subway near here,” Elizabeth said: “Linkletter used it, and it was leading somewhere Else.”
“The Secret Realm, yes,” Concarnadine said. “So ?”
“Might it be worth seeing if it’s still open ? If it isn’t then at least we know. If it is, doesn’t that imply that these people had access to another power than Jovimort’s ?”
“She has a point guv’nor,” Borin said.
“Park, and we’ll look.”
Concarnadine led the way to the doorway, but when they got there, it was clear that Elizabeth’s inspiration had brought froth unusual fruit. The tiling that had hidden the hole in reality was now smeared with a complicated graffiti, in red and black and electric purple.
“Okay, how do we open this ?” Elizabeth asked, with enthusiasm.
“We don’t,” Concarnadine replied; “It’s been sealed, and by someone who knows how.”
He pointed to parts of the design, and both Elizabeth and Borin nodded: for differing reasons, they could each recognise a Binding, particularly one so powerfully invoked.
“It’s closed, then ?”
“But the fact that someone closed it, so strongly, implies to me that they - whoever they were - expected further attempts to get through. I think we need to let Barnaby’s people know about this, and let them make arrangements for experts to look into it.”
“We leave it to -- ?”
“To people who have a slightly less … direct involvement,” he said: “You and I would get too involved in what’s been locked away. The key questions - ” and he yawned “ - are why and by whom. Which I trust Rejker to find out in short order. But that can wait till tomorrow - it’s closed now, and while I know there was another way in, we never found out where it came from. Back to the van,” he finished, yawning again.
The suburb of Chelsea was just getting its day going when the van pulled in at Concarnadine’s house.
“Do you want me to go for food ?” Borin asked, as the other two were, in effect, falling out of the door.
Concarnadine glanced at Elizabeth and then shook his head.
“No - we both need sleep. Our body-clocks are whacked. You could ring Tremair, though - tell him we won’t be in for a day or two.”
Borin nodded: “I’ll do that,” he said.
“Thanks.” There was another yawn.
Waking up, Elizabeth felt herself renewed. For the first time since she had met Concarnadine she didn’t feel threatened - there was (all being well) no-one planning on sacrificing her to an alien would-be god, and no would-be god looking for her bodily fluids or life force.
It was, in a cliché, the first day of the rest of her life. Which raised the question of what, exactly she was going to do with that life. She was young - certainly young enough to marry, settle down, have children, and live out her life in the accepted pattern. Or she could Go Wild, and run off round the world, finding new friends and seeking for new adventure round every turn.
Or, she admitted to herself, she could stick with the new friends she’d found, and find new adventures with them. After all, they seemed more than capable of finding them.
But first she had to get up - milk, toast, honey, in no particular order - perhaps an orange, too, from the bowl by the garden-room door. Then she would take stock, find Concarnadine, and discuss things.
It was only the third time Concarnadine had come to the Kernel, and the first he had come alone. It hadn’t seemed proper to involve Mortimer - this had, after all, been nothing to do with him, and he ought not to be kept culpable.
The massed minds of the Watchers, throughout innumerable dimensions, washed through his mind, examining every fragment of his memory and distilling from it those things which they needed to know. It wasn’t uncomfortable … in fact, it reminded him of sitting in a gallery, surrounded by doors and windows, being watched by others but not being required actively to interact with them.
When the sensation faded he wondered how long he should stay there. Mortimer had, in some Watcher-ish way, know how to sense the psychic temperature but he …
“We have reviewed what you have experienced.”
The words were in his mind, even if they didn’t seem to have come via his ears.
“Challenges were issued and carried through; a determination was reached. In perhaps an unconventional manner. Fare well, Concarnadine.”
And, abruptly, he was back in the octagonal room from which he’d started.
Philosophically, he turned, and walked back, across to the doorway which would, with a little push, take him back to Chelsea.
'Fandom' :: The Concarnadine Chronicles
Claim: General; Characters
Prompt: #095 :: “New Year"
Word Count: c.1375
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The last chapter runs through its ending
Author's Notes: The first wrap-up
“New Year”
“We could just … teleport out, couldn’t we ?”
“I want to make sure that there’s nothing dangerous left up top,” Concarnadine replied, as they picked their way back upwards. “With your help, and your Jewel’s, I’m hoping we can seal off this aperture.” He took a deep breath. “Besides, with the way I’m feeling now, I don’t think I could teleport a mouse.”
Elizabeth wasn’t even sure that the way they were going back was the way they’d taken coming down. Something had happened with the death … Was that the right word ? Did things from another dimension, especially ones that seemed to treat life-force as a commodity, did they really “die “ ? … anyway, the “passing” of Jovimort.
For one thing, the whole world seemed to have collapsed and rebuilt itself, with that indefinable sheen of something brand new covering and infusing everything. And yet, at the same time, what had seemed an ominous and charged atmosphere had become an impression of mundane, almost tawdry, drabness. Finally they dragged themselves up the stairway and into the carnival attendant’s space.
To their mutual relief, the Fun House hoarding had re-opened: it would not be necessary to force open the jaws which had closed on them. Indeed, when they got outside, it was to find that the demonic picture which had formerly decorated the front of the hoarding was now a peeling painting of a clown’s face.
“I never did like clowns,” Concarnadine commented: “Which made a few of my early engagements rather edgy. Once I was established, I made it a rule never to work with them, and never to do circus gigs.”
“You didn’t like clowns ?”
