You find yourself in some kind of store room. Brushing aside a spider and web, you see a lovely tapestry hanging on the left wall. A narrow central aisle leads to a window at the far end of the room.
Looking out the window, you notice a change in the weather — the colours remind you of a sunset over savannah you once saw, beautiful and shifting. The earth and sky touch at a glowing, luminous horizon. You pull down the shade slightly to keep out the glare.
In the space under the window there is a small stack of blue chairs with a jigsaw puzzle on top of them, as well as a picture of a gostak distiming some doshes. Beside it is a small ballerina. It’s not just an ordinary ballerina, though; the plastic seems to be turning to flesh, even as you watch.
No, you must be having delusions ... losing your grip ... slouching towards Bedlam. Snap out of it!
Suddenly the janitor walks in with a mop over his shoulder. Noticing your distress, he comes over and asks if you are OK. He interrupts your babel about transforming ballerinas, and says, “Nothing to worry about. These kinds of metamorphoses happen all the time around here. First things first though ... I’m Rameses Mulldoon, the janitor,” he says, shaking your hand and putting his mop aside.
He tries to cheer you up with a joke. “Have you heard the one about the meteor, the stone and a long glass of sherbet? No? Well there was this meteor, you see, and this stone ...” Noticing that this is not helping, he tries another tack.
Picking up a theatrical mask, he says “Ha! This must be old Pytho’s mask.” He puts it over his face and says, “Now let me show you something I saw at the theatre. It’s an act of misdirection, really ... Look over there!” he says, pointing somewhere behind you. Then he reaches over and pulls a coin out of your left ear. “It was much more impressive when the magician did it,” he says apologetically, taking off the mask.
He sighs and says, “Sometimes I think of packing it all in and starting a new life as something more exotic for a change — a detective or a traveling swordsman or something, and go off on some kind of adventure. But then, the primrose path isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be, is it? No, I think I’ll be a cleaner till death makes a monk-fish out of me. It’s what I do best.”
Noticing that you are still a bit shaken, the janitor says, “Tell you what. I don’t have any brandy, but I do have some gourmet cheese on hand. I keep it under lock & key, because of the rats — these rats all things devour, so you gotta watch ’em. You’re welcome to have some if you like. Risorgimento Represso 1959 — good year for cheese, that.”
He reaches for an old leather-bound book. “I keep the key hidden inside poor Zefron’s almanac here — I cut away the centre pages. It was a bit dated anyway,” he explains.
He moves aside a pot plant and unlocks a small panel in the wall, then withdraws a small round cheese wrapped in a cloth. He closes the panel and puts back the plant where it was before, then offers you the cheese with an air of savoir faire, a little beyond what you would normally expect from a janitor.
“My wife loves this cheese,” he remarks. “Her name’s Galatea. She collects garbage, so we’ve got some common ground. Not the same kind of garbage as I do ... she makes things with it. Little objects d’art — about twenty three so far. Seasonal things. She’s got a thing for spring in particular. But I’m rambling. Have some cheese.”
He is about to bite into it, when he exclaims, “What the zork!? Curses! The rats have got to it somehow. Sorry about that. I had them all kaged up last week, but they escaped. I’m about due for a rematch with that vermin, I think. Got to think like a rat ... be a hunter, in darkness ... Ramases the Rat Wrangler! The legend lives!”
A wild look comes into his eyes, and then he comes to himself again. “Sorry about that. I get a bit carried away sometimes. It’s the the Mulldoon legacy,” he says apologetically.
“Hmm ... with these constraints, I guess we could try the new vending machine.” He puts a coin in the slot and presses a button, but nothing happens. “Bad machine! Bad!” he yells, and gives it a kick. “Been like that ever since its arrival.”
He takes a closer look at the side of the machine. “Ha! Small world. Made in Anchorhead, near where I grew up. Down interstate I-0. Ever been there? All roads go there eventually.”
Checking his watch, he says, “Well, there’s vespers at 9:05 in the morning, so I’d better be off now. Ever thought about the fallacy of dawn, by the way? There is no dawn. It’s all relative. Depends where you’re standing, that’s all.”
On his way out, the janitor points out a small pile of books in the corner. “Some good ones there — once and future classics, no doubt about it. Feel free to browse,” he says, picking up a comic book called Future Boy!. An old piece of parchment falls out, which he reaches for excitedly. “Ha! Uncle Zebulon’s will! I was wondering where that got to.”
After he has gone, you have a look through the books. The titles include:
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
1893, A World’s Fair Mystery
Travels in the Land of Erden
The Moonlit Tower
Christminster
— The
City Of Secrets
Political Intrigue For Fun And Profit by P.
Varicella
Ad Verbum And Other Literary Devices
Dreamhold — A Journey Into The Mind
The Edifice — Just A Big Block Of Stone?
The Elysium Enigma — Volcanoes On Mars
Floatpoint IEEE Number Representation
Photopia, The Legendary Luminescent Paradise
Glowgrass Artificial Turf Manual.
When you are ready to leave, you may return to the
great hall.