Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 11: The Faces in the Fire are the Real Ones

Scene: a high-domed chamber ringed with benches. The stage itself: a grand circle, wooden-floored. A long table set with empty cups, barren plates.

Barnaby considered the table, picturing the play read aloud by Lucif. A glowing gathering of saints would be staring in mockery at his entrance. He cleared his throat, tried an awkward bow to the imagined assemblage.

"Uhm. Hi. I'm Brendon, not Barnaby. I sailed on a real ship! Just to bring you holy persons a message. Except I also walked too because you know the sea's a long way. Anyhow, here I am. With a, a message."

Bodkin laughed, shook head. Leaped to perch upon the table. Crossing arms, he awarded Brendon-not-Barnaby a look of noble disdain.

Bodkin: "Message? From whom?"

Barnaby: "Ah, I don't know that."

Bodkin: "Then why should we harken?"

Barnaby: "Ah. Because... it's very mysterious?"

Bodkin: "Mysteries weary our saintly ears."

Barnaby: "But it's about important mysteries."

Bodkin: "Such as?"

Barnaby: "Uhm. Stars. Graves. Millers. Which are important even though I'm not one. And cake. And babies, they're important, I'm sure. Oh, and cats and ghosts and chickens and roses and crops and directables and fountains and folk singing on street corners and selling flowers and the fields with wheat waving like sea waves. Oh, and woods at night with the wind and owls and wolves acting all story-like. And the roads you go walking down, just meeting anybody, everybody."

Bodkin: "We are the powers. We rule these things already. What message could tell us more?"

Barnaby: "Well, because...the message puts them all in one great grand house. And in that, that home everyone knows they are family. And so we all mean something to each other and sit by the hearth and eat cake and tells stories."

Cedric smiled. "This messenger is wiser than he seems.

Bodkin: "Tedious." He clapped hands. "Guards, throw this dogsbody to the dogs. Seneschal, send the next pilgrim before us."

Matilda laughed. "Seems a more likely ending."

Val ignored this impromptu dialogue; pacing the stage, studying the floor. Finally peering under the table.

"Ah. There it is."

"What?" That, from Matilda.

"The star trap." She knelt down, prying at the boards of the floor.

"That's not explaining much." Matilda bent down to help Val raise a hinged square.

"A star-trap is the trap door that actors use to come onstage from below.

"Ah. I see. Theatrical places, your theatres."

"Not to forget comical and dramatic. Get some candles. Mister Bodkin, you may have the honor of checking for surprises."

"What about the spider?"

"Perry's tired," said Jewel. "Must be daytime outside."

Bodkin held a candle into the dark below the stage. Before he could pronounce judgment, Professor Night-Creep leapt past him, down into the shadows.

"Show off," groused the boy. Then jumped after the cat.

Val peered down. "There is a ladder, people." She backed downwards upon this practical thing, followed by the rest.