"Trappings," a Larklight series fic
Rating: G
Pairings: canonical Jack/Myrtle and anything else your colored glasses show you; my recipient "confess[ed] a sneaking proclivity towards Art/Ssillissa" in her request
Warnings: The Doctor within is intended to be Doctor Who regeneration number Ten, with no connection to canon events in his reality; if you're unfamiliar with his character, you'll understand as much as Art does in the story. If you're unfamiliar with Art's universe . . . I'm sorry, but you'll probably just be confused. Consider the piece to be generally spoilery for the Larklight series.
Other Notes: My official yuletide 2009 submission for betonprosa (who requested an alien-interruption tale with a cameo by a certain other fandom's character), this story is set in mid-1854, approximately 2.5 years after the 3rd of Philip Reeve's books finishes. basingstoke helped stamp out language not suitably Victorian English, and tree00faery helped clean up the story overall. Mistakes of any sort are mine alone -- although I cheerfully blame the style on Reeve.
OR
Ice Capades in Our Grand Ballroom!'>Trappings
OR
The Odd Physician's Appearance
OR
Ice Capades in Our Grand Ballroom!
A Brief Addendum to the Travails and Triumphs of the Mumbys &c. in Their Corner of the Aether
I had strong suspicions of the torture I was to endure that evening and attempted to gird myself accordingly in advance. I instructed one of our fine auto-servants to dose my already-crisp white shirt with extra starch to keep the winged collar standing high, and buttoned myself into it, followed by a white bowtie, a dandy new white waistcoat, black serge trousers bearing braided seams in allegiance to our eminent British military (Huzzah!), a matching black serge tailcoat with smart silk lapels, and patent black button boots.* My sister, Myrtle, had tried to insist that I was not yet old enough to be wearing such a tailcoat cut across the waist, and was instead meant to be wearing a Cowes jacket popularised by the Prince of Wales and more suited to boys of 14 like myself. I feared Mother would agree with her, especially on this occasion, but Mother gave me a smile and said, 'Considering all we have undergone together in recent years, I think Art quite mature enough for a tailcoat, Myrtle.' I may never have been more grateful to her, particularly when Mother's response led to Myrtle flouncing away in a huff.
Soon after I finished dressing, our auto-butler, Raleigh, rapped at my bedroom door to announce that my presence had been requested downstairs (or upstairs or asidestairs, if you're looking from one of Larklight's other possible angles). I took a deep breath before embarking.
-----
*Readers of my previous adventures (annotated in the volumes of Larklight, Starcross, and Mothstorm, still available from all good booksellers, price one penny each), being aware of my disgust whenever Myrtle might have nattered on about clothing, will forgive this digression in light of how smart a figure you can imagine I cut in this ensemble, as well as the aforementioned impending torture. You will also, of course, recognize why I declined to complete it with a top hat. Even now, more than two years since our visit to Starcross, I daresay I will not venture to wear any top hat, even one seemingly not of Moobish origins, for many more years to come!
-----
Upon arriving at Larklight's largest ballroom, I looked around and noted with no small measure of dismay the number of our family's beloved friends also awaiting torment: Sir Richard and Ulla Burton; Professor Ferny; Colonel Quivering; Mr and Mrs Spinnaker, and their now-toddling adopted children, Modesty and Decorum; the current crew of the Teasel - Jack Havock and his family (no longer at all treelike, though I do still imagine leaves in their hair, at times), Grindle, Mr Munkulus, the Tentacle Twins, and dear Nipper -; and past crewmates as well, such as Charity and formerly-Reverend Cruet, and Queen Ssillissa, accompanied by a passel of Snilth escorts. Even Great-Aunt Euphemia had made the journey from Devonshire. (Captain Moonfield and his bride Thsssss had sent their regrets from abroad on their exceptionally long honeymoon touring the Neptunian Ice Islands.) Everyone wore their finery, which, in Nipper's case, involved an immense red cummerbund cinching his shell. Ssil's shimmering green toga was exceedingly fetching against her sapphire skin.
Jack was standing in the centre of the room looking utterly discomfited, while his family stood smiling with my parents to the side. I felt it my duty to approach Jack and offer the opportunity for him to flee while he yet could, to avoid such Tragedy as was to come.
Alas, as I went toward him, Charity waylaid me. She was primping the low shoulders of her salmon-hued dress, and I had to pace backward to keep from stepping upon its broad skirts. 'Hallo, Art! You are ever-so lucky.'
