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[ovmatt-blog]

Chapter 7. Magic Eye Hostel

Cold stars blinked at me in the velvety-black boundless sky… Some terribly powerful unfathomable force hurled me through the night sky at a reckless speed, the chill wind blowing into my hot sweaty face… Whoosh! … The whistle of cleaved air in my ears… Whoosh! … I turned over… My jacket was flapping in the wind… Suddenly I started losing altitude… Bang!

...I touched the ground with my arms as I was let down to land, squatting down. I was gulping lungfulls of cold night air. I opened my streaming eyes, hastily drew myself up to full height and looked around…

I was standing in a wide cobbled pedestrian street. Bright billboards, flickering with neon ads, soft music, flowing from gaping entrances and drowning the distant rearing of rumbling cars and passing double-deckers, created the swift mix of light and sounds… The restaurant quarter…

It was strangely warm and chestnuts waved their long leaves under the fresh night breeze. A line of them, twined with the strings of glaring electric light bulbs, shielded the glass-walled terrace of the restaurant I was standing in front of, Tin-Tin and Max flanking me. A huge neon signboard in the form of two pure-white outstretched wings on the top of the building, splashing white light in all directions, spelled ANGELS. A rain of white electric light strings illuminated its transparent panes, which alternated with gaping spaces. A greatly crowded place it was, with all the tables occupied by visitors, chatting and laughing while having their meals, and waiters in black rectangular aprons, balancing trays and several plates on their wrists, while shuttling about wooden tables.

I stood absolutely charmed by the luring warmth and light. “Maybe we should drop in?” I implored my companions.

Max looked askance at me, “But you have said you are out of money?” His very tone and entire appearance seemed to blame me for squandering.

“Max is virtue itself,” Tin-Tin winked to me, “Cheer up, Robin! One day we will afford the luxury of dining here!”

“It’s late, we should hurry on,” Max said in a conspiratorial tone and then said in a loud voice, addressing no one in particular, “We are the guests of Magic Eye Hostel.” A strange grinding sound followed… With unbelieving eyes I was staring at the glass restaurant, which – well, you won’t believe– was rotating clockwise! And the next second the icy gust of the west wind blew out the white electric lights on the chestnuts, while the restaurant showed its backside and stopped with a clang…

…We were standing in the cobbled street, in front of a grey stone single-storeyed building, fenced about with short silver fir trees in tubs. Narrow loophole-like windows were decorated by hanging boxes, from which none-so-pretties were peeping out. The neon signboard read Magic Eye Hostel and the “e”s in its name, shaped and coloured as green eyes, winked at the deserted open countryside beyond the fir fince. Below the signboard were smaller neon letters: Special offer – pay in instalments!

The arch-shaped oak door lacked a keyhole or door handle. Tin-Tin knocked at the door three times and after a second it opened inside. Max stepped over the threshold, Tin-Tin and me at his heels. The door closed behind our backs with a creak and we plunged into complete darkness.

We were standing close together near the entrance in pitch darkness, unsure whether to move further into the house or to remain at the threshold until dawn. Then Tin-Tin made a few steps and stumbled against something, nudging it with his foot. Something soft and warm and evidently alive brush against my leg, I started and ticked off, “What the –”, when all of a sudden a tongue of flame emerged out of nowhere in the centre of the hall and hung in the air, lighting up the face of a lad, arising behind it, who turned out to be carrying a candle in his hand.

He was wearing a long nightshirt and nightcap with a long liripipe dangling near his shoulder. He raised the candle higher, so that its flickering light was thrown along the square hallway. The walls were completely crammed with pounchy bookcases, stuffed with shabby books, bound in old leather. Flower-shaped green glass vases, white crystal glasses with sterns in the form of human figures, supporting those cups, and old-fashioned gilted Christmas-tree toys glistened in the pool of dim light.

At the foot of the one of the bookcases was a peach-coloured cloud. I looked more closely – the cloud turned out to be a huge fluffy cat, screwing up his eyes. No doubt, it was he who had rubbed against my leg in the darkness. Having noticed my intent gaze, he looked back with a green-eye stare.

“It is a bit late,” uttered the “Liripipe”.

“Yeah, we were at classes and – ” started Tin-Tin, but was interrupted by, “I see a newcomer…”

“Yeap, my name is Robin Orion, I would like to – ” But I was also interrupted by his short, “Yule.” While I was staring at Tin-Tin, asking with my eyes what this person meant by this, he proceeded to the bureau and opened a huge ledger. Hardly had Tin-Tin hissed to me, “His name, it’s his name,” when this strange guy held out a quill to me and pointed at the ledger, “Write down your name and how many nights you will stay for…”

“Well, I have only one pound and I …”

Yule interrupted me again, “Don’t bother me, state the number of nights, you can pay later.” Then he shut the ledger down with a loud noise and exclaimed, “Now will we listen to a tale or don’t you need breakfast tomorrow? Let’s go to the kitchen!”

Tin-Tin swore under his breath… Going in arrière-garde I asked him quietly, “And how are tales and breakfasts connected?”

“He will explain it to you…” hissed Tin-Tin.

“And how much do you pay per night?”

“I don’t pay, I have no money,” light-heartedly he answered, “I live in debt.”

“I hear all you chuchoter! Yes, I am a waiter at the Gudwin restaurant and help out here as receptionist and stay overnight and cook breakfasts… But cooking is my passion! And one day I will become le Chef at Gudwin’s! And you know that I need new impressions to get inspiration at cuisine! Even for cooking your breakfasts!” Yule proclaimed. “Therefore, you tell me the tales and what is the tale about in the evening that is your breakfast in the morning!” he finished his tirade, evidently exhausted by its length.

We passed the arch, leading to the kitchen with snowy whitewashed walls, covered with all types of hanging utensils – frying pans, stew pans, saucepans, pots, pitchforks, knives of all sorts – for meat, bread, cheese, deserts, and of all shapes – bent, curved, jagged, and of all colours – silver grey, steel-blue and even green and pink.

The floor of greyish-white faceted wood bars was pensively observing a sooty ceiling, anticipating the frequent pat-pat of the kitchen master’s foot soles, striding between steaming casseroles and hellishly burning pans emitting puffs and columns of black smoke.

In the middle of the room there stood a white oval wooden table with two semi-circular benches down each side. The benches had high striped backs where lettuce green stripes alternated the dark green ones. Huge blankets and petite pillows with oriental patterns were lying, folded in piles on the benches. Flashes of hearth fire played over the walls and reflected themselves in the utensils and flaming gothic glasses in the cupboard.

Yule was spinning here and there, opening and shutting cupboard doors, to proclaim at last, “I will brew up some tea!” And he jabbered, “You know, different travellers bring me exotic food as a present – dried grasshoppers from Mexico, rose petal jam from Uzbekistan, tofu from Japan. And tea – green needles, bergamot, pu-erh, oolong.” He waved with his hand in the direction of an oven and soon a kettle started to whistle. Then he took a glass jar with little grey-green balls out of the sideboard and a glass pitcher out of the cupboard, threw one ball into the pitcher, poured in boiling water and uttered, “Now I will show you a Wonder!” Fascinated, we were watching his preparations.

For a few seconds nothing was happening, but then the ball started to swell and expand, unfurling its long, narrow green leaves, and tiny yellow flowers shot up from the ball, soaring bottom up and, finally, in the centre, a Miracle – an innocent white lotus flower  emerged and… it was blooming.

After we tore our gazes away from it, we looked up at Yule, waiting for an explanation. With an air of reverie he stated, “This precise ball is called – White Lotus virgin.” Looking at our perplexed faces, he snapped, “Blooming tea it is! Haven’t you heard about it? During the rainy season, the Chinese collect the tea plants’ upper leaves and leaf buds, and wrap them around a dried flower – chrysanthemum, jasmine, lily or hibiscus, which is put in the middle. Amaranth flowers, lavender, clover, calendula or peony can be also added to highlight the flavour. Chinese wanderers have told me that this tea can be not only sphere-shaped (the sphere being the symbol of love in China) but also ring-, Chinese lantern- or even Dragon-shaped, which is very precious and rare! But my dream is to see the unique “Birth of Pearl”!

…Having unfolded the blankets, we were sitting on the benches, drinking tea out of bowls, when Yule asked, “So who will be our Scheherazade for tonight?”

His question caused sudden confusion in our ranks, but after several seconds of violent whispering and hissing – “I won’t! It’s your turn!” “No, it’s your turn, I had already…” – Tin-Tin cleared his throat and said, “I’ll tell you the tale of soft oatmeal cookies … So …” He cleared his throat once again and started his tale.

 The Tale of Oatmeal Cookies

 It was such a night in the beginning of July when there is a light glow in the sky till midnight and it’s getting light at four in the morning. Still now it was thick darkness. Not a star twinkled in the sky and the darkness was so dense that a foal, resting afield, could not discern his own nostrils, and to prove the sheer fact of his existence, he sniffed and immediately snorted loudly, as the fragrant aroma of fresh grass tickled his nose.

All day long he had been rolling in sweet fields, his mouth full of grass, plunging into the sea of oat to spring out of it and again scamper and roister recklessly in the grassland.

Only when the sun set, he lay down by himself, a bit far from his Mum, near the very edge of the oatmeal field. Juicy herbs were his bed and lush grass was his pillow, over which his chestnut mane spread. He was being gradually overcome with slumber, when a strange sound made him perk up his ears… The slightest breeze wandered in the ripe oats, and the field stirred and waved as the wind brushed it along…

Having calmed down, the foal drifted into sleep and smiled sweetly in his dream, as he saw himself bathing in a river flowing with milk, and rolling in its honey banks, through his half-closed eyelashes came a glow of light. Fully awoken, he opened his eyes wide, just in time to see that one by one three balls of light hopped in the air out of nowhere, flashing in circles above the endless field. The foal got to his feet and thrust into the sea of oat, which stood quiet and still, talking in its sleep with the wind.

Slowly the foal sneaked in the direction of the lights, drawing the oat ears with his head and hiding under the infinite sky, and when he finally approached the balls, he saw that these were … three fairies.

Pink, lettuce and bright-yellow-winged girls, the size of a human palm, gowned in a trapezium-shaped lettuce tunic, rose-shaped garment with many folds and a sunny circle dress correspondingly, they were hovering above the oats, their transparent wings shining brightly in the dark.

Or more precisely, the lettuce-winged fairy was hovering above the oats, drawing grains out of the oat ears, while the yellow and pink girls hung in the air, watching her working, having folded their arms in yellow puff sleeves on a bright chest and having propped rosy blooming cheeks with tiny fists respectively.

At last the yellow-winged fairy’s patience gave out and she asked, “Chloe, could you please explain what you are doing? The Queen of Elves has announced that she will grant a handful of magic blossom dust to the person who brings her soft oatmeal cookies! We need to hurry up to bake these cookies and – ”

“Leigh, you have answered your question yourself. We need to bake soft oatmeal cookies and how are you going to bake them without the oats? By the way, oat grains need to be hulled and ground to make oatmeal, so tonight we all will have plenty of work to do!”

“And oatmeal has such a delicious nutty flavour…” the rose-bud fairy drawled in a dreamy voice.

“Fiore,” Leigh came down on her, “what are you dreaming of again? Let's get to work!”

And they got to work in full swing. The fairies were hulling, grinding, rolling and singing a song:

 Seed of oat – inside the husk…

“How to pound, would you ask?”

Mortar would be shell of nut,

Pestle-rush – the groat is ground!

 Their voices were so sweet that they resembled the golden bells, gently ringing. The foal neighed softly in rhythm with the music, as he liked the melody and wanted to join in the song.

“Chloe, Leigh, look! A chestnut foal is in the oat! He is so jolly!” exclaimed Fiore tenderly.

“Certainly, Fiore, a pretty foal,” said Leigh absently, busy holding a heavy nut shell, full of rolled oats, “Chloe, you know that we need to find some stones or a slab to place dough balls on and get the fire lit to bake them?”

“And we need raisins and chocolate to add to the dough…” sighed Fiore dreamfully.

“Er… maybe Stonehenge?” asked Chloe, her voice not sounding confident.

“Let it be Stonehenge,” Leigh fumbled about in her pocket and drew out a handful of some pharmacist’s powder, shining in the darkness like magic pollen. She strewed some pollen into the air so that they all got veiled with the shining cloud and cried out, “Stonehenge!” And the moment she did so, they all disappeared. But they didn’t pay attention to the fact that when she was sprinkling the shining pollen in the air, some specks of it spilled down straight at the foal and the next second he felt some strange whirling sensation…

 The end

***

It must be the middle of the night. I want to sleep so much. And Tin-Tin’s voice is so lulling…

When I opened my eyes, a bit refreshed, Tin-Tin said, “The end.” Blimey, I’ve slept through the tale… Meanwhile, Yule, being open-mouthed, was staring at Tin-Tin, and Tin-Tin and Max were staring at Yule in reply, evidently awaiting for his approval of the tale and readiness to bake soft oatmeal cookies for us tomorrow.

I elbowed Tin-Tin in his side and whispered, “What have you told him to give him such a stunned face?”

“My Mum used to invent crazy endings to bedtime fairy tales and I recalled one of them…”

Finally, Yule closed his mouth, blinked his eyes and uttered, “Well, it’s late, I’ll show you to your suite.” He stood up and then slightly bowed to the storyteller, “Tin-tin, thank you for your tale, it was fascinating…”

He conducted us to the well-stout oaken door, turned the handle and pushed it. We stepped in and the glorious view of a summer night orchard and meadow outside the high hedge opened before our eyes…

“Wow!” came out of my mouth – it was evidently July or August there, as ripe fruits pulled down the branches of apple, pear and plum trees. Little yellow-bright balls of light, resembling light bulbs, were hovering and floating in the hot and dark evening air, creating slightest chime, adding to the chirring din of grasshoppers and dragonflies. If got entangled in the stalks of the luxuriant flowers, poured by tiny fountain jets, streaming up out of the ground, the light balls blew out of the tangles and danced against the night sky. And when I stretched my arm, trying to catch one of them, it jumped and hopped away, rotating and spinning in the air…

“Make yourself comfortable, choose your sleeping place.” With a wide gesture of his right hand Yule circled the entire orchard, “when the lights go out, the curtains are drawn.” And with these words he retreated.

I turned round the corner to see what was behind the wall, containing the door through which we came in, hoping to see there a front side of the manor. Still I found the opposite side of the same wood-panelled wall, decorated with seascapes and bright sconces, the only difference from its other side being the absence of a door. A lonely wall stood vertically in the centre of the orchard.

