Theo’s first reaction, when informed, was to laugh.
“Oh, come on. That can’t be true. What do you really do?”
Mr Adfair smiled genially. “It’s true, Mr Hunt. I understand your disbelief, but it’s true.”
Seeing that the man appeared utterly serious, Theo stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re asking me to believe that there’s really a whole secret society devoted to hunting down and killing dangerous mythical creatures? Sonofabitch. I thought the whole point of mythical creatures was that they were mythical. The clue’s right in the name.”
Raising his own eyebrows, Mr Adfair gestured to the winged stallion. “There’s proof in front of you, Mr Hunt. This is Lusala, mount of one of the greatest hunters this Society has ever had and father of the best bloodline our pegasi breeders had, have or will ever have. A magnificent beast, don’t you agree?”
“Well, yeah, but…it’s not like those wings couldn’t have been added by the taxidermist…as far as I know it’s not hard to add things to a stuffed animal…”
“That is a very good point,” Mr Adfair said gravely. “Would you like to look around my museum and see if it changes your opinion at all?”
“More stuffed creatures that could easily be faked?”
“Yes,” the man admitted, and then he smiled. “Of course, there is also the zoo…”
“A zoo of…mythical creatures?” Theo said, rather weakly. Either this man and presumably everyone in the whole complex was entirely mad and fond of bizarre taxidermy or there was something very odd going on.
“Indeed. I think we had better start with the museums, though. It may soften the surprise a little. Follow me.”
He moved away at a sedate pace towards another door in the far wall, Theo trailing uncertainly in his wake. Producing an ornate gold key from his pocket, the head of the Mythical Creatures Hunting Society (MyHunt for short) unlocked the door and ushered through his newest recruit.
The room beyond was full of glass cases, which in turn were full of some of the oddest things Theo had ever seen.
It had a very strange atmosphere. It made him feel slightly ill, almost as though he’d been lightly punched in the stomach, but also attracted him in a kind of morbid, ghoulish way. Curious despite himself, he drifted forwards to the first case and peered inside. It held a jackrabbit, with antlers.
“A Jackalope,” Mr Adfair identified it. “Native to America. About as much use as a normal jackrabbit, I’m afraid, and just as pesky.”
Next to the Jackalope was another rabbit, this one with a two-foot horn protruding from its forehead. That one, according to Mr Adfair, was an Al-Miraj, or just a Miraj, and despite the fact that it looked largely harmless it could have eaten both of them and still been hungry had it been alive.
“One of our members used them as hunting beasts once,” he observed. “Very efficient, but unfortunately had to be killed when they got out of their pen and into the Basan enclosure…”
Basan turned out to be in the next glass case. They looked like chickens.
“They breathe fire,” Mr Adfair said dispassionately. “However, they also lay very tasty eggs.”
After a few more cases, in which Theo viewed what looked like big black dogs (“Hellhounds.”), a horse with bulrushes for a mane (“Kelpie.”), a donkey (“Brag.”) and a black cat (“Cat Sidhe.”), Theo had almost had enough. The atmosphere was getting to him, as were the sad glass eyes of the stuffed creatures, and he hadn’t seen anything nearly convincing yet.
“Look, these just look like normal animals. I mean, some have bits stuck on, but stuff that’s easy to fake!”
His guide smiled at him.
“Mr Hunt, if we were showing you faked creatures, at least have the decency to assume we would show you interesting faked creatures…Why would we waste our time showing you ordinary cats and donkeys?”
Theo had no answer for that. Mr Adfair sighed.
“All right. I agree that stuffed creatures are far too easy to deny as trickery. Come with me to the zoo.”
He led the way back past the Cat Sidhe and the Brag and the Kelpie and the Hellhounds and the Basan and the Miraj and the Jackalope (none of which looked any more unusual going the other way), out through his luxurious office (Theo could not meet Lusala’s aching glass eyes), past Mr Loud Voice (who gave Theo a suspicious look) over the beautiful Persian carpet (which once again moved very slightly under their feet, in a way that carpets did not usually move) and out into the main complex. When Theo had come through it with Rowena it had been deserted; now there were a few people passing, looking at him curiously and bowing their heads respectfully to Mr Adfair. They did not look like people who joined a Society to hunt mythical creatures; they looked sensible.
Many of them carried weapons.
“The zoo is where the Society keeps its hunting animals and those that are useful workers,” Mr Adfair explained as they reached the sturdy, reinforced door that led into it. “Mythical pets are forbidden, and we have strict rules about where these creatures can be taken…it would not do for the rest of the masses to discover that their myths are reality. Good heavens, it would be anarchy!”
To Theo, his swift and easy entry into the Society now made even less sense. But he didn’t have time to brood about it, because Mr Adfair had opened the door and the first thing he was confronted with was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Sonofabitch,” he breathed, moving slowly forwards to stare. It was elegant, dazzlingly white, gorgeous…
And it was absolutely definitely impossibly a unicorn.
It stared at him with a suspicious, nervous eye and shook its head, the pearly horn catching the light and gleaming briefly rainbow. As Theo got closer it began to paw the ground in nervousness and then abruptly turned and fled to the other side of the paddock it was installed in, leaving him blinking and breathless in disbelief.
Mr Adfair made no comment beyond “We don’t often capture unicorns, but our horsemaster believes he can break it to ride. We shall see.”
Theo opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, and then said, “That was a unicorn.”
“Indeed it was.”
“But…they…don’t…exist?”
“Tell that to him,” Mr Adfair said with a flash of humour, indicating the unicorn who was watching them cautiously from the far end of the enclosure. “Would you like to see more?”
