Barry’s office was only a short walk away by the dock. Never ceasing to be impressed by the sheer quantity of containers that travel through a warehouse that is in the import/export business, Huso was drawn from his gawking by a friendly “hello” called from a whizzing forklift. Barry and Huso had been friends for years, often visiting each other’s workplaces due to their proximity; the past few months had seen a drop in this activity, however. Huso was looking forward to seeing his pal in person again, although he was grimacing at under what circumstances.
Ascending the metallic stairs to the floor manager’s office, Huso tightened the straps on his backpack. The warehouse was in full swing and noisy, so he knocked with some force. A rather heavy-built man with dishevelled hair and wearing glasses burst out, immediately looking Huso up and down. It was Barry. Perhaps nostalgia really does change the image one has of another.
“Geez, Huso. You really had me there,” Barry said, exhaling. He looked at Huso, waiting for him to say something.
“It’s good to—”
“You know what? Come in and talk.” Waving his arm, he stepped inside the office.
Huso followed, watching Barry cautiously. Shutting the door on the way, he took a seat from across the desk. He got up again instantly, removing his backpack before sitting down again. Barry wasn’t saying anything, Huso feeling the tingle of being watched in this embarrassing, but minor, antic. A kinetic ball desk ornament was clacking slowly. The mood needed lightening. Huso motioned to Barry’s face.
“Barry, come on. Even a dry cleaner would have trouble ironing out that frown!” Smiling, Huso closed his eyes.
He was out of practice.
Nevertheless, Barry’s face lit up. “Of course, Huso! Why should I be unhappy! So what can I help you with today?”
Muscles easing in the company of his good friend, Huso was hesitant to give him a reason. Leaning forward, he forced himself to retain eye contact, his hands involuntarily settling beneath his mouth.
“I think I’m getting the house repossessed tomorrow. I don’t know for sure, because the notice—well, it was taken by the elements.”
With Barry easing himself into his cushion chair to listen, Huso averted his eyes. Superficially perusing the documents on the desk, he continued.
“All this sums up to is that I need a loan. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can,” I’ll find a way. “Just the debt collector—Mike, I think you’ve met him once or twice—wants something concrete. I… I’ll need fifteen grand.”
Pausing for a moment, he raised his head. Barry appeared redder than before, and was as still as a trip-wire. Realising Huso had finished, his eyes widened and he got up. Suddenly, he was patting Huso on the back.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He disappeared into a back room.
Huso lowered himself back into his seat, trying to figure out how it had been so easy. Maybe he did not know Barry that well after all; maybe he had just been pessimistic. Still, he did not want to blow his chance.
As he was sitting patiently, Dashie jumped onto his lap. Tilting his head slowly down, he would have liked to pretend that this was not happening. He snapped his arms up to grab her, but she was too quick, flying onto Barry’s desk.
The clicking of hooves on the varnished wood sounding out, Huso, like a deer being hunted, silently motioned to Dashie to hop down. Ignoring him, she became fixated on the kinetic ball ornament. Dashie’s hoof extended to touch it as simultaneously as Huso’s hand pleaded not to. She halted, then, giving Huso a cheeky grin, pushed the ornament over. Thud.
“Get back here,” Huso whispered through his teeth.
Dashie righted the ornament using her mouth, leaving a slobbery shine on its steel frame. Using her nose, she nudged a ball into action. Tracking the movement, she was concentrating her entire being on that ornament. Huso thought he heard “speed”.
Knocking an end-ball with a hoof and timing, she increased the force. Repeatedly so, until she was bashing it. The string broke, and Dashie stepped back totally unimpressed. Huso rushed forward to catch the run-away ball, scattering Barry’s papers in the process. He tied it back to the frame, the ball ending up a bit higher than all the others due to its cut string. Dashie had moved on to looking at a pot plant; she had taken a bite, and was spitting it back into the pot.
Chasing Dashie, she took it as a game and pulled a metal bar out from the underside of Barry’s swivel chair. Waving it at Huso like a sword, he managed to get a grip on it. Dashie refusing to let go of her prize, Huso led her to the other side of the desk and bagged her in his backpack. Zipping it hastily, he heard footsteps approaching. Still holding the bar, he slid it beneath the desk and sat down. He formed a smile, scalp tingling.
Barry emerged from the back room, barely managing to maintain his excitement. This was infectious for Huso, who got up expectantly.
“Good news,” Barry said, his grin faltering upon seeing his desk.
“Yes?” Huso asked, returning his attention.
“You wanted concrete,” Barry’s eyebrow was twitching almost imperceptibly as he looked around the room. “I got it. All in cash.”
Huso shot his arm forth, Barry hesitating for a moment before shaking it vigorously. The two were beaming.
“Thank you for this, Barry. Seriously. I’m very grateful.”
“But that’s not all.” Barry withdrew his hand. “As good faith, it’s only 2% interest. Payable whenever you’re ready.”
