Reverse: 1999 story · Event stories
Chronicles of Uluru: London Dawning
20 scenes, 2,310 lines
1. First Day Back in London
128 lines
I'm ready to go.
Please fasten your seat belt, Miss. We're setting off now.
You ever been to London, Miss?
Yes. A long time ago.
Long, eh? Five years? Ten years?
Longer than that.
Come on then, how long? You don't look a hundred years old.
Heh heh.
The hospital is two streets away. Oh, by the way—
It's been arranged for you to meet Mr. Fog first, and then he'll show you around the hospital.
I don't see why we need to make a big deal out of a simple visit.
Couldn't agree more, Miss. But as this is an official visit by Mr. Fog as a servant of the crown, you can rightly expect that they're going to have the whole place decked up like Christmas.
Thank you for taking me there directly.
I will go to Mr. Fog's office after my visit. You can leave without me.
I think I'd like to take the underground.
The Tube? You won't like it, Miss. Not the kind of place for a decent young lady.
I'll wait here for you, love. I'll do my best not to crack into my flask of whiskey while I wait.
How are things at the SPDM, Tooth Fairy? I'm hearing rave reviews about their school physician.
I'm glad to hear it. Young children are particularly easy to soothe. A few candies, and they'll behave just fine.
A little toffee, or a nibble of a fruity sweet, and they've forgotten all about the toothfairy's taste.
A proper dose of sweets serves to calm the nervous system, and that doesn't just apply to kids.
She pulls a piece of milk candy out of her pocket and softly places it beside Madam Z's mug of strong tea.
Your work here is undoubtedly busier than mine at SPDM. Besides, you're directly responsible for our Timekeeper—the little troublemaker.
But I am sure you didn't summon me here all for a little chit-chat.
...
Madam Z unwraps the candy and places it in her mouth, allowing it to slowly dissolve. Then, she places a stack of papers on the table before Tooth Fairy.
The Foundation has now confirmed a correlation between social turmoil and the emergence of the "Storm." Our branches around the world are now making efforts to collect information on these key social movements.
As you may know, there was a strike that has only just ended in London, and there's something I'd like to show you besides the strike itself.
Tooth Fairy rapidly flips through the papers. She quickly spots the crucial element.
Tuberculosis.
Indeed. There appears to be abnormalities concerning air pollution and the reported cases of TB.
Compared to our records before the "Storm," TB morbidity rates are extraordinarily high, approaching levels that shouldn't be seen until the Great Smog of 1952.
Our Mr. Fog, the Fogwalker, has also reported that there's something unusual about the composition of the fog.
So, we need an insider with knowledge of the "Storm" to visit London, ideally one with a medical background.
I see.
I know your winter vacation just started, but I'm sure you understand the dire situation we find ourselves in. I'll apply for a special allowance for this field mission. What do you say?
I'd be happy to go. Perhaps I'll collect some rare teeth from this era.
Good luck then. Mr. Fog will contact you when you arrive. He is our liaison between the Foundation and British Government.
He'll take you to the hospital, handling many of these respiratory patients.
You will be given full trust to resolve this problem.
There is something else: The Uluru Qualifier will soon be held in London. It may factor into your investigation.
Uluru Qualifier?
"Uluru London Qualifier Coming Soon, Arcanist Fair in Cross Street ..."
"Support your favorite competitors ..."
"... Winners will represent Great Britain in the Australian finals."
Australia? They shipped my uncle off to Australia back in the day. I always figured he got done in by a kangaroo.
But if the smoke here gets any worse, I think I might chance it. Maybe I'll find him in the outback there, or at least avenge him.
With a tense frown, Tooth Fairy folds the flyer. The Uluru Games are not her current focus.
That smoke seems to have severely damaged that hospital, but you don't seem concerned.
We've seen worse, Miss. You wouldn't believe how many houses we lose in a year to gas line explosions.
Nothing much can shock us Londoners. It's a city where you can meet arcanists from all over the world.
Arabians, North Africans, Indians, and Japanese ... Who knows what kind of arcane skill they can cast?
The police are on the scene now, but can they really do anything to clean up the hospital?
Well, the police have got their own way of dealing with things. None too friendly. I think you should bring this up to Mr. Fog.
He's one of the few folks that look out for the working man, and he's never afraid of calling out the upper class.
I suspect Mr. Fog will have known before we did.
Let's follow the path of this dark soot on the street. Maybe we can find it or its owner.
As you like, Miss.
The car makes its way eastward, weaving through the increasingly narrow streets.
Seems it's leading us to the East End.
Only thing that comes out of the East End are drunks, tramps, and Jack the Ripper.
...!
The brakes screech as the car comes to an abrupt halt. The car shudders from some impact as a child's scream fills the air.
Bloody!
A sudden, stabbing pain strikes the nerve in Tooth Fairy's temple. She almost stumbles as she rushes to exit the car.
The driver pokes his head through the car window, scrambling to justify his mistake.
Miss, I swear to high heaven that I have not had a drop of drink today! This is the East End for you!
Either you hit someone or someone hits you.
Please, Miss, take a look for me. Tell me if I hit anything. I can take it.
It appears ... there's no one in front of the car.
No one?
I'm up here!
Look up there, Miss!
Tooth Fairy looks up to see a flurry of papers fluttering and spinning through the sky. A particularly vibrant bundle of fabric resembling some kind of burlap sack hurtles through the center.
Can you catch me?
...?
The little girl's skirt catches the wind, and she drifts weightlessly through the air.
The colorful scraps of paper spiral through the air and swirl around her. They're all Uluru flyers still waiting to be distributed.
She's being lifted up on the wind. Is this her arcane skill? If so, she's amazing for her age.
She gently descends, seemingly headed straight into Tooth Fairy's arms, but at the last moment, she shifts direction and lands softly a few steps away.
You lose. You ain't goin' to qualify for nothin' like that!
Are you hurt at all?
Why would I be? It's not even as high up as a canary nest. It's no sweat with the help of a little wind.
But the Sootikiki was hurt. The car hit his waist.
Is this Sootikiki your friend?
Yes. But he ran away. He's probably angry. I'd bet he's still around. He don't forgive easy!
She points toward the shadowy alley to her left, where, in a dark, smoggy corner, a pair of glowing eyes peek out from behind a garbage bin.
See? Over there. That's the Sootikiki, and I'm Flutterpage.
Could you bring your friend out? I'd like to make amends if I hurt him, especially if he can't work.
Oh, he doesn't work. But you still need to apologize!
Flutterpage turns toward the alley, waving into the shadows to call over her friend.
Come on out, Sootikiki! This bloke here wants to apologize to you.
The Sootikiki stirs in the shadows, disturbing the pale yellow smog before suddenly leaping forward.
*roars*
That thing doesn't even have a waist! And he's as big as a kangaroo!
Nuh-uh! His waist is right there! Can't you see?
A frightened critter is dangerous. Please stay back, child.
Bollocks! Bollocks! Turn over already, you stupid car!
The engine roars to life again, its pistons drumming the retreat as the car careens through the streets.
Why did Mr. Driver run away like the Sootikiki?
He was worried for his car. If it got damaged, it could cost him his job.
Lose his job? Oh, got it. I don't want to lose my job, neither.
The little girl gives an empathetic nod. But a child her age has no place in anything to do with the word "work."
He has a car, so I wager he makes more than six pence a week. How did he get that job? Can I do it too?
I suppose you could, once you grow up. Here, open your mouth.
Tooth Fairy produces a shimmering jar of ointment made from ground golden fairy and lanolin—a concoction capable of soothing one's fear of swallowing a toothfairy for the first time.
What's this?
You were hurt. It's a kind of ointment. It will numb the pain if you ingest it, or reduce the inflammation if you rub it on your wound.
Was I hurt? I feel a little pain. But whatcha mean by in-flame-ation? Does that mean I'll catch on fire?
The little girl's curiosity easily trumps her hesitation toward the unfamiliar. She stretches her neck and sucks Tooth Fairy's ointment-covered finger.
...
Hmm. It's a bit sour, like a moldy raspberry, but still sweet. Why aren't other pills as sweet as yours?
I see! So, you're a witch doctor, aren't ya? I can tell from your metal mask, teeth necklace, and the golden fairies in your jar.
That is a reasonable assumption.
So, you're here for the Uluru Fair, then! Must be, you even got the flyer with you.
Actually, I'm here as a doctor to investigate a tuberculosis outbreak. But this strange black fog damaged the hospital I was heading to.
I followed the trace it left behind to this area.
Black fog? There ain't no black fog. 'Round here, the smog is yellow. And sometimes I've seen black smoke puffin' up from the factory chimneys, but never in Cross Street.
As like to be an arcane skill, Miss. Lots of us arcanists here. That's why we're all chuffed up for the Uluru Qualifiers.
There's herbalists, psychics, diviners, magicians ...
Thank you, Flutterpage. I think I've got the idea.
Left to her own devices, Flutterpage could recite the job of every arcanist on the entire street.
Great! Then I'll show you 'round. You'll like it here.
Flutterpage grabs Tooth Fairy's hand and drags her toward the heart of Cross Street.
2. Swallows in the Chimney
107 linesWelcome to Cross Street!
Makeshift stalls line the street as the arcanists celebrate the approaching Uluru Qualifiers. This event will decide who gets to represent Great Britain in the finals in Australia.
Flutterpage lets the last of the Uluru flyers slip from her fingers. They scatter as they soar on the wind and drift into half-open windows.
Stop litterin', you grimy little bug!
This is the Uluru Fair!
Tooth Fairy inspects the street, studying the alleys on either side, but finds nothing.
The trace of the black fog seems to have disappeared into a large gathering of arcanists. A wise choice.
A choice, I'm already assuming, that has a certain level of intelligence.
Ultimately, she is only a doctor. When it comes to things outside of illness, she often finds herself lost.
It sounds like a monster. Like from tall tales what adults make up to scare us. But I heard people talkin' when I was sittin' on the roof. They say it was born from a smokestack!
It does appear to have a similar composition to soot.
That's no good for the birds, Miss Doctor. I sure hope it don't come here. I don't want it to muck up the Uluru Fair or scare the canaries away from the chimneys!
What's so special about the canaries?
They always know where the lanolin snails are hidin'. All do is give them a bit of old bread or seeds, and they find me the snails.
It's my snail-catchin' day! Stay right there, Miss. I'll be back soon as I finish! Don't go gettin' off your sauce while I'm gone!
With that, Flutterpage drifts toward a stall decorated with Union Jack bunting, before disappearing like a whisper on the wind.
A gentleman in a fine gray woolen coat stands tall nearby. He is utterly incongruous with the rest of the street.
Hmm?
This is an Arcanist Fair Booth Application Form. You need only fill this and get proper approval from the city government, then no one can bother you.
Approval, eh? What's the point? The Games will be over by the time they've even looked at my application.
*sigh* Are we entirely certain we even want to hold the fair in these conditions? Don't you think ...*cough* the weather now isn't appropriate for that kind of strenuous physical activity?
What else can we do? We need to earn our bread, or perhaps you could clean the air for us, eh, Mr. Fogwalker?
I'm doing all that I can.
Which means you can't do nothin' at all, don't it?
Yeah, we're coughin', but what we make in a day at the fair here is more than an entire week anywhere else! Not like we have royal allowances to rely on, unlike you.
Enough of it, already. Now, would you mind moving aside for the little lady behind you? She's been waiting a while.
Oh, I do apologize, Miss. I ... Ms. Tooth Fairy?!
I didn't expect to run into you here, Mr. Fog.
The pleasure is all mine, Miss.
Oh, where are my manners! Welcome to London!
A Cross Street local hurries by, letting out a sharp, violent cough.
Of course, we were supposed to meet in the office of the London Atmospheric Clean-up Committee. I'd have prepared a fine Indian tea for you.
But I was called away to deal with matters here on Cross Street. It's a happy coincidence that you popped by. It will save us both some time.
Mr. Fog awkwardly fiddles with his gloves, clearly feeling embarrassed at the indecency of their meeting.
Thankfully for him, Tooth Fairy seems more concerned about the issue at hand.
Something the matter? You mean the air pollution?
Not precisely, no. Though one could say the problem is related. In fact, it seems just about every one of our problems comes down to these sticky contradictions.
For example, contrary to good wisdom, the people of Cross Street have opted to continue their fair despite the obvious dangers of the fog! That's just unreasonable.
You're the unreasonable one here, mate. Stop the Uluru Fair on account of a bit of fog? Fog, in London! Should we cancel if there's water in the Thames next?
Citizens should be made aware of the harm caused by fog and reduce unnecessary outdoor activities.
Pardon me. You lot government officials?
A few busybodies gather near the two of them, ready to catch the latest gossip.
You sayin' we ain't allowed to celebrate the Uluru Qualifiers? So what you expectin' us to do? Just watch the games and then pop off home?
It's not like there are many events left for us arcanists ... *cough* to celebrate in our own country ...*cough*
Sir, you seem to have quite a severe cough.
Oh, it's not so bad. Just a little curse, is all. Doesn't matter none. A good arcanist healer can cure me.
That's exactly what I've been talking about! A curse? Good lord, man. You have a disease called tuberculosis! You need a proper doctor, not a healer!
Maybe this is just how citizens in Cross Street best comprehend the disease, in the arcanist way.
It's not a matter of arcanists or humans. Tuberculosis is caused by the presence of bacterium in the air. It can't be cured through ritualistic "purification" or "exorcism."
You just don't get it, do you? It's not like that.
If this, tuber-what-have-you is the reason, then why does my chest burn like hell? I've never heard of no bacteria what could do that.
You feel like your chest is burning?
Like swallowing a flaming coal it is. It all started this month! Never felt anythin' like this before.
Like I said, there's no disease. This has to be the Fog Hag's curse!
She's the one who summoned this damnable black fog. She used to be a toad, before she was thrown into an alchemist's cauldron and came out as a twisted old hag that haunts our street.
Could you tell me more about the black fog?
The vendor remains silent, shooting a hostile glance down Cross Street.
Shh! Don't say anythin' about it. It'll bring bad luck!
He coughs, waving his hand to scatter the attention of the crowd, then vanishes into the yellow smog.
So, now we have a Fog Hag? What's to come next, I wonder?
He raises his hands in resignation, knowing that, as a gentleman, he should speak no further on the matter.
*sigh* Sometimes, despite being an arcanist myself, it's hard to understand my own people. But that's what they think around here.
My colleague is presently out investigating this "curse" they mentioned. But, to say nothing of his intrepid skills as a ranger, I doubt he'll produce any evidence of this so-called "hag."
In fact, he—
*whistle*
A long, sharp whistle cuts through the air, like that of a rider galloping across the plains of the land down under. But what follows is not the sound of hooves.
Arthur, a little help, mate! We've got trouble!
A hat riding a hobbyhorse races forward, its coat fluttering in the thick smog like a cavalryman returning from a reconnaissance mission.
A dark cloud follows close behind him.
So, here it is.
What's that after you now, Old Hat?
It's the black fog! Seems I've startled it, and now it's sent out critters into the streets!
Steady on! Let's charge like soldiers of the Great Emu War!
*hissing*
It's the hag. The hag's curse is coming for us!
Those nasty critters are comin' from her garden! Run!
May I say it was an honor to serve as your bodyguard, Miss. I'm Brimley, the ranger colleague of my mate here, Arthur Fog.
I wasn't hurt, thanks to you.
Mr. Fog lightly brushes the soot from his coat before walking over to Tooth Fairy. Despite clearing away most of the black fog, his expression looks grim.
*cough* Thank you, Ms. Tooth Fairy, for telling us what happened at the hospital. We ought to make a summary of our investigation so far.
Seasoned government employees are particularly good at providing summaries.
We've encountered three oddities thus far today: this mysterious black fog, the unusual burning chest symptom, and ...
He carefully considers his words before bringing up the difficult third point.
This so-called Fog Hag living on Cross Street.
Well done, mate, you did it! You said it out loud! We may just break the ice off your soul yet.
I'm only doing my due diligence by quoting the title verbatim.
Back to the topic. Combining these clues together, we should assume a causal connection: the hag releases black fog, giving Londoners this variant of TB with the "burning chest symptom."
When did you move into 221B Baker Street, mate?
The Fogwalker shifts his gaze, knowing that, even if he were to inhale a mouthful of that black fog, his face couldn't look any grimmer.
It's a reasonable speculation. If so, then the first thing is to determine if such a lady lives here on Cross Street. We'd better pay her a visit.
If you insist, darl.
I can already confirm that for you. She's here alright. Down at the house with the mangy front garden at the south end.
Very well, but might I suggest we don't all go in a rush to pay her a visit? We know nothing about her, or even whether this hag is a danger.
A little figure squeezes its way in.
Oi, Ms. Witch Doctor, you done talkin' to Mr. Fog and Mr. Hat?
Flutterpage. Where have you been?
Hmm? Wasn't you listenin'? I was off catchin' snails.
With a bit of help from the canaries.
Flutterpage lifts an old glass jar filled with snails.
Good on you, little tacker. That's quite the harvest.
She tucks the jar away in the folds of her clothing, then lightly grabs the hem of Tooth Fairy's coat.
Shall we then, Ms. Witch Doctor?
Where are you taking me?
Thought I'd show you around Cross Street! Figurin' since I'm the best guide here.
Are you? Then do you happen to know about the house at the south end of the street?
Flutterpage ponders for a moment before her eyes widen in realization.
