Scots Terms
Flat – type of home. Known commonly in North America as an appartment.
Dobber – Yet another word for idiot.
Chippy – slang for a Fish and Chip shop where you can get the iconic Fish and chips, a staple part of the UK diet.
Tenements – a type of building incredibly common in cities like Glasgow and Edinburgh. Usually three or four storeys tall, each floor is split into separate flats. I think they were originally built to replace the slums in cities. Depending on the area, renting or buying one of these can be incredibly expensive.
The Metro – a free tabloid newspaper you can/could get on public transport (on buses or at train stations). Unsure if you still get real copies, but it has an app.
Roaster – another word for idiot. This one is more similar to somebody who’s good-for-nothing.
Tattie – Scottish word for potato.
To open your mouth and let your belly rumble – to talk crap or speak without thinking, there’s a a few sayings for this in the UK. From a cursory search it appears this one might be native to Glasgow.
Script
Christ, have I got a weird one for you today, and that’s saying something. It’s a normal day in the shop, Reid and I are trying to clean up, organise things that just don’t want to have an order; Fionn and Chronos are having a tense game of cards as neither want to lose; and the Madam’s upstairs doing no one knows what. Suddenly, the bell goes, and I don’t mean its usual chime. This time it’s more of a clang, a harsh sound that makes your teeth rattle. I’m amazed the poor bell didn’t fall off it was rung so violently.
It gave me the shock of my life, and remembering the last time we had such a violent entry into the shop when Madam Anora visited, I dove behind an antique chest. When I peeked over the top to look at the door, I saw that it wasn’t everyone’s favourite anti-Madam, but a normal – at least normal looking – man. With a wee bit of embarrassment, compounded by Reid’s snort of derisive laughter, I emerged from my hiding place hoping no one else had noticed.
This man, or lad, was at the very least human, as there were no blurry lines around him. What was disconcerting was the way he was bent over, hands on his knees, panting as if he’d just crossed the finishing line of the Edinburgh marathon. He certainly looked as if he had, with red face, sweat glistening on his forehead, and chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. It didn’t take him long, and the first words out of his mouth was that someone needed to help him as he thought he was going crazy.
I honestly would’ve said he’d come in as some kind of prank if he didn’t look so frantic. His man bun was dishevelled, the laces on his shoes had come undone during his sprint, and his beard looked worse for wear. I was lost for words, as was Reid, so it took the only proper adult in the room, Fionn, to approach the man and ask what he meant.
The unhelpful answer, said in a cracking voice, was that we wouldn’t believe him if he told us, and that he’d been told there was a red-haired woman here who’d be able to help him. He didn’t procure a business card, a recurring theme these days, but we all knew he wouldn’t be in the shop if he wasn’t supposed to be. Reluctantly, I told him to follow me up the stairs, and after making some tea all three of us sat in the front room.
This lad had calmed down a wee bit, although still had the characteristic nervousness of customers who aren’t sure they’ve made the right decision. He shifted in the sofa, picking his nails, eyeing them as if he wanted to bite them but knew he shouldn’t. He never made eye contact with the Madam, and when she asked what she could help with, he didn’t answer. Silence filled the room, creating an unusual yet awkward atmosphere. This was a first. Usually customers don’t need asking twice, but this one did.
My boss reasoned that in order to help him she needed to know what the problem was. Eventually he snapped out of his shyness and apologised, explaining that Madam Norna looked a lot like a character out of a popular fantasy series; Dark Town…Dark Underground…Dark City… something like that. I’d never heard of it, not that I’m a fan of fantasy, even less so now my life’s turned into one. He continued that he read a lot of fantasy, not really bothering’ with anything else, and that was where the problem started. He’d been reading the latest instalment of another fantasy series he liked, I want to say Tainted Dove or Tainted Blood, and strange things had started happening. He explained that it was like he was living in this book. He got to work one day only to see a winged beast circling overhead that looked an awful lot like one of the creatures from this book. When he arrived home the night before there’d been a masked man, dressed all in grey, waiting to fight with him, just like some assassin or warrior in said book. The encounter had left his flat in a mess before he’d managed to escape.
I’ve not wanted to laugh at a customer in a while, but he broke that trend. This customer definitely appeared to fit in the box of `should be at a doctor rather than the shop`. Then again, I’ve not been right once about customer’s like that. I suppose some people would say his problem wasn’t really a problem. I bet there’d be tons of people who’d love to be in his position, living out these fantasy stories.
With a completely straight face, Madam Norna asked him when it’d started. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to act like her regarding customer’s problems, some of them are just so funny. Stranger still was that the customer coloured a wee bit, a pink flush on his cheeks as though he were embarrassed. Abashedly, looking every which way but at us, he confessed that it was the night after he’d become a member of a new online forum for fantasy lovers. Only this forum was rumoured to be able to bring the stories to life. He claimed he hadn’t believed it at first and only wanted to be a member, but his flushed cheeks said otherwise.
