Palaver Poppycock + Prattle 09

Getting to Know You – Day Two with Tavan

When Symona woke in the morning, she was a little disoriented and confused at first.  The bed was too soft to be her camp cot, and she was alone in the little cabin.  There were no other beds at all, bunk bed or regular for instance.  And it was a little too chilly.  There were also no windows anywhere that she could see.  So if there was a window, it was shuttered or behind curtains or something. Whatever was going on, the room was still pretty dark.  What had woken her?

Then she heard it again.  A pretty loud crowing from a rooster or something like that, far enough away that she could not be sure where the bird was, but close enough that it was plenty loud enough to be the alarm clock.  At least she was pretty sure it was a rooster crowing.

Symona rolled out of her bed, and realized she was still in the clothes she had been wearing the night before.  Oh well, at least they weren't too wrinkled or anything.  She had to find a bathroom, though.  There was no sign of even a sink in this one room, and only the one door that, now that she was more fully awake, she remembered went outside to a little courtyard behind the tavern.

Symona found her shoes and slipped them on, then slowly opened the door of her little one room cabin and stepped slowly outside, bracing herself for the cold blast of air that was surely waiting for her when she opened the door.  And she was not too disappointed.  It was pretty chilly outside, she could see her breath when she breathed out, so she knew it had to be under fifty degrees, maybe under forty-five.  It was not so cold that it was freezing, though.

As she went back in to the main Tavern, she ran into a girl a few years older than herself.  Hopefully, she would know where Symona could go to use the bathroom.  "Excuse me," she said.  "Can you tell me where the bathroom is?"

The girl set a tray with a half dozen mugs of steaming something or other in them down on a nearby wooden table and regarded the younger girl standing in front of her.  "A bath?" she asked.  "Now why would you be wanting to take a bath this time of the morning, li'l missie?"

"Erm.  I don't need to take a bath.  I just need to use the bathroom."  Symona was confused.  Why was this even a difficult question?  It did not make any sense to her at all.  And she really needed to go.  She could already feel the urge growing, and started to dance a little in place, trying to cross her legs while not touching down there.

After a few seconds, the girl, however, seemed to realize what Symona was asking.  "Ah.  Dear, you need the outhouse, is that it?"

Symona thought the outhouse?  They didn't have bathrooms here?  But she nodded, because at this stage, even a latrine would be better than having an accident.

Smiling, the older girl brought her back outside and to a smaller two-door cottage that was set a ways back from the rest of the buildings.  Well, cottage was a generous word for it.  The tiny building was barely big enough to have the two doors even.  One, the door on the left, had a four pointed star cut out high up on the top panel inset.  The other door had a crescent moon cut out well up over Symona's head in it.  And the building behind was tiny.

Once she got inside, Symona saw part of why.  Each half was separated from the other, and in her half, there was little more than a wooden bench with a toilet seat cut out in it, and a tiny sink with what looked like a pump handle and spout leading into it.  There was, thankfully, some folded up tissue on a low shelf beside the seat.  She would hate to not have something to use, even if she only had to use number one, not number two.  Even if this stuff was kind of rough, it was still a lot better than nothing, that was for sure, and she had heard of stories where people had to use corn cobs or newspaper or old leaves.  Or even in some countries they would use one hand, and then wash that one off in water afterward.  That was so absolutely gross!

Once she was done with her business and washed up in the sink (they had a solid bar of cakey yellowish soap there at least), she dried her hands off on a rough, mostly white towel that was hanging on a hook by the door, then went back out into the little courtyard.  She was going to head back in to the tavern, but then realized she had left her flute, Melody, in its case on the little table by the head of her bed, so she went back into the room where she had slept for the night, and picked up the case that was, gratefully, still right where she had left it.  She was a little worried that maybe that older girl might have taken it somewhere after, say, cleaning up the room.

Hmm.  Maybe she should tidy up the little room herself before she left.  Her Mom would have wanted her to clean up her own bedroom before going out for the day back home, after all, and even at the summer camp, the counselors still had them pick up after themselves.  Even the youngest junior campers did not have a free pass.  Their chores were easier than the stuff older kids got to do, of course, but everybody had some jobs they were responsible for.  Like making up your bed in the morning when you woke up, or sweeping the floors in the cabins.  So she could at least do that much while she was visiting this Papa Ditzel's Tavern.  Even if it really was more of a bed and breakfast with this handful of rooms or cottages or whatever they were here in the back, behind the main building.

But she could not find a broom or even a duster, so Symona figured maybe she would have to just make do with making the bed and making sure everything was straightened up before she walked out of the tiny little closet sized cabin.  And once she stepped back outside, she saw that the little courtyard clearing was empty again, so she went back in to the main Tavern room, where she saw the girl again.  So Symona walked over and was about to ask her if there was anything she could do to help or earn a breakfast when the girl said, "come on over here, dear, and pull up a seat.  Breakfast will be right up."

