Leg day at the gym today, so I'm sitting here in a slightly hazy state, aware that I've worked out and successfully, and wondering if I'll ever feel like walking again.
Boundless "Andy," said Lord Derby. He looked around. "This looks suspiciously like an office." Lord Vileburn, one of the three Lords Magical who guided the King's policies on thaumaturgy and religious arts, wagged a finger at him. He was, at first glance, young-looking, but a lingering gaze started to pick up on oddities: skin that seemed slightly shiny, perhaps stretched; eyes that looked back at you as though they'd seen millenia pass; a certain stillness that could only be acquired through decades of practice. "Memnith," he said. "The King has a policy of using codenames since you uncovered that conspiracy in Hull." "Memnith," said Ernest. "I think it suits you. But isn't Lord Vileburn also a codename?" "Wheels within wheels, Ernest. Wheels within wheels, epicycles built on epicycles. Who knows where it will all end? But yes, this is an office, and as you can probably tell from the dust on the bookshelves, one I rarely use." "Then why are we here?" "Because you mentioned Carcosa." Lord Derby frowned. "That doesn't seem like a reason for you to go to an office you hate," he said. "And what this office is missing, by the way, is coffee." Memnith ran a hand through his black hair and clutched the top of his head briefly. Then he shook it free. "Coffee," he said. "There's a bell for the maid-service in here somewhere, but...," he snapped his fingers and a delicate chime, as though from a porcelain handbell, sounded throughout the room. "We're here, Ernest, because all the offices in these halls have wards in them so I can't be seized by a whim and take you to the plains of Leng and point out where Carcosa probably is." "Carcosa is that terrible?" "The plains of Leng are." There was a tapping on the door, and then it opened. Two maids came in, walking quite boldly in Lord Derby's opinion, and set up a coffee service from a small cart. After they left, he motioned to the coffeepot. "Shall I be mother? What is so terrible about plains then?" "None for me," said Memnith. "The plains of Leng are boundless, Ernest. In a sense they're a mathematical abstraction dropped into reality by something or someone more powerful that we can even imagine. They act as a separator between us and places that are horrible enough that most attempts to describe them result in madness, both for the describer and the listener. Things live there, and they are strange things indeed, things that interact mathematically with our world. If you can imagine, say, a spider that can change its size by moving an infinite amount in a direction you can't perceive, but that evaporates as soon as it's away from an acute angle, you're starting well." "That sounds... improbable," said Lord Derby. He tasted the coffee. "But not unthinkable, I think. And Carcosa...?" "Is on the far side of the plains." "If the plains are so terrible, how did we discover them?" "Demonology, of course."
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Leg day at the gym today, so I'm sitting here in a slightly hazy state, aware that I've worked out and successfully, and wondering if I'll ever feel like walking again.
Boundless
"Andy," said Lord Derby. He looked around. "This looks suspiciously like an office."
Lord Vileburn, one of the three Lords Magical who guided the King's policies on thaumaturgy and religious arts, wagged a finger at him. He was, at first glance, young-looking, but a lingering gaze started to pick up on oddities: skin that seemed slightly shiny, perhaps stretched; eyes that looked back at you as though they'd seen millenia pass; a certain stillness that could only be acquired through decades of practice. "Memnith," he said. "The King has a policy of using codenames since you uncovered that conspiracy in Hull."
"Memnith," said Ernest. "I think it suits you. But isn't Lord Vileburn also a codename?"
"Wheels within wheels, Ernest. Wheels within wheels, epicycles built on epicycles. Who knows where it will all end? But yes, this is an office, and as you can probably tell from the dust on the bookshelves, one I rarely use."
"Then why are we here?"
"Because you mentioned Carcosa."
Lord Derby frowned. "That doesn't seem like a reason for you to go to an office you hate," he said. "And what this office is missing, by the way, is coffee."
Memnith ran a hand through his black hair and clutched the top of his head briefly. Then he shook it free.
"Coffee," he said. "There's a bell for the maid-service in here somewhere, but...," he snapped his fingers and a delicate chime, as though from a porcelain handbell, sounded throughout the room. "We're here, Ernest, because all the offices in these halls have wards in them so I can't be seized by a whim and take you to the plains of Leng and point out where Carcosa probably is."
"Carcosa is that terrible?"
"The plains of Leng are."
There was a tapping on the door, and then it opened. Two maids came in, walking quite boldly in Lord Derby's opinion, and set up a coffee service from a small cart. After they left, he motioned to the coffeepot.
"Shall I be mother? What is so terrible about plains then?"
"None for me," said Memnith. "The plains of Leng are boundless, Ernest. In a sense they're a mathematical abstraction dropped into reality by something or someone more powerful that we can even imagine. They act as a separator between us and places that are horrible enough that most attempts to describe them result in madness, both for the describer and the listener. Things live there, and they are strange things indeed, things that interact mathematically with our world. If you can imagine, say, a spider that can change its size by moving an infinite amount in a direction you can't perceive, but that evaporates as soon as it's away from an acute angle, you're starting well."
"That sounds... improbable," said Lord Derby. He tasted the coffee. "But not unthinkable, I think. And Carcosa...?"
"Is on the far side of the plains."
"If the plains are so terrible, how did we discover them?"
"Demonology, of course."
Greg - I seem to recall this being the general reason I avoided working out my legs...
More Derby!
In case I haven't made it clear yet, you could probably just write Derby tales for the rest of the year and I would not complain.
I know you won't, I'm just saying how I would react if you did :P
Also: you've managed to sink a few more hooks into me with this vignette.
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