Huso did not know how to express himself. Barry’s countenance solidified.
“Five-thirty. There’s a hollowed-out oak on the south side of the park. There’ll be an unmarked sports bag in it.” They shared a parting embrace. “Don’t miss it.”
Huso picked up his backpack. Thanking him again, he noticed Barry heading to his chair. Barry paused.
“Before you go. My wife told me it was a very pleasant experience getting her insurance sorted out. I could hardly calm her down.”
Huso made an exit. Hurrying down the stairs back to the warehouse floor, he heard a crash behind him.
“He is just awfully friendly,” Huso muttered to himself. “Awfully friendly.”
The smell of rust left him as Huso walked out of the shipping area. The late-morning sun was overseeing a cool change throughout the city. With the wind at his back, he kept a brisk pace on the footpath despite not knowing where he would go. There had to be some way he could return Dashie—where had the bridal service picked her from? Pedestrians were now becoming common as he wandered into a shopping district.
Feeling some light kicks into his spine, he took off the backpack. Holding it to his chest so no-one could see its contents, he unzipped it. A blue leg poked out and hit his nose playfully, crushing some cartilage.
“I’m hungry,” Dashie said.
Huso scrunching his face, he scanned the street for a restaurant. Too expensive. The nature strip looked fine. Avoiding the cigarette butts, he tore a few tufts of grass out and hastened into a side-alley to serve them. Setting the bag down—avoiding the syringes—he allowed Dashie to half-come out of the pack. Holding her neck so she would not run away, he used his free hand to feed her.
She was soft, taking care not to harm him. As she was taking her sweet time chewing, Huso asked her.
“Do you know where your home is?”
She stopped chewing. She shook her head. And resumed with her lunch. Was that a wince, he saw?
Huso’s thighs were aching from crouching for so long. Before he could cognize all that was happening with his life, he lifted himself up, and cleaned his hand on his last remaining tissue. A red dot appeared on it. Somehow, it was an experience worth paying in blood for.
Departing from the alley with Dashie in tow, he decided to take a punt. Across the street sat a decrepit two-storey building, far out of date from its flashy neighbours, that he had always tried to avoid when in the area. Maybe because it was sagging as if it could not get rid of the rain on its roof. Maybe because it sold goods to do with magic—and not the child’s kit-o’-tricks type of magic that Huso did not mind. But if there was one place that might be able to help him in this city, he was looking at it.
Jogging across the road, the building appeared more intimidating up close. It was difficult to see through the windows; beyond the dolls a lace curtain was concealing the innards of the shop. He was even catching the glances of pedestrians, indicating to him he was already accursed for simply being interested. He put his hand on the golden doorknob. We accept Visa and Mastercard. Well, it can’t be that bad.
Half-expecting the door to creak upon opening it, he found himself more unnerved by the complete lack of sound it made. A small click as he shut it behind him, the bustle of the crowd instantly falling away—not even a muffle. He could hear his own heart beating. The floor was bare, shelves cluttering the walls with various items known to defy description. He stepped towards the counter; it was like the first tick of a grandfather clock.
Nearly sweating by the time he reached it, he put his hand over the smooth service bell. Feeling his hand suddenly pushed down, a sonorous RIIING blew his ears out as a woman’s grey-maned laughing head burst from the cobwebs behind the counter. Huso could not hear his scream over the bell, his hand still being pressed into it preventing him from escape. Facing the life-form which grew before him like a hurricane of old hair, unable to turn his head from death’s fascination, eventually he managed the first words that came to mind.
“What are you? What are you?” He repeated.
The hag’s grip weakened, being pulled from behind by four small hands. Huso stumbled back, recovering his own. The laughing had crumbled to wheezing. A boy and a girl popped out from around the counter. They were dressed handsomely, in a modest way, and were holding hands.
“Entschuldigung für die Angst. We are sorry.”
Before Huso had the wits to offer a coherent response, the old lady brought herself to the counter, recovering her breath. She beckoned over. Refusing to move any nearer, but fearing what would happen if he turned his back on her, he stayed planted. She pointed upstairs.
“Run along, children.” A toothy smile spread towards Huso. “Welcome to Gullveig’s. I’m her.”
Pitter-pattering up the stairs until they could no longer be heard, the children disappeared. Huso was thinking about backing up to the door when Gullveig threw out her hands.
“Come on. Relax! You know, first impressions and all.”
Blinking rapidly, Huso was trying to determine if she was a murderer or a doting grandmother. Having no solid ground for opinion, he was inevitably swayed by her gentle coaxing to calm down and “how can I help you”.
Setting his backpack onto the counter, hardly believing himself, he reached in.
“Wha—?” Mumbled Dashie.
He stooped his head in and saw her waking up. Rustling the bag to spur her, he wondered how anyone could be such a heavy napper. As she stretched out, he turned to Gullveig.
