CHAPTER 2
Allen awoke, feeling pleasantly warm. Yawning softly, he turned onto his side and pulled the blanket tighter around him. As he did, its edge rode above his ankles, leaving his feet cold. Frowning, he curled his body up, snuggling into the warmth of the velvety inside of...'Velvety inside?' Some part of Allen's brain told him in a quiet voice that his blanket was, at best, not coarse. So how come he was rolled up in velvety warmth? "Because it's not yours", the same part of his mind reasoned.
At this point, it must be noted that Allen really wanted to jump to his feet in a show of surprise. But the warmth robbed the act of its intensity and he ended up lazily rolling off the couch and onto the floor. Once there, he reluctantly squirmed his way out of the blanket that was not his and sat up holding it in his hands. By the Gods, it was really soft! So soft that Allen hugged it to his cheek for a moment and rocked back and forth. Mmmmm...
The rational part of Allen's brain, having abandoned telling him things in quiet voices, started screaming. 'Something's wrong, you bird-brained, sorry, miserable excuse for a ...' Before his mind could complete its tirade and push up the rating to an M, Allen jumped to his feet and held up the blanket at an arm's length. No. It wasn't a blanket. More like a cloak of some sort. A deep purple- so much so that in dim lighting, people might suspect it to be black. Its inside was lined with rich velvet of a lighter hue, its texture begging his hands to run themselves over it and revel in the feel. The slender, frilled collar hinted at a feminine ownership.
But all that did not explain how he had ended up sleeping in... and then he noted he was buck naked. Almost buck naked. He turned around, looking around the room, trying to find some plausible reason. Noting nothing out of place, he moved towards his study, thinking very hard about what had happened last night. His face scrunched up in concentration as his mind began its retrospective journey. At 5'o clock in the evening, he had eaten what remained of the pumpkin flesh he had deprived his pumpkin of. Then, for an hour, he had dusted his piano, the only heirloom from his guardian Cross...well, the only one which made him smile and tried composing a new tune. Then, remembering that his blanket was badly in need of a wash, he had gathered it up and sauntered over to the local Laundromat only to find it closed...why had it been closed? Anyway, in a moment of quick thinking, he had decided to wash it himself and borrowing a bit of detergent from the kind old lady next door, he had set about his task. He washed, rinsed and wrestled the dirt out of blanket in the tub in the bathroom, following which he hung it up to dry. Wringing it by himself had seemed too strenuous a task. By then, it had been past 9'o clock. Then he had stretched himself out on the couch to rest his tired limbs. After half an hour, he had sat down to carve up that pumpkin for the contest, feeling extremely hungry.
Ah! The pumpkin! The contest! Yesterday had been Halloween! That would explain the Laundromat too! Then Allen reached his study and his eyes fell on his table. Oh...The pumpkin...The contest. The contest had been at midnight yesterday. Not that it mattered. On the table before him lay his pumpkin, its career as a piece of art cut short by a wobbly hand with a wicked knife. It came back to him then. The door-bell had rung and he had ended up...no...he didn't want to think about that. 'Too painful' he thought and grimaced. It was then that he noticed the letter beneath one of the halves of the pumpkin.
He tugged at it and it came away, thankfully un-smeared. Draping the cloak on his shoulder, he held up the paper. In it was written, in an elegant cursive, "Return cloak to the Ark, Millennium Avenue. P.S. It has a giant lolly over the gate." "What," Allen asked himself in a low voice, "in Heaven's name happened after I killed that pumpkin?"
Enigmatic note in one hand and equally enigmatic cloak in the other, Allen returned to the couch and sat down heavily. Something crinkled and Allen turned his head around trying to determine its source. He shifted his backside ever so slightly and was rewarded with another crinkle. Moving with the remarkable precision of one who has spent long nights catching rats in a long-deserted house, his hand shot between the cushions of the couch and snagged a piece of plastic. As he extricated it, he noticed that it was a candy wrapper.