It was kind of sounding to me like he brought whatever he was seeing, hallucinations or something with more substance, on himself. Madam Norna checked what this forum was called. Allthefantasy.net, and according to the lad it was hosted in the city somewhere. I don’t even want to know how he knew that.
My boss asked if he still logged onto the site, and without a blush in sight he exclaimed that of course he did, it was quickly becoming one of the most popular fantasy forums. He can’t possibly be stupid enough not to see the connection. Becomes a member of a forum where people claim books come to life. Book he’s reading starts coming to life and it scares him, yet he continues to log on to said site. What a fucking dobber.
Even I could tell him what the solution to his problem was, and it didn’t include me getting up and fetching something from the cabinet. As expected, the Madam informed him if he wanted these apparitions to go away, he should never log onto the site again.
The lad began to gape like a fish, opening and closing his mouth as if to speak, voice a protest, plead for there to be another way. Evidently, he realised the futility, and eventually kept his mouth shut, a pitiful look of sharp disappointment weighing down his features. He eventually agreed with a shallow nod, and left soon afterwards. I’m not sure if he’d listen to the Madam’s advice, if he’d be able to help himself.
Turns out I’d been wrong about not having to go into the cabinet this time as after he’d gone, I was commanded to go and fetch a dark wine coloured velvet pouch. There wasn’t much in it from what I could feel, a few loose things if I were to guess, some heavier than others. It made a light scratching sound as I dropped it into my boss’s hand. Curiously, I observed as she rummaged around in this pouch and procured a wee square tile, made of speckled grey marble. The corners were smooth, the surface had a glossy shine to it, and if I squinted enough, I could barely see small markings etched onto the surface, similar in style to the pendant that’d been given to Reid’s pal a few weeks ago.
After she handed this strange tile to me, I was told to open the wee drawer in the coffee table where I’d find a map. Opening this crispy, discoloured thing out on the table I realised it was a very old map of the city, not dissimilar to one you’d get at a tourist’s information. I tried my best to smooth out the wrinkles and grooves in the paper, but it was a losing battle. I was further instructed to place the marble tile in the centre of the map, and close my eyes.
Somewhat reluctantly I did so and heard the soft voice of ma boss giving me further directions. I was to think about this website the customer had told us about, just imagine it, remember what he’d told us, my thoughts at the time. I tried, and it wasn’t hard, thinking back to the customer, his dishevelled appearance when he’d come in, probably after running a marathon. I hated running, couldn’t understand why people would want to do it for 27 miles. At least you got fed at the end though, or so I was told. I think the only way I’d run any distance would be for food.
I heard Madam Norna’s voice, noted the unusual hint of laughter, and heard as she said that wasn’t quite what we were looking for. I peeled my eyes opened and looked at the map on the table in front of me. The wee marble tile was no longer in the middle but had slid across to the other side of the city, near the university’s campus. I looked closer, at the street names and alleyways. I could’ve sworn that was where the chippy was.
I gave my boss a blank stare. Concentration wasn’t really my thing. She smiled at me, like a parent does a bairn who’s eaten a penny. Gently she took up the marble tile, held it in her hands for a few seconds, and then replaced it in the centre of the map. She closed her eyes, breathing rhythmically, like someone who’s about to meditate. Jittery at first, then becoming more certain of itself, the marble tile began to slide over the grooves and creases of the map, over the streets, alleys, and lanes, until it finally stopped in a part of town I wasn’t that familiar with. Not far outside of the main centre, this area was known as a music hub, with a few decent live venues for up-and-coming talent. A few of my pals went there a lot, but I’d never been myself.
My boss opened her eyes, took a quick glance at the map, and stated that the person who ran the forum lived there, and that I was to go with Reid and try to stop them. Luckily, I was already wearing my confused face. I felt like asking her how the hell we were supposed to do that. Was this problem really causing that much harm? Technically the creature and grey clothed person waiting for the lad in his flat hadn’t actually hurt him. Then again, perhaps it was only a matter of time. If the Madam said it had to stop, I hazarded I guess that it was. I could only nod solemnly as I folded the map back up and returned it to the drawer. As my boss was about to drop the tile back into the pouch I asked her what the symbols were on the surface, and if they were the same as the ones on the pendant she’d given to Reid’s pal.
“It is an old language, only spoken by the Madams. It may look foreign to you now, but in time you will also be able to read it.”
How old were we talking here? I mean I thought it looked similar to whatever the ancient people of Scotland had used, but it’s not like I was fluent in that either. How did I become fluent, was there a textbook somewhere in the shop I hadn’t stumbled on yet? Hopefully it’d be easier than French.
I went down to the shop to collect my coat and Reid, having a good old laugh with Fionn about the customer’s wee problem, and afterwards we headed to get a bus out to this part of town. We eventually found the place where the tile had landed. It was a row of old tenements, made of brown stone, with large windows and even higher ceilings. In the bad old days one of these tenements would’ve housed the city’s poor, nowadays they charge an arm and a leg for one flat. It left the problem of which flat. The marble tile may have been good, but it didn’t tell us what button on the door buzzer to press.
