George R. Shirer's Blog

Story: Everything Old is New Again

Author's Note: It would help enormously if you picture this story as the first ep in a rather dry British sit-com, I think. 
The store on Hennesy Street was small and nondescript. The window sign identified it simply as Retro.  Passersby would have no idea what it sold until they poked their noses inside and were often dumbstruck by the stacks of books, CDs, VHS tapes, DVDs and even older forms of media shoved into boxes and bins. Old comics lurked in spinner wracks tucked away in corners, and books, ranging from literary classics to bargain bin trash, weighed down shelves constructed from cinderblocks and pine two by fours.
By the front door was an overstuffed easy chair that had seen better days. Next to it was a side table occupied by an ancient cigar box and an ancient lamp with a fringed lampshade.
The easy chair was occupied by an older man with a bald head and an impressively ample middle aged spread.  He wore a dark green polo shirt, two sizes too large for him, black slacks and dark green slippers. In one hand, he held a glass of dark red wine. The other cradled an open book on his lap.
There was no one else in the shop, and the sign on the door was still turned to 'Closed.'  Despite this, the door swung open, and a thin, pale young man stepped into the shop with a frown.
"Brian, what are you doing?" the newcomer asked, frowning at the fellow in the chair. "You're sign still says 'closed.' It's half past ten!"
"Oh?" Brian Pool, the owner and proprietor of Retro, glanced up from his book to peer at the sign in question. He reached out and turned it to 'Open.'  "There, Francis. Happy?"
Francis rolled his eyes and perched on a table groaning under the weight of ancient VHS tapes. "It's your shop, Bri. You can run it into the ground if you like, but I'm not going to haul your ashes out of the fire this time."
Brian frowned. "I think you're mixing your metaphors."
Francis scowled. "Don't change the subject. What's going on? Why weren't you open?"
"No stock," said Brian, blankly. This, despite the abundance of merchandise surrounding him.
"Brian."
"Francis, what are you doing here?" asked Brian, draining his wine glass and glowering at the younger man. "Shouldn't you be next door at the Nut Hut, filling bags with walnuts or whatever?"
"Mom asked me to check on you," said Francis, matter-of-factly.  "She's worried."
"She's not worried, Francis, she's nosy," said Brian, producing a bottle of wine from the floor by his chair. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it in the general direction of the distant wall. It pinged cheerfully off a vintage Ion Giant action figure and fell to the floor among several of its forgotten brethren. Brian refilled his wine glass and swirled the liquid around. "You need to stop encouraging her bad behavior, little brother."
"I hate it when you call me that," protested Francis.
"It's what you are," said Brian, blankly. "My little brother. Born ten years after me."
"But still your brother," pointed out Francis. "No matter how much you might wish it were otherwise, Brian. Now, why weren't you open. The truth this time, if you please."
"Because I sold the signed Charles Dickens the other day and don't need to be open today," said Brian, matter-of-factly. He took a long sip of his wine, swallowed and sighed in contentment. "There. Satisfied?"
Francis stared at him. "How much did you make?"
"Enough not to have to open today," said Brian, and reached out and flipped the sign on the door back to 'Closed' just as an elderly couple hesitantly approached the door.  They stopped, flummoxed, then continued down the street.
Francis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Brian. Seriously. How much?"
"That, is none of your business," said Brian. "Now, scram. I've got a very busy day of loafing about ahead of me and you're interferring."  He waved Francis at the door. "Scoot!"
"Fine," said Francis. He stood, hands raised in surrender. "I give up. But call mom, so she'll stop calling me to see if I know what's wrong with you." He rolled his eyes again. "I wouldn't even know where to begin to answer that."
Brian raised his wine glass in a silent toast as Francis left the shop, the little bell over the door jingling merrily as he exited.  Brian reached over and turned the lock, then sank back down into his chair and returned to his book.
* * *
Katherine Marie Bonza sat at her kitchen table, a lit cigarette clutched in her right hand, her dark eyes burning with irritation as she listened to Francis recount his meeting with Brian. Katherine was in her sixties, but worked every day not to show it. Her hair was cut into a short bob and dyed a savage shade of red. It contrasted weirdly with her ash white eyebrows. Her face was smooth and unblemished thanks to a combination of nightly facial treatments and about ten carefully applied layers of cosmetics.  Her clothing was fashionably timeless, tailored to fit her trim figure, and consisted entirely of solid colors. No ditzy prints and definitely nothing with a floral pattern someone granny might fancy. She wore a diamond ring on her little finger, and white gold hoops in her ears. Her nails were manicured, her belly was taught and her mind was as sharp as a steel trap.  No one would have guessed she had given birth to two sons.
"So Brian is loafing around because he's made a bit of money," said Katherine, succinctly summing up the situation.
Seated across from her, Francis nodded. "That's the gist of it, mom."
Katherine's nostrils flared and she took a deep breath before mindfully exhaling. "I swear, Francis, your brother is going to put me in an early grave."
"You know you shouldn't let him get to you, mom."
"How can I not? Brian might be a complete prick, but he's still my son.  I am, ultimately, responsible for him until one of us kicks the bucket." Katherine's eyes darkened. "Preferably him."
Francis drew a shocked breath. "Mom, you don't mean that!"
"No," admitted Katherine. "Not really."  Not much, she added under her breath. No matter how much easier Brian's absence would improve her daily life.
"At least you know he's doing all right," said Francis. "He wouldn't tell me how much he got for the Dickens, but . . . ."
"Probably about half of what it was actually worth," said Katherine, flatly. She took a long drag off her cigarette, then crushed it out on the kitchen table. "Your brother never did understand the value of things. The proper value. He got that from Richard, his layabout of a father."
Francis winced a little. He hated it when his mom started talking about Brian's father, because that would inevitably lead to her going on a diatribe about Francis's father. And Francis quite liked his father. He went over to his house every Sunday for supper with his father, his stepmother and his half-siblings. It was the highlight of his week, and would remain so as long as his mother never found out about it.
"Well," said Francis, rising from the table. "I just wanted to drop by and let you know that Brian is okay, mom."
"Leaving so soon?" Katherine affected a hurt expression, but rose with him and began to subtly herd Francis toward the front door. "There's no need to run off, you know."
"Oh, I've got to," said Francis, smiling weakly. "I'm meeting Persephone for dinner."
Katherine nodded her head in approval. She quite liked Francis's fiance. Persephone Flowers reminded Katherine of a younger version of herself. A watered-down version, mind you, but still....
"Well, give Persephone my regards," said Katherine, opening the door and gently pushing Francis outside. "Tell her to call me later this week. I've got the number of that wedding caterer she asked about."
"Will do, mom." Francis leaned in and gave his mother an awkward kiss on the cheek. His mother tasted vaguely of chemicals. "Love you."
"Love you too," said Katherine, glancing in the hallway mirror to check her makeup.
"I'll. . . ."  But before Francis could finish his sentence, his mother had closed the door, cutting him off.  He sighed in something akin to relief and hurried away.
* * * *
The next afternoon, Brian looked up with a resigned expression as his brother and his mother stepped into Retro. Katherine glanced around the cluttered shop with visible distaste, keeping her hands and arms tucked in as if afraid casual contact with the past might poison her. Nevertheless, she turned toward Brian and asked, quite bluntly, "So, how much did you get for that signed Dickens, Brian?"
Brian shot Francis an irritated look. The younger man, standing behind their mother, silently shrugged.
"Like I told Francis yesterday, mom, that's none of your business," said Brian, firmly.
Katherine's eyes narrowed and she loomed over her son. "Don't take that tone of voice with me, young man! I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it as well!"
"Sorry," muttered Brian.
"Now," said Katherine, stepping back and shuddering as the sleeve of her white pantsuit brushed a box of Danielle Steele novels. The white fabric came away stained with soot. "Who did you sell it to?"
"Jusst a collector," said Brian, shrugging. "He paid in cash."
Katherine's brow furrowed with suspicioun. "Cash? Really?"
"Really," said Brian.  "He was very pleased. Said he might come back and look at some other stuff in the future."
"Is that so?" Katherine's tone screamed disbelief.
"Yes," said Brian.
"And you believe him?" asked Katherine.
"Yes," said Brian, a bit more forcefully.
"Why?" demanded Katherine.
A voice emerged from behind one of the cinderblock and pine bookshelves. "Because he's got no reason not to believe me."
The man who stepped out from behind the bookcase was tall and broad-shouldered, with leathery skin that spoke of decades spent outdoors in the sun and wind. He had sharp blue eyes and a neatly trimmed silver-white beard. He wore a plaid shirt and faded denim jeans. His smile was wide and bright, his eyes the exact same color as Brian's.
Katherine stared. Beneath her makeup, her face turned completely white with shock, but no one could tell. "Richard?" she gasped.
Richard Pool turned that megawatt smile on Katherine. "Hello, Katy. Been a while."
Katherine stared at her ex-husband for a moment, before her eyes rolled back in her head. She would have fallen to the floor if Francis had rushed forward and caught her under the arms. As such, she just sagged in his grip like an elegant sack of Russet potatoes.
copyright 2025 George R. Shirer

Happy Equinox

Autumn spreads like fire,the trees burn gold and orange,chill shadows lengthen.