I gaped and said, 'I cannot imagine why you would say so.'
'Silly!' said Charity with a laugh, as though she actually believed I were kidding. 'We're at a ripping fun party, and you get to wear clothes that don't leave you frozen.'
'Well, that latter, I understand. But as to the former . . . '
Again I found my intentions interrupted when at last Myrtle appeared, wearing a lemony gown that made her look like a walking custard. Her skirts were even wider than Charity's, so wide, in fact, that I was unsure she could get through the ballroom entrance - not that I would've held it amiss, had she been unable. Indeed, I itched to find somewhere to hide myself while Jack strode across the room to offer his arm for Myrtle's aid, but that was when Mother came behind me and reached for my own arm.
'There you are, Art. Your father and I have been waiting.' She marched me back to where Father and the Havocks stood. I crossed my arms but then felt a bit too petulant (I am no longer a boy, you know) and held them stiffly at my sides instead.
Jack and Myrtle advanced toward us, Jack's face pinched with nerves and his every step wary, understandably, crowded as he was by Myrtle's dress. She, on the other hand, was beaming so hard, I thought her face would burst. That put me in mind of the giant sea-squid I had exploded off Jupiter, which lightened my mood for a moment. It could not last, however.
The pair were upon us, and the worst about to commence.
'Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family: welcome to Larklight!' Mother called out, her graceful voice carrying as I expect only that of a four-and-a-half-thousand-million-year-old Shaper of Worlds could. 'We are so pleased to have you all join us on this joyful occasion. Now, I will leave the rest of the speaking to our guests of honour.'
Jack flinched a bit as she gestured at him and Myrtle, and the way he cleared his throat sounded like an Ionian frog's last gasping breath. I couldn't blame him in the least. Brave Jack did soldier on, though. He practically shouted at the assemblage. 'Thank you! I'm certain I will do this wrong and be much corrected by Myrtle later, but, mainly, she and I just want to share our joy with everyone. You will all be receiving the invitations as soon as she decides on the best patterns and colors and all that girly-oof...!* Er, anyway, please, help us to celebrate this official announcement of our engagement to be married, two years hence.'
-----
*He didn't mean to say 'girly-oof,' of course, but the error would've been difficult to avoid with Myrtle's elbow jabbing his kidney in a way I believe she would claim was delicate.
-----
I still had trouble believing such a fantastical pirate and spy as Jack would tie himself to Myrtle. She'd grown less tiresome through our previous adventures and her ongoing alchemical studies, but she persisted in being, well, Myrtle! At that moment she had begun giving a treatise on her intended Nuptial Activities: why they were planning to wait two years (a suitable period both for her to complete her studies and for a proper engagement), the complications of choosing exactly which date in 1856 (a Wednesday in June, for luck, but she had not yet settled on which of the four possible Wednesdays), ideas already in mind for her gown (you didn't truly expect I would remember that bit, did you?), and so forth. Just listening to her then almost sent me into fits, and I'd had over a decade to accustom myself to her.* I expect poor Jack was only starting to realise the life into which he was locking himself. His smile had gone awry at the edges, like a drowsy Ichthyomorph.
-----
*That is, to learn how to dull my auditory faculties in her presence.
-----
And then the music started. It was pleasanter to the ears by far than Birdsong at Eventide in Myrtle's hands ever had been, but awful nonetheless, because it signified my other Greatest Dread of the evening.
'Ooh, a waltz!' Charity said excitedly.
Her pinch to my arm left no question that she wanted to participate. I hoped for a moment to think of some excuse, but none came to mind. I sketched a quick bow and asked despite myself, 'Would you like to dance?'
'I would.' She curtseyed, tucked her hand into my elbow, and wheeled me round to join our friends in the pattern.
I am pleased on the whole to be friends with Charity, but I had pleaded with Mother to let me escape any dancing. Unfortunately, on this point I had not won concession, much to my chagrin and Myrtle's glee ('I am sure even you will look dashing, spinning some Fine Young Ladies around our ballroom!'). The defeat was particularly vexing now that Charity's feet were landing repeatedly atop mine!
The tune seemed to last longer than any single other I had heard, and I confess I had let my mind drift; I am not certain now whether or not Charity was trying to carry on a conversation with me between twirls. I know only that what finally ended the dance was a Miracle.
