ACT 2
I got back a while later. Bastian was filing today’s correspondence in the cabinets while cheerfully whistling a song.
“Hey, Rags,” he said. “She didn’t give you too much of a hard time, did she?”
“Not at all,” I said.
“Good. You’ve got a letter, by the way.”
“For me?”
I don’t usually receive many letters. In fact, I never receive any at all. I grabbed it hesitantly. “It’s from Hackett Academy”, I said upon seeing the wax seal on the envelope. “The one I applied for.”
“Well? Open it!”
I took the letter opener from the table and cut the envelope to examine its content. The hand-writing was gorgeously tidy. The text read:
“Dear 'Rags',
We are always looking for new talented students who we can help shape into the great creative minds of tomorrow. We have received your letter and are willing to send one of our scholars to your domicile to witness a live demonstration of your skills. They should arrive at your doorstep in two days time, at noon. Should you impress them, your application to enter our school will be taken into consideration.
Also, next time we’d appreciate it if you included an actual name in the letter instead of your artistic pseudonym.
Regards,
Hackett Academy Administration”
I dropped the letter on the floor in disbelief. Once I came back to my senses, I let out a joyful screech. “This is awesome!” I shouted. “Wait, no, this is terrible!”
“How is it terrible?” Bastian asked.
“Remember my doctor’s appointment? He told me I can’t sculpt anymore. Not ever. This darn letter came at the worst possible time!”
“That is terrible. I’m so sorry, Rags. How are you handling it?”
“I’m trying to hold myself together, but on the inside I’m screaming all the time.”
“Yeah, I bet. So what are you gonna do about this live demonstration thing?”
“Beats me. If I can’t sculpt stone, I might as well call this off now, ‘cause there’s no way I’m passing the test.”
“What if you use something other than stone? Like clay? Or wax?”
“Clay never looks polished, and wax makes people look like corpses.”
“What about wood carving?”
“Do I look like a lumberjack to you?”
“Heh. If I didn’t know you, I’d say you’re starting to sound a little bit like a snob.”
“This is serious, B.”
“I know, sorry. Maybe calling it off is the best course. I know that getting into this school means a lot to you, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of your health.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to sleep on it.”
* * *
I couldn’t get that letter off my head even the day after that. Fortunately, it was a pretty uneventful evening at the shop, so I finished my chores a bit earlier than usual. I decided to use that extra time to go pick up Dusty from Andrea’s. I had a lot on my mind, so I figured I could use a walk.
It still seemed so odd to me. Dusty, able to conduct electricity. My Dusty. The same furball that got into a fight with a Mimosa plant, and lost. Wait a minute, that means… he’s been…
“Blessed!” I heard someone yelling nearby.
Suddenly, I saw a green-eyed, muscular man coming down from the sky, flapping a pair of bat wings about. Could it be? Yes! It was none other than Lucas, my gargoyle friend!
“He’s been blessed with the gift of lightning, just like I was,” he said as he landed next to me. “Greetings, young Rags!”
“Lucas! I’m so glad to see you! I’m in desperate need of some sound advice.”
“What’s troubling you, my child?”
“There’s this scholar from the academy I applied for who’s coming over to test me tomorrow, but the doctor said I’m not supposed to sculpt anymore because of this stupid illness I have! What should I do?”
“Sorry, Rags. I’ll have to side with the good doctor. If he says those fumes are bad for you, then that’s that. You’ll have to find another way to impress that scholar.”
“There’s no other way! This person has probably seen the best of the best. You think a wax sculpture will do the trick? Not a chance.”
“How about you just tell them the truth? Say you can’t do it ‘cause you gotta look after your health. They’ll understand.”
“No way. I’d rather have them laugh at my face than pity me.”
“You sure are a stubborn one, my child.”
“Wonder who I got that from…”
“I don’t know a whole lot about sculpture. Ironic, right? But I do remember one thing Mr. Otis used to say: the most crucial aspect in becoming a successful artist is amicability.”
“Don’t you mean ‘adaptability’?”
“I think I know what I said, Rags.”
“Well, Mr. Otis was a wise, sophisticated man, and I’m a knucklehead. I can’t be trusted to figure out anything on my own.”
“You may be a knucklehead, but you were never one to cower in the face of adversity. Listen, Rags, I gotta get going,” he said as he started to take flight. “I’m sure you’ll find the answer you seek, but a change of mindset might be in order. Don’t ever be afraid to explore unknown territory”.
“Wait! What do you mean, ‘unknown territory’? This isn’t another one of my adventures, you know!”
“Of course it is!”
Well, that wasn’t very helpful. Not that it mattered, ‘cause Andrea’s house was finally in sight.
I walked up to the porch, but the door opened abruptly before I could even knock on it. Andrea was on the other side. “Rags, you beautiful genius!” she shouted, bursting with joy. Then, she jumped on me and gave a big smooch on the cheek, which seemed strangely out of character at first, but I’ve never been one to complain about unexpected affection.
“Hey, Dree,” I said. “What’s up?”
Suddenly, Dusty came out scurrying out of the house and climbed my leg all the way up to my shoulders. His fur was back to its usual level of fuzziness and he was no longer letting out sparks.
“Come inside,” she said “I gotta show you something.”
As soon as I stepped inside her home, my eyes went straight to a strange device lying on the workbench. It was some sort of metallic rod emitting tiny bolts of lightning, encased in a green-ish crystal receptacle. On a closer look, I’m pretty sure it was a jug of wine, with cork and all. The label was still visible, although sloppily torn off.
“What do you think?” Andrea said. “I call it the Flintlock coil. I was able to isolate the static from Dusty’s fur using some copper and a metal hairpin, then stabilize it by containing it in this demijohn.”