Even Good Things Can Happen

 Hello gentle readers,

Well, we're about two weeks into the New Year, and I thought I'd take a look at how things are going so far.

For me? Not that bad.  I have had an amazing uptick in creativity which has led to lots of personal writing, but nothing new for publication.  I did proofread a friend's first Kindle book and even though the subject matter isn't my cup of tea (historial romance veering into fantasy), I thought it was well written if short. 

I wish I could say that the larger world is having a good year, but between the fires in California, the blizzards on the East Coast and the continuing political and cultural divisions separating the country, I just don't see it.  The world continues to fragment, the old orders clinging to power even as their foundations crumble beneath them.

However, I am not going to be a doomsayer. There are good things happening in the world too. People continue to be kind and generous in the face of disaster and want.  Hamas and Israel just announced a cease fire agreement. Nine out of every ten cars sold in Norway last year were electric. A woman in China has lived to be 124 years old.

We're in a new year. 

Anything can happen.

Even good things.

Hope in the New Year

Hello, gentle readers!  The year is turning, the old year wheezing its last breath, and the new one… well, the new one is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, sprinkled with a generous helping of hope.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking.  Hope?  In *this* economy? With *this* weather?  With the state of the world generally resembling a particularly grumpy badger?  Yes, my friends, even then, hope remains.  It's a tenacious little weed, that hope, stubbornly pushing its way through the cracks in the pavement of despair.

I’ve spent years wrestling with uncertainty – the leap into the writing life, the occasional financial panic (because let's be honest, a writer's income can be... unpredictable), the whole "what if I fail?" existential dread. Yet, here I am, still typing away.  Why?  Because somewhere, deep down, beneath the anxieties and self-doubt, a stubborn flicker of hope persists.  The hope that the next story will be the one, the hope that the next year will be better, the hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll finally master the semicolon. (A man can dream, can't he?)

Hope isn't about ignoring the problems; it's about facing them with the understanding that things *can* change.  We adapt, we evolve, we learn.  We stumble, we fall, and sometimes, we get back up and try again, fuelled by that same quiet, persistent hope.  It’s the belief that even in the darkest night, the sun will eventually rise again.

So, as we stand on the precipice of a new year, let's embrace that hope.  Let's allow ourselves to dream, to plan, to envision a brighter future.  Let's acknowledge the struggles, but also celebrate the small victories, the unexpected kindnesses, the moments of joy that pepper our lives.

Because hope, my friends, is not a luxury; it's a necessity.  It's the fuel that keeps us going, even when the going gets tough.  It's the quiet whisper that reminds us that even in the midst of chaos, there's always a chance for something better.  And perhaps, just perhaps, that's enough.  

Until next time!

The Golden Moment: A Holiday Tale of the Marvelous Land of Ap

THE GOLDEN MOMENT A Holiday Tale of the Marvelous Land of Ap

It had been a hard winter in Ap. Thick snow blanketed the land. The River Surprise had frozen so solidly that a fat man could walk across it without fear of falling through the ice. The days were short, the nights were long, and both were frigid. It had been a season of raging blizzards and creeping ice-fogs. No one went outside unless it was necessary. Some people decided to take sleeping potions and snooze their way through the bitter season. Most folks remained awake, to watch the hands of the calender-clocks creep toward Spring. However, before Spring could arrive, Winter had to end, and tonight was the night of Winter’s End.


Now, Winter’s End is one of the great holidays of the marvelous Land of Ap. It’s like New Year’s Eve, Christmas and Easter all rolled up into one grand night. Great bonfires would be lit and folk would keep vigil until sunrise, to say goodbye to the old year and hello to the new. There would be parties with good things to eat and drink, music and dancing, games and snowball fights. No one would be expected to work the next day, and if it was a particularly good party, no one would be expected to work the day after that either.

At midnight, everyone across Ap would cross their fingers and squeeze their eyes tightly shut. They would count backwards from ten, open their eyes, and then rush off to hunt for the presents that Mr. Good-cheer would have left.

If you had been good, you would get something nice from that fine gentleman. However, if you had been naughty, you might get nothing but socks and underwear. And if you had been downright bad, you would get nothing at all. However, the last very rarely happened in Ap.

* * * * *

Now, this particular Winter’s End, there was a little boy named Oliver staying at the Nursery. The Nursery was a fine, brick building where the needy children from the world stayed, when they arrived in Ap. There, they were looked after by two very kind ladies, Nurse Nanny and Madame Pedagogue.

Oliver was ten years old. He had blonde hair, the color of sunlight, and brown eyes. His eyesight was very bad and he had to wear glasses most of the time. He was small and thin because, back in the world, Oliver had gotten too little to eat and too many beatings. A shy, quiet child, Oliver preferred to read instead of roughhousing with the other children. He never spoke, unless spoken to, and was the sort of person who wound up sitting quietly in a corner, overlooked by most of the people around him.

Tonight, Oliver was in a bed in the sick room. A few days ago he had caught a nasty cold, and Nurse Nanny had confined him to bed for the evening.

This was a great hardship for Oliver. The other children were dressed in costumes, gathering on the front lawn, around the bonfire. They would be sipping hot punch, playing games and having snowball fights.

True, Oliver wouldn’t have cared much for the snowball fights, and he would have been overlooked during most of the games, but he would have enjoyed the singing and quite liked a glass of hot punch. However, instead of all of that, he was tucked into bed with a hot water bottle, extra blankets and a funny book called Diary of a Wimpy Wizard. It was a bit lonely, even though Nurse Nanny or Madame Pedagogue came in every once in a while to check his temperature and dose him with cold medicine.

As the evening wore on, Oliver lay in his bed and peered at the sick room’s window where a bold frost fairy was drawing icy scenes on the glass. When the glass was completely covered, the frost fairy vanished, leaving Oliver feeling more alone than ever.

He tried to read his book but the Wimpy Wizard wasn’t as funny as he had been. Oliver stared at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. Outside, everyone would be gathering around the bonfire, getting ready to cross their fingers and close their eyes, waiting for Mr. Good-cheer to come and go.

Oliver thought about joining them, but knew if he left the sick room Nurse Nanny would be cross. None of the children wanted Nurse Nanny to be cross with them. She wouldn’t be cruel, but she would give you this look of disappointment that was worse than a smack on the ear. No one wanted to get that look and no one wanted to be the cause of it either.

So Oliver stayed in his bed, the hot water bottle getting cooler by the minute. He flipped through his book, looking at the pictures. From outside, he heard everyone starting to count backwards from ten. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was midnight.

Oliver, like everyone else in Ap, closed his eyes and crossed his fingers. He began to count down, along with everyone else across Ap.

"Five! Four! Three! Two!"

That was when it happened. Between the two and the one, Oliver sneezed. It was a powerful sneeze, the kind that rocks your head forward and makes you feel like your nose has just exploded. Oliver sneezed and his eyes popped open just as everyone outside shouted, "One!"

The world went utterly quiet. Oliver didn’t hear anyone moving about and everyone should have been rushing into the house to hunt for presents. There should have been cries of delight and moans of disappointment as gifts were discovered and opened. At the very least, Oliver would have thought to hear the measured tread of Madame Pedagogue or Nurse Nanny outside the sick room door, coming to tell him to hop out of bed and join the others in the search for presents.

Instead, there was a strange silence. It made Oliver very uneasy.

"Nurse Nanny?" he called.

His voice echoed weirdly in the small room, as it had never done before.

"Madame Pedagogue?"

There was a plaintive edge to Oliver’s voice now, as his unease began to turn to fear.

Sniffling, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. The wood floor of the sick room was chilly beneath his feet. Oliver pulled on his slippers and robe then crept toward the door.

He opened it and cautiously stuck his head into the hallway. It looked perfectly ordinary.

"Hello? Anyone?"

No one answered.

Oliver crept down the hallway, shivering in his robe. In the great hall, he noticed that the candles in their sconces were frozen in mid-flicker. Trembling, Oliver walked to the front door and pulled it open.

Outside, it was a cold, clear night. The moon hung, white and fat, above the world. Stars twinkled like diamond chips against a black, velvet sky. On the front lawn, everyone was still gathered around the bonfire.

The fire was frozen, just like the candles. It looked like a solid thing. Oliver wondered. If he reached out, would he be able to pick up a bit of flame as if it were a stone?

