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Magic Revolution - Chapter 1

Published at 24th of April 2023 06:06:51 AM


Chapter 1

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Mr Thompson said to me on the train to Celbrun that I bear no resemblance to my sister, whose picture I showed to him as we passed the bridge on the large meander. I presumed he had forgotten his spectacles from the grooves on his nose.

The man had poor sight, no better than mine, and my sister in the picture was lively and young. She had died so, and I made quite an effort to bring it to his attention, but the fellow insisted on denying our parentage. He thinks I have a superior nose, and though I agree, I must insist she may have turned into a vivacious woman had she lived. She was not as sharp as me, in mind or demeanour, back then. I could understand Mr Thompson's utter disbelief in our parentage had he not been just another recently acquainted traveller in the cabin, whom neither of us met growing up.

I found him rather absent, like a drunk on the verge of collapsing. He travelled with a cane, a suit, a bowler hat, a receding hairline, a paunch and light luggage. I appreciated it, as I myself preferred travelling light. To confess, I did not possess much, so the manner in which I travelled was much less a choice I made. I had a blue leather suitcase — very light, a little old but important-looking. It was a gift from the mother of the orphanage. It used to be her husband's, who died in the war, just like my family.

The stitching on the edge of the leather had come off and frayed. I would often fiddle with it as I sat staring at the scenery. My clothing was not much better or worse than the case. Orphanage mother's husband's old clothes — a clean white shirt — adorned me. The lovely woman had gone through the wardrobe to find one without a spot or blemish. I wore a cheap, blue vest upon it, courtesy of my own savings, a black tie tucked under the vest, a pair of shoes — cheap, I had bought them two or three years ago myself — a blueish black trouser of her late husband and smart, golden-rimmed, round spectacles gifted to me two years ago by the orphanage mother.

I must have my eyes checked, I reminded myself as I thought of the lovely woman who'd raised me. I may be in need of stronger prescriptions, but for now, I must earn.

I was in thought when I turned around to see a charming lady staring my way. Ms Anne, an unfortunate young widow, was to meet her in-laws. I hoped for her safety and happiness, swift to distance myself. Her bearing unnerves me if only a little. She, in her little felt cloche hat, seemed ever smiling in a flirtatious way. Her advances were bold and frequent, and my voice shaky and eloquent. Somehow, in her red lips and curved eyes, I imagined myself to be the victim. She looked at me, her eyes smiling. She reminded me of the housecat in the orphanage I grew up at, vigilant and on the prowl for prey. I wondered how could a woman — who proclaimed to be happily married not long ago — turn to men much younger than herself the moment her husband passes away. Alas, it remains a mystery, one I should lock behind bars of fortitude and misery.

But not all was taxing on my body and soul. There remained a woman as gentle as the flowers of the orphanage mother's garden. I believed her to be on some journey of self-discovery. I thought it romantic, so I ventured not to disturb her. She read books and looked out the window all day. I found her self-inflicted solitude lonely and suddenly struck a conversation at the end of the very first day. 'Miss,' I recall calling her, as the sun hid behind the mountains to the west. 'Did you see the kind shepherd's dog as we passed by?' This was the most awkward observation I could have mentioned to a woman so lonely. A simple 'what a fine weather' should have sufficed.

She turned to me, curious. 'Yes,' she replied, shifting to turn her back to the window. I found her face likeable, pleasant even. The way she moved, it seemed she did indeed mean to converse with me. I sat between her and Ms Anne, ignoring the latter as she pestered me to no end. 'You are Mr Dew, are you not?' she asked, fixing her hair. It was tied in a bun under the black cocktail hat, and a cocktail dress traced her frail figure. I liked the design and care she put into her attire. I envied it a little and admired it a lot more.

When I have money, I thought, I, too, shall have clothes designed to perfection. 'Ah, so you know,' I said, delighted yet to find her interest in me. She was a lovely lady, and as I had presumed, she was indeed lonely.

'Yes, I have been listening to your conversations. Apologies for eavesdropping.' She was polite, and I found such traits favourable. A man's worth is not written on his clothes, I was reminded once again, it is etched on his speech and bearing. That was what I believed. There may have been a bias as I had little to no clothing and damaged pride.