“More unicorns?”
“Well, we have no more unicorns. But we have other mythical creatures. Come along.”
Theo, too stunned to do anything else, came along to what looked like a large henhouse where a cockerel watched them haughtily, perched on the roof. He was a magnificent bird, and somehow the hens pecking about in the yard beneath contrived to be equally magnificent, with none of the usual fussiness and general air of stupidity chickens usually possessed. They pecked with dignity.
“Basan,” Mr Adfair said unemotionally. “I told you about them earlier.”
“So…they really breathe fire?”
“Indeed. They are quite a pest to keep enclosed. We would not keep them if it weren’t for their eggs.”
Fascinated, Theo went up to the sizeable metal fence and peered through. The Basan cockerel eyeballed him and preened his wings ostentatiously, asserting his authority. The nearest Basan hen fixed him with a sharp eye and half-opened her beak in warning, allowing a wisp of flame to escape. Theo jerked back, and grinned ruefully.
“Another one you’re right about…”
Mr Adfair smiled benignly at him.
“I don’t lie, Mr Hunt. Now…would you like to see the Jackalope hutches?”
“You keep Jackalope?”
“For meat. They’re very good in pies.”
“…Like rabbit pies?”
“Indubitably. They are essentially rabbits, after all.”
The Jackalope twitched their noses inquisitively at Theo, their antlers clicking against each other as they jostled at the front of their pen to get a better view of the stranger. Theo found them rather cute, especially one; a big male, fatter than the others, who didn’t join the curious scrum at the front of the pens but rather sat at the back and gave him a knowing look. Theo couldn’t help feeling that it was probably, in some odd way, cleverer than him.
Mr Adfair, seeing the direction of his gaze, gave a small smile.
“The girl who looks after these creatures calls that one Socrates. Presumably she believes he is…fairly intelligent.”
“He looks it,” Theo said with a faint grin. “Um…is he going to be put in a pie?”
“Probably. Now…over here we keep the hellhounds.”
Trailing after his new boss, Theo glanced back at the Jackalope pens to see that, although the rest of them had dispersed, Socrates had hopped forwards and was watching them go with his ears pricked.
The hellhounds rather scared him.
They paced back and forth in their kennels staring at him with red eyes and slobbering jaws. There were a startling variety of them; some where pitch-black and malevolent, some were white with red ears and their kennels seemed colder than the others, and there were at least two with three heads. Funnily enough, these ones were the friendliest, and all three heads seemed eager to sniff and lick and otherwise make his acquaintance. In fact, they were so friendly they occasionally argued amongst themselves about who would get to lick first.
Mr Adfair watched him play with them with a tiny smile on his face, and once Theo extricated himself from their enthusiastic goodbyes and rejoined him outside the pens, he gave him a swift glance and enquired,
“Do you believe me now?”
Theo grinned.
“Definitely. When do I start?”
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Thursday, 8 January 2009
No, this isn't Chapter Four.
Just thought you, my non-existent readers (except Jonathan) might be interested in my result from a 'What Mythical Creature Are You?' quiz, taken while researching mythical beasties to insert into this story.
Which in turn was done while something for school would have been far more productive, considering I can't even remember when Sir Robert Peel was Prime Minister and I'm studying him.
Well, never mind.
I think it's quite accurate really. =3
I love dragons.
Which in turn was done while something for school would have been far more productive, considering I can't even remember when Sir Robert Peel was Prime Minister and I'm studying him.
Well, never mind.
I think it's quite accurate really. =3
I love dragons.
Dragon
Dragons--perhaps the most reknowned mythical creature--are a large, scaly, and fire-breathing lizard. There are countless interpretations of a dragon's appearance, but most cultures agree that a dragon is to be feared. This is probably a good thing, considering, but dragons are not known for their violence towards humans. Although their diet consists of mostly large mammals, they rarely eat people. If they do attack humans, it is a defensive strategy for self-preservation. Despite being able to fly, dragons generally inhabit one area for their entire life-span. You are a reserved, private person. Some might describe you as being shy or quiet, but you tend to open up quite a bit with those whom you trust. Be aware that people who don't know you as well can be put off by your cool demeanor; it won't hurt you to open up every once in a while. You would excell as an author, artist, vetinarian, pilot, or a spy.
Dragons--perhaps the most reknowned mythical creature--are a large, scaly, and fire-breathing lizard. There are countless interpretations of a dragon's appearance, but most cultures agree that a dragon is to be feared. This is probably a good thing, considering, but dragons are not known for their violence towards humans. Although their diet consists of mostly large mammals, they rarely eat people. If they do attack humans, it is a defensive strategy for self-preservation. Despite being able to fly, dragons generally inhabit one area for their entire life-span. You are a reserved, private person. Some might describe you as being shy or quiet, but you tend to open up quite a bit with those whom you trust. Be aware that people who don't know you as well can be put off by your cool demeanor; it won't hurt you to open up every once in a while. You would excell as an author, artist, vetinarian, pilot, or a spy.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
Chapter Three: Questionnaires
By the time Rowena had delivered him to her superior, Theo’s neck was sore from constantly turning his head to catch a glimpse of further curiosities. From his guide’s somewhat cursory description, the MyHunt HQ under Paddington Station was a sizeable complex, incorporating several blocks of accommodation, places to eat, a surfeit of museums and even a riding school. His increasingly urgent requests to know how all this was possibly humanly possible were answered with polite smiles, and the most verbal answer was a brief statement along the lines of ‘You’re not allowed to know that yet’.