“They come in two sorts, in my experience - the reckless ones and the gloomy ones. I can’t be having reckless people around the sort of stuff I do: there’s too much risk that they’ll mess with it, get their laugh by making me look silly. And I’m no psychiatrist: I don’t have time to counsel the gloomy ones.”
Elizabeth nodded: “I understand - when I was starting out, I didn’t really have the option. On the other hand, there weren’t many of my jobs that involved clowns.”
They made it to the hole in the fence round Merridew’s lot, and helped each other through.
“So, how will we get home ?”
Concarnadine smiled at her. “We’ll wait for -- There he is.”
It was Borin, in the little van they’d used on tour.
“How did you known where we were ?” Elizabeth asked.
“ ‘E rang me,” the dwarf replied, indicating Concarnadine with a jerk of his thumb.
“But, we didn’t take cell-phones with us. Did we ?”
“No,” Concarnadine said. “But you forgot about Urtu-ab. As soon as we’d sent the other fellow back, he was able to find us, and tell Borin where to come.”
“ ‘Ome, I take it ?”
“Via somewhere for breakfast,” Concarnadine said. “And not a hedge-row - I know it’s stoat season but - “
“I resent that - besides, I haven’t brought a bun with me.”
By the time they paused at Marble Arch (to jettison the take-away wrappings and napkins), Elizabeth Stellamer was fighting to stay awake. There was, she knew rationally, little to zero point in letting herself fall asleep - they would be at the Chelsea house in a few minutes, and then she could have a bath, before letting Morpheus claim her. But she was exhausted and -
“Stop the van !”
Borin pulled in just on Park Lane, and turned, to where Concarnadine was also looking a question.
“You found a doorway, in a subway near here,” Elizabeth said: “Linkletter used it, and it was leading somewhere Else.”
“The Secret Realm, yes,” Concarnadine said. “So ?”
“Might it be worth seeing if it’s still open ? If it isn’t then at least we know. If it is, doesn’t that imply that these people had access to another power than Jovimort’s ?”
“She has a point guv’nor,” Borin said.
“Park, and we’ll look.”
Concarnadine led the way to the doorway, but when they got there, it was clear that Elizabeth’s inspiration had brought froth unusual fruit. The tiling that had hidden the hole in reality was now smeared with a complicated graffiti, in red and black and electric purple.
“Okay, how do we open this ?” Elizabeth asked, with enthusiasm.
“We don’t,” Concarnadine replied; “It’s been sealed, and by someone who knows how.”
He pointed to parts of the design, and both Elizabeth and Borin nodded: for differing reasons, they could each recognise a Binding, particularly one so powerfully invoked.
“It’s closed, then ?”
“But the fact that someone closed it, so strongly, implies to me that they - whoever they were - expected further attempts to get through. I think we need to let Barnaby’s people know about this, and let them make arrangements for experts to look into it.”
“We leave it to -- ?”
“To people who have a slightly less … direct involvement,” he said: “You and I would get too involved in what’s been locked away. The key questions - ” and he yawned “ - are why and by whom. Which I trust Rejker to find out in short order. But that can wait till tomorrow - it’s closed now, and while I know there was another way in, we never found out where it came from. Back to the van,” he finished, yawning again.
The suburb of Chelsea was just getting its day going when the van pulled in at Concarnadine’s house.
“Do you want me to go for food ?” Borin asked, as the other two were, in effect, falling out of the door.
Concarnadine glanced at Elizabeth and then shook his head.
“No - we both need sleep. Our body-clocks are whacked. You could ring Tremair, though - tell him we won’t be in for a day or two.”
Borin nodded: “I’ll do that,” he said.
“Thanks.” There was another yawn.
Waking up, Elizabeth felt herself renewed. For the first time since she had met Concarnadine she didn’t feel threatened - there was (all being well) no-one planning on sacrificing her to an alien would-be god, and no would-be god looking for her bodily fluids or life force.
It was, in a cliché, the first day of the rest of her life. Which raised the question of what, exactly she was going to do with that life. She was young - certainly young enough to marry, settle down, have children, and live out her life in the accepted pattern. Or she could Go Wild, and run off round the world, finding new friends and seeking for new adventure round every turn.
Or, she admitted to herself, she could stick with the new friends she’d found, and find new adventures with them. After all, they seemed more than capable of finding them.
But first she had to get up - milk, toast, honey, in no particular order - perhaps an orange, too, from the bowl by the garden-room door. Then she would take stock, find Concarnadine, and discuss things.
It was only the third time Concarnadine had come to the Kernel, and the first he had come alone. It hadn’t seemed proper to involve Mortimer - this had, after all, been nothing to do with him, and he ought not to be kept culpable.
The massed minds of the Watchers, throughout innumerable dimensions, washed through his mind, examining every fragment of his memory and distilling from it those things which they needed to know. It wasn’t uncomfortable … in fact, it reminded him of sitting in a gallery, surrounded by doors and windows, being watched by others but not being required actively to interact with them.
When the sensation faded he wondered how long he should stay there. Mortimer had, in some Watcher-ish way, know how to sense the psychic temperature but he …
“We have reviewed what you have experienced.”
The words were in his mind, even if they didn’t seem to have come via his ears.
“Challenges were issued and carried through; a determination was reached. In perhaps an unconventional manner. Fare well, Concarnadine.”
And, abruptly, he was back in the octagonal room from which he’d started.
Philosophically, he turned, and walked back, across to the doorway which would, with a little push, take him back to Chelsea.