"Huh!" he thought, "How did this get here?" As he crossed the room to the dustbin, he couldn't help but think that candy was somehow a vital piece of what had happened yesterday. But how? Reaching the graveyard of all things un-needed, he crumpled the wrapper in his hand and looked down. The bin was filled with candy wrappers.
His ears heard the crinkling of the wrapper in his hand. His eyes took in the wealth of wrappers in the bin. Something stirred in Allen's mind. A fuzzy memory, indistinct, as if through frosted glass, came unbidden. A burning fire in his belly. A stabbing pain in his head. A wetness that soaked him to his bones. But through this all, he heard a soft, gentle voice, encouraging him to eat, consoling him, whispering meaningless nothings...and then it all came back to him. The fall into darkness. The witch...no, the girl. The Girl.
Allen felt a blush rise unbidden to his cheeks. The cloak must be her's. The one who'd soaked him, fed him, stripped him and saved him. And just as fast, it drained from its perch on his cheeks as a singular detail forced its way into his mind. Stripped him. She had stripped him. Unbidden, his eyes fell on his left arm. The ruination of his left arm.
Unpleasant memories threatened to surface. A vulturine, vindictive face. Accusations in an ice-cold voice. The raging fire of a fanatic priest. Then blissful darkness. Allen shook himself out of that place with a visible effort. His breathing was labored as he drew a hand down his pale face and staggered back to the couch. Landing heavily, he buried his face in his arms and slowly, ever so slowly reined in his racing heart. He straightened with an effort and hands clenching so hard it hurt, he whispered to himself "Keep walking" and rose in one fluid motion.
Now was not the time for wallowing in the past. Nor did he want to speculate on what the unknown girl of Halloween felt about his freak show of a limb. He did not think he had the courage to. The jumble of his memories seemed to paint the girl in a good light and he wanted to hang on to that while he could. Time would tell. For now, he would get this cloak back to its rightful owner.
The curiously named residence, 'The Ark', was no less intriguing in its build. A private road, lined on both sides by huge banyans, three on each side, led to an enormous arched gate. The trees on either side of the road seemed intent on reaching out to embrace their contra-lateral brethren with their lush foliage, thus imparting to the causeway the appearance of a tunnel and effectively hiding the top of the arch from prying eyes. A couple of metres after the impromptu tunnel ended, one was confronted with what, Allen had to admit, was done in rather bad taste.
The arch curved to a height of thirty feet at its apex. It was a structure that bespoke power, a power of certainty, a certain immovability that reached out to Allen from its weathered stones. Clashing most sickeningly with the massive grandeur of the arch, at its very apex sprouted something that was meant to be a lollipop. A lollipop in the shape of an impish, garish visage. Adding to the effects was its colour scheme. Or lack thereof. The artist seemed to have not settled on how to flavour the lolly, so the end result was something that was frighteningly Frankenstein-ish. It was, all in all, the most unsavoury lolly Allen had ever laid eyes on.
A gate guard sauntered up to Allen, stuffing a magazine into his shirt. Coming to a halt in front of him, he looked the boy up and down through thick spectacles and drawled "So, what brings you here, young'un?" Fighting a sudden urge to scowl, Allen handed the note to the guard. "I've come to return this cloak," he said, pointing to the wrapped bundle underneath his left arm.
The guard looked at the note and then back at Allen. Then, he slowly removed his spectacles and let out a deep breath. "You didn't..." he trailed off, advancing a step. "Didn't what?" Allen asked, backing away. "Cyril's going to kill you!" the guard screamed. "Who's Cyril?!" Allen screamed back, getting alarmed. "She's only sixteen!" the guard howled, clutching at his hair. "I'm only eighteen!" howled back Allen.
That seemed to stagger him for a moment. "Eh, what?" he asked. "That's what I'm asking you!" said Allen.
"Spill the beans, damn you! Or...didn't you do that already?"
"Beans? The only thing involved was pumpkins!"
"Do you even know what a pumpkin is?"