The other children stood in a circle around the fire, along with Nurse Nanny and Madame Pedagogue. Everyone had their eyes shut and their fingers crossed. Under other circumstances, Oliver would have thought they all looked very funny, with their faces all screwed up in anticipation. However, right then and there, Oliver just wanted someone - anyone! - to move, to speak, to react.

No one did. Not even when he tugged on their arms or shouted in their faces. Everyone was as still and stiff as statues.

Oliver had been very brave until this point, but now his courage evaporated. He knelt in the snow and sobbed, afraid that the world would never move again, that all of his friends would be frozen forever!

You can imagine his surprise when someone spoke.

"Are you all right, boy?"

Startled, Oliver looked up and found himself staring into a pair of bright, green eyes.

The eyes belonged to the biggest cat that Oliver had ever seen. It was as tall as he was, with a coat of grey and white fur. As if size and speech were not curious enough, a pair of shining white wings grew from the cat’s shoulders.

Oliver stared.

The strange cat stared right back at him.

"Are you a mute?" The cat asked.

"No," said Oliver, wiping his eyes. "I’m not a mute."

"Excellent," said the cat. "Then you can tell me what you’re doing running about when everyone else is frozen."

"I don’t know," said Oliver. "Who are you?"

The cat fluttered its white wings. "Can it be you don’t know me? The fastest thing in the world?"

"No," said Oliver. Then added, "I’m sorry." Because it seemed the right sort of thing to say.

"Hmpf!" The cat raised his head and preened. "I am Rumor."

"I’m Oliver."

"Never heard of you," said Rumor.

"Do you know what’s happened to everyone?" asked Oliver.

"Of course," said Rumor. "But I am more interested in what has happened to you, boy. You should not be up and about. You should be playing statues like everyone else. What did you do?"

"I don’t know," said Oliver. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. "It was midnight and everybody was counting down and then everything went strange."

"Hmm." Rumor peered at Oliver. "Tell me exactly what happened during the countdown."

Puzzled, Oliver told the winged cat what had happened. How he had been in the sick room, confined with a cold and excluded from the festivities because of it.

Rumor sniffed. "That wasn’t very nice of them. Then what happened?"

So Oliver continued his tale. He told Rumor about counting down with the others and the big sneeze he had given just as everyone reached one.

"Ah!" said Rumor. "Did you open your eyes after the sneeze?"

"Yes," said Oliver.

"That explains it then," said Rumor. "You opened your eyes just as the Golden Moment began."

"The Golden Moment? What’s that?"

"A very powerful magic," explained Rumor. "It was entrusted to Mister Good-cheer so that he can make his rounds on Winter’s End. How do you think he manages to visit everyone in Ap in the blink of an eye?"

"I never thought about it," admitted Oliver.

"No one ever does," said the cat. "The Golden Moment is a magic moment that Mr. Good-cheer can make last for as long as he needs, to do his duty."

"So the others won’t be frozen forever?"

"Not at all," said Rumor, chuckling. "Just until Mr. Good-cheer finishes his work."

"Oh! Good! I don’t know what I would have done if everything had been frozen forever."

"Well, you needn’t worry about that," said Rumor.

"How come you’re not frozen?" asked Oliver.

Rumor chuckled. "Why, I would have thought it was obvious! I work for Mr. Good-cheer!"

"You do?" Oliver’s eyes widened in wonderment.

"I do. I’m one of his scouts, who makes sure the way ahead is safe for the gentleman."

"You must be very important," said Oliver.

The cat preened, stood a little taller, his furry chest puffed up with pride. "Well, I do have an important job, I suppose."

"Not that he does it alone or anything," said a new voice.

Oliver turned, startled, and saw another winged cat sitting in the snow. It was just as big as Rumor, but this cat’s fur was black as ink and its eyes were crystal blue. The gleaming white wings, growing from its shoulders, were identical to Rumor’s.

Rumor sighed. "I never said that I did, sister-dear."

"You never said that you didn’t either," said the black winged cat. "Now, tell me. Who is this child? What is he doing up and about, and why are you sitting here chatting with him when there’s work to be done?"

"Oliver," said Rumor, "allow me to introduce my sister, Gossip."

"Pleased to meet you," said Oliver, politely.

Gossip inclined her head. "Likewise, child. Now, brother, explain yourself."

"The boy got caught up in the moment," said Rumor. "And I couldn’t very well leave him here all alone. Now could I? What would our gentleman think of such behavior?"

"He wouldn’t approve at all," admitted Gossip. "Still, brother-dear, there’s no need to sit around here. Mount up, Oliver. We will take you with us."

Oliver blinked at this unexpected command. "Take me where?"

"Why, to see Mr. Good-cheer," said Gossip.

"But. . . ."

"No time for buts," scolded Gossip. "Brother-dear, I will go ahead to let our gentleman know to expect company." Her ebon whiskers twitched with mischief. "Try not to dawdle."

Then, with a flick of her tail, Gossip was gone.

Oliver turned back to Rumor. "Was she serious? Am I really going to meet Mr. Good-cheer?"

"Yes," said Rumor.

The gray-white cat knelt in the snow.

"Hurry now! Climb on my back and hold on tight!"

Dazedly, Oliver obeyed. He sat astride Rumor’s back and grabbed handfuls of the winged cat’s thick fur.

"Mind my wings," warned Rumor, and then leapt into the air.

For as long as he lived, Oliver would remember that ride on Rumor’s back. He would recall how the world fell away beneath them, becoming a black and white blur, the rush of cold air through his hair, the humming of Rumor’s wings as they beat, fast and furious.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, their journey came to an end. The world snapped back into sharp focus and Oliver found himself thrust forward, his face buried in the soft fur between Rumor’s shoulders.

"Oof!"

"Sorry about that," said Rumor.

He stretched out on the ground and Oliver slid off his back. Looking around, Oliver found himself standing outside a large, old tree-house. Candlelight gleamed through shuttered windows and warm light poured from the open door, illuminating a curious scene: three large bears seated outside the tree-house playing cards.

The bears were large, fierce-looking creatures. They had silver coats and on their heads they wore golden helmets especially made for them. Between them was a large, golden box that they were using as a card table.

Suddenly, one of the bears shouted, "Snap!" and lunged for the cards in the middle of the table.

Rumor cleared his throat. The card-playing bears froze. The one who had shouted "Snap!" turned to look at the winged cat, then sighed in relief.

"It’s just Rumor," said the bear, gruffly.

"Rumor and a boy," said another bear, squinting at Oliver.

"That’s the one Gossip told us about," said the third bear. "Remember?"

"I never pay attention to gossip," said the first bear, who also happened to be the biggest.

"Good advice in most instances," said the second bear. "However not this one. Introduce us, Rumor."

The bears, as it turned out, were brothers. They were named Stor, Storre and Storst. Stor was the oldest and the smallest, which wasn’t saying much as, sitting, he was at least ten feet tall. Storst was the youngest and the largest of the bear brothers, being a whopping twelve feet tall. Storre, the middle brother, was eleven feet tall.

"We are the personal guards of Mr. Good-cheer," said Stor.

Oliver frowned. "Why does Mr. Good-cheer need guards?"

"Because, despite all the good he does, there are still folk who would wish him harm," said Storre.

Storst snarled, exposing fierce white teeth. "I’d like to see them try!"

"Don’t get overexcited, little brother," chided Stor. "Our gentleman is doing his duty at the moment, young Oliver. Care to join us in a game of Snap?"

"No time for that, I think," said Storre. "Here he comes."

"Quick!" said Storst. "Look busy!"

Immediately, the bears scrambled to put away their cards and to assume solemn, watchful expressions. Oliver turned to the tree-house just as Mr. Good-cheer stepped outside.

Mister Good-cheer did not look like Oliver had imagined. Oliver had though he would look like Santa Clause, a jolly fat man in a red velvet suit with a thick white beard.

Instead, Mister Good-cheer was a tall, slim man in a hooded white cloak. When he pushed back the cloak’s hood, Oliver saw that Mr. Good-cheer had long silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were a sparkling blue and he had a pleasant smile. Despite his silver hair and beard, he had the pinkish, unblemished skin of a baby. Beneath his white cloak, he wore a long white robe, cinched tight around his waist with a sky-blue sash.

Oliver had been secretly worried about meeting Mr. Good-cheer. He had not always been a good boy, back in the world. However, all of his doubts and fears vanished as soon as that famous gentleman smiled at him.

"Hello, Oliver," said Mr. Good-cheer. "Happy Winter’s End."

"Happy Winter’s End to you to, sir," said Oliver, very politely.

"So, you’ve been caught up in the Golden Moment, eh?" said Mr. Good-cheer. "My goodness! It’s been a long time since that’s happened to anyone!"

