2. Wondering what the world can be.
“What?” Tom said. “That’s not possible, no one’s discovered how to travel in time or if it’s even possible.”
“Not in our time,” Ruth said. “But just think about it. I saw
someone who looked like you, but not quite. Now I think about it, I
know what it was that was different. He was older- his hair was
greying, he was bearded and looked- well, older. Everything about the
design of this place and the way it works- teapots, G&S tunes- makes
it feel like something that was designed for us- or by one of us.”
“Well, that’s true,” Adam said.
“Just suppose,” Ruth said, “In the future- ten, twenty years time-
you, Tom, work out how to time travel, or at least you have access to a
time machine. You bring it back in time to now, and leave these clues
for us- your past self and your friends- to find it, while someone else
travels back in another machine to pick you up.”
The others were silent. “It’s not impossible, I suppose,” Tom said.
“I mean, twenty years ago it would have been impossible to predict some
of the things science has managed to do. It would be fast progress,
but with better communication and more people and investment I suppose
there’s no reason why it couldn’t happen. And I suppose it could
explain why the future me wouldn’t hang around- it’s not usually a good
idea to meet yourself.”
“But that’s in science fiction,” Adam said. “It couldn’t really happen, could it?”
“We don’t know,” said Ruth. “It couldn’t now. Who can say what’s going to happen in the future?”
“But time travel...it’s a bit far fetched.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Patrick said. He pointed at the
screen, where a message now read: “Please enter desired place of
arrival.” Ruth typed ‘Savoy Theatre, London, England.’ She looked up
at the others.
“What do you think?” she said. “If it works- just think! The D’Oyle
Carte Company at the height of their success, Sullivan himself
conducting, Gilbert fidgeting nervously, waiting to see what the public
will think of his latest creation? I’m not normally a risk taker, but
this time I want to try!” She looked at Tom, usually the most cautious
of the group. “Besides, I don’t think your future self would have left
us anything dangerous. I mean, he’d be destroying himself, wouldn’t
he?”
Tom looked round at the others. “Ok,” he said finally. “But let’s work out how we get back first.”
“Good plan,” Adam said. He looked at the Quick Start book. “Here, this looks like it, the ‘quick return code.’”
“‘The quick return code returns you to the time and place you left
without needing to enter temporal or spatial co-ordinates,’” Tom read.
“‘After entering your passtune simply enter the quick return code
(given below) and press return. The TTC will return to it’s current
‘home’ place and the time at which it last left that location (if a
‘home’ location is not set, the TTC will return to the place and time
last visited.’”
“So we just need to set here and now as home, and we’ll return here,” Adam said.
The booklet’s instructions were quite clear, a couple of buttons were
pushed and the option to ‘Set current place and time as home?’ was
confirmed. The quick return code turned out to be just the scale of C
played on the keyboard- simple enough for even Ruth to be sure of
getting it right.
As soon as they had confirmed it Tom suddenly said, “Maybe we should
have tried to return home first.” The others looked at him. “It might
have taken us to the future, to where our future selves are. We could
have asked them why they left it for us- maybe there was a reason.”
Ruth looked down at the keyboard. “It’s too late now, anyway,” she said.
“And I thought it wasn’t a good idea to meet our future or past selves,” Adam said.
“If they wanted us to do something, you’d have thought they’d have
left a message,” Patrick said. “I mean, they’d know what we’d do.”
“Well, if they want us now they’ll have to come and find us,” Ruth said. “Shall we go?” She pressed the return key.
“Enter activation code,” Tom read from the screen. He found the place in the book and gave it to Adam.
“Just an arpeggio,” Adam said. “Are we ready? Then here goes!”
The story continues...
Thursday, 28 June 2012
Tuesday, 26 June 2012
Fantom Chapter 1, part 5.
“Wow,” said Ruth. There was no other reaction.
“Not an office, then,” Adam said.
“Nope. I think we found what we were looking for.”
“But what is it?”
They were in a long rectangular room, about the size and shape of a shipping container. The door that had looked just like any other wooden in the corridor from the outside was, they could see, actually only half of a set of double metal doors that could be closed with not only the lock but also bolts and had hoops where a metal bar could be placed across to stop anyone getting through.
The walls were also metal, but hung with black curtains. Lights were mounted on bars on the ceiling. There were no windows.
On the long side to the left of the door were a series of wide shelves, divided into three sections. The middle section was perhaps the easiest to understand. There were a couple of computer screens, a keyboard and other electronic gadgets. The section furthest from the door was separated from the centreal one by a wooden partition, and contined, of all things, a kettle, small sink and what looked like a hob for cooking on. Mugs were hung from the back of the shelf, and a big teapot was in front of them. Well, of course, Ruth thought. Any -whatever this place is- connected to her friends was always going to contain a teapot.
The section nearest the door contained a keyboard- not a computer keyboard, but a musical one, with a stand to hold sheet music. Tom saw that it was connected by wires to the computer. Underneath this shelf was a large wicker hamper. The rest of the space under the shelves was taken up by the grey metal facings of computer equipment and containers of some sort.
The end wall, opposite the door, was also covered in shelves, although in this case they were book shelves. Ruth eyed them with interest. In front of the other long wall ran a wide cushioned bench. All in all it seemed a very pleasant litle room. But was that all it was?
“But what is this place?” Adam asked. Ruth shrugged. Patrick closed the door behind them and wandered over to the bookshelves.
“Whoever it was that gave you the instructions evidently wanted us to come here,” Tom said. He sat down on a wooden chair in front of the computer bank. “We just need to find out why.” He looked at the keyboard. There was one button larger than the rest, with the symbol for On. Tentatively, he pressed it.
Ruth was uneasy. “It feels- I don’t know, wrong somehow. As if it’s some kind of trap.”
“But we’ve got the keys,” Adam said. “Why would they give us the keys if it’s a trap?”