I looked behind me – there opened a view on the narrow path, starting from the gate in the centre of a neatly cut blackthorn hedge and leading through the open country to the redwood where the pines outlined sharply against the light-coloured summer evening sky, almost touching the moon with their heads. I stood still for some seconds, breezing the night pine-smelling air, and then returned to my friends.

Two white beds were standing near the wall on the grass and a hammock was stretched between two apple trees. Tin-Tin went to the far bed and Max fell into the hammock and starting rocking at once, pushing off from the grass plot with his leg.

“Guys, how do you sleep here? Don’t you freeze in the night in the open air?”

“Nope, the nights are really warm. It’s July, not August still,” yawned Tin-Tin, fluffing his pillow.

Suddenly I recalled Urai. “You know, this Dragon story reminds me of something… I can't think of what exactly…”

“You’re mental, you’re just inventing all this. What can it remind you of?” Tin-Tin said sleepily, “Look, it’s after midnight. Go to bed and believe me, you will have a great sleep here!” And with these words he collapsed into his bed and snored immediately.

I got into the remaining bed and tumbled in between the sheets smelling of lilac. Not visible, thin like the web and soft like the gauze, the lightest canopy was floating in the air, securing us from the rain and cold. I threw the curtain aside and looked at the stars, and they winked back at me. I didn’t remember how I fell asleep and in my dream I saw my Dad with his usual long blond hair, gathered in a ponytail. I looked at his hands – there were golden strings at the wrists, ingrown into his skin…

[ovmatt-blog]

Chapter 6. Urai Knight and the Tale of Dragon Bracelets

When we returned from a walk, which we really needed to digest the ice-cream cake we had stuffed ourselves with, the conference room had merged into semidarkness. Tin-Tin had been fumbling for a switch on the wall for several seconds, all in vain, and then, more to explain his failure, he mouthed, “It’s strange but the wall has become coarse… And the switch has vanished...”

Our legs sunk in sand and we stumbled on cobblestones. We were still crowding near the entrance, not venturing to move across the room, when suddenly the room was illuminated. Everyone gasped with surprise and astonishment. The bright stars, shining through the rare pink clouds in a saturated orange sky, were illuminating the walls of the room, which were studded with sparkling rubies, sapphires and diamonds. What we took for sand turned out to be golden dust and coins, and the stuff we were stumbling on were plates and goblets, helmets and shields, swords and other armour, all made of gold.

Then a man separated from the wall and said in a subdued voice, “Please, take your seats, and we will start the class…”

There were two rows of desks in the room and, while everyone got seated, I took a good look at the new tutor. He was tall and thin and his black shirt and trousers matched his raven-black hair. He had distinctive features – his eyes were of a soft luminous amber colour, lighting up his face. I'd never seen anything like that before. But I also noted that his oval face with its sunken cheeks and hooked nose looked emaciated.

After everyone had taken their seats and the gasps of delight calmed down, he began. “My name is Urai Knight, I am the Manager of the Gevellin department and today we will start the Magic fundamentals course with you.”

“The Gevellin department works as a consultancy on the return of lost or stolen artefacts and removing curses from them. By the way, by artefacts we mean jewels or simple objects, endowed with the magic power.”

He looked up at the class, “It is better to study by example, so we will find examples right now.” He swept along the rows, “some of you may possess artefacts in the form of jewellery, which you wear as amulets…”

Vlad, sitting near Camilla at the first desk, cut in, “I wear a snake fangs necklace. Mum says it protects me from evil spirits...”

“I suppose it won’t protect you from anything.” Urai passed the second desk, skipping both the multitude of silver chains hanging down from Letisia’s neck and sparkling with bright gems, fixed at different distances from each other, like planets are fixed in their orbits, and Gui’s fingers, each adorned with precious stone rings.

Once Urai had turned his back on them, Gui leant over his desk, craning his neck to keep in view Urai’s departing figure, and hastily whispered to Camilla, “In September the whole office will go on retreat to Bodrum – ”

Vlad and Camilla spoke at the same time: Vlad asked, “Bodrum? Where is it?” Camilla asked, “The whole office?”

Letisia started giggling foolishly, while Gui tried to answer both of them simultaneously, “It’s located 200 miles to the west of Antalya. All employees, consultants and staff from the London office are invited, except –”

Letisia’s face acquired a more intelligent expression and she asked, “What is a retreat?”

Vlad, Camilla and Gui looked at her, amazed. Camilla waved her away, “A yearly outing. To unwind.”

Gui added, “The company takes employees all over the world to chill out, enjoy the scenery, and build genuine friendships outside the office.”

“Really?” Letisia looked positively shocked.

“Yeah,” Gui clearly savoured the details, “I’ve heard, last year it was a deep-sea fishing expedition. The last night, they all gathered for the final feast with an open bar. And people said there were such wild dances that night that the creatures of the sea, drawn by the music, leapt onshore and also began to dance. And by midnight the shore was thick with oysters clacking their shells like castanets, crabs spinning on their claws, and shrimp beating time with their tails. And all manner of fish were jumping and plunging about to the music.”

Letisia giggled again, “I suppose that soon tables were laden with oysters, shrimp and crabs!”

Camilla waved her off as a nagging fly and asked Gui, “And what will happen in Bodrum?”

“It’s even difficult to imagine! The east half of the town has a long beach. Behind the beach are all the bars, restaurants, and night clubs.”

“Typical of Mediterranean resort towns,” Vlad smacked his lips.

“In the west half of the town the life revolves around a Yacht Club with shops catering mainly to those who have stepped off their boats.”

“Oh, I remember, Bodrum Castle is located on a rock between two harbours that separates both sides,” Camilla remarked pensively, “so, you haven’t finished what you were saying – all the employees are invited, except whom?”

“Ah, all except us!”

“Us??” Camilla and Vlad exclaimed in a chorus.

“The Managers decided we can’t be distracted from our studies!”

“Wha —?”

Before this precise moment, I was silently straining my ears in order not to miss their conversation, but at their genuine indignation I giggled like Letisia, and as they all stared at me, I said in a subdued voice, “Hey, swelled turkey-cocks, somebody has forgotten to invite you to the biggest party of the year? You can start sobbing right now or wait until tonight to cry into your pillows?” Everybody sniggered heartily. I turned my head back – Urai seemed to still be busy examining the prettiest rose bud, carved out of the yellow opaque amber, dandling at the green chiffon ribbon at Guiselle’s breast.

“Bang!” a spitball struck me right in the forehead – Vlad was rubbing his hands, a malicious smile on his lips.

“That’s it, it’s war,” whispered Tin-Tin.

Gui squeaked, “I thought we could ask Jess to get invitations, at least for us. Her father is close to–”

But his words were buried under the waves of spitballs our two camps were exchanging. Then something cold and heavy hit me. Jess! She was pelting us with snowballs she had taken out of her sleeve. Soon we were sitting in a snowdrift. But we were spared dishonourable capitulation by Urai who passed Ernie and Melwin, sitting at the last desk, and turned to Tin-Tin and Max, sitting across the passage. Before Urai could notice the snowdrift and hills of spitballs, all this stuff melted in the air. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Nothing, nothing…,” Urai’s gaze finally rested on me. He pierced me with his burning amber eyes for approximately a minute, when suddenly he shifted his look… I followed his gaze, which rested on my neighbour’s neck, adorned with a fascinating necklace of black roses. “Black silver… No power, still fails slightly to be perfect…,” he snapped his fingers and – blue topaz roses alternated with the black ones. Urai conjured a hand mirror set in gold from the air and held it out to Diana, “It perfectly matches your eyes…”

Diana looked at her reflection and gasped with astonishment, but Urai had already turned away from her and approached the second desk, occupied by Leda and Leslie. The corner of his lips twitched. “Mmm, Leda Winegrain, I suppose. And this peculiar ring with two stones is your Mum’s gift, I guess,” he said, looking at the golden ring with two emeralds on her finger. “You are right,” a smile lit up Leda’s face. Leslie fidgeted in its blaze. For a second, Urai and Leda were staring into each other's eyes, then Urai said, “Well, I hope you will use it wisely,”

Not willing to observe the scene, I turned to my jolly neighbour, “Diana, where do you live?”

“My parents have bought me a two-bedroom apartment in London,” she answered in the most natural way.

Pressed down with envy, I gulped a lump in my throat and looked at Urai again. He stroked Leda’s tiny butterfly-shaped golden earrings with his greedy gaze and went ahead, to the first desk, occupied by Jessamine Gevellin and Laska Valentine. His glance fell at her simple iron ring. And then at once several things occurred. His pale face turned greyish and his eyes lit with a yellow flame. Black smoke whirled around the iron ring, making Jessamine squeal, “What you are doing, you…” Not having finished the sentence, aimed to indicate, who Urai in reality was, she dragged the ring from her finger and threw it onto the desk.

Though Urai was swift to put his hands behind his back, we saw that a simple golden ring on his finger started emitting white light in the form of a tiny disk of pure energy.

Then, simultaneously, the smoke and white light vanished. “The twin rings,” gasped Tin-Tin. “It is simply coincidence,” whispered Diana in reply.

Urai and Jessamine’s faces both twitched, hers – with rage, his – with hatred. A slight burn could be discerned on Urai’s finger, but still he showed no sign of pain. In an insinuating, catlike voice he asked Iceeye, pointing at the ring lying on the desk, “It looks like you are not in great need of this ring… So maybe I may take it for training purposes?”

Looking insulted, Jessamine answered with her most arrogant air, “Certainly, not. This is the property of the Gevellin family. My Mum gave it to me.”

“Avril Dayle,” Urai was more stating a fact, than asking a question.

“She is Avril Gevellin, Dayle is her maiden name,” Jessamine corrected him soberly. It was painful to look at Urai, so humiliated did he feel. “And my name is Jessamine Gevellin, but friends call me Jess…” she was calming down gradually, as the danger had gone and the smoke cleared away.

“I don’t care, what your name is,” Urai turned to her with a straight back.

“And will you care if I invite you to our manor for the celebration of my Dad’s purchase of an ancient golden locket?”

He froze for a moment, then paced further, having not replied.

“I’ve heard consultants call him Night Knight,” whispered Diana, following his back with her eyes.

“Whom?” wondered Tin-Tin.

“Urai,” Diana gave him a caustic look.

“And why?” Tin-Tin’s eyes became round.

“Maybe he is a sleepwalker?”

“Or adores working long hours?”

“Or hangs around in night clubs?”

“Or maybe he is so old that he fought in the Crusades?” Diana shrugged her shoulders.

Tin-Tin and I exchanged looks, clearly indicating this hypothesis was insane.

“And maybe, Diana,” Max yawned, “you just got stuck with him?” And immediately he snatched a silver helmet from the sandy floor and put it on so that Diana couldn’t hit him.

Meanwhile, with his gaze lingering on the faces of all those present, Urai said, “Well, it’s strange, but I hadn’t found any suitable artefact for training purposes among your ‘toys’… Then – ”

“And I have Dragon bracelets,” intervened Bastian, holding forth his arms with string-shaped golden bracelets, tinkling on his wrists, “Dad says it helps against Dragons.”

“Nothing helps against Dragons. But you got hold of the wrong end of the stick, having heard only bits and pieces of legends about the Dragons. Unverified information is evil in consultancy work. Okay, the topic is chosen, today’s class will be devoted to Dragons.”

With the wave of his hand he removed the back wall and … golden sand bordered green grass, and orange sky overflowed to dark blue one, bright stars twinkling in it.

“Come along,” said Urai and stepped on the grass. Everyone stood up and went to him. Standing on the velvety grass, I looked back – our precious chamber vanished and we were in open country.

“Where we are?” piped Bastian.

“This is the land of the Gwinedd Kingdom,” replied Urai, “If you don’t want to get cold, collect dry heather nearby…”

Soon the tongues of the fire licked the twigs with pieces of lamb, we were holding in our hands, sitting in the circle near the fire. Nobody could guess where Urai had got the food, and having ascertained that not one of us would starve, Urai started his tale.

 The Tale of Dragon Bracelets

 The incredible events that I want to tell you about, have been treated for a long time in the way, it was convenient for the interpreters to speculate on it. The story has been embroidered with new guesswork and then at last people could not tell the truth from the fable anymore and were lost in guesses, what has actually happened.

The time came for me to break my silence. I became an involuntary participant in these events and I want to tell you the true story as it unfolded before my eyes…

I was lying under the pellucid veil of dark-blue heaven. The sky was so low that it merely touched my face. It was a warm midsummer night with violet air so dense that it could be eaten, not breathed. The night was full of quiet rustling, sonorous chirr and rich singing. All day long I had been herding longhaired sheep on the grassy downs, scrambling my way along rocky paths. Now the sheep were sleeping in the steep meadow and I was lying in the grass carpet, the herbs tickling my face caressingly.

My fatigue and the torrid heat of the long summer day departed, subjecting me to the coolness and the slightest whiffs of the fresh night air. The long night and overall the whole life and the sheer Eternity were ahead of me. Such nights evoke reveries and call up dreams. And I was ready to fly away to the Fairyland of dreams on the wide velvet black wings of the Night, when suddenly a strange bright light appeared out of the corner of my eye.

The sky was clear that night, no cloud dared to obscure the newly-born crescent. Was it a shooting star? I raised slightly up, ready to make a wish and peered into the black vault of heaven – a blazing dot was rushing in the sky over the rocks, growing larger and brighter with every yard of its flight and soon its outlines loomed in the distance, taking the shape of a strange bird with an enormous wingspan that was ablaze.

But when it passed at great speed a hundred yards from me, its triangular outstretched wings cutting the air with a whistle, golden scales radiating heat and light and fire coiling in its fiery mouth, I clung fast to the grass, numb with fear, as the creature that I had supposed to be the firebird was none other than a great winged lizard aloft on the wind.

It went forth to the cold grey sea and, having reached the Сastle, set on the edge of the precipice overlooking the sea, vanished above it, having scattered into fiery sparks, which extinguished with hissing when they touched the ground at the end of their fiery flight. And then darkness fell again on the land of Gwynedd.

Scared and appalled by the sight of the lustrous monster, I recollected how often sheep disappeared from the herd in mysterious circumstances and all the tales and gossip about countless treasures of Llywelyn, the King, as it was he, who lived in the Castle with his wife and little son. People said that Llywelyn bathed in gold and his Treasury was a dome, hewn in the rock, piled high with gold and precious stones.