"I’m sorry about that, sir," said Oliver. "I didn’t mean for it to happen."

"Of course you didn’t," said Mr. Good-cheer. "However, since you have been caught in our moment, you’ll have to come with us on the rounds."

Oliver blinked. "Really, sir?"

"Well, we can’t leave you alone, to fend for yourself," said Mr. Good-cheer. "That wouldn’t be right."

"Or safe," chimed in Storst.

"True," said Gossip, appearing out of thin air. "Small boys often have misadventures when left to their own devices."

"Ah. Gossip." Mr. Good-cheer smiled at the winged, black cat. "How do things look to the south?"

"Fine and clear, sir," said Gossip.

"And to the east?" asked Mr. Good-cheer.

"That," said Gossip, pointedly, "was Rumor’s job to check."

"Ah," said Rumor, hanging his head a little in embarrassment. "Things are fine from Door Way as far as the Nursery, sir. I didn’t get past that, though, as I saw the boy."

Mr. Good-cheer nodded. "And, of course, you couldn’t leave him alone. Well done, Rumor. However, now that Oliver is with us, we will look after him and you may continue your duty."

"Of course, sir," said Rumor.

The grey-white cat turned to Oliver and playfully pushed his head against the boy’s cheek.

"Take care, young Oliver. I shall see you before the moment ends."

Then, in a flurry of snow, Rumor was gone.

"Well, now!" said Mr. Good-cheer. "Things are finished here and we must be off to the next house!"

He walked over to the golden box and the bears stood. They shuffled into position, forming a fierce triangle of protection around Mr. Good-cheer and his golden box.

Mr. Good-cheer gestured Oliver over to him. "Come along, Oliver. Stand close."

Oliver obeyed, coming to stand next to Mr. Good-cheer, wondering what was going to happen. As soon as he was within the bears’ triangle, Mr. Good-cheer touched the sky-blue sash around his waist.

The ends of the sash evaporated, transforming into a blue mist that whirled around the little group. It flowed around them, over their heads and under their feet until they were surrounded by spinning blue clouds.

Oliver’s ears popped and he looked down, saw the forest falling away beneath his feet, between the sash’s streaming blue clouds. He gasped, more surprised than frightened, then the clouds obscured the distant ground.

As quickly as the clouds had enveloped them, they dissipated, flowing back into Mr. Good-cheer’s sky-blue sash. Oliver looked around, saw that they were on the ground, standing in the middle of a path, by a large tree-house. Lanterns hung on wooden poles, shining on the snow-covered path that led to the tree-house’s bright red door.

"That was amazing!" said the boy.

Mr. Good-cheer chuckled and patted his sash. "Sky-sash is the best way to travel as far as I’m concerned."

He reached into his robe, then, and produced a small leather book. Opening it, Mr. Good-cheer skimmed the contents for a moment before nodding to himself. He turned to the golden box and tapped on its top.

"Open up, please. We’ve arrived at the home of the Threads."

Oliver watched, his mouth hanging open, as the golden box opened. It had appeared completely solid before, but now parts of the top and sides folded back, creating openings through which dozens of small clockwork figures streamed. They were made out of bright metal, adorned with shining jewels, and they carried gaily wrapped packages.

Mister Good-cheer led the way to the tree-house’s door and pushed it open. Warm light spilt through the door and the small clockworks marched inside the house. Mr. Good-cheer went in after them and, curious, Oliver followed.

He found himself in a large, round room. It was brightly lit by several lamps. Good, thick rugs covered the floor and the walls were decorated with needlework samplers. A spiral wooden staircase led to a second floor. On this floor, a brick fireplace had been carefully built into one wall, and comfy furniture arranged around it; there was a couch, flanked by two chairs, and a coffee table covered with plates of cookies, small sandwiches, iced cakes and slices of cheese.

The people sitting around the fire had been frozen in a moment of gaiety. They appeared to be rocking with laughter, even though their eyes were shut and their fingers crossed.

As Oliver watched, the bright clockworks scurried up the stairs with the presents. Mister Good-cheer went to the little gathering and smiled at the frozen residents. There were an older man and woman and a youth. The old couple wore crowns of golden paper.

"King and queen for the night," said Mr. Good-cheer, approvingly. "I can think of no one who deserves it better."

"Who are they?" asked Oliver.

"Mister Thread and his wife. The lad is called Thimble, Mr. Thread’s apprentice."

"They look very happy," said Oliver.

"They are," said Mr. Good-cheer. "They’ve become a family and care about each other very much."

The clockwork men reappeared, tumbling merrily down the staircase.

"You hid the presents?" Mister Good-cheer asked them.

Tiny bejeweled heads nodded.

"But not too well, I hope," said Mr. Good-cheer. "You’ve put them where they can be found. Yes?"

More nodding.

"Well done!" said Mr. Good-cheer. "Let’s be off."

And so the night went, Mr. Good-cheer and his magical clockwork men distributing gifts while the three bears stood watch. Rumor and Gossip appeared frequently to report that the way ahead was clear.

The sky-sash swept them from one side of Ap to the other. One house might be near the River Surprise, while the next was on the shore of Looking-glass Lake, far to the south, or in the Uncanny Mountains that stood along Ap’s northern border. Oliver could not see any pattern to the way their destinations were chosen and, to be honest, he did not think very much about it. He was too busy, helping the clockwork men hide the presents, asking Mr. Good-cheer questions about the people they visited or playing Snap with the bears.

Then, after they had spent some time delivering presents to the hermits at Hermit’s Rock, and were preparing to leave, Gossip appeared.

"Trouble ahead!" she gasped, her white wings vibrating with agitation.

The bears immediately put away their cards. They showed their teeth, twisting their heads this way and that, sniffing the air.

"What sort of trouble?" asked Oliver, as the last clockwork man scurried back into the golden box.

Before Gossip could answer, a fierce crimson light appeared in the sky. Looking up, Oliver saw what he thought must be a shooting star, only it was red as blood and zigzagged crazily across the sky. The bears growled.

"What is it?" whispered Oliver.

"Hush," said Gossip. "She may not have seen us."

Oliver wanted to ask who Gossip was talking about, when the red comet suddenly zigged toward them.

"No such luck," growled Stor.

"Oh crumbs," muttered Gossip, her white wings twitching.

Mister Good-cheer emerged from the last hermit’s hut and took in the scene. Swiftly, he moved to Oliver and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

"Whatever happens, Oliver, don’t be afraid."

"Why?" asked Oliver. "What’s going to happen?"

At that moment, the red comet struck the snowy earth in front of them. Oliver had squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a terrible explosion, but that did not happen. Instead, there was just the hiss of melting snow and a gust of hot wind. He opened his eyes and stared.

Standing in front of the party, in a patch of melted snow, was a curious creature. She looked like a little girl, but with skin made of brass. Her eyes were green emeralds that glowed with a weird light of their own. The brass girl wore a fancy dress that was made of golden cloth and on her head she wore a gold crown, the sharp points adorned with flashing red rubies. Her long hair was redder than blood and fell in a wild tangle around her shoulders. In her right hand, the strange girl clasped a long wand made of twisting green glass and topped by a black star that spat violet and green sparks.

"I’ve caught you!" crowed the brass girl.

Her voice was ordinary enough, but full of smugness. Oliver found himself taking an immediate dislike to this strange creature.

"Finally!"

She walked toward the little group and the snow hissed and melted beneath her feet. The bear brothers growled and loomed out of the dark, golden helmets gleaming, long claws unsheathed and flashing silver in the moonlight.

"Keep your distance," growled Stor.

"Still traveling with your little zoo, Good-cheer?" said the brass girl. Her voice dripped with contempt, but she came no closer.

"But what is this?" Leaning forward, the brass girl peered at Oliver. "Have you started taking in stray children as well as animals?"

The way she said ‘animals’ made it very clear that it was intended as an insult.

"Aren’t you going to introduce me, old man?"

"Reluctantly," said Mr. Good-cheer. His hands remained firmly on the boy’s shoulders. "Oliver, this is Spite. Spite, this is Oliver."

"You’re a scrawny little thing, aren’t you?" said Spite. She sniffed and waived her wand, instantly dismissing the little boy. She turned her glowing, green eyes back on Mr. Good-cheer. "I’ve caught you, Good-cheer. Fair and square! Give me the Golden Moment."

"You haven’t caught me yet," said Mr. Good-cheer. "Not until you lay hands on me."

Spite’s eyes narrowed. "Do you really want me to lay hands on you, old man?" She asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"You’ll have to get past me to do that, lady," growled Storst. The big bear lumbered forward and placed himself squarely between Spite and Mr. Good-cheer.

"Don’t think that I can’t," said Spite and raised her wand. Its black star throbbed and burst into purple flame.

