Early Riser

I’d been so convinced of that particular narrative I never for one moment stopped to reappraise the situation.

No, I don’t want to seem underhand or insulting but Toccata’s a poisonous, untrustworthy, self-serving little reptile – with a severe personality disorder and a disquieting capacity for cannibalism.

It would have been easy to dislike her intensely, but I actually felt nothing for her at all.

The numbers were too great for HiberTech to hide what had happened. As it was, well-engineered corporate surprise, orchestrated bafflement, faux delight, suitable soul-searching and feigned contrition won the day.

“What do you think?”

“I can hardly contain my indifference.”

More welcoming were a couple of Welsh Tourist Board posters. One was advertising the local area with the now-universal slogan “Visit Wales – Not Always Raining.”

“I lost sixty soldiers under my command.”

“Your fault?” I asked.

“No, but they were all my responsibility, so it amounts to the same thing.”

People die in the Winter; it’s what it’s there for.

“She can’t be that volatile.”

“She punched me in the eye so hard she detached my retina,” he said, “and all I did was place the preposition at the end of the sentence.”

There were the rules we were taught, and there were the rules we did our job by. The two were related, but as distant cousins rather than siblings.

Winter isn’t a season – it’s a calling.

Feedback loops, echo chambers, circular reinforcement. All could play a part in escalating the utterly imaginary to the level of reality, sometimes with fatal consequences.

“Passing through?”

“Yes; here to meet with Moody.”

“You’ll get more sense from lichen. What’s with your head?”

Unlike talking to The Notable Goodnight, where I needed to be polite, this was an answer I could have fun with.

“It’s the final stages of an excruciatingly painful and incurable genital wasting disease. Luckily, it’s only spread by skin contact. Sorry, I should’ve said that before I shook your hand. Remiss of me – apologies.”

Shamanic Bob smiled.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I think I deserved that.”

“Yes, I think you did.”

“Jealous?” she said. “Of what you have to offer? A second-rate Consul and a third-rate vaudeville act peddling fourth-rate advice to a fifth-rate Novice?”

If you’ve not dreamed, you’ve never truly slept. Dreams are the place where you can be yourself; do anything, be anything. The mind set free.

“Oh, hullo, Worthing,” he said in a cheery manner. “How are things?”

“Outlook stormy with a chance of scattered death moving in randomly from all points of the compass.”

I don’t care one way or the other if the big A is using you to scratch an itch, but think very carefully of actions, Wonky. They have a dismaying tendency to be followed by consequences, and sometimes quite bad ones.

“I’ll be honest,” I said, “I have nothing against anyone who believes, but I think it’s a dangerous nonsense.”

“How is that working out?” I asked.

“Somewhere between frustratingly slow and fiendishly elusive.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not,” he said, “it’s what everyone believes that’s important.”

“Last season we had the Reduced Shakespeare Company doing ‘Highlights of the Mostly Complete History of Condensing Stuff (abridged)’.”

You’ll know the beginning easily enough; it’s when it all started going weird.

“I always really admired you growing up. Always smiling through your unhappiness. A real inspiration.”

“I wasn’t unhappy.”

“You looked unhappy.”

“Looks can be deceptive.”

“All too true,” she said, “but I meant what I said: inspirational in a sort of tragic way, like you were the failure in the family, but always looked on the bright side of everything.”

“You’re very kind,” I said, long used to Megan’s ways, “but it could have been much worse: I could have been born without tact or empathy, and be shallow, self-absorbed and hideously patronizing.”

“You need to delay the train.”

“How do I do that?”

“Your head on the rails?”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know. But put it this way: if you don’t delay the train, I will punch you five times hard in the head.”

“Once would probably be enough as a punishment.”

“You don’t need to be punished, you need motivating. And not getting punched five times is a terrific motivator. Take my word for it.”

“Agree?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t like subordinates always agreeing,” she said. “Sycophants have no place in my department. You’re to speak your mind when the opportunity calls for it.”

“How will I know when that is?”

“I shall inform you.”