Sure do. Actually, these snails are for her! You can tag along with me to see her, if you like.
3. "Fog Hag"
112 linesThe smog in the garden feels unusually dense. It has taken on an almost milky, gelatinous quality.
The damp, fishy air sticks to the visitors. Sparse ivy winds around the ancient stone wall, its bare roots clinging desperately to it.
This right here, Miss, is the Fog Lady's house! As you can tell, it is a very big, big house, not like mine. Mine is small, but very high up!
Steep, tilted roofs, sash windows, it's very Victorian.
No, no. I mean Victorian architecture is a kind of style of house. I'm saying this house must have a long history.
Oh. Too right about that, Miss. It's been here for ages!
Come along then. I'll take you in.
Flutterpage doesn't knock, nor does she touch anything resembling a doorbell. She simply leads Tooth Fairy straight to the garden gate.
Squeak! Squeak!
Several Carbuncles peek out from among the vines before quickly retreating, their eyes still locked on the visitors.
Ah! Are these her critters?
You lot are hungry today, ain't you?
From the folds of her oversized frock, Flutterpage pulls out a jar filled with snails.
They ain't for you! They're for the lady of the house. Now please let me and Ms. Witch Doctor through.
Squeak!
The Carbuncles refuse their entry, shooting out a few tendrils to form a blockade.
Sorry, Ms. Witch Doctor, they was much friendlier before.
You've been here before?
Yep, they always let me in straight away. No clue what set them off this time.
Flutterpage stands on her tiptoes, planning to hop over the barrier, but after a quick glance at Tooth Fairy, she abandons the idea.
I don't rightly know what to do.
I'd try callin' her, but it won't do much good. Even if she heard me, she won't come out.
You're saying she never leaves her house?
Not that I ever seen.
Do other people visit her?
Hmm ... No.
But you visit her often?
She likes when I bring her snails. You think she eats them?
All I know is I gave her snails, and then she asked me to stay round her house for a while.
When she's not in a sour mood, she even teaches me some words, for arcane skills. But if she is sour, then all she does is hand me some books, and I can't even read most of them.
Don't go askin' her too many "whys." If you do, she says "get out," and you got to go.
So far, the longest I stayed was a whole afternoon!
I see.
Tooth Fairy surveys the old mansion. To her, it looks more like a small castle than a house. She decides not to disturb the formidable witch dwelling within it.
Maybe I'm the reason they aren't letting you in. I'll just stay back here.
Alright then. Stay there, and I'll tell her about you, Miss.
The Carbuncles lower their guard as Tooth Fairy retreats. The strange plants and critters in the garden clear the way for Flutterpage as she makes her way down the path.
Flutterpage raises the snail jar high above her head, as if presenting some kind of token.
*creak*
The lock clatters heavily, and the hinges on the old oak door give a mournful groan.
Hmm.
...
...!
Here you go, Miss, a fresh batch of snails!
She doesn't respond. The witch's stare is fixed on the unfamiliar woman by the garden entrance.
...
Who is this?
Hmm, well, I don't know her name, but she's a witch doctor.
She came here in a car, with a flyer of the Uluru Qualifiers. So I think she's here for the Ulu—
Mm?
Oh, I forgot that you don't like the word.
Hello, Miss. I'm here investigating the source of the black fog. You can call me Tooth Fairy.
Go away.
She realizes something.
So, I can't come in at all? You promised you'd help me practice my arcane skill.
Then you better not let me catch you saying "Uluru" ever again!
The witch anxiously snatches the snail jar from the girl's hand and closes the door.
*slam*
The door closes.
Come here, Flutterpage. Are you alright?
I thought I could play at her house today.
Would you like to do something else?
Like what?
Like, see your new friend, Mr. Hat?
Mr. Hat?
Ms. Flutterpage, I'll ask you to not wear me on your head.
I know I can fly, but that doesn't mean you can treat me like a kite. Besides, I'm due to begin my patrol. I need to—
WHOAAA!
A gust of wind blows Brimley into the hallway, spurring Flutterpage to give chase.
That gives us some time for business. First of all, allow me to express my respect for your adventurous spirit.
A haunted hag mansion whose owner feeds on snails? To visit her so quickly on your own initiative was a bold move, Ms. Tooth Fairy!
He now has no choice but to admit the existence of the witch.
Here's your tea. No sugar, just as you asked.
And, of course, he has kept the promised Indian tea at the forefront of his mind.
The connection between this lady and the black fog will require further confirmation. However, judging from our encounter, she doesn't seem to have much concern for the world outside her home.
I also noted that the word "Uluru" seemed to irritate her.
Uluru? As in the Uluru Games? Not a fan, I take it.
It's certainly odd for an arcanist to have a negative impression of the Games, though not unprecedented.
Which reminds me of this letter. I suspect our Fog Lady might be glad to hear it.
Mr. Fog places a voiced letter between the two of them. The paper swiftly transforms into a wide mouth.
"Letter from the St. Pavlov Foundation Uluru Games Organizing Committee to the Uluru London Qualifiers Organizing Committee."
" ... copied to the Office of the London Atmospheric Clean-up Committee ..."
"Due to the rapid deterioration of air quality in London and the presence of an unidentified arcane-related tuberculosis outbreak ..."
" ... we regretfully have decided that the Uluru London Qualifiers will be canceled until further notice to protect the health of competitors and spectators."
"Competitors still wishing to participate are encouraged to register for the qualifiers in Paris or other cities."
The paper folds itself up and drops back onto the table. Mr. Fog sighs.
I received this shortly after submitting my report concerning the events on Cross Street.
They're right. It's better for everyone's health.
No objections here, but it's certain to cause a stir!
Ms. Tooth Fairy, you saw how passionate the citizens were about this event, what it means to them. They'll eat us alive when we announce this.
So much more so that it's canceled because of air quality. The Firm will not be pleased, I can assure you.
This great city will be the laughingstock of Europe, if not the entire world!
Unless ... Unless there's a way to clean the air in London. Perhaps then I might convince the Foundation to reconsider.
Mr. Fog, there's only three weeks left before the qualifiers.
It's a serious effort just to address the smog over London, let alone this new black fog and the disease that has come with it.
Three weeks. One for making plans, one for enacting said plans, and still one more for the final procedures.
He slumps into his chair with his arms crossed and glares furiously at the voiced letter on the desk.
What are you doing now, Mr. Fog?
Thinking, Ms. Tooth Fairy, is how I make the plans.
Brimley, fleeing pursuit, eventually finds his way back.
Forgive me for interrupting, Arthur, but I had to call off my patrol earlier than expected. I'm afraid I need a favor of you, Ms. Tooth Fairy.
Hmm?
Would you mind helping us with some of the sick?
After that black fog rolled through, patients with this "tuber-coal-sis" variant seem to be multiplying as fast as hares in the Great Artesian Basin!
4. Past Glory
92 lines
Through misty woods, on paths concealed by haze. He thrice died and thrice was born, in ancient days. Guide me rightly, that I may not stray.
By the willow fire, a witch is dancing in the ritual ground.
She performs her dance alone. Only the shadows cast by the flames accompany her.
Flowers bear fruit, and beasts give offspring's way.
With eyes of fire, pierce through the cloudy maze!
Ugh! Failed again. Damn it!
She clenches her right leg, her fingers turning white at the tips.
I won't get anywhere so long as I can't move right.
Squeak! Squeak!!
The typically docile Carbuncles are now locked in a frenzied shrieking match. What should have been a calming ritual has quickly turned into a bloodied war drum, and all because of a single misstep.
Enough! The last thing this haunted old place needs is another crazy creature!
Ms. Willow—
She collapses by the willow fire, causing the intense flames to suddenly die down. She swiftly grabs a blanket from the pile to cover her legs.
Whatever thing you are, don't think I won't strangle you to death with my bare hands!
She struggles to her feet, but just as she's about to stand, one leg gives way.
Ugh!
Ah!
The little girl tumbles through the window and into the room.
Bloody!
She tries to lift herself up for the second time but can only support half of her body. She looks up to find a little face among a pile of stitched and re-stitched clothes.
There could be no more embarrassing or infuriating way for another to behold her.
You! What are you doing here?
I only wanted to show you the arcane skill you taught me.
Flutterpage nimbly gets back on her feet, bouncing around as she shakes off the dust.
Seeing that the girl is unharmed, the witch turns her face, hiding her fleeting look of concern.
But you are in a bad mood, aren't you? What happened? I promise I didn't call you Ms. Willow in front of others!
You said I can call you Ms. Willow when there's just you and me, right?
And you actually listened? First time for everything, ay? But it's not about what you call me.
Then what is it?
She stares at Willow in confusion. Suddenly, she realizes why she's lying on the ground.
Let me help you up.
I don't need it.
With a flick of her wrist, Willow's coat and hat leap onto her like loyal dogs.
She tries to stand up for a third time, using the rough stone pillar beside her for support, and finally manages to straighten herself out.
So then, if you value my words so highly, what about the time I told you I don't need a knocker-upper?
I remember! You told me, "There's no sense waking me up for anythin'. I don't have any work to go to."
But I'm not here to wake you up, am I? I already did that for the whole street hours ago!
Oh, have you now? Then maybe you can buzz off and bother someone else. I didn't give my permission to let annoying little flies in my house.
I'm in the middle of something important. So leave me be.
Willow grabs a broom handle and points it toward the window Flutterpage opened.
Just one more question, Miss! I'll be quick.
Ms. Tooth Fairy and Mr. Fog say you made people sick with the black fog, but I know you didn't do it, did you?
You never told me you can summon black fog.
Done with all that nonsense, are you? If that's all you knocked on my window for—
But if you didn't, I can tell them the truth.
Or you could even help them find the black fog! You're the best witch I know.
Their problem is no concern of mine.
Em, oh, but I did hear somethin'. I was thinkin' maybe you'd like to hear it, too.
Letter from St. Pavlov Foundation:
Um, due to ... what? De-teary-on air quality? And arcane tube-or-key-old-kiss ...?
Um. They said the Uluru Qualifiers are canceled.
No, but—
Go away.
Aww ...
I said get out!
She seizes Flutterpage with both hands, half dragging, half pulling her toward the open window.
Ahhh!
You know what I don't want to hear, eh lass? Your voice!
Flutterpage is flung out the window and carried away like a kite with a broken string on the breeze.
And your infernal knocking!
Whoaa!
Don't you never take another step into my house, never!
*crash*
The room reverts to its familiar silence, no life save for its solitary resident, just as it has been for the past decade.
Her hastily thrown-on coat and hat slide to the floor as Willow leans on her right leg and limps over to the storage table filled with bottles and jars.
There's still enough mucus left over from yesterday's snails for her to use. She pours the liquid from the jar into the cauldron.
Just a wee bit left.
She sets the fire alight, and the lubricant starts to bubble in the cauldron.
Heh! Eat snails? Hmph!
Let them think what they will. I don't care.
The Fog Hag, a toad monster, the failed work of an ancient alchemist ...
Yes, yes, of course. Charlotte O'Hagan, you're nothing but an ugly, evil, terrifying Fog Hag living in a haunted house. You deserve every bit of it.
She lifts her eyes and gazes out the window. To her surprise, she can see the moon, a flurry of small clouds slowly making their way across it, and a flock of silhouetted birds swooping and swerving in tacit harmony.
Like the white sheep that roamed those vast rocky hills. Like the witches in black robes who danced together in perfect unison.
What an age—At last witches no longer need worry about being captured in their sleep, pierced on a stake, or burnt alive.
Our next competitor is our witch from Ireland, a once-in-a-generation talent!
The ancient rituals are different now. We dance, communicating with spirits, like a joyful game.
The Uluru Games—
Or a graceful competition ...
And the winner for the Floor Ritual is—
The smell signals a point of no return for the lubricant, and its appearance confirms it as she sees a small blackened mass stuck to the bottom of the cauldron.
Willow's prosthetic leg grinds and creaks as the joints rub up against each other, causing her hip to itch.
5. Little Knocker-Upper
132 linesAs morning breaks, the rooster crows, announcing the start of another day of hard labor for the people of the East End.
In this land of industry, shipyards, and factories, there is a dire need of coal, fuel, and the labor to sustain them.
Flutterpage looks up to the gray sky above. There is only a touch of blue, and no sun, stars, or moon to be seen.
Enough! I said enough with it, girl! I'm already awake, ain't I? So, stop buzzing around!
The seasoned knocker-upper deftly dodges the basin full of foot-washing water that has just been flung out the window and slips through the alley and onto the next street.
She still has a job to do.
Wakey, wakey! Morning's here!
Mrs. Wilson? You awake? You can't be late again, or old Mister Pig-Eyes will be on you with his belt!
What happened? Didn't she hear me?
Suddenly, she's shoved from behind.
Shut up already, Liberti. Didn't you know Mrs. Wilson was sick?
She's sick? What's wrong? It doesn't hurt like swallowin' a burnin' coal, does it?
Who told you that?
Yeah, maybe. Plenty of folks been gettin' that too. My dad says it's a curse!
It's not a curse, dummy!
I'm no dummy, Liberti. You are! Believin' anythin' what that hag told you! She's a dirty, ugly, old liar, and she's the one who cursed everyone here!
She's a toad! A toad what can't get out of her house to see sunlight, and decided to curse us all just 'cause she didn't like the fair!
Have you gone off your rocker, Freddy! Just leave me alone! I got work to do.
That's work, eh? You call knockin' on people's window work?
The boy rolls up his sleeve and pats his bicep.
I climb up in the steam turbines to tighten up the screws, and I clean them chimneys from the inside. Think you can do that, eh?
But I don't want to tighten screws or climb up chimneys! I don't like the smells.
Oh, so you like the smell of this black fog, do you? All thanks to your wicked hag friend.
Go away!
She whips a clothesline pole at the boy's knee with a sharp crack.
Ow-ah!
The boy leaps toward the girl but loses her among the heap of rags.
Huh?
He swivels his head toward the sound and stands there shocked as Flutterpage deftly leaps over him.
What the ...
The fog lady taught me this.
Lady? You mean that hag? I should've guessed you'd be that ugly toad witch's apprentice!
You're not my friend anymore!
She runs off deeper into Cross Street.
The old mansion looks just as it always does. From the strange garden to the ominous building half lost in the haze of the smog.
Even so, Flutterpage is hit by an unusual feeling, one she can't quite place.
It's not snail delivery day, but after she threw me out of the house last time, maybe I'll go apologize.
Maybe then I can learn some more tricks from her, or at least read her books!
Squeak?
The creature eyes her wearily.
Hello, hello!
Now, why didn't you let Ms. Tooth Fairy in last time? She's not a bad person. She even gave me some flyin' medicine. It was sweet and sour.
You think Ms. Willow's lonely? She needs new friends, and maybe some flyin' medicine too?
Squeak!
The Carbuncle seems to reject her assessment, leaping side to side in a clear display of defiance.
But this time I won't go through the window. Not that I get why she was so mad? Was it that I stopped her from eatin' breakfast maybe?
Well, time to figure it out. I bet if I walk in from the front door, she won't be so angry.
Flutterpage enters the garden like she always does, except this time, the Carbuncles don't make way for her.
*roar*
They leap at her.
What's wrong?
Flutterpage swings the clothesline pole, but fails to drive them off. They close in on her, malice in their eyes.
Fortunately, reinforcements come galloping through the smog.
Ms. Flutterpage? What in the blazes are you doing here?! Good lord! I hope you didn't get hurt!
Mr. Hat!
Ms. Bartley, I'd advise you to please stay a safe distance back.
No ...
Just look at the state of this garden. Oh, Charlotte, what have you been through to fall this far?
Thank goodness, you're in one piece.
I ... I don't get it. They ain't never bit me before.
Well, you must always stay alert when you encounter critters, even in a familiar place. That's some genuine ranger's advice.
A ranger? Are you really a ranger? Can you be a ranger without a real horse? Will I get a hat like you if I get to be a ranger?
Errrrr.
Fortunately, a hat's range of expressions doesn't include awkwardness, or much else for that matter.
Hi, Miss. Are you here for the lady livin' here?
Flutterpage circles the unfamiliar lady, looking her up and down.
Miss, you look a lot like Ms. Willow—the Fog Lady. So straight and proper like a swan.
Ms. Willow, you said?
Hmm.
Flutterpage claps her mouth before realizing she wasn't the one to utter this name.
Y-Yes, Ms. Willow. Did she say you were allowed to call her that too, Miss?
Allowed?
*sigh*
Even her sigh carries an elegant, melodious quality.
What kind of nutter has she become?
Thank you for taking me here, Mr. Brimley. I can handle the rest myself.
She makes a gentle motion with her hand, signaling that she has finished talking.
You're welcome. Let's go shall we, eh little tacker? It's not safe to leave you here.
I'll escort you to the hospital. Ms. Tooth Fairy needs your help.
Alright.
Flutterpage holds onto Brimley's coat as the two of them leave the garden. She looks back a few times. Caroline remains totally unmoving.
It's as though she can converse with the owner of the house through her stare alone.
I thought a hospital was a big, big buildin'! This is more like a fair, only with sick people.
Patients lie on basic steel-frame beds, their once-pristine white sheets now marked with yellow and gray stains.
In the face of such a scene, the bright flags of the Uluru Games now look lifeless and limp.
Well, you're right there, mate. It's not your typical hospital. Arthur's calling it the "London Emergency Relief Centre for Special Tuberculosis Patients."