Stor and Storre moved forward, to stand beside their younger brother. The three bears showed their teeth and unsheathed silver claws.

"Us as well," said Stor, grimly.

Behind the three bears, the golden box opened and the bright clockwork men marched out. Only this time they did not carry presents, but swords and shields and tiny rifles. They formed themselves into neat ranks before the three bears, and still more of the little figures poured out of the box until Spite found herself hemmed in on three sides by a small, shining army.

Where the bears had not seemed to disturb her overmuch, the presence of the clockwork army, standing bright and grim around her, seemed to give Spite pause. She frowned and tightened her grip on her wand.

"Are you going to let your little friends fight for you, Good-cheer?" sneered Spite. "Or aren’t you man enough to fight your own battles?"

"There is no need for fighting at all," said Mr. Good-cheer. "All you have to do is leave, Spite. Give up this ridiculous obsession."

She smiled, revealing a mouth full of steel teeth. "Never! I’ll have the Golden Moment, even if I have to burn my way through every one of your creatures!"

Oliver leaned close to Gossip and asked, in a soft voice, "Why does she want the Golden Moment?"

"Because she’s evil," said Gossip. "She wants to use it to spread her malicious poison across Ap, so that everyone will be unhappy."

"Why?" asked Oliver.

"Because it’s fun," said Spite, who had heard their entire conversation. She grinned, her perfect, steel teeth flashing like an assassin’s knife. "Don’t you know, silly boy? It’s more fun being wicked than good."

"That is a matter of opinion," said Rumor.

Spite turned, scowled at the grey-white cat. He had appeared behind her, and sat in the snow, watching her.

"So, all of Good-cheer’s creatures are here," said Spite, grinning. She waved her wand above her head and it left a trail of green flame behind it. "Fine! I can destroy you all at the same time!"

"You will do no such thing," said Mr. Good-cheer in a loud, firm voice.

He stepped forward, pushing past Gossip and the three bears, despite their protests. The clockwork army parted, reluctantly, to let Mr. Good-cheer approach Spite. Behind her, Rumor narrowed his bright green eyes and gathered himself to jump if Mr. Good-cheer needed help.

Spite laughed and tossed her blood-red hair. The rubies in her crown glinted in the moonlight.

"At last!"

She lunged forward, thrusting her wand at Mr. Good-cheer as if it were a sword. Deftly, the silver-haired man spun to the side, then reached out and plucked the emerald wand from Spite’s grip. Spite was so startled by this maneuver that she could do nothing but gape as Mr. Good-cheer stepped back and gazed, balefully, at her.

Her shock did not last long. She lunged forward, brass fingers curled into savage claws.

"Give that back!"

"Gladly," said Mister Good-cheer and thrust the black-starred wand at Spite’s face.

She backpedaled madly to avoid coming into contact with the black star. Crying out, she spun her arms like a windmill, but could not keep her balance, and fell in the slush at her feet.

"You! You!" Spite sputtered, sprawled on the wet ground, her crown sitting askew on her head.

Mr. Good-cheer loomed over the brass girl. His blue eyes blazed with anger.

"Hush," he snapped, and Spite’s mouth clamped shut.

He peered at her, a grave expression on his face.

"I am not a vindictive man, Spite," said Mr. Good-cheer, "but for too long you have plagued this world." He looked at her wand. It seemed restive in his hand, the black star spitting green and purple sparks. "I could end you now."

"You wouldn’t dare!" sneered Spite.

"Wouldn’t I?" challenged Mr. Good-cheer. "Eliminating you would be a great gift to the whole world. Would it not?"

Spite frowned, but said nothing.

Mr. Good-cheer raised the wand. The black star on its tip throbbed with malevolent power. At his feet, Spite cringed.

"Wait!" shouted Oliver. "Stop, Mr. Good-cheer! Stop! You mustn’t!"

He threw himself between Mr. Good-cheer and Spite.

Mr. Good-cheer jerked as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown in his face. He blinked and the anger poured out of his blue eyes.

"My goodness," murmured the gentleman. "I don’t know what came over me!"

He looked at the wand and frowned. "Or perhaps I do."

Shaking his head, as if to banish a bad dream, the silver-haired gentleman smiled at Oliver. "Thank you for stopping me. That was very brave."

"I couldn’t let you do it," gasped the boy. "I just couldn’t!"

Spite climbed to her feet, fluffing out her golden dress and straightening her crown. She held out her hand. "I’ll have my wand now, old man."

"No, sir!" cried Storst. "Break it in two!"

"I wouldn’t dare," said Mr. Good-cheer. He let the wand hang between two fingers, holding it as if it were something rotten and foul. "Who knows what dreadful calamities that would release?"

"I can provide you with a list of the possibilities, if you’d like," said Spite, happily. She thrust her brass hand forward again. "Give it here, old man. I’m the only one who can wield that wand, just like you’re the only one who can use that blasted sash. Give it!"

"Not without a promise first," said Mr. Good-cheer. "That you’ll do no harm to anyone here."

"Fine," said Spite. "I promise."

Storre growled. "What good is the promise of a villain like her, sir? As soon as she’s got the wand, she’ll try to blast us all to smithereens!"

"You make a good point," said Mr. Good-cheer. "A promise won’t be enough, Spite. I want you to swear by your Secret Name that you’ll keep your promise. Then I’ll give you your wand."

Spite scowled. "Fine! I swear by my Secret Name that I’ll keep my promise to do no harm to anyone here! Satisfied?"

Mister Good-cheer nodded and handed Spite her wand. The minute she had it, her eyes blazed with green light and she smiled a wicked smile.

"Remember your promise," said Mr. Good-cheer.

Spite’s smile faded, replaced by a petulant scowl. "I remember. I’ll do no harm to anyone here, old man." Her smile returned. "But once you’ve left this place, well, that’s a different story altogether."

"Oh blast," muttered Rumor.

"Promises are all in the wording," said Gossip with a sigh. Seeing Oliver’s puzzled look, she explained. "Spite promised to do no harm to anyone here. Here. As in this place. So the minute we leave this charming patch of land she can attack us without breaking her promise."

"Clever," admitted Rumor.

"It doesn’t matter," said Mr. Good-cheer, smiling.

"What is it?" Spite demanded. "Why do you have that ridiculous smile on your face, old man?"

"Because the Golden Moment has come to an end," said Mr. Good-cheer. He gestured at the hut behind them. "This was the last house we needed to visit within it."

"What?" screamed Spite. "No! No! The moment can’t be over!"

"But it is," said Mr. Good-cheer.

Still smiling, he reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, bright object. It was a sandglass, its bulbs filled with golden, glowing sand.

Spite’s eyes widened. "The Golden Moment," she breathed.

Mister Good-cheer nodded. Gripping the sandglass’s bulbs, he twisted them.

"Wait!" shouted Spite.

She lunged for the Golden Moment, however, she was too late. With a bright flash, the Golden Moment ended. The sandglass was empty and Spite had vanished.

"Where did she go?" asked Oliver, spinning this way and that, trying to look all around him at the same time.

"Far away," purred Gossip.

"Outside the Golden Moment," explained Mr. Good-cheer, "Spite can’t remain in Ap. If she tried, the land itself would destroy her."

"Really?" asked Oliver.

"Really," said Rumor.

"We should be leaving," said Mr. Good-cheer, turning to the hermits’ huts.

Time was moving again and they could all hear the shouts of pleasure as the first presents were found. Swiftly, the clockwork men marched back into the golden box. The three bears took their places around it. Mister Good-cheer lay a hand on Oliver’s shoulder and smiled at the boy.

"Thank you again for stopping me, Oliver. I wasn’t even aware I’d fallen under the influence of Spite’s wand until you stepped between me and her." He looked away, embarrassed and frowning. "I think I truly would have destroyed her."

Oliver blushed and lowered his head. "One of the others would have stopped you, sir."

"Perhaps," said Mr. Good-cheer.

They joined the bears at the box and Mr. Good-cheer touched his sash. It swirled around them and whisked them away, across the midnight sky.

This time, however, when the whirling blue clouds parted, Oliver recognized their destination. They had arrived on the front lawn of the Nursery, where the bonfire was blazing merrily and the other children, dressed in their costumes, were rushing toward the house to search for presents. Madame Pedagogue was the first to see the visitors and she cried out in shock.

Immediately, all the children rushed back toward the bonfire, to stare with wide eyes at Mister Good-cheer and his companions. Startled gasps erupted from the assembly when Rumor and Gossip arrived, seeming to appear out of thin air.

Nurse Nanny spotted Oliver, who had shrunk behind the three bears.

"Oliver! What are you doing out of bed?"

She marched forward, pushed past the bears, who wisely gave way before her. Tutting and fussing, Nurse Nanny scolded Oliver for running around in the snow wearing only slippers and a robe.