Then I could guess that the reason for his incalculable wealth was the Dragon, a loyal servant, who faithfully brought stolen gold to its master. I wondered what flagrant wickedness Llywelyn committed to repay the Dragon for his service? And had he ever repented? Full of dread, I rejoiced that I would never face the evil and wickedness in the Castle.

But this was not meant to be, as the Fates intervened in my life in the face of the Head of the Royal Guard, who showed up at the doorstep of my Father’s hut. “By order of the King! A hundred recruits will be conscripted to the Royal Guard today!”

I barely kissed my Mother and embraced my Father when I was kicked into the cart to join the other unfortunate wretches. We were taken away from our homes and dumped in the foreign Castle.

As we drove, we found plenty to talk about, and upon approaching the Castle, we gazed at its high walls with four towers, reaching high into the sky, facing the four corners of the Earth, and piercing the faintest clouds, sprinting to the West, with its points. The royal banners were waving freely in the breeze on their flagstaffs, reflecting themselves in the cool sparkling waters, running across the hill the Castle occupied, which was green as green could be the Eternal Spring.

Watchmen were looking out over the country through the narrow slits in the battlements, touched with the glorious light of the morning sun, to report the arrival of foreigners. Having noticed us, they shouted and cheered and pounded the stone floor of the Castle with their pikes to greet us.

Thus, my life in the Castle began. From dawn to dusk we were marched in rows across the cobbled courtyard to the sound of the voice of the Head of the Guards bellowing orders of the drill. We shot swift arrows at targets, fastened to hayricks, and leart how to fight with bright swords and sharp lances. But in my thoughts I was far away, wandering the grassy slopes of the mountains under the boundless sky, the bellies of clouds hanging right above me and listening to my slow talk to the sheep…

I sat at the cracked stone slabs, leaning my back against the cold stone wall. The night shift of the watchmen had just arrived to relive me, but there was no sleep in me and I stayed there, sitting near the brazier. I stretched my frozen fingers to the fire, warming myself.

“Bound here till midnight… Nasty business… I wish I slept in a soft bed now and was not stood here in the draught, chilly winds blowing through me…,” grumbled Joe into his beard, looking out through the slit, “pitch darkness… I guess, the Dragon himself would not make out the tip of its tail in such a murk.”

“Shut up, Joe,” snapped his lanky companion, “Do you want to bring us bad luck? We will all get into trouble if you invite the monster with your profane abuse.”

“And have you ever seen the Dragon near the Castle?” I threw out a feeler, not wishing to talk about my own experience, for fear of being labelled a blabbermouth.

The lanky guy, whose name was Snella, cast a gloomy glance at me and said in a hushed voice, “Look, Ordeah, let me choose the right words here – if you have any sense at all, you would not twaddle on about Dragons at every corner. Llywelyn takes it personally. The ancient legend says, some relationship (at the word “relationship” he lowered his voice to whisper) binds the royal family with the Dragons and that very long ago Llywelyn’s forefather did a favour to the Dragon and in return the Dragon promised to come to his or his heir’s aid should they ever find himself in mortal danger, either being overrun in a battle or starving to death. And in the end, the Dragon reassured him that as soon as he would be summoned, help would come and relief would be certain. Therefore, a golden-red Dragon is embroidered on the royal banners in silk – as he is the King’s patron.”

“And what favour did Llywelyn’s ancestor to the Dragon?” I inquired, casting a suspicious look at Snella.

“The old man didn’t bother to share this information with us, lad!” and they burst out laughing. When Snella recovered his breath he said, “These are only legends, lad! Do you really believe all these old wives' tales? The last thing we all need is a living Dragon! Bless us!”

I smiled at them, wondering deep down what on Earth was the King’s patron doing above the Castle, when I had seen him, as we were neither at war with anybody nor starving. A courtesy visit to enquire after Llywelyn’s health? Patrolling the territory to prevent armed attacks?

Busy with day-to-day duties, I soon began to forget my concerns about Dragons, as our service in the Guard was ordinary and routine.

Many times I got to see King Llywelyn. He was a stout red-haired man of medium height, thickset, with shoulders so broad that this was at once arresting the eyes of those, who faced him for the first time, and so strong that he could lift the bull into the air!

His wife, a fragile blond with enormous sky blue eyes, meek as those of a doe, was almost invisible in the Castle. But their son was a real imp, growing strong and courageous. Not once had we took him off from the turret where he perched himself as a cat and then dangled, uttering terrible cries that he would fall, and when brought to the ground, asking every one of us personally not to tell his father…

Once during my shift at the doors of the Prince’s bedchamber, I overheard his conversation with the King. I did not give any special attention to what I heard, but much later their words, having been reconsidered, shed light on many of the subsequent events.

“Papa, teach me how to …,” the excited voice of the boy broke and I didn’t catch the end of the phrase. “I am not sure you need this, Lerroy,” Llywelyn’s voice was coaxing, mild.

“But you cannot! You do not dare! You are not the only one! You can’t usurp the right…,” the prince’s voice rang with tears.

“You forget yourself, Prince! I will take the decision about your learning myself and you will obey it,” rose metallic notes in the King’s voice.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” whispered the boy. And the King left the chamber, without saying goodnight. When he passed me he clenched his fists so tight that his nails tore into his palms.

Still, the life in the Castle was peaceful and calm… until the night came that turned my life around…

I was keeping watch at the Treasury doors. The chimes struck twelve. Fighting drowsiness, I was peering into the darkness, edged with the dim ruddy light of solemn torches. Time hung heavy, endlessly. More than once I had been sinking into a doze, when at last a dull and subdued “Donn!” broke upon my ears, making me wake up with a start – the chimes struck “one”.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on the setting, looking around attentively. Everything was quiet. Then suddenly a metallic “clank!” sounded from behind the Treasury doors!

Frightened that somebody must have stolen past me to the Treasury while I dozed, I bent and peeped into the keyhole … and then I became stupefied with terror and amazement… or maybe with amazement and terror. The red rock was towering in the cave, filling all the empty space with itself. With brilliant, shimmering gold colour, emitting golden glow… I could take a good look at the glossy jagged scales of an old acquaintance of mine – the Dragon!

The monstrous creature was bathing in the gold. Everything was blazing with unbearable heat, the gold was melting and the yellow-hot rivers of molten metal flowed along the golden hills. The Dragon tumbled on his back and started rolling on the gold like a foal, showing his pale undersides and inner thighs. Soon he was crusted with the scorching gold and precious stones as the gems glued to the molten substance. Turning right and left, the Dragon admired himself in the lake of molten gold underneath.

Then, he suddenly rolled over, helping himself up with his massive coiled tail, stood on all four legs, and his slanting golden eyes stared straight into my eyes. I was caught and before I dissolved in his oily gaze, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Dragon! Help! Dragon!”

In an instant glow went out and the Treasury was submerged into darkness. Still, I knew he was there, hiding in the dark, and, having drawn myself up, I went on screaming, “Help! Dragon! He’s robbing the Treasury!”

To my screams, a dozen guards came running from the corner, puffing and panting and jolting their pikes. I rushed to the Head of the Guards, waving my arms and pointing back at the Treasury door, and crying, “There… the Dragon… in the Treasury, open the door! Quick, or he will run away with the help of his magic!” Tor, taken aback and confused, tried to calm me, when Llywelyn himself appeared from around the corner, dressed in leather trousers and a white short sleeveless shirt, “What's going on here? Who has caused this clamour?”

“Ordeah said he has seen the Dragon in the Treasury…” mumbled Tor, evidently not believing in what he was saying. “In the Treasury?” returned Llywelyn in a strange voice.

Taking no heed of possible accusations of peeking, I gibbered in haste, “Aye, I heard some noise and peeped through the keyhole! There he was! An enormous Dragon! If we delay, he will flee!”

“We should check his words, my Lord,” intervened Tor. Possibly, he took pity on me. There was a short pause. And then Llywelyn took out from under his shirt a small silver key hanging on a silver chain.

Following his movement, I glanced at his arms, bare, as his short shirt lacked sleeves, and noted that he wore golden bracelets on his wrists. However, a closer look revealed that these were not bracelets but golden strings, ingrown into the skin on his wrists! In great amazement I was staring at golden curlicues, flourishing upwards from the golden rings on his wrists to the crease of his elbow, resembling some fantastic floral tattoo…

Meanwhile, he put the key into the keyhole and turned. The door opened noiselessly. A dry, hot, stale air oozed to the gallery from the darkness, having been loosed. With lit torches, Llywelyn and Tor entered the Treasury.

The Gold… Gold in ingots, gold in coins and rods. Diamonds lay scattered among golden dust. Strings of milky pearls, dawn-pink in hue, twined round the circles of ancient golden shields, their mottos obliterated by centuries. The spikes of the crown, wrought of gold, came out from the pile of sparkling rubies, crunching under my feet. I stooped down and pulled it out of the precious waste by its spike. Heavy and cold round my arm, it cooled my palm. The red lights of torches were dancing around, casting bloody stains on the laced golden rings. Dunes of gold, dotted with sapphires, flashing out with dark-blue light, led to infinity as the edges of the cave were lost in the gloom…

I gazed and could not have enough. No stories from eye-witnesses, no words at all could prepare my mind for such a sight. I had almost forgotten about the Dragon and still… he was missing!

And I was not the only one who had noticed this as Llywelyn turned to me and shouted “Guards! Seize him and dump him out of the Castle! I will not tolerate a liar in my House!”

While I stared in bewilderment at the King, they seized me and dragged me through the galleries, and the last thing I remember was the sight of Tor, taking the pike Llywelyn had leant against the wall, and yanking his hand away with a scream of pain – “It’s hot metal!” – and Llywelyn’s voice, growing fainter, as he withdrew, “It must have stood near the hearth…”

I was kicking and fighting to the end, which meant to the Castle gate, screaming, “I am not a liar! I am not a liar!” while I was taken forth. They kicked me off the drawbridge and the stars spun above me while I was snorting and spitting out the water, wallowing in the river…

It is a long time since then. I returned to my parents’ house and to my sheep. But at night, when I dreamt, it seemed to me that somebody was touching my shoulder with hot palms and I dreamt the Dragon, his fiery face having human traits, and I could not discern them, no matter how hard I tried. I woke up in a cold sweat from my own cries, shivering and miserable. And as night after night I awoke my elderly parents and my brothers and sisters, they forced me to relocate to an abandoned hut, hidden in a lonely glen leading to the sea.

There I spent my sleepless nights, sitting near the firelight and burning logs in the hearth. Muffling myself up in the blankets I met each dawn, pondering over and over the events that happened in the Castle... But then at last came the day that changed the course of my life…

Once before daybreak, a lookout, striking the great bell, summoned people to arms. In several minutes horns blew, echoing along the hills, sounding the charge. Assault! To arms! With blood rushing to my head, I grabbed my bow and arrows and ran out of the hut as I was, barefoot…

The water was boiling in the offing with multitude of drakkars. Dragon's head with bared sword-like fangs in their wide-opened jaws was protruding from the bow of each painted ship. The horizon was bloody with scarlet-coloured sails and banners. The Vikings! Hundreds of them! At the sound of drums, beating the stroke, they were pulling the oars wildly. Then the warriors from the Dragonships, closest to the coast, leapt to the shallow water and came on like a tide against a thousand Gwynedd defenders, already awaiting for them, condemned to death.

“That’ll be the deadly end of our mortal souls!” I whispered and ran into the rows of archers who were sending a shower of arrows at the Vikings, who still were knee-deep in water. That day took a deadly toll on the invaders. Soon dead bodies were floating on the sea, but the hurrying multitude continued flooding to the shore. They outnumbered us by ten to one, sowing deathly dread in our souls. The Vikings were setting battlefield to chaos, wielding their axes in their left hands and waving their swords with their right, hacking the foot who were slowly giving back. Then, with shrill battle cries, mounted warriors rushed forward to wage battle led by Llywelyn himself, half-risen in stirrup at a white stad. Soon Llywelyn and his bodyguards were forced into a tight ring, surrounded with furious foes. Riders were cutting the enemies heads with their swords, defending themselves on all sides. Llywelyn cried to the Vikings’ Cynig, “Ic þe offslea, Gutworm!” Attackers and defenders tied into a great knot. Tor was in the centre of that slaughterhouse. He was trying to shield Llywelyn with himself. We were losing the battle, defenders were growing scarce, while the Dragonships were constantly landing fresh reinforcements. Llywelyn then broke through the encirclement and galloped to the edge of the nearest wood, clearing the way for himself with his sword. His arm raised and dropped with the speed of lightning and the wake of slain foes followed on both sides of his path. The Gwynedd army gasped… And Tor, his face distorted with rage, sent the dagger to the back of the King, the betrayer, fleeing from the battlefield. But he missed and Llywelyn disappeared behind the trees.

And then gasped not the Gwineddites, who had lost any hope by that time, but the Vikings, as from behind the wood showed himself in all his might none other than … the Dragon!

Everyone froze in awe. In the shafts of the rising sun he appeared in shades from grey to bright scarlet to turn brilliant, dazzling gold. Flapping his golden wings, he soared, shielding the dawn, approaching the battlefield with great speed, and soon the black shadow of outstretched triangular wings covered us.

With vertical slits of its snake-like eyes he searched the shore where all actions were paralysed and hands, squeezing axes and bows and swords, came down. Flames sprang in his fiery jaws … and then without any warning he beat his great wings wildly and spouted terrific flames on the battlefield, withering everything and everyone with his breath of fire, with no distinction between Gwineddites and Vikings. Dreadful cries made a chill wind blow across my skin.

A hail of arrows pierced the air and bounced off the metal scales and fell to the ground. I was standing deaf in the turmoil of fighters, scattering and sweeping to the beach in a desperate effort to flee and save themselves, at the terrific explosions of the Dragon’s uproar.

Flap of the wings in the jets of fire… Circling in the air… Flap of the wings, baring the skin of membrane under the wing, connecting it to the armoured body… With rigid fingers I pulled the iron bolt out of the quiver… Flap of the wings… The string drawn back… I aimed… Wings going upward… the thud of my heart… Twang!

I lowered my bow and my head…

And then I stopped my ears with my palms, as with the heartrending shriek that followed, the trees bent in fright and the grass shrivelled and blackened.

