In response to my own prompt here:
Part 1 and part 2 and 3 also available…
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In the heart of a dying star time passes slowly. Really slowly. The sort of slowly you might only really experience in the need for absolute urgency. It is the sort of slowly that you might only appreciate if you were you an astrophysicist specialising in time travel, with a broad portfolio of time travel related work – delivered with distinction over a significant period – and all successfully peer reviewed. And even if you were all of these things – which Armitage very much was not – then you might still only have a nagging suspicion that things weren’t quite progressing at the usual speed, but given most time specialising astrophysicists spend a significant amount of time at the pub you would likely not want to dig into things too much because this was a particularly good pint and there was probably time to have another if things carried on at this pace.
This though was not a pub. It was, however, indeed the heart of a dying star and Armitage shuffled along uncomfortably as Renfrew ushered him through a wide set of double doors into a room not wholly similar to the one he had been in seemingly moments before.
There was a fireplace, a roaring fire at it’s heart, with a heavy stone surround and mantle. On the edges of the mantle were ornate silver candlesticks and an assortment of dusty books. A large painting of a winter seascape hung above the fireplace, dark and moody clouds hanging ominously over white tipped waves that sat poised to crash into a series of dark jagged rocks. Gulls seemed to be recklessly tossed across the painting, each with a look on their little white faces that spoke of regret and wishing they had stayed in their nest as this was no weather to be out in and had no one checked the weather forecast?
More books lined heavy shelves on all sides, and in the middle of the room was a small, round, dark wood table and three low backed chairs, tidily upholstered in plush emerald green fabric.
At one of the chairs sat a man, and he beckoned Armitage and Renfrew to sit. Renfrew extended an arm and directed Armitage to the chair to the left of the man. Armitage seated himself, placing his hands in his lap and sitting forward on the edge of the chair, and Renfrew took up the third seat.
“Please, Armitage, make yourself more comfortable,” said the man, “You are amongst friends here. Would you like some tea?”
Armitage very much wanted some tea, but shook his head.
“No?” said the man, “Well that’s probably best if I am honest with you, kettles in this place take forever to boil don’t you know.” He settled back into the chair and Armitage did the same. Renfrew was already quite comfortably seated and seemed to have somehow acquired a plate of biscuits which he was tucking into.
“Oh, and my name is Balthimus by the way, Balthimus the Intrepid, Custodian of time, Librarian of the Great Galactic Mining Company,” he continued. “And those are my biscuits which Renfrew is evidently enjoying. Would you like one? Made them myself this morning.”
Armitage shook his head once more, and Balthimus smiled. He had a small and kindly round face, heavily lined with age and sported a thick shock of white hair which protruded scruffily from all angles. Piercing blue eyes sparkled beneath white tufts of eyebrows that wiggled like amorous caterpillars when he spoke. A heavy black cloak hung around his shoulders, covering a long grey robe beneath which was tied tight around the waist with a heavy length of rope knotted in the front.
“Well, onto business at hand then eh Renfrew. Whatever are we to do?” Balthimus asked.
Renfrew shrugged, his mouth full of biscuits.
“You are his counsel,“ Balthimus continued, his tone hardening. “Now be a good fellow and pay attention. Whilst I have all the time in the world I have considerably less patience and if you carry on at the rate you are going it seems,“ and he motioned to the half empty plate, “that I may need to do a little more baking this afternoon so let us proceed shall we.”
Renfrew straightened up, swallowed the last mouthful and placed the half eaten plate on the table.
“My apologies,” he said.
“Good, good,” Balthimus said, “now as I understand it our friend Armitage here is non-compliant with The Great Galactic Empire regulation 472-B. Is that correct?”
“Yes, “ said Renfrew, and the Great Galactic Mining Company would like standard enforcement protocols followed and the subject to be vaporised.”
“Er, excuse me,” said Armitage, “But what is a 472-B, and what exactly do you mean by ‘vapourised’. That does not sound at all good.”