The computer screen flickered into life. “Welcome to the Type 47 Temporal Transportation Capsule,” Tom read. “To start please enter the passtune on the audio input device.”
“Passtune?” Adam said. “What’s that?”
“Audio input device- that must mean the keyboard,” Tom said.
“Where’s that Quick Start thing you picked up?” Ruth asked. Patrick pulled it out and the others crowded round.
“Here,” Ruth said. “The default passtune is printed below. You are advised to change your passtune as soon as possible and to keep it secret to avoid others being able to gain access to your TTC.”
“It looks familiar for some reason,” Patrick said, staring at the lines of music.
“Can you play it, Adam?” Ruth asked. “You’re probably best at that.”
Adam sat down in front of the keyboard with the music in front of him. Concentrating he began to play. It was only a few lines, but before he’d played more than a few bars they knew what it was.
“Hail, poetry!” Patrick sang.
“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Ruth said. “I think I’m begining to understand.”
Before she could explain the screens lit up. One displayed a message saying, “When would you like to go?”
“Doesn’t it mean where?” Adam asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ruth said. She had been flicking through the Quick Start guide, and now she reached past Tom and entered some numbers: 14 03 1885.
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“The date of the first night of The Mikado,” Ruth said. She turned to the others, her excitement evident. “It’s a time machine!”
The story continues...
“Not an office, then,” Adam said.
“Nope. I think we found what we were looking for.”
“But what is it?”
They were in a long rectangular room, about the size and shape of a shipping container. The door that had looked just like any other wooden in the corridor from the outside was, they could see, actually only half of a set of double metal doors that could be closed with not only the lock but also bolts and had hoops where a metal bar could be placed across to stop anyone getting through.
The walls were also metal, but hung with black curtains. Lights were mounted on bars on the ceiling. There were no windows.
On the long side to the left of the door were a series of wide shelves, divided into three sections. The middle section was perhaps the easiest to understand. There were a couple of computer screens, a keyboard and other electronic gadgets. The section furthest from the door was separated from the centreal one by a wooden partition, and contined, of all things, a kettle, small sink and what looked like a hob for cooking on. Mugs were hung from the back of the shelf, and a big teapot was in front of them. Well, of course, Ruth thought. Any -whatever this place is- connected to her friends was always going to contain a teapot.
The section nearest the door contained a keyboard- not a computer keyboard, but a musical one, with a stand to hold sheet music. Tom saw that it was connected by wires to the computer. Underneath this shelf was a large wicker hamper. The rest of the space under the shelves was taken up by the grey metal facings of computer equipment and containers of some sort.
The end wall, opposite the door, was also covered in shelves, although in this case they were book shelves. Ruth eyed them with interest. In front of the other long wall ran a wide cushioned bench. All in all it seemed a very pleasant litle room. But was that all it was?
“But what is this place?” Adam asked. Ruth shrugged. Patrick closed the door behind them and wandered over to the bookshelves.
“Whoever it was that gave you the instructions evidently wanted us to come here,” Tom said. He sat down on a wooden chair in front of the computer bank. “We just need to find out why.” He looked at the keyboard. There was one button larger than the rest, with the symbol for On. Tentatively, he pressed it.
Ruth was uneasy. “It feels- I don’t know, wrong somehow. As if it’s some kind of trap.”
“But we’ve got the keys,” Adam said. “Why would they give us the keys if it’s a trap?”
The computer screen flickered into life. “Welcome to the Type 47 Temporal Transportation Capsule,” Tom read. “To start please enter the passtune on the audio input device.”
“Passtune?” Adam said. “What’s that?”
“Audio input device- that must mean the keyboard,” Tom said.
“Where’s that Quick Start thing you picked up?” Ruth asked. Patrick pulled it out and the others crowded round.
“Here,” Ruth said. “The default passtune is printed below. You are advised to change your passtune as soon as possible and to keep it secret to avoid others being able to gain access to your TTC.”
“It looks familiar for some reason,” Patrick said, staring at the lines of music.
“Can you play it, Adam?” Ruth asked. “You’re probably best at that.”
Adam sat down in front of the keyboard with the music in front of him. Concentrating he began to play. It was only a few lines, but before he’d played more than a few bars they knew what it was.
“Hail, poetry!” Patrick sang.
“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Ruth said. “I think I’m begining to understand.”
Before she could explain the screens lit up. One displayed a message saying, “When would you like to go?”
“Doesn’t it mean where?” Adam asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ruth said. She had been flicking through the Quick Start guide, and now she reached past Tom and entered some numbers: 14 03 1885.
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“The date of the first night of The Mikado,” Ruth said. She turned to the others, her excitement evident. “It’s a time machine!”
The story continues...
Thursday, 21 June 2012
Fantom Chapter 1, part 4.
They found a map on a leaflet in the library, and sat down to try and work out the remainder of the clues.
“They don’t seem to be in any sort of pattern,” Tom said. “Assuming we’ve got the right places.”
“I’m pretty sure the container’s right,” Ruth said. “Try drawing a line from that to- which bridge is it linked with? Two? That’s the Langwith one that’s not there.”
“I remember where it used to be,” Tom said, drawing a line. “I suppose the library bridge is the first bridge?” He drew another line from there to the music practice rooms.
“Maybe all the lines are should overlap, and whatever it is we’re looking for is at that point?” Adam suggested.
“What about the third one? Where could you draw a line to from the third bridge that would overlap with those two?” They all stared at the map, but found no further inspiration.
After a while they left the library- they were getting some angry looks from students trying to work. Ruth lingered outside, looking down on campus spread out before her. Langwith and Vanbrugh colleges, the physics building, the health centre, Central Hall- hmm. She looked at the clues again. They were obviously written with members of the G&S society in mind, places that were connected in some way to their activities. No one else would include the storage container. So surely Central Hall would feature?