Eventually he gave up asking.
Rowena’s superior was comfortably ensconced in a sizeable suite of offices within the main building, an elegant construction that departed from the Greek theme to embrace some other ancient culture that Theo, whose historical education thus far had been regrettably lacking in architecture, failed to recognise.
He was placed in a waiting room that would have served for a small palace’s throne room, and then Rowena left, treating him to a goodbye wave as she hurried out. He stared at her departing back like a man watching his last hope of survival flip him the bird.
Luckily for his nerves, it wasn’t long before a voice he recognised from the telephone boomed out of the adjoining room requesting his immediate presence. He suspected it was the drill-sergeant quality in the demand that got him on his feet and through the door so fast; that and the fact that he was so wound up it made Big Ben look like a clockwork soldier.
The voice that had spoken to him over the telephone turned out to belong to a large man with a bristling moustache who heavily resembled an annoyed walrus, complete with the tusks.
“Theodore Hunt?” he barked; Theo gave hasty agreement. The man still managed to give him a look that suggested he was lower than scum, and Theo couldn’t help wondering what would have happened had he said ‘no’.
“You’re expected. Please go through immediately. Mr Adfair is expecting you.”
“Um…thank you.”
Slightly startled and rather relieved that Mr. Loud Voice wasn’t actually the leader of the organisation, Theo hurried across to the door on the opposite wall, nearly tripping up on a corner of the obviously expensive Persian rug on the floor. Mr Loud Voice gave him a disapproving look that managed to make its presence felt without being seen, and Theo made a conscious effort to straighten himself up and open the door like a civilised human being.
But he thought he had felt, just before he had stumbled, the carpet move beneath him, out of his way.
The room beyond the door was, if possible, even more opulent than the previous two, and larger, and although it was lavishly decorated with glass cases containing all manner of interesting things there was one item that took pride of place and immediately drew the eye. It was a magnificent white stallion, stuffed and mounted on a plinth, standing in a ‘noble war horse’ sort of way with its proud neck arched.
And someone had mounted a pair of huge white wings on its back, so it looked like they were sprouting from the animal’s shoulders.
Immediately curious and seeing no-one around, Theo ventured closer to take a better look. He’d never really met a horse before, but this one was enough to give anyone a positive view of the creatures. And whoever had done the wings had done them amazingly well; they almost looked genuine, despite being too big and the wrong shape to have come off any bird Theo had ever heard of.
Pity it was spoiled by the eyes. They stared fixedly to the front, glassy and dead, and they seemed…sad.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” said a voice behind Theodore’s shoulder. It nearly gave him a heart attack before the owner of the voice walked round to stand beside him, gazing up at the horse before them. It was a man of middling height and build, with nondescript brown hair and the sort of face that you remembered for a couple of days before promptly forgetting. He darted Theo an amused sidelong glance, and held out a hand.
“Cairbre Adfair,” he introduced himself, his name by far the most unusual thing about him. Theo shook, just a little nervously.
“Theodore Hunt…”
“So you’re our new hopeful, are you? Nice to see the old bloodlines returning!”
“…Old bloodlines?” Theo said blankly. Mr Adfair darted him a speculating look, then smiled.
“Nothing too exciting. I think one of your ancestors was a member a few years ago, that’s all.”
“Oh,” was Theo’s slightly disappointed answer. “Uhm…Could you tell me what this Society is all about, at all? No-one else will give me a straight answer…”
“For good reason, Mr Hunt,” Mr Adfair said mock-severely, putting up a finger. “This is a secret society, after all. We have to ensure that people are serious about joining before we tell them anything. And that goes for you too I’m afraid.”
For some reason, this struck Theo as mildly disturbing. He looked up at the stuffed horse again, and then at the benignly smiling Mr Cairbre Adfair.
“…Okay. What do I have to do?”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting exactly-probably some sort of mysterious initiation rite-but what he wasn’t expecting was for Mr Adfair to produce a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and pass it across, along with a rather posh ballpoint pen.
“Just fill in this questionnaire. Take your time, think about the answers. There’s a table over in that corner.”
Obediently bearing the sheet of paper and the pen, Theodore crossed to the table and sat down, running his fingers across the design laid in the table’s dark mahogany. A panoply of mythical creatures ran and danced and scampered across its surface; well-known ones like centaurs and unicorns pursued by lesser-known figures and some that Theo couldn’t recognise at all. It was a fascinating collection, and he had quite an effort pulling his eyes back to his questionnaire.
“Okay now, lessee…name. Theodore Hunt. Age. Nineteen. Gender. Male. Can you use a gun? …No.”
The questions got odder from there. Dutifully he answered queries about his skill with swords (nil), his experience with bows and arrows (he’d learned a bit on an adventure holiday, and actually been quite good), his financial status (precarious), his level of physical fitness…by the end, he was quite certain that this Society would want nothing to do with him whatsoever.
Mr Adfair, however, looked quite pleased after reading it through.
“Well Mr Hunt, you’re evidently a complete novice, but you have potential. It’s good to see that you have some enthusiasm for sports, that’ll serve you well. Yes…yes. I think we can let you in.”
Leaving Theo rather startled, he crossed to the door, put his head round it and held an inaudible conversation with Mr Loud Voice in the next room. Mr Loud Voice sounded almost annoyed, but apparently all went well because Mr Adfair was smiling when he returned to his newest member.
“All sorted. Your details will be entered on our member’s database and then you’ll be all set.”