Without the slightest warning, a gigantic creature which I can best describe as a dripping, seething mass of spiky ice crystals materialised in the middle of the ballroom! It emitted a series of high-pitched, ullulating squeals and rolled round digging great divots into the hand-cut geometric tiles of our floor, and several of our company began screaming. Charity exclaimed, 'My!' and turned round, possibly in search of a weapon to halt the creature. Mother was herding everyone unlikely to defend themselves out of the room, namely: the formerly-Reverend Cruet, the good Professor, the Spinnakers (protecting their young ones), and, of course, Great-Aunt Euphemia, though she was holding up her hands rather gamely in arthritic fists.
Such was the ruckus that I did not at first notice an additional noise, a sort of auto-whirlygig sound that grew louder and louder in a corner behind me. When I did look, I was further astonished. An odd, bright blue metal box with a revolving blue light affixed to its top shifted from transparency to opacity as I watched. It had a number of windows, which showed nothing beyond what was directly on opposite sides of it; a door on the side nearest us; and a sign at the top of each side reading, 'Police Public Call Box.'
Mother noticed shortly thereafter and came to my side. 'Ah, that is a lucky sight.'
'Why, Mother,' I asked, 'do you recognise the "Police Public Call Box"?'
She smiled broadly, with her head partially turned to keep an eye on the ice creature. It continued rolling but did not seem intent on harm to anything but our tiles.* 'Indeed, I do, Art. It is a ship, not unlike Larklight used to be, which can traverse the reaches of time and aether, and its owner is a friend.'
-----
*Myrtle had chosen those herself during the last remodelling of Larklight, and so, their destruction was less troubling to me than it might have been.
-----
I trusted Mother's judgement implicitly, and stepped forward with her as the door of the blue box opened.
A dapper looking fellow, with quite short brown hair and wearing a suit with very peculiar footwear, emerged from it. His eyes brightened, and he smiled sheepishly. 'Amelia! Lovely to see you. Sorry about this; I've been trying to convey my friendship to the Gwarfbladt, but it panicked a bit and knocked into the side of the TARDIS. I fell on the controls and accidentally forced the Gwarfbladt here ahead of me.'
With a wink and a returned smile, Mother said, 'Its occasioning your visit here is enough for me to grant forgiveness, Doctor - as long as you can assist me in removing it from my home before my daughter faints at the disruption to her engagement dinner? You know, I almost did not recognise you.'
I was desperate to ask this Doctor about his acquaintance with Mother and his 'TARDIS,' but her comment made me look over at Myrtle. I was quite surprised she was standing with Jack, not yet overcome to the point of fainting. But when I returned my attention, Mother and her friend had already begun moving toward the circular path of the Gwarfbladt, which I then noticed had also been leaving an expanding puddle within its gouges, like our very own moat. I feared it was melting in the ongoing panick mentioned by the odd gentleman physician, and hurried to aid Mother with it.
We three, joined by our friends who had remained in the ballroom, rallied together and approached the Gwarfbladt. All of us spoke to it in our most calming tones, and it seemed at last to comprehend.* It dragged itself toward the Doctor's blue box - directly through the enormous, pink-frosted cake our auto-servants had brought into the ballroom at what we'd instructed them would be the correct time, and Myrtle did then faint into Jack's arms. (He appeared far less put upon than I would have done, but disappointed that he could not further participate in our activity.) He gently carried Myrtle to a cluster of chairs in a far corner of the ballroom.
-----
*I attribute this to our British Pluck (Huzzah!), which even the Doctor evidenced, but he insisted afterward that it was owed in some way or another to his 'TARDIS' device, which Mother has explained was the true name for the blue box he piloted. She has refused, however, to explain anything more about it to me, saying that only the Doctor himself should divulge any of its secrets. I am all the more eager for his next visit, whenever it shall be.
-----
The Doctor gave us his apologies that he could not stay, and, while I would very much have liked to have learned more of him and of the Gwarfbladt, none of us wished the beleaguered beast any more mental anguish. Mother did insist that the Doctor grace us with his presence again forthwith, and he seemed most happy to accede.
His exit with the Gwarfbladt was no less wondrous than had been their arrivals: together, accompanied by the same auto-whirlygig sound but thankfully not the squeals of the becalmed Gwarfbladt, they became more and more transparent until they had vanished entirely!