But it's still kind of a hospital, ain't it?
She doesn't linger on this thought for long. The image of the unfamiliar lady in Willow's garden won't leave her mind.
Who's that Swan lady? She's not from Cross Street. How did she know Ms. Wi-Fog Lady?
Swan? I suppose you mean Ms. Caroline Bartley. We're hoping she'll be our lifesaver.
Mr. Fog appears behind them, looking rather pale.
Lifesaver?
Exactly so.
There's a curious spark behind Mr. Fog's eyes. He looks straight ahead as he speaks.
See, my hat friend, we civil servants can actually accomplish a thing or two!
We found Ms. Bartley, a shining star of Uluru, a talented competitor! And above all, she's an insider.
She arrived in London days ago, looking for our Fog Lady. She claimed to be an old acquaintance. Some luck, isn't it?
If she can figure out the connection between her, the black fog, and this fiery TB—Oh! Speaking of which, that "Ms. Willow" truly has a ... special name. Heh heh.
Heh heh? What are you laughing at? How long have you been up, mate?
A thought crosses Brimley's "mind." His partner has probably hardly slept all week.
A burst of glorious vigor illuminates the Fogwalker's face, like sunlight breaking through a gap in the gray sky.
Sleep? Who needs to sleep at a time like this? I'm more than energetic. I'm a veritable locomotive, better than ever!
Arthur, you need to get some shut-eye, mate.
Is that what you think? That I'll just go back home for a little rest now? Now of all times? Dead wrong, mate. We've got rounds to make at the London Emergency Relief Centre for Special Tuberculosis Patients.
Come with me, my chapeau chap! We've got a city to save!
Mr. Fog grabs the hobbyhorse and forcibly drags Brimley away with him.
Oh, alright. Ms. Flutterpage, go find Ms. Tooth Fairy, would you? She said your arcane skill might be of some help!
The two of them quickly vanish into the streets.
My arcane skill?
Help? How can I help a witch doctor? Maybe Ms. Tooth Fairy will tell me. But where is she?
So many people here. I can hardly tell them from one another. Oh, but she has got those golden fairies with her. Maybe I can "see" them.
Like how Ms. Willow taught me.
Only when it's blowin' somethin' around, like dust or old paper.
But I ain't got nothin' like that with me now. I used all of it when Freddy tried to catch me. Is there anythin' else I can use?
She scans through the pale yellow smog, the fluttering Uluru flags informing her of the wind's direction.
Oh, I see it!
The wind picks up, and the flags, along with the people's clothes, start to flutter in the same direction.
What with this wind, eh? Where's it coming from? Oi! My hat!
*cough* Please, is there any good Samaritan who can spare a blanket? Oh, God bless you!
The smog dissipates in the wind, and for a brief moment, the air is noticeably clearer in this small corner of the world.
At one of the beds, a little golden fairy is being held by its wings and placed into a patient's mouth.
Ms. Tooth Fairy!
Flutterpage, there you are.
She swiftly closes the patient's mouth, making him swallow her bizarre medicine before walking briskly over to Flutterpage.
What's wrong?
We've got to find a way to clear up the sky!
6. Black Swan
143 linesThe oak door slowly creaks open, the inside air meeting the outside and stirring up a faint mist.
...
She struggles her way through the garden, a brazier in her arms.
It's been near a week.
With every step, her right leg gives out a painful creak.
She looks at the half-open window. This week has seen a number of uninvited guests, but not one of them was the one she's been hoping to see.
That curious little thing who flutters back and forth like a sparrow.
Heh. This is how the world works. I should've known. I'm always too naive.
She carries out her usual task of clearing out the garden.
First, she gathers dry twigs and leaves to use as kindling.
Then, she strikes a match, throws it into the brazier, and waits for the fire to grow.
...
As the fire intensifies, she gathers the trash from around the garden, most of which is flung into her garden by her neighbors, and adds it to the fire.
A dead mouse. Classic, sure to disgust me.
Willow picks up the decaying mouse carcass and tosses it into the flames, the fire flaring up so fiercely it nearly scorches her eyebrows.
In the early years, she would often watch from the window, her dark eyes fixed on the people who passed by.
Rotten apples and eggs from that boring old codger. I suppose he's down to his last teeth now. Soon enough, the only thing he'll be eating is porridge.
Bit of comfort in knowing he hates porridge.
Even now, the old mansion's doors and windows remain firmly shut. The owner's face hasn't been seen for many years. All the neighbors know is that a fearsome witch lives there.
Hands burnt by steam. It's a curse, bumping into ghosts during the Samhain. Curse, lost everything betting on the ponies.
Each and every misfortune must surely be "Willow's curse."
She picks out some garlic from the garbage bin. This simple seasoning can be repurposed as seeds or fertilizer.
Superstitious fools.
The only items that cannot be utilized are the wooden carvings with bizarre symbols on them, rumored to possess the power to ward off demons.
Shysters.
Demon-Banishing Water is the most clumsy and silly item, but it's also the most manageable to deal with.
Willow simply lets it be, treating the water poured into her garden as free irrigation.
Brats.
Salt—this is the worst offender. It dehydrates the plants, often killing them outright. She digs up the tainted soil, ready to wash later.
Oh. Well, now these are new, aren't they? Blood-stained rags. Wonderful.
Sooner or later they'll all cough their lungs out.
*click-clack*
...!
The stiffness in her right leg is unbearable. Mosquitoes incessantly buzz in her ears.
Moments later, Willow's leg gives way, and she collapses into a patch of potato flowers.
...
Soft, soggy soil.
...
A limp, decomposing body.
...
No!
She smacks her prosthesis on the knee, as if the blow will set the joint back in its rightful place.
She grabs the dirt as she fights to get to her feet, struggling. This is a struggle she's long grown used to.
Squeak!
Lured by the sound of her strikes, the Carbuncles slowly make their way toward her.
Away with you!
The critters scatter, ducking behind the leaves and watching her quietly from a distance.
She clutches a vine with one hand, but it only throws her off balance, and she falls to the ground once again.
She is more proficient in the art of balance than almost anyone, yet she also finds it more difficult than anyone to adjust to even the smallest imperfection.
No. I don't need to cast my arcane skills.
Stand up, stand up! You loser, you. Ugh.
I need machine lubricant. I suppose I need to buy some.
This time, she makes it to her feet.
*clack—clack*
I can do this. I will do this, all by myself.
Her steps grow clearer, more steady. She grips the delicate metalwork of the gate.
*clack—clack*
Her leg clacking like a slow, mournful melody, she steps into the smoggy, somber streets of London.
There's a makeshift sign on the door.
"Shop closed due to illness, while the owner has gone to Ms. Tooth Fairy for treatment. Please leave your name, order, and address on the list below, and we will deliver it to your home as soon as the owner recovers."
She picks up the pen, then sets it down again without writing a single word.
Tooth Fairy.
Alright, then I can find the owner if I go to this Tooth Fairy? Is she some kind of doctor, then? Not that she could treat what ails me anyway, eh.
What other shops might sell canary saliva and Lanolin Snail's slime?
She wraps her cloak tighter around her body in an attempt to fend off the cold, damp air.
Heh. All this time I could have done this, if only I hadn't relied on others for so long.
There must be another store for arcane supplies. But ...
*click-clack, click-clack*
I think I need a lie-down.
The cold hues of the night still linger in the morning mist. The Thames has never looked so quiet.
Across the river, earth-red flags flutter like burning balls of fire. A smattering of white emergency medical tents are scattered below them.
A trampled Uluru Qualifiers flyer floats down to her feet, brushing against her ankle.
...
Sports fanatics, black fog, strange tuberculosis ... All these things have nothing to do with me. All I need are my ingredients. Nothing more.
I ought to just order what I need as a home delivery, ask them to leave the package at the entrance of the garden once a week.
As for the fees, I'll just have to sell all me old medals. That'll be enough to support me until I become a proper hag, then I can never leave my house till the day I die.
...
Heh.
Hmm?
There's something dark rising up from the water.
It's nothing special. A bit of old rope, or an old boot.
Why can't it be a swan?
A black swan here, really?
That's why you ought to go out more often. Else you'll miss these precious moments—a chance to see something special like a black swan.
Look at it. Some creatures are born with these smooth, pitch-black feathers. But it's only under the sunlight that you can see their iridescent shine.
That's when all the other animals can only look on and feel themselves inferior. They can never stand out from the crowd in the same way.
...
Your silence is an answer. I know it, just as I know every time you lash out and curse, you're cursing your own failure. Walk closer, Charlotte. Why don't we take a better look at it?
Look at its gracefully long neck, those magnificent wings, and how it glides across the water. All swans are beautiful, but only the black feathers make it truly stand out.
It brings back some memories, don't it? The feeling of "being one with the swans" and the flow of each step of our dance.
We were so close to perfection. All we needed was for you to spread your wings and fly.
Fly to Paris, Cairo, Istanbul ... and eventually to the Uluru Rock.
Then it comes to me.
And I can hold it in my arms, lift it above my head.
This perfect, shining golden medal.
Standing on Uluru Rock.
...!
Ms. Willow! But what you doin' out here?
You got to move! The black fog is comin' straight for you!
Ignore the noise. Eyes on the swan.
Tsk-tsk-tsk.
It's only a tacky white swan, covered in soot.
How ridiculous it looks now! Wearing that false disguise, the poor thing. It must have been covered accidentally.
Ms. Willow, why you lookin' at that swan? It's ... dead.
Of course, it's dead and gone.
That's right. What kind of swan would want to be with something so ugly and stained?
Of course, it's ended up alone, died alone. What else were you expecting?
You didn't really believe that "spread your wings and fly" bollocks, did you?
Hello, can you hear me, Ms. Willow?
You ought to thank the black fog for lifting your illusion. Now you can see it rightly.
You're not some special black swan that was born to greatness. You're nothing but—
Ms. Willow? You ...
What's wrong with your leg?
But a cripple.
Come back, Flutterpage!
...
Willow lowers her head to see that Flutterpage is standing at her feet. Tooth Fairy stands a few steps away, calling out to her.
Flutterpage gently touches her prosthetic leg, revealing the secret she has been too proud to admit for the last ten years.
Why? Why didn't you tell me about your ...
You're much stronger than I thought, Ms. Willow, if you allow me to address you as such.
Leave me be. I'm going home.
I'll walk you home. I got you.
Ms. Tooth Fairy and I was just chasin' after the black fog, but, but I can walk you home fir—
I just want to go home.
Willow uses all her might to turn, but still can't do it with any grace. Her stiff right leg continues to impede her.
I'll go with you.
She stretches out her hand and pulls at Willow's clothes in a clumsy attempt to stop her friend from leaving.
Flutterpage.
Willow swats her hand away.
Hmm?
Stop following me!
Ms. Willow!
I just want to go home.
I ... I ...
Flutterpage remains in place, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Tooth Fairy steps forward and pulls her into a hug.
*crying*
I don't want you to follow me.
...
They look on as Willow shakily walks into the smog, each step grinding away a little more of her dignity.
7. Brunch
146 linesThe Floor Ritual is one of the most popular events of the Uluru Games. It has a bewitching style that generates a resonance between the dancer and audience.
Charlotte was a genius. She was born for it. And God has sent her a coach covered in dark feathers and skilled in ancient Celtic runes.
Coach Raven taught her the primal witch dance that ignited a fire within her. At least, until that tragedy 10 years ago which took her leg.
Coach Raven had given her a pocket of flower seeds as a reward for all her diligent practicing. It's said they were from the druids in the forests of Glastonbury.
I guess she planted them around her house and got this garden. Now all these bizarre plants share the same strange air with their owner.
The plants in the mansion's garden are all drooping toward the ground. There is a new sense of weariness that wasn't present during Tooth Fairy's last visit.
The woman by the door gently shakes her head as Flutterpage crawls around on her knees, searching for bugs among the foliage.
Thank you again for having me over. That's all I have to say about Charlotte.
Flutterpage's head pops out from between the plants.
What's a druid? Is it a place? Do they have canaries and snails there?
A druid isn't a place. It's a title, an identity.
Identity. Oh, like a name, just like Flutterpage, right?
She quickly falls back into her own musings.
Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Bartley. I'm sorry to be taking you away from your practice.
Yes, you should be. I don't much enjoy being bothered by stuffed-up bureaucrats.
The accomplished Floor Ritualist has never been one to hold back her words.
But if you ask me—
Caroline glances once more at the narrow window of the old Victorian house. It's tightly shut.
I will tell you that it isn't Charlotte that's summoning the black fog.
I stand by that. I swear it on all my honor as an Uluru competitor.
We're witches, but not in the traditional sense. We practice witchcraft to win medals instead of summoning devils.
We trust you at your word. It seems like that concludes our investigation into this Fog Hag. Thanks again, Ms. Bartley.
Ms. Tooth Fairy, if you do want to thank me, mind doing me a favor?
Tooth Fairy nods, but Caroline seems to have an unusual hesitation as she deliberates over her choice of words.
In the end, she yields.
Please do something, anything, to bring her out of this hole she's dug for herself.
Whatever you do, break down her door, drag her out by her hair, even blow up that old mansion.
Just don't let her hide in her stupid house.
She'll let you inside now. There's no longer any power preventing you. I can sense it.
Hmm. You know this place well. Have you visited her here before?
Caroline bites her lip, holding back the words on the tip of her tongue.
Then, she walks away.
I think Ms. Bartley wants to come in with us.
Maybe so, but she's made her choice. She doesn't want to join us inside.
Tooth Fairy shakes the jar in her hand, not containing her usual toothfairies but filled with a collection of lanolin snails.
Let's go, Flutterpage. We still have work to do.
Whatever you say, Ms. Witch Doctor.
The two of them step cautiously into the garden, the soil compacting under their feet. There is nothing left to obstruct their path.
They step around a few threatening-looking plants as they take the winding road to the creaky oak door.
Tooth Fairy goes to knock, but the door swings open the moment her knuckle hits its surface.
Ah! The door isn't locked. Let's get inside.
Willow sits at the table prepared for one, surrounded by an exorbitant amount of half-finished food.
Aside from the full English she's currently tucking into, there's a scotch egg, a half-eaten cod and chips, and a steaming apple crumble.
Sorry to interrupt.
Willow casts aside basic manners, neglecting to invite her guests to sit, and cuts herself another piece of sausage.
*swallow*
Diets high in sugar and fatty oils may well lead to stomach illness, Ms. O'Hagan.
...
She continues to eat her lavish brunch.
I choose the name, Tooth Fairy, instead of my real name, Campbell. But did you choose to let people call you Willow?
Or, do you prefer the name Charlotte O'Hagan?
That is the name of ... an excellent Uluru Floor Ritualist.
The crash of silverware interrupts her once more.
Then, Willow sweeps her arm across the table.
The silver dishes clatter loudly as they fly to the floor.
Tooth Fairy, some kind of doctor, right? I think your prescription is a little fuzzy. I'm no athlete. I've only got one leg.
This Charlotte has nothing to do with Willow.
Just like I've nothing to do with the Uluru Games.
So far as I know, the Uluru Games do not exclude people with disabilities from full participation.
To be sure, but only if you enjoy parading yourself around for embarrassment. I think I'll pass, thanks.
No one should feel embarrassed by competing, least of all the competitors challenging themselves. That is the point of the Uluru spirit.
Willow rises with great effort, furiously stamping the floor with her prosthesis in the process.
Excuse me? I don't remember having asked you for a running commentary.
I'm sure you already know the answer in your heart. You have wisdom and experience.
Who even invited you here?! It's time you leave.
I'm here representing our mutual friend, Flutterpage.
At the mention of this name, Willow pauses and takes a step back.
What for?
I understand that usually the only one welcome inside is Flutterpage, but I'm here to apologize on her behalf.
Apologize?
She places a small jar of snails on the table.
What's this?
An apology gift. She ran off a little before sunrise to collect these for you.
She collects these arcane creatures you use to make the lubricant for your prosthesis, right?
But she's afraid that you'll get angry at her again, so she asked me to give it to you.
Oh, I see. Now I'm the hateful, angry, wicked witch.
No, you're not. The things that these people say about you, they aren't true.
As I mentioned, Flutterpage wanted to apologize, because, quote, she "didn't want to break your heart."
...
Ms. Bartley has told her many things about you. She never knew you're such an outstanding competitor.
Caroline?
Tooth Fairy slowly pushes the jar of snails closer to her.
So, will you accept her gift?
Willow delicately places her fingertips on the jar, neither pushing it away nor taking it.
You want to see her?
The witch's features twist like a knot.
Don't push me!
She pulls the snail jar closer to her.
Alright, it's my own fault! I shouldn't have treated her that way!
That what you wanted to hear, is it?
Fine, then. You'll have what you want. Just take me to her!
She's waiting by the door.
What?
Flutterpage cautiously peeks out from the edge of the doorframe, her wide eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger.
Ms. Willow?
...
At this point, there is no turning back.
Fine! Come on in then.
*sob*
Unable to deal with her emotions, tears well up in Flutterpage's eyes once again.
Stop your crying.
Listen, I—
Urgh, I ...
I shouldn't have treated you so wickedly the last time, and the time before that.
Tooth Fairy gives a silent nod.
Now would you stop that crying? At least not here in my—
*crying*
Without a moment's hesitation, Flutterpage charges toward her.