“Um…okay…good. Thanks,” Theo replied, rather confused. This all seemed very fast and easy, nothing like as difficult as he thought it’d be to get into this obviously very rich and rather elitist looking secret society. But no…he’d been let in as easily as if he’d been making an appointment with the dentist.
Mr Adfair patted him companionably on the shoulder.
“Welcome to the MyHunt Society, Mr Hunt. Do you want to find out what it’s all about?”
Eventually he gave up asking.
Rowena’s superior was comfortably ensconced in a sizeable suite of offices within the main building, an elegant construction that departed from the Greek theme to embrace some other ancient culture that Theo, whose historical education thus far had been regrettably lacking in architecture, failed to recognise.
He was placed in a waiting room that would have served for a small palace’s throne room, and then Rowena left, treating him to a goodbye wave as she hurried out. He stared at her departing back like a man watching his last hope of survival flip him the bird.
Luckily for his nerves, it wasn’t long before a voice he recognised from the telephone boomed out of the adjoining room requesting his immediate presence. He suspected it was the drill-sergeant quality in the demand that got him on his feet and through the door so fast; that and the fact that he was so wound up it made Big Ben look like a clockwork soldier.
The voice that had spoken to him over the telephone turned out to belong to a large man with a bristling moustache who heavily resembled an annoyed walrus, complete with the tusks.
“Theodore Hunt?” he barked; Theo gave hasty agreement. The man still managed to give him a look that suggested he was lower than scum, and Theo couldn’t help wondering what would have happened had he said ‘no’.
“You’re expected. Please go through immediately. Mr Adfair is expecting you.”
“Um…thank you.”
Slightly startled and rather relieved that Mr. Loud Voice wasn’t actually the leader of the organisation, Theo hurried across to the door on the opposite wall, nearly tripping up on a corner of the obviously expensive Persian rug on the floor. Mr Loud Voice gave him a disapproving look that managed to make its presence felt without being seen, and Theo made a conscious effort to straighten himself up and open the door like a civilised human being.
But he thought he had felt, just before he had stumbled, the carpet move beneath him, out of his way.
The room beyond the door was, if possible, even more opulent than the previous two, and larger, and although it was lavishly decorated with glass cases containing all manner of interesting things there was one item that took pride of place and immediately drew the eye. It was a magnificent white stallion, stuffed and mounted on a plinth, standing in a ‘noble war horse’ sort of way with its proud neck arched.
And someone had mounted a pair of huge white wings on its back, so it looked like they were sprouting from the animal’s shoulders.
Immediately curious and seeing no-one around, Theo ventured closer to take a better look. He’d never really met a horse before, but this one was enough to give anyone a positive view of the creatures. And whoever had done the wings had done them amazingly well; they almost looked genuine, despite being too big and the wrong shape to have come off any bird Theo had ever heard of.
Pity it was spoiled by the eyes. They stared fixedly to the front, glassy and dead, and they seemed…sad.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” said a voice behind Theodore’s shoulder. It nearly gave him a heart attack before the owner of the voice walked round to stand beside him, gazing up at the horse before them. It was a man of middling height and build, with nondescript brown hair and the sort of face that you remembered for a couple of days before promptly forgetting. He darted Theo an amused sidelong glance, and held out a hand.
“Cairbre Adfair,” he introduced himself, his name by far the most unusual thing about him. Theo shook, just a little nervously.
“Theodore Hunt…”
“So you’re our new hopeful, are you? Nice to see the old bloodlines returning!”
“…Old bloodlines?” Theo said blankly. Mr Adfair darted him a speculating look, then smiled.
“Nothing too exciting. I think one of your ancestors was a member a few years ago, that’s all.”
“Oh,” was Theo’s slightly disappointed answer. “Uhm…Could you tell me what this Society is all about, at all? No-one else will give me a straight answer…”
“For good reason, Mr Hunt,” Mr Adfair said mock-severely, putting up a finger. “This is a secret society, after all. We have to ensure that people are serious about joining before we tell them anything. And that goes for you too I’m afraid.”
For some reason, this struck Theo as mildly disturbing. He looked up at the stuffed horse again, and then at the benignly smiling Mr Cairbre Adfair.
“…Okay. What do I have to do?”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting exactly-probably some sort of mysterious initiation rite-but what he wasn’t expecting was for Mr Adfair to produce a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and pass it across, along with a rather posh ballpoint pen.
“Just fill in this questionnaire. Take your time, think about the answers. There’s a table over in that corner.”
Obediently bearing the sheet of paper and the pen, Theodore crossed to the table and sat down, running his fingers across the design laid in the table’s dark mahogany. A panoply of mythical creatures ran and danced and scampered across its surface; well-known ones like centaurs and unicorns pursued by lesser-known figures and some that Theo couldn’t recognise at all. It was a fascinating collection, and he had quite an effort pulling his eyes back to his questionnaire.
“Okay now, lessee…name. Theodore Hunt. Age. Nineteen. Gender. Male. Can you use a gun? …No.”
The questions got odder from there. Dutifully he answered queries about his skill with swords (nil), his experience with bows and arrows (he’d learned a bit on an adventure holiday, and actually been quite good), his financial status (precarious), his level of physical fitness…by the end, he was quite certain that this Society would want nothing to do with him whatsoever.
Mr Adfair, however, looked quite pleased after reading it through.
“Well Mr Hunt, you’re evidently a complete novice, but you have potential. It’s good to see that you have some enthusiasm for sports, that’ll serve you well. Yes…yes. I think we can let you in.”