"My apologies, ma’am," interjected Mr. Good-cheer. "I’m afraid I’m responsible for Oliver’s condition."

"You, sir?" Madame Pedagogue had recovered from her shock. She gave Mr. Good-cheer an incredulous look. "How so?"

"Ah," said Mr. Good-cheer. "Please, allow me to explain."

Everyone gathered around and the tale of the night’s adventure was told. The children listened with wide-eyed amazement, while Nurse Nanny and Madame Pedagogue heard the tale with open-mouthed shock. When it was finished, there was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed the details. Then, one of the boys raised his voice.

"Three cheers for Oliver! For saving Mr. Good-cheer!"

The cry was quickly taken up by the others and a blushing Oliver was subjected to a chorus of "Hip-hip-hoorays!" Immediately afterward, the golden box opened and the clockwork men scurried out, carrying brightly-wrapped presents. Everyone got something and not a single person there got anything as drab as new underwear. Oliver was the last to get a present and when he unwrapped it, it was not a toy or game or book. Instead, it was a circular golden medal with a bright red ribbon attached to it. Engraved on the medal were the words, "Our Hero."

At that moment, Nurse Nanny, who had gone inside to fetch the hero a coat and some proper boots, returned. She had quite forgotten the coat and boots. Instead, she carried a box wrapped in lavender foil paper, tied up with a big yellow bow.

A hush fell over everyone assembled on the lawn as they all realized this was not a Winter’s End present. This was a welcome gift for one of the Nursery children, a sign from Ap that the recipient could stay in that marvelous land forever.

Everyone waited with bated breath as Nurse Nanny walked forward and solemnly handed the welcome gift to Oliver. The boy stared in surprise at the box, then at Nurse Nanny and Madame Pedagogue.

"Should I open it now?" he asked, in a small voice.

"Yes!" shouted all the children.

Carefully, Oliver undid the bow and peeled back the paper. He opened the box. It was not a very big box but it did not need to be, because nestled inside, resting on a black cushion, were a silver knife, a silver fork and a silver spoon.

"Oh my," murmured Nurse Nanny.

"Silver for a welcome gift," breathed Madame Pedagogue. She shook her head in wonder. "He won’t even have to make the trek to Silverleaf."

"Well, that’s a relief," said Nurse Nanny, "because there’s no one to take him there."

"But, doesn’t this mean that I have to leave the Nursery?" asked Oliver, with wide eyes. "Where will I go? What will I do?"

"We will think of something," said Madame Pedagogue.

"He can come with us," said Mr. Good-cheer.

Madame Pedagogue and Nurse Nanny gaped at this suggestion. The other children stared, envirously, at Oliver.

"Yes," said Stor.

"What a fine idea, sir!" said Storre.

"He can join the guard!" said Storst. "Even if he isn’t a bear!"

"I think we can find him something else to do," said Mr. Good-cheer, grinning at the bear brothers. "At least until he’s bigger. What do you say, Oliver? Would you like to come with us?"

"Oh yes!" said Oliver, leaping to his feet. "Please!"

There was a buzz of activity then, as Oliver’s few possessions were packed. He didn’t have much, just a few books and a change of clothes. His new silverware was strung on a chain and formally presented to him by Madame Pedagogue, and then it was time for Oliver to leave.

He stood next to Mr. Good-cheer, smiling so widely that he felt like his face would crack. Smiling just as widely, Mr. Good-cheer lay one hand on Oliver’s shoulder and touched his sky-sash with the other.

The magic cloth unwound. Blue clouds whirled around the little group and spun them away, carrying Oliver into a new life, one more wonderful than any he could have imagined.

The End

Pandora - Part 9

Life Outside the City.

If you leave the city of Pandora and venture out into the island,it's a bit like stepping back in time. Once you get about ten miles from thecity, the quality of the roads can drop dramatically. The landscape is dottedby isolated farmsteads and the rugged estates of landed nobles. There areexpansive dairy and sheep farms, as well as large agricultural farms. Potatoes,cabbage, kale, carrots, leeks, rutabega, bilberries and strawberries are allcommon crops on Pandora.

Rural villages are small, close-knit communities consistingof sturdy, well-fortified buildings. Water comes from wells or roof cisters.Electricity, if available, comes from gasoline, diesel or, most likely,bio-diesel generators and solar pannels. Wind farms are growing more popular asa power-source as well.

Most rural homes don't have telephone service, but many areequipped with CB radios and radio-phones. 

Automobiles may be banned in the city, but they areessential in the island's rural areas.Also, many rural residents are grantedspecial dispensation by local magistrates to carry firearms, to protect theirhomes and properties from grendel attacks.

The further one travels from the city, the more rural andundeveloped the island becomes. The landscape is dominated by grasslands,cliffs and heaths with small isolated copses of trees. Wildlife is abundant.Feral sheep, rabbits, birds and foxes are commonly seen. There are small herdsof deer and reindeer on the island.

There are also grendels.

Grendels.

Many visitors and newcomers to Pandora laugh at the tales ofgrendels, believing them to be a kind of local bogeyman.  This is untrue.  Grendels are real. They are described aslarge, terrifying beasts with a grotesque appearance possessing sharp claws,bad tempers and insatiable appetites.  (There are some who speculate that grendelscould be a corrupt, feral form of yeti or sasquatch.) They are fast andferociously strong. There have been reports of grendels tearing cattle in half.

Grendels are largely nocturnal and usually avoid groups ofhumans. However, they have been known to attack and kill solitary humans.  Because of this, most rural Pandorans areeither home by sundown or, if they must be out, they travel in large, well-litgroups. (Grendels are extremely sensitiveto bright light and loud noises. Mostly they'll run away from the source, butsometimes they'll fly into a rage and attack the source.)

The Pandoran Army and rural constabulary patrol the roadsand villages, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of grendels. If they findevidence of a group of grendels, the army may be ordered to track and eliminatethe creatures.

Grendels are extremely territorial and a male grendel willnot tolerate the presence of another male in his territory. Such encounters endin the death of one of the males.  Femalegrendels are tolerated, but they mostly keep to themselves until they go intoheat.

Single births are the norm for grendels and the mother willfeed and protect the child until it can care for itself. At that point, shewill drive it off.  If it lingers orreturns, she may kill and eat it.

Grendel sightings drop to zero during the winter months andit is speculated that the creatures go into hibernation during this time. Thismight also explain why grendle-human conflicts are most likely to occur inmid-spring, if the creatures wake hungry from their hibernation.

The origin of the grendels remains unknown. Local lore,however, suggests that the grendels are the children of Pandora herself. Thatshe was seduced by the King of the Underworld, and the grendels were the resultof their union. 

 

Bilberry Fairies.

According to rural lore, wild bilberry bushes should neverbe bothered because they could belong to a bilberry fairy. The bilberry fairyis described as a tiny androgynous figure with hair the same shade as a freshbilberry and diaphanous wings growing from their backs. Bilberry fairies have aspecial link to their bilberry bush; the berries from their bush are the onlything they can eat. If their bush is damaged or destroyed, the bilberry fairywill starve. Therefore, they are extremely protective of their bush and willeven resort to lethal curses to protect them. In contrast, the bilberry fairywill also reward those who protect their bush, granting them good luck.  Bilberry fairies cannot abide the coloryellow and avoid it like the plague. Because of this, farmers will tie yellowribbons around their bilberry bushes to prevent them from being claimed by oneof the fairies.

Poskah.

According to Pandoran lore, poskah are magical creaturesresembling beautiful women or handsome men. They are able to take on various forms - birds, fish, seals, turtles,even whales. Depending on their mood, they can either help or hinder people.Poskah are bound to the sea and cannot set foot on dry land without fallingdown dead.  Sadly, when some poskah catcha glimpse of a human they fall madly in love with them. If the human knows andcan accept the poskahs magical nature and limitations, the love can survive andeven thrive. But if they do not know, or cannot accept the poskah's nature, theposkah will be compelled to prove it by stepping on dry land and instantlydying. Their human lover will often be so overcome by guilt and grief that theythen mourn themselves to death.

 

Old Becillia.

According to island lore, there was once a cunning old womannamed Becillia.  One night, she met theDevil wandering the streets of Pandora. The Devil asked Becillia if she thought she was a good woman? Becilliacountered by asking the Devil if he thought he was a good soul? They went backand forth like this for a long time, until the eastern sky began to growbright. The Devil realized he had wasted his one night of the year in Pandoratrading questions with Becillia. He got so angry, he barred her from hiskingdom, then vanished in a cloud of fire and smoke. When Becillia died, shewent to Heaven but was told she couldn't come in because she was wicked. Shewas sent down to Hell, but the Devil barred her from entering. With Heaven andHell refusing her entry, Old Becillia returned to earth as a ghost.  They say she wanders the city to this day,hoping to meet the Devil again so she can apologize and finally find hereternal rest.