Reid and I looked at the buttons, and then to each other hoping one of us would have a clever idea. When he checked that pressing all of the buzzers was out of the question, I knew there was no hope. How were we supposed to find the right flat? Could the same thing that Madam Norna did in the shop work here? Did I have to have a marble tile? There was always a chance that I randomly picked the right button to press. I may be the Madam’s apprentice, but even I don’t think I’m that lucky.
Deciding I was going to give it a go, I held my hand out, hovering over the scratched and tarnished buttons, neighbouring blank or faded labels of who lived in which flat. I made sure my palm was roughly in the middle ae the buttons, and closed my eyes, thinking hard on what I’d seen Madam Norna do. I began to breathe, in, out, in, out. The noise of the cars driving by in the remnants of the morning rain faded, the distant noise of the main road, of people walking by, talking, shouting at each other, was filtered out. I could hear the one bird sing as it hid in the bushes, sense the electronic buzzing comin from the buttons my hand was hovering over. For a moment I thought I could even hear the sound of Reid breathing, his heart thumping impatiently in his chest. I concentrated further, back to the shop, the minute the bell had gone, the man who’d nearly knocked it off. His man bun, his trimmed beard, his embarrassment at admitting he was a member of this forum, and the things that’d been coming to life when they should’ve stayed on the page.
A sharp electronic sound sliced through my concentration and pulled me out of my meditative silence. Suddenly everything was loud, a cacophony of chaos. Cars beeping, people running through puddles, slamming doors shut, it all rushed into my ears like water down a plug. I moved my hand away from the buzzers and noticed one was lit up, as if someone had pressed it. Only, that wasn’t possible. I hadn’t touched it.
A woman’s voice started to come through, inquiring who was on the other end. I was too busy staring at ma hand in amazement to notice Reid’s panicked glance at me. Neither of us had thought about whit we’d say. Thankfully, I pulled something out my arse, as always.
I told the lassie that we were reporters from the Metro and we wanted to do an interview with the creator of one of the internet’s most up-and-coming fantasy forums. To try and explain how we’d found out where she lived, I said that the website domain was registered at that address. The lassie on the other end of the buzzer was incredulous and didn’t believe us, accusing us of lying.
I was about to open my mouth, reassure her, but the roaster beat me to it. He said we weren’t lying but if she didn’t want to do an interview that was fine, there were plenty of other forum admins that would. I frantically mouthed to him, asking what he was doing. But all he did was shake his head, telling me to wait.
Almost immediately an objection came from the other end, begging us to wait, and that she wanted to do the interview. A further buzzing followed by a mechanical click indicated that she’d opened the door to the building for us.
I threw an impressed glance at Reid but maintain that his wee gambit could’ve gone either way. The lassie’s flat was on the top floor, and after trekking up four flights of dingy stone stairs, with crackling paint on the walls, we were greeted by the lassie outside of her door. She was the same height as Reid, making me feel unusually small, with dirty blonde hair raked up in a dishevelled bun, she completed the look with a cosy looking jumper and pyjama bottoms I’m pretty sure I own. She introduced herself as Rowan, beaming at us eagerly.
After exchanging some greetings, and a false name or two, we were invited into her flat. I used to think the shop was bad, but this girl’s flat was something else. Compared to her, the shop is the most ordered place in the city. There were mounds of clothes piled in corners, socks and underwear hanging from what I assumed to be radiators but were so cloaked in clothes I wasn’t sure. Random shoes lay discarded on the floor, occasionally beside an odd sock. Every surface space was covered, from the wee table she had in the room to the sofa and armchair. The living room, besides the piles of clothes, looked like a second-hand computer dealership. Computer screens, laptops, hard drives, and cables all battled for space in various states of disrepair.
Rowan weaved and wound her way over to a sofa and offered us a seat. Reid and I both glanced quickly at each other with the same confusion. Where? Eventually I found a small bit of the sofa that wasn’t covered, and Reid perched on the arm behind me uncomfortably. Then the awkward silence settled in. Neither the roaster nor I knew how to conduct an interview. I carelessly fumbled for my phone and opened the note app, pretending that the questions were there, when all I was looking at was my weekly shopping list.
I started with a question I thought sounded appropriate, and inquired when she started the website. Her face lit up and as she went into her detailed answer I was only half listening. In the vain hope I’d see something out of the ordinary I took a quick glance around at the hoard. It wasn’t hard to imagine the shop looking like this one day, when the things from now would be antiques. Excluding the odd piles of clothes and discarded trainers that is. Rowan was happily telling us that she’d started the website almost half a year ago, but it’d only really started gaining popularity in the previous 2 months. When she took a breath Reid was quick to cut her off, bluntly admitting that we didn’t actually care, and then demanding to know why she was making books come to life. I gaped at him, not quite believing he’d just come out and said it. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on before Rowan voiced her own disbelief. Her eyes were watery as she stared between both of us with confusion.
