The Wager
Where There's Weirdness - Segment IV
Catch up here: segment I, segment II, segment III.
Joy’s hand was ice cold, but Jennie-May gripped it tightly as she was half-led, half-dragged through the narrow, corridors of suburbia that led them towards the centre of Fleet town. The world was bedraggled and had taken on a deep shade of grey: a sickness that leached into the air and made each breath feel chastened, unnatural. In the distance a siren blared.
“Where are we going?” Jennie-May asked in voice that was pitched up by her anxiety. The pace and lack of explanation from her leader compounded the uneasiness she had been feeling since the Ouija board set the world askew. She could feel that all was not right, and she knew that the cause was the use of that cursed board.
“Town.” Joy called back without turning, the wind tossing her hair and the single syllable every-which-way.
“Okay, why?”
“We need to speak to someone, an old friend.”
“What for?”
“Help.”
The word was firm and laced with meaning that caused Jennie-May to fall silent and quicken her pace. A roll of thunder burped across the purpling sky and she shivered. What have I done?
The door to the hardware store set a bell ringing and the girls pushed their way into the musty darkness. The shop was new to Jennie-May: she had never noticed it before now. Not in the sense of her having not noticed it before, but more like it had not ever before existed. It was an oddity that clung to this new, dishevelled reality.
The smells inside were oily and leathery, hints of sawdust that could be seen floating lazily in the streams of half-light that forced their way through the unclean windowed front. There were benches straddling tables that ran along either side of the shop, littered with half-finished projects: a doll’s house with a busted door; a rusting kettle from the 80’s, wires sprawled all around it; a shattered glass snow-globe, with a ballerina fixed and smiling in the centre of the wreckage. Behind the counter was a collection of odd instruments in various states of disrepair. Glass jars were caked in dust and contained floating objects in coloured liquids. Heavy leather books were crumbling and leaning on every surface. There was nobody to be seen or heard anywhere.
Joy led Jennie-May to the counter and paused. She seemed suddenly nervous, more girl-like than before. She moved her weight from one sneakered foot to the other, considering her next move. And then she rang the bell. The silence seemed to grow into the space, filling every crevice and gap on the cluttered, unclean surfaces. Jennie-May held her breath. Nothing happened. The girls exchanged a look, and Joy forced an awkward smile that said: “this is to be expected.”
“Yes?” A thin voice came from another room, strained and muted.
“It’s Joy.” Joy said.
“Oh dear.” There was a clatter and a crash as something out of sight fell and smashed, followed by suppressed expletives. “Oh dear.” The voice came again as a man emerged from a short door behind the counter. He wiped his oily hands on his overalls and stood up straight. Jennie-May gasped.
The man was at least eight feet tall, rake thin, with an almond shaped head and wide, bulbous eyes. His skin was silvery, almost metallic, though a thin beard was creeping through onto his chin in temperamental patches. A small nose held up a clunky pair of glasses that were wrapped in desperate clumps of tape.
“Joy.” The man looked from one girl to the next, before offering a brief nod, and a weary smile. “You look different.”
“You too, Ransome.” Joy said.
“What a mess.” Ransome squinted around the store and at the clouded windows at the front and shook his head slightly. “He’s here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“A Communicator,” the word lingered in her mouth with disdain, as though hard for her to say, “same as normal.”
Ransome removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, wearily. “And she…?” He nodded at Jennie-May.
“Yes.”
He shook his head and chewed his lip. Jennie-May felt a wave of guilt at having been the cause of all of this. Whatever this is.
“Right. Well then,” he replaced his glasses and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The three of them took a seat at one of the tables, Jennie-May and Joy sat on one bench and Ransome sat opposite; his knees resting awkwardly against the edge of the table. He pushed aside the random objects between them (a pocket-watch with a protruding spring, a pestle and mortar, an abacus) with a sense of irritation and confusion at their presence and meaning.