You would ask me where I had taken the iron bolt from? I contrived the whole plan during those sleepless nights, when I had to think about something in order to escape fiery nightmares. One guy, whom I knew, was a smith. He didn’t ask questions…

The Dragon, lame in the left wing, flew low and heavy to the Castle. I watched his flight, unable to anticipate his moves. His behaviour seemed inexplicable. Where was he going to hide himself? But as if in reply to my thoughts, he reared up in the air with a stinging cri de cœur and fell on the northern Castle wall, smashing stone and crashing it to pieces.

Tor shouted at that Gwineddites that survived, “To the Castle! Save the Queen and the Prince!” and rushed up, spurring his horse… In a minute only his horse’s tail could be seen in the distance.

We burst into the central gallery, lit with the rising sun shafts, streaming freely through the broken wall. Llywelyn… There he lay, with his wide-opened eyes staring to the eternity and my iron bolt protruding from his left side, Tor kneeling near him…

My mind was deserted, no thoughts, no emotions. Dryly, Tor snapped, half-turning his head to us, standing at his back, “Take care of Queen Loreine and Prince Lerroy.”

One of the guards reported in an unconfident voice, “We have searched the whole Castle and have not discovered the least sign of the Queen and the Prince. They are missing, Sir!”

Tor whirled around, “What’s the rubbish you are ta… ” He cut himself halfway through his abuse, as something flashed in his eyes, “The Treasury! Check the Treasury!”

We did not need the tiny silver key, as the Treasury doors were swinging wide open, leading to the cave that was… absolutely deserted. The floor of dark smooth stone was pristine as if no speck of golden dust had ever touched it…

Everyone had gone long ago and I was still standing there, in the cave, pondering in the vicissitudes of fate, dignity and betrayal, triumph and defeat… When I was just about to leave, I caught the glimpse of some dot, glittering behind the door. I bent… it was a golden coin with a countenance of a slender red-coiled Dragon. Had Llywelyn taught his son to fly? I shut the door behind me.

The end

***

 My eyes were heavy, I was obsessed with an overwhelming urge to yawn in the same way as everyone else. We were watching fading fires where potatoes were being baked in their jackets under the coals, their tantalizing smell soaring in the air and enveloping us with their smoke. Throughout the story, I had that vague feeling of something familiar that I was overlooking, that I had forgotten a long time ago and could not recall…

“When it comes to Dragons, the stories start to seem tricky and complicated. But the truth usually lies on the surface, the only thing you need is just to grasp it,” pensively noted Urai. Then he rose, “Now it’s time I sent you to your homes…”

I got scared that Urai wouldn’t know that I was going to the hostel together with the guys and would send me to my auntie and that I would again spend the whole night on the train to London. I wanted to tell him about it but I felt suddenly dizzy and all thoughts slipped from my mind…

[ovmatt-blog]

Chapter 5. The meeting with Eirene Clarine

6 a.m. – the face of my wristwatch was glowing eerily in the early-morning darkness. I was sitting on the steps of Wight Tower in the thick autumn darkness, still not believing that I had managed to return from Ireland in time. The Tower lobby behind my back was a luminous oasis, shining queerly behind the glass doors, promising warmth and shelter from the cold darkness…

At 8 a.m. sharp I was sitting in front of MAGI HR manager, staring at her. I had never seen such radiant hair, such glowing nails, and such stresses, sparkling upon her inch-long eyelids.

She smiled at me, and to my astonishment, I observed two even rows of white glistening pearls in her mouth. Deeply shocked, I could not speak a word, while she jabbered, “Cassandra is on vacation, you see, so I will deal with you instead… Well, this is your Contract and Confidentiality Agreement… Please, read it and if you have no questions, please sign here and here.” She handed a big rolled piece of parchment to me.

I flickered diagonally over the lines, wandering to the bottom of the parchment, but it unrolled and unrolled…

Witnesseth that the said Robert Lex Orion doth put himself an Intern (hereinafter Intern) to the said MAGI (hereinafter Company) to work in Management Consultancy the term of twelve months for the sum of … pounds lawful money during a probationary three months period and for the sum of …, assigns in all manner of lawful employment … beginning the 22 day of September… during which time the said Intern the said Company faithfully shall serve, the Company secrets keep, the Lawfull Commands of the Senior employees Obey, health&safety policy Adhere to. He Shall not Absent himself unlawfully from his Company Service Day or Night, with magic Artefacts, i.e. magic rods, swords… cursed artefacts, i.e. Nibelungen Gold…, Magic Creatures, i.e. Werewolves, Dragons…, bewitched Elements, i.e. Lightning, Floods … without preliminary safety training, but in all things as a Faithfull Intern he shall behave himself towards the said Company during the said Term...

… AND the said Company Best means it shall Teach and Instruct the said Intern the Art and Mystery of Magic AND doth hereby Promise and Oblige itself to provide for the said Intern the working conditions that Health and Safety Requirements Satisfy and against industrial injuries and occupational disease Guard. During the probationary period thes Employment may be terminated by either the said Company or the said Intern. …at the expiration of his term of servitude the said Company obligeth itself to pay unto the said Intern what the law allows in such cases & agreements . . . London, Isle of Dogs, 22nd Day of September…

I raised my eyes to the HR, “The wording is a bit odd … And September 22nd was yesterday…”

“Oh, never mind, the HR assistant is accustomed to the old-fashioned formulae! No wonder, as she has been working here for centuries! And the contract was prepared yesterday, the day of the autumnal equinox! Such an enigmatic day!” her pearls flashed at me in a wide smile.

I shuddered, recollecting the previous “enigmatic” night, and affixed my signature to the bottom of the parchment, which then rolled up by itself and faded into the air. While I was observing the phenomenon, she asked, “Whom should I put as a designated beneficiary in your life insurance policy?”

“Pardon?” I returned to reality.

“Why, the life insurance policy is issued for every MAGI employee as one of your employment benefits. So I need to put in the name of the person who would benefit from the insurance policy in case…”

“Okay, write in my grandaunt,” I snapped nervously, just wanting to be done with it, and spelled my auntie’s name out for her.

“Well, then we have finished… You will be informed about the start of your classes later on.”

“Finished? But… Well, I remember Cassandra mentioning I would be paid a relocation allowance the day I sign the Contract…”

“Cassandra said this?” She looked puzzled, “Well, according to our rules, the relocation allowance is paid with the employee’s first salary… Anyway you should wait until your bank card is issued…”

What could I say? It was a terrible blow! I hoped to get this money from MAGI as I couldn’t take anything from home, as there was nothing to take from there…

… I stood in the street under the autumn sun, recollecting the formulae of the contract… During the probationary period thes employment may be terminated by either said Company or said Intern… The wind was swirling the fallen leaves under my feet. Should I leave right now? Terminate the contract? Suddenly the tightly furled scroll appeared in the air and was suspended directly in front of my nose. And then the parchment, yellowish in hue and looking so ancient, as if it was going to turn to ashes, unfurled before my eyes and a sweet female voice sang the words, appearing line by line on the paper:

 Magic Fundamentals classes

will be held at 2 p.m.

in Conference Room 5005,

50th floor, MAGI

Best wishes,

Training Department

 I stopped, staring at the parchment in amazement and rereading the lines. The parchment hang in the air for a few more seconds and then rolled back and faded.

It was lunch time but as I was sparing each penny I decided to skip it and have a walk instead. At the appropriate time I set off for the first class, slightly dizzy with hunger…

At 1.45 p.m. I knocked on the white glass doors on the 50th floor. The receptionist smiled to me and the doors clicked open. There stood a guideboard with an arrow indicating the direction to conference room 5005. I went along the corridor until I reached the open-doored room. I entered and … who did I see? None other than rosy-cheeked Tin-Tin, swallowing the piles of double-decker sandwiches at the counter in the rear of the room! And with his mouth packed to final point, he still managed to chat with a bunch of guys!

He noticed me, waved his hand and lisped: “‘Obin, ‘ome ‘ere, ‘ere izz fee food!” “He means ‘free food,’ a blond guy with Ancient Greek statue features and perfect muscles burst out laughing. Then he stretched out his hand, “My name is Laska Valentine.”

“Laska?” my eyebrows lifted upwards.

“Yeah, shortened from Lasquar.”

“And I am Max Vitta,” a slim guy of medium height with curly chestnut-coloured hair and attentive dark eyes turned to me, holding a sandwich in his hand. His grammar was perfect and his very appearance indicated strictness. “Ernst Herbst,” introduced himself. He was the tallest of the guys with a very intelligent austere-featured face. Having noticed a bewildered expression on my face, he added, “Relax, friends call me Ernie...”

“Robin Orion,” I shook the hands of all of them and sprinted to the plate of sandwiches, cursing myself for not coming earlier. “What is the tastiest stuff here?” I nudged Tin-Tin and he started describing the ingredients with an expert air, evidently experiencing gastronomic pleasure, “Hawaiian avocado-and-mango roast beef sandwiches, Corsican rucola-and-peach chicken sandwiches, Mediterranean olive-and-lettuce salmon feta sandwiches…”

“Instead of all these sandwiches should have made Caprese,” snarled Max.

“Caprese, what’s that?” all the guys turned to him.

“It’s as simple as sliced fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil and olive oil.”

“Oh…”

“As it features the colours of the Italian flag: green, white, and red, it’s one of the most popular dishes in Italy!”

“Oh, you are from Italy?” everybody became interested.

“Well, my Mum is Italian, and Dad – Norwegian,” the answer followed.

“Cool! I’ve heard about Neapolitan pizza Margherita with the same colours!” Tin-Tin got excited.

“And Farfalle with tomato, spinach and plain flavours, sold together in a mix?”

Stuffing my mouth with all of this food and flooding it with sparkling sweet beer, I looked round the room. It was a hall of generous proportions, and its white walls and ceiling were gleaming slightly. Two lines of white wooden chairs, eight in each row, their bottoms and backs upholstered with dark blue velvet, were standing in the centre of the room.

“Tin-Tin, where do you live? I need to find a place to stay until I get my first wages…”

“They haven’t paid you the relocation allowance? The same story with me and Max. Only Ernie was lucky and caught Cassandra before she left for vacation and she ordered the accounting department to pay him his money in full…”

“Yeah, it was pure luck. And in several days I managed to find and rent an apartment,” said Ernie bit a piece of chicken happily, while everyone was watching him enviously.

“Why, we live in a hostel. Do you want us to show it to you tonight?” Max smiled gently.

“Wha —? Yeah, of course!” I jumped up excitedly.

“Well then, we’ll go after the classes. Don’t worry.”

“Cheers, Max! Blimey, that’s a load off!”

“Ha-ha-ha!” unpleasant laughter startled us and made us turn around. “You guys live in a hostel? And what hole have you come to the City from?” a tall fragile girl with long pure-white hair and eyes of blue ice asked mockingly, holding her sides with laughter.

Tin-Tin’s face immediately turned red and he blurted out, “It’s not your business, herring.” The smile faded off the girl’s face and her eyes narrowed. “No one has ever dared to talk to me like this before,” she said through gritted teeth.

“There's always a first time.” Several guys standing nearby laughed at Tin-Tin’s remark.

“Do you even know who I am? If you did, you wouldn’t be so brave, dunce,” the girl’s eyes nearly iced over. The temperature dropped.

“Whoa, we're so scared,” I jumped into the conversation.

“Yeah, desperately afraid,” Ernie echoed me.

“Oh, guys, you are maybe the bodyguards of this hop-o'-my-thumb?” Iceeye jeered.

Tin-Tin blushed so deeply that he was the same colour as the tomato from the famous caprese salad, but before he could open his mouth to respond to the insult himself, Laska, who was contemplating the squabble, leaning against the wall and chewing gum, intervened, “Hey, hey! Certainly, we all want to know who the Fair Lady is. You really managed to advance our mediocre level of intelligence. The whole room just lit up the moment you spoke. So tell us your name, the girl of my dreams?”

“Jess, you did find common topics to twaddle about with these tramps?” a pale lad came on to the scene. He looked a bit dishevelled – his raised white-blond hair was standing up like wheat sprouts in a field. “Great outfit,” his eyes flit over my ripped jeans “have you bought it for handouts?”

I rushed towards him, but ran into Laska, who moved so close to the Iceeye that his face was some inches from hers, “Jess? And what is your full name?”

“I won’t tell you, a blatant dolt!” she snarled, hiding a smile, and strode away, having pushed him with her shoulder. Having followed her with my eyes I continued observing the lads and ladies entering the room, and then I almost choked, as among them was… last night’s Greeneye from the Firefly Valley! Her brow lacked a flashing jewel and her dress was a simple white tunic, but her jolly dimples, brilliant green eyes, sunny smile…

I was coughing so loudly that she cast a glance at me and then turned away without interest. Having at last cleared my throat, I asked Laska, standing next to me, “Do you know her?”

“Who?”

“That blonde in the white tunic…”

“Why… No, I see her for the first time. By the way, she is cool… but this get-together has other beauties that deserve attention!” And he winked at me as he marched off.

Meanwhile, all present were taking their seats – I had never seen so many beautiful and strange people at once. While I was pondering this, a young woman in a dark blue swishing dress of silk with a long skirt, sweeping the floor, entered the room. Her long hair, shining as gold, was arranged into a huge bulk of tight locks, curling in all directions and composing a feet high and two feet long flowing lion's mane. A deep look from her sparkling sapphire eyes met the eyes of each of the sixteen students in turn, then she smiled and said in a warbling voice, “My name is Eirene Clarine, I am a Partner at MAGI and your tutor. Let’s get acquainted… I will tell you ten facts about me and you will guess which of them are true and which are false.” The sound of her voice made the impression of little bells ringing. Meanwhile, she went on, “So, let’s start. The first fact – I panned gold in the goldfields of Greenland. Is it true?”

Tin-Tin and I exchanged smiles. What could this refined lady do in the goldfields? Apparently the rest of the students held the same viewpoint, as “no” and “it’s false” resounded all around. “Still it’s true!” laughed Eirene, “Consulting projects at gold-mining companies are quite common at MAGI. The next one – I tamed lions in the Argentinian selva.”

I glanced around. The students were exchanging panicked looks. Projects in the Argentinian selva also are quite common? Muttering and whispers swept along the rows, but nobody was hurrying to say anything aloud.

“Don’t think so long! Any guesses?” Eirene gave us a sort of inquiring look. “Yes”, “no”, “no”, “yes” – opinions were divided. “It’s false! I have never been there!” confessed Eirene and went on, “I have lived in the polar circle…” The atmosphere grew relaxed and cries “no”, “no”, “no” could be heard.

“You are wrong and it’s true!” Eirene was grinning at us, “Once I went to Salekhard on a business trip. It’s the only town within the polar circle. And as the project lasted longer than had been expected, I spent there several months... Okay, the next one, I wield a sword equally well in both hands.”

