Chapter 7 - Among Saints And Great Souls

A GREAT SHADOW had been cast across the Face of the World and its influence was being felt in high places and among the lowliest who thought matters could not get any worse.

 

Rumours prided themselves on secret wellsprings. That first mutter which took on substance and a life of its own was essential as a beginning. In some places among wise tongues it might fritter away with disdainful denial, yet there were always little outbreaks that renewed, reinforced and substantiated the insubstantial until it acquired gravitas. Which is not a pleasant sauce one might dip crisps into, nor missing particles in some grand sub-atomic scheme that explained just about everything. It was weighty significance, if the rumours were to be believed.

 

Rumours did behave like particulate matter at times though. Driven by some unseen field of force, accelerated through various energy levels, following those lines of force no matter how twisted, until they impinged upon some unsuspecting nucleus minding its own business in the lowest state of matter, torpitude.

 

Tinkers were known to cluster thus in the mysterious land of Affinity, picking the bones out of philosophical thought with the burden of responsibility.

 

It was agreed after several rounds of drink all rumours began with a denial which acted as an echo to an unspoken thought. Once a negative was in play, a response was essential to balance things. Some responses though were more about affirming the state of affairs rather than reacting to the possibilities of doom. The only remedy for that was a positive denial.

 

"No matter how deep the shadows, or the depths to which despair might plunge, or how far down spirits are dragged," one Tinker was saying in dreary tones as he tried to seek words to offset the gloom.

 

"Were there miners in your ancestry?" someone interrupted this speech.

 

"You always dig that up," came a whine of exasperation. "Anyway, despite the worst the future tries to bury us under, we still have one thing that could change it all. One tiny little thing on which we can relie."

 

"What's that then?"

 

"Faith. And hope."

 

"That's two things."

 

"Well, hope is a kind of faith for those who have little niggling doubts. You know, not quite one hundred percent on board for certain, all in up to the hilt."

 

"Or shovel handle."

 

"Yes, thank you, that as well. What I meant was there are shades to all this and it's best to represent them all lest someone complain. We have... something, a secret weapon to fight the good fight."

 

"Oh, another one of those."

 

"It is best, I am reliably informed," a feminine voice inserted itself in the conversation, "to have more than one on the go at once."

 

Everyone looked at the new arrival.

 

"What?" she said a little uncomfortably. "What did I say?"

 

"There's a," and the bearded individual next to her made a finger gesture. "There's a spider on your hat."

 

"Oh, poor thing," and she flicked it off. "Just along for the ride. Anyway as I said there are more ways to bake a cake you know. I have had the opportunity to engage a curious little soul among others, rather mischievous it is true, but no less of merit for all that."

 

"This one's special," the optimistic speaker resumed. "A soul so pure the very substance of the universe is changed by it unwittingly, or so I've been reliably informed by Tinker memo and a fragrant handshake."

 

"Ah. Anything to do with cheese?"

 

"It might," and there was a twitch to the corner of his bearded mouth that showed any further elucidation would be suppressed.

 

"Excellent!" came a dismissal of incredulity. "Who's round is it?"

 

"Yours," everyone inevitably said.

 

"Did anyone notice where that spider went?" he replied meekly.

 

***

 

POLDORAMA WAS not a place where a good rumour could live long and prosper. Gossip was frowned upon and idle chatter pointed the idleness of the chatterer until some helpful soul gave the loose tongue something to do.

 

It was all about letting things settle, or curdle. Sucking the energy out of a restless spirit was considered a social obligation and the way to a successful business is to let the customer know they would always be there. Waiting.

 

The Mindal family did not mind waiting.

 

Their dairy business grew at a slow but steady pace based on the simple fact their product could sit on shelves for decades awaiting that special moment when someone noticed them.

 

As a young man Forster Mindal had apprenticed to a cheese maker and remained in his employ for thirty years until he was awarded a Master Cheesemaker badge. This meant he could make cheeses in his own name. It was a good time then to marry.

 

Ten years later, having chosen the love of his heart from among the gentle maidens of the Blessed Hub's Shivering District, he married and founded the Mindal Family Dairy Solids Factory, with its racy motto of cheese matured while you wait.

 

Funding came from wide connections, government grants, and a friendly neighbour who owned a vast herd of dairy cows and a goodly stretch of pasture lands between key transport canals. It helped also that Forster could call him father-in-law now and again.

 

Then they waited.

 

Grayta Mindal waited mainly behind the counter of their largest shop outlet, carefully located between the Coloured Water Bar, with its ever so slightly fizzy drinks selection, and a publicly subscribed house of convenience.