“So, do you have a plan?” He blinked into the dust that had risen between them.
“A wager?” Joy said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Hmm.” Ransome stroked his chin, “risky.”
“His form is strong.” Joy said after a pause.
“So, therefore, is she.” Ransome fixed Jennie-May with a glare, his wide, bulbous eyes analysing and assessing her as she sat quietly with her hands in her lap. He tapped his chin in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. He nodded. “A wager.” He nodded again, “yes, it’s clean, powerful. We have the source, and a banishment would be preferable.”
“But if it fails…”
“…if this star collapses we all die all over again.” Ransome fixed Joy with a stare that made her fall silent and drop her gaze. Jennie-May could sense the deep history between the two of them; there was a darkness in their past that weighed heavily on everything that was being said.
“That was a mistake.” Joy said to the table with a feeble voice, sounding close to tears.
“All in the past.” Ransome’s tone lifted to dispel the tension. He rose to his feet. “Now, what weapon would you suggest, child?”
“Pardon?” Jennie-May managed when she realised the question was for her.
“Weapon, dear.” Ransome said, slowly, irritated at the lack of understanding. “What would be appropriate?”
“I have no idea… A weapon for what?”
Ransome exhaled at the ceiling and Joy turned in her seat to face Jennie-May. “On the board, was anything said? Did you hear anything? Or were any words spelled out?”
“‘God’.”
A cold filled the air between them.
“What did you say?” Ransome managed, his voice barely a whisper.
“‘God’. The board spelled out ‘God’, over and over.”
“You knew this?” Ransome snapped at Joy who shook her head and frowned. “Oh my.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he is tethered to you.” Joy said, placing a hand on her arm to offer some sympathy. Jennie-May shook her away. “And formidable.”
“Who?” She stood up and knocked the table, sending an hourglass tumbling and a plume of dust into the air. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m scared.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she squeezed her fists shut.
Ransome nodded and sat down, gesturing for Jennie-May to do the same. He nodded sagely. “You’re right, we’ve not been clear. I’m sorry. This is not new to us, but we should be more respectful of your… naivety.”
“Please help me.” Jennie-May’s voice was a whimper.
“Yes, child, we are. Please sit.” He removed and cleaned his glasses, but the exercise appeared to achieve very little.
“That board you played with,” Joy spoke slowly, ensuring to not let her words run away and for her thread to be lost, “it was what we call a Communicator, it sends out messages into the cosmos, and some evil… things listen out for them. Something big and not very nice followed your message back. It took it as an invite, and he is here now.”
“Where?” Jennie-May sobbed a weak reply.
“We don’t know exactly, not far. He will be coming for you.” Joy’s voice was controlled and laced with wisdom that did not at all align with her childish features. How old are you, really? Jennie-May wondered.
“Why?”
“You are the beacon and so destroying you will tether him to this world.”
“What can I do?”
“Fight back.” Ransome said flatly. “It is the only option.”
“I can’t…”
“Don’t worry, we will help you.” Joy said, softly. “To a point, at least.” Her eyes flashed to Ransome who stared blankly ahead.
“Why are you helping me? Who are you?”
“I am known as a Watcher. My job is to try to prevent these things from happening. Ransome was my mentor, but he is now a Trader.”
“So… what now?”
“We make a wager.” Ransome said, calmly. “I can give you a weapon that can be wielded against this beast, but in order for me to give it to you, I need something in return.”
“I have nothing.”
“You have more than you will ever know.” Ransome cleared his throat, pushing away a rising emotion. “You must wager that the beast will be defeated. If he is not, then this world will be lost and you will remain tethered to him, serving him indefinitely. You will become like him, a hoarder of worlds, a destroyer of life.”
“I am not evil.”
“No, child. But in this instance, you would be.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No, but there’s more. If you do defeat the beast, then he will be indefinitely tethered to you. He will become your timeless responsibility. Even in his death, he may well prove a handful, though your control will be almost absolute. If you agree to these terms, then I can grant you a weapon that goes some way to evening the odds.”