The muttering came to an abrupt end. Students looked taken aback. What is going on? What is this lady talking about? Could fencing be her hobby? I couldn’t decide what to say and said nothing.

In the reigning silence, Eirene looked at us with laughing eyes, “Okay, I’ll answer this myself – it’s true and soon you would also be able to do this!”

Hues and clamour arose and nobody in fact cared her, while she asked the next riddle, “I am the descendant of one of the MAGI founders.” Students were discussing aloud the necessity of martial arts training, while Iceeye exchanged a significant glance with her neighbour, who had tilted her head to the side, coiling a ripe-wheat lock round her finger.

Probably Eirene was in a hurry, as having not awaited for the answer, she went on, “I can speak chirptongue…”

Every head turned to her, the silence only being broken by somebody’s noisy breathing. “No, you are joking, this can’t be the truth!” exclaimed a curly-headed chap, grinning from ear to ear. Eirene smiled in reply, “You are right, I am joking. But it doesn’t mean that this doesn’t happen!”

“What does she mean?” murmur swept along the rows again. The students put their heads together, whispering their concerns in each other’s ears.

Then she asked the next riddle, “I hear what a stream babbles about…” And suddenly, something happened with me, in my imagination I travelled to the dense deciduous wood, overwhelmed with bright sunlight… The birds’ singing, entwined with the sweet melody of the little bells, filled the forest. A crystal clear stream was flowing gaily across the glade. In its purl the whispering voices were speaking about distant journeys…

“Yeah, it’s true,” my own voice said those words. Eirene looked into my eyes with her dark blue wells. I was hypnotized, fascinated… then it was gone… I glanced around. Eirene was looking to the side, “I have witnessed the fall of Rome.”

Dead silence followed this statement. A cold and slithery snake crept into my soul and the grin slid off my face. Tin-Tin stole a frightened look at me. Everyone looked scared. “Oh, guys, do you believe the tales? I am not so old,” Eirene burst out laughing, “Okay, but enough about me. Now I would like to ask all of you to state your name and tell a few words about yourself. Would you mind if we started with you?” she said to the guy sitting on the left side of the first row, who appeared to be wheat-sprouted Jess’s defender. Hastily, I found a scrap of paper and a ballpoint pen and got prepared to copy the names down as I was very bad with names.

The wheat-sprouted guy, exhaling arrogance in every syllable, started, “My name is Vlad Valdash. My family owns an ancient Castle in Rumania…” But I was staring at his neighbour. Laska was right – beautiful lasses were not in short supply here. She had a perfect oval face with an ideal straight nose, almond-shaped eyes with long eyelashes that cast a shadow on her high cheekbones, seeming to be hewn of stone, and full lips, resembling bean pods, shining-creamy in hue. I had never seen such lips and much later I learnt that she never used make-up. This was a principle of hers, and her name was – “Camilla Eel” – which she spoke in a rich voice, “my Mum is the owner of a luxury Fashion House and I …” But before she had finished the sentence, Iceeye (Laska had far-sightedly taken his place near her) introduced herself in a cold arrogant voice, “Jessamine Gevellin.”

“Gui Shantolier,” a guy spoke through his nose, looking like a French aristocrat, but of quite repellent appearance. “My father is French and my dream is to enter the Sorbonne…” Peroxide blonde with mild features, giggling at something with a stupid expression, he was whispering non-stop in her ear, squeaked her name, “Letisia Cay!” and giggled foolishly again, showing her wonderfully even teeth to a fellow to her right. This was a short pumped-up bloke with blond hair, matching his light skin, splashed with freckles, an impudent glance of innocent blue eyes and sensual full lips, that voiced, “I’m Leslie Bello and I go in for body-building…” And with his shameless eyes he had almost devoured Greeneye, who appeared to be called, “Leda Winegrain!”

But I had to divert my attention from them, as my jolly black-haired and crystal-blue-eyed neighbour said, “Diana Dankwert…” And then I focused on a plump jet-eyed and jet-haired Oriental beauty, who was flapping her arched jet black mascara’d lashes like wings. I copied down, “Guiselle Liaison,” and looked at a fellow sitting to her left. That was the curly-headed chap, who hadn’t believed Eirene. A trifle simple, he seemed to be a laid-back guy, relaxed and easy-going, a goofy grin wandering across his thin lips. He introduced himself in a slightly hoarse voice, “Sebastian Gram,” and suddenly burst into contagious laughter. Everybody stared at him, also beginning to smile… Next to him sat a tall, thin fellow, his hair so red that it seemed to be set in flames. “Melwin Medwin,” he creaked and it was Tin-Tin’s turn.

When I copied down successfully all the names, Eirene said, “Now we will glance back at history for a while… There are four departments in MAGI – Murmaiden, Axamit, Gevellin and Ironsky, named after their Founders – great Wizards and Fays – Aquilline Murmaiden, Lato Axamit, Ruby Gevellin and Irik Ironsky.” The names of the departments developed in the air, written in golden letters, and hung there, slightly quivering. Eirene went on, “Maybe some of you know that the first letters of the department names form the acronym MAGI, which is the name of our company”. The first letters of the surnames flew to front and composed the word MAGI. “There is a legend about the founders of the company, according to which they united their talents and efforts, establishing a consultancy, dealing with magic matters, which became famous due to the outstanding skills of its founders,” and she half-recited, half-sang the verses:

Bird with iron wings

Soars through the sky in rings.

Doors he never knocks,

His whizz opens locks.

 Weaver’s golden thread

Streams the river’s bed.

Looking through the ground,

He may treasures count.

 Maid with gleaming scales

Wanders under waves,

Murmurs soft to sole,

Reading mortal souls.

 Jeweller’s fine craft –

Giving stones his mind,

Searching artefacts,

Gets to mountains hearts.

 Wonder skills alliance,

Magic knowledge science.

Fair code and ethics

Made the MAGI basics.

 “As is told in the legend, Aquilline Murmaiden was a mermaid with the ability to “look into a human soul”, Lato Axamit was a golden weaver, able to find any hidden treasure, Ruby Gevellin was a famous jeweller, capable of adding magic components to gorgeous jewellery, thus endowing it with magical powers, and Irik Ironsky could turn himself into an iron bird and walk through walls... Throughout the centuries MAGI has been helping its clients to solve ticklish issues, i.e. finding lost treasures and creating magical artefacts…”

The students were sitting as quietly as mice, and all ears, while Eirene went on, “What is MAGI nowadays? Each department specializes in a specific area: Gevellin deals with magic artefacts, the Ironsky department copes with magic creatures, Axamit seeks out charmed gold and treasures, Murmaiden masters the Elements… The projects vary from taming miracle creatures to the stock-taking of magic treasures… Today you will start the five-week long Magic fundamentals course and you will pass the exam at the end of the course, which will show whether your skills suit MAGI. Then all of you will work on the projects till the New Year… You will participate in one or maybe two projects and your Seniors will estimate your performance and thus your internship will end with you being promoted to business analysts or leaving the company after the New Year…”

The statement hit like a bombshell. A sigh swept along the rows. Ignoring any reaction to her words, Eirene continued with her speech, “Now I’ll tell you about the career path at MAGI with the example of an ice-cream cake. As intern, you will mostly study on site and will be responsible for specific components of a project, such as conducting interviews and developing the knowledge of the clients' critical business issues. With your findings you will help the team identify the cause-and-effect relationships in the Client’s business.” With these words, she erected four ice-cream mountains on an invisible plate floating in the air, “pistachio flavour for Murmaiden, mango flavour for Axamit, strawberry flavour for Gevellin and bog whortleberry flavour for Ironsky.” Then she went on, “As an analyst, you will be given greater autonomy and responsibility in the projects. You will analyse clients' business issues and their performance, identifying their vulnerabilities and fragilities, as well as strengths and opportunities, and suggest solutions to problems.”

She poured pistachios, mango pieces, strawberries and bog whortleberry and vanilla syrup on each mountain. And when the sun suddenly popped up from behind the cloud and smiled through the windows, the mountains glistened in its bright rays.

Meanwhile Eirene went on, “After three years of project work, having acquired successful experience on the projects, you will be promoted to consultant. You will be challenged to take charge of complex aspects of team work – from performing profound analysis of the insights to conceptualizing solutions to cases and proposing ways to implement them.”

She topped the mountains with mint, melon, wild strawberry and black currant flavoured ice-cream and added marzipan paste to the green mountain, caramel to the yellow mountain, whipped cream to the pink mountain and liquid chocolate to the blue mountain.

“In the next three years you will be promoted to Manager, leading project. And your new challenge will be to coach and motivate project team members and guide the work of the whole team. You will sleep less and less, keeping one eye on the big picture and the other on the details. You will ensure that the project is delivered on time and within budget, while creative solutions to complex problems are developed.” She spri cashew nuts on the marzipan, waffle balls on the caramel, coconut shavings on the whipped cream, and crackers on the liquid chocolate.

“And one day you will be asked to become a Partner… What will you do then?” She paused, “You will be developing the company strategy, defining its culture and identity, with a focus on building client relationships…” She added marshmallow to cashew nuts, tangerine jam to waffle balls, fruit-paste sweets to coconut shavings and raisins to crackers. Now it was difficult to understand, whether these were icy mountains or a palace with towers and turrets in miniature.

“But that'll be a long, long ways off… So let’s return to more short-term matters. Being promoted to analyst, you will need to choose the department where you will work after the New Year. Now take your chance and, while I’m here, ask me any questions to learn more about each department. And by the way, enjoy the cake, and maybe its flavour will help you to decide what your department will be – pistachio and mint flavour with marzipan paste, cashew nuts and marshmallow for Murmaiden, mango and melon flavour with caramel, waffle balls and tangerine jam for Axamit, strawberry and wild strawberry with whipped cream, coconut shavings and fruit-paste sweets for Gevellin and bog whortleberry and black currant flavour with liquid chocolate, crackers and raisins for Ironsky…”

[ovmatt-blog]

Chapter 3-4. The Final Test

The Shard started exploding, its upper sharp petals blossoming out… I blinked, the Shard was an unblown bud as before. It must have been a trick of the heat – it was abnormally hot for September.

At six a.m. that day, I stepped off the coach’s last footboard and took a deep breath of London air. Having left the carriage, passengers were hurrying to the Tube. Smog-filled morning air was an intoxicating air of freedom for me. Varied smells, unfamiliar and habitual, of vapour and leather trunks, coal tar and cinnamon buns, rubber and expensive scent fragrances – all soared in the air and twined into one bewitching smell of railway station, which excited the passengers and promised to them the fulfilment of their secret wishes and hidden desires…

It was my first time in London, and as I had plenty of time before noon, I hung out in the centre, mingling with the crowds of tourists, gawking at the Eye, Big Ben and the Cucumber. Eating ice-cream, I let the Indian summer sun burn my arms.

I was hiding under the trees and squinting at the sun through the crown of green leaves, sitting on the grass in the park, when somebody said from behind, “I’m homeless!”

I jumped and spun around ready to face a filthy and smelly tramp. Instead, on a yoga mat, sat a guy in a neat business suit, gesturing heavily while talking to somebody invisible. Evidently, he was under constant pressure at work and removed his stress, talking to himself.

“Do you remember? Last April I was placed on a consulting project that required me to be in Edinburgh Monday to Friday every week for six months. Since then I was spending around 18 hours in my apartment in London every 30 days and it cost me over £2,000 a month! I decided to give up my apartment. And I don’t regret –”

I pricked up my ears. Consulting? And this is consultants’ habitual way of life?

He fell silent as if listening to somebody and after several seconds went on, “Because in summer I also didn’t leave in London. All the overtime that I did during the year equalled three months of vacation which I spent in Thailand.”

I twisted my head round. He wasn’t talking to himself? But to whom? And what device did he use?

“I can’t quit! If I leave in the middle of the project, my project manager would blow my brains out!” At that moment he lifted above the grass for an inch, still sitting cross-legged.

My jaw dropped. He’s levitating! Yogi! Illusionist!

Meanwhile the guy burst with anger, “But this nomadic life isn’t so very convenient! I have no place to stay in bed while I’m ill! And I have to store my personal belongings with friends, in my friends’ cars, in the luggage lockers at railway stations. Even my clothes are distributed among dry-cleaners throughout the country for storage…” At this place I stood up and relocated, as I couldn’t stand listening to him anymore…

…At a quarter to twelve I got off at Canary Wharf station and found myself in a world of glass. Reflecting the torrid sun’s rays, the crystal towers rocketed to the sky, higher and higher, their dazzling pearl spears tickling the bellies of fluffy clouds, casting jet shadows down on the stone pavement.

I needn’t have asked the way to Wight Tower. It stood out against the other skyscrapers with its white glass panes without any metallic shine, looking as if it had been enamelled. A few transparent exterior lifts were sliding along its convex smooth side, and white marble stairs, embedded between the lifts, were glittering under the sun, encased in glass.

I bent my head back and started counting the floors as I always did when I saw a skyscraper, “One, two, three, four, five, … , fifty!” Really, it was the tallest building I’d ever seen in my life. When I approached the glass doors, they opened automatically in front of me and let me in.

A gigantic oval lobby, all shining with white mat glass, marble and enamel, was absorbing a huge amount of light. The floor in the centre of its immense space was tiled in twelve concentric circles. I slowly moved across the complex pattern at the floor to the incredibly long crescent-shaped receptionist’s desk, occupied by three gorgeous receptionists. The ten yards high wall behind their backs was spotted with the posh nameplates of the companies that rented offices in the building.

I rapidly scanned the plates– there was only one name beginning with “M”, and it read MAGI. Standing there stunned, I was nearly gasping for air. MAGI! Unbelievable! Absolutely incredible! One of the Big Three! I remembered I had read about it in the Financial Times “…considered to be the most prestigious employer in the management consulting industry.” It couldn’t be true! Though… “MAGI was the first management consultancy to hire recent university graduates, rather than experienced managers.” But I had never graduated from university, still maybe the requirements for interns were different… The clock was ticking, noon was getting close and it was time to put my thinking cap on. I flickered diagonally over the nameplates once again. The names were arranged in alphabetical order, there was no place for mistakes… My heart thumping hard, I swallowed and took several steps forward, choosing the receptionist girl with classic blond updo, dressed in a snow white blouse and grey office jacket.

She looked up when my shadow touched the tips of her fingers, fluttering above the keyboard.

