Burial of hearts the black widow's malice (9 page)

My window was
quite
peculiar; extruding out in bizarre directions; only held together by eroding
screws, some of which hung loosely.

Despite the appearance of the
bed, I chose to rest upon it; it would possibly be the only chance I got until
this evening and I have not slept in
quite
some time.

As soon as I laid down upon the
bed I immediately noticed something untoward and it was not the odour from the
under washed bedding, it was the frame itself.

Standing back up, I walked to the
end of the bed, pressing down onto the frame; it did not move an inch, but on
closer inspection I saw that it was slanted and so also was the
whole
of
the floor.

“This will be a remarkable
experience”. I said to myself, as I sucked on my lower lip.

Stepping back over, I lowered
myself, deciding to position my body to the side of the bed, which was a
fraction straighter; keeping myself level headed was always a desirable trait.

A few hours passed by, waking up,
then falling back to sleep again; having dreams that seemed to have no
connection with any event in my life; ultimately arising as nature called me to
duty at the most inconvenient of times.

The sun was beginning to set and
the town crier was bellowing words in a strong accent that only the local folk
could clearly understand. Time to explore I thought to myself. I walked to the
end of the hallway, seeing sunlight I chose not to venture downstairs, instead
veering to the right, coming out into a raised garden patio. There seemed, at
first, to be nothing exceptional about this area; half of the plants had
withered away, the chairs were longstanding and half broken and the stone slabs
upon the floor were layered in moist moss, which squeezed out shaded water as
you stepped upon it. The area was enclosed completely; if somebody had wished
to, they could watch down upon me, through one of the countless windows that
lined the walls.

On the far side, there was a raised
area; built of dense blocks, they were not held together in any way, merely
piled loosely upon another. Atop of the blocks were a group of oblong
containers, filled with nothing but overgrown mushrooms. I fairly enjoyed the
soft touch of mushrooms against my skin; back home we often used to gather
them; I was always the first to volunteer to slice them, ready to be cooked; an
uncommon habit I
suppose
, but we
all
have them.

Reaching towards them, they began
to move as my hand came close; each time I tried to hold onto one, they quickly
whisked the other direction. Becoming fed up, I went to sit down.

I swung out my arms, as the chair
I was sat upon broke, with the sound of twisted wood. I heard a titter of
laughter as I fell. Looking up I could see the mushrooms were staring at me,
their bodies bopping up and down as if they were somehow doing a one-legged
dance. Their eyes were large and green, extruding from the sockets that had
appeared.

“Hello?
”.

“Hello, hello, we say hello, with
the voice that we hold we say hello”. The mushrooms sang, high at first, the
last giving a very deep
hello
.

“What… exactly… are you?
”.

“We are the mighty mushrooms, the
mighty mushrooms we be; here is thump and lump but do watch out for trump;
ratty and bratty, did we introduce you to fatty?
”.

“Ok… I am going to leave now…
”.
Hastily turning, I went back into the house as they sang
me their send-off tune.

“Goodbye, farewell, a happy time
it has been, come back quite soon, but please I beg, do not
eat me
(sang
one of the smaller mushrooms in a high-pitched tone)”.

Walking down the stairs, I chose
to go back out into the city and have a look around the shops; I had plenty of
coin, so I think it is time to
treat
myself.

I gazed around; there was so much
choice. I walked over to the textile shop; my room needed a good sprucing up,
this place looked like it could possibly help.

Entering, I was welcomed by an
old lady, she must have been
at least
seventy years old; her face seemed
to be slowly fading away, drooping far below that of an average position. She
let me view her latest imports; a good portion of foreign influence was
incorporated into the designs of these new items; but really, I wanted a more
homely
feeling.

Pacing myself over to the rugs,
there were varying designs; some plain and reedy; there were rounded rugs, with
floral patterns raised up from the background; even  one as big as my
room; which was hung upon one of the walls. I chose a simple rug, soft and
subtle, the design restrained from becoming complex.

Continuing to look around, I also
bought some frilly curtains and some bedding. The curtains were lilac in colour
with a stepping stone pattern cut out; that would be picturesque in the morning
as the sun shone through, I mumbled to myself.

Exiting the shop, I thanked the
lady; patting me on my shoulder, her expression showed that of great pleasure,
as if I was the single most important customer she had ever served; or perhaps
she was just in a good mood because she had gained coin out of me?

Holding all of the items, I knew
I would not be able to carry everything I wanted today. I saw a small child, he
appeared around thirteen in age, he looked reliable, a hard worker for someone
so small. He was pulling an empty cart along; useful, I thought to myself.
Trotting over towards him, I requested his assistance in keeping safe my items,
as I continued to shop; he quickly agreed as I had offered him coin for his
troubles.

I placed the rug, bedding and
curtains into the cart as I inquired upon his name; he replied Joshua.

“Follow me please, Joshua”. I
said firmly, as if now a person of great authority.

I entered into the candle maker’s shop,
whilst Joshua stood outside as an honourable guard, watching over my newly
bought goods. There was a wide selection of candles to choose from; different
shapes and colours, some were scented and some were not.

A man came over to me; he wore a small
wooden name badge; his name was Mr Tinstern. Affront of him was a glass display
case, demonstrating fine works of art in candle form; hand carved, to represent
the subject matter; whether it were a person or be it an animal, they were
almost
too
realistic; a waste really, to melt away such remarkable
expertise.