Father exited the ballroom to bring back our guests from their safer harbour elsewhere in Larklight. No one had yet revived Myrtle. Jack hurried to do so then, and she refrained from further swooning. The problem with her having strengthened her constitution over the last few years is that it leads to situations in which she feels it necessary to demonstrate that improvement. Upon waking, she insisted we all resume dancing immediately.
The auto-servants had already removed the destroyed cake and cleaned the Gwarfbladt's drippings from the floor, but the tiles were all in pieces. I tried pointing out the danger, but Myrtle would not capitulate. Mother put a hand on each of our shoulders and said, 'I think we can manage one more turn round the ballroom before we dine.'
My feet complained, but I determined to do my best for Mother and, indeed, for Myrtle. I felt I should complete the dance I had begun with Charity; however, en route to request it of her, I stumbled, quite literally, into a collection of gold-mantled blue spikes which happened to belong to Ssillissa.
'Oh! I am very sorry!' I said, straightening myself up. I shared a thought which occurred to me, and was rightly horrified to blush as I did so. 'Your spikes are much more tender than I would have guessed.'
Ssil, kind Snilth that she is, did not treat my comment meanly. She smiled and replied, 'You are not the first to have said as much, Art.'
I could think of nothing on the subject that would make me sound less of a fool, and only nodded to that. My next idea was better. I bowed to her and asked, 'May I have this dance, Queen Ssillissa?'
'You don't need to be so formal with me,' she said, but she had turned so many pretty shades of blue*, I thought she might have liked the formality. 'I would be pleased to accept.'
-----
*Her colouring suddenly reminded me of that odd Doctor's blue box, but I kept my wits and that observation to myself.
-----
Offering her my arm, I led her to a relatively safe patch of tiles where we could join the dance. Her hand was cool in mine (as all lizard relations' would be), and her dress flowed straight downward instead of poofing out in the way of things, and she did not tread on my feet once. It was quite a splendid experience, especially for one that involved dancing.
'Ssil,' I said as the tune ended (almost too soon that time, I found myself surprised to note), 'Would you do me the honour of joining me for a nice cup of tea after dinner?'
And she did.
Art Mumby
Larklight
1854
- end -
Pairings: canonical Jack/Myrtle and anything else your colored glasses show you; my recipient "confess[ed] a sneaking proclivity towards Art/Ssillissa" in her request
Warnings: The Doctor within is intended to be Doctor Who regeneration number Ten, with no connection to canon events in his reality; if you're unfamiliar with his character, you'll understand as much as Art does in the story. If you're unfamiliar with Art's universe . . . I'm sorry, but you'll probably just be confused. Consider the piece to be generally spoilery for the Larklight series.
Other Notes: My official yuletide 2009 submission for betonprosa (who requested an alien-interruption tale with a cameo by a certain other fandom's character), this story is set in mid-1854, approximately 2.5 years after the 3rd of Philip Reeve's books finishes. basingstoke helped stamp out language not suitably Victorian English, and tree00faery helped clean up the story overall. Mistakes of any sort are mine alone -- although I cheerfully blame the style on Reeve.
OR
Ice Capades in Our Grand Ballroom!'>Trappings
OR
The Odd Physician's Appearance
OR
Ice Capades in Our Grand Ballroom!
A Brief Addendum to the Travails and Triumphs of the Mumbys &c. in Their Corner of the Aether
I had strong suspicions of the torture I was to endure that evening and attempted to gird myself accordingly in advance. I instructed one of our fine auto-servants to dose my already-crisp white shirt with extra starch to keep the winged collar standing high, and buttoned myself into it, followed by a white bowtie, a dandy new white waistcoat, black serge trousers bearing braided seams in allegiance to our eminent British military (Huzzah!), a matching black serge tailcoat with smart silk lapels, and patent black button boots.* My sister, Myrtle, had tried to insist that I was not yet old enough to be wearing such a tailcoat cut across the waist, and was instead meant to be wearing a Cowes jacket popularised by the Prince of Wales and more suited to boys of 14 like myself. I feared Mother would agree with her, especially on this occasion, but Mother gave me a smile and said, 'Considering all we have undergone together in recent years, I think Art quite mature enough for a tailcoat, Myrtle.' I may never have been more grateful to her, particularly when Mother's response led to Myrtle flouncing away in a huff.
