Hide and Seek
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 8 min read
He remembered their faces, many of their names too. He remembered Ms Vaduva, chopping fish and his neighbour who suggested he become a seller of rare maps. But he was always a farmer first. And one who loved puzzles second. That was his essence. And rare books from a “Ye Tome of Lyfe” nestled deep within Ekrinaya’s weave of alleys. Books that described the ancient past, and their secrets.
And he kept notes and formed ideas for the ultimate puzzle – a device that the ancients believed could make one immortal and life was good; good enough to want to see what changes would come to the world. And he had found a watchmaker who, for the bribe of a large purse of gold coins was prepared to forsake the warnings embodied in the word. One word.
‘Αθανασία’.
The dream clouds surge forward as days become weeks and a silver coin falls from the air. The messenger boy smiles wide. His first task completed; a second, much darker, task would visit him later in the night.
The farmer remembered the journey. As dusk fell, Ekrinaya’s alleys were less busy, so no one really noticed the farmer as he turned left then right, right then left, passed the magistrates and into the leafy lanes and formal gardens which would eventually bring him to the home of the watchmaker. He knocked on the door, checking his pocket watch for the time. No answer. And no candle flickered in the window. Distant voices and what sounded like a can being kicked. He knocked again, but this time the door became slightly ajar. He pushed it carefully and called out for the watchmaker. No response. No, there was a noise, like someone struggling to breathe. He went inside and found the watchmaker’s study where the rasping breath was louder. He quickly lit a candle and found the watchmaker slumped in his chair, blood oozing from his belly.
He quickly looked for something to stem the bleeding as the watchmaker mouthed the words ‘taken, taken’. The farmer poured some whisky and pressed the glass against the watchmaker’s lips. It seem to soothe the man who took a moment to look at the knife buried in his gut. He regarded the farmer once again and whispered, “Find, must… find… taken… Veraku… Ver…”
The farmer took a step back as the life fell from the watchmaker’s eyes. He looked down to see his own hands and clothes covered in blood. The watchmaker was silent now, gone.
His mind raced. The artifact had been taken. But by who and where? The ‘why’ was obvious and the ‘how’ included murder. The corpse was here and so was he, covered in the watchmaker’s blood. His heart raced for a moment. Even if he called for help, there would be an enquiry and questions. Questions he wanted to avoid. But no one knew he was here. No one. No one. Damn. The messenger boy…
His heart pounded once again.
Did the murderer know about the artifact? Did they know about his drawings? Could they find him. What had the watchmaker told them? Was his life in danger? His breathing became hard.
He knew he needed to leave, but first he needed to find the drawings. He searched the watchmaker’s pockets, his desk and bookcase. Nothing. He was frantic and study began to morph from purely a murder scene into one of a brutal murder and robbery.
Suddenly he heard a door creak open. Quickly he extinguished the candle and reached around for anything that could be used as a weapon. Had they returned. Had they forgotten something?
His hand grasped something – it was the knife, still embedded in the watchmaker. He slowly pulled it out and winced. Whoever was here, was a problem. Did they have answers or did they have questions. He needed to get home. He needed to think. And he ran. Through the dark house closer to voices. Voices that carried candles. Candles that revealed features. Features that revealed… Questions.
The dream clouds rush forward once more, and the farmer is home once more. He remembers the gushing of water as the farmer removed every trace of what had happened that night. He needed to leave and write a letter to the magistrate – from a safe place. Yes. He needed to go to Veraku until he could clear his name. He knew he wasn’t being rational, but he also knew he needed the artifact, his notes and he knew the time answering questions would make finding them so much harder.
He remembered the knife. It had a white bone handle, engraved with the letters J.F. The blade was a razor-sharp stone like slate or maybe flint. And then there was a ship. A safe place and he was someone new.
He awoke.
Another knock came to his door. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He poured rum into a silver tankard and allowed the visitor to enter. She was dressed in black, with long flowing hair.
“Lady Dansop?”
“We have him.”
Some distance away, beyond the Menavariyam, there was a moment of hesitancy followed by a brief knock on the door. The night air was beginning to wrap itself through the streets of the town, the pink stone cobbles beginning to glisten with an early frost. Perhaps he wasn’t home. He sighed. This was probably a bad idea. I mean, it’s mostly good here. The beach is nice. His moments of thought were interrupted by the rattle of the door, a brief “Bother, where’s the damn key? Oh, here it is. One moment dearie.” More rattling followed and eventually the door swung open.
“Good evening, Mrs Crabtree. Is the General home?”
“Oh yes Mr Enekos, isn’t it? Yes, yes, he’s been expecting you.”
The sands of time are quietly intrusive, having rushed backwards to a few weeks before the Great Fire of Veraku, 1521. I know: these stories are all over the place. I promise they will make more sense when the book arrives. Hold that thought, though. Enekos is making his way into the drawing room.