"It's big, round and juicy"
The guard howled again. In answering cacophony, A couple of dogs from somewhere in the manor grounds howled. Confusion overwhelming him, Allen howled. "Will you people please stop the infernal howling?" howled someone from inside. "Oh damn!" muttered the guard as an old man, his back straight and his gait strong, walked out from a little side gate and glared at the guard. He was mostly naked, except for a pair of boxers.
"You could have just asked." he said, his eyes shooting daggers at the guard, "Whatever it is that you keep lacing my food with, I think I'm growing tolerant to it." Then, he turned on Allen and asked, "What do you want, young man?" Eyeing, who Allen now suspected wasn't a guard at all, he said, "I've come to return this cloak. The owner saved me from certain death yesterday and I'd like to thank her."
Looking at him, Mikk asked, "Were you that starved?" "As a matter of fact," Allen replied "Yes. I'm diabetic and was hypoglycemic." "Oh..." said Mikk, something dawning behind his pupils. "And who are you?" Allen asked, eager to turn away the topic of conversation before sympathy could bloom like a smelly Rafflesia on the man's face. Allen didn't want it and it probably would've looked terrible on said visage.
"That, boy, is Mikk. The proprietor of "The Purple Butterfly" and brother to the owner of the Kamelot Candy Corp. The cloak belongs to the young miss, I believe. Now if you'll follow me, I'll announce you."
Road threw the book down in despair after a series of cacophonous howls sounded from somewhere. She had tried to drown her sorrows in a good story, but yesterday's candy, now forever lost, was stuck like a pernicious thorn in her thoughts. Maybe, she should not have wasted so much on a complete stranger. She could've just let him starve and nobody would have been any the wiser. She could've just let him starve...if he hadn't looked like a damned helpless puppy!
That frail air that had seemed to hang over him like a palpable cloak. The way he had drawn up like a foetus and whimpered. That scarred arm and face. Even thinking about those brought back a goodly amount of the feelings that had coursed through her the night before. Road scowled. Compassion was a welcome virtue, but not when it made her wallow in sorrow.
Thinking back on the previous night, it had been Greed that had brought about her downfall. She had been bulging with the goodness of goodies, but still, she had chosen to grab more. Yes, Greed was the cause. But did it mean that Greed was something to be avoided? Of course not! What was greed if not another name for ambition? And where would the world be if not for ambition? And where would that poor boy be if not for her boundless ambition? Her vision without horizons? And where was that boy now?
As if in answer to her silent query, a knock sounded at the door of her study. "Come in!" she called out. The door moved and in popped the head of Igor, the butler. "A visitor for you, young miss" he rasped, "He's got a note and a cloak." Road thought for a moment and said, "Show him to one of the tables in the garden. I'll be along shortly."
***
Allen watched as the door opened and the butler stepped out. "Follow me" he rasped and then set off without so much as a second glance. Allen fell in behind the man and they both moved around the house and came to a garden filled with all manner of flowers. There were roses, lilies, hibiscuses, lotuses in a little pool, flowers which looked like drooping bells and more. There were a few trees scattered here and there. Straight ahead, there was a sprawling gulmohar beneath which sat a serene stone table with a few chairs about.
"Make yourself comfortable" rasped Igor, waving a hand at the table and moving away. Allen sat down and watched as the butler disappeared around a corner of the manor. He looked around and settled the bundle on the table. Birds chirped and Allen felt quite distant from yesterday's trauma and tomorrow's troubles. Finding himself with nothing to do, he brought out the note and looked at it. 'An elegant hand', he decided and then quite suddenly, a breeze tugged it away from his lazy grip and sent it floating past him. He shifted back in the chair and made a grab for it, missed horribly, messed up his balance too and as the chair rocked back to fall in a decidedly ignoble fashion, he jumped up, tripped and fell headlong into somebody coming up behind him and they both went "Oof!"
*Let us kindly make note of Allen and Road falling all over each other.