Soon after I finished dressing, our auto-butler, Raleigh, rapped at my bedroom door to announce that my presence had been requested downstairs (or upstairs or asidestairs, if you're looking from one of Larklight's other possible angles). I took a deep breath before embarking.
-----
*Readers of my previous adventures (annotated in the volumes of Larklight, Starcross, and Mothstorm, still available from all good booksellers, price one penny each), being aware of my disgust whenever Myrtle might have nattered on about clothing, will forgive this digression in light of how smart a figure you can imagine I cut in this ensemble, as well as the aforementioned impending torture. You will also, of course, recognize why I declined to complete it with a top hat. Even now, more than two years since our visit to Starcross, I daresay I will not venture to wear any top hat, even one seemingly not of Moobish origins, for many more years to come!
-----
Upon arriving at Larklight's largest ballroom, I looked around and noted with no small measure of dismay the number of our family's beloved friends also awaiting torment: Sir Richard and Ulla Burton; Professor Ferny; Colonel Quivering; Mr and Mrs Spinnaker, and their now-toddling adopted children, Modesty and Decorum; the current crew of the Teasel - Jack Havock and his family (no longer at all treelike, though I do still imagine leaves in their hair, at times), Grindle, Mr Munkulus, the Tentacle Twins, and dear Nipper -; and past crewmates as well, such as Charity and formerly-Reverend Cruet, and Queen Ssillissa, accompanied by a passel of Snilth escorts. Even Great-Aunt Euphemia had made the journey from Devonshire. (Captain Moonfield and his bride Thsssss had sent their regrets from abroad on their exceptionally long honeymoon touring the Neptunian Ice Islands.) Everyone wore their finery, which, in Nipper's case, involved an immense red cummerbund cinching his shell. Ssil's shimmering green toga was exceedingly fetching against her sapphire skin.
Jack was standing in the centre of the room looking utterly discomfited, while his family stood smiling with my parents to the side. I felt it my duty to approach Jack and offer the opportunity for him to flee while he yet could, to avoid such Tragedy as was to come.
Alas, as I went toward him, Charity waylaid me. She was primping the low shoulders of her salmon-hued dress, and I had to pace backward to keep from stepping upon its broad skirts. 'Hallo, Art! You are ever-so lucky.'
I gaped and said, 'I cannot imagine why you would say so.'
'Silly!' said Charity with a laugh, as though she actually believed I were kidding. 'We're at a ripping fun party, and you get to wear clothes that don't leave you frozen.'
'Well, that latter, I understand. But as to the former . . . '
Again I found my intentions interrupted when at last Myrtle appeared, wearing a lemony gown that made her look like a walking custard. Her skirts were even wider than Charity's, so wide, in fact, that I was unsure she could get through the ballroom entrance - not that I would've held it amiss, had she been unable. Indeed, I itched to find somewhere to hide myself while Jack strode across the room to offer his arm for Myrtle's aid, but that was when Mother came behind me and reached for my own arm.
'There you are, Art. Your father and I have been waiting.' She marched me back to where Father and the Havocks stood. I crossed my arms but then felt a bit too petulant (I am no longer a boy, you know) and held them stiffly at my sides instead.
Jack and Myrtle advanced toward us, Jack's face pinched with nerves and his every step wary, understandably, crowded as he was by Myrtle's dress. She, on the other hand, was beaming so hard, I thought her face would burst. That put me in mind of the giant sea-squid I had exploded off Jupiter, which lightened my mood for a moment. It could not last, however.
The pair were upon us, and the worst about to commence.
'Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family: welcome to Larklight!' Mother called out, her graceful voice carrying as I expect only that of a four-and-a-half-thousand-million-year-old Shaper of Worlds could. 'We are so pleased to have you all join us on this joyful occasion. Now, I will leave the rest of the speaking to our guests of honour.'
Jack flinched a bit as she gestured at him and Myrtle, and the way he cleared his throat sounded like an Ionian frog's last gasping breath. I couldn't blame him in the least. Brave Jack did soldier on, though. He practically shouted at the assemblage. 'Thank you! I'm certain I will do this wrong and be much corrected by Myrtle later, but, mainly, she and I just want to share our joy with everyone. You will all be receiving the invitations as soon as she decides on the best patterns and colors and all that girly-oof...!* Er, anyway, please, help us to celebrate this official announcement of our engagement to be married, two years hence.'