I took a deep breath, deciding it was better to steer into the skid, and told her we knew what she was doing, we just didn’t know how she was doing it. Confusion quickly turned to animosity. Her shoulders went tense, eyes narrowed with suspicion, and from the way her body turned I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d bolted there and then. Instead, with an icy tone, she asked us who we were.
Realising that the situation could quickly spiral out of control I chose to take the gentler path. I mean if she was capable of making fantasy things come to life, what else was she capable of? If she conjured things, then maybe she could un-conjure us? I explained that we didn’t mean her harm, but she needed to stop what she was doing as it was scaring people.
Her fear was wiped away, replaced by prickly indignation. She claimed she was doing the members of the forum a favour. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to experience their favourite books like they were living in them? Through books you could experience new people, new creatures, and fantastical places. So why, if she had the power to make them real, would she leave them on a page?
Reid, with all the finesse of a tattie, called her delusional, and stated that she wasn’t doing anyone a favour except feeding her own ego by playing at God. The anger returned in an instant, the tension rose in the room, and I couldn’t understand why Reid didn’t share my trepidation about pissing this lassie off. Obviously, she denied being delusional, and at playing God. She explained that from the posts she read on the forum, by the members that had joined, that the books were their lives, a home away from home, a safe haven, an escape. They’d all said how they’d love to be this character or that, be as strong, as intelligent, as cunning, as attractive. All wanted to experience the worlds in these books for themselves, and she was making that happen.
Before Reid opened his mouth and let his belly rumble, I was quick to jump in, pointing out that although said on a forum, not everyone wanted to live in the books they loved. She couldn’t go on messing with people’s reality just because she thought she was helping. Everyone read for different reasons, and let’s face it, some of the things in books are better left on the page and in the readers imagination. She needed to stop trying to help these people, because if it carried on it may turn out to be the opposite of helping.
I could tell she took my words seriously. Her bottom lip began to quiver, her eyes almost unable to hold back the tears that were welling up. `What good was she?` She cried after a moment. I already felt out of my depth, but dealing with an existential crisis was so far beyond me I couldn’t even think about what to say. What would the Madam do? If this customer was in the shop, sitting on the sofa, sipping tea, what would my boss say? Honestly, I don’t think she’d say anything. She’s not exactly one for giving life advice. But I wasn’t her. Just because this lassie couldn’t terrorise the members of her forum didn’t mean she was useless. She’d given them a space where they could create a community of like-minded people, where they could discuss theories and characters and events. Where they could essentially live in the world these books created. I told her this, or something close, not that I think it did much good.
After a while of talking Reid and I decided to leave. A thought occurred to me when I got up to wade back through the obstacle course to the door. This lassie, whatever she was, had the power to create things from nothing. That was on an almost God-like scale. I know if I had power like that I’d find it hard to stop, especially if I thought it was doing at least some good. No doubt there were people in this forum of hers who’d had a grand old time because of what she’d done. The other argument was if the website was only popular because of her power, if she stopped using it would the website also grind to a halt? And if that happened how easy would it be for her to slip back into old habits?
I turned to Rowan, streaks down her cheeks from where the tears had slid, red nose from all the rubbing. As firmly as I could I explained that if she continued to make books come to life, the next person who visited her may not be so understanding. The Madam had all the appearances of sympathy, of understanding, but I’d seen the cold streak, the icy matter-of-fact way she dealt with errant people. There were so many things in the shop, all at her disposal, I could only imagine what she’d do to stop Rowan from causing more havoc.
All the lassie did was nod weakly, and that was all the assurance I was going to get that she’d stop. But as I said, is power like that really so easy to give up?
On the way back to the shop I queried Reid if he knew what the lassie was, and how she was bringing books to life. He answered that she was probably a Conjurer. Noticing the blank look I gave him he informed me that there are people with the power to conjure things, whether they be from the real world or the fictional one. According to him they were quite rare. Thank Christ for that. On the other hand, how cool did that sound? Why was that lassie wasting time in scaring the shite out of people when she could be using it for her own benefit? Why not conjure money instead of a winged beast? Or a seven-bedroom house instead of a grey-robed assassin? And the more pressing question. Why couldn’t I do what she did? I’d swap pressing a buzzer with my mind with conjuring whatever I wanted any day. But I suppose life isn’t fair. She may have those powers, but it’s not like she can use them as she pleases. And it leaves the question of if there are Conjurers, then what else is there?
Script – Scots (ish. More like Scots lite. My international listeners wouldn’t have understood a word I’d said if I’d fully committed to Scots).
Christ, have I got a weird one fae you the day, and that’s sayin’ something. It’s a normal day in the shop, Reid and I are tryin tae clean up, organise ‘hings that just dinnae want tae have an order, Fionn and Chronos are havin’ a tense game ae cards as neither want tae lose, the Madam’s upstairs doin’ no one knows whit. Suddenly, the bell goes, and I dinnae mean its usual chime. This time it’s more ae a clang, a harsh sound that makes your teeth rattle. I’m amazed the poor bell didnae fall aff it was rung so violently.