 

"Well, a blessing upon you," one customer said. "Just passing this here splendid cheese retail outlet that looks mighty fine, with all them cheese selections on shelves there behind you when I thought I might pop in and take a look."

 

"Can I press you to try our Orange Mold, freshly squeezed and washed this very day?" Grayta Mindal said in her most persuasive tone of voice. She was prettily decked out in a checkered frock with a rounded lace collar and a ribbon in her pale hair. Her face, round and rosy, was the picture of robust health as she smiled and gestured at a glowing wheel just behind her and which gave off a heavenly fragrance redolent of open fields and glassy canals. It made the customer think of water just then.

 

"Well, I'd be mightily delighted to try a nibble, but sadly feel another pressing matter which needs immediate attention." Thus he raised his hat in farewell and departed, for of course he had come from the Water Bar initially.

 

A certain saltiness in some of the dairy products on offer did have a mutually beneficial effect however.

 

"Thirsty work partaking of some of your cheeses Madam Mindal," another customer declared.

 

"We can wrap them to go," came the helpful reply and a big reel of patterned paper was whirred in anticipation of a sale.

 

"That'll do nicely."

 

Matters went on well enough and smaller outlets began dotting the Blessed Hub well beyond Shivering so that the Mindal enterprise became enriched, for in Poldorama cheese was always in demand. It went with everything and was never out of season.

 

Grayta Mindal waited behind her counter until she could do so no more. An assistant replaced her and the family were congratulated in due course with the birth of their first and only child, a daughter so pale and fat she was almost named after a mild Fettabok Surprise.

 

They called her Vetta instead, by way of tribute.

 

As soon as she could talk they taught her of the five wellsprings of joy, the faith by which they guided their lives and shaped the world around them, for they lived among saints and great souls. Their whole world was the Blessed Hub, the most revered and sanctified part of Poldorama and everywhere else besides.

 

Every corner had its Chapterhouse of Thoughtfulness and every street a little soft-voiced being who handed out pamphlets, blessed passersby and absorbed all the sad thoughts of the world to turn them into something else. To weave them into dreams of joy.

 

It was a golden world in the eyes of some and among the customers of the Tabernacle of Tourism a revelation for visitors from outlying villages.

 

"You mean if I drop this litter I won't be fined like I would in so many other places, but blessed?" someone asked.

 

"Try it," the Tabernacle guide said with a smile.

 

The crumpled wrapper was duly dropped and it fluttered about a moment in a light breeze. From somewhere a young lad scampered into view. He watched the litter a moment, smiled brightly and after a few aborted attempts managed to seize upon it. With careful scrutiny he found the lady who had dropped it and went up to her. She stiffened, expecting a righteous lecture so beloved by youngsters teaching their elders but the boy merely asked if she wished the item returned to her.

 

"No, it's just litter," she said with a stammer.

 

"Then I must thank you for giving me such an opportunity of being helpful by disposing of it for you. Good intentions are always welcome here for they form one of the four founts of mindfulness." With that he went to the nearest bin and dropped it there before racing off back where he had come from, a house nearby, installing himself in its window, a smiling observer of the street and canal beyond, like some neighbourhood watcher.

 

"That was creepy," the lady said, fluttering a hand to cool her blushing cheeks.

 

"But kind of sweet," the man with her said. "I get it. Shame with kindness."

 

"Oh no," the tourist guide said with a laugh. "There is no shame intended. He really was pleased to help. Sometimes little old ladies have been helped across roads so many times in an hour they have lost their way, only to be seized upon by someone delighted to help them find it again."

 

Such kindly intentions could not help infuse itself in every aspect of daily life among the quiet and considerate people of Poldorama as well as being a source of hilarity among those befuddled by such sanctity. It was inevitable such creatures rarely ventured beyond the barriers into the noise and hunger and grasping cultures of other lands.

 

It was why Tinker Blomp found the rumour started somewhere within the deep recesses of a trembling world a little hard to swallow. Nevertheless he was determined to try.

 

If only he wasn't so lactose intolerant.

 

***

 

"I'VE FOLDED THESE napkins four several ways, sir," the waitress said in Tolerance Smillen's Eatery on Gentle Row. The customer spoken to looked up from the menu card and smiled.

 

"Thank you. You've done an excellent job." He placed his pointed hat on the cushioned seat next to him as if tempting a hilarious accident all Tinkers found amusing in their strangely childlike way and then concentrated his gaze on the list again.