-----
*He didn't mean to say 'girly-oof,' of course, but the error would've been difficult to avoid with Myrtle's elbow jabbing his kidney in a way I believe she would claim was delicate.
-----
I still had trouble believing such a fantastical pirate and spy as Jack would tie himself to Myrtle. She'd grown less tiresome through our previous adventures and her ongoing alchemical studies, but she persisted in being, well, Myrtle! At that moment she had begun giving a treatise on her intended Nuptial Activities: why they were planning to wait two years (a suitable period both for her to complete her studies and for a proper engagement), the complications of choosing exactly which date in 1856 (a Wednesday in June, for luck, but she had not yet settled on which of the four possible Wednesdays), ideas already in mind for her gown (you didn't truly expect I would remember that bit, did you?), and so forth. Just listening to her then almost sent me into fits, and I'd had over a decade to accustom myself to her.* I expect poor Jack was only starting to realise the life into which he was locking himself. His smile had gone awry at the edges, like a drowsy Ichthyomorph.
-----
*That is, to learn how to dull my auditory faculties in her presence.
-----
And then the music started. It was pleasanter to the ears by far than Birdsong at Eventide in Myrtle's hands ever had been, but awful nonetheless, because it signified my other Greatest Dread of the evening.
'Ooh, a waltz!' Charity said excitedly.
Her pinch to my arm left no question that she wanted to participate. I hoped for a moment to think of some excuse, but none came to mind. I sketched a quick bow and asked despite myself, 'Would you like to dance?'
'I would.' She curtseyed, tucked her hand into my elbow, and wheeled me round to join our friends in the pattern.
I am pleased on the whole to be friends with Charity, but I had pleaded with Mother to let me escape any dancing. Unfortunately, on this point I had not won concession, much to my chagrin and Myrtle's glee ('I am sure even you will look dashing, spinning some Fine Young Ladies around our ballroom!'). The defeat was particularly vexing now that Charity's feet were landing repeatedly atop mine!
The tune seemed to last longer than any single other I had heard, and I confess I had let my mind drift; I am not certain now whether or not Charity was trying to carry on a conversation with me between twirls. I know only that what finally ended the dance was a Miracle.
Without the slightest warning, a gigantic creature which I can best describe as a dripping, seething mass of spiky ice crystals materialised in the middle of the ballroom! It emitted a series of high-pitched, ullulating squeals and rolled round digging great divots into the hand-cut geometric tiles of our floor, and several of our company began screaming. Charity exclaimed, 'My!' and turned round, possibly in search of a weapon to halt the creature. Mother was herding everyone unlikely to defend themselves out of the room, namely: the formerly-Reverend Cruet, the good Professor, the Spinnakers (protecting their young ones), and, of course, Great-Aunt Euphemia, though she was holding up her hands rather gamely in arthritic fists.
Such was the ruckus that I did not at first notice an additional noise, a sort of auto-whirlygig sound that grew louder and louder in a corner behind me. When I did look, I was further astonished. An odd, bright blue metal box with a revolving blue light affixed to its top shifted from transparency to opacity as I watched. It had a number of windows, which showed nothing beyond what was directly on opposite sides of it; a door on the side nearest us; and a sign at the top of each side reading, 'Police Public Call Box.'
Mother noticed shortly thereafter and came to my side. 'Ah, that is a lucky sight.'
'Why, Mother,' I asked, 'do you recognise the "Police Public Call Box"?'
She smiled broadly, with her head partially turned to keep an eye on the ice creature. It continued rolling but did not seem intent on harm to anything but our tiles.* 'Indeed, I do, Art. It is a ship, not unlike Larklight used to be, which can traverse the reaches of time and aether, and its owner is a friend.'
-----
*Myrtle had chosen those herself during the last remodelling of Larklight, and so, their destruction was less troubling to me than it might have been.
-----
I trusted Mother's judgement implicitly, and stepped forward with her as the door of the blue box opened.
A dapper looking fellow, with quite short brown hair and wearing a suit with very peculiar footwear, emerged from it. His eyes brightened, and he smiled sheepishly. 'Amelia! Lovely to see you. Sorry about this; I've been trying to convey my friendship to the Gwarfbladt, but it panicked a bit and knocked into the side of the TARDIS. I fell on the controls and accidentally forced the Gwarfbladt here ahead of me.'