It gee me the shock ae ma life, and rememberin’ the last time we had such a violent entry intae the shop when Madam Anora visited, I dove behind an antique chest. When I peeked over the top tae look at the door I saw that it wasnae everyone’s favourite anti-Madam, but a normal, at least normal lookin’, man. Wi’ a wee bit ae embarrassment, compounded by Reid’s snort ae derisive laughter, I emerged frae ma hidin’ place hopin no one else had noticed.
This man, or lad, was at the very least human, as there were no blurry lines roond him. Whit was disconcertin’ was the way he was bent over, hands on his knees, pantin’ as if he’d just crossed the finishin line ae the Edinburgh marathon. He certainly looked as if he had, wi red face, sweat glistenin on his forehead, and chest heavin’ up and doon as he tried tae catch his breath. It didnae take him long, and the first words oot ae his mouth was that someone needed tae help him as he thought he was goin crazy.
I honestly would ae said he’d come in as some kind ae prank if he didnae look so frantic. His man bun was dishevelled, the laces on his shoes had come undone durin’ his sprint, and his beard looked worse fae wear. I was lost fae words, as was Reid, so it took the only proper adult in the room, Fionn, to approach the man and ask whit he meant.
The unhelpful answer, said in a cracking voice, was that we wouldnae believe him if he told us, and that he’d been told there was a red-haired woman here who’d be able tae help him. He didnae procure a business card, a recurring theme these days, but we all knew he wouldnae be in the shop if he wasnae supposed tae be. Reluctantly, I told him tae follow me up the stairs, and after makin’ some tea all three ae us sat in the front room.
This lad had calmed doon a wee bit, although still had the characteristic nervousness ae customers who arenae sure they’ve made the right decision. He shifted in the sofa, pickin his nails, eyein them as if he wanted tae bite them but knew he shouldnae. He never made eye contact wi’ the Madam, and when she asked whit she could help wi, he didnae answer. Silence filled the room, creating an unusual yet awkward atmosphere. This was a first. Usually customers dinnae need askin’ twice, but this one did.
Ma boss reasoned that in order tae help him she needed tae know whit the problem was. Eventually he snapped oot ae his shyness and apologised, explainin that Madam Norna looked a lot like a character oot ae a popular fantasy series – Dark Town…Dark Underground…Dark City…somethin’ like that. I’d never heard ae it, not that I’m a fan ae fantasy, even less so noo ma life’s turned intae one. He continued that he read a lot ae fantasy, no really botherin’ wi anything else, and that was where the problem starteed. He’d been readin’ the latest instalment of another fantasy series he liked, I want tae say tainted dove, tainted blood, and strange ‘hings had starteed happenin. He explained that it was like he was livin’ in this book. He got tae work one day only tae see a winged beast circlin’ overhead that looked an awful lot like one ae the creatures frae this book. When he arrived home the night before there’d been a masked man, dressed all in grey, waitin’ tae fight wi’ him, just like some assassin or warrior in said book. The encounter had left his flat in a mess before he’d managed tae escape.
I’ve no wanted tae laugh at a customer in a while, but he broke that trend. This customer definitely appeared tae fit in the box ae should be at a doctor rather than the shop. Then again, I’ve no been right once aboot customer’s like that. I suppose some people would say his problem wasnae really a problem. I bet there’d be tons ae people who’d love tae be in his position, livin’ oot these fantasy stories.
Wi a completely straight face, Madam Norna asked him when it’d starteed. I dinnae ‘hink I’ll ever be able tae act like her regardin’ customer’s problems, some ae them are just so funny. Stranger still was that the customer coloured a wee bit, a pink flush on his cheeks as though he were embarrassed. Abashedly, lookin’ every which way but at us, he confessed that it was the night after he’d become a member of a new online forum fae fantasy lovers. Only this forum was rumoured tae be able tae bring the stories tae life. He claimed he hadnae believed it at first and only wanted tae be a member, but his flushed cheeks said otherwise.
It was kindae soundin’ tae me like he brought whitever he was seein’, hallucinations or something wi more substance, on himself. Madam Norna checked whit this forum was called. All the fantasy dot net, and accordin’ tae the lad it was hosted in the city somewhere. I dinnae even want tae know how he knew that.
Ma boss asked if he still logged ontae the site, and without a blush in sight he exclaimed that of course he did, it was quickly becoming one of the most popular fantasy forums. He cannae possibly be stupid enough no tae see the connection. Becomes a member ae a forum where people claim books come tae life. Book he’s readin’ starts comin tae life and it scares him, yet he continues tae log on tae said site. What a fuckin’ dobber.
Even I could tell him whit the solution tae his problem was, and it didnae include me getting’ up and fetchin’ something frae the cabinet. As expected, the Madam informed him if he wanted these apparitions tae go away he should never log onto the site again.
The lad began tae gape like a fish, openin and closin’ his mouth as if tae speak, voice a protest, plead for there tae be another way. Evidently, he realised the futility, and eventually kept his mouth shut, a pitiful look ae sharp disappointment weighin doon his features. He eventually agreed wi a shallow nod, and left soon afterwards. I’m no sure if he’d listen tae the Madam’s advice, if he’d be able tae help himself.