“You’ve literally put lightning in a bottle.”
“Exactly! Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks.”
Andrea then grabbed the contraption with her bare hands and brought it closer to me.
“Touch it,” she said.
“No way! I don’t wanna get zapped again.”
“Touch it!” she insisted. “It’s safe, I promise.”
I gently tapped on the crystal. Suddenly, all the tiny lightning bolts inside the bottle unified into one and got redirected straight to my fingertip. I daydream a lot about floating skulls and fire-breathing monsters, but for the first time I felt like I was in the presence of actual magic.
“Holy cow!” I said. “This is so cool.”
“Right?” said Andrea. “Feels so refreshing to finally be able to build something that’s only mildly dangerous, instead of… y’know, downright lethal.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what does it do, exactly?”
“In its current state, not a whole lot. But, you see, the thing about electricity is that it’s extremely powerful. For centuries, the human race has dreamed of harnessing lightning. And now, it’s a reality. This could change people’s lives forever. Imagine if we could apply that raw power to our everyday objects. To our homes. To our carriages. To the streets.”
“To our toilets!”
“...Sure, why not. Point is, the possibilities are limitless.”
“Well, I’m sold on the idea.”
“We have to celebrate. C’mon, I know a really good pub. Drinks are on me.”
* * *
Andrea took me to a place a few blocks away named “The Hierophant”. How quaint. We were sitting on a table next to the bar — well, most tables were next to the bar, since it was a pretty small pub, with a large stained glass window that showered the room with almost every color in the spectrum. I liked that. And they didn’t add salt to the peanuts, thank goodness. I get they’re trying to sell you refreshments, but I’d rather not die of dehydration in the meantime.
“Sorry I made you walk,” Andrea said. “I don’t like any of the fancy-pantsy pubs in the upper district, with their mushy stools and their room temperature cider. I prefer something a bit more old school, y’know?”
“No worries”, I said. “I love it here.”
A waitress quickly came by to take our orders. “What can I get you, ladies?” said the woman.
“Bring me a bottle of your finest vermouth,” Andrea replied.
“And you?” the waitress asked me.
“I’ll have a coffee,” I said.
“We don’t serve coffee here. This is a pub.”
“Shoot. What’s the closest thing to coffee you have?”
“Uh… a stout?”
“Then I’ll have one of those, please.”
As soon as the waitress left, Dree put her legs on the table and started rocking her chair.
“First order of business,” she said. “I need your full name, Rags.”
“Bite me,” I replied.
“Huh?”
“Sorry, it’s an instinctive reaction. What do you need my name for?”
“I’m patenting my invention tomorrow, and I want to credit you as a co-creator.”
“Me? But I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure you did. You brought Dusty to me, and if he hadn’t been hit by that lightning, I’d be stuck making guns under the watchful eye of that dimwit that calls himself our king for the rest of my days. But now, if this thing catches on, I can finally break free of those shackles. I can be a freelancer, like I always wanted to. And I owe it all to you.”
“That sounds great, but can’t you just cite me as ‘special thanks to’ or something like that?”
“Rags, don’t you understand? This invention might alter the course of history. We could be the greatest entrepreneurs on the whole planet.”
“Hard pass. I’m not cut out for that lifestyle.”
“Well, I have to include a co-creator. I couldn’t live with myself if I took all the credit. Unlike some people.”
“Perhaps you could —...”
“Some no-good, ungrateful, talentless people…”
“Right. Well, maybe —”
“...Like that back-stabbing son of a gun, Downes. Shoulda told him to shove his ‘ten percent’ right up his…”
“Ahem. Why don’t you put in Bastian’s name instead?”
“Bastian? What’s he gotta do with this?”
“It was his house that got struck by that lightning. His roof. That makes him just as eligible as me, doesn’t it?”
“I guess you have a point. Alright, if that’s what you want…”
The waitress came back with our beverages. Mine seemed particularly foamy, and it was icy cold for some reason. Also, it had bubbles in it. I gave it a taste — it was awful.
“Ugh, this is so bitter!” I said.
“It’s supposed to,” said Andrea. “It’s beer.”
“This is beer? I’ve never had it before.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit of an acquired taste.”
“Not for me! I’m never trying it again…! Well, maybe one more sip won’t hurt.” I said as I kept drinking.
The next couple of hours flew by. We had a few good laughs, Dree had a few more drinks, until eventually we decided it was time to call it a night. She offered to walk me home, to which I didn’t object. Like I said, the city can be a bit of a maze, even more so after it’s dark, so I was in no position to refuse a local’s help. Besides, I’m pretty sure the alcohol had finally reached my brain by that point, ‘cause I couldn’t walk in a straight line to save my life.
Once we got to the house, Bastian came out in a rush. He seemed quite worried. “Rags, where’ve you been?”, he asked. Then, he had to watch me struggle to stay on my feet while burping compulsively. “Is she… drunk?” he asked Andrea.
“Yeah, about that…” said Dree.
“Are you serious? I leave you two alone for one second and the first thing you do is give her booze?”
“Woah, there. I didn’t give her anything,” she replied. “We were at the pub, she ordered a beer. One single beer, might I add”.
“She’s sixteen, for crying out loud!”
“First off, I had my first beer when I was half that age. Secondly, she’s sixteen?! She looks exactly like a cat lady I used to know, I thought she was fourty or something!”
My recollection of that night from this point on is admittedly sketchy. All I remember after that awkward conversation with Bastian and Dree is that I started to feel really, really sick. I knew I wouldn’t make it to the toilet in time. I tried holding it back, but it was too late for that as well. So… yeah. I threw up on the sidewalk, like a washed up sailor. Then, it’s as if it all suddenly faded to black.
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