A Word in the Breeze

The Word Spinner (The Strangers II)

Helen stormed into the kitchen. Mrs Clive looked up.

“Did you get the bread? And the spices?”

She threw the bag onto the table in response.

“What's gotten you in a state? Did Aziz ask about the book again?”

“Yes, Ma. Thanks to you.”

“I only told him because he asked about you.”

“Yes. So you said about Josie last week.”

She stood at the window, frozen in thought. Then she shook her head at something and sat at the table, looking attacked.

“It's just – nothing's coming together, Ma. My mind is blank. What if I never finish? I'll be a laughingstock!”

“You're not a laughingstock!” Her mother looked at her briefly. “You'll finish. I have faith in you.”

But Helen was already shaking her head.

“No. No – what if I don't? Don't you see? I've forgotten how to do it.”

Mrs Clive shook her head. “You're just anxious,” she said, brushing it off.

“How do I go forward, Ma? What do I do?” she looked at her with wide eyes.

She shrugged.

“I'm not a writer, honey. You're smarter than me. You'll figure it out.”

On that enraging note, she left the room. Helen was left sagging in her chair.

Writing, she decided, was hell. But not writing was ten times worse.

~

The next day, Ralph was edging through the bushes, back in the same spot he was in yesterday.

It was as regular a patch of grass as any other, he thought – difficult to imagine a spaceship materialising here. Yet he knew what he saw, so he stepped cautiously forward. His hand was held out in front of him nervously.

When he touched cool metal, he flinched back. Then, disbelievingly, he felt around the perfectly solid sphere that was sitting invisibly in front of him. It's true, he thought. It really is a spaceship. Invisible...

Soon he fingered the edge of a door, but no sooner had he brushed a palm over it than it slid open automatically.

And a black tentacle launched out and tugged him into the ship.

The doors shut invisibly.

He didn't even have time to shout.

~

“Where next?”

Basil and Romana walked the streets relaxedly.

“Well, we went around the shops, interacted with the locals,” said Romana, ticking off her fingers. “I rather liked Aziz, didn't you?”

“Yes, nice fellow.”

“We tried the human cuisine...”

“Which was dreadful,” he added helpfully.

“Appalling,” she agreed. “We survived off our rations and stayed at a hotel.”

“But I don't think they liked us much. In most parts of the universe, Romana, animal teeth aren't a form of currency anymore.”

“Okay, wrong planet! Easy mistake.”

They strode on.

“Shall we hit the library next?”

She smiled her dangerous smile.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

~

Helen had just finished a chapter and was glancing up reminiscently when she saw them again.

They were easily recognisable because they looked so distinctive. The curly haired man who might be a clown or might be a murderer, and the girl who looked so beautiful and yet seemed, somehow, pointy.

She felt the sudden urge to rise and walk away, but the girl had seen her, and was walking right towards her.

“Hi," she said. Her voice was breathy and incisive. She sat herself down opposite. “I'm Romana. You spin words, don't you?”

That's an odd expression.

“Yes, I... How do you know?”

“I can tell. I love words.”

Helen smiled into her book. “At least one of us does.”

She was met with a curious expression. “Are you a word spinner who doesn't like words?”

Her smile broke. “I don't... That is to say, I don't hate them, but...”

A nod. “They're difficult.”

“Yeah. They really... sort of... are.” Helen looked into Romana's eyes. There was something different about them, she didn't know what. One thing was for sure, though – this person knew what writing was.

She licked her lips and started over. “It's a struggle. You know? It's a struggle with yourself, because there's so many voices trying to come through, so many ideas demanding your attention – sometimes you just feel lost in your own head. And –” she snorted with laughter, “And other times, there aren't any ideas at all, and you wonder whether you've lost your touch or something.”

She glanced at the book in front of her with a wan smile. “Then you look at books like this and you just wonder. How can anyone get through that, and actually finish? How do they even become writers?”

Romana watched her sadly. The curly haired man had come to sit next to her.

“You're wrong, I think,” he said.

“What?”

“You're wrong. You're seeing it the wrong way.”

“How do you mean?”

But just then, something flashed red on his wrist. Briskly shoving back the coat sleeve, Basil revealed a black wristwatch – or so it seemed. When he pressed a button, the words scrolled on the display: Intruder. Alert.
“We have to go. Romana?”

“Yes.” At once they were on their feet. “Sorry. See you around?” she suggested, before they took off, out of the library.

Helen stared after them in shock for a moment.

“But how am I wrong?” she wondered aloud. Soon, she was out the door, and had spotted them at the end of the street.

She was going to follow them.