“Many things and nothing well,” she said thoughtfully. “Lecture theatre, concert hall, ceremonial venue, theatre- it’s Central Hall. The third line is between the chemistry bridge and Central Hall.”
Tom pulled the map out and drew the new line. “Well, they don’t all meet in the same place.”
“But they do cross each other,” Adam said.
“One and two, two and three, one and three,” Patrick said. “Let’s look where the pairs cross.”
There was nothing to see at the first place they tried, at the meeting of the line between the first bridge and the music room and line between the second bridge and Central Hall. It was a grassy hillock near the entrance to Langwith porter’s lodge, round behind the rubbish bins. Their hopes, which had risen believing they had guessed all the clues, sank again.
“We might just have missed it,” Patrick said, ever the optimist. “We don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“Well, let’s try the next anyway,” Ruth said. “Maybe there’s be something more obvious.”
Next was the crossing point between the second and third lines, the ones between the second bridge and the container and the third bridge and Central Hall. These met near one of the paths between Langwith and Vanbrugh. Patrick wandered away from the path, across the grass strewn with goose-droppings.
“Look at this,” he said after a minute. Sticking up from the ground were a row of three black swan feathers. Ruth bent down and pulled one. She was surprised that it did not come up easily. She gave another tug and it came out, and she saw something was fastened to it. Wiping the mud off she saw it was a plastic pod, a bit like a car key fob.
“What on earth?” Tom said. He pulled at another of the feathers. It too had a pod on the end. Patrick pulled up a third.
“Two and three, you’ll find the key,” Patrick said. “But the key to what?”
“We’re on the right track, anyway,” Ruth said. “Let’s try the third one- three and one.” Tom looked at the map.
“They don’t cross,” he said, dismayed. The others looked. It was true, the line from the third bridge to Central hall did not cross the line from the first bridge to the music rooms.
“We must have got one of the clues wrong,” Adam said.
“Two and three must be right, or we wouldn’t have found the keys,” Tom said. “It must be one that’s wrong.”
“Anyone fancy a drink while we work it out?” Patrick asked. They wandered back towards Langwith, but the bar there was full of people watching a football match so they continued on to Derwent. While they were waiting at the bar Ruth stared at the doors where they had met Tom- if it had been Tom- the night before. Why had he given them this treasure hunt? Why not just tell them where to go? Why had he seemed in such a hurry? And what on earth could be the answer to the last clue?
The bar was fairly busy, so they made their way with their drinks down to the far end and sat at a table in the old dining hall.
“I still can’t quite work out how they did shows in here,” she said.
“Hmm?” Adam wasn’t listening.
“The society’s first show,” Ruth said, louder over the noise from the jukebox. “They did Pirates in here. And Iolanthe the next year, I think, before they moved into Central Hall.” Suddenly they looked at each other.
“That must be it,” Tom said, pulling out the map. Rubbing out the line from the first bridge to the music rooms, he drew it instead to Derwent dining room and bar.
“Of course,” Adam said. “Often sat- we’re always in here after rehearsals! How did we not get that?”
“We’ve got it now,” Tom said. “Let’s go and find it!”
“Whatever it is,” Ruth said.
Quickly drinking up they hurried to the new crossing point of the first and third lines, which was somewhere in a corridor in Langwith. They looked around.
“Well you couldn’t bury anything here,” Ruth said. “But I suppose you could hide something behind a noticeboard or something, depending on what it is.”
“Or in a cupboard,” Patrick said, indicating the cupboard where the G&S society kept their music and keyboard. “Shall I get the key from the porters?”
“The other place is near the porters lodge anyway,” Tom said. “We might as well look there first.”
The new crossing point of lines two and three was just outside one of the Langwith accommodation blocks. But it didn’t look much more hopeful than the previous one.
“Just a flowerbed,” Ruth said. Patrick was looking at it. He stooped and lifted one of the flowers, a rose that, oddly, was a different colour to all the others on that bush. Beneath, hidden among the leaves and thorny stems, was a booklet.
“What does it say?” Adam asked.
“Quick start guide,” Patrick read. He flicked it open. “Lots of diagrams and things- is that music? It doesn’t make much sense.”
“Let’s go and check the cupboard,” Tom said. Patrick got the key from the porters lodge and they headed back to the corridor.
“Did that door used to be here?” Adam asked, as Patrick was unlocking the cupboard. He pointed to another door, immediately opposite it. They looked at it.
“Yeah, it must have been,” Ruth said, trying to remember.It seemed no different to any of the other doors on that corridor, leading to seminar room, offices, cupboards. And yet...just as she had with Tom the previous evening, Ruth felt there was something odd about it, as if it didn’t quite belong.
“But where does it go?” Adam asked. The door was marked ‘L/047 B.’ Ruth tried to remember that room. She’d never been in there for lectures or rehearsals.
“It must be an office, or another storeroom,” she said. “There can’t be much room, it’s right on the edge of the building.” Again she felt uneasy, as if her brain was trying to tell her something.
Patrick walked over to the door and tried the handle.
“There might be someone in there!” Tom objected.
“At this time of night?” Patrick said. He pushed, but the door didn’t budge. “Locked,” he said. He pulled out the key fob he had pulled from the ground, still with the feather attached. There was a depression on one side of the fob, which he put his thumb in and pressed. A key sprang out of the fob. He tried it in the lock, and they heard the click as it turned. Patrick opened the door.
The story continues...
“They don’t seem to be in any sort of pattern,” Tom said. “Assuming we’ve got the right places.”
“I’m pretty sure the container’s right,” Ruth said. “Try drawing a line from that to- which bridge is it linked with? Two? That’s the Langwith one that’s not there.”
“I remember where it used to be,” Tom said, drawing a line. “I suppose the library bridge is the first bridge?” He drew another line from there to the music practice rooms.
“Maybe all the lines are should overlap, and whatever it is we’re looking for is at that point?” Adam suggested.