Willow's hands open and close like a spider raising its front legs in fear.
She's not sure whether she can catch this chaotic bundle of rags.
Oi!
*bang*
She manages to catch her, only to be knocked back to the floor.
...
I'm sorry ... I-I'm really very sorry ...
Tsk ...
I swear I won't break into your house no more. I'll only come in when you let me.
I'll do anythin' you ask, say anythin' you need me to say, Miss.
She unconsciously looks to Tooth Fairy, only to see that her full attention is directed at the Uluru Floor Ritual painting on the wall.
Willow gently taps the back of Flutterpage's neck through several layers of old clothing.
So, could I still come around again sometime?
Willow presses her hand to the girl's mouth, stifling her sobs.
Wumm.
Stop your crying first, lass.
Okay! I'll stop cryin'.
With a soft push, Flutterpage drifts into the air like a sheet caught in the wind.
Even with the removal of Flutterpage's weight, Willow is left on the floor, unable to get up.
Let ... Can I help you?
Flutterpage moves closer, reaching out both hands in line with Willow's.
Heh.
She takes the offered hands and rises steadily, the sudden gust of wind helping her find her balance.
Enough, enough. I've had too much of this for one day.
Would you mind if I politely asked you to leave?
You do have a black fog to chase after all, don't you?
Just so you know, it truly has nothing to do with me.
Ms. O'Hagan ...
Call me Willow, child. What else do you want to say?
Would you let the food stay in your tummy for a bit longer? Eat a little more. I don't want you to be so skinny.
...
Willow pries Flutterpage's arm from around her waist, gently pushing her back.
Alright. Now leave me be, please.
Tooth Fairy takes Flutterpage's hand, and, as they leave the room, the old house sinks back into silence. There is no sound save for the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock.
She's seen too much of this embarrassing side of me.
8. Raining Fish
146 linesSo, I dreamt of eating a marshmallow last night, but it tasted like rubber! And the next day, my wife asked me why I ate the cotton she had in her nose.
I said it's because the air was so dirty that I wanted to block up my throat. And she laughed.
Of course, she says it might be better now that I can't shout and holler whenever someone scores.
A burst of static fills the air as the radio's owner changes the station.
These are the highest level of professional arcanists! Their abilities lie far beyond the limits of our bodies, our perception, and everything else!
Arthur, mate, do you know what you're doing?
Go on then, be a little louder. May as well let everyone know a trusted servant of His Majesty's Government and his talking hat are hiding out in a pile of litter!
Oh, that's what you're worrying about? I guarantee you no person in their right mind will think that a brilliant mind such as yourself would decide to hide in a rubbish pile pretending to be a potato!
Ha-ha, since when did you become a comedian?
I learned from the "best," mate. Once I'm back in Oz, I hope to be awarded the title of "Duke of Syd-knee-slapper."
Not that anyone gives a toss about titles of nobility back home. We've got more important things to worry about in the red lands down under.
You know, Brimley, old chap, you don't have to be a duke to be above people. All you need is someone tall enough to wear you on his head.
Bloody oath, mate! Like I'd let anyone pop me on their head. I'm an intelligent being, not a bloody accessory.
Shh!
A small monocular peeks out from among the garbage.
Look at that sailor over there. See the ropes in his hand? That right there is presently the most valuable material in all of London to me.
Right, a bit of rope, and what about it, mate?
It's essential that I have it for my invention. We'll just wait for him to throw the ropes into the pile here, and then we'll be off, just as simple as that.
Come closer, closer. Ready now! He's nearly here!
It's no longer useful to you, son. Just throw it down.
A bowl of freshly extracted fish guts is poured over him.
BAAAH! *coughs*
*coughs* Mate, there's a lot of good that's come of being Awakened. I treasure all the adventures we've shared. But I'll tell you right now, I wouldn't have Awakened if I knew I'd end up in a rubbish bin covered in fish guts.
Just a little mistake. Just a LITTLE mistake.
What are all these for exactly?
Mr. Fog gestures for Brimley to come closer, then, with a proud "whoosh," opens the large sack he's been filling over the last three days.
These are my collections so far: a klaxon, a watering can, a fishbowl, and ...
A chamber pot?
Despite his lack of facial features, Mr. Fog can sense Brimley's disdain.
You've gone full bonkers, mate! You're the Fogwalker! Aren't you ashamed of hiding in rubbish, stealing old junk?
It's not junk, old chap. Every piece here will be invaluable to our work.
Mr. Fog's face hardens as he turns his gaze toward Brimley.
Each one is a necessary component for my invention.
Your invention?
For ... Ahoy, sailor. You over there! Please wait!
Mr. Fog's attention is clearly still fixed on the sailor.
Would you mind terribly leaving us those old ropes you've got there!
Good lord, he's bound for the sanitarium at this rate.
Move along, move along! No pushing! Everyone will have their chance to vote for their favorite competitor!
Oi, sweeny! You only pushed me out of the queue. Good bloody job, mate.
I'm voting for number 007! Mulson!
Mulson, the first timer? Not on your life, mate! I'm down for 005 Bartley. She's the top seed!
The alley is full of stalls for the Uluru Qualifiers. A crowd of people is gathered, their faces painted with Uluru symbols in anticipation of the event.
Three days to the qualifiers! Vote while you still can!
Sir, oi, you over there with the black brolly, come on over, and vote for the winner!
Oi, mister, stop your pushing!
*panting* Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I ...
Sorry, mate, we're on patrol!
Sir, we have a situation over there.
Let's follow them.
Now introducing the competitors for the Uluru London Qualifiers.
Bartley, Bartley, Bartley!
Oi! Who pushed me?
Ouch! Mind your step, will you?
Me? Was you that pushed me, weren't it! You should be the one minding your own feet!
Arthur, I think we're only making things worse trying to move through this crowd.
Looks like we've found our troublemakers. What do we do?
Keep up with them, and bring them in!
Yes sir!
*panting*
Haha, but he gave us the rope after all.
Mr. Fog grins as he looks at the small length of rope in his hand.
Stop right there!
He turns his head, and there, standing behind him, are two constables.
Seems you two rough sleepers are wanted in connection with a fight breaking out on Cross Street. I'll ask you to come quietly and cooperate.
Mate? Say something!
Wonderful! Now I have everything I need for my experiment! The properties of this sea-worn rope should be able to conduct the large particles into the purification vessels.
Mate, shut your gob for a minute and listen!
Yes, perfection! But how to measure and screen the size of the particles? We will need more sophisticated equipment. Huh? Why am I being handcuffed?
Because you're being placed under arrest, sir.
The moment the two constables draw near, they freeze in place.
Wait a second.
Their eyes widen.
Mr. Fog? Is that you?
Bloody hell! Are you seriously telling me you recognized Fog before me! How many talking hats do you know?
Terribly sorry, gentlemen. I might not have recognized you through all this fog were it not for that iconic umbrella of yours.
Oh, naturally. Just as I've somehow failed to recognize the two ignoramuses that tried to handcuff a hat!
The shorter constable gives a series of subtle eye signals to the other.
We're sorry again, Mr. Fogwalker and Mr. Brimley.
But, we do need to ask you some questions, what with you running around disturbing the peace and nicking all these strange things you've got there.
Oh, I didn't steal anything! This is all just rubbish, and it's for official business. I'm going to lift the fog from London!
The two constables pause for a moment before their faces break into awkwardly sardonic smiles.
I see, I see. All just a terrible misunderstanding then!
Naturally, a bit of old rope, a car horn, unmistakably the latest in technology.
Anyways, mates. Best we let you go. You've got a city to save.
We'll be off now.
With the handcuffs removed, Brimley takes a moment to stretch.
Glad that's over. I'm no fan of handcuffs, even if I don't have any hands.
A little quiet, old chap. I'm just in the middle of a thought. How might I assemble it?
I-I'm sorry, mister, but I just heard what happened.
Huh?
Huh?
Neither one of them had noticed the little girl who had appeared before them. She looks only half as old as Flutterpage.
Did you say "lifting the fog," mister? Are you really going to get rid of the big scary fog monster?
She blinks, her eyes bright and sparkling as she stares at Mr. Fog like a little goldfish in a tank.
Will that mean you can cure my mummy?
And bring back the blue sky?
Brimley glances at Mr. Fog.
Right?
When no one responds, the little girl grows anxious.
And, and then, we can still have the Uluru Games, right?
Her eyes dart back and forth between Brimley and Mr. Fog, looking for any trace of comfort.
My mummy said, if the fog keeps sticking around making people sick, then the games won't come.
A faint sob starts to creep into her voice.
Mr. Fog crouches down and shakes his sack of treasures, spreading them out on the ground.
Mate, this really isn't the time or place.
A klaxon, a probe, a spoon, and a spool of weathered rope ...
Assembled like so, perhaps using a large pot or a baby's bathtub ...
He furrows his brow, absorbed in the task at hand.
The girl gets on her knees as she leans in to get a closer look.
It will still need a touch of the miraculous.
He gently blows into the base of the glass vessel.
There's a crackling sound as a few sparks of light flash briefly in the glass container.
Before long, a tiny, steady light is glowing within.
Voilà!
It's breathing!
The machine hums as it draws in air, filters it, and releases it through the other side.
Yes.
The Uluru Qualifiers will not just be fog-free, my little friend. They will be sunny.
But I'll need some help. Would you and your friends join me in this project, young lady?
The little girl's face blushes red.
Y-Yes! I'll help. I'll ask my grandpa, my mummy, and Auntie Martha to help, too!
The more, the merrier! We're going to build the largest fog purification machine on earth—The London Air Pollution Auto-Detect Cleaner!
That just looks like a great honking big vacuum to me, mate.
Sulis, Sulis, all life's offerings I bring, as sacrifice to you, from the growing spring.
The light will sprout within the world's egg lay.
Your endless quest brings parents' joyful day.
Parents' joyful day ...
What are you, a parrot?
After hanging in the upside-down pose of her ribbon dance for an hour, Willow finally decides to break the silence.
Fine, keep on then. Annoy an old woman to death if you like.
Another bad mood, eh, Ms. Willow? This one's your worst this week. I counted it up. Every 32 hours, steady as a clock, you start scoldin' me, scoldin' the plants, the ants, even flowers.
I thought we'd agreed—no more peeking round my house without permission.
Yeah, but you didn't kick me out, did you? And you gave me some rye bread and lemon jam. Don't quite know why you keep tryin' to act the big meanie, Ms. Willow. I know you're a softie, now—deep down.
*rrrrip—* The ribbon suspending Willow finally gives way, sending her quickly to the ground.
She hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Ms. Willow!
Ouch! Ah, it hurts.
Are you practicing for the qualifiers?
A distant voice reaches her.
The corner of Willow's mouth twitches.
Hello again, Ms. Swan.
...
A blonde woman stands on the other side of the garden fence, her face half-covered by the curled stems of a carnivorous plant.
9. Hesitation and Challenge
128 linesBe careful. Now you can spit it out. Right.
*puke*
Vomit plunges into a bucket. Tooth Fairy doesn't spare it a second thought.
That's the fifth one today. I added a bit of powder into the candy to loosen up their phlegm. It should help them breathe a little easier.
Thank you so much, Doctor. We really had no idea what to do with this new variant of tuberculosis. You and the Foundation have been a real asset to us.
You're welcome. This is a matter of vital health for all of us. I'm very glad to see the treatment is proving effective.
And I hope that our clinical experience here might contribute to solving this "fog curse" as well.
All I'm hoping for is for this mess to end soon, so we can go watch the Games together.
Really, so the staff here are fans of the Uluru Games as well?
Not just the staff. Everyone here loves a bit of sport! We're always listening to the broadcasts over the radio down in the ward.
It's all quite motivating. Sometimes we even get the patients out onto the commons to practice.
Something about the coming of a big sporting event always brings people together.
...
That's all very good to hear. But actually, it was this poster that grabbed my attention.
She points to the small poster pinned beside the bed.
The picture is faded. It's too difficult to make out the face of the athlete.
Ah! That's her!
Gorgeous, isn't she?
May I ask who she is?
She happens to be this patient's favorite competitor of all time.
She collected all of her posters and clippings. She even keeps a few photos of her as a bookmark, and in her purse.
Her favorite ritualist ...
Looks like you haven't had a proper guest in ages. Have you forgotten how to make a cup of tea?
You like to presume, don't you?
So, why are you here, then? Just to enjoy the sound of a door slamming in your face?
Oh, how terrible of me for wanting to visit an old friend.
So then, Ms. Bartley, you came all the way down from Yorkshire just to gawk at an old rival? I should feel lucky, should I?
Truth is I don't care to chatter about with you, not now, not ever.
So you can just turn around and march yourself home. Flutterpage, back to business.
After glancing at Caroline, Willow turns and gives Flutterpage a look.
But Flutterpage is too busy staring at Caroline, her face vacant.
Why'd you send her away like that? She just wants to practice with you. She likes you.
Focus on your stopwatch, on the count of three. No time to waste.
She's still there.
She's none of our concern.
And you ain't seen each other in a long time. Bet she misses you a lot.
For Pete's sake, Buzzie, no one does something like that just out of the goodness of their own heart. She has her reasons.
Flutterpage obediently closes her mouth but can't help herself from giving Caroline a reluctant glance.
Charlotte, you know she's right.
I have missed you. I want to see you, but if you really want to know the reason ...
I want to challenge you again.
The question is, do you?
Do you know her?
Oh. Right! That's the name.
Truth is, if it weren't for our little patient, I doubt I'd remember her.
Most people think she's too old to compete now—that she's retired to God knows where; others say she's become an addict, wasting her life away.
I guess I heard in the gossip rags that some people think she's keeled over and died.
Too bad for this young lady, but I doubt we'll ever see her in the Games again.
Wherever she is, she's like as not to lose, even if she did compete.
You just want to announce to the world you've beat me, eh? Think that'll be a fair challenge, do you?
Perhaps you ought to find someone a little more your speed, someone who is still in one piece.
...
...
You have changed, haven't you, Charlotte?
Hmph!
After a brief moment of surprise, Caroline throws a ribbon at Willow.
The ribbon lashes fiercely, grazing the side of Willow's body before shooting past her.
Caroline pulls the ribbon back toward her, the cup landing squarely in her hand. She stands there calmly, her eyes still on Willow.
You just said you don't have any tea I'd like, but I think this one is just to my taste.
Wow, Ms. Willow, that ribbon is amazin'! It can go from long to short in a second!
...
Aye, a little toss of the ribbon to take control of an object at a distance of 10 meters, catch an object after a turn. You did it. Well done. But your aesthetics were lazy.
You're controlling the angle of your left shoulder, which is good, but it only means you're compensating for your poor stance.
...!
Heh. What then, are you expecting me to say thank you?
No need. Thank yourself for all that hard practice you must have done over all those years. You're almost good enough, now. Almost.
Keep the cup. Let's go back to our timing, Flutterpage.
Alright. Bye bye, Ms. Swan!
For a moment, Caroline stands there motionlessly, cup in hand.
Then, she gradually lowers her eyes, places the cup on the fence post, and turns to walk away.
She has barely walked a few steps when Willow's voice reaches her from behind, not loud, but clear.
Oh, by the by.
The ribbon technique you just did. I know you learnt it from me, from my performance at the Beltane Exhibition Match. Am I right?
Hmm?
The tone of her voice makes it almost impossible to simply walk away.
Excuse me?
Each and every move, you copied it from my routine, right down to the ribbon.
What?
Ms. Swan, your face is all red, like my daddy's face when he reads a funny joke in his Punch books.
Me ... Learnt from you?
You were taunting me right in front of my face, with my own routine, the very innovator that made it.
I suppose it was just an attempt to win my approval, was it?
You really think that, don't you?
But, I'm afraid you're not different than when we last competed, Caroline. Aye, you're diligent, but you were never graceful enough.
That's what holds you back from glory in Floor Ritual. Your aesthetic sensibility, it's all you've ever needed, but you still don't have it, do you now?
I ... I ...
You won't make any real progress reusing my old routines. Not unless you find your own way to express your pneuma and your own signature.
Shame and regret slowly creep across Caroline's face as she struggles to contain her anger.
Then, it bursts forth.
You really are full of yourself, aren't you, Charlotte?
Do you know how many titles I've won at the international tournaments? The Desert Floor Ritual Open, The Aurora Cup World Championship, and many others, let alone Uluru itself!
The name Caroline Bartley has long surpassed yours! I am the uncontested top seed in these Games. The records of my skills, my own skills, are in the training manuals for new witches.
Do you even know anything about the state of the competition these days? The rules and scoring systems are entirely different and higher in every way. The limits you once broke through are now considered standard for beginners.
Hah! But indeed, I learnt it all from you.
Face it. You've been left behind. You're no longer the model of perfection.
You're just a shooting star that shined too briefly but eventually fell away. I am the rising sun. My name will be eternal in this sport, long after yours is forgotten.
...
Willow smiles, her back turned to Caroline.
Caroline stands in shock as a couple of doves take flight, leaving behind a few drifting feathers.
Aunt Martha!
Lisa, you're back! We were just talking about you.
About me? What about me?
About your dream and your favorite competitor.
Oh, oh, you mean Charlotte O'Hagan?
Yes, we—
That's great! But Mr. Fog needs us for a project!
He says we can still have the Games if we all work together! Then maybe everyone will be able to attend the qualifiers! Maybe even Charlotte O'Hagan!
A project?