"Uh, okay, but I don't have any money," Symona began, when the girl cut her off again.

"No money, honey.  We don't need it.  Papa Ditzel just likes to make sure folks lost in the woods have a safe place to eat and sleep.  He kind of collects folks like that.  We're all just… never you mind, just eat up, hon."  And she placed a flaky, meat and cheese filled roll on a small plate in front of Symona, then scuttled back behind the bar.

She returned in a moment with a fairly tall ceramic and pewter or some similar kind of metal trimmed mug that was the size of two coffee cups.  The mug was full of a light yellowish liquid that was mostly translucent.  Symona sniffed questioningly, then took a tentative taste.  Oh, this was actually pretty good.  Symona took a larger sip, then picked up the flaky roll and sniffed at it, trying to see if the meat stuffing inside was spicy or not.  It seemed to smell kind of like the regular Jimmy Dean sausage from back home, so she took a small bite to taste, and was rewarded with a sample of what ended up being perfectly normal tasting sausage and cheese.

"What is this juice?" Symona asked the girl, still not quite sure if she could place the fruit.  It was definitely some kind of fruit juice at least, but it did not quite taste like any apple or white grape juice she had ever tasted before.

"Oh, that's just one of Papa Ditzel's special pearapple hybrids.  He says it's better for a growing girl than either one alone, too."  The girl winked at Symona, then went on, saying, "I think it has just the right amount of extra sparkle in it, don't you?"

Symona nodded, smiling.  "It does have a cool, interesting taste.  I was not sure what that was, thanks."

Smiling, the girl said, "glad you like it," then turned and went back behind the bar area, then through the door back there and on in to a room or whatever was beyond it that Symona had not as yet been lucky enough to see into.  

The curly haired, Bergamasco dog looking satyr came trotting in next.  Well, maybe trotting was not quite the right word.  Shuffling would probably be more accurate, Symona thought to herself watching him edge his way into the room, his nose firmly buried in a thick book that reminded Symona of one of her mother's college music theory or music history tomes.  It even had what looked like a hard brownish or almost orange color to it.

"Hey, Tavan, what are you reading?" Symona asked him, causing him to actually jump, startled, and look up.

"I think… I might know a way we can get to Baron Nefarious's castle and maybe even all the way into it," he said in a hushed tone.  It was soft enough that Symona was not even sure he had said it.

"Come over here and sit down, Tavan," she called.  The satyr, after glancing around the room and noticing that they were the only two people at the moment in it, nodded and stutter stepped his way over to Symona's table and settled down on a stool across from her.  "Now, what was that you were talking about?" she asked, hoping to encourage him to at least put the book down long enough to talk to her and not mumble into it where she could not make out what the words were he was saying.  "I could not hear you when you were telling your book there what ever it was you were talking about."  Symona smiled, trying to take a little bit of the edge off that last observation.  It sounded a little harsh to her.

Tavan seemed almost reluctant to put his cherished book down, though.  He very carefully laid a length of a dark red velvet ribbon down across the pages where he had been reading and then very gently eased the book closed, then laid it almost gingerly down on the table surface to his right, a couple inches in from the edge of its smoothly worn flat surface.  He looked at Symona, and over to her flute case which also lay on the table, but to Symona's left, and thus also on the far side of the table top, in next to the wall.  Symona usually put the flute down on the booth seat next to her if she had it with her when she ate out in a restaurant, but they didn't have booths or benches here, just stools and chairs, and this table only had the two stools at it anyway, the one she was sitting on and the one that she had asked Tavan to come take.  It had seemed a lot safer for Melody if Symona put the flute on the table itself, or on the floor, and frankly, Symona did not trust that somebody would not step on her precious flute if it was down on the floor.  Sure, the case was hard and supposed to protect it, but still, it was not a chance Symona really wanted to take.  Besides, she could see it up here on the table top.  Down on the floor she would not be able to see the case, and she might even forget it and leave it behind if she walked out or something.

Meanwhile the girl had come back, this time with a fairly large soup bowl and spoon that she sat down on the table in front of Tavan.  "Your usual, hon.  Did you want any honey or fruit to dice in today?"

"No, thank you Marna," Tavan answered, taking the spoon and dipping it into the steaming bowl.  "I'm sure it is just fine the way it is already, as usual."

Symona new knew the girl's name at least.  And she thought Tavan's breakfast smelled a lot like oatmeal with cinnamon sugar in it.  But it looked kind of gloopy and somewhere in that not quite runny, not quite solid state.  She was not sure she would have wanted to eat it, but it seemed to be right up Tavan's alley.  He was once again in the same pose she had first seen him in the night before – hunched over his bowl, his left hand thrust into his hair to the scalp at his brow, holding his shaggy bangs out and away from his nose as he took the spoon in his right hand and brought a spoonful of the steaming gruel like stuff up to his mouth.  Tavan blew briefly on the morsel, then popped it into his mouth and slowly sucked the spoon clean as he drew it back out of his maw, then dropped the spoon back to the bowl to pick up its next load.