“What about the third one? Where could you draw a line to from the third bridge that would overlap with those two?” They all stared at the map, but found no further inspiration.
After a while they left the library- they were getting some angry looks from students trying to work. Ruth lingered outside, looking down on campus spread out before her. Langwith and Vanbrugh colleges, the physics building, the health centre, Central Hall- hmm. She looked at the clues again. They were obviously written with members of the G&S society in mind, places that were connected in some way to their activities. No one else would include the storage container. So surely Central Hall would feature?
“Many things and nothing well,” she said thoughtfully. “Lecture theatre, concert hall, ceremonial venue, theatre- it’s Central Hall. The third line is between the chemistry bridge and Central Hall.”
Tom pulled the map out and drew the new line. “Well, they don’t all meet in the same place.”
“But they do cross each other,” Adam said.
“One and two, two and three, one and three,” Patrick said. “Let’s look where the pairs cross.”
There was nothing to see at the first place they tried, at the meeting of the line between the first bridge and the music room and line between the second bridge and Central Hall. It was a grassy hillock near the entrance to Langwith porter’s lodge, round behind the rubbish bins. Their hopes, which had risen believing they had guessed all the clues, sank again.
“We might just have missed it,” Patrick said, ever the optimist. “We don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“Well, let’s try the next anyway,” Ruth said. “Maybe there’s be something more obvious.”
Next was the crossing point between the second and third lines, the ones between the second bridge and the container and the third bridge and Central Hall. These met near one of the paths between Langwith and Vanbrugh. Patrick wandered away from the path, across the grass strewn with goose-droppings.
“Look at this,” he said after a minute. Sticking up from the ground were a row of three black swan feathers. Ruth bent down and pulled one. She was surprised that it did not come up easily. She gave another tug and it came out, and she saw something was fastened to it. Wiping the mud off she saw it was a plastic pod, a bit like a car key fob.
“What on earth?” Tom said. He pulled at another of the feathers. It too had a pod on the end. Patrick pulled up a third.
“Two and three, you’ll find the key,” Patrick said. “But the key to what?”
“We’re on the right track, anyway,” Ruth said. “Let’s try the third one- three and one.” Tom looked at the map.
“They don’t cross,” he said, dismayed. The others looked. It was true, the line from the third bridge to Central hall did not cross the line from the first bridge to the music rooms.
“We must have got one of the clues wrong,” Adam said.
“Two and three must be right, or we wouldn’t have found the keys,” Tom said. “It must be one that’s wrong.”
“Anyone fancy a drink while we work it out?” Patrick asked. They wandered back towards Langwith, but the bar there was full of people watching a football match so they continued on to Derwent. While they were waiting at the bar Ruth stared at the doors where they had met Tom- if it had been Tom- the night before. Why had he given them this treasure hunt? Why not just tell them where to go? Why had he seemed in such a hurry? And what on earth could be the answer to the last clue?
The bar was fairly busy, so they made their way with their drinks down to the far end and sat at a table in the old dining hall.
“I still can’t quite work out how they did shows in here,” she said.
“Hmm?” Adam wasn’t listening.
“The society’s first show,” Ruth said, louder over the noise from the jukebox. “They did Pirates in here. And Iolanthe the next year, I think, before they moved into Central Hall.” Suddenly they looked at each other.
“That must be it,” Tom said, pulling out the map. Rubbing out the line from the first bridge to the music rooms, he drew it instead to Derwent dining room and bar.
“Of course,” Adam said. “Often sat- we’re always in here after rehearsals! How did we not get that?”
“We’ve got it now,” Tom said. “Let’s go and find it!”
“Whatever it is,” Ruth said.
Quickly drinking up they hurried to the new crossing point of the first and third lines, which was somewhere in a corridor in Langwith. They looked around.
“Well you couldn’t bury anything here,” Ruth said. “But I suppose you could hide something behind a noticeboard or something, depending on what it is.”
“Or in a cupboard,” Patrick said, indicating the cupboard where the G&S society kept their music and keyboard. “Shall I get the key from the porters?”
“The other place is near the porters lodge anyway,” Tom said. “We might as well look there first.”
The new crossing point of lines two and three was just outside one of the Langwith accommodation blocks. But it didn’t look much more hopeful than the previous one.
“Just a flowerbed,” Ruth said. Patrick was looking at it. He stooped and lifted one of the flowers, a rose that, oddly, was a different colour to all the others on that bush. Beneath, hidden among the leaves and thorny stems, was a booklet.
“What does it say?” Adam asked.
“Quick start guide,” Patrick read. He flicked it open. “Lots of diagrams and things- is that music? It doesn’t make much sense.”
“Let’s go and check the cupboard,” Tom said. Patrick got the key from the porters lodge and they headed back to the corridor.
“Did that door used to be here?” Adam asked, as Patrick was unlocking the cupboard. He pointed to another door, immediately opposite it. They looked at it.
“Yeah, it must have been,” Ruth said, trying to remember.It seemed no different to any of the other doors on that corridor, leading to seminar room, offices, cupboards. And yet...just as she had with Tom the previous evening, Ruth felt there was something odd about it, as if it didn’t quite belong.
“But where does it go?” Adam asked. The door was marked ‘L/047 B.’ Ruth tried to remember that room. She’d never been in there for lectures or rehearsals.
“It must be an office, or another storeroom,” she said. “There can’t be much room, it’s right on the edge of the building.” Again she felt uneasy, as if her brain was trying to tell her something.
Patrick walked over to the door and tried the handle.
“There might be someone in there!” Tom objected.
“At this time of night?” Patrick said. He pushed, but the door didn’t budge. “Locked,” he said. He pulled out the key fob he had pulled from the ground, still with the feather attached. There was a depression on one side of the fob, which he put his thumb in and pressed. A key sprang out of the fob. He tried it in the lock, and they heard the click as it turned. Patrick opened the door.