“Mr Horatio, sir,” Mrs Crabtree began, “It’s….”
“Ah Enekos,” her words were cut short, and she smiled, curtseyed and left to make some tea. “Something on your mind?”
“Have you ever been beyond the Blue Sea, General?”
“Only once, to a faraway place where rabbit-like creatures bounce up and down and everyone says ‘mate’ and they drink their ale from tins. Pleasant enough. Got family there – but it takes weeks by ship. Er, why?”
“I’ve been places, seen things, done things, heard wild tales and met the kinds of people that seem inaccessible to others. There have been jungles, deserts, mountains, great seas, tropical islands, wild beasts, extremes of heat and cold and yet, somehow I find myself here. Sure the beach is nice and the folk are friendly but I’m bored Horatio. I need something more and…” his voice began to trail off. Horatio remind silent, giving Enekos the time to make a decision.
“The lady Dansop has made me an offer. There’s some pirate in Ghenu who’s searching for an artifact, and you know me… I have a skill for finding things that don’t want to be found. Anyway, you should come too. Sounds like a General would do well there. I think they… umm we… yes; we are heading to Veraku soon. Ah, thank you Mrs Crabtree.”
And now that brief chapter is concluded, we can rush forward once again to a time when a hooded stranger met a Stadsplanerarens.
The Hooded Stranger
In his journal, the words “Stadsplanerarens aneckningar” embossed on the brown leather cover, Balder Grimm describes the story of a card game in a Veraku tavern, where he loses to a hooded stranger. What followed was a hastily written note to say he was attending a symposium in Ghenu for the adequate use of sewers in an expanding city – something no one would check upon – that he pinned it to the door of his 3rd floor office. And, for anyone watching, he would leave by a side door, carrying a heavy case, and find his way to the Veraku Carriage company (Est 1472) and board the carriage marked Ghenu.
And astute watchers would say he sat next to a hooded stranger.
The carriage bound for Ghenu was ambushed by the nomadic warriors known as Vikings who seemed to divide their time between drinking a deep, rich mead and fighting – often with each other. Not known for their mercy, it was feared every traveller had perished. But no, Balder Grimm invoked the “Right of Stadsplanerarens” which he described as knowing how to exploit the weakness of any town or city. And somehow the hooded stranger was spared too.
Perhaps that story is better told from the perspective of the Viking holding the sword to the hooded stranger’s throat. First, he noted that the eyes of the hooded one fell backwards to reveal just the whites and then they began to glow – a fiery shade of red. And then the trees seemed to move towards him. Oh, and it got windy. It howled. And then the mead started playing tricks on his eyes because the hooded one was now in the air. Like a fearsome warrior bird with no wings just a hooded cloak and there was lightning, and rain and he wasn’t proud, but anyone would have been a tad disconcerted. Anyway, he dropped the sword and ran. “I mean, he’s like a mage or a demon or a demon-mage.”
And so Balder Grimm and the hooded stranger were allowed to live. Well, more Balder Grimm was allowed to live, and the hooded stranger allowed everyone else to live. They tolerated life with their new companions until the Vikings reached the Tavern du Amanshi, where friendly banter turned deadly and, in their desire to leave the scene of swinging axes, Mr Grimm and the hooded stranger had found themselves heading along a narrow corridor with various doors, down a flight of stone steps and into a room with a circle of robed figures, chanting. The hooded stranger had made a quick U-turn and headed through the door, back up the stone steps, made a quick right turn, through a door and over the side of a railing, a moment of freefall and an icy splash, whereupon he passed out and the water took him away.
For his part, Balder Grimm had also attempted to leave the assembly but had turned too far and stumbled through an assortment of plant pots. He heard the unsheathing of swords and cried out “Jag är en stadsplanerare” which always made people – even those in robes with swords – stop and ask questions: everyone had some kind of problem with whichever city they were in. A lady pushed herself forward, removed her hood and smiled. “Hello. I’m Mia and you sound just like the person we’re looking for.”
Sometime later, the waters of the Amanshi river delivered a hooded stranger to a small inlet. He awoke, cold and his mind awash with mead. He reached into his robe and grasped two stones. The first purple with slivers of gold woven into them was held against his forehead, healing energy coursed through his body. The second was more crystalline in nature with a soft pink hue which he threw to the ground and a small fire erupted from the earth. He found some twigs and branches and soon the fire roared, and he looked deep into the flames.
He was searching.
Searching for Balder Grimm.
Fire is just fire until you look deeper and discover a portal where the sands of time roam. And when pushed the sands turn to observe and they whisper the words ‘yes master’ and gain the hooded one time to see first the secret meetings yet to be, the port of Ghenu, a dark ship almost invisible in the night, moored next to the Ministry of Curiosity and… a sabre-toothed cat.
“Take me to that ship” the hooded one whispers.
“Yes Master Voltumna,” whispers the sands of time…
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