'We spoke so the whole coach could hear. You bear no fault, as I am sure Mr Thompson will agree,' I said in my soft voice, looking at the man sitting across me. He was nodding his head in stupor and sleep, bumbling words I could not make out every once in a while. 'Well, he will agree when he wakes.'

'I am sure he will.' The girl giggled politely. 'I was meaning to chat with you, Mr Dew, if you allowed.'

'Why would I not?'

'You seemed exhausted when you entered.'

'Ah,' I exclaimed. 'I agree I have been a little haggard on the surface these last few days. But let me assure you that had been because of my lack of sleep and nourishment. I have been rather busy, you see, with moving and whatnot.'

'So, you plan to move? Where, to Celbrun?'

'Yes, I have been employed there. What about you, Miss? Your name still eludes me.'

'Yes, yes!' she said as realization struck. 'Quite clumsy, aren't I? My name is Rosa Vistaria. You may call me Rosa.' She seemed a little shy as she said it. Perhaps I ought to be a little less forward, lest she mistakes my amiability for romantic advances. I have been criticised for my lack of boundaries before which, I suppose, I am rightfully accused of. 'Then, Mr Dew,' she called, breaking me away from my daze. 'Would it be fine to know your name?'

'Yes, surely,' I said with a genuine smile, 'I am Lile. Lile Dew.'

And so, I met Rosa. We talked for hours. The journey of three days seemed short in her company — in their company. We played cards, told stories, and when night came, went to our beds. I discovered that Mr Thompson was in a terrible habit of snoring. It worsened the buzzing in my head, but I somehow distanced myself and went to sleep with extreme effort. Three days and three nights passed in a hurry as the view outside changed. From meadows to forests, woods to glades, we passed it all. From the country's south-eastern part till the capital of Celbrun — the north-eastern end — arrived. We had journeyed far away. Soon Mr Thompson can meet his sons. Ms Anne will move on and find some other man, likely a younger one. And Rosa... what will Ms Vistaria do?

I thought, and I asked, 'Where does this journey lead you, Rosa?'

The woman looked at me, her hazel eyes finding mine. 'I have also found employment at the capital,' she said to me. 'I am to meet them before the end of this week. It has been an unforgettable journey, Lile. Thank you for speaking with me.' I nodded. The woman was around the age of nineteen, three years younger than me; I found it easier to speak with her than anyone else in the coach. Dining was enjoyable, wine didn't suit me; I never drink. I hoped that we could speak again, as friends in a new city.

'I am glad you are new here too,' I said to her. 'A comrade in arms.' I giggled near the end.

'I have lived here, to be honest. My aunt and uncle still do. But, please' — she took out a card from her purse and handed it to me — 'find me when you can. That is where I will be staying.'

The train came to a slow stop. We had arrived at Celbrun. I could spot the steam from the engine over the horizon, its whistle loud and less clever. Outside was a large station with a large bustling crowd. I looked at them and wondered how long must it take for one to be lost in its hubbub. Rosa beckoned me, and we descended from the couch.

Following Rosa, I walked a distance with the other two to the end of the platform. We said our goodbyes and blessings. Mr Thompson left first. I stared at his back with a slight sorrow. I will never see him again, I thought. However obnoxious his snores may be, I liked the man.

Then, as I was contemplating, Ms Anne came to me and landed a peck on my cheek. It truly caught me off-guard, shocking me. She gave me not a moment to protest as she turned around and left without a word, smiling all the way. A moment passed and I came to my senses. I straightened my tie, retrieved a card from my pocket, and handed it to Rosa, who had been staring at Ms Anne in disbelief. 'I may be busy in the coming days,' I said, 'but let's remain in touch. I still have to repay you for the dinner and lunch.' She said yes with a smile, and she too left. I did not feel any regret seeing her back fade in the distance; I believed in our reunion. We had promised as such.