What sort of project?
The girl's cries draw the attention of everyone in the hospital, creating a buzz of confusion.
Give me a break. What are they planning to do this time? Another useless bill that won't pass the House of Lords?
Sorry for interrupting. Did I hear you mention Mr. Fog?
Yes, Mr. Fog! He said he's making something that will lift all the fog from London!
It's his great invention!
With everyone's help, we can build a huuuge machine, but he says we'll need lots and lots of things, such as, um, pistons for the mechanic lung, and ...
Calm, steady footsteps grow nearer, and a large hand tousles the little girl's hair.
I'll take it over from here. Thank you, Lisa.
Mr. Fog!
Mr. Fog?
10. Dust-Covered Pearl
114 lines*drip-drip-drip*
...
Ms. Willow, I think the water's been shut off.
I opened it all the way, but nothing's coming out.
Flutterpage tilts her head as she brings it in close and sticks her little finger into the faucet, feeling only a few drips of water.
*drip-drip-drip*
Dangling in midair, Willow wipes the beads of sweat from her face.
Go to the water resource office, and ask the staff what's going on. If they're not there, they're probably at the Gin Barrel.
I know you want me to leave, but how're you goin' to track the time and score without me?
Hmph.
*drip-drip-drip*
With a heart that's pure, and a body lean, to the hunt I go, through forest green.
Her wand unexpectedly slips from her left hand and plummets to the floor.
Feck. Pick it up and keep going, Charlotte.
The movement's correct. First spin, then run the geranium over the shoulder, let it slide down the back, and as it falls to the ground, step on it to hop into the air, then ...
Sulis, Sulis, all life's offerings I bring, as sacrifice to you, from the growing spring ...
Ack! This is all wrong!
She halts, wrinkling her brow.
The flow needs to be smoother.
Alright, let's try this again.
The sprouting light within the world's egg lays ...
*thud* She gracefully descends from the air, her mechanical prosthesis squeaking softly as she lands.
Hooray! You did it!
Oh ...
Once more from the beginning.
*drip-drip-drip*
Your endless quest brings parents' joyful days.
*thud* Her body has collapsed on this rotted wooden floor countless times today, and with the setting sun, each fall feels heavier than the last.
...
I did it.
You did what?
I completed the element. I did it.
The two-and-a-half turn with free leg backwards and upwards, wand throw and catch.
Does that mean you can complete the ritual, too?
Yes.
Willow examines the geranium in her hand, the tender pink leaves quietly resting in her palm.
Not a single petal has fallen or been harmed in any way.
Alright. That's enough for today.
Hmm?
It's supper time. Your mother must be waiting for you to come home with beef stew, fried fish, and bread.
But why? You usually train for about three more hours.
Not today. I need a break. *yawn* I'm totally exhausted.
Hmm.
Flutterpage stays exactly where she is, showing no desire to move.
Why are you still standing there? Do I need to get His Majesty's limousine to pick you up?
Oh, I get it. If I don't leave now, the critters in the garden will bite my ears.
She mumbles on to herself as she quickly makes her way to the door.
Good, I won't see you off.
A gust of wind blows in through the door as Flutterpage makes her exit. With a flick of Willow's wand, she slams it shut behind her.
The room settles back into its muted, oppressive stillness.
*drip-drip-drip*
Willow steps into the pale yellow light of the kitchen and shuts the door behind her.
Willow sits beside the sink, absorbed in cleaning her cauldron.
...
*pant* Look at me! I have a whole sink of dishes that haven't washed, and here I am, fighting a little stain on a cauldron, and when the water's just shut off, too!
I did ask Buzzie to visit the water resource office. Hopefully it didn't slip her mind, if she even knows how to use it.
Never mind. I can clean it off without water.
*pant* Hah!
Got it! It's off!
You stubborn little thing. Everyone loathes you, avoids you like the plague. You're just a pathetic little stain, clinging to what you can.
Do you have no shame? To sully the sacred floor with your artificial leg!
So what if you finished the element?!
It won't bring back your leg! Without it, you're no different from a clown! How could you possibly compete again?! You're not qualified!
No, I'm not.
All the money I spent on this leg, all the efforts I made to finish the ritual, they're utterly pointless!
When was the last time I ate dessert? Or even a chip, for that matter? Year after year, I've trained harder than the last to make up for my leg, but what's the point?
She flings the scrubbing brush into the cauldron, and her heavy breathing gradually slows down.
Heh, forget it. Everything will be alright.
Just give up. Stop thinking about it. Stop hoping. Don't look back or ahead.
Just look at the cauldron.
Beneath the dim light, Willow raises her now sparkling clean cauldron to eye level.
See how clean it is now? Stop clinging to places where you don't belong.
The world is perfect without you.
The rusted faucet suddenly sputters out a blast of water. It splashes across the counter, startling Willow.
Ah!
Willow leaps back with the reflexes of a true athlete. Her gaze quickly falls on the piece of paper on the table.
No!
She dashes forward, snatching the paper away from the raging spray of water.
It's the registration form for the Uluru London Qualifiers.
Her hands, clutching the form, begin to tremble. Before long, the tremors have engulfed her entire body.
Caroline stands at the center of the sports field in her training gear, feeling the fiery pulse of the ground beneath her feet.
Hey.
Hmm?
Ms. Bartley! I finally found you!
F-Flutterpage? Is that you? I can hardly open my eyes in all this wind. Where, where are you?
I'm right here!
The wind subsides as Flutterpage makes a hurried landing, nearly losing her balance.
You've been looking for me, have you? How did you find me?
I knew where you were stayin' in London, but you wasn't there when I arrived. Then, the landlady, Erika, told me to try the trainin' field. Looks like she was right.
She was. I've been training here every day. You know, to settle in before the event.
Good luck, then. Actually, I've come here to deliver a very important and urgent letter to you. Here.
"A Letter of Challenge"?
The bold, crooked letters scrawled across the top proudly proclaim the letter's importance.
"I, Liberti Grove, on behalf of Charlotte O'Hagan, hereby challenge Caroline Bartley to see who'll become the champion of the Floor Ritual in the Uluru Games."
"No matter if you're a seeded player, a champion, or the sun you say you are ..."
"Charlotte O'Hagan, the only Floor Ritualist to master the two-and-a-half turn with free leg backwards and upwards, wand throw and catch ..."
"... will defeat you and win first place in the London Qualifiers!"
What?
You mean ...
11. Clang! Clang!
117 linesOutta the way, outta the way! I've found the perfect component for Mr. Fog's machine!
The boy darts through the bustling alley, slipping between the hats in the smog, and landing among the crowd at the corner of the square.
The machine, about half the size of a person, is at the center of everyone's attention. The crowd members whisper to each other in excited tones.
This allows us to analyze the composition of the atmosphere.
He lifts his head above the crowd, his voice cutting through the chatter.
If the color of the filter paper meets that of the pollution standard, it will determine that the air is polluted and start working automatically.
Let me show you.
Heads turn as the crowd stares intently at the measuring tool in Mr. Fog's hands.
Scuse me! Oi, Mr. Fog, look, I found a glass stopper! It's the one you were lookin' for, right?
Stopper in hand, Freddy eagerly pushes through the crowd toward Mr. Fog.
Oh, you found it! Yes, that's exactly what I need!
He gratefully takes the stopper.
Your attention, please! This glass stopper is one of the core components of this machine, which can harness the power of the sun to purify the air. Of course, this is only one component of many.
Are you done talkin'? We've given you everythin' you need. Where's our purification machine?
Quite right! We need to see the purification machine!
Discontent and suspicion start to surface among the crowd.
No need to worry, folks. Believe me. There is no one who wants this purification machine to work more than I. So, I've been doing some experiments.
Arthur, mate!
Here!
Mr. Fog looks across the crowd, his eyes bright with intent, prompting the crowd to part a path along the line of his gaze.
Brimley, Tooth Fairy, and three dockworkers appear at the end of the path. They're hauling a cart carrying a heavy machine.
Forgive me for not helping move it. I'm afraid I'm handless and horseless. I can't do a thing.
What in the bloody hell is that? Some kind of mechanical freak?
Not to worry, Brimley. Now, folks, take a look at this. Thanks to your generous donations, my experiments on smog removal have finally come to fruition.
Introducing the London Air Pollution Auto-Detecting Purifier MK. II! A high-power, multifunctional, air-cleaning machine!
The current model can only operate for three hours at a time, but I'll continue to improve its performance before the qualifiers begin. It's estimated to last a whole day by then.
Wonderful! Simply wonderful!
A cheer erupts from the crowd.
No more smog standin' in our way!
Goodness, I can't remember the last time I saw the sun and breathed fresh air. I feel as though I've been rotting!
Amidst the raucous celebration, Brimley takes a moment to glance at Tooth Fairy, who is standing silently off to one side.
It's an honor to see that sweet smile of yours, darl.
I think I'm inspired somehow. I've always felt like a bit of an outsider in London, but this festive atmosphere makes me feel a sense of belonging.
I totally understand.
Though I Awakened in London, my true home is the land down under, thousands of miles from here. In some ways, I'm an immigrant. This sense of belonging is a treasure.
Inside the sleepy car, the radio broadcasts a variety of live updates.
Yes, as an East London resident, my chest swelled with pride when I learned that the Uluru Qualifiers would be held here. I couldn't wait to see what would happen.
A-Achoo!
That's your ninth sneeze since we got here.
Don't blame me! I didn't even wanna come! The Uluru Committee ignored my application to stay at the Australian headquarters. They couldn't find anyone willing to come to London with all this smog in the air.
They didn't have much choice, either, mate. The Foundation's been preparing for the qualifiers in London for ages. We'll suffer huge financial losses if it's canceled.
Someone has to make the trip to decide whether we should cut our losses or continue to throw money at it. You must've done something to be the lucky one who has to do the job.
...!
Holy ...!
The car screeches to a halt as a group of sooty critters scurry by the front bumper. As the shuffling subsides, the engine revs up again.
I do apologize. These little monsters are all over the streets these days.
Haha, he sounds so calm. You'd think he was just talking about stray cats.
You have to admire the stoicism of the Brits, especially in the face of all this. Honestly, this environment is totally unsuitable for any kind of outdoor activity.
...
The Foundation member says nothing, quietly jotting something down in a notebook.
Hey, what are you doing?
Making note of the crash that almost happened. *sigh* These records will be used to decide if the qualifiers should be canceled. Someone has to be the doer since we already have a whiner on the team, eh?
...
With a sidelong glance at the scenery beyond the window, the man under the mask exhales softly.
Look at all the decorations and posters. So much preparation for an event that won't even be held.
I'm surprised they even wanna hold the qualifiers given the situation.
A gentle silence fills the car, its clarity as soft and blurred as the yellowish smog outside.
Anyway, let's make it quick and get this job over with.
Let me see. We need two things: evidence that proves the environment isn't suitable for holding the qualifiers, and the profiles of all the participating athletes. Then we can go home.
...
Next, the changes made to Cross Street. Let's see what the local community has done to prepare for the upcoming event.
The driver reaches a trembling hand to the radio and quietly turns the volume knob to its minimum.
On the busy street, a crowd gathers around Mr. Fog and his purification machine. After some further iteration, its performance has greatly improved.
Beside the device, the sign originally reading "London Air Pollution Auto-Detecting Purifier MK. II" now reads "MK. III" thanks to a single additional brushstroke.
Three!
Two!
One!
Start!
He pushes the red button on the machine.
The contraption, pieced together from household goods, has a glass container housing a solid metal mechanical lung purifier. It comes to life with a deep rumble.
Bit by bit, the yellow smog hanging in the air is inhaled by its gaping vent.
Wow!
Eyes wide with wonder, the people watch as the world around them gradually turns clearer.
Wow! Look, Dad! Are those clouds in the sky? They're so white and fluffy!
The air's so fresh. I've never felt anythin' like it!
Hey! I can even see Keaton's store fifty yards from here! Hellooo! See, Keaton's waving back!
A wave of joy ripples through the crowd as they erupt into excited conversation.
Tooth Fairy watches Mr. Fog. He's staring upward. There is no celebration from him, only a quiet contemplation.
The first week is for planning, the second for execution, and the last for delivery and paperwork.
Looks like you've completed the tasks as scheduled.
Are you relieved?
Mr. Fog stands there, still staring at the blue sky above.
...
Ms. Tooth Fairy, the sun is so golden and warm.
Don't mind him. He's all over the place after working non-stop for the last few weeks. He's just trying to say he's happy, that's all.
What about you? How do you feel?
Brimley charges forward, gliding merrily above the heads of those around him.
Tooth Fairy watches with a gentle smile. Then, something catches the corner of her eye.
Guided by the traces of arcane energy, she takes a few steps over to the corner.
A faint, shadowy haze momentarily clouds her vision, vanishing just as suddenly as it came.
I thought the black fog was a result of the increased density of regular smog in the air, but it seems I was wrong.
Mr. Fog's machine has cleaned up the smog around us, but the black fog's still here, and it's getting thicker. How curious.
At least now, without the smog covering its trail, I can sense its movements more clearly.
Following her keen senses, Tooth Fairy silently slips into a narrow alleyway.
Her nostrils sting as she enters the trail of the black fog.
*cough*
Doing her best to wave it off with her hand, she continues to follow the trail of the enigmatic presence.
Something tiny and black seems to shudder in a corner deep within the alley.
What? What's that?
...!
The black creature springs into motion, vanishing from her sight in the blink of an eye.
Hmm?
Now doesn't feel like the time to focus on that little dark lump.
The smog's back.
The smog rolls back in, but this time it has taken on a thick, blackened quality, and it's accompanied by a handful of unexpected intruders.
I did hear that these little things tend to gather in the quiet alleys of Cross Street. Perhaps they'd like a visit from the toothfairies.
Slipped away at the first opportunity.
She can't make out where they went through the thickness of the smog.
I knew it.
Slightly fatigued, she pauses to tidy up her hair.
But what exactly was it?
12. Old Wood
151 linesKnock, knock! Which would make the world a better place, art or a heart of gold? Ha-ha! Neither! The little knocker-upper, Flutterpage, will!
Flutterpage knocks on Willow's back door, but she receives no answer.
Hmm? Where's Ms. Willow? She should be warmin' up by now.
She walks a short loop around the perimeter of the house.
Where's she gone? Ms. Willow! Ms. Wiiillooow!
Silence.
Knock, knock! Don't jump to conclusions. Mr. Wind will tell you the truth.
A gust of wind picks Flutterpage up, raising her high in the air. She sways as she glides in through an open window.
Knock, knock! I'll open all the windows and doors, and all the treasure chests, too. Ms. Willow! Ms. Willow?
Ms. Willow! What you doin' over there?
In a dark corner, Willow stands silently before a peculiar object. She senses Flutterpage but doesn't turn her head.
You're early. Why am I not surprised? You're about as patient as a dog waiting for his dinner.
I thought you'd start practicin' as soon as you woke up. What you doin' in this corner?
Willow softly rests her hand upon the item before her.
Come take a look at this. I wonder if it still works.
The peculiar item sits still.
Hmm. What a strange thing! What is it?
It's a sort of instrument called the didgeriwood. Come give it a try. First, put your hand on it like this.
Flutterpage, imitating Willow, lays her hand on the didgeriwood.
Okay. Then what?
I'll teach you how to play it.
It's beautiful, like raindrops patterin' on tree leaves.
...
Willow gently puts Flutterpage's hand aside before resting her own hand on it again.
Hmm? Why's it gone quiet all of a sudden?
It's broken.
What?! I didn't break it, did I?
No. It's been broken for a long time.
Well, judgin' by the look of it, it must be old. It's got mildew all over.
This instrument is crucial to every Floor Ritualist. You see, we're not just dancers but music makers, using our arcane skills to play the didgeriwood while we dance.
*sigh*
Don't worry, Ms. Willow. I know broken things ain't always easy to fix, but we can start with the easy part. Why don't we wipe off the dust first?
Flutterpage picks up a loose piece of paper and moves to wipe the dust from the didgeriwood.
Um ...
Oh!
The girl blinks, her hair jutting out in every direction. She pauses for a moment as she slowly reads the paper.
There's still time, isn't there?
No! You already missed the window!
Blimey, we've got to do somethin' about this! Hmm. Oh! That's right! Mr. Fog said that two officers from the Australian headquarters would arrive in London today. I think we can ask them to pull the ... What was the word?
Willow doesn't respond.
Anyway, we need to get a move on! I'll pull you up.
Flutterpage tugs desperately at Willow, who steadfastly holds her ground, leaving them at an impasse.
Flutterpage turns her head.
Give up?
...
What do you mean, "give up"?
...
I don't understand.
Ain't this the Uluru Games we've been talkin' about for ages?
Think of all the effort you've made. You didn't jump up and down in the garden over and over again to dust it, did you? You're an athlete, not a feather duster!
A-And you finished that move! The, you know, the um ...
The two-and-a-half turn with free leg backwards and upwards, wand throw and catch.
Oh, please, don't look at me like that.
Yes, I've always dreamt of completing this element.
No one knows better than I how much this means to me.
Then, why are you ...?
I don't want to talk about it.
Willow lowers her head.
You should leave. I need to see what I can do to fix the didgeriwood. Don't forget to close the door behind you.
Flutterpage stands frozen, staring at Willow for what feels like forever, before pouting angrily and crouching down, her arms firmly crossed.