Well, he did not seem to be in the mood to talk just then, Symona thought to herself, so she returned to her own breakfast.  But she had always been something of a dainty eater, even when she was a baby or so her mother told her.  So she picked up the flaky roll and, leaning over her own plate so the crumbs would fall on it rather than in her lap or on the table, nibbled just like a little mouse on the sausage and cheese sandwich.  It was still plenty warm despite the room being a bit chilly, and Symona wondered a little at that.  Surely it should have cooled off more just sitting on her plate?

So Symona touched a free finger cautiously to the plate and felt it still quite warm.  Not so hot that it hurt, but warmer than she would have expected it to be.  And it did not seem to be any cooler at any spot around the rim at all.  It was like the whole plate was being somehow kept evenly warm.  Like it was an electric hot plate or something, only there was no cord or anything.  As far as appearances went, it seemed to be a pretty basic, boring old ceramic kind of plate with just the slightest hint of a bowl and lip to it.  Like the little plates they would use to put salads or desserts on in a restaurant.  This one in particular was a dark forest green color, with paintings of.. were those poppies linked in a chain all around the rim?  They sure did look like a chain of poppy flowers, their stems intertwining to make a kind of wreath painted around the edge.

Without looking up from his bowl, Tavan said, "yes, your plate has been charmed to keep your food warm.  It isn't anything special.  Don't they do that from where you come from?"

"Uh, no," Symona answered.  "There is no magic back home.  Not real magic anyway.  Just pretend magic like in stage shows where they do everything with camera tricks or mirrors and misdirection.  Or in old stories that are just fables."

"Are you so sure, young lady, that the old stories are just fables?" Tavan asked, sounding a lot like Mr. Faulkner, the math and science teacher at her junior high school.  He could always get that little twinge in his voice that made anything he said sound kind of condescending, like he knew something or other a lot better than you did.

Symona was not going to let herself rise to that bait.  "Maybe not so sure, but there are no magic users or nymphs, unicorns or even satyrs like you back where I come from, though they are in the old stories.  Maybe some folks from where I come from back on earth came here in the past or something."  That made more sense to Symona.  She had come through that tunnel here, after all.  Even if she couldn't find the other end of it yet from this side to get back home, she knew it was out there.  She had come through it after all and was here, and she was definitely real.  This had been going on for a couple days now.

Tavan however did not seem to believe her.  "Throughout most worlds histories, it is a given fact that myths and legends are generally built up from a foundation in fact."

"What does that mean?" Symona asked.

"It means that any of your legends that have things like unicorns and magic users in them had to be based on something, and that maybe that little bit of truth just got exaggerated over the time into more, but that it still had to start from something that was true and real."

Symona said, interrupting, "or maybe it was just that someone from my past found one of those green tunnels like the one I crawled through to get here and came to a place like this back then, and then went back and told people about it, but they did not believe them and just said it was all a bunch of story telling, made up stuff, or something like that."  Symona was beginning to think that had to be what had happened.  Everything she had seen the last couple days could easily have come from some fairy tale or other.  That had to be what had happened.

Tavan was nearing the bottom of his bowl quickly, Symona noticed.  And yet, he did not seem to be rushed.  It was just that he was very methodically eating spoonful after spoonful of the mealy, mushy food.  "Are we in a hurry or something?" she asked him.

"Well, if I'm right, I know a way we can get close to the Dreary Gray in like, an hour, and then we can figure out how to get inside from there.  How do you feel about being a heroine, Mona?"

"A heroine?" she asked.

"Yes, a heroine.  You are a girl, aren't you?" Tavan asked, smirking.

He seemed a lot like Chad when he did that, Symona thought to herself.  Out loud, she asked, "why me?  I'm just an eleven year old girl, Tavan.  I'm not some kind of hero."

"And you might just be the one from Cacilie's prophecy," Tavan said, then raised one hand, forestalling any questions.  "Hold on, I'll read it for you."  And he flipped through the book he had laid down on the table, looking for something, then finally reading out loud when he found the passage.

"When the hour is dreary gray
And hope is fading dim
Abandon not the kingdom dame -
My hidden ways lead ever in.
Sneer not upon the weaker sleeve
But crawl on bended knee,
For none save Daughter of distant Eve
Holds in her tongue the Gateway Key."

"But what in the world does all that mean?" Symona asked.

"Come with me, and I'll explain it as we go," Tavan said, not really giving her any answer.  "We don't have much time.  The Baron is not going to hold on to the Queen Mum forever.  He's liable to do something dastardly."