I stood there, tying my long hair in a ponytail. Even after all this time, I still fail to tie it neatly. After the third attempt, I gave up, afraid of people's passing gazes. I put them together roughly, letting a few locks flood the sides of my face, a few strands obstructing my gaze. A train arrived at the next terminal as I was about to pass, a luxurious one. I wished I could travel in one such as this one day, but currently, I lacked the means. The train ticket I had purchased was courtesy of the orphanage mother who sold some of her possessions to lend me for my journey, and yet she never expected a single coin back. My heart sank, thinking about her. Mother, that is all I called her. She was a mother, in the truest sense.

What am I thinking, I asked myself. I must move on. It is a good day. She is happy for me. I will earn and go see her... one day. One day, surely.

I moved my feet, with the suitcase in hand. The large white clock hanging on the yellowish stone wall of the station, lighted by the obnoxiously bright, light bulb above it, indicated half past five in the morning — a pleasant hour. I passed through the droves of people walking by and entered the underground passage that took me from terminal four — where I had landed — to terminal one. From here I climbed a few steps, asked a few people, took a few turns, got lost, asked again, and found the exit.

I felt like a country bumpkin, and forget not, I truly was. It made me nervous, seeing disgruntled masses, thinking why they had to help me. But that is the crowd, who could help it? They have their worries, and I must not be disheartened. There are good things to come, I told myself.

I stood at the exit, on top of the stairs that spread to southwest, west, and northwest in a wide fashion, inviting people. What a large facility, I thought, awed. It truly felt like the capital of a country. I quickly followed the stream of people climbing down from the left side of the stairs, puffing warm breaths. They tucked their coats as they walked in different directions. Some to south, some to west and north, and soon they dispersed like a flock of birds by the sound of man's approach.

I too wished to go my way. But I, Lile of the Dew family, knew nothing of this place. I was panicking, tucking strands of hair behind my ears — again, and again, and again. And soon, to my relief, I found a stout man in a black bowler hat holding a sign near the lamppost. It read: Mr Lile Dew. My heart felt warm again. Ah! My saviour! I thought as I trudged towards him with the dignity of a wet dog. He saw me and waved. I nodded and soon reached my hand out. I said, 'Thank you for receiving me.' There were signs of relief in my voice, and beads of sweat on my forehead. 'That is very kind of you.'

'No, no,' he protested, putting down the sign while staring at my clean face. Yes, I did not have a moustache or beard. It was a tragedy, and I lamented it for years. 'You are the kind one, Mr Dew.' He shook my hand. He had gloves on, and it felt rather uncomfortable. 'You came as soon as you could per our request. We could not be more grateful.' He put a hand on my back, and with the other, he guided and directed me. That was a friendly and hospitable gesture, I noted. A well-behaved man, I thought, courteous. Looking at me, he said suddenly, 'I am Milles Crawford, Mr Dew.'

'A pleasure to meet you, Mr Crawford,' I greeted, polite as I could be given my beating heart. I was excited, relieved, and happy to be in the care of my employers.

Mr Crawford led me some way and raised his hand near a parking lot. He asked me about my journey and health, about family and friends. And while we waited for the motor car, I asked him, 'May I ask of your position at the institute, if you do not mind, Mr Crawford?'

'I am an organiser,' he said without a moment's break. 'I handle everything that needs preparing. I prepare for functions, receive guests, and sometimes procure materials for the staff. I am the man who keeps the cogs oiled, if you may.'

'Ah, I see,' I said. 'That is an impressive array of work. Will you be helping with my papers, then?'

'No, I do not handle those areas and security. You must meet the Planning Offices; they will guide you through the process. Other than that, Mr Dew, if you do not mind my asking, are you not cold?' He eyed me with apparent scrutiny, seeing my lack of proper clothing. I was not naked, but in this cold, I must've seemed so. I had no coat on, not even a suit. My hands were bare, and my head was exposed to the frigid air. It made me realise that the masses were covered in thick clothing and hats. 'It is early morning. I am sure you would appreciate a scarf, at least,' he said, reaching for his duffel bag.

I raised my hand in protest. 'No need,' I said. 'I do not feel cold.' He raised an eye, and I explained with a smile on my face, 'This is my trade at work. Arcane Knowledge — Magic.'





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