Turns oot I’d been wrong aboot not having tae go intae the cabinet this time as after he had gone I was commandeed tae go and fetch a dark wine coloured velvet pouch. There wasnae much in it fae what I could feel, a few loose ‘hings if I were tae guess, some heavier than others. It made a light scratchin’ sound as I dropped it intae ma boss’s hand. Curiously, I observed as she rummaged roond in this pouch and procured a wee square tile, made ae speckled grey marble. The corners were smooth, the surface had a glossy shine tae it, and if I squinted enough I could barely see small markins etched onto the surface, similar in style tae the pendant that’d been geein’ tae Reid’s pal a few weeks ago.
After she handed this strange tile tae me, I was told tae open the wee drawer in the coffee table where I’d find a map. Openin this crispy, discoloured ‘hing oot on the table I realised it was a very old map of the city, no dissimilar tae one you’d get at a tourist’s information. I tried ma best tae smooth oot the wrinkles and grooves in the paper but it was a losin’ battle. I was further instructed tae place the marble tile in the centre ae the map, and close ma eyes.
Somewhat reluctantly I did so, and heard the soft voice ae ma boss geein’ me further directions. I was tae think aboot this website the customer had told us aboot, just imagine it, remember whit he’d told us, my thoughts at the time. I tried, and it wasnae hard, thinkin’ back tae the customer, his dishevelled appearance when he’d come in, probably after runnin’ a marathon. I hateed runnin’, couldnae understand why people would want tae do it fae 27 miles. At least ye got fed at the end though, or so I was told. I ‘hink the only way I’d run any distance would be fae food.
I heard Madam Norna’s voice, noted the unusual hint ae laughter, and heard as she said that wasnae quite whit we were lookin’ fae. I peeled ma eyes opened and looked at the map on the table in front ae me. The wee marble tile was no longer in the middle, but had slid across tae the other side ae the city, near the university’s campus. I looked closer, at the street names, and alleyways. I couldae sworn that was where the chippy was.
I gee ma boss a blank stare. Concentration wasnae really ma ‘hing. She smiled at me, like a parent does a bairn who’s eaten a penny. Gently she took up the marble tile, held it in her hands fae a few seconds, and then replaced it in the centre ae the map. She closed her eyes, breathin’ rhythmically, like someone who’s aboot tae meditate. Jittery at first, then becoming more certain ae itself, the marble tile began tae slide over the grooves and creases ae the map, over the streets, alleys, and lanes, until it finally stopped in a part ae town I wasnae that familiar wi’. No far ootside ae the main centre, this area was known as a music hub, wi a few decent live venues fae up-and-comin’ talent. A few ae ma pals went there a lot, but I’d never been maself.
Ma boss opened her eyes, took a quick glance at the map, and stated that the person who ran the forum lived there, and that I was tae go wi’ Reid and try tae stop them. Luckily I was already wearin’ ma confused face. I felt like askin’ her how the hell we were supposed tae do that. Was this problem really causin’ that much harm? Technically the creature and grey clothed person waitin’ fae the lad in his flat hadnae actually hurt him. Then again, perhaps it was only a matter ae time. If the Madam said it had tae stop, I hazarded I guess that it was. I could only nod solemnly as I folded the map back up and returned it tae the drawer. As ma boss was aboot tae drop the tile back intae the pouch I asked her whit the symbols were on the surface, and if they were the same as the ones on the pendant she’d geein’ tae Reid’s pal.
It is an old language, only spoken by the Madams. It may look foreign to you now, but in time you will also be able to read it.
How old were we talkin here? I mean I thought it looked similar tae whitever the ancient people ae Scotland had used, but it’s no like I was fluent in that either. How did I become fluent, was there a textbook somewhere in the shop I hadnae stumbled on yet? Hopefully it’d be easier than French.
I went doon tae the shop tae collect ma coat and Reid, havin’ a good old laugh wi’ Fionn aboot the customer’s wee problem, and afterwards we headed tae get a bus oot tae this part ae town. We eventually found the place where the tile had landed. It was a row ae old tenements, made ae brown stone, wi large windaes and even higher ceilings. In the bad old days one ae these tenements wouldae housed the city’s poor, nowadays they charge an arm and a leg fae one flat. It left the problem of which flat. The marble tile may have been good, but it didnae tell us whit button on the door buzzer tae press.
Reid and I looked at the buttons, and then tae each other hopin one ae us would have a clever idea. When he checked that pressin all ae the buzzers was oot ae the question, I knew there was nay hope. How were we supposed tae find the right flat? Could the same ‘hing that Madam Norna did in the shop work here? Did I have tae have a marble tile? There was always a chance that I randomly picked the right button tae press. I may be the Madam’s apprentice, but even I dinnae ‘hink I’m that lucky.
