SlenderWolf

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Probably all out at sea chasing fishing boats. But there are definitely smaller songbirds somewhere closer to hand.

Closer than she had realised! One inquisitive little bird perches on the caprail just ahead of her, turning its head to look at her. It’s not a sparrow. With its vivid colours it’s clearly a goldfinch.

Red and black plumage on its face, bold black wings with flashes of bright yellow and a variety of white and tawny feathers across its breast and back. It’s cocked its head to one side.

Slender thinks to herself, “oh, how I wish I could be free like you.”

« You are free? No? »

Stunned, Slender stares, and quickly adjusts her expression so as not to alarm the bird. She beams with an honest, beautiful, bright smile, and her eyes open wide. Opening as far as they can. She’s never communicated with a bird before. She didn’t know that she could. Perhaps she’s never been close enough.

The signal is a bit gruff though. This bird is now clearly an old man, and one who’s not afraid to be near humans.

Slender definitely wants to explore a dialogue, no matter how old and gruff this male goldfinch is.

« Freedom! I wish I could fly to freedom! »

« I’ve never seen a human flying! »

« You’re lucky, you have wings. And gorgeous feathers. »

« That’s your problem! You have the wrong type of feathers! »

« You’re somewhat abrupt aren’t you? We’ve only just met! »

« Merlin! »

« Jenifer. »

« I’m Merlin, I’m entitled to be abrupt! Anyway, your feathers are no good. »

« We call them clothes! »

« We call them feathers! Yours are no good. You’re going to have to find another route to freedom. »

« I’m stuck here. There is no other route. »

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Which is a bit rich, coming from a night watchman who’s been dozing in a canvas chair for nearly the whole night.

He snaps out of his slumber, “oh, Lieutenant Slender, it’s you!”

“Shhhh! I’m busy!” she says, waving her hand to shoo him away.

Slender stands amidships wearing just her night clothes and a robe! With the pancake still untouched, she sets the plate down on the top of a wooden barrel. Turning her head slowly, she’s trying to listen, trying to detect any noises which might help her work out which direction the faint signal is coming from.

It’s gone.

It didn’t feel like any crew member that she knows. Though new faces come and go all the time. It definitely wasn’t one of the officers. And even the officers don’t use a tablecloth, let alone a nice white one.

Loud and clear it comes back.

« Oatmeal! Again! »

And then the signal falls silent. Totally silent.

It must have been a crew member. They get oatmeal every day. Sometimes twice a day. Three times a day, if that’s all there is!

Time to get washed and dressed. Maybe her batman will be up by now? Maybe there’ll be some tea? As she returns to her cabin she glances to the shore, admiring the early morning sun, slightly higher in a clear blue sky, sitting above a ramshackle assortment of nondescript dock buildings.

The intermittent sound of some agitated sparrows suggests that they are less than pleased with their breakfasts. Where are those birds? There’s not a single tree in sight!

There is no scent of buds, nor seeds, nor immature flowers!

No longer is there any smell of DeepSigh’s sugary lemon juice. That’s already history.

As Slender reaches the steps down to her cabin, she takes one last look from the deck, trying to work out where the incessant chirping is coming from. The seagulls are all absent.

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« … where can I find some honey? »

Bingo! Erratic wavelength or not, Slender recognises what’s going on.

DeepSigh is making pancakes!

And that smell … it’s lemon juice! And it’s a sweeter than normal lemon juice, because DeepSigh has added plenty of sugar to it. Reaching for her robe, Slender puts it on, and slips her feet into her deck shoes. She makes her way downstairs to the galley as quietly as she can.

Slender and DeepSigh spot each other at exactly the same moment, and both instantly raise their fingers to their lips, whispering, “shhhh!”

“I don’t have your trays ready yet dear! Normally it’d be another hour before I do the officers’ breakfasts!”

“Don’t worry,” whispers Slender, “if you have a pancake to spare, I can eat it here. Any plate will do!”

DeepSigh reaches for a plate.

« I’d love one right now. »

“You’ve already had one, haven’t you,” asks Slender, “you’ve had at least one?”

« Laid upon a china plate, with a delicate, white, lace trimmed tablecloth. »

“A tablecloth?” says Slender, “no wait, that’s not you, that’s a man!”

“You having one of your fits again are you missy?” says DeepSigh, “you really should get that looked into. I don’t know what you youngsters get up to these days!”

“Gotta go,” says Slender, holding a pancake laden plate, but completely forgetting to smother the pancake with a spoonful of the sweet lemon juice.

Carefully keeping the plate level, Slender heads up onto the deck to see if she can get a clearer signal. There’s some interference though. There’s a night watchman on the deck. Asleep! Well sort of asleep, he’s definitely not quite awake, and his unrestrained subconscious transmits his true feelings.

« No! Not now. I want some more shut eye! »

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Chapter 20
The Unexpected Visitor

A mild, warm wind is quietly rustling the leaves of the trees at 05:00. It seems to carry with it a soft, white satin sheet which is cloaking the entire morning with a mild, natural scent of buds, or seeds, or immature flowers.