“How may I help you today?
”.
Mr Tinstern said all the time scratching at his balding
head.

“Would it at all be possible to purchase
some candles in bulk, say forty?
”.
I said as I looked
around the building, noticing the spiders who crept between the piles of
candles, placed upon the storage racks.

“
Of course
, what type were you
looking for, anything in particular?
”.

“No, no, I am merely searching for some
plain, humble candles, that each would last one day lit”.

“One moment, I shall bring them to you”.

Opening a container; Mr Tinstern looked
over towards the corner of his shop to a group of bulky candles; motioning
them, they rose up, forming an orderly line, placing themselves perfectly in
the container, after first self-wrapping in a thin paper sheet.

“There we go, now is there anything else
I can help you with today?
”.

Glancing
around, I saw a sign advertising the option to create your own candles; why
not, I thought to myself. I do not often get to treat myself, so today I was
going
to
.

“May I
perhaps create my own candle? How much will it cost?
”.
I said with a trivial smile on my face.

“Of
course, come this way; it is twenty coin. Now what colour(s) would you like?
”.

Taking
a weighted wick, I dipped it firstly within a pot full of uncoloured honey wax,
then removing it, setting the wick aside for a short moment for it to harden.
Slowly I built up layers of colour, starting from green at the centre, to a
light pink on the outside; adding the odour of jasmine that would be released
as and when I chose to melt this hand-crafted candle.

“That
will be two hundred and twenty coin please”. Mr Tinstern said, ushering me to
swiftly give him the coin, not releasing his grip on the container until I did.

Handing
over the coin, I picked up the container, the weight of which was too much of a
challenge for myself, so Mr Tinstern helped me kindly, placing it within the
cart, next to the other items I had purchased.

“Are
you ok Joshua? You look bored, I hope you will not disappear on me?
”.

“No,
I will be fine, as long as you pay me the coin”. He said as he fiddled with his
petite fingers.

“Let
us get some food, my treat”. I said as I heard his stomach starting to growl
like a wild pack of dogs.

“May
we? Thank you; I have not eaten in
days
, well hours, but as mother says,
I am a
growing
lad”.

There
was a small bakery close by; ‘
The Cut-Throat Buns’
it was called;
hopefully this was not literal
.

Smells
of endless varieties of food wafted through the air, now encouraging my stomach
to grumble as well. Glancing around the store, there were freshly baked pies,
sausages bursting with different herbs and spices, savoury lattices, oozing
with pleasant smells as they cooked, as well as many other delicious looking
treats. I chose a locally matured cheese pastry tart and a freshly brewed
barley tea; being somewhat indecisive, Joshua chose the same as me.

Seating
ourselves outside in one of the unoccupied tables, we
gorged
on the
tarts; there were parts of the filling that had become caramelised (some would
say burnt) these were always my favourite, teeming with hearty flavours.

“So…
young Joshua, what is it you do with yourself, are you at school?
”.
I said as I picked up the remaining crumbs that had
landed upon my plate.

“My
mother, she is poor and does not have enough coin to put me into school; I hope
one day I could be a great leader”. Looking down sighing, he continued to talk.

“But…
my father left my mother when I came into the world, left us with debts and
quite a number of enemies; now he is dead. I do not think I will amount to
anything other than the cast away junk hoarder I am now”.

“
Listen
,
everyone can be something,
no one
is meaningless. There may be people
who differ from you in personality, some people who you may even consider evil,
but even they should never be counted as meaningless; for all of us, no matter
how society places us,
are special
. You in
your
hands, hold the
key to your own destiny; no matter how hard the circumstances become,
never
give up on your dreams. A broken man is he who has lost of his dreams”. I said
whilst I held tightly onto his hand.

“I
suppose, but not all dreams can come true; can my heart
will
my father
back?
No
it will not”.

 “Your
dreams should be for
you
, not for someone else; what
you
want in
life you cannot wish to come about by another; anyway let us continue”.

I
ventured into many more shops after we ate, gathering all that I may possibly
need; some new clothing from the tailors, sea salts and soaps, a new dagger
from the blacksmiths, if I needed it at all; as well as a few furnishings to
lighten up my room.

“Here
is your coin, wait here a moment, I am just going to get something for myself
to eat for supper”.

I
paid for a jellied meat pie, along with some uncooked hognobbles to go along
with it.

Turning
around, Joshua was running away, along with all the items in the cart; his legs
sweeping through the air with no force to break him. Quickly leaving the
bakers, I shouted over to him to stop; he turned and squinted at me, but he did
not slow down. Starting to sprint, I juggled between speed and holding onto my
supper. He was gaining momentum and was soon to be out of sight; my leg was
giving way, still in pain from the night before.

Stopping
him in his tracks, a young individual from the panotti, tackled Joshua; warding
him off with the threat of a strike, but without hurting him.

“You
should be more careful who you trust… sorry what is your name? I am Camerine,
second son to my father Bero, grandchild to the heralded late Leoui”.

 “
Thank
you
, I am Avis. I was not at all expecting him to do that after the story
he had told me. I thought he would have a deeper respect for people’s
possessions”. I said, at the same time glancing at his enormous ears that
almost wrapped around his figure.

“Let
me warrant a guess, a sob story of how his father died and how he and his
mother struggles?
”.
Camerine said all the time giving
a stagnant expression on his face.