Hmm, well, this prompt fits in rather nicely with what I knew was beyond the door, in a slightly unexpected way :)
The letter "That was dramatic," I said. That was slightly less inane than my comment about the churning water not being near enough the ship for us to feel, but only just. "Showing off," muttered Kraulik, and I'm not sure he knew I heard him. Stef walked around, picked something up off the floor, and then looked at the doorway. We would have to put the mats back, at least in part, to get there and he started over to them. Kraulik and I quickly joined him; I don't think it really made a difference who went through the door first, but none of us wanted to find out there was a way off the ship in there and we'd been left behind. "This was shorting things," said Stef, passing something twisted and blackened to Kraulik. He grunted, turning it over in his hands while Stef and I dragged and pushed two mats into place. It left one square of floor open but we were more interesting in seeing what had been hidden from us. "Key," said Kraulik, handing it to me and pushing in front of Stef. Clearly he'd decided he was going in first. I looked at the half-melted piece of metal. "I hope it wasn't important," I said. "I suppose Chuckles must have dropped it when he got zapped, or whatever that thing does." Kraulik had passed through the doorway now. "Is some kind of command room," he called back so I slipped the twisted metal into a pocket and followed Stef in.
The room was about the size of three of my cabins set side-by-side and had a flimsy-looking trestle table in the centre. Around the edges of the room were cabinets whose tops formed workbenches like you might find in a laboratory, and at the far end of the room there was a shelf set at about my eye-height above the workbench with a couple of books on it. They had fallen over and were spilled about, probably by the motion of the ship. The workbenches were clear but the trestle-table had an ornament of some kind sitting on it, dead centre. It looked like a Mayan ziggurat: a square-based pyramid of some brassy metal with the top cut off and flattened out. Kraulik was stood by it, looking at it. Stef was opening the cabinets below the workbenches, and I wondered if I was supposed to go and look at the books. I looked at the ornament instead, and realised that it was incised on all sides with a fine pattern of lines like the ones outside the room, and that the top of the pyramid wasn't completely smooth: it was bumpy with little cubical protrusions like crenellations. "Weird," said Kraulik. "Same colour as the strings though." "Not the best news I've had all day," I said, and then wished I had a wittier line of banter. "Found something," said Stef. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of a cabinet. "Looks like a contract." "A what?" I still wasn't managing anything witty. "The letter and the lessee agree," said Stef, reading the first page. He skipped over some paragraphs, then turned a page, then paused. "A fee of not fewer than five hundred lives shall be paid before Michaelmas." "Who's the letter?" I asked just as Kraulik growled, "Who is the lessee?" Stef turned to the back to look for signatures.
2 comments:
Hmm, well, this prompt fits in rather nicely with what I knew was beyond the door, in a slightly unexpected way :)
The letter
"That was dramatic," I said. That was slightly less inane than my comment about the churning water not being near enough the ship for us to feel, but only just.
"Showing off," muttered Kraulik, and I'm not sure he knew I heard him. Stef walked around, picked something up off the floor, and then looked at the doorway. We would have to put the mats back, at least in part, to get there and he started over to them. Kraulik and I quickly joined him; I don't think it really made a difference who went through the door first, but none of us wanted to find out there was a way off the ship in there and we'd been left behind.
"This was shorting things," said Stef, passing something twisted and blackened to Kraulik. He grunted, turning it over in his hands while Stef and I dragged and pushed two mats into place. It left one square of floor open but we were more interesting in seeing what had been hidden from us.
"Key," said Kraulik, handing it to me and pushing in front of Stef. Clearly he'd decided he was going in first.
I looked at the half-melted piece of metal. "I hope it wasn't important," I said. "I suppose Chuckles must have dropped it when he got zapped, or whatever that thing does."
Kraulik had passed through the doorway now. "Is some kind of command room," he called back so I slipped the twisted metal into a pocket and followed Stef in.
The room was about the size of three of my cabins set side-by-side and had a flimsy-looking trestle table in the centre. Around the edges of the room were cabinets whose tops formed workbenches like you might find in a laboratory, and at the far end of the room there was a shelf set at about my eye-height above the workbench with a couple of books on it. They had fallen over and were spilled about, probably by the motion of the ship. The workbenches were clear but the trestle-table had an ornament of some kind sitting on it, dead centre. It looked like a Mayan ziggurat: a square-based pyramid of some brassy metal with the top cut off and flattened out. Kraulik was stood by it, looking at it. Stef was opening the cabinets below the workbenches, and I wondered if I was supposed to go and look at the books. I looked at the ornament instead, and realised that it was incised on all sides with a fine pattern of lines like the ones outside the room, and that the top of the pyramid wasn't completely smooth: it was bumpy with little cubical protrusions like crenellations.
"Weird," said Kraulik. "Same colour as the strings though."
"Not the best news I've had all day," I said, and then wished I had a wittier line of banter.
"Found something," said Stef. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of a cabinet. "Looks like a contract."
"A what?" I still wasn't managing anything witty.
"The letter and the lessee agree," said Stef, reading the first page. He skipped over some paragraphs, then turned a page, then paused. "A fee of not fewer than five hundred lives shall be paid before Michaelmas."
"Who's the letter?" I asked just as Kraulik growled, "Who is the lessee?"
Stef turned to the back to look for signatures.
Greg - happy to oblige, as always :)
Hmm. That agreement doesn't sound like good news for the residents of the ship. Not that I would expect otherwise.
I am still very much intrigued by this story, just for the record.
Post a Comment