crispina kemp

Continuing the story of Thredwyl’s adventure. Read it all FOR FREE on Thredwyl’s very own site

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“What do you know about the professor’s lord?” Thredwyl asked once Daisy had safely returned him to his pink palace prison.

The girl wrinkled her freckled nose. “You mean his religion? He got you talking about that did he—I did say…. He’s supposed to be C of E—or at least Christian to hold his seat but Jason doubts it, what with his interest in the Black Arts.”

“Black…arts?”

“Black magic,” Daisy said.

So, Daisy was aware that the professor was a magician. Did she also know he was a servant of Grandma’s greatest Adversary? But no chance yet to ask, for Daisy being Daisy was gabbling along.

“Pops says magicians don’t really do magic—it’s all illusions and they should be called illusionists.”

But it wasn’t an illusion that Thredwyl had seen.

“And Mum says there’s no such thing as Satan and all that doo-dabbly, it’s all an excuse for sex and drugs. She’d be furious if she knew what’s said about the professor, but he has access to stuff that the ordinary internet just can’t find—like all that stuff I found today about goblins. Goblins are denizens of the Underworld, I suppose that’s why the professor called you a demon.”

“A…demon?” That wasn’t a word he knew. “Explain.”

Again, she wrinkled her nose. Apparently this was a question not easily answered. She took a deep breath, her mouth held open for several beats, then, “I think a demon’s like a god but…oh flimmity-flum, um…not…not…not good like a god but…bad. But I suspect that depends which religion you are. Just wait, I’ll see what I can find.” She was already hop-skipping away, gone to fetch her magical box of Information and Games.

“So what’s a god?” he called after her.

She stopped and turned. “A god? Um…well, it’s a…a kind of…I suppose a non-corporeal being—but not a ghost. Though there is the Holy Ghost: that’s part of the Christian Trinity—a threesome, sort of, but not like a ménage à trois. Though I don’t suppose you’d know about that, either. Let me get my box of tricks. I’ll soon have the answers.”

Box fetched, she sat on the floor outside his pink palace while she swiped screens and hit pictures. She said some of the pictures were letters. The alphabet, she called it. But when she listed the letters in the alphabet they didn’t sequent the same as they did on the screen. That magical box in no way resembled Grandma Eanch’s Spell Book. But then everything in this World of Man and His Kind seemed tits-over-toes.

“God,” she said, but then said no more, her eyes scanning the screen, her fingers and thumbs swiping and twitching. “Ah, see, that’s what I thought. Quote: the existence of God is the subject of debate. Ha, yes!” She swiped and scanned some more. “So many, so many, so many…”

“Gods?” Thredwyl asked. Was Grandma a god? Not by Daisy’s definition. Non-corporeal? How could Grandma be non-corporeal when she pulled from herself the three strands of Rock, Water and Fire?

“So many religions,” Daisy said. “Beliefs, creeds. Pops says that’s why there’s always war, everyone believing their god the only one.” She paused and frowned. “You know, that doesn’t sound good. If belief in these gods cause all of that, how can God be good?”

Thredwyl asked again what Daisy knew about the professor’s lord. “He Of The Unspeakable Name,” he quoted.

“The God of Hellfire,” Daisy said, eyes bright, her cheeks aflame. She giggled. “I am the god of hellfire, and I beg you to burn—or something like that. The Crazy World of Arthur Brown…Grandpa Doley loved the man.”

If what Daisy had said before had muddied Thredwyl’s head, this little speech slipped silently over. Dumbfounded, he stared at her.

“Look,” she said, and in moments music blasted out of her magical box.

Thredwyl stared. And stared. “That’s not at all how it is in Dolstone. And though I’ve not ventured into Dolfernan, I’ve not heard it said it’s like…that.”

Daisy laughed. “No, silly. That’s not real, it’s a…a video, from someone’s imagination. Here, I’ll show you more.”

She swiped, jabbed and tapped at her magical box. Thredwyl wished he were out of the hutch and sitting beside her, the better to see the moving pictures. She showed him a mass of bodies all jammed together, all angry-looking and waving boards.

“What’s that meant to be?”

“It’s a rally—a protest.”

“So many people. Someone imagined it?”

“Oh no no, this one’s for real, this happened—it’s happening still, though not this particular one. Pops says this is what happens when people disagree. But this protest is peaceful—only five people died.”

Thredwyl stared at her through the grid. “They died? Were they that old?”

“No, they weren’t old at all, they were students—this is a Woke rally.”

“Then how…?”

She shrugged, her eyes no longer sparkling. “I don’t know, Pops didn’t say. He says the Woke-thing is silly, people joining in just cos it’s the thing and if you don’t you can lose your job and you won’t be liked. He says it’s deceitful and hypo…hypo-critical cos they want redress for past abuses but now they’re the ones who are doing the abusing. And anyway, he says it’s all in the control of the Elites as a means of gaining world dominance.”

“Would Professor Angelus be one of these Elites?” If not him, then his lord that he served.

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t say he’s Woke at all. Anyway, Pops says all rebellions are like that, all-out-chaos he says and people hating people until someone comes along and promises peace, and everyone accepts cos they’re fed up with it all. Then the new regime is just as bad as the old. There’s never any balance just a perpetual cycle. Anyway, that’s what Pops says.”

Thredwyl stared, her words tugging at a reluctant thought.