Lieutenant Slender is asleep in her cabin, though her dream is telling her that she’s already awake, and that she’s finding it hard to work out precisely what this half familiar smell is. It’s distant and imprecise, yet it’s tugging at her repressed childhood memories, and it’s quietly demanding an answer, as if to say “you know this smell … think harder!”

The sun rose half an hour ago. Playful flecks of light are promenading, in and out of the gaps in the roughly hewn curtains. She rolls over, running her fingertips through the soft satin sheets, though she’s beginning to suspect that what she’s actually feeling are just her simple cotton ones. A mischievous ray of light challenges her right eye. And now, she truly is awake!

Scanning the wavelengths to see who else is awake, she can detect only one solitary signal.

Below decks somebody is treating themselves to a favourite breakfast. By all accounts they are treating themselves to a little too much of it, according to this broken transmission!

« Sugar. How much sugar … without anybody … more …  wouldn’t it be nicer if I could have used some milk … »

The elusive scent is real enough. That much wasn’t a dream. Though the silky satin sheets were!

Reaching for the water jug on the vanity unit, it looks as if the batman has not yet been in. Slender’s simple ceramic mug has a trace of residue in the bottom. Too late to stop now, she’s already started pouring some water into last night’s mug! But the water smells good though. Or is that the soap?

« Honey … »

« … now that would be lovely …  »

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He explains all of this to MaxChaos. Who uncharacteristically listens patiently, and senses how HayWire’s story mirrors some of his own life story. A bit different. But quite similar in places, especially in the case of  Modern Native Languages.

HayWire repeats the question, “do we actually need a Garrison?”

He simply cannot be sure who said this, but he can remember the words exactly, because it resonated with him, then, and now.

HayWire thinks that the answer should be, “the darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.”

MaxChaos sits there thoughtfully for a moment. HayWire, has just delivered a most heartfelt explanation. Carefully studying his face, MaxChaos wants to understand his friend a little more.

“What really happened to your eye?”

 

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They were two years apart in the early years of secondary school and they didn’t know each other back then.

Then, one day, MaxChaos wasn’t there anymore.

When he was actually in school he didn’t really focus on studying much, he was labelled a day dreamer, and he was forever trying to work out ruses for not being there. It was inevitable, that eventually, he would just stop showing up.

Conversely, HayWire was always there, in body, if not in mind.

HayWire seemed to be a different type of day dreamer. Sometimes he would be completely focussed on studying, processing every word, asking probing questions, demonstrating an absolute immersion in the topic under discussion. At other times his mind was somewhere else completely, as if he was on a different planet. He was only ever interested in the things that he was interested in, and that did not include learning Welsh or Irish.

HayWire saved his spoons for the right occasions. Not wasting energy on things that he felt didn’t help him. Saving his energy and effort, for the things that he valued most. That included keeping one or two spoons to one side for his bedtime routine, to ensure that he cleaned his teeth properly, changed into pyjamas and slept in his bed, instead of in a heap on the sofa.

Even at primary school, HayWire had been struggling with certain lessons, and struggling with making friends. Many people just left him alone. Adults and children alike. Not getting involved. Suggesting, “it’s nothing to do with me”.

There was something from back then that HayWire now wants to share with MaxChaos. It would help to answer the question, the question about whether territories should have armies. It was something that had been said by one of the adults, maybe it was a teacher, maybe a support worker, or maybe even one of the visitors who had been brought in to try and help. HayWire is trying to remember the name, maybe it was DanTay?

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medicines and equipment. Doctors like Commander Wilde have to rely on herbs and plant extracts to treat ailments. There are tremendously valuable reference books, which enable doctors of the present to be far more effective than the practitioners from the nineteenth century, but there are limitations to what they can achieve these days.

Plastic syringes no longer exist. Innovative technology has led to efficient analgesics which can be administered orally. Plaster casts are back in vogue for broken bones, and dentists do extractions a lot more than they used to. Mind you, people take better care of their teeth nowadays. The idea of using wooden false teeth again has never really caught on.

Part of AuntSylvie’s job is to oversee the medical wing of the Coliseum. She and NurseCathy were fascinated by Commander Wilde’s scientific knowledge and skill. So a sophisticated library has been maintained for the staff within the Coliseum.

AuntSylvie later explains to Walker that Mrs Wilde died of meningitis. While antibiotics like penicillin can be highly effective against many infections, benzylpenicillin sodium is needed to fight meningitis. In the first place, it’s hard to engineer a chemical like that in the local pharmacy. And without intravenous tools, it’s hard to administer it effectively. Even if you can get it circulating in the body it has a fifty fifty chance of finding its way into the cerebrospinal fluid and fighting the infection.

“Thank you for the bio-chemistry lesson,” says Walker!

“Ooh, look at the time,” says Hayley, “I have to dash, it’s time for karate.”

—o—

“Spoons, mate! I’ll get you some! What sort of spoons do you want?”

MaxChaos hasn’t heard the term before, although people like HayWire know exactly what it means. They were both oddballs in their school days, though in very different ways.