Decidin’ I was gonnae gee’ it a go, I held ma hand oot, hovering over the scratched and tarnished buttons, neighbouring blank or faded labels of who lived in which flat. I made sure ma palm was roughly in the middle ae the buttons, and closed ma eyes, thinkin’ hard on whit I’d seen Madam Norna do. I began tae breathe, in, oot, in, oot. The noise ae the cars drivin’ by in the remnants ae the morning rain faded, the distant noise ae the main road, ae people walkin’ by, talkin’, shoutin’ at each other, was filtered oot. I could hear the one bird sing as it hid in the bushes, sense the electronic buzzin’ comin frae the buttons ma hand was hoverin’ over. Fae a moment I thought I could even hear the sound ae Reid breathin, his heart thumpin’ impatiently in his chest. I concentrated further, back tae the shop, the minute the bell had gone, the man who’d nearly knocked it aff. His man bun, his trimmed beard, his embarrassment at admittin’ he was a member ae this forum, and the ‘hings that’d been comin’ tae life when they shouldae stayed on the page.
A sharp electronic sound sliced through ma concentration and pulled me oot ae ma meditative silence. Suddenly everythin’ was loud, a cacophony ae chaos. Cars beepin, people runnin’ through puddles, slamming doors shut, it all rushed intae ma ears like water doon a plug. I moved ma hand away frae the buzzers and noticed one was lit up, as if someone had pressed it. Only, that wasnae possible, I hadnae touched it.
A woman’s voice starteed tae come through, inquiring who was on the other end. I was too busy starin’ at ma hand in amazement tae notice Reid’s panicked glance at me. Neither ae us had thought aboot whit we’d say. Thankfully, I pulled somethin’ oot ma arse, as always.
I told the lassie that we were reporters frae the Metro and we wanted tae do an interview wi’ the creator ae one ae the internet’s most up-and-comin’ fantasy forums. Tae try and explain how we’d found out where she lived, I said that the website domain was registered at that address. The lassie on the other end ae the buzzer was incredulous and didnae believe us, accusin’ us ae lyin.
I was aboot tae open ma mouth, reassure her, but the roaster beat me tae it. He said we werenae lyin’ but if she didnae want tae do an interview that was fine, there were plenty ae other forum admins that would. I frantically mouthed tae him, askin’ whit he was doin. But all he did was shake his heid, tellin’ me tae wait.
Almost immediately an objection came frae the other end, beggin’ us tae wait, and that she wanted tae do the interview. A further buzzing followed by a mechanical click indicated that she’d opened the door tae the buildin’ fae us.
I threw an impressed glance at Reid, but maintain that his wee gambit couldae gone either way. The lassie’s flat was on the top floor, and after trekkin’ up four flights ae dingy stone stairs, wi cracklin’ paint on the walls, we were greeted by the lassie ootside ae her door. She was the same height as Reid, makin’ me feel unusually small, wi dirty blonde hair raked up in a dishevelled bun, and completed the look wi a cosy lookin jumper and pyjama bottoms I’m pretty sure I own. She introduced herself as Rowan, beamin’ at us eagerly.
After exchanging some greetins, and a false name or two, we were invited intae her flat. I used tae ‘hink the shop was bad, but this girl’s flat was somethin’ else. Compared tae her, the shop is the most ordered place in the city. There were mounds ae clothes piled in corners, socks and underwear hangin’ frae whit I assumed tae be radiators but were so cloaked in clothes I wasnae sure. Random shoes just lay discarded on the floor, occasionally beside an odd sock. Every surface space was covered, frae the wee table she had in the room, tae the sofa and armchair. The livin’ room, besides the piles ae clothes, looked like a second-hand computer dealership. Computer screens, laptops, hard drives, and cables all battled fae space in various states ae disrepair.
Rowan weaved and wound her way over tae a sofa and offered us a seat. Reid and I both glanced quickly at each other wi’ the same confusion. Where? Eventually I found a small bit ae the sofa that wasnae covered, and Reid perched on the arm behind me uncomfortably. Then the awkward silence settled in. Neither the roaster or I knew how tae conduct an interview. I carelessly fumbled fae ma phone and opened the note app, pretendin’ that the questions were there, when all I was lookin’ at was ma weekly shoppin list.
I started wi a question I thought sounded appropriate, and inquired when she starteed the website. Her face lit up and as she went intae her detailed answer I was only half listening. In the vain hope I’d see something oot ae the ordinary I took a quick glance aroond at the hoard. It wasnae hard tae imagine the shop lookin’ like this one day, when the ‘hings frae noo would be antiques. Excluding the odd piles ae clothes and discarded trainers that is. Rowan was happily tellin us that she’d started the website almost half a year ago, but it’d only really started gaining popularity in the previous 2 months. When she took a breath Reid was quick tae cut her aff, bluntly admittin’ that we didnae actually care, and then demandin’ tae know why she was makin’ books come tae life. I gaped at him, no quite believin’ he’d just come oot and said it. There was an awkward silence fae a few seconds that seemed tae stretch on, before Rowan voiced her own disbelief. Her eyes were watery as she stared between the both ae us wi’ confusion.