*sigh*
Unsure of what to say, Willow lets the moment hang awkwardly in the air.
Beneath the painting of the Irish countryside, one stands and the other squats, the grandfather clock marking each passing second with its steady tick.
Eventually, Willow lightly taps Flutterpage on the head with her finger.
Don't be upset. It's not that serious.
Flutterpage continues to stare at the floor, shaking her head forcefully.
I ... I talked to Ms. Bartley yesterday.
You didn't ...
Flutterpage stands up.
Yeah, I challenged her on your behalf with a letter.
...!
She only visited me so she could show off all the titles she's won. She's not the first to come just to laugh in my face.
What?
She was really lookin' forward to competin' against you. She told me why, too.
She said you were the most talented and hard workin' player she'd ever seen, and that it took all her effort just to keep you in her sight, let alone catch up with you.
Because you're different, the one true master of the art. If there were only one gold medal in the history of the Floor Ritual, it'd be meant for you.
Those were her exact words.
...
She wrestles with her memories, yet the emotional pull of the past remains palpable.
I only chose to become a Floor Ritualist ...
Because I had a talent for it. I wanted to win.
So I practiced and practiced, paying little attention to anything else.
My family, my friends, my life, none of it mattered more than victory.
To me, there was no reward more alluring than the euphoria of winning.
But whenever I looked back at my past glories, I felt no happiness or excitement. Instead, I'd replay every moment in my mind, every lost point, every imperfect movement, and think about how close I was to failure.
So I pursued the next victory even more fervently. I thought, "Next time, I won't lose a single point. Next time, I'll be perfect."
That was what was running through my mind when I was crowned champion of the Beltane.
But there was no next time.
That was my last competition.
...
But you can still have a next time. You can still try again. Look at you! Your skills haven't dulled a bit!
What's the point? I've pushed away everyone I wanted to honor with my victories. I've strayed too far from home.
Not to mention ... *sigh*
She casts a silent glance at her leg.
Okay, but are you happy when you do the Floor Ritual?
Am I happy?
See, I love bein' a knocker-upper. Every mornin', I get to see all kinds of sleepin' positions: some people cuddle, others curl up in a ball, and some ain't even in bed at all.
I like watchin' them wake up, too. Like newborn kittens learnin' to crawl, hehe!
And finally, when they completely open their eyes and stand on their feet, I feel a gust of fresh wind rushin' out the window.
It makes me happy.
So, what about you? Does the Floor Ritual make you happy?
I ...
I don't know.
The only thing that comes to mind is that, after a game, my mam would take me to the old cake shop down the road and buy me a cheesecake. The same one every time.
That was the only time I'd allow myself to eat dessert.
Mhm.
It had raspberries and chocolate drizzled on top. I can still remember the taste, sweet and tart, with a light bitterness.
What?
Right, then let's get you registered for the qualifiers so you can have that post-game celebration cheesecake again!
What are you ...?
Let's go talk to Mr. Fog. I'm sure he can find a way to get you into the qualifiers. And if your leg's causin' you trouble or anythin', Ms. Tooth Fairy can help you out. She is a doctor from the Foundation, after all.
W-Wait!
A delicate wind brushes past, causing her legs to lose their earlier stubbornness and follow Flutterpage out of the house.
Hmm? Don't you want to eat that cheesecake?
They walk beside the paintings of Ireland.
...
They wind their way through the willow-bound torches and mysterious vessels.
Don't you think it'll make you happy?
They pass through the house's front door.
That cheesecake ...
And leap out of the house.
It will, right? Then let's go get it! Life's all about happiness, ain't it?
A surge of fresh air floods Willow's nostrils, hitting her like a full-on collision with the outside world.
Lowering her gaze, she catches sight of Flutterpage hovering in the air, a delicate lock of hair swaying in the breeze.
You silly little Buzzie.
Using a hand spared from Flutterpage's tugging, Willow softly flicks at the silky strand of hair.
Hmm? Why's everyone leavin' the stadium?
Flutterpage is still tugging Willow in the direction of the venue, but there seem to be more and more despondent people going in the other direction.
Oi! Where you all goin'?
Home.
Home? Why? Mr. Fog's holdin' the ribbon-cuttin' ceremony for his machine in the stadium. Why ain't you goin' there?
It ain't happenin'.
Pardon?
I said it ain't happenin'! The ceremony!
The Foundation officers canceled the qualifiers.
Mr. Fog's so-called "biggest air purifier ever" doesn't work.
13. Ribbon-Cutting Ceremony
92 linesOne hour earlier.
Please enter in an orderly manner, everyone. The ceremony will begin shortly.
Beside the device, the sign originally reading "London Air Pollution Auto-Detecting Purifier MK. II" now reads "MK. III" thanks to a single additional brushstroke.
Freddy, can you see Mr. Fog? I can't see a thing past all these people.
You brought the telescope, didn't you, Dad? Maybe I can see if I look through it.
Good idea. Here, take the telescope and get on my shoulders. Hold on tight, you hear? This crowd's rabid. All this pushin' and shovin' just to take a look at a machine!
Then again, the most exciting thing we've had around here as of late is the rats fightin' in the underground.
I see him, Dad. I see Mr. Fog.
What's he doin'?
Blimey! He's smackin' the machine! It's really strange lookin'.
About half the height of Mr. Fog, and connected to a very long tube and a massive funnel!
Ooh! What's that?!
Right there inside the machine, there's a huge mechanical organ or somethin', like a lung!
Ah, sod it. Hold tight, Freddy. Dad's goin' to squeeze his way to the front!
Alright, I can see them now. Eh? I don't recognize those two in uniform. Are they the officers sent from the Foundation headquarters in Australia?
That's what I heard. The Uluru Committee sent them here to supervise the qualifiers, and they'll report the results back to their headquarters, too.
Ah, so it's down to them whether our athletes make it to the finals in Australia or not. I'm countin' on them.
Oh, please, Will. It's the players that you should count on, not the judges.
Well, I hope they like Caroline as much as I do!
Look, Dad! Mr. Fog's about to give a demonstration of his purifier to the officers.
I heard that it can filter out the smog within ten yards of itself, and it only takes one night to process the waste. The qualifiers will only last two weeks, so it should manage splendidly.
It's workin'. It's workin'!
Blimey, it's powerful! It's gulpin' down the smog faster than a builder downs a pint in the pub!
I wonder how it works. It's a miracle that a mechanical lung of this size can purify so much air without letting out any waste!
can purify so much air without letting out any waste!
The smog's gettin' thinner. I can see more clearly now.
Look, it's even purifying the smog all the way out there! I dare say the ivy on my balcony will be enjoying fresh air within the hour!
Mr. Fog's smilin', Dad. Ain't that great?!
It is. We ain't seen him smile for ages.
The hat looks happy too! It's dancin'!
Is he doin' that Australian ranger dance again? Oh, look at the expression on those Foundation officers' faces.
Hmm. They don't look happy or mad. Is somethin' wrong?
Woah! What's goin' on? The machine's shakin' like hell!
*beep-beep-beep*
What's that sound? Some kind of alarm?!
*beep-beep-beep*
Oh! Christ! Cover your ears, Freddy! That howlin' will make you deaf. What in the bloody hell is goin' on?!
*boom*
D-Dad?
Freddy? Are you alright?
I'm fine. It's the machine. It blew up!
What?!
First the pipe blew open, then its glass belly shattered, and the mechanical lung rolled out from inside. It's vomitin' up black blood.
There's no way.
And, and Mr. Fog!
What happened to him?
He's coughin' and coughin'.
Three and a half minutes.
I guess neither one of us won that bet. It didn't even last half as long as I predicted.
Don't be cruel, Gregory. We didn't come all this way just to laugh at these poor people.
But they did do even worse than predicted. That's a fact, isn't it? And it proves that the London Climate Management Agency is nothing but a joke.
Listen, Gregory. I know you must be exhausted from the long journey and your constant sneezing, but you can't say that to their faces. Let's just do our job and give them the news.
What news?
She flips through the athlete roster in her hand.
We have to tell them.
She verifies the list, ensuring that all the names of the arcanist athletes are accounted for.
When she's done, she lightly pats Mr. Fog on the shoulder.
Mr. Fog? Mr. Fog?
Mr. Fog turns his head, his eyes vacant. It seems he hasn't yet got over the shock of this series of events.
Please move aside. I need to use the microphone.
Mr. Fog slowly steps aside.
Oi, Miss. What are you ...
He quickly realizes the impropriety of his obstruction, tips his brim, and floats gently in the air.
Ahem. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming to the ceremony today. We greatly appreciate your hospitality, and it heartens us to see you thriving despite the difficulties caused by the smog.
However, it is clear to us that the London Air Pollution Auto-Detecting Purifier MK. III is not able to fulfill its duty.
Barring an effective solution, the smog shrouding London will do irreversible damage to both the athletes and the general populace if they stay outdoors for too long.
In light of this, and after much consideration, the Uluru International Committee has decided ...
To cancel the London Qualifiers for the Uluru Games.
We will announce arrangements for the affected players once internal discussions are over.
Behind her cold mask, the woman methodically scans the crowd.
The previously raucous energy of the crowd has been replaced by a uniform disappointment.
Thank you all for your hard work.
I'm afraid so.
I wasn't there, but Mr. Brimley told me what happened in the stadium. Mr. Fog has locked himself in his office. He's refusing to speak to anyone.
It seems there's nothing we can do about it.
Willow pulls her hand away from Flutterpage's and gives her a solemn look.
Without a word, she turns and leaves.
She tries to chase after her, but a flood of workers sent to take down the site blocks her way.
Ms. Willow!
Willow turns and gives her one last glance.
Before slipping away into the bustling crowd.
Flutterpage lifts her head, her eyes meeting Tooth Fairy's.
14. Soot in the Petri Dish
103 linesThe black fog seems terrifying. If I'd been there, I'd have buried myself in the garden or jumped into the sewer before it reached me.
Thankfully, all the patients and nurses were fine. Only Leonard's daughter got a few bruises.
But what a shame it is that the building was ruined. It was 300 years old, you know. The stained glass alone was a masterwork.
*cough* Bugger. I just can't seem to spit it out. I feel like my chest's on fire.
Take this medicine three times a day, and you'll feel better tomorrow.
Tooth Fairy hands over the medicine, then takes out a small notebook to jot something down.
Case 132, clinical symptoms: burning sensation in chest, blackening of ears. Quite different from a regular tuberculosis patient. Maybe this is a different disease altogether.
Damn this black fog! The qualifiers are canceled, the fair's closed down ...
Even Cross Street's been cordoned off. To see the posters of the athletes all covered up with flyers ... It's utterly hopeless.
The workers are striking again, just like the old days. They seem to be the only ones who dare to go outdoors. Although, since so many have lost their jobs, I suppose they don't have any reason to go out anymore.
Hmm? What are you doing, Ms. Tooth Fairy?
Collecting saliva samples to put in Petri dishes. I want to see what will grow. The sample I collected two days ago has already grown something unusual.
Something unusual?
A ball of black fog, weaker than the one I met in the alley. Its existence is unstable. Its form changes daily.
It doesn't appear to have any self-consciousness, but that critter in the alley was definitely intelligent.
Huh, this thing. It looks like the illustration in the old book I read to my son.
I can't quite remember the title, but it does mention a creature like this.
A creature like this?
Oi! Ms. Tooth Fairy!
The startled hat hurtles toward them, wobbling as he goes.
It's an emergency, darl! The little tacker's in danger!
Please, Mr. Hat, keep your voice down in the hospital. The patients need to rest.
Sorry about that, but this can't wait. Ms. Tooth Fairy, they said a girl's climbed to the top of the old bell tower, and she's planning to jump off!
A girl? You mean ...
Yeah, Flutterpage! No normal girl could climb all the way up there!
Oi, girl! Get down! It's dangerous up there!
Not even the noise of the carriages and the crowd can reach as high as the bell tower, let alone the shout of one passerby.
At the top of the tower, Flutterpage is contently airing out her linens.
Knock, knock. The little knocker-upper loves hangin' sheets. Every one of them brings back a sweet memory.
The first sheet smells like cucumber and tobacco; the second, night dew and stars; the third, hah, Mummy's cuddles.
Knock, knock.
You know, you didn't need to come up so high just to hang your sheets.
Ms. Tooth Fairy?! Wh-What are you doin' here?
Having finally reached the top of the tower, Tooth Fairy exhales heavily.
I wanted to ask you the same thing.
She gently shoos the canary fluttering near her feet.
I understand your need for privacy, but given that almost everyone in London is talking about a girl who's about to jump off the bell tower, I'd say this isn't the spot for it.
Jump off the bell tower? Oh, like I might fall? Don't worry. I'll be fine as long as the wind's blowin'. I'll ride it all the way to ...
Australia?
Yeah, Australia. They must be preparin' for the finals there.
The girl fidgets nervously with the clip haphazardly tucked into her hair.
Come here, Ms. Tooth Fairy. Have a seat.
Tooth Fairy gracefully swings her leg over the railing, and the two sit quietly side by side, their feet swinging among the clouds.
Come on down, Liberti! Quickly! It's dangerous up there!
Don't listen to him, Liberti! Oi, you, watch your words! She might jump right off the bloody thing!
The clamor of the streets below continues.
Why?
Why what?
First, they told me to get down, and then they told me not to. Why'd they change their minds so quickly?
Not just them. It's like, all of a sudden, everythin's changed. People said they wanted the qualifiers, but then they canceled them. They said they'd find a solution, but then they just completely gave up on solvin' the problem.
Why couldn't they just keep at it until they achieved somethin'? It's like climbin' this bell tower. You've got to push through and keep goin' until you reach the top. Otherwise, you'll never get to enjoy the view.
Maybe they ...
After a quick moment of reflection, Tooth Fairy shakes her head.
Well, I don't know.
Ms. Tooth Fairy.
I think I did somethin' wrong.
I can cut my own hair, cook my own meals, and do my own laundry. No one taught me. I just figured it out myself.
I used to think the world was like the fish tank I had at home. No matter how many questions I had, the answers were all inside, just like the fish swimmin' in there.
I was patient, too. I'd take the fish one by one and carefully look them over, and I wouldn't stop until I'd checked every scale—yep, every single one.
Well, unless Mum and Dad scolded me.
Actually, sometimes I couldn't figure out why they hit me. I just had a lot of questions, and I wanted to know the answers.
Anyway, now I've learned the truth about the world.
It's different from what I imagined.
I thought it was a round tank, but it was actually square. I thought there were goldfish swimmin' inside, but actually there were pinchin' crabs and chompin' sharks, sometimes even just pieces of rubbish.
The round tank only existed in my mind, and all the answers I found were nothin'—just my imagination.
And what's worse is that I hurt others with my imaginary answers.
A gentle breeze rustles their hair.
You mean Ms. O'Hagan?
A faint scent of lemon floats by. Tooth Fairy gives an unexpected smile.
I ... I spent my entire youth learning how to get along with others.
And you know what I realized? People will change as long as the result benefits them.
Once things are going well, whether expected or not, people often forget the goals they set before they reached that point.
What I'm trying to say is, we need to remember who we really are and what we really want.
Flutterpage turns her head to look at Tooth Fairy, curiosity in her eyes.
Tooth Fairy tilts her head to the side, as though deep in thought.
Ms. Willow must've known what she really wanted. Otherwise, she wouldn't have become the youngest Floor Ritual record holder of the century.
She pauses.
I'm sure she understands that it wasn't your fault.
You didn't hurt her. In fact, you didn't hurt anyone.
You just need to look at the fish tank in a new way.
...
Flutterpage looks off into the horizon.
Ugh. It hurts.
She presses her hand to her cheek, her little face scrunched up small.
What's wrong? Let me take a look.
Hmm. You're losing a tooth.
A new tooth is pushing out the old one.
A new tooth? But I've already lost all my baby teeth.
Open your mouth. Don't worry. It won't hurt.
Ah ... Ugh ... Ugh! Ouch!
She opens her hand, revealing a perfectly intact tooth.
I-I thought I didn't have any baby teeth left.
Well, you don't anymore. This was the last one.
Flutterpage moves closer to get a better look at it.
Ew, it stinks!
It does. I suppose I'll keep this, then.
Tooth Fairy produces a handkerchief, contentedly wraps the tooth, and stows it in her pocket.
15. Back in the Game
108 linesLet's listen again to the interview she had all those years ago.
"As the youngest Floor Ritual record holder of the century, you're just one step away from becoming the world champion. What else do you wish to achieve in your career?"
"My ultimate goal is to win the finals of the Uluru Games."
"But I'll also register for as many events as possible."
"I have a lot I want to achieve, but I'm patient, and I'm sure I can do it all eventually."
*clink—clunk* The sound of metal cuts through the darkness.
Now, old friend.
Willow removes her prosthetic leg, her long fingers stretching out toward the machine lubricant resting on the shelf.
It's just you and me, isn't it?
As she gropes for the lubricant, she comes across a piece of crumpled paper.
Careful with the scaffolding, fellas. You wouldn't want it to fall on your feet. You'll be hobblin' about for months!
Workers are busy disassembling the stage, carrying wooden posts and equipment to the door.
Here's the reimbursement application form. Just fill in the numbers and give me the receipts for the materials. I'll contact the Uluru Committee for your compensation.
Is there really no hope, Mr. Fog? We didn't build all this just to tear it all down.
I'm sorry.