Renfrew raised a hand to Armitage before continuing. “And it seems that there is sufficient case for that to be carried out per regulations.”
Whilst Armitage knew nothing of intergalactic law, he was familiar with the concept of counsel, having once spent an unpleasant weekend in a mutant jail on the outskirts of what was once one of the smaller towns just outside of London. He had been accused by a number of the surviving locals of apple thievery, and that being a particularly onerous crime was hauled before the local ‘Justish’ who sat on a crudely fashioned wooden throne and was dressed in a heavy black gown and white curly wig. His counsel present Armitage him In a once grand, but now derelict and collapsing building that had once been a local courthouse, and he was sentenced by the ‘Justish’ to eleventy thousand years of hard labour and to be cooked for dinner.
Armitage had protested, arguing that the apples were nobody’s as they were growing wild, and that surely he should not be punished for that.
His counsel had seemed particularly impressed with the application of logic, and nodded and pointed out to the ‘Justish’ that Armitage was correct and that the apples were wild. The ‘Justish’ then declared it to make perfect sense, and that Armitage was free to go, but that the counsel would be flogged and baked and served up for dinner instead because somebody needed eating, else what was the point of getting all dressed up.
Armitage hurried out of town, his pack full of apples and the heady aroma of cooking meat drifting through the air.
“As my counsel are you not meant to defend me?” Armitage asked, the thought of being vaporised weighing heavy on him.
Renfrew raised a hand again. Armitage bristled.
“I’m just saying, I really didn’t come all this way just to…”
“Armitage, please. We have no intention of vaporising you, we just need to work out what to do.” Said Renfrew.
Armitage slumped back into his chair. It had been a very long day.
Balthimus reached for a biscuit and took a bite, smiling to himself.
“Regulations are regulations, Armitage, and you are non-compliant as you probably realise,” said Balthimus.
“No, not really, I don’t know that at all,” said Armitage.
Renfrew pondered Armitage for a moment. “The Galactic Council are quite clear, Armitage, your kind were declared non-compliant and the very fact that you are here and not there makes you doubly so, and the Great Galactic Mining Company are well within their rights to demand your vaporisation. It’s quite simple.”
Armitage protested, but this was no matter of apple thievery.
“Thoughts, Renfrew?” asked Balthimus. “You’ve obviously brought him here for a reason.”
Renfrew took a biscuit and popped the entire thing in his mouth, brushing the crumbs that fell from his beard.
“I think we shoudl send him home.”
“Balls to that!” exclaimed Armitage. “I am not going back there, no way. No.”
Balthimus shot Renfrew a confused look.
“Please,” said Armitage, more quietly this time. “You don’t know what it’s like there. It’s not where anyone should be made to be, the whole place is …”
Renfrew raised an arm for the third time. Armitage imagined ripping it out of the socket and beating him with it and making a swift getaway.
“Oh Armitage, I would not worry about where you are going, it will be absolutely fine,” said Renfrew.
“Really?” said Armitage, his face lighting up.
Renfrew handed Balthimus a note which he unfolded, read and then tucked it into a pocket inside his robe.
“Interesting, “ Said Balthimus. “Think you can pull that off? Happy to give it a go if you are.”
Renfrew nodded and ate the last of the biscuits.
Armitage looked back and forth between the two men.
“So where am I going,“ Armitage asked.
“Not really where, Armitage,“ said Balthimus. “More a case of when.”
Armitage looked at the empty plate of biscuits and sighed. It was all very confusing.
“Do you still have that tea?.” He asked.
“Oh you will perhaps want more than tea,” said Renfrew puling a bottle of dark liquid from inside his robe. “And you might want to watch out for buses…”
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Sort of continued here…it is an armitage tangent after all…trying to tie this to a piece I did a few years ago where I kind of accidentally wrote a novella by doing daily prompts over a month..
Afterwards 