Leaving Theo rather startled, he crossed to the door, put his head round it and held an inaudible conversation with Mr Loud Voice in the next room. Mr Loud Voice sounded almost annoyed, but apparently all went well because Mr Adfair was smiling when he returned to his newest member.
“All sorted. Your details will be entered on our member’s database and then you’ll be all set.”
“Um…okay…good. Thanks,” Theo replied, rather confused. This all seemed very fast and easy, nothing like as difficult as he thought it’d be to get into this obviously very rich and rather elitist looking secret society. But no…he’d been let in as easily as if he’d been making an appointment with the dentist.
Mr Adfair patted him companionably on the shoulder.
“Welcome to the MyHunt Society, Mr Hunt. Do you want to find out what it’s all about?”
Sunday, 4 January 2009
Chapter Two: What, No Marmalade Sandwiches?
His mother was surprised and delighted that he’d acquired an interview so fast, and insisted on driving him to the station herself, although she made it abundantly clear that she thought it a silly place to hold a meeting.
“I mean, a busy station? Does he want you to get a train somewhere? If he does, do remember to call me on your mobile, won’t you? And don’t go anywhere if you don’t trust the man. I know you’re nineteen and not a child, but the idea of not getting into anyone’s car holds true even now…”
“Yes mum,” Theo said obediently, privately resolving to get into as many strangers’ cars as humanly possible.
And it wasn’t until he’d jumped out of the car, hastily agreeing to her sensible suggestions of times and places to meet him, and walked as fast as he could into the building that he realised that he’d never arranged to actually meet anyone.
The man on the phone had said someone would meet him, hadn’t he? Yes, but how would this mysterious person know who Theodore Hunt was, exactly? He was just a voice on the telephone. And, a glance outside the door confirmed, his mother had driven away, and would have been none-too-pleased to find out anyway.
“Sonofabitch,” he said under his breath. “I’m such an idiot.”
He stood irresolute in the middle of the floor as passengers hurried past him; not many, it wasn’t rush hour yet, but increasing and certainly enough to get annoyed at someone dithering in their way.
“Watch where you’re standing,” snapped a man with an American accent, bustling past with several suitcases. Theo skipped out of the way, catching a sharp blow to the shins nevertheless, and directed a scowl at the man’s blue-suited back.
“Same to you,” he mumbled for no real reason, and wondered vaguely if he was supposed to ask someone where the MyHunt Society was located. Perhaps there’d be a password or a sort of secret handshake…
“Can I help you, son?”
A large man with the uniform of a station employee had materialised behind him and was regarding him with the look of ingrained suspicion always worn by those in authority when presented with teenage males in jeans and hooded sweatshirts. Slightly startled, Theo turned and put on his best, most politest smile.
“Um…yes. Could you tell me how to get to the MyHunt Society HQ?”
The man’s look of suspicion sharpened and he shook his head.
“I’ve never heard of it. Are you waiting for someone?”
“Uhm…yes.”
“Then can I please ask you to sit down and wait? You’re providing an obstruction.”
Theo agreed hastily, rather embarrassed, and installed himself on one of the uncomfortable metal benches along the walls.
Various station employees then appeared from the woodwork to ensure that while he was loitering it was with entirely innocent intent.
Theo sat.
And sat.
And looked at his watch, and started swearing under his breath.
“This is stupid,” he grumbled, getting to his feet and stretching. “Probably some sort of dumb practical joke…bet there isn’t even such a thing as the MyHunt Society. Should have cottoned on when they told me to go to a station for an interv-”
“Excuse me, are you Theodore Hunt?”
It was a chirpy, enquiring voice which subsequently proved to belong to a chirpy, enquiring young woman, standing behind him and tilting her chin to look up at him. She barely came up to his chest, but stood in a way that defied anyone to mention her lack of stature. Her gaze was direct and curious, and she was wearing green eyeshadow.
Slightly disconcerted, Theo nodded.
“Um…yes.”
The young woman subjected him to a piercing stare that took in his entire appearance, and snorted.
“Not much of a Hunt,” she said cryptically, and shrugged. “Come on then.”
She turned and began to walk away. Realising he wasn’t following, she turned and beckoned.
“Theodore Hunt, right? Come to join the MyHunt Society? Follow me and I’ll take you there.”
“Oh! Oh. Right,” Theo spluttered, rushing to catch up with her. She gave him a grin that, while friendly, didn’t have much of an opinion of his intelligence and strode off confidently through the growing rush-hour crowds, Theo trailing in her wake.
They fetched up by a nondescript door that wore a vaguely threatening sign refusing to allow access to anyone not a railway employee. The young woman, with complete unconcern, pulled a key out of her pocket and fitted it in the lock. Theodore blinked.
“Uhm, miss, um…”
“Rowena,” she supplied, pushing open the door. “And don’t fuss about the door sign. Just go in.”
Theo went in.
It was a broom cupboard.
Rowena nipped in after him and shut the door, turning the light on. The low-watt bulb flickered unhappily; there wasn’t much room in the tiny space, especially with all the buckets, brooms and mops stacked about, and the pair of them were standing uncomfortably close.
There was a pause, and Theo cleared his throat.
“So why are we in a cleaning cupboard?”
“Isn’t a cleaning cupboard,” Rowena said succinctly. “It’s a lift.”
“…A lift? Where’s your base, in a nuclear bunker?”
Rowena rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a secret society; it doesn’t have big headquarters with a neon sign outside.”
“But it does take out full-page ads in newspapers?”
“Vague ads. And we don’t let just anyone in.”
The conversation lapsed, leaving Theo to wonder why they’d been so agreeable about letting him in. He was hardly secret society material.