Pandora - Part 8

Media on Pandora.

 

Television. 

Pandora has two broadcast television stations.  One is government-sponsored, while the otheris independently owned and operated. There are no cable television stations on Pandora or satellitetelevision stations.

 

Pandora Public Television(PPT) is a government-sponsoredchannel established in 1965. They operates from 6AM to 12PM, eight days a week,360 days a year.  PPT provides mainlynews, educational programming and cultural programs. (During the Silent Days of December, they show looped video footage of asnowstorm for the duration. It is one of their most popular programs.)

Island TV (ITV) is a privately owned television station establishedin 1995 and supported by ad revenue and a generous grant from the RoyalPhilanthropic Society. ITV operates from 4PM to 2AM.  Their programming focuses on entertainmentand includes local talk shows, reruns of popular television programs importedfrom outside Pandora, locally-produced entertainment programs and live coverageof Eyfendrewbri Music Festival and the Burning Mime festival. (ITV was almost shut down in 1997 when theyaccidentally aired twenty minutes of a softcore porn film after midnight. Athorough investigation revealed that it was an accident and the station managerwas required to apologize to the viewers.)

Radio.

There are five radio stations on the island. By law, atleast 60% of all material broadcast over Pandoran radio must be produced on theisland.  As such, the airwaves aredominated by Pandoran artists. Four of the stations are based in the city,while one is based on the far north side of the island.

 

FM Pandora - a popular radio station that plays a wide rangeof music. Most of the musicians they play are local and they broadcast livefrom the Eyfendrewbri Music Festival each year.

 

KBTF (Knit By the Fire) Radio - the most popular radiostation in the city, they play a variety of programs ranging from arts andculture to dramas and comedies.

 

North Tip Radio(NTR) - the only radio station based outsidethe city, NTR is housed near the North Tip Naval Station on the northern sideof the island. NTR is an independent station and it offers a mix of programsthat appeal to Pandora's more rural populace.

 

Seahorse Radio - a miniscule radio station in the SeahorseDistrict playing mostly Celtic and Irish folk music.

 

The Weather Station - a government-sponsored radio stationthat plays soft acoustic music between weather reports. (The live weather reports are read by Janetta Kocopell, who is commonlyknown as 'the Weather Lady.' It is generally agreed that she has the sexiestvoice of any on-air radio personality in the island.)

 

Publications.

Pandora is home to a number of local publications, includingnewspapers and magazines.

 

The Witness - established in 1619 AD, The Witness is the main newspaper on the island. It covers generalnews, events and issues relevant to all citizens. The paper is printed threetimes a week(Monday, Wednesday, Friday). It's offices and printers are located in Karcelle.

 

The Playbill - established in 1892 AD, The Playbill is a weekly newspaper that covers local arts, musicand events. It is published on Thursday. The Playbill's offices are inthe Carnival District.

 

The Informer - established in 1960, The Informer is a monthly newspaper covering foreign news, eventsand issues of interest to Pandora's outsider community. The Informer's office and printshop is in Oceanview.

 

The Bull Sheet - this zine-like publication first appearedon the streets of the city in 1994. To this day, no one knows who writes it orwhere it's published. The Bull Sheetis full of gossip and rumors, and often features saucy photographs or drawingsthat skirt the edge of public decency. (Butit has an Excellent crossword puzzle!)

 

The Guide to Arts & Festivals (GAF) - the GAF is published quarterly and is anessential guide to all the upcoming art events and festivals in Pandora. The GAF is published by the Ministry ofCulture in cooperation with the Royal Philanthropic League and the KnittingSociety.

 

In addition to these publications, there are many more. Eachdistrict produces its own local publication, usually printed once a month,covering news and events of specific interest to local residents. 

There are a number of hobby and special interestpublications (such as Knitting Knack,for knitting enthusiasts, or TheGastropandorica, a combination recipe book and guide to Pandoraneateries.), most of them published on a monthly basis.

There is also TheRoyal Magazine, published annually in December. This glossy magazine containsphotos of and interviews with the members of the Pandoran Royal Family. Inaddition, the magazine comes with a lottery ticket to the New Year's Day Ballheld at the Royal Palace.

 

Internet.

The internet simply does not work on Pandora. There is no wayto connect to the larger worldwide web, and the locals networks that do existare military and government. Occasionally, tech enthusiasts try to get a largerlocal network going, but these efforts have always failed from lack ofinterest.

 

Phones.

Cell phones don't work on Pandora, and radio phones arenotoriously unreliable. However, landlines exist and are quite prevalent in thecity.  Most homes and businesses arewired up for telephone service, and there are payphones scattered around thecity. Most can be found outside of Underground stations.  It costs a half-rho coin to make a call froma payphone and reversing the charges on a call is not allowed. (Did you know that in Pandora, telemarketingand telephone surveys are illegal? It's true!)

Pandoran phone-lines do extend outside the city, but servicecan be spotty in rural areas. Also, there are no international telephone lines,so calling off the island is impossible.

Pandora - Part 7

The Economy

Despite its isolation, the Pandoran economy is quitevibrant. Fishing, farming and textiles are key industries.  Most everyday staple goods are produced on theisland, however luxury and specialty goods are imported quite often. Oddlyenough, most of these goods are not brought in by the Pandoran Ferry, butemerge from the Underground. Exactly where and how the King of the Undergroundsources these goods remains a mystery.

The unit of currency in Pandora is the humble rho. The rhorefers to both paper money and coinage. The smallest denomination is the half-rho coin, then the one rho billand coin, the two rho bill, the four rho bill, the eight rho bill and thesixteen rho bill. The coins are silver while the paper bills are pink and blue.

Pandoran businesses do not take credit or debit cards, butpersonal checks drawn on a local bank are commonly accepted.

Visitors and newcomers to the island are surprised at theexcellent rate when exchanging foreign currency for rhos. The exchange rate isset by the Ministry of Finance, which is responsible for the printing andminting of money, as wel as overseeing the Pandoran economy.  The Minister of Finance is appointed by themonarch and usually serves for life or until they retire, are replaced by a newmonarch or become mentally incompetant.

Pandoran exports are mostly high-quality textiles, which areshipped out via the Underground. Clothing made from Pandoran wool commands ahigh price overseas.

Tourism is a fairly new industry in Pandora and, to date,extremely limited. Tourists are usually wealthy individuals attracted toPandora by the rumors surrounding the island. Given the limited space on the Pandoran Ferry (and the recalcitrance ofthe Captain), mass tourism is simply not feasible.  There has been some discussion of adding asecond ferry that would handle the tourist trade, but this idea was immediatelyvetoed by the Ferry Captain and the King of the Underground.  No reason was given as to why this idea wouldbe unfeasable, or why the Ferry Captain would have any input in the matter.

 

Education on Pandora.

Pandora has a high literacy rate. Approximately 98% of thepopulation can read and write and about 58% of the population speaks more thanone language. 

Pandorans value education and children begin attendingpreschool at the age of five, and regular school at age six.  The Pandoran school day, however, starts at10:00 AM and ends at 2:00 PM. From grades one through four, the Pandorancurriculum focuses on English, Mathematics, Art and Sport.  At the start of grade five, the curriculumshifts to Civics, History, Science and an elective class of the student'schoice. 

At the end of grade eight, the student's overall academicinterest and ability is assessed by the Ministry of Education. This is animportant moment in a student's life. Those who have not displayed academicinterest are directed toward trade school and practical apprenticeships. Thosewho have displayed academic interest and ability are directed toward a courseof study to prepare them for higher education in grades nine through twelve.

It should be noted that Pandoran children attend school yearround with week long breaks in March, June, September and December. 

Upon graduating from secondary school, Pandorans may attendone of three institutes of higher learning in the country.

The Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences - established in 895AD, they currently offer courses in Fine Arts, Cultural Studies, History,Environmental Science and Psychology.

The Pandoran Institute for Commerice & Industry -established in 1478 AD, they currently offer courses in Business Studies,Marketing, Sustainable Practices, International Trade and Culinary Arts.

Queen Gwendolin College - established in 1617 AD by 'GoodQueen Gwen', one of Pandora's most beloved monarchs, they currently offercourses in Literature, Performing Arts, Social Work, Urban Studies and Design& Architecture.

Pandorans seldom leave the island to attend higher educationand when they do they often have difficulty establishing their academiccredentials.

Pandora - Part 6

Law & Order

Pandorans have a very strong respect for the law andlaw-enforcement.  That said, thecountry's laws are a peculiar mish-mash of ancient and modern practices.

The monarch of Pandora enacts laws, often after lengthyconsulation with various advisors, and also acts as the head of thejudiciary. 