The story continues...
Monday, 18 June 2012
Fantom Chapter 1, part 3.
Ruth puzzled over the clues when she got home. They seemed to be
cryptic instructions to how to find a place- or perhaps several places.
‘Bridges three shall mark the spot
Bridge of books, bridge that was,
And bridge that to discovery leads.
‘From one to where we often sat,
And where our shows at first began.
‘From two to place where much is kept,
Things here may look like what they’re not.
‘Three’s partner place is many things,
And nothing well. Yet, it can serve.
‘One and two, learn what to do,
Two and three, you’ll find the key,
Three and one, this game is done.’
“I don’t think much of their poetry,” Ruth thought, as she fell asleep.
The next day they gathered on campus in the summer evening. “Where do we start?” Adam asked.
“Three bridges,” Ruth said. “But there’s loads of bridges- there must be seven or eight. How do we know which three it means?”
“From the other clues?” Tom suggested. “Maybe it’s the bridges nearest those things?”
“Let’s try working out what they are then,” Ruth replied. “Maybe it’ll help.”
“‘Where we often sat,’” Patrick read. “Somewhere with chairs. That narrows it down!”
“One of the benches near the lake?” Tom suggested.
“Where our shows began sounds like somewhere we have rehearsals,” Adam said.
“But that could be lots of rooms,” Ruth replied. “We’ve rehearsed in most of the rooms in Langwith at some point, and several in Derwent and Vanbrugh.”
“And Goodrick,” Patrick added.
“Maybe the practice rooms then?” Adam said. “We often use them for the auditions. You could say that’s where things begin.”
“Maybe,” Tom said. “That doesn’t help with the bridges, though, there’s none really near there.”
“Two’s got to be a store room,” Patrick said. “Either the cupboard where the scores are kept, or the container where the set’s stored.”
“I’d guess the container,” Ruth said. “‘Things may look like what they’re not-’ that sounds like what a set does to me.”
“The music practice rooms, and the container,” Tom said. “Neither are really near any bridges, and they’re at opposite sides of campus.”
“Any ideas about the third one?” Ruth said. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.” The others shook their heads.
“Shall we go to those places and see if there’s any clues there?” Patrick suggested. They wandered off, chatting. The music practice rooms were closest, but there didn’t seem to be anything unusual there. “It’s kind of hard to look for something when you don’t know what you’re looking for,” Adam said. Next they visited the storage container where they kept all their set and props and costumes. But they seemed to be none the wiser.
“Has anyone got a map of campus?” Ruth asked. “Maybe that would help, if we could see if there’s any sort of pattern?”
“There’ll be one in the library,” Tom said. They set off back towards the centre of campus. The library was perched on top of a cutting above the road that divided the campus, and was reached by going up a square spiral slope. It was normally one of the busiest places on campus, but at this time of day there were few other people around.
As they reached the top of the spiral Ruth suddenly stopped. “Three bridges,” she said. “I think I’ve got it. It’s not the bridges over the lake, it’s the bridges over the road! ‘Bridge of books’- bridge to the library. ”
“But there aren’t three,” Adam said. “There’s only two, this one and the one by chemistry.”
“That would work for ‘bridge to discovery,’ or whatever the third one was,” Patrick said.
“There used to be a third,” Ruth said. “Maybe it was before your time, but there was a bridge from Langwith to Alcuin.
“‘Bridge that was,’” Tom said. “That makes sense. Let’s find a map, maybe we can make sense of the other clues now.”
The story continues...
‘Bridges three shall mark the spot
Bridge of books, bridge that was,
And bridge that to discovery leads.
‘From one to where we often sat,
And where our shows at first began.
‘From two to place where much is kept,
Things here may look like what they’re not.
‘Three’s partner place is many things,
And nothing well. Yet, it can serve.
‘One and two, learn what to do,
Two and three, you’ll find the key,
Three and one, this game is done.’
“I don’t think much of their poetry,” Ruth thought, as she fell asleep.
The next day they gathered on campus in the summer evening. “Where do we start?” Adam asked.
“Three bridges,” Ruth said. “But there’s loads of bridges- there must be seven or eight. How do we know which three it means?”
“From the other clues?” Tom suggested. “Maybe it’s the bridges nearest those things?”
“Let’s try working out what they are then,” Ruth replied. “Maybe it’ll help.”
“‘Where we often sat,’” Patrick read. “Somewhere with chairs. That narrows it down!”
“One of the benches near the lake?” Tom suggested.
“Where our shows began sounds like somewhere we have rehearsals,” Adam said.
“But that could be lots of rooms,” Ruth replied. “We’ve rehearsed in most of the rooms in Langwith at some point, and several in Derwent and Vanbrugh.”
“And Goodrick,” Patrick added.
“Maybe the practice rooms then?” Adam said. “We often use them for the auditions. You could say that’s where things begin.”
“Maybe,” Tom said. “That doesn’t help with the bridges, though, there’s none really near there.”
“Two’s got to be a store room,” Patrick said. “Either the cupboard where the scores are kept, or the container where the set’s stored.”
“I’d guess the container,” Ruth said. “‘Things may look like what they’re not-’ that sounds like what a set does to me.”
“The music practice rooms, and the container,” Tom said. “Neither are really near any bridges, and they’re at opposite sides of campus.”
“Any ideas about the third one?” Ruth said. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.” The others shook their heads.
“Shall we go to those places and see if there’s any clues there?” Patrick suggested. They wandered off, chatting. The music practice rooms were closest, but there didn’t seem to be anything unusual there. “It’s kind of hard to look for something when you don’t know what you’re looking for,” Adam said. Next they visited the storage container where they kept all their set and props and costumes. But they seemed to be none the wiser.
“Has anyone got a map of campus?” Ruth asked. “Maybe that would help, if we could see if there’s any sort of pattern?”