“Hello, I’m Robin Orion, I came to…” I stumbled over the word “MAGI”. I would be making a fool of myself if it turned out I had completely misheard the name of the company. But the girl came to my help, “Do you have a meeting arranged?”

“Yeap, with Cassandra Lime.”

“Interview with MAGI HR, I see. One instant, Mr. Orion.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Please, head to the lifts and go up to the 50th floor,” the girl took a plastic badge from her desk and handed it to me, “This is a guest card, put it close to the red circle of a turnstile reader. It will turn green and let you through.”

I went past security guards who kept loitering around, evidently having nothing to do. The waist-high glass turnstile gates slid open, letting me in and snapped locked again. Soon I found myself in the lift, crowded with people. I forgot to enter the necessary floor on the panel in the lobby but before I could start worrying about it, the sight of the open world took my breath away. I was like a dove, spreading its wings in flight above London – domes, roofs, globes, glass and stone, smooth glistening water surface… Was I the King of the World at that moment?

“At an OPEC meeting in Vienna, oil ministers decided to remove about 1.8 million barrels per day from the market… Yes, they will extend the cuts in oil output... I suppose, they should do this… When the members of the cartel use their foreign-currency reserves to plug holes in their budgets,” the voice of the oil broker intruded into my fairy flight. The doors imperceptibly opened and closed, letting the brokers, investment bankers and consultants in and out. Curiously, the MAGI office was located on the last floor.

Up, up we went and after we had passed the 45th floor, there remained only two of us in the lift, myself and a short robust fellow – blond-haired, blue-eyed, with a little blush in his cheeks, he was smiling permanently. He drew out of his pocket a striped handkerchief and wiped the droplets of sweat that clung to his forehead. Smiling to me, he asked, “Are you going to the 50th floor?”

“Yeap, to an interview at MAGI,” I answered automatically, all of a sudden having caught the glimpse of a ruby and a small metal ball, spinning slowly in the air near the corner of my eye. But when I turned to get a better look at them, they had vanished.

“What was it?” I asked the blond lad.

He looked to where I was pointing, “What do you mean? I see nothing…” and added, “by the way my name Celestine Clementine, but friends call me Tin-Tin.”

“Robin Orion. Pleased to meet you…”

But we were distracted from discussing flying objects, as the lift doors slid open, revealing to our eyes the white reception area with the MAGI name, designed in golden graceful letters on the wall, flanking the reception and shielded by the thick glass doors.

We knocked on the glass door, making the female receptionist raise her head and press the button at her desk. Glass doors clicked open and we entered. Celestine headed straight to the open-doored room where many young lads and ladies were already sitting in the row of chairs set in semicircles. In front of them was standing an almost bald man, crowned with two clouds of white hair on both sides of his bald patch. Round saucer-like eyes, dimples in his cheeks, a beak-like nose – he was the spitting image of Uncle Goose. He clicked his “beak”, stretched his neck and said, “My name is Mathew Johns, and I am the MAGI Managing director. You were invited to our premises to take the final test…”

I must get this job… I can’t lose it… It is the chance of a lifetime… If I fail to become management consultant…

I looked at my watch. Two minutes past twelve. Feeling really sick I staggered to the reception desk and asked the girl with diamond earrings and impeccable makeup, looking almost invisible, “Excuse me, can you show me where the men's room is? May I use it? I just need to go there.”

She raised her eyebrows and said, “Well, certainly, second on the left down the hall.”

I sprinted down the corridor and burst into the toilet… Soon I was washing my hands under the golden tap, looking in the mirror, foiled with leaves of gold and reflecting the pink marble sink and all the gorgeous luxury of the men’s room, when I heard strange subdued sounds, resembling howls. Hastily I pressed the tap and rushed out of the toilet…

Flakes of ash flew into my face and my breath grew heavy in my lungs as the heat was unbearable… And then my legs became rooted to the ground because a wall of fire was raging in the conference room packed with the candidates! Frightened to death and howling with pain, they were darting past the fire, trying to flee the blazing arms of … the flame ghosts! Grabbing the candidates by their hair, they were pushing them away and then chasing again those darting youngsters, burning their heels, outpacing them…

Unable to move, in deep shock I observed those fiery creatures, their plasma-like faces with distorted violent traits, changing constantly as the fiery waves ran across their bodies and stripes of white, red and orange flames wrung into tight knots at their solar plexus, their beefy torsos – the extensions of the flames. I was in a dream… A fantastic, irrational scene…

The receptionist girls typed on their keyboards, staring at the faint blue glim of the monitors as if nothing was happening. Meanwhile, the candidates were breaking through the fire cordon, elbowing their way to the lobby door which was flanked with MAGI consultants who were throwing pink and yellow soap bubbles, the size of footballs, into the runaways.

One of the consultants, a blond athlete, noticed me and shouted, “Why on earth do you stand there like a frozen statue? Don’t you see we can’t cope with them?” I turned my eyes to him.

“Yeah, you! Come on, come on! Run over here and help us!”

Staggering, I approached him. The athlete hastily shouted instructions to me, “Seize an oblivion sphere and throw it at a runaway! One for each of them! Or they will tell the whole world that they were offered a job at the company, that uses magic in consulting, and that they rejected the offer!”

Tottering woozily on the spot, I snatched a passing bubble and… A fuzzy figure of miniaturized Mathew Johns rose out inside it. I held it to my face and heard him speak in a ghostly voice, “Your result is thirty two marks, while the passing rate is thirty six… You can apply to MAGI again next year…”

Scared, I dropped the sphere and it slightly hit one of the runaways in his head. And in the twinkling of an eye, the fellow broke from a gallop into a trot and reached the exit at a steady pace, though looking a bit depressed. I looked around and noticed that after the bubbles hit their heads, the candidates changed from darting to draggling themselves to the lifts with downcast faces. Well, I could only guess that the soap bubbles were some kind of brainwashing tool.

The blond athlete who had engaged me in this brain-wiping, tapped me on my shoulder, “You must have been one of the summer interns, kid? There were fewer cowards among your fellows. These autumn recruits are more similar to a bunch of snot sprogs than to future Wizards and Fays.” He abruptly turned to the side and cried out, “We’re done, Mathew!” and waved his hand to the Director who nodded in reply…

Everything was finished. The river of multi-coloured soap bubbles was flowing across the white floor, extinguishing the last flamelets. Celestine, his eyebrows and hair singed, was standing in the doors of the conference room with the most stupid expression. It seemed he still hadn’t realized what had happened.

Mathew put his heavy arm on his shoulders and said, looking at me for some reason, “Okay, guys, congratulations on making the right decision and passing the final test! I don’t doubt that joining the ranks of consultants is the start of your great careers at MAGI! I won’t go into detail, but you’re tough. Not being afraid of fiery beasts, that means a lot… Let me shake your hands, lads… Don’t forget that tomorrow you have a meeting with our HR, er, to sort the formalities out…”

The soap bubbles were soaring in the air and the receptionists were turning them into balloons with a wave of the hand. Soon the multitude of pink, golden and silver balloons were squeezing tightly beneath the ceiling and all around the hall. More and more consultants were arriving to the floor, clapping and shouting cheers. Soon, a celebration party was in full swing and Celestine and I were surrounded by a mob of people congratulating us. The din was deafening. From all sides wafted the names of our newly-acquired colleagues: “Colin”, “Isabelle”, “Ray”, “Timothy”! Guys were shaking hands with me and girls were patting me on my arm. Squeezed by the crowd, I stood on tiptoes and twisted my head round, looking for the Apollo-like guy who had helped me so much. But I could not see him.

Crystal glasses were hovering under the balloons and champagne sparkled inside them, frothing up and overflowing the glasses. Mathew raised his glass to us, and everyone shouted to us a triumphant “Cheers to the newcomers!”

 Chapter 4. Bilberry Queen  

A double-decker bus arrived at the bus stop near Wight Tower and people, dodging from the blasts of wind, streamed inside its warmth. The faces of the passengers were blurred by the rain, trickling down the glass windows, illuminated by the interior light. At last the bus left, leaving me again all alone at the stop. I had been sheltering from the wind behind the glass side of the bus shelter for already an hour, not knowing where to go and slowly freezing.

Cassandra must have confused the dates of the meeting with MAGI HR and, correspondingly, the question of the relocation allowance disbursement remained in the air as unsettled. Consequently right now I was facing a very tricky issue – where to go with five pounds in my pockets. The scenes flickered in my eyes – flick – a railway station, flick – a round-the-clock supermarket, flick – an internet cafe. I could not choose among the options or determine the best one and then the scenes again were flickering in my eyes. I had to spend the night somewhere, as tomorrow I would get the relocation allowance.

You will ask me, why haven’t I slipped off that madhouse which was concealing hind the golden letters of MAGI name? What were they? A secret sect of exotic fanatics and slick illusionists performing neat tricks in the astonished public eye? Or did they really know something beyond ordinary human consciousness? But in fact I didn’t care. I was in need of a job. And I got one. And whatever tricks they were inventing there, it was fine by me…

It was drizzling all the time, the staccato of the rain pattering the water in the puddles and the gusts of wind spilling the puddles from their borders. The dusk was advancing on steadily when a young lad in a grey hooded sweatshirt and a red baseball cap casting a thick shadow over his face, broke my solitude.

We were the only two at the bus shelter, the lad looking now and then at his watch, shifting from one foot to the other. After twenty minutes of waiting he muttered under his breath, “Why, the bus to Norchester must have been cancelled,” and went along the pavement. But then all of a sudden he turned around and said to me, “They have cancelled the last bus to Norchester. Do you have somewhere to go?”

I hesitated for a split second, deciding whether I could confide in the stranger. And then I mumbled, “I am out of money and I have no place to stay.” Then he waved his hand, as if ignoring all my troubles, and said, “You may stay at my house, come along.” And he strode on, showing the way. What should I do? Go with him? Or stay at the stop? His back was moving away. The point of no return soon would be reached… Before he turned round the corner I ran after him…

We walked down the wide street. The flaring neon boards of restaurants, pubs and boutiques glared in my eyes, overflowing the dull light of the streetlamps… Soon, we approached the city park. We passed the park entrance in the form of a white marble arch and the noises of the city faded. Shuffling ankle-deep through the withered leaves, we walked up a long and straight park alley, where bright yellow crowns of maples and pale green tops of oaks arched to shape a tunnel. The wind had gone, and in the utter silence, a bright yellow leaf slipped from a twig and slowly glided down. I watched its flight until it fell to the stones with a slight rustling. The wind returned, swaying the crowns of the trees, rippling the puddles. I looked at the alley – my guide’s back was already far from me, moving off, so I ran to catch up with him.

Brown trunks of fir trees, greenish with age, were rising along both sides of the alley. Their mossy and moist branches tangled, forming fantastic patterns. It seemed that if the trees parted to let us pass, we would behold the castle of Sleeping Beauty in the park’s depth.

While we were advancing, it grew darker and for some strange reason – warmer. The alley narrowed and changed to a country lane, overgrown with brambles that were fringed by brightly glowing dots –fireflies. In their light, I sighted ripe wild strawberries at a moss-grown lettuce glade. I bent forward to pick them and then I caught a glimpse of a smooth white-stone arch, twice the height of a man, standing some fifty yards away from me. The air near the arch rippled, the flashes of invisible flame playing on it, vanishing and appearing again as a reflection in the water. 

Taken aback, I turned to my companion and squeezed out in a husky voice, “What is this? Where have you brought me?” He turned to me, and in terror, I observed the rough wrinkled face of a very old man, wrapped in a hooded cloak, his long white hair and white beard hanging down below his waist and his bright eyes blazing under his hood. In a clear voice he replied, “I brought you to my home, to the wonderful country of Elfland, which gives shelter to those who have nowhere to go. The land of the lost, who once left their home and have never returned. The valley of joy, where there is no place for sorrow. Glance through the arch and you will see all with your own eyes…”

With rigid legs I approached the arch. What was its nature and structure? I put my head through and cautiously peeped in.

From the opposite side the arch was standing at a narrow ledge on top of a mountain ridge, near the narrow track, wandering steeply downwards to become untraceable in the distance. From this lookout point I had a magnificent view of a valley, laid out at the foot of the mountain.

The dark green velvet of the grass was spangled with millions of light green fireflies, glittering mysteriously in the utter silence. Amazed, I stared at the enchanting view and then, as if out of the air, human figures started popping up – one by one, in pairs, in groups, wrapped in grass-green cloaks and hoods and holding flaming torches. And soon there were hundreds of torches, and hundreds of fires had been lit by magic. Men were embracing and clapping each other on the backs as if they had not seen each other for ages. The maids threw off their hoods to let loose the waves of blond hair, which fell over their shoulders along their backs to the ground, bound round with circlets of golden leaves.

I noticed among them a maid of such great beauty that my breath was taken away. With dimples in her cheeks, and being so jolly, I at once got an overwhelming desire to touch them with my fingers; a pair of eyes as brilliantly green as water in a clear deep pool, edged by pines, shading and sheltering its green from the sun’s rays that pierce the pond water to the bottom; a smile being as sunny as the star of the most lovely day in a year; and the stature of the most graceful form I had ever seen. She was clad in a tunic of the purest white silk, edged with gold, and from a great flashing jewel in her brow sprung a bright clear jet of pink light. I called her “Greeneye”.

I made out that all the visitors of the valley were very young and of remarkable beauty. They were chatting and laughing merrily and drinking ale and honey, but all lapsed into silence when a very young man with majestic manners in a simple golden hoop, crossing the brow of his remarkably bright face, stood up from his place near the biggest fire, holding a golden harp in his arms.

When he touched the strings of the harp, the golden sounds streamed into the warm night air. Every creature – grass and trees, flowers and leaves, fireflies and butterflies, lads and maids - whirled round and round in the rings under the moonlight upon hearing the music. And then the Harper sang and the words of a song flooded into my soul:

 When the day equals night,

Yellow leaves fall and die,

Fire-flies dance in rings,

Blossoms Bilberry tip.

 Drink it every ten years,

And Eternity nears,

That who finds the Star of Pink,

Would become Elphyne King.

And the song had such a powerful appeal that I had already raised my foot to step through the arch, when Greeneye looked up straight into my eyes and though she was far in the valley, her voice whispered straight into my ear, “Robin, tomorrow at 8 a.m. you should sign the contract with MAGI in London!”

So unexpected it was that, taken aback, I lost my balance and fell on my back and hit it hard against the ground. The arch vanished. Pitch darkness covered everything, severe north wind swooped on, howling and shrieking and then, at once, dead silence fell. I brought my hand to my eyes and still I could not see it. I was in the deep wood all alone, my senses making out nothing.

