It's been quite a nice and quiet day here in Zarfang. At least some of the dust has settled from the various events that have occured, and an element of peace and calm had gradually started to take tenuous hold once more. That was, of course, until the reappearance of that Brussels sprout. You know, I can't believe I've come to the point of having to type a sentence like that, but never mind, let's plough on regardless, beginning at the point where the "fun" started.
I was just cooking up something for lunch and wondering about the vague possibility of doing something productive, when there was a sudden snapping sound, like the branch breaking on the youtube video that inevitably precipitates the protagonist into the water, or face first into some concrete.
Sir Henry was standing on the work surface, dressed once again in his tiny boots and gloves, though once I'd recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance I noticed that this time he'd left his hat at home (wherever the hell that was) and instead appeared to have some sort of shapeless bag perched on the top of his head. On closer inspection, it looked as if it was an icepack. He looked, without beating about the bush, incredibly hungover. As I gazed at him, with the typical bemused thoughts trickling irreverently through my brain, I realised at least he didn't have the problem of turning green if he felt sick. Still, I had the problem of referring to a talking brassica as “Sir Henry”, which, you've got to admit, isn't the easiest thing in the world to do naturally.
Sir Henry peered about himself in a droopy kind of way, before finally latching on to me. He made a strange noise which must have been a combination of “err”, “ahh” and ughh”, and his voice sounded considerably less armour piercing than it had done yesterday.
“Oh, hello there, dear boy,” he said, vaguely. “I'm so sorry I'm late. I must admit it was so very nice to be called out of my unfortunate retirement, I felt the need to celebrate, and I do confess to being something of a devotee to Bacchus. ”
Conversation with the mysterious sprout creature was awkward to say the least, so I decided that this time, I'd try to be a bit more systematic in my questioning of the thing, if possible. The only problem was that it was actually quite hard to come out with the most obvious of enquiries when it was actually standing there in front of you. I mean, come on, actually picture yourself standing in front of it, what would you do? Also, I had the nasty feeling that if I did indeed ask this thing for too much detail it would actually confirm that it didn't exist and was in fact a full-blown hallucination, and I was gleefully skiing down the slippery slope that leads a padded room all of my very own. I wondered if calling Grott, who was upstairs folding the laundry, would be a good idea. I'd feel a bit more comfortable in general if someone else could actually be confirmed as being able to see the blasted thing.
"Umm, you know, I don't think I actually managed to really get to the bottom of who you were last night," I said, realising my lunch would have to wait for the time being. "I'm sure you can't blame me for asking where you came from, and, if you don't mind me saying this, why you do bear more than a passing resemblance to a certain densely packed leafy commodity traditionally consumed over the festive period?"
I don't think Sir Henry took too kindly to this, though of course it could just have been the sound of my voice aggravating his sore head. I noticed he had a substantial covering of stubble on his chin. Does a sprout have to shave? You know, I'd really give a lot to see that, and even more to have it on video.
"I, Sir," he said, in his usual melodramatic manner, "am what I am due to my own entirely personal circumstances, which I will not under any circumstances be drawn into divulging at this particular moment. I do not ask you why you are a human, do I?"
I've got to admit, he did have a point, though, actually, not a very good one when you looked at it with any degree of sensibility.
"Besides," he continued, passing one of his gloved hands across his forehead, "It is a very long tale, a tale of woe - woe, Sir, and I fear you would neither the time, nor the inclination to hear it in its entirety."
What was going on now? Surely he just said he didn't want to talk about it at all?
"Well, actually, I was just about to cook my lunch, and..."
"Very well," said the sprout, wearily, "I shall tell you, but brace yourself, dear boy, brace yourself, for it is a tale of sorrow, sorrow surpassed only by the great tragedies."
I suppose I had to listen. Realising I wasn't likely to be eating any lunch in the near future, I sat down on the kitchen stool and tried to make myself comfortable. A far-away look came into Sir Henry's eyes.