Pandoran laws are blunt and to the point. Most will fit onan index card. Copies of The Pandoran Book of Law are printed at the start ofeach year with any updates and are available in every public library.

The laws are enforced by the Pandoran Constabulary, morecommonly referred to as blackjacks because of their shiny black coats and caps.The blackjacks are organized along military lines with ranks ranging fromprivate to colonel.  Only the higherranks, lieutenant and above, are allowed to carry firearms, but every blackjackis equipped with a heavy truncheon and trained to deadly effect in how to useit.

When someone is arrested for a crime, they are consideredinnocent until proven guilty in court. The burden of proof falls on the Officeof the Prosecutor.  Defendents arerequired to have a lawyer represent them, and if they cannot afford one, thecrown will appoint one from the Office of the Defense.  Most cases are handled in the Common Court,but serious cases (assault with weapons, rape, murder) are handled in the King'sCourt.  In Pandoran courts, the prosecutorsand the defense present their arguments to a Court Magistrate in writing. Thisincludes all evidence. The Court Magistrate reviews the evidence, then submitsit to a three-person jury, called a tribunal, to determine guilt or innocence.If the defendant is found guilty, they will appear before a SentencingMagistrate who will review the case and the convicted criminal's records, thenpass sentence.   However, the sentence isthen reviewed by a third judge, the Merciful Magistrate, who decides if theirare mitigating circumstances that justify a lighter sentence.  If so, the sentence is adjusted. More oftenthan not, though, the initial sentence will stand.

Pandorans do not believe in prison. They believe inpunishment. Convicted criminals are subjected to fines, whipping and caning.Repeat offenders and chronic criminals face even harsher penalties.  Execution, however, is reserved for seriousoffenses, such as rape or murder. The most common form of exeuction in Pandorais hanging.

Many newcomers to the island are shocked at the brutality ofthe Pandoran justice system, but natives point out that the island has aremarkably low crime rate. 

Occasionally, an accused criminal will manage to escape fromcustody and flee to either the wilds outside the city or the Underground.  Those who flee to the wilds don'tusually lastlong as the crown considers such individuals automatically guilty and placeslarge bonties on their heads. Those who flee to the Underground can sometimesmanage to build a new life for themselves in service to the King of theUnderground.  However, they can never setfoot on the surface ever again or run the risk of being captured and hung.

 

The Pandoran Military

Pandora has a small military consisting entirely ofvollunteers. The military is divided into the Pandoran Army and the PandoranNavy. Given the size of the island, the Pandoran military is quite small, only350 people total.  The Pandoran Army isled by a single General, who reports directly to the monarch. The Pandoran Navyis led by a single Admiral, who also reports directly to the monarch.

Given the unique nature of the island, the Pandoran Navyperforms mainly search and rescue operations, assisting fishermen and enforcingPandoran maritime laws.

The Pandoran Army is more active, and can be called upon toassist the Pandoran Constabulary during times of unrest. They also assist insearch and rescue operations outside the city, as well as disaster relief.

Although anyone born in Pandora can enlist in the military,the Army and Navy are dominated by so-called 'millitary families.'  These are families where successivegenerations have joined the Army or Navy. These families are fiercely loyal to their respective military branchesand the Pandoran Royal Family.

The Pandoran Royal Family is protected by a military unit,drawn from both Army and Navy, known as the Emerald Guard.  During formal state affairs, the EmeraldGuards are easily identified by their dark green uniforms and proximity to theroyals.  Joining the Emerald Guard isconsidered a tremendous honor among military personnel. Most of the Admiralsand Generals overseeing the military have served in the Emerald Guard at onetime or another.

Military personnel are allowed to carry firearms while onduty, but must secure them when they go off-duty. Military personnel who failto do so face severe discipline.

 

Pandoran Intelligence

Intelligence matters in Pandora are handled by the Office ofthe Question, which reports directly to the monarch. Known commonly as 'the Question',this organization operates at all levels of society within the city andwithout. There are rumors they even operate overseas and in the Underground,although there is no proof of this.  Thehead of the Quesion is known as the Eye, and reports directly to the monarch.The current Eye is Mrs. Elizabeth Caedshin, a quiet, genial lady in her fiftieswith a steel spine and a capacity for orchestrating strategic violence that herdemure appearance belies. Although the Question has been implicated in severalunusual accidents, there has never been any concrete proof to support theclaims.

Pandora - Part 5

 The King of the Underground

Although the Pandoran Royal Family may rule most of theisland, their authority stops below the surface. The Pandoran underworld fallsunder the authority of the King of the Underground, also known as HisSubterrestreal Majesty.

Originally known as the King of the Underwold, when Pandorabegan building its underground transit system, he became known as the King ofthe Underground.

His origins are shrouded in mystery. Some say that the Kingsof the Underground are a distaff branch of the Royal Family. Others say thatthe Kings are the descendants of Pandora herself, who retreated into caves whenthe first exiles arrived on the island. And there are old stories that the Kingof the Underworld was on the island before Pandora herself.

The King of the Underground has a delicious, sinisterreputation. He never lets the Royal Family forget that they rule in tandem, andcan become quite angry if he is disrespected. If anyone on Pandora digs a deepenough hole they have to pay the King of the Underground a tribute. Every rhothat goes into the Underground, goes into His Subterrestreal Majesty's pocket.

The King of the Underground lives underground. Rumors saythat he resides in a luxurious train cart that never stops moving along therains of the Underground. Others say he has a subterranean palace that wouldput the Royal Palace to shame.

On very rare occasions, his Subterrestreal Majesty will cometo the border of his kingdom to meet with a blood member of the Pandoran RoyalFamily. These meetings are rare and somewhat frought, and everyone agreesdiplomacy is best carried out by representatives of the two monarchs.

Outside the city, the King is still referred to as the Kingof the Underworld. Farmers and homesteaders will leave offerings of food anddrink in caverns and caves to placate the King. When a new well must be dug ona farmstead, the farmers and workers are very careful to toss coins into thehole, as payment to the King of the Underground.

Mother Justice and the Train Police

The laws of the King of the Underground are enforced, quitephysically, by the Train Police. This force of men and women patrol theUnderground, and take quick and decisive action to punish those who break thelaw.  Dressed in dark red uniforms withmatt black helmets and armed with wooden cudgels, the Train Police give pauseto everyone who travels in the Underground. They seem to limit their activities to the trains and subway stationsthat comprise the Underground.

Presumably the Train Police live underground as they arenever seen aboveground, either in uniform or out.  They are utterly devoted to the King of theUnderground and anyone who besmirches him in their hearing is liable to gettheir teeth knocked out.

As a sort of counterpoint to the Train Police is the figureof Mother Justice. Mother Justice is a giant of a woman, over six feet tall, witha muscular physique and a battle-scarred, noble visage. She is more handsomethan pretty with unruly dark hair tucked into a soiled coif. She wears atattered skirt and cloak made from remnants of flags and a coarse white blousewith the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She is barefoot and carried a heavybrass club.

Mother Justice has free reign of the Underground. She can goanywhere and none may stand in her way. Those who try often get bludgeoned intopaste. In addition to the Underground, Mother Justice will sometimes be spottedin the city's sewers and cellars, marching purposefully on her mission to bringjustice to the Underground.

According to local legends, Mother Justice is ageless andhas an adversarial, but respectful, relationship with the King of theUnderground. Why she seems bound to the Underground is anyone's guess, but shehas carte blanch to mete out justice in that dark realm as she sees fit.

 

The Long Stair and the Brass Door

According to legend, somewhere beneath Pandora, guarded bythe King of the Underground is a long staircase that winds down, deep into theearth.  At the bottom of this stairwellis a door made entirely of brass.  TheLong Stair and the Brass Door lead to hell.

Once a year, the Brass Door opens and the Devil climbs upthe Long Stair. He walks through the Underground and then steps onto thestreets of Pandora. The Devil wanders the streets of Pandora, noting the wickedand the good. Sometimes he will speak with someone and offer a bargain. Thedetails of the bargain vary but if you accept it, they say it will cost youyour soul. After causing some mischief, the Devil retraces his steps. He mustbe back in Hell before dawn arrives or he will be utterly destroyed.

Although the bulk of Pandorans laugh at this story, sometake it quite seriously. There are always sly characters in the UndergroundMarkets offering maps that lead the way to the Long Stair and the Brass Door.People question why anyone would want such a map? The answer is another story.

That once, the Devil's way up the Long Stair was blocked bya young man who refused to move unless the Devil granted him a wish. The Devilagreed and the young man asked for a long life. The Devil granted him long lifeand the young man moved aside. But the young man's long life was one ofheartache and loss, so the Devil got his own back again.

Still, there are always people who think they can outsmartthe Devil.