Then, as if by magic, the rueful face of the moon showed from behind the clouds and bathed the whole scene in uncertain pallid light... I made out that I was standing in a country lane, bordered by dark mountainous silhouettes of the 100-year-old pines. The cloud obscured the moon’s doleful countenance. And the thick darkness came to reign again.

Were the pines drowsy or did they hide ill-will in their tangles? I was stunned by the silence. And when under the feeble breath of the wind a twig stirred, it rang in my ears. I heard the air, clean and cool… I heard the smell of pines…

I stood still, until my legs grew numb, pondering intensively on the issue of whether to go to the right or to the left… By sheer instinct I turned to the right and set off along the lane. In half a mile the lane turned to an alley, bordered with lampposts, set at equal intervals. Pines changed to firs, towering so close to each other that I could hardly discern anything behind their thick tangles.

Drip-drop. Several drops fell on my lips. It started to rain. Soon huge hail drops were beating hard and cold on my back. The wind raised. Its severe gusts made me halt and turn to it with my back in order to get my breath again. Standing under a lamppost I observed the light spot shift in a strange way at the ground under my feet. I looked up – this was not a lamppost!

Sometimes moments occur that are best forgotten in order that they don’t return in nightmares that would torment you over the rest of your lifetime. This was a moment of that particular kind… A Tyrannosaurus, fifteen feet tall, was sitting at his powerful hind legs, holding his touchingly short fore limbs in front of his chest. Stricken, I made out that instead of a massive head he had a little bright electric lamp, emitting the brightest white radiance. Paralyzed with shock, I stood there, rooted to the spot, and then I turned my neck – it was not the only one! the Tyrannosaurus wasn’t alone! I observed Tyrannosaurus lining up along the alley, their long necks arching above the pavestone, and their bulbed heads shining through the rain. Then, the Tyrannosaurus I was standing under, reared, and the only thing I remembered afterwards was that I ran…

I ran hard, and my yells mingled with the howls of the wind. And then the blizzard swept down upon me. It was the shower of ice needles, pouncing upon me. The snow, raised in waves by the icy blasts of the wind, was covering my bare arms below the short sleeves of my T-shirt. My arms grew numb. The wind was blinding, suffocating. Beaten by the storm, I staggered along the paving stones, trying to breathe. When I was nearly losing the force to move, all of a sudden the strangling gusts of the wind were gone and the snowflakes ceased falling.

I don’t remember for how long I wandered in the chill solitude, but at last the wood thinned out and through the gaps between the firs, approximately a hundred yards away, I made out the roadway! And then in front of my astonished eyes a bus glided by and halted at a stop…

I may confess I had never run so fast in my life, my head squeezed with fear… Fear? Up until that moment I had never known what fear was. But it was gulping my soul.

I remembered how once, returning home from my Granny, who lived in another town, I mistook the bus. My Mum, who was to meet me at the bus stop, waited for me in the darkness, freezing with each passing minute and going over in her mind, what had happened to me and that maybe I would never return home. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears because of her feebleness. Sharp talons of inconsolable despair were tearing at her heart, and still the hope that I would do everything right glimmered in her soul…

Miserable, lost, dispirited a minute ago, now I was breaking through the tangles in a sprint, a spark of hope igniting inside me, though suppressed by the ever-increasing gloom that I would miss this bus. I was swinging my arms and shouting, “Wait, wait!” And as if by a miracle, the bus did not start, but waited obediently for. When I jumped on the running board, the doors shut closed behind me and the bus set out.

It was a moment of pure happiness. When recovering my breath, I doubled over, clutching at the handrail near the driver. He nodded to me and I said, “I got lost in the park or in the wood, we are somewhere in the London suburbs, yeap? How much would it be to get to the Isle of Dogs?”

His eyes almost popped out of his head when he stared at me, “I can give you a lift to the madhouse that you have escaped from, lad – if you wish – but you’d better go and sleep a little. Next stop will be Dublin, in two hours, and we will be in London in the early morning. Take a tip and don’t drink so much while in Ireland."

Really feeling myself drunk, I staggered along the passage and collapsed into the armchair behind the driver…

[ovmatt-blog]

Chapter 1-2. Telephone Interview

One extremely hot afternoon in July, when the cottage-dwellers didn’t venture to poke their noses out to the sultry dusty streets of a little town, a milky-white Butterfly was hiding in the shadow of green tangles.

When the sun reached its highest point the Butterfly suddenly flushed and hovered high under the blazing sun over the line of ancient oaks, still remembering the former glory of a small town old school and towering majestically along the carved fence of a football stadium. She landed on an oak leaf, spread out her wings and glued down to the green surface, stock-still, as not a leaf was stirring.

If you could come nearer and get a closer look at her, my dear reader, you could see that this lovely Butterfly herself looked much like a leaf, with golden streaks imbuing her wings, silky-smooth and sleek. Having been almost lulled, the Butterfly suddenly twitched and glanced upwards. Tiny mosaic patches of dazzlingly blue sky sparkled through the canopy of emerald leaves, luring to the eternal sky depth and calling up childhood dreams…

A teenage boy sprinted to the centre of the empty football stadium from the near-by house and hurled himself down on the ground. He lay sprawled on the grass for a few seconds. Then he rolled over onto his back, his hands beneath his head and his knees crossed. Lying in the very blaze of the sun, he sucked on a blade of grass and talked to himself, waving his right leg in a sneaker in the air.

Under summer's scorching glow the air resembled в transparent jelly, slightly rippling in the absence of the wind, blurring the shapes of the objects. The Butterfly squinted her eye to the boy and then attracted by his voice, left the tranquil emerald coolness and flittered to him to perch on the waving sneaker as at the swing. And that is what she had heard:

I have just sat the exams and consider not to proceed with A-levels. At least this year… And to find a job. I live in my grandaunt’s tiny house. She has no her own children. Grandauntie agrees that extra money would help, as her pension is the only source of money for us to live on. Five years ago my parents went missing in the mountains. The police told they must had been lost under the rock avalanche. But grandaunt says they fell in the battle with the Stone Men at the Orkney Islands. The first time I have heard about the Stone Men I got realized that all what has happened, and this newly-obtained responsibility to grow me up… in short, all this was altogether too hard for her and she went a bit “mental”.

She usually minces along, mumbling something to herself under her breath and waving her arms like the wings of a windmill. She talks to me only to call me for meals and to allocate household duties. And, as we both don’t bother cleaning the house, we live in perfect harmony – I would have even forgotten English if I wasn’t attending school. 

She has lived all her life alone and she used to talk to herself, her second important interlocutor being “the box”. She is passionate about watching soap operas during the night as a means of soporific. I adore them either. Oh, I almost forgot – she has the remarkable ability to turn the house into ruins while I am at school. So when I come home in the evening and see ghost-blue shadows flickering through the curtains, I halt and look at the stars, grateful for the fact that this day we would have a fascinating dreamless night with TV zombies instead of having to restore the walls, which had got damaged from sheer touch, and having to clean away the crushed stone. While still expecting the unexpected, I come in with a smile glued to my lips.

My grandaunt loves to sleep, clutching at the TV remote. But with the lapse of time, I have got the hang of crawling stealthily to her bed and pressing the power button without unclutching the tenacious grip of her forepaws. When she awakes during the night with the remote in her hands and the TV switched off, she considers this to be the dirty tricks of zombies and starts switching the lights on throughout the house and checking whether the windows are tightly shut and doors securely locked. The windows turn out to be opened as I can’t stand the stuffiness from the radiators, working at full capacity and seething with heat. Then she has to choose between zombies and me, being the reason of the windows openness, and definitely preferring it being me, she stretches in a sugary voice, “Are you suffoca-a-a-ting, dear?”She's got a thing about this. Like a bird of prey, she hovers over me, looking out for the slightest signs of any illness. But I cough only if I choke on the water. Though as a child I could not scramble out of colds, during last five years I have neither fallen ill, nor even scratched my knees, playing football. Contagion simply does not stick to me!

At that place the boy halted as his eyes flitted to the sky where a cat-shaped fluffy cloud was pursuing in great leaps the mouse, skedaddling pell-mell along the blue sky. The boy sat up in the grass, staring at the trail of clouds, rushing with great speed across the windless sky. Three pig-shaped clouds galloped, hopping and hipping, to the horizon followed by little bears, somersaulting in the raspberry tangles, replaced then by a fox, turning wildly on the spot, pursuing its tail.

The boy rubbed his eyes to shake off illusion. Obviously, it was a mirage, roused by abnormal heat, the haze blurring the shimmering sky. With closed eyes the boy went on with his story.

In early childhood I had some friends, but after they had also heard about the “Stone Men of the Orkney”, they never showed up again…

When the boy opened his eyes and raised his head and looked at the sky again, he saw seven little milky-white cloud goatlings, butting each other. Stunned, he stared open-mouthed at the fairytale play performed above his head, when –

“Robin, come get your lunch! It’s served!” an old woman's voice called from out the house behind the football stadium. The boy jumped to his feet and rushed home, while the Butterfly flushed and hovered to the north, to London…

On the 55th floor of the glass office tower there was an open floor-to-ceiling window. A man about thirty years of age was sitting on the floor with his back turned against the open space, swinging his legs which were dangling above the abyss. He was dressed in denim shorts, red T-shirt and sneakers… and a huge ruby hung down from his neck on a massive silver chain. And this was not the only weird thing about him, my dear reader, as the eyes in his face were of incredible amber colour!

He was snapping his fingers to the regular beat of some self-invented melody, which he was humming under his breath, while observing the clouds, crossing the brightest blue sky. With every snap of his fingers one of the clouds swelled and stretched to a fluffy shape to stand still for an instant, as if gaining consciousness, and then sprinted on all its paws across the sky. Snap… A hare, pinned under the weight of a backpack, stuffed with carrots so tightly that they protruded from under the clasp, was running his file, trying to foil the dogs… Snap… A flying squirrel glided on a parachute… Snap… A snowy owl hooted, flapping her fluffy wings in the flight…

The milky-white Butterfly with golden streaks sat on his knee and started observing the clouds with the same curiosity as the amber-eyed man did…

A low velvet voice, strangely drawling the words in some unknown accent, belonging to a man in a dark blue tubatay, stitched with silver almonds, and dark blue cashmere kaftan, embroidered in silk archers, said to the amber-eyed man’s back, “Robin Orion has successfully passed the first test today and he will be interviewed by Love tomorrow. Do you want to talk to him yourself?”

There followed long silence. Shoulder-length black hair was getting in the eyes of the amber-eyed man as he lowered his head. When he raised it again, his bright eyes flashed, “I suppose there is no doubt that he would pass the interview…”

“I’m sure, he would.”

“Then you know my answer.”

“Okay,” answered his vis-à-vis and retired silently.

The amber-eyed man “pulled” her legs into the room, stood up and turned the handle closing the window and when he turned his back to it, the handle melted in the air, leaving a solid glass wall, the outward side of which the Butterfly remained glued to.

Chapter 1

Transparent beads of torn water necklaces were clinking against the pane, shattering into crystal splashes. I was eating ice-cream and contemplating the wet world beyond the rain-lashed windows. The torrents of rain were gushing down, tattering the iridium-green foliage, all the scene backed by the steady rumble of water. A boom of thunder made me startle and then the telephone rang.

When I thought it over afterwards, it occurred to me that the whole story began at that instant, when thinking it was one of my Grandauntie’s friends-gossip calling, I picked up and said in a voice, hoarse of cold ice-cream, “Hello.”

Silence, only broken by faint clicking and the echoes of ghost voices. Then an icy sweet voice asked very near to my ear, "May I speak with Mr. Robert Orion, please?"

Flattered with a courtesy title, I swelled with self-importance, squared my shoulders and answered, “Robin speaking.”

The icy soda voice continued, “I am Cassandra Lime, HR manager of M.. (click-click, static, hissing) Consulting,” and before I could ask her to repeat the company’s name, she went on, “We have thoroughly scrutinized your CV and consider you for the position of an intern in our … (scratching, indistinct noise, cracklings) company.”

Indeed, I have sent my CV to all the companies listed in the Yellow Pages but what have they been scrutinizing? Two lines – the one in “Education” about GCSE exams and the second in “Work experience” about my summer employment as a cleaner at Sandy’s? And what is the company’s name?

I cleared my throat to ask these questions when Cassandra said, “So if you are interested in the position, then you won’t mind if I ask you a couple of questions as a quiz?”

My ice cream started melting and being busy licking it up, I unconsciously said, “I don’t mind,” and regretted it immediately as the first question followed.

“What is two hundred and fifty six squared?”

Trying feverishly to do the computation in my head, I repeated slowly, “Two hundred and fifty six times two hundred and fifty six…”

“Right! Next, is it true that time passes slower at sea level than it does in the mountains?” Unconsciously I bit a large piece of ice-cream and burnt my tongue with the cold, which must have cleared my brains as I answered, “Do you mean Albert Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity? Time moves relatively slower where gravity is stronger. Gravitational time dilation phenomenon?”

“Yeap, I do! You are tough! And what’s ten plus ten?”

Suspecting a trick here, I gasped, “A hundred.” Wait, what did she mean by saying “right” in the previous question, as I didn’t even answer it?

“Correct! What has a golden number to do with the stars?

“They pulsate according to the Golden Rule?” the quiz was turning into the theatre of the absurd and my answers were equally absurd.

“No! What is the colour of a quark – red, green or blue?”

“You mean curds? But it’s milky white…”

“Have you ever cooked snacks for snakes or snakes for snacks?”

“Oh, I don’t think…”

“Okay! What is the cause of laughter without a cause?”

“Pardon?”

“What is inside a dew drop?”

“Reflection!”

“Correct! What piece of art would remain in the end?”

“Mona Lisa’s smile!” I always loved to read and maybe this helped me…

“Okay, Robin, you have passed the test and the next stage of the selection process would be a telephone interview with one of our company’s Managers. The interviewer will ask you several questions and I suppose the whole procedure would take less than half an hour. I will arrange the interview in a couple of weeks and will inform you about the precise date a bit later.”

“And what will the questions be about?” I asked and immediately rushed to smoothen the question’s straightforwardness and curred, “At least give me a hint…”    

But Cassandra seemed to have not noticed my diplomacy, “Oh, I think, these would be standard questions. What are your career aspirations, your strengths and weaknesses, ambitions, plans for the future…”

Getting a taste for asking questions, I piped, “And what would the work be like?” It seemed like a good idea at the time to get some information about a job I had to pass crazy tests to apply for.