"I wasn't always as you see me now. There was a time, long ago, when my name was known in all four corners of every realm and every land that stands astride this great world of ours. I appeared in all the mighty capitals, I played the great palatial theatres in front of Kings, Emperors and commoners alike to rapturous applause, in short, I enjoyed the greatest fame an actor could imagine. My loyal band of fellow players and performers felt more like brothers and sisters to me, I felt those heady days would never come to an end. Ah! If only you could have seen us perform in front of the Grand Emperor of Alak-Bharan amidst the legendary metropolis of Semaziin (before it disappeared into the desert many years later, of course). I heard the Emperor signalled an end to two centuries of warfare with neighbouring Khemazan, and it was said to be due entirely to his witnessing our performance in his city. Glorious times, glorious times indeed."
"But then, a note of discord began to creep into this happy existence, and, alas, it was all of my own doing. My young apprentice, Amfeld Stannisgrey, a young lad that we picked up as an orphan in Felingse many years before, began slowly but surely to eclipse my talents. Bit by bit I felt that the gaze of the public was passing gradually from me to him. Despite my occupying the lead roles, it soon became clear that all the discussions after performances were about him, rather than me. It had been so long that I'd felt nothing but absolute confidence in my abilities to capture the heart of an audience - had I become predictable, stale?"
I certainly couldn't feel any hate for young Stannisgrey, after all, I'd passed on everything I knew to him, and felt nothing but paternal pride for his accomplishments. I suppose it was, in truth, the fear of the feeling creeping in the back of my mind, the knowledge we all have; that nothing can last forever, that we all must eventually surrender everything we possess, whether willingly or not."
"I began to drink too much, and gamble, predictable vices, I know. Slowly my performances began to suffer, and soon I wasn't occupying any of the lead roles at all; I had been relegated to bit-parts and incidental characters. I know it was wrong of me to feel bitter. Matters soon came to a head during our tour of the island nations of the Malmandra. I started to turn up late for performances, or not at all. I don't really blame them for kicking me out, I felt it had been coming for a long while before then. Not long after that, I was surviving only on my savings and scraps of work, mostly as favours from old friends in the business. But I never fully lost the sense of pride at my past accomplishments, and truly believed that one day I could thrive once again. That pride, unfortunately, was my undoing."
"It was around that time that a man began to cast his vast shadow across this world. You know, of course, of whom I speak. It was in the city of Calgaran in the far north of this very land that his presence as a sorcerer of immense and growing power began to manifest itself, and it was the city I happened to be living in."
"Whoa, hold on there one moment," I interrupted, feeling I couldn't stay silent unless I could believe what I was hearing. "You can't mean Venedir Telvarin can you? He died over four hundred years ago, didn't he?"
Sir Henry paused for a moment, presumably for effect.
"That is indeed true," he said, "I am over four hundred years old."
Not for the first time in my short acquaintance with Sir Henry, I was lost for words. He continued his monologue.
"Venedir Telvarin, yes, the man himself. In those days he was still making a name for himself as the advisor to the King, Helron the third I believe his name was. Telvarin wasn't so popular in the city, as he was at that time known as a powerful new dark wizard, and dark wizards are rarely trusted, especially when they rise to influential positions."
"It was a dull, chilly and overcast day near the beginning of winter, and I sat huddled in the royal park, with my coat wrapped tightly around me, wondering where I'd find the money to pay for the fuel I'd need as the weather grew colder. I happened to look up, and watched with some interest as the Royal Advisor Telvarin's carriage glided silently past me, escorted by two ranks of footmen, in front and behind. The carriage itself was perfectly and absolutely black, slick and shiny, like polished obsidian, and like many wizard's carriages of the time, didn't have horses, or indeed wheels, but instead floated smoothly above the ground, the twin shafts where the harnesses would normally be ending in slender, tapering points. Even the windows were jet black, giving the unpleasant appearance of a giant, floating coffin."