To be honest, we'd rather not do this, even if we are gettin' paid for it.
We were over the moon when we got the job. I mean, just look at this place. The huge billboards and that lovely stage background.
How could we not be? It's been yonks since we last had an event like this, and who knows when we'll have another?
Is there really nothin' we can do?
I ...
Excuse me. Um ...
A voice floats over from behind the ladder in the workers' arms.
Oops! Look at me, blockin' the doorway with my ladder! Beggin' your pardon, Miss.
That's quite alright. I'm glad to stay a little longer and talk with everyone. None of us want to leave, actually.
How sad. But it's true. Who'd want to leave after all the trouble we've gone to?
Ms. Bartley? I must say, I didn't expect to see you here after all the qualifiers were canceled.
Hello, Mr. Fog. I'm glad to see you back on your feet.
Well, I can't wallow all day. There's a lot of cleaning up to do, and someone has to do it.
How about you, Ms. Bartley? Will you be leaving shortly?
Yes. I suppose I'll go home and wait to hear the arrangements the committee's come up with.
...
Why don't you stay for a few more days?
Well, I don't think there's much point.
She looks around the almost deserted venue.
In fact, I'm the number one seed this year, so I don't even have to participate in the qualifiers to advance to the finals.
It's a new system they introduced to get a step closer to the standardization of human sporting events.
I only joined because I couldn't pass up the opportunity to compete in my hometown.
This was going to be ... the last competition of my career.
She sighs. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she speaks again.
And I thought ... No, never mind.
I wasn't surprised when the news came out, to be honest. We were just fooling ourselves before, and now it's time to face the fact that—
Sorry to interrupt you, but ain't it too early to be gettin' this dark, Mr. Fog?
The three of them look up at the sky as the world is plunged into darkness.
Crikey. What time is it, mate?
I don't have to look at my watch to know it isn't night yet.
Then what's going on?
The thick black-and-yellow smog surges upward, like a massive arm poised to sweep them away.
Whoa! What the bloody hell is happening?!
Are you alright?
All good, thanks. What the blazes was that?
It looked just like the black fog that attacked the hospital.
Only smaller. And it was a different shape.
Let's move to your office, Mr. Fog. There's something we need to talk about.
I believe all these problems we're having—the smog, the tuberculosis, the failure of your machine—have something to do with the black fog.
What?
But first, we need to get everyone out of the stadium in case it attacks again.
Upon entering the office, Brimley heads straight to the purifier and gives its glass top a curious tap.
Leave it be. It's no use worrying about it now.
Mr. Fog glances at his once-revered purification machine, now sitting inert in the corner.
You pushed it too hard, mate.
Don't be too hard on yourself, Mr. Fog. The fact that you made something that worked at all in just a matter of weeks is an achievement in itself.
Haha, I appreciate it, Ms. Tooth Fairy. I know it doesn't make any sense to keep it around after it failed so spectacularly, but I just ... ugh!
He tries to raise it off the ground to shift it, but doesn't succeed.
I can't bear to break it down. At least not for now. I enchanted it with my arcane skill, so we're linked together. It used to breathe as I did, and now I cough and splutter just like it does. *cough*
You should go to the hospital as soon as possible.
See? How many times have I told you that, and you never listened?! Even the doctor's saying so!
Anyway, what was it that you wanted to talk about, Ms. Tooth Fairy?
The experiments I've been doing these days. Here's a sample of the black fog. I collected it from the alley after it attacked me.
As for the tuberculosis, I analyzed the black fog's composition and found some components very similar to those in the patients' saliva. I've concluded that this fog critter is the root cause of the disease.
This critter is fog-soluble, can change its form, and is indestructible. It feeds on smog, and, most interestingly, sensitive emotions, which it seems to absorb to nourish itself.
In conclusion, the answer to our problems lies in capturing and containing these critters.
Also, in one of my experiments, I cultured two samples under the same conditions and put one of them in the sun, like this.
Tooth Fairy delicately places the bottle containing the black critter on the windowsill.
See? Even in today's dim sunlight, it shrinks very quickly.
Just wait a moment, and you'll see ...
Its true being.
Sunlight is their weakness. That's why you never see them in areas with clear skies.
She pauses, as if to add gravity to her point.
As you can see, London provides the perfect conditions for it to survive and multiply: heavy smog and the anxiety and depression caused by the cancelation of the qualifiers.
A thoughtful silence falls in the office.
I do believe you're right, but it won't be easy to capture these things.
No, definitely not.
I'm still trying to figure that one out. We may be able to lure them into a trap, but we need to make a specific plan so that the process is controllable and the results predictable.
A specific plan? The only plan I can think of is to pray to God!
Some people may seek answers from the divine, but whether that works or not is another matter.
Oi!
...?
Hmm?
Helloooo!
Is that Flutterpage's voice?
Sure is. Over there, mate. Outside the window!
There's a tap at the window.
Outside, Flutterpage drifts in the air, a white bedsheet clutched in her hands. Below her, a crowd of all ages makes their way along Cross Street, all heading for the sports stadium.
Ms. Tooth Fairy, Mr. Fog, Mr. Brimley! Would you like to join us?
What?
The residents of Cross Street have got together to petition for the reopenin' of the qualifiers!
Flutterpage uses one hand to steady the bedsheet and the other to point excitedly at the crowd congregating below.
Oi, folks! How 'bout this iron? It's a family heirloom, but it'll be perfect for the Floating Shot Fling!
And I'll be the stopwatch! I'm an excellent timekeeper. I can keep time down to the millisecond!
We also need a fair judge, right? Then I'll put myself forward! Everyone on Cross Street knows I'm an excellent mediator!
Everyone's brought things from their homes! Ladders, hangin' rods, clotheslines, anythin' that might be useful. We're goin' to rebuild the stadium together!
So? Will you join us?
What? Are you serious?!
Strewth! I don't know what to say. This is unbelievable!
The crowd pushes on to the stadium, a few individuals joining the throng as they pass by their homes.
There is a resolute happiness in the air, as though no force could diminish their fervent hope.
Since the qualifiers have been canceled, we'll just have to hold our own Games.
Ms. Tooth Fairy, I've found the right way to look at the fish tank.
16. Our Uluru Games
112 linesSo, you're going to join them?!
I ... You know me. I'll always jump brim first into the unknown.
But the Foundation's already pulled their funding. The workers are already awaiting their reimbursement, and some players have already left ... How could we possibly hold a—
Mate, listen up.
There is an unfamiliar tension in the office. This may be the first real disagreement between the two old friends.
Those officers from the headquarters didn't give a damn whether the qualifiers were held or not. You could see it all over their faces.
All they wanted was to minimize their trouble. Did you see how quickly they applied for the cancelation and reimbursement? How hastily they made promises to pacify the people? I've never seen anyone more ready to get things over with.
Their job was done as soon as they got the player list. They'd probably already moved their attention to the qualifiers in other regions.
After all, our qualifiers are no different from the others to them, but ...
...
It means something to us, doesn't it? At least for me. This could be my chance to go to Australia. My very nature wants me to run free on the red land, to holler out and forget all my troubles.
I think that's what we all want.
In the heat of competition, people are at their best, their most pure.
Think about it, mate. You're not the only one who's put a lot of effort into this machine. It hurts me to see it rotting in the office, too.
If you're really going to give up because of a few words from an authority, then as your partner, I have to tell you:
Don't ever let anyone deny your achievements! Including yourself!
These words hit like a bomb, bringing his grand speech to an end.
Alright, calm down, old chap.
Mr. Fog, the people want the qualifiers because they're for everyone.
They provide each and every person with an equal opportunity to shine.
Sensing Mr. Fog's uncertainty, Tooth Fairy smiles as she offers her contribution.
And that includes you and me. Although, for us, it'll be more like a battle to fight.
She gazes out the window at the people below, her head shaking gently in quiet frustration.
...
Words lodge in his throat like a date pit, neither going down nor coming up. After a pause, he sighs deeply.
Honestly, will these people stop sending me petitions?! I've been absolutely inundated with them!
Circling to the back of the desk, he opens a drawer and throws a pile of envelopes onto the desk with feigned anger.
Brimley and Tooth Fairy remain silent, unsure of how to interpret his intent.
*sigh* Fine. Someone has to keep everyone healthy. I'll do everything I can to minimize the damage from the smog.
After a moment, Mr. Fog lifts his head.
Don't worry. I'll talk to the Relief Centre to sort out all the paperwork for the event.
Here you are. This is yours. Please come here for a copy of the emergency guidebook if you don't have one! Make sure you read it carefully. We don't want anyone hurt if there's an emergency.
And here, take this special sheet I enchanted to protect you from the smog. I came up with the idea a couple days ago.
It can drive away the smog around you by controllin' the wind. Not very effective, but it's better than nothin'.
Blimey, you did all this yourself?
Cheers, little knocker-upper, but you don't need to worry about us. We've lived in the smog for generations. What can it hurt to hold a little sportin' event in it?
Agreed. We asked for the exhibition ourselves, so we'll pay the price if anythin' happens.
Here's the confirmation of your application. Your contingency plan has been approved by the Relief Centre. My colleagues and I will do everything we can to keep you all safe.
As for the London Air Pollution Auto-Detecting Purifier MK. III, I'll do my best to fix it.
Next, we'll gather the athletes who have yet to leave the city and hold a small exhibition game.
Of course, it won't be an official event, but at least it'll give an opportunity for the athletes to demonstrate their hard work to a group of spectators.
I'm sure they'll be a great source of inspiration for the people of London as they cheer on their favorite athletes!
Oi, Mr. Fog! I brought you this. It's Mrs. Brown's leek and potato soup with bread and butter.
Oh, Mrs. Brown. Please give her my thanks. Has everyone eaten?
Yeah. Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Jones, Ben's son, and I have been cooking since four in the mornin' to get food out to everyone.
But it still ain't enough. Almost everyone in the neighborhood's coming. Alright, I have to go make more soup. See you later!
Hey, what's that you got from the knocker-upper?
An enchanted sheet, apparently. She told me to blow it when I need to use it.
*blow*
Would you look at that? It conjured a gust of wind! We can use this while we're workin'.
Yeah, it blows the smog away. Alright, well, sort of.
Mr. Fog, Mr. Fog! I'm here to help!
Oh, you. You're the girl from the market, aren't you?
Yes, that's me.
Let's try our best to fix the machine together. But there's no need to worry. Mr. Fog, we can still hold the exhibition even if we can't do it!
...
The exhibition. Alright.
Next, introducing the London Uluru Exhibition Games.
So far, 28 players have registered for the six-day event, which will host one sport per day.
Alright, everyone, let's push together! Three, two, one!
The residents of Cross Street have taken it upon themselves to rebuild the stadium.
Hey, your painting's totally off theme. Look, mine's a mockingbird with a gold medal. It just won first place in the singing competition!
The Uluru games ain't got a singin' competition. You should've drawn somethin' more athletic, like my sailfish. It's the fastest swimmer in the world.
How exciting! Our very own Uluru Games without any interference from the Foundation!
Ms. Tooth Fairy!
I've made a list of all the athletes who signed up for the qualifiers. A lot of them have left, but some would like to stay for our exhibition.
Good. And I've made a list of the daily attendees based on the tickets they bought for the qualifiers.
Mr. Fog and Mr. Brimley are discussing the possible security issues of the event with the Relief Centre staff and the police.
We may actually start the Games on the day the qualifiers were originally scheduled.
But, since this is all improvised, we'll probably encounter some unexpected problems as the Games continue. We need to be prepared.
Yeah, I know.
The girl's enthusiasm dims as she looks over the sports venue, eyes tinged with quiet regret.
*sigh*
Thank you, Flutterpage. It must have taken a lot of effort to make the athlete list. You've done an excellent job.
...
She continues to scan the venue, as if searching for something.
So, you saw the whole athlete list. Did you see the name you were hoping for?
She hesitates, her brow furrowed. Her lips are barely moving.
Flutterpage! Flutterpage!
Come here. We need you to explain to the Relief Centre how your little sheets work!
The girl hesitates as she looks toward the somber officials.
Just go. They need you more than I do. Your explanation may decide whether the Games can be held.
Alright. I'll talk to you later!
She skips excitedly toward the door of the venue, where Brimley and Mr. Fog await her arrival.
As a worker carrying a wooden frame passes, she disappears from view.
You've got yourself a new outfit. It looks great on you.
A tall, slim woman emerges from the shadows, her pointed leather shoes gliding along the floor with poised restraint.
Oh, I like your coat, too.
Thank you.
My grandmother had one just like it. She died two years ago, had a proper sweet tooth, too.
We'd have got along well.
Oh, I didn't until my toothfairies found you.
Heh. So you have a whole jar of scapegoats who can take all the blame for you? How convenient.
You've pulled yourself together, haven't you? Even your sarcasm has become bitter again.
...
So, why are you here?
Just getting some fresh air.
...
The two of them remain silent as they observe the mayhem of the sports ground, workers shouting and children running back and forth.
Look at them. They're all so happy. What do you think?
I've never seen such a rudimentary, disorderly, and poorly prepared event in my life.
Well of course, it's totally amateur.
But it's built on enthusiasm and sportsmanship.
Athletes will go head-to-head, spectators will cheer, and the stadium will be lit up by the energy they release together.
It's imperfect, yes, but it's inclusive and unstoppable. And that's what makes it special.
Willow holds a crumpled registration form in her hand.
17. Opening Ceremony
126 linesUncle Bill, Aunt Connie, Little Mary, Old Harold ...
The people of Cross Street stand gathered at the front of the stage, hammers and saws in their hands. Old Harold discreetly moves a shovel out of sight.
Perched on a tree, a canary nervously swivels its head to watch the crowd assembled on this bleak winter day.
Leave it to me, darl.
Tooth Fairy gives a slight nod, and Brimley ascends the makeshift wooden podium.
Testing. Testing.
Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! Today marks the beginning of the London Uluru Exhibition Games.
As you can see, the weather isn't looking great. The smog still sits heavy in the sky.
The crowd beneath the platform looks up at Brimley, cement stains and coal smudges on their faces.
There's no wind, no sunshine, no warmth, and even my brim is soggy from the damp. It's truly miserable out here.
On top of that, the stadium's shabby, and we only have a limited number of athletes.
To many, these games would be seen as disappointing.
However, even without the support of the Foundation, we've managed to rebuild this stadium with nothing but our own hands and determination!
I've confirmed that our stadium meets all the standards required by the government, and there's no doubt that it matches the Foundation's, too!
As for the operation of our Games, we've built a reliable team consisting of various Uluru professionals and supporters.
They are currently in every corner of the stadium, working their hardest to prepare for the upcoming event.
They will be our backbone, supporting the entire Games to ensure that everything runs smoothly.
As we all come together, I believe the passion of our Games will burn as hot as the sacred fire of Uluru itself!
So, without further ado, I hereby declare ...
That the London Uluru Exhibition Games have begun!
The crowd bustles and chatters like a flock of birds.
Tooth Fairy, Brimley, and Flutterpage are quickly bombarded by a flood of questions.
Ms. Tooth Fairy! We don't have enough judges for the Winged Key Archery! Frantz has been put on to umpire two events at the same time, so he left to do the other one!
Two events at the same time?
The other event starts tomorrow. He must've mixed up the schedule. Get him to come back.
All athletes participating in the 1500-Meter Weighted Run, please report to the third preparation area. I repeat, please report to the third preparation area.
Umm. Excuse me. I-I lost my name tag. Can I get a new one?
Certainly. Go straight ahead, and take the first left to get to the player office. There's a girl called Flutterpage in there. Show her your ID, and she'll give you a new tag.
I'll take you there. Follow me, friend.
Sure. Thanks.
Oi, hold on a minute. "Friend," why haven't I seen you before?
Brimley examines the judge suspiciously before pulling his ID card directly from the inside of his coat.
This ID is fake. Security!
I-I'm just a big fan. Please, don't kick me out! I just—
The volunteer security team quickly swoops in and removes the impersonator.
One of them whispers a few words to Brimley.
Tooth Fairy, my darl.
What is it, Head of Security?
I've been told that a mate of ours would like to post some fliers in the stadium.
We already have a sponsor. I'm afraid you'll have to turn him down.
By mate, I mean Arthur.
Tooth Fairy glances over to where Brimley is looking and catches sight of a black-and-white banner at the entrance to the venue.
Smog Kills.
Has he been sitting all this time under that banner with his machine?
Yeah. He's using it to show everyone what could happen if they breathe in too much smog.
I don't know if I should call him wavering in his principles or completely stubborn in them.
Arthur's always been a righteous official. He truly cares about the people. He's tough, tenacious, and has a powerful ability to influence others.
You sound more like an official than he does.
Tooth Fairy looks over at the athletes preparing to race and the crowd cheering them on enthusiastically.
Come on! Go for it!
First place! Yes!
Waahhh ... No ...
Thank you! Thank you!
The athlete blows kisses at the spectators, triggering another wave of excitement.
Not even the smog can stop the people's enthusiasm for sports. No matter the obstacle, they will always find a way to enjoy it.
I suppose Mr. Fog is still refusing to take one of Flutterpage's sheets?
Of course, he is. Arthur said he'd never run away from the smog. As Fogwalker, he has to "confront" it.
He's stubborn, just as you said.
Floor Ritual competitors, please report to the fifth preparation area. I repeat, please report to the fifth preparation area.
Oh! That's Ms. O'Hagan's event.