Not long after, a faint purring that Theodore hadn’t been hearing stopped, and became much more noticeable for it.
“We’re here,” Rowena announced, and pushed the door open. Relieved to be leaving the cramped, rather stuffy cleaning cupboard (it had begun to be insidiously filled with the scent of Rowena’s strong perfume, which had overwhelmed even the lingering smell of bleach and was working rather efficiently as a sinus cleaner), Theo stumbled out after her…
And walked into what he could have sworn was a Greek temple.
He couldn’t help gawping. There were pillars, Greek-style carvings, tasteful nudey statues…only the fact that it was a substantial way below ground and presumably several millennia younger made it different from the best-preserved Greek temples in, well, actual Greece.
“Sonofabitch,” he said in wonder. “How the hell is this place even possible?!”
Rowena grinned.
“Welcome to the MyHunt Society. Everyone says that.”
“I mean, a busy station? Does he want you to get a train somewhere? If he does, do remember to call me on your mobile, won’t you? And don’t go anywhere if you don’t trust the man. I know you’re nineteen and not a child, but the idea of not getting into anyone’s car holds true even now…”
“Yes mum,” Theo said obediently, privately resolving to get into as many strangers’ cars as humanly possible.
And it wasn’t until he’d jumped out of the car, hastily agreeing to her sensible suggestions of times and places to meet him, and walked as fast as he could into the building that he realised that he’d never arranged to actually meet anyone.
The man on the phone had said someone would meet him, hadn’t he? Yes, but how would this mysterious person know who Theodore Hunt was, exactly? He was just a voice on the telephone. And, a glance outside the door confirmed, his mother had driven away, and would have been none-too-pleased to find out anyway.
“Sonofabitch,” he said under his breath. “I’m such an idiot.”
He stood irresolute in the middle of the floor as passengers hurried past him; not many, it wasn’t rush hour yet, but increasing and certainly enough to get annoyed at someone dithering in their way.
“Watch where you’re standing,” snapped a man with an American accent, bustling past with several suitcases. Theo skipped out of the way, catching a sharp blow to the shins nevertheless, and directed a scowl at the man’s blue-suited back.
“Same to you,” he mumbled for no real reason, and wondered vaguely if he was supposed to ask someone where the MyHunt Society was located. Perhaps there’d be a password or a sort of secret handshake…
“Can I help you, son?”
A large man with the uniform of a station employee had materialised behind him and was regarding him with the look of ingrained suspicion always worn by those in authority when presented with teenage males in jeans and hooded sweatshirts. Slightly startled, Theo turned and put on his best, most politest smile.
“Um…yes. Could you tell me how to get to the MyHunt Society HQ?”
The man’s look of suspicion sharpened and he shook his head.
“I’ve never heard of it. Are you waiting for someone?”
“Uhm…yes.”
“Then can I please ask you to sit down and wait? You’re providing an obstruction.”
Theo agreed hastily, rather embarrassed, and installed himself on one of the uncomfortable metal benches along the walls.
Various station employees then appeared from the woodwork to ensure that while he was loitering it was with entirely innocent intent.
Theo sat.
And sat.
And looked at his watch, and started swearing under his breath.
“This is stupid,” he grumbled, getting to his feet and stretching. “Probably some sort of dumb practical joke…bet there isn’t even such a thing as the MyHunt Society. Should have cottoned on when they told me to go to a station for an interv-”
“Excuse me, are you Theodore Hunt?”
It was a chirpy, enquiring voice which subsequently proved to belong to a chirpy, enquiring young woman, standing behind him and tilting her chin to look up at him. She barely came up to his chest, but stood in a way that defied anyone to mention her lack of stature. Her gaze was direct and curious, and she was wearing green eyeshadow.
Slightly disconcerted, Theo nodded.
“Um…yes.”
The young woman subjected him to a piercing stare that took in his entire appearance, and snorted.
“Not much of a Hunt,” she said cryptically, and shrugged. “Come on then.”
She turned and began to walk away. Realising he wasn’t following, she turned and beckoned.
“Theodore Hunt, right? Come to join the MyHunt Society? Follow me and I’ll take you there.”
“Oh! Oh. Right,” Theo spluttered, rushing to catch up with her. She gave him a grin that, while friendly, didn’t have much of an opinion of his intelligence and strode off confidently through the growing rush-hour crowds, Theo trailing in her wake.
They fetched up by a nondescript door that wore a vaguely threatening sign refusing to allow access to anyone not a railway employee. The young woman, with complete unconcern, pulled a key out of her pocket and fitted it in the lock. Theodore blinked.
“Uhm, miss, um…”
“Rowena,” she supplied, pushing open the door. “And don’t fuss about the door sign. Just go in.”
Theo went in.
It was a broom cupboard.
Rowena nipped in after him and shut the door, turning the light on. The low-watt bulb flickered unhappily; there wasn’t much room in the tiny space, especially with all the buckets, brooms and mops stacked about, and the pair of them were standing uncomfortably close.
There was a pause, and Theo cleared his throat.
“So why are we in a cleaning cupboard?”
“Isn’t a cleaning cupboard,” Rowena said succinctly. “It’s a lift.”
“…A lift? Where’s your base, in a nuclear bunker?”
Rowena rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a secret society; it doesn’t have big headquarters with a neon sign outside.”
“But it does take out full-page ads in newspapers?”
“Vague ads. And we don’t let just anyone in.”
The conversation lapsed, leaving Theo to wonder why they’d been so agreeable about letting him in. He was hardly secret society material.
