DIARY of Valentine Orphanet, training witch. June

DIARY of Valentine Orphnet, training witch

This is an unedited short story by Chris Norgate. no part of it should be reproduced, copied or used in anyway, except a small part in a literary review, without express written permission by the author. 

Tuesday 2nd

12:45

It started with a casual comment and, as these things tend to do, led to war.

The Marsdon farm had been sold for a 550 strong housing estate some months previously causing the loss of eight local jobs. In the grand scheme of things this may not sound horrendous but in a small community such as ours it equated to almost half a generation out of work.

Some of this was rectified in some small way by my own employer who opened up some of the lower estate to the keeping of exotically strange creatures of imagination and fascination.

A herd of llamas were cared for by Jed and the boys to the pleasure of the girls in our Akelarre and the charin of the Landlord of the Jolly Reaper, who lost a lot of daytime trade, in equal measure.

There was a great excitement around the village when the first clanking machine drove along Bridge Street and into the Marsdon building site, mostly from the protesters and then from everyone else when the bucket scooped through the soft earth and excavated the skeleton.

For once we could join in with the gossip in the Jolly Reaper. Our nominal position - feigning ignorance over what we fully knew about and were currently investigating due to their supernatural or other worldly happenings - wasn't required and we all buzzed from pocket of information to pocket of information. Most was based on nothing but conjecture or guesswork. Some nothing more than local legend. None knew of any disappearance or long lost person - other than those we knew about in our work resolving occult issues - so it was left to the police, who covered the field on little white tents, and reporters, who occupied everywhere else, to give us the news.

Everyone was convinced at the time that it was a real set of bones. They looked aged and screamed human remains to all who witnessed them. Even the initial responding constables were so sure they called in every senior officer and emergency agency they could think off and the coroner who carefully placed the bones into a protective carry sack did so believing they once resided within a walking, talking body.

It came as a colossal surprise, therefore, that when the first bone was drilled into by a pathologist for a sample, it turned out to be rubber. The resulting relief and shock was displayed across everyone's face at the community debrief, none more than on the face of my good friend and - when he remembered to pay me - employer, Mr Xanthic of the Fernum Estate. So much so I was sure he knew more than he implied.

Over the last few months the building work was abandoned and the old farm tried to get back into business but sadly none of the laid-off workers wanted their old jobs back.

Jed was unloading the bales that made up the staple diet of our wooly cattle when Xanthic and I walked down with a jug of cider and a loaf of fresh baked bread for the workers lunch.

“Family life must suit you, Jed. You're starting to show more than your good lady. “

He was referring to the amazing news that Gemma was three months pregnant although there was no obvious sign of an expanding waist on either of them, the comment obviously lodged somewhere soft.

Since they declared their commitment to each other through a very public bust-up and reconciliation last Summer, Gemma has had a very positive effect on her man. His drinking has reduced and his violent outbursts and antisocial attitude had shrivelled to a dried pea. She had even talked him into shaving off his silly beard which exposed his chiseled jaw to the benefit of us all - well all of us that appreciate a young man’s outward visage in its well toned prime.

“Not as obvious as some, old man. The office life doesn't suit you.” came the reply after Jed hefted the bale up over his shoulders, pressed it into the air five times then casually tossed it into a galvanised metal feed hopper as if it were seed for the chickens. With the way his muscles bulged and moved was a sight to be seen and wasn’t accidentally on display.

The next action of the young man showed how much improved Xanthic’s inclusion quota was since I first met him. In the tales others would tell of him - and by that I mean Others, those not of the mortal realm - if anyone had dared invade his personal space, Xanthic would react in a definitive manner. As Jed walked up to collect the earthenware jug of fresh, home made cider he patted Xanthic’s tummy and gave it a little wobble.

I don’t know if it was the heat of the day, the good moods everyone seemed to hold around them due to the peace of the Estate or if it were the alcohol rich fumes escaping from its open brown bottle prison but it was now that those fatal words were said. They were said in good humour, of that I am sure, but they were taken as seriously as a declaration of war or worse, an insult against a man’s dear mother.

