The Map World Trilogy

Part Four

Horace sat down in his office and slowly sipped away on his nice cup of tea. He was still reeling from his ‘almost’ close encounter with the giant mouse and pictured himself batting it away with his Grandfather’s old cricket bat. The tea was very warm - this could only be a good thing considering that Horace was not a great believer in central heating. ‘Poppycock’, he used to say. I remember the good old days when people had fires, and if you were cold you just put a thick jumper on! Hattie used to question: ‘How old are you??!!’ But the answer was never given, just a mutter and further reminiscent stories of ‘when I were a lad...’ His house behind the library was cold, bitterly cold, and in the depths of winter you were lucky if you didn’t wake up grafted to the bed sheets like an enormous human shaped lollypop. It was a humble house, and Horace liked humble.

The desk was covered in manuscripts, paperwork, invoices and various other random forms and leaflets, but Horace knew the order. He liked the fact that his desk was ‘organised’. He could find things easily, albeit this was difficult when asking Hattie to collect something specific from the organised chaos that he had created. But this did not bother the man. It pleased him. People could not root around in his things this way and were more than likely put off by the thought of even bothering to search for an item that was ‘lost’ for all eternity.

 Horace lifted up a pile of papers on his desk to reveal the book that had caused his outburst earlier. It was a large book, leather bound and aged to perfection. The decorative lettering on the front was worn and weather beaten, making it hard to decipher what the book was all about. To the untrained eye, the book looked normal – shabby and rough around the edges – similar to any other old book that you could find in a jumble sale or antiques shop. But to the trained, inquisitive person, this book stood out amongst the crowd and was very different from any other- it was a book of knowledge, but more importantly I hasten to add, it was a book of truth.

Finkle and Rosebelt’s Guide to Dragoning. An Exemplary Guide to Harnessing and riding Natures Winged Beasts. It was indeed and odd title for a book, even a fictional one, but Horace knew the true gravity of what lay beneath its cover. He checked the room, no one was there. Why he thought there may be someone there was a mystery, as he never had guests in here, nor did Hattie ever want to spend time freezing her buttocks off in his Antarctic home. No, she would rather finish up work and head out straight away to meet her real friends that were not book shaped. She would later return and go straight to bed – possibly the warmest part of his home. Horace checked again. Still no one. He was safe, the secret of this book would be safe.

 He turned the cover over; a message stared at him, one that he had seen many times before: To my dear Horace, may your dragoning be filled with adventure and marvel. I hope this book reaches you well, oh and by the way the chapter on ‘Dragonious Heraldier’ may particularly interest you. Till the next time we meet, your friend, Tharndel. He read the message out loud. A lump settled itself in his throat as he read, and he sighed. ‘Thank you old friend’, his voice croaked as an overwhelming sense of sadness came over him.

Horace drew back from the book and continued to drink his tea. He looked at the message over and over, shaking his head in disbelief. The words were kind. They were meaningful and penned by a man that was a truly great companion. Despite all of this, Horace knew the truth and his melancholy mood brought forward a greater understanding of Tharndel and his relationship. Disappointment, resentment and bewilderment hit Horace hard all at once. He continued to stew on his thoughts as he read page after page of the book, slowly examining the text as it seeped into his mind once more.

As he turned the pages and arrived at the chapter entitled ‘Dragonious Heraldier’ or ‘Dragon Chanter’ as a literal translation. Horace noticed that something was wrong with the book that he had studied long and hard as a young man. Tears in the pages. These were not uncommon in a book of this age, but the tears in this instance were specifically placed around important pieces of information – the dragon chants themselves! The waffle and meaningless text that placed itself around these chants was just random information formulated from the mind of the ingenious Verk Finkle and bore little substance on its own if you didn’t have the chants to go with it – chants that could be used for all manner of light and dark dragoning! ‘Where are they?!’ Horace asked the room, quickly remembering that he was the only one there.  He hurriedly flicked the pages backwards and forwards, trying to make sense of what had happened. ‘Maybe I took them out? Did I? No. Why would I do that? I know the chants by heart!’ He stopped. One thought raced around his mind more than any other: why would someone take out these chants? They were common enough to find if you took the time to look for them. Undoubtedly someone has probably posted them on the internet for the whole world to see!