Not long after, a faint purring that Theodore hadn’t been hearing stopped, and became much more noticeable for it.
“We’re here,” Rowena announced, and pushed the door open. Relieved to be leaving the cramped, rather stuffy cleaning cupboard (it had begun to be insidiously filled with the scent of Rowena’s strong perfume, which had overwhelmed even the lingering smell of bleach and was working rather efficiently as a sinus cleaner), Theo stumbled out after her…
And walked into what he could have sworn was a Greek temple.
He couldn’t help gawping. There were pillars, Greek-style carvings, tasteful nudey statues…only the fact that it was a substantial way below ground and presumably several millennia younger made it different from the best-preserved Greek temples in, well, actual Greece.
“Sonofabitch,” he said in wonder. “How the hell is this place even possible?!”
Rowena grinned.
“Welcome to the MyHunt Society. Everyone says that.”
Friday, 2 January 2009
Chapter One: Who Needs A Job?
“You are going to have to get a job.”
The words hit Theodore Hunt where it would hurt the most-his laziness. It was a large laziness, well-nurtured by a diet of pizza, television and freeloading, and it didn’t like being hurt in such a way.
He directed a pained look at the person who had committed this injury, even managing to twist round in his chair to get a better angle.
“Mum,” he said. “Why do I have to get a job?”
“Because you’re a lazy freeloader who does nothing but sit around and play those ridiculous roleplaying videogames,” said his mother, accurately. “You promised that you’d use this year out before university to get some life experience. And pay your own way.”
Darting a somewhat guilty glance towards the television screen, currently displaying the title screen of a certain popular fantasy roleplaying videogame, Theo got out of his chair and assumed a dramatic posture.
“Mother, I swear to you on my dying breath that I will get a job. A proper job, where they give you money for doing it, and possibly even a snazzy costume.”
His mother looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and then produced the local newspaper.
“All right then. Start right now.”
“…What?”
“I said start now. Take this paper, and look in it. There are ‘jobs available’ in the back. I want you to have phoned at least five of them by this afternoon and have acquired at least three interviews. I’ve ringed the ones I think would suit you.”
And with that she dropped the paper on his chair and walked out, leaving her son with his mouth hanging open in sheer shock.
The paper sat on the chair, looking accusing.
“It’s no good looking at me like that,” Theo accused, pointing at it. “This is all your fault.”
The newspaper remained silent.
“I bet you’re filled with jobs at Burger King and Matalan and, and…” he flailed around a bit, looking for the most boring job he could think of. “…toll booths!”
Once again the newspaper declined to comment.
“Well, I’m not looking at you until I’ve at least finished the first bit of this game. It’s new.”
Although the paper still said nothing, its air of reproach intensified. Theo narrowed his eyes at it, and they engaged in a rather one-sided staring match until eventually the young man’s conscience and sense of self-preservation overwhelmed his laziness and he picked it up, sat down, and opened it.
He immediately got an inkling of what sort of skills his mother believed he possessed.
“Cleaning? Supermarkets? Fast-food outlets? I’m going to uni to study history, not, not…shopping…”
Flicking rapidly through the five pages of ads, he discovered that every single ringed job was similarly uninspiring. And the ones that weren’t circled tended to either be even worse or require a first-class degree from Oxbridge and about twenty years of experience in the field.
“What a bloody gyp.”
Entirely discouraged, he mumbled rude words to himself and turned to the last page, which consisted entirely of one advertisement with lots of bold text and starbursts.
And it proved to be a lot more interesting than the others.
“’Do you want some excitement in your life?’” he read, somewhat incredulously. “’Something that’s unlike anything you’ve done before?’ Please. ‘Do you want to get into the outdoor life?’ Well, no, but mum would like it if I did…‘Do you want to dive into a fantastic adventure?’”
He paused, and looked up at the television, where a pixelated face stared at him in implacable resolve, posing in a manly way all ready to start his fantastic adventure. He was much the same as many brave, strong heroes that Theo had played over the years and secretly longed to be more like.
Theodore Hunt grinned.
“Hell yes,” he said, and dialled the number.
He was answered by a gruff male voice that demanded to know what he wanted. Slightly intimidated, he cleared his throat nervously.
“Um, I, uh, saw your advert in the paper? For, the…” he checked hastily, having not before read the name of the organisation. “…the MyHunt Society?”
“Oh yes, did you now? And why are you phoning? Want to join, do you?”
“Um…kind of, yeah.”
“Kind of? Do you want to or not? This isn’t a society for weaklings or people who can’t make their minds up. Are you a weakling?”
Stung by this blunt question, Theo straightened up and scowled at the phone.
“No I’m not! I’m Theodore Hunt and I want to join your Society!”
The voice at the other end laughed, a deep growling noise that seemed more like some kind of large aggressive animal getting angry.
“Now you show some backbone! Hmm…Hunt, is it?”
“Yessir,” Theo said smartly.
“Hunt…yes. Definitely come along. Can you make four o’clock?”
“Yes,” Theo said without hesitation, looking at the clock. It read half-past three, but then it had for the last six years. “What’s the address?”
“Come to Paddington Station. Someone will meet you there.”
And with an abrupt click, the line cut off.
“Paddington Station? Why Paddington Station?” Theo mused, replacing the handset. “Seems like an odd sort of place to run an organisation…”
The words hit Theodore Hunt where it would hurt the most-his laziness. It was a large laziness, well-nurtured by a diet of pizza, television and freeloading, and it didn’t like being hurt in such a way.