“Looks like we could both do with a tone up. I bet I could loose more weight in a month than you.”

And there, in a moment, the peace was shattered. For the next month at least.

Claire was off in a second. She ran towards the house where everyone else would be working, studying or relaxing in their own way. And within a very short while a set of scales had been found and the rules had been set.

“So let me get this right.” said Xanthic looking around the small but well equipped gym he had installed into the rear of his house. “We both weigh ourselves now and then have exactly four weeks to reduce our mass to win this competition.”

Into the small room were people who clearly hadn’t been there before along with over half the household occupancy at this time who were all desperate to be in for the action.

“That’s right, Boss. Four weeks. No fitness program or diet is excluded unless it’s starvation as we both need to be able to work. Collapsing in the chicken coop would be foolish in the extreme.”

“Agreed.” replied Xanthic with flair. Ever the showman, he made great strides towards the scales shedding his jacket and heavier items of clothing as he went.

The scales, an old spring loaded set found in a bathroom cupboard, spun so the arrow pointed towards just under 13 stones.

“What’s that in real money, not that old stuff? Move into the modern world Grandad, they were introduced in the 70’s or something.” asked Jed, a very modern man.

“A shy over 82 of your kay-gee’s. Not that they are very as new as you think. Louis the sixteenth was behind them and they were only brought in, under sufferance in 65 to appeace General de Gaulle's refusal to allow Britain into the very thing you’ve all just voted to come out of. I wonder how long it’ll be before the good ol’ Stone makes a resurgence.”

“Whether we weigh ourselves in stone, kilos or plum puddings I’ll beat you.” said Jed taking his turn on the scales.

This time the wheel turned further and rested on 14 ½.

“90ish, closer to 92 I believe.” said Xanthic in response to the puzzled looks of all those gathered round. “We can look it up if you want to be exact.”

“No, I’m happy with 14 and a half wotsnames.” he said taking a dry wipe pen and leaving blue marks across a board which could, through squinted eyes, be almost recognisable as 14.5 and 12 .8.

“And to make it more interesting, the loser has to muck out the llamas and take one for a walk into town for a pint.”

“Done.” said Jed slapping Xanthic’s outstretched hand in agreement.

The game was on and as some drifted off to spread the tale, Xanthic drew Jed to one side. I followed to ensure fair play knowing both were strong hearted as they were strong headed.

“Is this a straight reduction race or an equation of mass abatement? You are after all of greater dimensions than I so a percentile decrease could be a beneficial measuring tool.” our employer asked.

“Boss, I have no idea what you just said but if it’s what I think then it’s whoever loses the most, plain and simple.”

Jed walked away whistling a little tune, obviously favouring his own chances.

“What have you got planned?” I asked when we were alone. “You’re not planning on cheating are you?”

“How could you possibly think such a thing? What do you think I could do, spirit away half my body weight into the either for the next weigh in?”

“No, although I now think you could. No hovering above the scales or putting some influence over the spring so it doesn’t extend as far as it might. Give the poor boy a fighting chance. It will be good for everyone if they thought of you more equally” I pleaded as my mind threw up a myriad of possibilities how he could win through deception.”

“Valentine, you have my word that I will do nothing to anything in this room betwixt this moment and the fateful weigh in. And in that statement I also include coming in here to wave silly lumps of metal above my head or propelling myself across great distances on machines that endeavour to keep me planted squarely to the spot where I started. No thank you! I will win this through a regimented diet and strict adhesion to a healthy lifestyle. And Hell forbid anyone considers me their equal! Now if you’ll excuse me I have managerial duties and staffing rota’s to update and I know you have some very pressing duties of your own to complete before the next full moon.”

Wednesday 3rd

10:15

I can’t say I was surprised but I was disappointed.