With a wink and a returned smile, Mother said, 'Its occasioning your visit here is enough for me to grant forgiveness, Doctor - as long as you can assist me in removing it from my home before my daughter faints at the disruption to her engagement dinner? You know, I almost did not recognise you.'
I was desperate to ask this Doctor about his acquaintance with Mother and his 'TARDIS,' but her comment made me look over at Myrtle. I was quite surprised she was standing with Jack, not yet overcome to the point of fainting. But when I returned my attention, Mother and her friend had already begun moving toward the circular path of the Gwarfbladt, which I then noticed had also been leaving an expanding puddle within its gouges, like our very own moat. I feared it was melting in the ongoing panick mentioned by the odd gentleman physician, and hurried to aid Mother with it.
We three, joined by our friends who had remained in the ballroom, rallied together and approached the Gwarfbladt. All of us spoke to it in our most calming tones, and it seemed at last to comprehend.* It dragged itself toward the Doctor's blue box - directly through the enormous, pink-frosted cake our auto-servants had brought into the ballroom at what we'd instructed them would be the correct time, and Myrtle did then faint into Jack's arms. (He appeared far less put upon than I would have done, but disappointed that he could not further participate in our activity.) He gently carried Myrtle to a cluster of chairs in a far corner of the ballroom.
-----
*I attribute this to our British Pluck (Huzzah!), which even the Doctor evidenced, but he insisted afterward that it was owed in some way or another to his 'TARDIS' device, which Mother has explained was the true name for the blue box he piloted. She has refused, however, to explain anything more about it to me, saying that only the Doctor himself should divulge any of its secrets. I am all the more eager for his next visit, whenever it shall be.
-----
The Doctor gave us his apologies that he could not stay, and, while I would very much have liked to have learned more of him and of the Gwarfbladt, none of us wished the beleaguered beast any more mental anguish. Mother did insist that the Doctor grace us with his presence again forthwith, and he seemed most happy to accede.
His exit with the Gwarfbladt was no less wondrous than had been their arrivals: together, accompanied by the same auto-whirlygig sound but thankfully not the squeals of the becalmed Gwarfbladt, they became more and more transparent until they had vanished entirely!
Father exited the ballroom to bring back our guests from their safer harbour elsewhere in Larklight. No one had yet revived Myrtle. Jack hurried to do so then, and she refrained from further swooning. The problem with her having strengthened her constitution over the last few years is that it leads to situations in which she feels it necessary to demonstrate that improvement. Upon waking, she insisted we all resume dancing immediately.
The auto-servants had already removed the destroyed cake and cleaned the Gwarfbladt's drippings from the floor, but the tiles were all in pieces. I tried pointing out the danger, but Myrtle would not capitulate. Mother put a hand on each of our shoulders and said, 'I think we can manage one more turn round the ballroom before we dine.'
My feet complained, but I determined to do my best for Mother and, indeed, for Myrtle. I felt I should complete the dance I had begun with Charity; however, en route to request it of her, I stumbled, quite literally, into a collection of gold-mantled blue spikes which happened to belong to Ssillissa.
'Oh! I am very sorry!' I said, straightening myself up. I shared a thought which occurred to me, and was rightly horrified to blush as I did so. 'Your spikes are much more tender than I would have guessed.'
Ssil, kind Snilth that she is, did not treat my comment meanly. She smiled and replied, 'You are not the first to have said as much, Art.'
I could think of nothing on the subject that would make me sound less of a fool, and only nodded to that. My next idea was better. I bowed to her and asked, 'May I have this dance, Queen Ssillissa?'
'You don't need to be so formal with me,' she said, but she had turned so many pretty shades of blue*, I thought she might have liked the formality. 'I would be pleased to accept.'
-----
*Her colouring suddenly reminded me of that odd Doctor's blue box, but I kept my wits and that observation to myself.
-----
Offering her my arm, I led her to a relatively safe patch of tiles where we could join the dance. Her hand was cool in mine (as all lizard relations' would be), and her dress flowed straight downward instead of poofing out in the way of things, and she did not tread on my feet once. It was quite a splendid experience, especially for one that involved dancing.
'Ssil,' I said as the tune ended (almost too soon that time, I found myself surprised to note), 'Would you do me the honour of joining me for a nice cup of tea after dinner?'
And she did.
Art Mumby
Larklight
1854
- end -