Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Wednesday, 24 August 2005 |
Look…
Down in the U-shaped valley, the wind roars. It is a good roar. One might compare it to an angry lion that hasn’t taken too kindly to another entering its territory. It’s the kind of sound that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. The wind also happens to be very effective because it sets the atmosphere nicely.
Look…
Move in a little closer …
Look again…
Do you see a house fully surrounded by trees, except for its front? Yes? Ah, there you go. I know you wouldn’t really call it a ‘house’ per se, as houses usually have windows and should have more than two rooms. Maybe ‘dwelling’ or ‘shack’ would be a more appropriate description.
Look closer…
You join our story at its beginning. The scene before us is that of a cold, badly lit room. The room’s occupants include a woman just about to give birth; and the pregnant girl’s mother; and Ms. Willow, the midwife, who is there to help with the birth. She also happens to be the owner of said windowless house. Instead of natural light, Ms. Willow preferred the use of scented candles.
The nervous figure pacing around outside in the house’s only other room is the girl’s father. His nervousness may be for two reasons:
The first could be because he fears the wrath of the midwife if he dares to enter the room before she gives him permission. Ms. Willow’s temper is a point of much discussion in Newland Forest and its surroundings. The general consensus is to keep well away from it.
The second reason for his distress could be because he knows that his daughter is far from well.
Ron, Number 831, sat outside the house on the damp, dew-laden grass. Although it was freezing outside due to the ice-cold wind, Mediators like Ron couldn’t feel the cold if they chose not to. It is one of the perks of the job. (See Footnote 2)
‘Good evening.’
Ron jumped with fright. He swung violently around. Standing behind him was a man dressed in a long, black overcoat, black gloves, and a blue woolly hat. The hat ruined whatever look he had been going for. The man also had the portrayal of someone with a lot of experience at living. In other words, he was old.
‘Who are you and why did you sneak up on me?’ asked Ron cautiously.
‘Sorry about that, lad. The name’s Gilbert Adams, but my friends call me Gee. And you are…?’ enquired Mr. Adams.
‘Ron,’ said Ron. ‘My friends call me…em, Ron actually.’
‘You got a second name, lad?’
‘Yes, it’s Stevens. Ron Stevens.’
‘Very nice to meet you, young master Ron. And a very young master you are, if I may say so? How old are you exactly?’
‘I’m 225 years old I’ll have you know…and a half,’ replied Ron, with over emphasis on the ‘half’. (See Footnote 3)
‘Really? Well, then you’re practically an old man, me lad,’ said Adams.
‘Am I?’ asked a puzzled Ron.
‘Sure, sure. ‘Tis a very important age. And the half makes a lot of difference of course…’
‘Does it?’
Ron was confused, but he liked what he was hearing.
‘Yep. You’re older than all those people who are only 225, see? Plus, 225 is the age that they let you become a proper Mediator, ain’t it?’
‘Oh, I know that. I started last week.’
‘Did you now? So you’ve got some experience under your belt then. Very useful is your first hand experience. You get to put into practice what you’ve been reading in class all these years,’ replied Adams while rolling a cigarette.
‘Yeh, it was quite fun actually. Last week, I mean. Then again, anything is better than being in one of Mr. Groucho’s classes,’ said Ron with a shudder.
‘Old Groucho is still there then? My, my. He was there when I was a lad, you know. Not a very nice man, if I recall correctly.’
‘Nice? Hah! That bastard wouldn’t know nice if it came up and bit him on the arse.’
Ron was immediately horrified for having made such a public outburst against a Senior Tutor.
‘Em…I didn’t mean to say that,’ said Ron hastily.
‘Yes, you did lad,’ replied Adams simply. ‘And don’t you worry about it one bit. You can say anything that comes to mouth when you’re with me. Besides, I remember that old bastard. I believe there was a theory at the time about him actually changing his name to Groucho.’
Ron was visibly relieved that he wouldn’t be getting into trouble. He did not know much about the system for infractions, but getting reprimanded on your second week can never be a good thing.
An awkward silence followed where neither had anything to say.
‘So em…where’s the third Mediator?’ asked Ron. ‘He’s late.’
‘Nah, there’s plenty of time left. I had a look in on the way and I’d say the mother-to-be has at least another three hours to go yet.’
‘How do you know that, Mr. Adams?’ Ron enquired.
‘I’ve been to more births like this over the years than I care to remember, and when you’ve been in the game as long as I have, you pick up some stuff. By the way, call me Gee, lad.’
‘Okay, Mr. Gee. Do you have any idea why the third guy isn’t here yet? I thought we’re never supposed to be late?’ asked Ron again.
‘No, no. It’s just ‘Gee’, see? Not ‘Mr. Gee’. Got it?’
Ron couldn’t help but think that Gee was over stressing getting his name right.
‘Okay, I got it…Gee,’ Ron replied. ‘So, you gonna answer my question or not?’
‘Well…there’s actually a teeny weeny problem with the third Mediator,’ replied Gee slowly. ‘But it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘What type of problem?’ asked Ron suspiciously.
‘Er…he’s not actually coming,’ confessed Gee after taking a long puff of his cigarette.
‘Not coming? Did you just say he’s not coming? You see, I’m a bit hard of hearing, but I could have sworn that you said he’s not coming.’
‘Yes, lad. He’s not coming. There was some sort of problem, see? I only found out about it just as I was leaving the office to come here. So natra’ly I had to go find someone else,’ Gee replied.
‘Oh. That’s okay then. So who did you get instead?’ asked Ron.
‘No-one. There was no-one else around. It is Hondor’s Eve after all. Everyone had gone home early. And there was no hope of getting anyone to come in, specially like.’
Ron had a look of complete horror on his face.
‘No-one? But…but we can’t do it on our own. You know that,’ said Ron despairingly. ‘Isn’t there supposed to be a back up for this type of thing? They definitely told us in school that there are back ups.’
‘Yes, there are ’sposed to be Substitutes all right, but there wasn’t. They only put the one guy on during the festivities and apparently another group needed him ’cause they were also a man short,’ replied Gee.
‘So em…what do we do now then? They never mentioned anything like this in school,’ said Ron rather sulkily.
‘It’s obvious, ain’t it,’ said Gee.
‘Is it?’ asked Ron. ‘So what do we do?’
‘I’m afraid we’ve got to do it on our own, lad,’ replied Gee.
‘Sorry, my hearing is acting up again. We do it ourselves? That’s what you said, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, lad. We’ve to do it ourselves.’
‘Oh.’
Ron fainted.
‘Ron. Wake up, lad.’
Ron opened his eyes slowly. He felt a bit weak.
‘What? What’s going on?’
After a few seconds Ron’s memory returned.
‘Oh feck.’
It said it all really.
_______________
Footnotes:
1. Especially where the person in question has just had his head chopped off.
2. The reasons for this are quite complicated, but basically it works on the basis that, since Mediators aren’t your average Mortals, then the normal rules don’t apply, unless you want them to.
3. On average, Mediators live to see the grand old age of 1,200. It takes Mediators fifteen years to age the equivalent of one Mortal year. In Ron’s case, who was only 225, it meant that he looked around fifteen.
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