Since the addition of the animal thingy down the garden, one of the things added to my already long list of tasks was the delivery of the feed requirements, staffing rotas and job lists.

“You can’t be serious?” I asked when I cast my eye across the sheets of paper and saw what could be described as a cheat to the bet.

“I am always serious, except when I’m in a playful mood.” came Xanthic’s reply. “But you’ll have to be more specific if you need a more accurate answer.”

We were in the kitchen, sat at the large table which still had a few of the girls sleepily eating breakfast - we’re a 24 hour establishment here and the newer members of our team are the ones who are expected to be the ones who collect the early morning due or the last cobwebs made by moonlight, that sort of thing.

“The work list. You’ve got Jed on deliveries all of today and tomorrow and here.” I said pointing out the rest of the week. “You’ve got him down for meetings with the local council, the suppliers and some health and safety board.”

“And?” he asked stretching his back and rotating his long arms above his head in the way a cat would when it got the cream.

“Jed will be sat down, driving or talking all week and not outside running around after the animals at all. What’s your plan. leave him desk bound and unable to burn off a few calories?”

“Not at all, Valley. I’ve always thought that young man was management material and with a family on the way I just wanted to put him in a position where other employers would be head hunting him for his expanded array of skills and experience. It’ll do him good to hold some responsibility moving forward, help to temper that steam he has flowing through his impetuous viens.”

I left him there looking smug as I had my own chores to do before Melody’s afternoon walk through the woods where she’d teach us all the best wild plant to soothe toothache or a local herb to aid in recovery of injury - or best still, where the best spots on the river were to dip your toes and relieve the stresses of the modern world.

12:00

First and only chore today complete. Collect a tray of sausage rolls and iced doughnuts from the local bakery and deliver them to the workers for a special treat. There was a special cake iced with the title ‘Jed’ which was noticeably larger than the rest by quite some margin.

13:40

Xanthic accompanied us on the lecture walk. It was his first time ever. He was dressed in a black tracksuit and insisted we power walk everywhere and added an additional three miles to our route. No one was impressed, especially Jed who Xanthic waved to as we completed another circuit of the little out building used as an office for the new farm. He did not look amused as he battled with the pen in his hand to complete the stock inventory and work out how much feed we’d require. From his look of deep contemplation with numbers I was sure he’d rather be out in a field full of frisky bulls dressed as Daisy our charity marathon costume.

Tuesday 30th June

09:00

The atmosphere was as thick as one of Melody’s soups and could practically be cut into slices - just like Melody’s soup. Today was the grand event, the anticipation had, over the previous 28 days, been building up like the run up to Christmas. The buzz of excitement had generated a swarm from across the village. Xanthic was very accommodating, he had asked for a continuous supply of tea to be hot in the pot and for a large English breakfast to be laid out for all. I noticed Xanthic himself only nibbled on a quarter of toast.

The already deafening hub-bub rose to a tsunami of voices as Jed strutted in looking to all the world like a prize fighter about to defend their title. He even had a tail of supporters fussing over him as he erupted into the gym.

“Right, where is he? Some of us have work to be doing after this. Where’s the Boss, not chicken out has he?” he said setting some stuff down on the other side of the gym as he let his entourage lift his heavy waxed coat off his shoulders. They held the unseasonal thing around him like a screen as he fussed about with something unseen which piqued my interest. That was it did right up until a blast of horns fanfared into the room.

Silence instantly descended as if a heavyweight had fallen onto our top lips, shutting our conversations quicker than a spoon striking a glass before the speeches at a wedding or a shout out announcing the open bar afterwards. Then the lights flashed off, even the natural daylight disappeared for a second. Then as our wits returned and everyone looked to see what happened my eyes fell upon Xanthic sitting crossed legged on a yoga mat sipping tea from a tiny china cup.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting, some of us had to wait for everyone to get here before making an entrance. Shall we?” Xanthic athletically leapt from his mat and sprang gazelle like towards the old metal scales placed in the middle of the floor. “I’ll go first.”