“There’ll be one in the library,” Tom said. They set off back towards the centre of campus. The library was perched on top of a cutting above the road that divided the campus, and was reached by going up a square spiral slope. It was normally one of the busiest places on campus, but at this time of day there were few other people around.
As they reached the top of the spiral Ruth suddenly stopped. “Three bridges,” she said. “I think I’ve got it. It’s not the bridges over the lake, it’s the bridges over the road! ‘Bridge of books’- bridge to the library. ”
“But there aren’t three,” Adam said. “There’s only two, this one and the one by chemistry.”
“That would work for ‘bridge to discovery,’ or whatever the third one was,” Patrick said.
“There used to be a third,” Ruth said. “Maybe it was before your time, but there was a bridge from Langwith to Alcuin.
“‘Bridge that was,’” Tom said. “That makes sense. Let’s find a map, maybe we can make sense of the other clues now.”
The story continues...
Thursday, 14 June 2012
Fantom Chapter 1, part 2
It was dark by the time rehearsal ended, even though it was early summer and the days were at their longest. The members of the University of York Gilbert & Sullivan society went straight to the bar, as was their custom. Ruth lingered for a moment outside, unsure whether she really wanted to, and then followed. Half an hour or so wouldn’t hurt, although there were fewer people she could easily chat with these days. She tried not to think of the past as some kind of golden era- it hadn’t felt that way at the time- but it seemed more of an effort these days. She told herself she was just jealous of the friendships others had formed which she was not included in, but she knew that wasn’t it. The others had moved on with their lives, finding jobs (even if not very good ones, better than hers), getting married, buying homes. And she hadn't. She would have liked to, she dreamt about it sometimes, but it hadn’t happened to her yet. She sometimes felt trapped and lonely. Perhaps her stories about her friends had grown out of that, of a longing for things to be different, more exciting.
But there were still people that she could chat to, and she tried to put those depressing thoughts out of her head as she sat down between Tom and Adam. They chatted for a while about the show and preparations for their trip to Buxton. Rehearsals were going quite well, all the music was learned and they were well into learning the movements, but Ruth suspected that as usual there would be one (or more) things that were forgotten until the last few days before the performance. But she was used to that, though she might fume at the time. She had been on the committee that acted as producer enough times to know how difficult it actually was to create a show, how many things had to be borne in mind. You had to be an expert multi-tasker, and Ernest was not.
But he could create a good show, Ruth had to admit. She felt sometimes that he didn’t always think of the show as a whole but as a series of scenes, but somehow it all fitted together in the end. A good cast helped pull everything together too- chorus as well as principals.
She felt her phone ringing in her pocket, and pulled it out. The number wasn’t recognised. “Hello?” she said, standing up to move somewhere quieter so she could hear it.
“Is that Ruth?” a voice asked. Ruth was puzzled. It sounded like Tom, but he was...no, he wasn’t sat with them. She turned and saw him going up to the bar. It didn’t look like he was using his phone.
“Yes,” she said. “Who’s calling?”
“It’s Tom,” the voice said. “It’s a bit complicated. Could you come just outside the porter’s lodge? I’ll explain.”
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She hung up.
“What’s up?” Adam said, noticing her expression of confusion.
“Tom just phoned and asked me to meet him outside,” she said.
“But Tom’s just over there,” he replied.
“I know. Will you come with me? It sounds a bit...odd.”
“Ok. Where is he?”
They went outside and Ruth looked around cautiously. Tom was standing to one side, out of view of the windows. Ruth looked at him in the dim light. It was definately Tom, but there was something not quite right- she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Hello,” he said. “Thanks for coming out.”
“Why did you get us out here?” Ruth asked. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s all a bit confusing,” he said. “I can’t explain now, and if I did you wouldn’t believe me. Read this, you’ll understand after that. I’ve got to go before I get back. Bye!”
He disappeared round the corner, and a moment later they heard a door shut. Ruth looked at the sheet of paper he had thrust into her hand. “Hey! Wait a second-” she shouted, and set off after him. But when she turned the corner all she saw was a blank wall.
Ruth marched back inside, Adam following her. She stopped short, seeing Tom sitting with the others, talking to Patrick.
“How did you get back so fast?” she said. “What’s going on?”
“What?” Tom answered, confused. “I don’t know what you mean, I was only at the bar. I got back a couple of minutes ago and wondered where you’d gone.”
“We were talking to you outside,” Adam said. “At least it looked and sounded like you.” Ruth sat down, and looked at the piece of paper Tom had given her.
“What’s that?” Patrick asked, looking over her shoulder.
“I’m not sure,” Ruth replied. “He said we’d understand when we’d read it.” On one side there was a hand drawn map, buildings round a lake. On the other, a set of printed instructions.
“Clues,” Patrick said. “It’s almost like a treasure map.”
“Well, there’s no x marks the spot on this map, unfortunately,” Tom said.
“You really don’t know what it’s about?” Ruth asked him.
“No, sorry,” he replied. “It sounds odd.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Patrick said. “Shall we follow the clues?”
“Not tonight,” Ruth said. “It’s past eleven, and some of us have work tomorrow. We could meet up tomorrow night and try? There’s no rehearsal.”
“There’s one for principals,” Adam said. “But I’m not needed. Tomorrow it is.”
The story continues...
Monday, 11 June 2012
Fantom chapter 1, part 1.
1. Saddled and hampered and addled.
“After a moment Patrick joined in, and they continued to sing as they headed down the hill to join the others, as the lights of their rescuers drew nearer and the watchfire still flickered on the hilltop.”
Ruth sighed and clicked save. The story was finished. She could edit it tomorrow. She felt a little sad about that ending, it was always difficult to kill off a character, even when they weren’t based on one of her best friends. But however full her stories were of a close-knit group of friends, she couldn’t make her thoughts a reality. Not that any of them would have read her stories anyway. They wouldn’t care what she thought.