 

"I heard," he began.

 

"Yes?" and the waitress leaned forward.

 

"The Danger Dolls sometimes like to eat here."

 

The waitress straightened and glanced nervously at the counter where the manager, Tolerance Smillen, was busy scrubbing at a stubborn piece of melted cheese which tainted the worktop.

 

"Let me fix those napkins for you," the girl said, endeavouring to look busy. Then she lowered her voice. "Feepal Mindover, she works the later shift from mine, told me she once saw them, all of them, bustling in and ordering all sorts of stuff," and she nodded knowingly.

 

"What were they like?"

 

"Like you," and the waitress sniffed.

 

"Like me?"

 

"Old."

 

"I see."

 

Here was a perfect example of how rumours frittered away in Poldorama. The Danger Dolls were a once popular team of dare-mongers, challenging each other to various tricks and feats such as canal leaping and roof hopping. Their adventures were broadcast in a series of on-grid shows and then suddenly they stopped, disappeared. This abrupt ending spawned a whole series of legends about what happened to them, why the sudden cessation of dares and of course where they were.

 

What thrilled the people of Poldorama at the time was they were all local girls. It seemed some cathartic rebellion against the quiet and sensible lifestyle of the land and although authority disapproved, there were many secret admirers who lived vicariously through the Danger Doll ethos. On-grid re-runs helped a lot too.

 

Tinker Blomp ordered a meal and chewed upon thoughts of such characters coming into being amid such resistance. To wear bright colours was rebellious enough here on the edge of the Blessed Hub, the most conservative part of Poldorama.

 

Gentle Row was one of a thousand quiet streets that linked canals and roadways across the land, yet the Tinker felt there was some significance in the place as if the forces of doom seemed to watch over it, and salivate.

 

Thus he was able to observe the very actions of doom from where he sat.

 

An overburdened lady tottered along by a canal's edge and Tinker Blomp tensed up for disaster was writ large in the air around this struggling figure. She was not alone in the street as others passed this way and that.

 

A great bag of buns was clutched awkwardly and the pressure on one edge inevitably led to a tear. Out tumbled the round things in no danger of coming to harm, yet in danger of being lost or overlooked.

 

A girl wandered along the pathway with her father. He was a big, jovial man, sauntering with a pride in existence as if prosperity had been laid on just for him. The girl, with soft blonde curls, looked up to him with heroic pride, until she saw the bakery mishap.

 

Instantly she left the man's side and scampered to where the lady stood, turning this way and that, puzzled by the unexpected relief from her load of groceries. The girl pounced with a childish glee on the errant buns as they rolled, snatching them up and making a little pyramid where the lady stood. By her gestures she was praising the child for a disaster seemed averted by this prompt and kind action.

 

Then the girl noted she had retrieved six buns but a seventh was well on its way to freedom as it rolled down the street. Its pace had ensured a straight route but momentum was leaving it and the thing began to stagger and sway. Thus its path curved a little and it turned to the edge of the canal on the point of plunging in to be truly lost in a reversion to moist dough.

 

The girl was heartstricken and raced as fast as her legs could carry her. The man sought his child, suddenly realising she was not at his side and took in the scene with a deep-voiced shout of surprise. The girl was too late. The bun leapt to its doom without hesitation and disappeared. The girl seemed of a like mind and was about to leap after it on a foolhardy errand but the man, fast for his size, caught the belt of her frock and prevented the rescue.

 

He lifted the girl up, and even at a distance and through thick glass, Blomp could hear that booming laugh as the man carried his precious cargo back to where a pyramid of buns sat and a perplexed lady stood. He placed the girl upon the ground, raised his hat to the lady and from a deep pocket produced a replacement bag. With tender care he put all the remaining buns within, sealed the bag and returned them to the lady, who, mouthing thanks moved on. The girl seemed perplexed in her own way for as the man clutched her hand so they could resume their walk, she often looked over her shoulder at where the bun had disappeared into the canal. It was as if her failure weighed heavily upon her.

 

"I'll be blessed," Tinker Blomp said, finishing his meal and leaving a tip which should allow the waitress to invest in gilt stocks and a comfortable future of ease and plenty.

 

He departed the eatery and followed the man and girl into a maze of speculation that had him counting his fingers, making faces and eventually coming to a simple conclusion.

 

Doom truly simply did not stand a chance.

 

Not with faith in the mix.

 

Not with hope thrown in for good measure.

 

And not with a purity of soul so bright it blinded.