Every neck stretched, crained or rotated to see the result.

11 stone and 12 pounds. A marked reduction which was met with a round of applause and whooping from those who had supported Xanthic’s side in the endeavour.

Jed smiled and clapped along, although he didn’t put much effort into it.

“My turn now?” he asked which promoted Xanthic to vacate his position and free up the scales.

“You might want to take that woolen jumper off first. Unless you’re confident you’ve lost enough to cover that thick old thing too.” chuckled Xanthic flexing his arms and playing to the crowd.

The old goat was enjoying this. I had been keeping a firm eye on him and was impressed he had such a positive result without resorting to any tricks or cheats. Melody had been happy, even if she hadn’t said so as he had eaten far more of her cooking than normal. She took the act of preparing a meal as seriously as ancient sects took religious sacrifice and from the look of what was left at the end she must have used one of the old Druid’s stone knives. The thick slabs, although uniform in colour and substance, had the distinct advantages of filling you up after a very short amount and giving you the desire to never eat anything again. Maybe she should set the recipes into a diet book and rake in the royalties.

Jed shed his thick jumper and unbuttoned his check shirt. Holded it and felt it neatly on a chair which was clearly another improvement Gemma had made on her future husband.

Jed stood motionless on the scales and expanded his chest the very model for a Greek sculpter to carve a God out of stone. He had a grin of his own and although it was pointed straight at Xanthic who returned fire with one of his own, we all felt warmed by it.

“14 and 4, fourteen and a third of your very merry little stones! Ha, ha, ha. Have you been eating the llama’s whole while you’ve been feeding them?” joked Xanthic, dancing on the spot. “And to think I almost thought of spiriting away my fat layers but last time I did that it left me awfully saggy and wrinkled.”

A few of the Akelarre laughed not fully understanding the nature of the man who stood with them. The others in the room groaned at their joined defeat.

“And if I remember the loser had to spend a dirty weekend in the llama house cleaning it out.”

“That’s right boss. I guessed we’d better head down the field now. I just need to drop these off first.”

Jed took out of his trouser pockets a black metal disc and dropped it carefully onto a mat. He did the same to a disc he pulled from his other pocket and to the two from his back pockets. His grim stretched to breaking point as realisation spread through the room.

I pushed to the front of the very excited crowd gathering around the scales mostly to see what had happened to the dial but equally not to see what Xanthic would do once the penny had dropped like the weights onto the gym mat.

“Jed, it says thirteen and twelve thingies.” I said trying to work out the difference. “I think you’ve won.”

20:30

It had been a funny old day. We had all spent the afternoon watching Xanthic shovelling soiled straw out of the animal enclosures. He did it in very good grace sending out jokes and stories as if he had been born to the role, all the while acting as a clown in the centre ring of a circus. Straw flew through the air and we all screamed as it almost hit us, Xanthic fell into the clean stuff and managed to spray everyone with the hose that filled the water troughs. Even Melody stood there enjoying the show.

We all wandered away one by one still buzzing with it all and carried on with our day.

I had arrived at the Jolly Reaper about half an hour after pretty much everyone else. I’m not sure when he managed to do it but at some point Xanthic had been in and left enough money behind the bar to buy everyone a drink which we all drank merrily. Jed was in the beer garden, sat regally on the tree stump throne enjoying the attention and banter from everyone from the village who, by now, had all been told a version of the tale and were revelling in the age old tradition of getting one over on the Nobs.

“Where is the Boss?” Jed asked of me once he saw me walk out into the garden.

“No idea.” I replied shrugging my shoulders. “Last I saw of him he was heading towards the showers with a large stiff scrubbing brush.”

A commotion from out by the road drew our attention. As we all rushed to the front were were in time to be at the front of a half dozen llamas being led on leads by Xanthic in a red checked shirt and cowboy hat. He even had a long straw tucked into the corner of his smiling mouth.