Jennie-May shook her head, bereft, baffled by the madness that enveloped her. “I have no choice.”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Yes.” She mumbled at the table.
“Good,” Ransome said in a much brighter tone, almost musical, “your sacrifice is appreciated by the Stewards of the Stars.”
A silence rose between them. Jennie-May waited, expecting something significant to happen, something monumental. The way the others had been talking had suggested that the world would turn upside down at her agreeing to the wager. But nothing happened, except an audible exhalation and the rising sound of a distant ticking.
“What is the weapon?” Jennie-May asked eventually.
“Go through to the back.” Ransome said, with an effected nonchalance. “There is a chest, in there will be whatever you need.”
Jennie-May looked at Joy who nodded, her complexion paler than before, and rose to her feet. The floorboards wheezed as she made her way around the edge of the counter, past the tomes and dusty bottles and jars, and into the belly of the store through the oddly short door.
The back of the store was unlike anything she had seen before. There were walls of silver that hummed, decorated with words in a language that was a chaos of symbols. A smashed glass lay on the floor in a puddle of what appeared to be red wine. Screens danced with strings of more symbols that meant nothing to her. And then on the far wall, she saw everything. Two wide, tall seats (fit for Ransome and another just like him) faced away from Jennie-May at the wall that was a wide panel of glass. Jennie-May walked slowly towards it, frowning, tentative. She moved around the chairs and placed her hands on the glass, squinting open-mouthed at what was framed beyond.
The background was a solid black, with slight, flickering spots of light interrupting randomly. But framed in the centre of the window, was Earth. It hummed with colour: blue, green, brown, white, grey. It was real. Not a projection, or a simulation, or a live feed from a camera. It was the actual planet, on which she was currently stood. Or at least on which she was standing half an hour ago. The store wasn’t here before, she realised, as her stomach rolled, it’s not here at all.
She stood staring for ten minutes; watching for a change in a cluster of clouds, or a swirl in a body of water. Nothing discernibly moved, but everything was in constant flux, her mind could translate the seemingly fixed image to something that was alive, even though nothing explicitly changed. Jennie-May marvelled at its beauty, while also trying to control her racing mind as it attempted to consolidate everything that had happened in the last six hours.
The chest. She snapped back to the present with a thud, as she remembered why she was here. She turned and scanned the room, and there in the corner, standing out against the pristine metallic surrounds, was an old, wooden chest. She moved to it. The chest was enormous, large enough for her and six others to climb inside. There were inscriptions all over its top and front: carved symbols and strings of what appeared to be numerals. She traced them with a finger and the whole box hummed. There was a wheeze and groan and then the box popped open; the lid lifting two inches.
Inside was complete darkness and she strained her eyes, leaning forward, to see. She pushed the top of the chest, and it swung up and back, flooding the interior with light and revealing the weapon that had been chosen for her. She had to use a stool to climb up and lean over the chest’s edge, reaching down to clasp and lift the weapon out.
Jennie-May stood and looked at the object in her hands. It had a short, ornate handle with more of the same inscriptions and at its head was a sickle; a long, curved blade that appeared to be made of the same material as the walls that surrounded her. From the base of the handle was a two-metre length of heavy chain. A small, metal ball lay on the floor at the end of the chain. It was beautiful, but Jennie-May had no idea what it was or how she might use it. The handle felt far too short for her to face a monster, and the chain felt like an unwelcome distraction.
As these thoughts formed in her head, the weapon changed shape. The handle doubled in length, curving slightly as it did, and the sickle blade extended by another two inches. The chain retracted slightly and rose from the floor, suddenly alive like a snake. It coiled itself around her forearm - tightly, but not excessively so - several times, before the ball came to rest just behind her elbow. She felt its change in weight, its sudden security, and swung it easily from right to left and then back again.
Better, she thought, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to smile.