“This is,” Huso felt some resistance in saying it aloud. “A real magic pegasus.”
“No, it’s just a painted animal.”
Dashie pivoted. “Hey! Who are you calling an animal?”
Receding into her thick coat, Gullveig’s ancient skin creased further.
“I was joking. Of course I know it’s magic.”
Huso put his hand on Dashie.
“So, I don’t know whether anything else in this shop is magic,” he weathered the glare. “But I was wondering if you knew where Dashie here might have come from.”
Gullveig arched down to greet Dashie. Huso could not hear her whispered words, but Dashie was shying away. Banging the counter, he put an end to it. Gullveig floated back, slowly lifting her chin.
“I’ve been to places,” she began, enunciating her words slowly. “Far away…”
“You mean somewhere like Siberia?” Huso asked.
“No…” She paused. “Actually, yes. That is exactly what I mean.”
“Well, does that have—” Gullveig cut him off, raising her voice.
“This precise creature… is out of my expertise. However! You are welcome to set up a display in my emporium.”
Clenching his teeth, he looked at Dashie. Her message was clear. No deal.
Exhaling, “what’s the pay?”
“Sixteen an hour.”
“I have a degree in economics.”
“Sixteen fifty.”
Huso sighed. How would it look in court, if I turned down a job offer? Not that he was intending to get there, of course.
Dashie was trying to capture his attention, but he could not look at her anymore. Having mapped all job openings in the city by heart during the time at his former workplace, he knew better than anybody the astronomical chances of another samey office chump finding payment elsewhere. Here he was, being offered employment, and without the luxury of refusal. And it had to be in this freaky place, too.
Pacing, a flood of images came to mind. Those 1930s newspaper editors. Nobody would suspect anything strange in an occultist’s shop—the place had its own norms. A display with Dashie was plausible, and there was just the audience that would flock to visit.
Jaw set in grim certainty, he returned to the counter but faltered. It was not just him anymore whom he had to look out for. Dashie had ceased signalling her pleas, seemingly recognising the inevitability. What he saw spurred something in him that had not moved for a while, years; a firm stance, resolute trust. Not wanting to let her down, he double-checked his reasoning.
Gullveig’s fingers snapping beneath his nose brought him up. She would not wait any longer. As Huso faced her, so did Dashie turn.
“Can we start today?”
By noon, all they needed to know about the shop had been revealed (and no more). Few customers came, which was thankful because Gullveig had vanished at some point and the shop had to be locked up without her. At five twenty Huso fished his consignment from the tree; feeling less of a sap, he had dinner at a pet restaurant—he had to hide his ‘pet’. By seven he arrived home, enjoyed Mike’s astonishment, and slept soundly through the night.
Arriving at Gullveig’s the following morning, there had already amounted a lengthy queue before the entrance. He continued walking, unlocking the shop from the back first. The cash register had been crammed against the wall on the edge of the counter, the new space bearing a poster of Dashie. Gullveig was unlocking the front door.
“Where did you go yesterday?” Huso called.
“Marketing.” Swivelling to him, she released the tide.
Every one of them was heading for Huso’s new stand. Taking Dashie out of his backpack and onto the counter, he was about to offer some words of preparation. Instead, she jumped up on her own accord seeing the crowd. Gullveig appeared next to him, behind the register. Motioning in her direction, the soon-to-be customers formed a line that snaked through the whole store, new additions arriving by the minute. Huso noticed a red arrow stuck on the counter which indicated the order of matters. Of course, they had to pay for the exhibit first.
A customer shuffled over, filling with glee seeing Dashie. Huso struggled to understand this, but watched the pegasus play along, stretching the customer’s smile to dangerous limits. This proved to be invaluable throughout the day; such a show of live optimism was something new to him, and he could run with it.
Gullveig kept the line moving promptly along. Not having the time to see how such a feat was achieved, he could only notice the rapidity in which lingerers suddenly left the display. An enthusiast holding a tape recorder made a line request of Dashie. Neither at the counter could make sense of it.
“I love flying twilight-ewe!” Dashie spoke into the recorder.
Wondering if there were other species of mythical animals as well, Huso saw the customer’s dizzying elation and let it slide. Dashie seemed to be losing her lustre, however well she was keeping appearances. The continuing stream of humans was enough for Huso to handle, but it was becoming evident for Dashie that she was the only one of her kind. Many of the customers were treating their interest as their solace—where did Dashie’s reside?
He tickled her in between customers.
“S-stop that!”
Hours later, the last customer left the shop. As Huso and Dashie were jointly collecting their breath, Gullveig closed the register with a cha-ching that bounced off all the walls. Huso remembered something he had meant to ask in the morning.
“Gullveig, whatever happened to the kids?”
“What kids?”
Wrinkling his forehead, he thought he must have been seeing things in his fright.