Yeah.
Do you think she'll show up?
Ms. Tooth Fairy, Mr. Brimley, did you hear that? The Floor Ritual's about to start!
But where's Ms. Willow?
Tooth Fairy looks at Brimley. Though he has no eyes for her to read, the slight shifting of his brim carries a sense of trepidation.
Neither knows how to respond to the child, hesitating between igniting her hopes and destroying her dreams.
Or perhaps the truth is exactly what she's hoping for?
Go check the Floor Ritual venue, Flutterpage.
What for? Is Ms. Willow there?
She looks directly at Tooth Fairy. Her eyes widen as they begin to sparkle.
She's there, isn't she?!
You'll have to go there to find out.
She can't help but give a slight smile.
I'll cover for you at the player office. Just go, little tacker.
Go on, then.
Flutterpage starts to smile, but a flicker of doubt quickly clouds her expression.
This time, I won't disappoint her.
I've brought her a real game. No need to climb the tower and hide away anymore. This is real.
She raises her hand and waves to Tooth Fairy and Brimley, a determined look on her face.
See you later!
With that, Flutterpage turns and runs off.
At the fifth preparation area, the Floor Ritual competitors are warming up.
Look at this place. You could find a better venue at any school in the city. These Games are really something.
They built it in a matter of days. We can't ask for much.
Oh my! It's an honor to meet you, Ms. Bartley.
The competitor hurriedly wipes her hands before extending one to Caroline.
Take care warming up. You wouldn't want to get hurt just before the competition.
You're very kind. Thank you.
A staff member with a volunteer ID strides in from the doorway.
Floor Ritual competitors, the event will start in one minute. Please confirm your numbers, as I will be calling you to enter the floor in numerical order.
Competitor No. 2401, please enter the floor. Competitors 2402 and 2403, please wait in the locker room.
Good luck!
The first competitor receives a few well-wishes before waving goodbye as she makes her way to the competition floor.
Now that the event has begun, Caroline stops warming up.
Hmm. What about Charlotte?
*deep breath*
Charlotte, you're here. I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away. You haven't changed a bit.
Hmm?
Willow pauses in the middle of her stretch.
What do you want from me?
What do I want? Have you forgotten about the challenge?
What's your number?
I don't think that's any of your concern, or are you trying to win over the organizers with a little goody-two-shoes act? The ever-so-helpful competitor-turned-volunteer, Ms. Bartley?
Oh, I didn't know you could be so sarcastic.
You better get used to it.
Really? You mean we'll chat again in the future?
...
Willow turns her head away from her.
I'm not the Charlotte you used to know. Stop trying to bond with me.
Caroline walks toward her.
But you are the Charlotte I used to know.
You're still that black swan I've always chased after. When I saw your performance, the grace, the beauty of it, it inspired me to become a Floor Ritualist. But you just disappeared after you became champion.
Well, as long as you're back ... Heh heh.
What's so funny?
Caroline looks at Willow with a quiet composure, her lips forming a slight smile.
See you on the floor.
Caroline heads back to the preparation area.
Player No. 2406, Caroline Bartley, please enter the floor.
The sound of the volunteer's voice filters into the room, muffled and distorted by the walls.
Willow stamps her slightly stiff right leg.
She finds her way to the spectator seats, settling into a corner.
Caroline gracefully strides onto the floor, pausing to give a gentle bow to the judges. Then, she brushes her hand across the didgeriwood, and positions herself in the center, ready to begin.
Player No. 2406, Caroline Bartley, whenever you're ready.
Caroline starts to dance. Receiving her channeled energy, the didgeriwood produces a rich, resonant sound.
18. Hazy Memories
103 linesDay 1
What's this, Ms. Raven?
A seed that will settle in your heart and soon grow to be your closest friend. Its roots will stretch all the way from Australia to the soles of your feet, and together, you will make the music to your Floor Ritual.
Now, my dear, listen closely. Listen to what it has to say. Listen!
Hold it. Feel it. Let it know who you are.
It isn't just a piece of wood, but a mouthpiece passed down through the ages.
It allows us to understand what our god hears during the ritual!
It doesn't look all that special to me.
Haha, silly girl. If you want it to speak, you must greet it with your arcane skill first. It's the only language it'll understand!
Alright.
It's responding!
*#$%^&*&*)#@*
Ugh, that sounds awful.
That's because you greeted it awfully.
I greeted it awfully? You mean the fluctuation of my arcane skill wasn't stable enough?
Yes. Speak to it politely, and it'll respond with politeness.
Day 7
*weep* Ms. Raven, that hurts.
The path of pilgrimage is full of thorns. It offers no shortcuts. You must make your way, inch by inch.
Otherwise, you'll never reach the sanctuary of glory—the place where all the lights gather.
And you'll die a nobody.
Full of thorns. So, will I be freed from pain if I keep training?
Shush. Press your head against your shin, just as the divine son did.
Okay. Ugh!
Closer! I want that head tight against your shin!
Ugh!!
The tighter, the better!
Yes, Miss ... Ah!
Day 93
Confusion, sadness, I can see it all over you.
My classmates were making fun of me. They said I was using the training to avoid my duties.
They said I never do anything with them. I've skipped classes, sports days, and the summer outing.
They said that all I do is train to be a clown in a show.
M-Ms. Raven, can I take a break, just for today? I want to spend time with my classmates.
No, no. You made a promise, remember?
Yes. I promised to focus on my training and never slack, no matter what. If I want to be a champion, I need to be able to beat every other Floor Ritualist in the world.
Every tear, every drop of sweat, will pave my path to the podium.
So, you do remember it, every word.
Our god can only hear the most faithful prayers. Yes, only the most faithful. You must offer everything you have to him. Your heart, your flesh, from here to here.
She traces a path from Charlotte's head to her toes with her finger.
If you can't do that, you'll be surpassed and never win the attention of our god.
If that happens, you'll be completely forgotten, like you never existed. Is that what you want?
No.
Then what are you waiting for? Begin.
Day 569
Tsk, tsk. No, not like that.
Why? This element will score me points!
Yes, but not enough!
Not enough? Then, they should revise their scoring system!
By "not enough," I mean it's imperfect, unfaithful! Our god won't hear you. Are you unwilling to try a better element or simply unable to?
Oh, please! I can do any element without even trying!
Then show it to our god!
I've got it! Stop nagging me!
Willow rubs her brow, a heavy expression on her face as she peers at Caroline. She's being showered with applause.
What distracted me? It must've been that graceful element that Caroline finished perfectly. She had it down to the smallest detail.
In that way, we're alike. Sticklers for detail. That's why ...
She squints as her eyes continue to follow Caroline.
Thank you! Thank you, everyone!
I'm feeling so restless.
With a respectful salute, Caroline exits the floor.
Player No. 2407, Anna Smith, please enter the field.
The ritualist named Anna makes her way to the floor and gets into position.
What did you think, Charlotte?
Caroline pats Willow's shoulder from behind.
Well, you certainly haven't skimped on your training these past years.
That's it?
Willow shoots Caroline a sharp look.
You're better than when you were nine. I'll give you that.
Haha!
But ...
Caroline steps toward the railing of the spectator area.
Are you sure you saw my performance clearly? The smog's rather heavy.
Side by side, Willow and Caroline peer through the dense smog as they watch Anna perform her routine.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side.
Flutterpage.
Ms. Tooth Fairy, Mr. Brimley! Good timin'!
Just in time, eh? Well, we wouldn't want to miss Ms. Willow's performance, now, would we?
The lady doin' her routine right now is called Anna. It should be Ms. Willow next, but I can hardly see a thing.
Suddenly, the didgeriwood's song comes to a grinding halt.
What's wrong?
Anna stops mid-routine and gestures toward the judges. Her mouth is moving.
An unease spreads among the crowd.
Why'd she stop?
I think she's requesting a timeout.
A time-out? Is she hurt?
As Anna walks away from the floor, the crowd buzzes with speculation.
After some time, the speakers crackle to life with an announcement.
*buzz* Silence, please. An announcement from the Floor Ritual judges.
Due to ... *buzz* ... force majeure ... *buzz* ...
Player No. 2407, Anna Smith ... requested suspension ... *buzz* ... After discussion ... the judges have decided to ... suspend the game.
Suspended? What about Ms. Willow?! Will she not get to compete?
A number of spectators start to leave, while others stay put.
Suspended?! We gave everything to hold these Games! How could she just back out like this?!
I heard that a Winged Key Archery player got injured. Maybe that's why.
What, so we're supposed to just leave? The Games have hardly begun!
Ms. Tooth Fairy, what should we do? Ms. Willow was next. It'll be such a shame if she can't play.
...
Tooth Fairy looks into the murky yellow smog and sighs.
19. Dancing in the Smog
70 linesDid you hear that? The Games have been suspended.
Yes.
Caroline walks back to Willow's side.
I suppose we should head home and await further notice. Maybe the Games will continue once the smog clears.
The workers appear to be clearing up something from the floor.
What, go home and spit in the faces of everyone who worked so hard to make this happen?
Hmm?
More and more spectators get to their feet as they prepare to leave.
No.
What do you mean, "no"?
I won't wait any longer.
Willow turns and strides directly toward the judges' tent.
Charlotte ...
Realizing Willow's intent, a sudden impulse takes hold of her as she spins to face the stands.
Damn this bloody smog!
A few spectators reach for the railings as they get ready to leave.
Wait, everyone! The Games aren't over yet!
But the competitors aren't even competing! What's the point of staying?
*sigh* Why don't I go and dance on the floor instead?
*buzz*
Everyone, please return to your seats. Player No. 2408, Willow.
What?
Willow's dark silhouette now stands firm at the center of the floor.
Just as she did all those years ago, she touches the didgeriwood at the front of the arena.
I've lived in seclusion for ten years. Trained alone with nothing but the pain in my leg and my own arrogance.
The sounds of people's hopes for Uluru flow steadily into her ears.
Therefore, on this day, on this floor, I will perform without care for what anyone thinks.
Willow strikes her beginning pose, a black swan in the smog, and the didgeriwood starts to play.
Palest yellow turns to godly light ...
The sun births shadows, the moon shines bright!
Lugh, reborn from dark's embrace, I walk your path, in sacred space.
Life's end is death, but bones to life ascend!
Lugh, before me, from underworld I wend.
Lugh, gaze on me, I rise from shadows dark.
Lugh, heed me, your power impart, as you are me, and I your counterpart!
The smog ... It's clearing!
Everyone, come back! The Games are on again!
There's something there! There in the smog!
*roar*
The didgeriwood sounds a long, hollow note as Willow leads the crowd into an almost trance-like state.
Following Willow's lead, the crowd chants the prayer over and over, fueled by a zeal for the sport and a longing for the sun.
In the wake of the mass ritual, the black fog dissolves into nothingness.
*roar*
With its body almost entirely disintegrated, the black fog is reduced to a core of thin, smoky soot as it scrambles frantically to avoid the sunlight.
Alright, you filthy little thing! It's time you learnt a lesson!
Thud! Sssss ...
Mr. Fog activates his London Air Pollution Auto-Detecting Purifier MK. III, and after a few puffs of black smoke, it roars to life.
You are under arrest for the pollution of the sky as well as 15 crimes in violation of the Public Health Act! Take a good look around, because before long, you'll be rotting behind bars!
Aww ...
Mr. Fog aims the purifier at the panicked black fog and sucks in every last bit of the remaining coal ash.
Aww ... Aw?
The purifier's glass dome fills with black dust in an instant before it coalesces into a number of small black orbs.
The little orbs peer out of the glass dome with a curious and confused expression.
It may be broken, but it's still an air purifier!
The didgeriwood's melody slowly dies down.
Willow stands in the center of the field, panting and drenched in sweat.
That's all ... from me ... Thank you ... for watching.
She gives a deep bow.
The spectators return to their senses, and the long-absent winter sun shines down on them once more.
No longer is the world shrouded in shades of steel gray and ashen yellow.
They stare in amazement at each other, a few reaching their hands into the sunlight, feeling its warm caress.
Applause breaks out from a corner of the crowd.
It soon builds into a raucous cheer.
One spectator spontaneously steps forward and embraces Willow.
The crowd swells as more and more people step forward to embrace her in the simplest and most pure expression of joy.
To infuse life with vitality, to eliminate all boundaries, to unite people—that is the true meaning of the Uluru Games.
Yay! Yayyy!
Unable to squeeze her way through, Flutterpage leaps over the crowd, waving to Willow as she hangs in the air. Meanwhile, Caroline remains in the stands, elegantly applauding.
...
Willow gives the two of them a subtle nod.
20. London, Sunny
80 linesOne week later.
*knock-knock*
Come in.
A figure in brown enters the Foundation office. By the window, Madam Z turns to face her.
Madam Z, here's the report for my mission.
Tooth Fairy sets a thick report down at the corner of the desk.
Madam Z's desk is cluttered with papers.
It seems you've been busy too.
Madam Z winces a little as she takes a sip from her mug. The strength of her tea seems to correspond with her increasing workload. As the stack of documents grows, the more bitter it becomes.
Even though we've confirmed the connection between societal turbulence and the "Storm," there is no time to catch a breath.
Once chaos breaks, it will be the end of another era, but we can't resist the inevitable. All we can do is maintain order to postpone it as long as possible.
Madam Z heaves a soft sigh as the steam from her mug swirls unnaturally.
So, any findings in London?
Tooth Fairy opens her hand flat. There's a speck of coal dust and a baby tooth resting in it.
A Walpurgis's tooth, from the black fog, and the last baby tooth of a child. Very rare, even for my collection.
Hmm.
Madam Z pushes her glasses up and holds her breath as she inches forward.
Right. Well, that's good to know.
After a few moments of examination, she straightens her posture.
I heard the London branch is still trying to replicate the ritual that was carried out at the Exhibition Games. What was that?
It was a coincidence, actually.
Tooth Fairy peers out the window, watching the soft, white clouds gathered on the horizon. Perhaps London, too, is enjoying such beautiful weather.
After analyzing the live sample provided by Mr. Fog, the London branch concluded that the Walpurgis is a mutant of the Cyoeraeth, a critter species that's been extinct for centuries.
Ms. Willow lent one of her heirlooms to the London branch after the Games, a book that details an ancient ritual meant to worship the god of the sun. This is the ritual she performed on the floor.
But when Ms. Willow performed the ritual again in front of the Walpurgis, nothing happened.
My guess is that, since the Cyoeraeth disappeared, the ritual fell out of use and became fragmented over the years. Her version of it is probably incomplete.
The conditions must've happened to align at that moment to allow the ritual to work. It could've been any combination of things—Ms. Willow's dancing, the music from the didgeriwood, the fire from the torch, the magnetic fields around the stadium ...
Or perhaps it was all of them. The ritual also happened to have the power to capture the Walpurgis, which put an end to the heavy smog in London.
It makes sense, really, that a ritual used to worship the god of the sun would capture a monster that covers the sky and plunges everyone into darkness.
In conclusion, the ritual's success was a near-unrepeatable coincidence.
An endangered critter and a long-forgotten ritual ...
I guess that's why humans are always sifting through their past. There's always wisdom to be found in history.
Madam Z takes a small sip of the tea in her mug.
It's gone bitter. I should've finished it earlier.
She sets the mug aside and sits down at her desk.
By the way, I've approved your vacation request.
No one should disturb you this time.
Thank you. Have a good day.
Tooth Fairy sets another piece of milk candy on the desk and walks out.
Milk candy ... Makes me miss the rabbit candy back home.
Well, at least it goes with the tea.
Madam Z unwraps the candy and pops it into her mouth.
Ms. Willow! I got it!
Flutterpage's voice arrives before she does.
Willow raises her eyes from her packing list as she hears bright little footsteps heading closer.
Look! The Foundation's recognized our Games! Here's your invitation and our tickets!
Heh. I suppose your flying does come in handy after all.
Willow shuts her suitcase and takes the folder from Flutterpage.
Are you done packin'?
Flutterpage looks around Willow's room, making note of what's moved and what hasn't.
Ain't you takin' this medal with you?
Flutterpage points to the medal recently placed in the cabinet—the first Willow has earned in almost a decade.
No. This is proof enough.
Willow pats the folder holding the invitation and two tickets.
But that medal's for the winner of the qualifiers!
Oh, please, they're just qualifiers.
Willow scoffs.
*ding-dong*
Who's that, I wonder?
Wow, what happened to the garden? It's beautiful!
Ms. Willow's put a lot of care into it ever since she won first place in the qualifiers.
Ah, Charlotte, ever predictable.
Caroline and Brimley look around the garden, enjoying the rare sight of foliage flourishing in winter.
What are you doing here?
We want to invite you to join us. Let's go to Australia together!
With Caroline, too?
For your information, Charlotte, the top three athletes all qualify for the finals. And besides, I might have beaten you if you weren't so lucky as to capture that Walpurgis.
By the way, the ship we're taking is owned by the Bartley family.
What?
So, Ms. Bartley said she'd arrange a presidential suite for us.
A presidential suite? Like, for presidents?
Flutterpage's head sticks out from behind Willow.
It seems we'll be spending quite some time together in the coming weeks.
...
But which one of us is a president? It's Caroline, ain't it? It must be!
Would you shut your mouth?!
Hah. You can't scare me anymore.
Heh-heh.
Dusk paints the world gold, and from a distant riverbank, a freighter sounds its horn.
Today, the skies of London are clear.