I took a deep breath, decidin’ it was better tae steer intae the skid, and told her we knew whit she was doin, we just didnae know how she was doin it. Confusion quickly turned tae animosity. Her shoulders went tense, eyes narrowed wi’ suspicion, and frae the way her body turned I wouldnae have been surprised if she’d bolted there and then. Instead, wi an icy tone, she asked us who we were.
Realising that the situation could quickly spiral oot ae control I chose tae take the gentler path. I mean if she was capable ae makin’ fantasy ‘hings come tae life, whit else was she capable of? If she conjured hings, then maybe she could un-conjure us? I explained that we didnae mean her harm, but she needed tae stop whit she was doin as it was scarin’ people.
Her fear was wiped away, replaced by prickly indignation. She claimed she was doin’ the members ae the forum a favour. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream tae experience their favourite books like they were livin’ in them? Through books you could experience new people, new creatures, and fantastical places. So why, if she had the power tae make them real, would she leave them on a page?
Reid, wi all the finesse ae a tattie, called her delusional, and stated that she wasnae doin anyone a favour except feedin her own ego by playin’ at God. The anger returned in an instant, the tension rose in the room, and I couldnae understand why Reid didnae share ma trepidation aboot pissin’ this lassie aff. Obviously she denied being delusional, and at playin God. She explained that from the posts she read on the forum, by the members that had joined, that the books were their lives, a home away from home, a safe haven, an escape. They’d all said how they’d love to be this character or that, be as strong, as intelligent, as cunning, as attractive. All wanted tae experience the worlds in these books fae themselves, and she was makin’ that happen.
Before Reid opened his mouth and let his belly rumble I was quick tae jump in, pointin’ oot that although said on a forum, no’ everyone wanted tae live in the books they loved. She couldnae go on messin’ wi people’s reality just because she thought she was helpin’. Everyone read fae different reasons, and let’s face it, some ae the ‘hings in books are better left on the page and in the readers imagination. She needed tae stop tryin tae help these people, because if it carried on it may turn oot tae be the opposite ae helpin’.
I could tell she took ma words seriously. Her bottom lip began tae quiver, her eyes almost unable tae hold back the tears that were wellin’ up. What good was she? She cried after a moment. I already felt oot ae ma depth, but dealin’ wi an existential crisis was so far beyond me I couldnae even ‘hink aboot whit tae say. Whit would the Madam do? If this customer was in the shop, sittin on the sofa, sippin’ tea, whit would ma boss say? Honestly, I dinnae ‘hink she’d say anything. She’s no exactly one fae geein’ life advice. But I wasnae her. Just because this lassie couldnae terrorise the members ae her forum didnae mean she was useless. She’d geein’ them a space where they could create a community of like-minded people, where they could discuss theories and characters and events. Where they could essentially live in the world these books created. I told her this, or somethin’ close, no that I ‘hink it did much good.
After a while ae talkin’ Reid and I decided tae leave. A thought occurred tae me when I got up tae wade back through the obstacle course tae the door. This lassie, whitever she was, had the power tae create ‘hings frae nothin’. That was on an almost God-like scale. I know if I had power like that I’d find it hard tae stop, especially if I thought it was doin’ at least some good. No doubt there were people in this forum ae hers who’d had a grand old time because of whit she’d done. The other argument was if the website was only popular because ae her power, if she stopped usin’ it would the website also grind tae a halt? And if that happened how easy would it be fae her tae slip back intae old habits?
I turned tae Rowan, streaks doon her cheeks frae where the tears had slid, red nose frae all the rubbin. As firmly as I could I explained that if she continued tae make books come tae life, the next person who visited her may no be so understandin’. The Madam had all the appearances ae sympathy, ae understandin’, but I’d seen the cold streak, the icy matter-ae-fact way she dealt wi’ errant people. There were so many ‘hings in the shop, all at her disposal, I could only imagine whit she’d do tae stop Rowan frae causin’ more havoc.
All the lassie did was nod weakly, and that was all the assurance I was gonnae get that she’d stop. But as I said, is power like that really so easy tae give up?
On the way back tae the shop I queried Reid if he knew whit the lassie was, and how she was bringin’ books tae life. He answered that she was probably a conjurer. Noticin’ the blank look I gee him he informed me that there are people wi the power tae conjure ‘hings, whether they be frae the real world or the fictional one. Accordin’ tae him they were quite rare. Thank Christ fae that. On the other hand how cool did that sound? Why was that lassie wastin’ time in scarin’ the shite oot ae people when she could be usin’ it fae her own benefit? Why not conjure money instead ae a winged beast? Or a seven-bedroom hoose instead ae a grey robed assassin? And the more pressin’ question. Why couldn’t I do whit she did? I’d swap pressin’ a buzzer wi ma mind wi conjurin’ whitever I wanteed any day. But I suppose life isnae fair. She may have those powers, but it’s no like she can use them as she pleases. And it leaves the question of if there are conjurers, then whit else is there?