"I watched the sombre procession passing slowly by, but was shocked when the floating carriage drew to a sudden halt, the footmen hurriedly stopping to avoid bumping into each other. A door opened seamlessly in the side of the vehicle, which remained motionless as a rock, and a slender, white haired man emerged. It was difficult to tell his age exactly, his snowy hair made him seem older, and his face bore something of the marks of age, but he moved as quickly and lightly as the youngest of men might. He was dressed entirely in black, though his tunic was richly decorated with delicate silver embroidery. With a few brisk strides, he was standing in front of me."
"'You are a famous actor, are you not?" he said in a calmly detached voice. He had strange, dark eyes that gave the disturbing impression of not matching his face.
I introduced myself, while he stared at me impassively.
"'My Lord Telvarin remembers you,' said the man abruptly, as soon as I had finished. 'He saw you perform in Calgaran, many years ago, and was greatly moved by your abilities. He wishes to see you perform for him one more time. You will come to the palace this evening at six o'clock; don't worry, we'll make it more than worth your while.'"
"There was no possibility of turning down his invitation, indeed I was delighted to have received such a prestigious, and hopefully lucrative commission."
"Unfortunately, the demon drink struck me down once more. I tried to drown in wine the feelings of anxiety I had about performing before such an unnerving audience, and by the time I strode out in front of the wizard himself, I was decidedly drunk."
"I was too intoxicated to feel fear as I looked into the eyes of the great wizard. He was an unimpressive figure on first glance, sitting on a gilded chair at the far end of the audience chamber. He was a slightly built, surprisingly youthful man, with a thin face, short, dark hair and a neatly trimmed black beard, but something about the way he sat there, utterly silent and emotionless made him seem oddly unearthly."
"I began my recitation, but straight away, things began to go wrong. Under the wizard's glassy gaze, I stumbled my words, couldn't remember lines; I was truly appalling. However, instead of becoming embarrassed and ashamed at my terrible work, I gradually became more and more angry instead, angry at the man in front of me. It felt to me in my drunken state as if the wizard was somehow doing this to me on purpose, if not by magic but by the deplorable way he was just sitting there staring unblinkingly at me, not reacting in the slightest no matter what I did."
"After a while, the anger in me rose suddenly to the surface and then exploded violently. I shouted and swore at the wizard; I can't remember exactly what I said, but it couldn't have been very complementary. For the first time, Venedir Telvarin took his eyes from me, lowering them slightly, and a strange, subtle expression passed across his face, as if some melancholic recollection was passing unwanted through his mind. Then he looked back towards me again, and though his eyes hadn't changed one bit, the slight smile playing across his lips was terrible to behold, and I suddenly became mortally afraid."
"There was no time to beg forgiveness. He stretched out his hand smoothly towards me, as if he was casually picking a flower, and the next thing I knew, I had been transformed into the ridiculous form that you see before you. All I can say is that the great wizard Telvarin had a truly unusual sense of humour. I had been transformed into an entirely magical creature, and so naturally was at the mercy of summoning from wizards. It seemed that the only proviso of this arrangement was that I would only ever be summoned when my appearance would be unwanted, which presumably was part of the punishment."
"I must have read every book on magic ever written, trying to find a way to turn myself back to normal, but it's been no use at all. I suppose it could be worse; it's not such a bad life, once you get used to it. I think Telvarin must have completely forgotten about me, besides, as everyone knows, soon after he reached the height of his power, he simply disappeared. Now, enough of this, all this talk is making my head ache, I fear I will have to take my leave."
I had been listening to this peculiar tale in a kind of trance, I snapped out of it abruptly.
"Um, OK. That was quite a story you told there," I said awkwardly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I do go on sometimes," said Sir Henry, "Now I really must go. I feel compelled to ask, however, if I might be permitted to return and converse with you at some point in the future?"
"Oh, yes, of course," I said, not really feeling able to deny him now that I'd heard his story. "Any time."
The sprout bowed solemnly, and then vanished, with the same sudden parping sound. I opened all the windows to let out the diabolical smell.
"Well," I thought, "and there was me thinking I was the one with problems...."
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