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“My dad was a doctor you know,” says Hayley, as she turns to greet the visitors, “he wasn’t a marine, he didn’t deserve to die.”

Walker doesn’t know what to say. Her training has prepared her for discussing death. With adults. She’s done that a few times over the years, compassionately consoling bereaved families, but she’s never before had to have a conversation about death with an eight year old.

AuntSylvie has. She’s done it a few times. She knows Hayley’s story, because she’s been through it a number of times before. The best thing Walker can do is stay calm, let AuntSylvie manage the dialogue, add in a sympathetic smile from time to time, and a demur “yes” or “I know” or “uh huh” when the youngster is looking for reassurance.

Commander Wilde was Sylvie’s younger brother, so even though everybody at the Noble Coliseum calls her “Auntie” or “AuntSylvie”, she is Hayley’s authentic aunt.

In a very pragmatic, mature, matter of fact voice, Hayley continues. She doesn’t sound like the average eight year old.

“My grandfather was a marine. And my great grandfather too. He was the captain of The Celestial Empress when they won the Battle of Fflint.”

“Dad didn’t want people to die. He wanted them to live. That’s why he became a doctor.”

A tear begins to well up in Hayley’s eye. AuntSylvie’s too. Walker is one step ahead of them both. She raises a plain, white handkerchief to her face to catch the tears which have already started.

“He couldn’t save mum though! Mum didn’t have a serious injury. Mum had a serious illness.”

Spontaneously, all three of them allow the tears to flow. AuntSylvie takes Hayley in her arms, and strokes her hair gently. After a few moments to let the highly charged emotions subside a little, she says, “my mouth’s feeling dry, I need some tea, and a biscuit, who wants a chocolate chip cookie?”

Modern medicine has gone full circle and has returned to its roots. Long gone are the days of commercially available

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But Walker is already transfixed by the next picture on the wall, a detailed watercolour painting of a wolf’s face.

This wolf has a large patch of lighter fur on its face, particularly on its nose. It has one copper coloured eye and one blue eye, the mythical first SlenderWolf. None of the children has ever seen a wolf, let alone the mythical SlenderWolf, although the stories are told in the picture books they have at school.

Most of the inspiration for the pictures on the walls of the Coliseum comes from books. Sometimes the children can go out into the countryside for proper organised days out, but spotting wildlife isn’t easy. The nearest they’ve been to a real wolf is the grubby old wolfskin that Benet wears.

On her own in the art room, Hayley is engrossed with her work, and at first she doesn’t realise that she’s no longer alone.

“Don’t invade her personal space,” says AuntSylvie as they quietly approach Hayley’s table.

Hayley has heard them and knows that they’re there, but they don’t know that she knows! She’s in the middle of some beautiful artistic creation.

Among the various bathtub drawings spread across the table, some more complete than others, Hayley is now working on the outline of a large warship. She’s carefully using the flat edge of the lead of her pencil to lightly sketch the form of the sails of the mizzenmast. The ship is travelling away from the observer, the mainmast and the foremast are currently no more than fine pencil lines awaiting completion.

However, the poop deck stands out clearly and the stern of the ship is very detailed. Below the poop deck the captain’s cabin has been drawn carefully. The window frames are formed of ornate spiralling wooden posts encasing elaborate “chocolate block” arrangements of panes of glass.

The windows of the cabins on each side of the captain’s quarters have also been completed with meticulous detail. The drawing resembles the newly launched ship The Vorpal Sword. Equally, it could be The Regal Shield, another Corvette class man-o-war.

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Chapter 19
Innovative Technology

“Hayley’s in the art room,” says AuntSylvie, “she’s been drawing some magnificent pictures of the bathtub regatta”.

She and Walker amble slowly down the corridor, looking at the children’s paintings on the wall. The current theme is wildlife, a wild rabbit nibbling some grass, a smallholding with a few goats at play, a majestic stag on the edge of an autumnal forest with well proportioned trees and accurate colours depicting the deciduous and evergreen trees.

The tour of the gallery comes to an abrupt halt.

Cheerfully, bouncing up the corridor towards them, comes FullyCharged, “look, look, that’s my falcon,” he says, pointing to a detailed pencil sketch fixed to the wall.

“We saw it at archery practice last week, it took me hours to draw this.”

His proud falcon stares out at them with eyes that seem to follow people around the room. The eyes are piercingly good. Unfortunately, not everything about the sketch is well drawn. Miraculously the falcon, with one leg shorter than the other, still manages to balance correctly on its perch.

FullyCharged is the sort of small boy who seems to operate in only one of two possible modes, either absolute handful, or completely asleep. The staff nicknamed him FullyCharged, because that’s completely in character with the way that he charges around the place! A normal walking pace seems to be out of the question. The nickname FullyCharged also seemed a kinder option than calling him SugarOverdose which is what somebody had suggested!

Both aged six at the time, FullyCharged and Hayley arrived at the Noble Coliseum on the same day, and for the same reason. In spite of their completely different personalities, they became friends instantly.

AuntSylvie and Walker both praise FullyCharged, “what a marvellous picture, and so skilfully drawn”.

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