Soda fizzed in Cassandra’s voice as she said, “For sure you’ve heard about our Company –”

“Nope,” I cut in and took a bite of a waffle cone.

“Really, haven’t heard about our company?” she sounded disconcerted, “Ranked Number 1 in the UK Top 100 Employers listing; named UK Best Diversity Employer, UK Greenest Employer, UK Top Employee for Young People; recognized as an UK Employer of Choice and an Indeed Best Place for Work! Or just Dream Job I would say!”

“Nope, I haven’t heard about it,” waffles crunched between my teeth. In fact, I didn’t know whether I had heard or not as I hadn’t caught the name of the company in the very beginning but it was embarrassing to tell this to Cassandra.

“Humph,” the rustling of papers sounded in the handset and then Cassandra mumbled indistinctly, “where have I put it? These cleaning fairies must have been straightening things again at my desk… No — here it is.” And then her sparkling soda voice fizzed into my ear, “Behind almost each fortune of the Forbes 100 List stands a treasure found by a future entrepreneur. A story of business success or the turnaround of an almost bankrupt company begins when a treasure hunter at last hits the jackpot. We consult our clients on pots-of-gold quests, assist in communication with Djinns, who guard charmed treasures –”

“Hic!” my diaphragm involuntary spasmed with cold ice cream while I stood there with my jaw dropped.

“Once you’ve obtained cash, we would offer you several broad investment strategies. All the details – such as the choice of the specific assets to invest in – are handled by our investment experts. We recommend to our clients not to put all their eggs in the one basket and diversify their investments –”

“Hic –”

“Oops!" Cassandra choked and whispered something like, “they had messed up everything at my desk – it’s a booklet for experienced professionals! And where is the one for the undergraduates?” Some more rustling of papers and she exclaimed, “Oh, here it is!”

And she started reading in a more calm voice, “There are few bad businesses, but many bad strategies. We offer to our clients creative solutions that make their competitors lock themselves in their boardrooms and start hot discussions. The kind of projects the firm works on are hugely varied, from building new products and services to advising on management structures. We work closely with our clients, providing a team of consultants at the client site and arranging business travel in the way to maximize the workday –”

“Er, so there would be business trips? And what are the destinations?” all this strange stuff was starting to sound attractive and my curiosity awakened again.

“Oh, yeah, we have a separate booklet on business trips,” she puffed, searching for the paper and then voiced, “As an employee of our company, you would explore the world while doing a job you love. You would visit the largest and most prominent cities of the world, from Rome and Los Angeles to Singapore and Tokyo, applying deep industry knowledge to the world’s largest industry players. You would discover distant island resorts, looking for treasures ships sunken off their coasts. And you would spend months, often years, in the farthest flung cities seeking the end of the rainbow…”

“Bang!” the end of a waffle cone fell from my hand as I mumbled, “But a rainbow doesn’t have a fixed spot or a real end!”

“Yeah! That’s why it’s so difficult to find a pot with gold that a leprechaun had hidden…”

But here the creak of the front gate distracted me from Cassandra’s mumbling. I looked out of the window. My auntie, loaded with packages, parcels, little packets, paper bags and boxes was trotting up the garden path.

“ – at the place where a rainbow ends!”

The key started to turn in the keyhole. I barely cried into the receiver, “OK, I will be waiting for your next call!” and dropped the receiver onto its cradle, as the door swung open.

I whirled around and nearly stumbled into the sharp gaze of my auntie’s ferrety eyes. I grinned at her. Her slit eyes scanned the gleaming-clean walls and got hooked on the floor. Sounding as though not believing herself she squeaked, “Kid, haven’t you vacuumed the carpet while I was out?”

“Nope, auntie, I didn’t have time to vacuum. But I have cooked cabbage soup. It’s on the stove,” With these words I turned around, scuttled inside the door of my room and shut it as quickly as I could.

 Chapter 2. The Second Telephone Interview

“Auntie,” I said and prodded moodily at the remains of my corn flakes, floating in the milk puddle on my plate. Today was the day of the second interview with a Manager. Cassandra’s call was less than two hours away and I wanted to get my Auntie out of the house for a few hours so she wouldn’t eavesdrop on my conversation. In fact, I was afraid I wouldn’t pass the interview and I didn’t want her to know about the interview at all.

I crossed my fingers under the table – if I didn’t say anything stupid, I might get rid of her till noon – and went on, “have you heard the Indian Food Festival will take place today at Central Square?”

No reply. She was staring open-mouthed at the telly as she did every day after having served our breakfast. Her favourite soap opera “Wild Orchid” was just on:

“You are getting married tomorrow,” semi-affirmatively, semi-inquiringly said Orchid, looking deep into Jack’s eyes.

“Yes, I am,” Jack was hiding his eyes.

“I wish you every happiness, Jack. I hope you find it,” tears were trickling down Orchid’s cheeks.

I shook my head and averted my eyes from the telly. A morning newspaper lay on the kitchen table beside me. The headline on the first page read:

Taste of India served at Central Square

I sighed, and trying to sound louder than the shrill voice of Orchid, started to read:

The Indian Food Festival will be held on August 21st at Central Square. The event is completely free to enter and will be open from 10 am to 10 pm.

There will be 12 stalls presenting different sorts of Indian tea and different kinds of Indian spices – “warm and earthy” cumin for curries, “nutty” and “fruity” coriander, sweet cinnamon, the staples of Indian cooking, similar to the way that herbs de Provence function in French cuisine.

My auntie was crazy about spices and cooking and it was a good idea to use the festival to get her out of the house for a while. Still, Orchid’s hysterical sobs broke through my speech:

“Why are you crying, Orchid?”

“Jack is getting married tomorrow!”

Auntie seemed to be snoring softly in front of the telly, her glasses askew. But was she really sleeping? The lenses of her glasses shone in the light and couldn’t make out whether her eyes were shut or not.

 Meanwhile the voices in the telly whispered:

“But why did you refuse to marry him, if you love him?”

“Because he is my brother!”

“Your brother? What are you talking about?"

There was only one way to check whether Auntie was sleeping. I waited for an ad in the telly and then clapped my hands as hard as I could. And, indeed, it worked! Auntie started, closed her mouth and fixed her glasses. Then she sat straight in the arm-chair and asked, “What has fallen, kid?”

I said nothing and turned the page where I came across another headline – Three places IN the Town where you can enjoy THE Solar Eclipse

I raised my voice, reading the headline, but still couldn’t shout Jack’s Mum down:

“Today is my son's wedding! This is a very special moment for me, which I would like to share with all those present. I’d like to take this opportunity to inform you that I’m also going to get married!”

I shouldn’t give up! May be to throw a cushion at her?

The Total Solar Eclipse will occur on August 21st, when the Moon will move directly in front of the Sun and will cast a shadow over the southern part of the country. It's been nearly 100 years since the last total solar eclipse in the UK and our town is luckily on the path of the eclipse!

I was contemplating thoughtfully the collection of glass vases, one piece of which I considered this morning to pee in, if Auntie won’t let me use the bathroom (usually she takes a shower for two hours roughly). Meanwhile, the telly was roaring:

“And the person who would marry me… is the father of my son!”

“What?”

“Jack, forgive me for not being able to tell you before, but you need to know the truth – Gabriel is not your farther!”

Orchid fainted. “What rubbish!” I sighed and read:

The observation deck at the Town Hall, the Town Hill and the Town Park will be hosting special viewing events and giving out viewing glasses to visitors on the day of the eclipse.

It would be great to witness the total solar eclipse by myself. Just think, once in 100 years! If it wasn’t for the interview… Meanwhile, the fuss on the telly was reaching a climax. Jack was tearing himself from his bride’s embrace. Gabriel was shouting something incomprehensible.

And I was drawing patterns on the plate with my fork and considering the situation. At last, I decided to check whether my Auntie really didn’t hear me or if she was only pretending and spoke the news I had invented at that precise moment:

Aliens have landed at Rosegreen school stadium

Today, at seven a.m. at the stadium at Rosegreen Primary School, 10 children – members of Rosewood Aeromodelling Club – were testing a new radio-controlled model aircraft that they recently constructed when they spotted a fast moving object on the eastern horizon. Its shape shifted from a straight line to a triangle and then to a 50 ft-diameter silver-coloured disc, hovering above their heads.

The series in the telly was approaching its end:

“Jack, you can’t leave me standing at the altar!”

“Vanessa, release me!”

I went on talking nonsense:

The disk emitted a bright light forming a halo and radiated a range of colours. Running to the cries of the children, a crowd gathered. People witnessed as the object landed in the stadium. Then a door opened on the side of the craft and two humanoid beings in seamless metallic costumes emerged out of it, greeting the earthmen in unearthly language…

All my efforts were in vain. Auntie cared neither about spices nor about the aliens. With nothing better to do, I stared out of the window. And then the higher power in the face of my Auntie’s dear friend – a famous local gossip called Maggie Grace – intervened in my communication with Auntie. “Magpie”, as she was called by her inner circle of friends, was strolling past our fence straight to the house of our neighbour Gale Nighting, commonly referred to as “Nightingale”. And she was carrying a pink and white pie-dish, covered with a cloth, keeping it in front of her with both hands.

“What stuffing could be inside the pie that ‘Magpie’ is carrying to “Nightingale” – veal, ham or bacon?” I mumbled under my breath and in less than the blink of my eye the telly was switched off and Auntie rocketed out of the armchair. The next second I was helping her on with her shawl and bonnet and ultimately sighed with relief when the door closed behind her wide behind.

In five minutes I was sitting cross-legged on the sofa near the telephone. Opened books were lying all round me in piles. Broad bars of golden light stretched across the room, burning my shoulders, but the forthcoming talk with the Manager made me shudder. What would be at the interview? What if I say something wrong or will find no answer at all? Seconds passed, counting minutes, making me more and more anxious…

The ring of the telephone broke the silence. And suddenly, it turned out that I simply could not pick it up. My palms were sweating and I was sitting and staring at it and listening to it ringing. I can later apologize to Cassandra for missing the call… I can say that something has held me over… But would they give me another chance?

The telephone rang for the fifth time when I finally forced myself to pick it up.

“Hello, Robin,” Cassandra’s fizzy voice streamed into the receiver, “Are you all right?”

I could only make myself mutter something incomprehensible, so she went on, “Your interviewer is Love Violinne. Hold the line, please. I’m going to switch you over to her.”

Click. Click. Buzz. Silence. Buzz. Silence.

“Hello,” said a glassy woman’s voice. “Robin Orion?”

“Yeap, speaking.”

“My name is Love Violinne. We are searching for candidates for the position of intern at our company. So, Robin, I have a couple of questions for you. Let's not waste time and get to the point. The first question is – do you believe in omens?”

I surveyed the opened books with my perplexed gaze and asked, “What do you mean? Magpie and broken mirrors and all like that?”

“I mean whether anything unusual has ever happened to you? Any strange events or just anything out of the ordinary going on around you?”

“Oh, in this sense…,” I hesitated for a second. There were things I hadn’t told anybody about, but Love was so winsome that I decided I could be innocent with her without any fear, “Well, yeap! Once I quarrelled with my best friend. And when I was sitting in my bedroom, raging at him and thinking that I would never ever speak to him again, the wardrobe standing near the wall collapsed with a deafening ‘Crash!’ Astounded, I decided that the Heavens themselves sent me a sign to make up with him. That was it. Then another case…”

“Well, enough. And could you please describe what I look like? I mean how do you imagine me to be judging by my voice?”

This was a strange question. She seemed to divine my thoughts, as, indeed, I imagined her so clearly as if she was standing in front of me.

“Why, I suppose you are a blue-eyed blonde… And you are dressed in a beige gown of transparent multilayer chiffon, embroidered with silver reeds. Wide silver bracelets of sophisticated carving, something like fantastic curlicues alternating with gaps cover your arms from wrists to elbows…”

After a prolonged pause she said, “Robin, my last question to you is the following. Could you please complete the rest of the verse – ‘Every day holds away, raising obstacles…’?”

“’… on the way to the dream,’” I whispered, but I wasn’t listening to her anymore. Time slowed down, stretching, growing limitless… I was inside an elastic soundproof balloon, submerged into cool divine silence… A train of recollections passed through my mind, reviving the images, buried deep in sub-consciousness…. Mum’s long black hair… She sang me that song, rocking me to sleep in the night… Her dear voice… I remembered the first two lines of the verse, but the rest of it was lost in the darkness, trying to surface, tearing my mind, and still slipping away…

A buzy signal on the line. Love must have hung up and I hadn’t even heard her say goodbye. But I didn’t care. Was it a famous verse? Why had Love asked about it? I felt shaken up, embarrassed, completely unhinged. I was staring at the wall with unseeing eyes when the phone rang again.

“Robin?” Cassandra’s voice was tense, “I’ve spoken to Love about the results of your interview.”

My heart sank to my stomach. They rejected me. I didn’t shown my worth during the conversation or maybe I simply didn’t fit them. Cassandra was still silent and then…

“Congrats!!! You have passed!”

I was absolutely amazed. It was a great load off my mind. I was so exhausted that I could not even rejoice at my good fortune.

“Now you will need to take the last interview with one of our Partners in our headquarters in London! Only after that will we make you an official job offer and sign the contract with you. But don’t worry! Love says you are a really prominent candidate and she is a hundred percent confident you will pass the last interview.” Cassandra slowed down her patter a bit, “Robin, we are seriously considering you for the job. So I should inquire, are you ready to relocate to London?”

I gabbled something affirmative in reply and she went on, “I suggest that you arrive the day of the interview and we would start onboarding you to the projects the next day. The third selection stage is already arranged for the penultimate week of September. I will enter you into the list of the last group. The Partner will interview all of you on Tuesday, September 22nd, at noon. If you pass the interview… well, after you pass the interview, I will make an appointment for you with HR at 8:00 a.m., on Wednesday, September 23rd. You will be asked to sign the contract with MAGI and after you sign it, you will be paid a relocation allowance. You still have plenty of time to pack your things for the relocation. Write down the address of our office, please… Wight Tower, 15 Harbour Quay, Canary Wharf, London, E14. The Jubilee Line train stops at Canary Wharf tube station, and this is a few minutes’ walk from our office.”

I somehow guessed her smile and she said, “Robin, Love asked me to tell you that she wishes you good luck. So I do wish you the best of luck! See you in the office in September!”