Another thing she couldn’t make a reality was an interesting life. Her own was a dull, seemingly endless shuffle, earning just enough money to pay the bills, and finding other things to do to distract herself from how hopeless it all seemed. That was the reality of life in recession-hit, cuts-stricken, jobless, uncaring Britain. That was what her stories were, escapism. Dreams of being a hero, of not being who she was. She felt as if she were standing in a fog-filled room, unable to see but dreaming that what was out there was so much more exciting than the few inches of dull greyness that filled her eyes and lungs, holding her in place.
Her characters weren’t real people, but they still bore traces of the people they had been based on. Ruth wished she could give the real people happy endings, but she didn’t see how. There certainly didn’t seem to be a happy ending for herself.
She switched tabs to check her emails, and felt a sudden twist in her stomach as she saw that the audition results had arrived. Without much hope she opened the message and scanned the list of names. She hadn’t got anything. She had known beforehand that she wouldn’t get anything, that the competition would be too high- and yet there was always the sick feeling of disappointment when it was confirmed.
She looked up as Patrick entered the room. “Results are out,” she said, and passed him her laptop with the opened email. He looked down the list.
He would be more disappointed than her, she knew. There were fewer men, and- in her opinion- he was better than at least a couple of those who had got parts. But he had got nothing. She tried angrily to repress the thought that ability mattered less than how friendly you were with the directors or their partners.
“I’m sorry,” she said as he looked up. He shrugged. “Tea?” he asked, getting up to put the kettle on. “Please,” she replied. It was always horrible going into auditions knowing that however well she did- even if she gave the best performance of her life- she would still not be able to beat certain other people. She wondered sometimes why she still bothered. Partly it was a sense of fairness, she disliked the fact that there were men no better than her- indeed, not as good, she allowed herself to think in moments of less self-loathing- who regularly got parts because there were fewer men and more parts.
“Are you still going to do chorus?” she asked Patrick as he poured the tea. “Oh yes,” he said. “Are you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Ruddigore’s the last G&S I haven’t done,” she said. “I want my full set. And I’m not going to miss performing at the Festival!” And they know that, don’t they. They know we’ll keep turning up, whatever happens. They don’t need to give us parts just to persuade us to stay. But if I left, no one would miss me.
She had tried to leave- the main show they’d just done had been going to be her last. Then they’d announced that the society had got the chance to perform at the International Gilbert & Sullivan Festival at Buxton that summer. Ruth had been to see shows at the Festival several times, and she wasn’t going to miss a chance to perform.
But this is the last one, she thought to herself. She had had enough of the politics and the egos.
The story continues...
“After a moment Patrick joined in, and they continued to sing as they headed down the hill to join the others, as the lights of their rescuers drew nearer and the watchfire still flickered on the hilltop.”
Ruth sighed and clicked save. The story was finished. She could edit it tomorrow. She felt a little sad about that ending, it was always difficult to kill off a character, even when they weren’t based on one of her best friends. But however full her stories were of a close-knit group of friends, she couldn’t make her thoughts a reality. Not that any of them would have read her stories anyway. They wouldn’t care what she thought.
Another thing she couldn’t make a reality was an interesting life. Her own was a dull, seemingly endless shuffle, earning just enough money to pay the bills, and finding other things to do to distract herself from how hopeless it all seemed. That was the reality of life in recession-hit, cuts-stricken, jobless, uncaring Britain. That was what her stories were, escapism. Dreams of being a hero, of not being who she was. She felt as if she were standing in a fog-filled room, unable to see but dreaming that what was out there was so much more exciting than the few inches of dull greyness that filled her eyes and lungs, holding her in place.
Her characters weren’t real people, but they still bore traces of the people they had been based on. Ruth wished she could give the real people happy endings, but she didn’t see how. There certainly didn’t seem to be a happy ending for herself.
She switched tabs to check her emails, and felt a sudden twist in her stomach as she saw that the audition results had arrived. Without much hope she opened the message and scanned the list of names. She hadn’t got anything. She had known beforehand that she wouldn’t get anything, that the competition would be too high- and yet there was always the sick feeling of disappointment when it was confirmed.
She looked up as Patrick entered the room. “Results are out,” she said, and passed him her laptop with the opened email. He looked down the list.
He would be more disappointed than her, she knew. There were fewer men, and- in her opinion- he was better than at least a couple of those who had got parts. But he had got nothing. She tried angrily to repress the thought that ability mattered less than how friendly you were with the directors or their partners.
“I’m sorry,” she said as he looked up. He shrugged. “Tea?” he asked, getting up to put the kettle on. “Please,” she replied. It was always horrible going into auditions knowing that however well she did- even if she gave the best performance of her life- she would still not be able to beat certain other people. She wondered sometimes why she still bothered. Partly it was a sense of fairness, she disliked the fact that there were men no better than her- indeed, not as good, she allowed herself to think in moments of less self-loathing- who regularly got parts because there were fewer men and more parts.
“Are you still going to do chorus?” she asked Patrick as he poured the tea. “Oh yes,” he said. “Are you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Ruddigore’s the last G&S I haven’t done,” she said. “I want my full set. And I’m not going to miss performing at the Festival!” And they know that, don’t they. They know we’ll keep turning up, whatever happens. They don’t need to give us parts just to persuade us to stay. But if I left, no one would miss me.
She had tried to leave- the main show they’d just done had been going to be her last. Then they’d announced that the society had got the chance to perform at the International Gilbert & Sullivan Festival at Buxton that summer. Ruth had been to see shows at the Festival several times, and she wasn’t going to miss a chance to perform.
But this is the last one, she thought to herself. She had had enough of the politics and the egos.
The story continues...
Tuesday, 5 June 2012
Introduction
Fantom of the Operetta
Ruth could not run far. Climbing up the steep path to the castle had been too much for her. Patrick was still sitting gasping on a block of stone. He reached out towards Ruth as she passed him.