He directed a pained look at the person who had committed this injury, even managing to twist round in his chair to get a better angle.
“Mum,” he said. “Why do I have to get a job?”
“Because you’re a lazy freeloader who does nothing but sit around and play those ridiculous roleplaying videogames,” said his mother, accurately. “You promised that you’d use this year out before university to get some life experience. And pay your own way.”
Darting a somewhat guilty glance towards the television screen, currently displaying the title screen of a certain popular fantasy roleplaying videogame, Theo got out of his chair and assumed a dramatic posture.
“Mother, I swear to you on my dying breath that I will get a job. A proper job, where they give you money for doing it, and possibly even a snazzy costume.”
His mother looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and then produced the local newspaper.
“All right then. Start right now.”
“…What?”
“I said start now. Take this paper, and look in it. There are ‘jobs available’ in the back. I want you to have phoned at least five of them by this afternoon and have acquired at least three interviews. I’ve ringed the ones I think would suit you.”
And with that she dropped the paper on his chair and walked out, leaving her son with his mouth hanging open in sheer shock.
The paper sat on the chair, looking accusing.
“It’s no good looking at me like that,” Theo accused, pointing at it. “This is all your fault.”
The newspaper remained silent.
“I bet you’re filled with jobs at Burger King and Matalan and, and…” he flailed around a bit, looking for the most boring job he could think of. “…toll booths!”
Once again the newspaper declined to comment.
“Well, I’m not looking at you until I’ve at least finished the first bit of this game. It’s new.”
Although the paper still said nothing, its air of reproach intensified. Theo narrowed his eyes at it, and they engaged in a rather one-sided staring match until eventually the young man’s conscience and sense of self-preservation overwhelmed his laziness and he picked it up, sat down, and opened it.
He immediately got an inkling of what sort of skills his mother believed he possessed.
“Cleaning? Supermarkets? Fast-food outlets? I’m going to uni to study history, not, not…shopping…”
Flicking rapidly through the five pages of ads, he discovered that every single ringed job was similarly uninspiring. And the ones that weren’t circled tended to either be even worse or require a first-class degree from Oxbridge and about twenty years of experience in the field.
“What a bloody gyp.”
Entirely discouraged, he mumbled rude words to himself and turned to the last page, which consisted entirely of one advertisement with lots of bold text and starbursts.
And it proved to be a lot more interesting than the others.
“’Do you want some excitement in your life?’” he read, somewhat incredulously. “’Something that’s unlike anything you’ve done before?’ Please. ‘Do you want to get into the outdoor life?’ Well, no, but mum would like it if I did…‘Do you want to dive into a fantastic adventure?’”
He paused, and looked up at the television, where a pixelated face stared at him in implacable resolve, posing in a manly way all ready to start his fantastic adventure. He was much the same as many brave, strong heroes that Theo had played over the years and secretly longed to be more like.
Theodore Hunt grinned.
“Hell yes,” he said, and dialled the number.
He was answered by a gruff male voice that demanded to know what he wanted. Slightly intimidated, he cleared his throat nervously.
“Um, I, uh, saw your advert in the paper? For, the…” he checked hastily, having not before read the name of the organisation. “…the MyHunt Society?”
“Oh yes, did you now? And why are you phoning? Want to join, do you?”
“Um…kind of, yeah.”
“Kind of? Do you want to or not? This isn’t a society for weaklings or people who can’t make their minds up. Are you a weakling?”
Stung by this blunt question, Theo straightened up and scowled at the phone.
“No I’m not! I’m Theodore Hunt and I want to join your Society!”
The voice at the other end laughed, a deep growling noise that seemed more like some kind of large aggressive animal getting angry.
“Now you show some backbone! Hmm…Hunt, is it?”
“Yessir,” Theo said smartly.
“Hunt…yes. Definitely come along. Can you make four o’clock?”
“Yes,” Theo said without hesitation, looking at the clock. It read half-past three, but then it had for the last six years. “What’s the address?”
“Come to Paddington Station. Someone will meet you there.”
And with an abrupt click, the line cut off.
“Paddington Station? Why Paddington Station?” Theo mused, replacing the handset. “Seems like an odd sort of place to run an organisation…”
So, yeah.
This blog is a product of being annoyed with Fictionpress.com and wanting somewhere to put a story in the vague hopes of it acquiring one or two readers that may force me to actually finish it, something I have never done with a proper full-length actual story. It is also a product of a friend of mine who directed me, someone who has never actually so much as read a blog before, to this website.
The title of this blog is also the working title for the story...i.e, something I came up with on the fly off the top of my head. I am not very good at making up titles.
Don't ask about the 'Paddington Station' bit. I suspect it's some kind of subconcious reference to Platform 9-and-three-quarters, which is annoying because I don't even much like Harry Potter.
That, or it's the first thing that popped into my head that sounded good.
As you may have guessed from reading this, I tend to ramble, so I'm going to shut up now.
The first section of the actual story will probably be posted soon enough, once I finish it.
Which could take anywhere up to six months, naturally.
TTFN!
The title of this blog is also the working title for the story...i.e, something I came up with on the fly off the top of my head. I am not very good at making up titles.
Don't ask about the 'Paddington Station' bit. I suspect it's some kind of subconcious reference to Platform 9-and-three-quarters, which is annoying because I don't even much like Harry Potter.
That, or it's the first thing that popped into my head that sounded good.
As you may have guessed from reading this, I tend to ramble, so I'm going to shut up now.
The first section of the actual story will probably be posted soon enough, once I finish it.
Which could take anywhere up to six months, naturally.
TTFN!
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