“What are you doing?” he gasped.
“What I can to put right what we’ve done,” she said, evading him and scrambling up the wall where it was broken down.
“No!” he cried, suddenly realising what she was going to do. He stood up and reached out towards her, but was pushed out of the way by the evil woman.
Ruth was standing on the top of the wall, holding on to the branches of a thin tree that clung to the top of the slope for balance. She looked down. The valley was a long way below. Behind her, the monster was pulling itself up after her, too intent in it’s pursuit of her to notice any danger.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw the evil woman watching, a striking figure, her dress and scarf flowing in the wind.
“Come down from there,” the woman said, aiming her gun at Ruth. Ruth looked at her, her limbs shaking in fear.
“No,” she said. The creature was close now. Too close. With a sudden movement she swung herself off the wall, clinging to the tree branch as she dangled out over the steep drop. The clumsy form of the creature, thrown off balance by her move, toppled from the wall and fell like a stone to the valley below. Scarcely daring to look down, Ruth heard a sound like a thousand nutshells cracking as it shattered.
“No!” screamed their enemy.
Ruth clung onto the tree. She could feel the wood creaking and beginning to give way. If she couldn’t climb back onto the wall she would soon fall after the creature- the tree was a spindly thing and could not bear her weight for long.
But their enemy was still aiming at her. Ruth tried to move towards the wall. The branch creaked alarmingly. “If you move, I’ll kill you,” the woman said. Ruth looked shakily at her.
“If I don’t get back on the wall I’ll fall and die anyway,” she said. “So what do I have to loose?”
“You killed my servant,” the woman said. “And now the others have escaped.” It was true. Ruth could see them making their way down the path as fast as possible, now that the creature was no longer keeping them trapped in their corner.
“Good,” Ruth said. “That was what I wanted to do. If I die doing it, so be it. My life’s worth little enough anyway.”
“Spare me the self pity,” the woman said. “Fall, or be shot. I don’t care which.” The branch creaked again. Instinctively Ruth reached out for the wall with her feet. The woman raised the gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Patrick cried, pushing her out of the way. He scrambled up onto the wall and reached out towards Ruth. “Take my hand!”
But it was no good. Even as the woman turned on him, the branch broke with a snap. Ruth, reaching in vain towards the wall, fell. Patrick reached out towards her and almost overbalanced himself, and the last thing he saw before the woman pulled him backwards was Ruth’s terrified face staring up at him as she plummeted towards the remains of the creature.
The story begins...
Ruth could not run far. Climbing up the steep path to the castle had been too much for her. Patrick was still sitting gasping on a block of stone. He reached out towards Ruth as she passed him.
“What are you doing?” he gasped.
“What I can to put right what we’ve done,” she said, evading him and scrambling up the wall where it was broken down.
“No!” he cried, suddenly realising what she was going to do. He stood up and reached out towards her, but was pushed out of the way by the evil woman.
Ruth was standing on the top of the wall, holding on to the branches of a thin tree that clung to the top of the slope for balance. She looked down. The valley was a long way below. Behind her, the monster was pulling itself up after her, too intent in it’s pursuit of her to notice any danger.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw the evil woman watching, a striking figure, her dress and scarf flowing in the wind.
“Come down from there,” the woman said, aiming her gun at Ruth. Ruth looked at her, her limbs shaking in fear.
“No,” she said. The creature was close now. Too close. With a sudden movement she swung herself off the wall, clinging to the tree branch as she dangled out over the steep drop. The clumsy form of the creature, thrown off balance by her move, toppled from the wall and fell like a stone to the valley below. Scarcely daring to look down, Ruth heard a sound like a thousand nutshells cracking as it shattered.
“No!” screamed their enemy.
Ruth clung onto the tree. She could feel the wood creaking and beginning to give way. If she couldn’t climb back onto the wall she would soon fall after the creature- the tree was a spindly thing and could not bear her weight for long.
But their enemy was still aiming at her. Ruth tried to move towards the wall. The branch creaked alarmingly. “If you move, I’ll kill you,” the woman said. Ruth looked shakily at her.
“If I don’t get back on the wall I’ll fall and die anyway,” she said. “So what do I have to loose?”
“You killed my servant,” the woman said. “And now the others have escaped.” It was true. Ruth could see them making their way down the path as fast as possible, now that the creature was no longer keeping them trapped in their corner.
“Good,” Ruth said. “That was what I wanted to do. If I die doing it, so be it. My life’s worth little enough anyway.”
“Spare me the self pity,” the woman said. “Fall, or be shot. I don’t care which.” The branch creaked again. Instinctively Ruth reached out for the wall with her feet. The woman raised the gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Patrick cried, pushing her out of the way. He scrambled up onto the wall and reached out towards Ruth. “Take my hand!”
But it was no good. Even as the woman turned on him, the branch broke with a snap. Ruth, reaching in vain towards the wall, fell. Patrick reached out towards her and almost overbalanced himself, and the last thing he saw before the woman pulled him backwards was Ruth’s terrified face staring up at him as she plummeted towards the remains of the creature.
The story begins...
Sunday, 3 June 2012
A long-expeted story
Hello, dear reader(s),
After far too long, a teaser for the third story, Fantoms of the Operetta, will be published on Tuesday- my birthday present to you all (in the hobbit fashion of giving presents on one's birthday rather than receiving them, Yes, I'm currently reading Lord of the Rings.) Publication of the actual story will hopefully start soon, once I've got a bit more written (ie, the beginning).
Enjoy!
After far too long, a teaser for the third story, Fantoms of the Operetta, will be published on Tuesday- my birthday present to you all (in the hobbit fashion of giving presents on one's birthday rather than receiving them, Yes, I'm currently reading Lord of the Rings.) Publication of the actual story will hopefully start soon, once I've got a bit more written (ie, the beginning).
Enjoy!
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