Authors: K. Jewell
‘And you still haven’t,’ he replied, pulling his hat down at a jaunty angle over his eyes. ‘Everything in there is reconditioned. All belonged to somebody else once. They clean it, pick it apart and stitch it back together to fit. I don’t know why you wouldn’t get a dress you know, just the one.’
‘I’m just not a dress sort of person,’ she said, looking down at her loose red trousers. ‘These are brilliant, really comfortable with loads of little pockets. I look
good
,’ she added, already working out what she could hide in them.
Rufus looked up at the failing light and pulled his coat tight around him. 'We’d better get back, I need to look my best for Josie this evening,’ he said, guiding her through the narrow, cobbled streets.
‘Oh yes, Josie. You with a gendarme. Of course. And you’re sure she’ll be there tonight?’
‘Of course she will. Rufus is b
ack in town after all,’ he replied,
gently tugging
at
his whiskers.
The Dog and Duck was a smoky, noisy place with wood shavings on the floor an
d a wide
selection of snacks. As Rufus searched for Josie, Elli stood at the bar and was just about able to see the huge rottweiler dog-head serving.
‘'ere Miss,’ he said peering over the top. ‘You’re a bit young to be in ‘ere on your own, aren’t you?’
‘Oh no, I’ve come with Rufus, over there,’ she shouted up at him. She pointed to where Rufus was sitting in the middle of a circle of people who mostly looked pleased to see him, although some were waving their fists and shouting. He was merrily ignoring them and was engrossed in conversation instead with a bearded man wearing an eye-patch.
‘Yes, I heard that old scoundrel was back. And you can tell him he never did pay off his tab, he still owes me thirty groats. Or apologise about my wife. Still, that’s all water under the bridge now. What can I get you then? Are you staying down here or going up to hear that racket?’ he asked, as the sound of various badly-tuned instruments carried downstairs.
‘Going up I’m afraid,’ she said unenthusiastically, perusing the selection behind him. ‘And could I have some crunchy pigs
’
ears, a honey cake and some sweetened water please?’
‘No problem. And let me guess. It’s all going on Rufus’ tab?’
‘And have one yourself,’ she answered smiling.
The upstairs of the Dog and Duck was low and dark, with candles in glass orbs dotted around on tables. Billy and his family sat at the front two tables, and she could make out the back of someone she thought must be Norman the blemmyae, his shoulders shaking in time to the noise. At his table were dog-heads and humans, all about her age and moving their heads to the banging sounds she could hear. One of the dog-head girls wore dark glasses, and the human boys had grown their hair long, peering through it occasionally. An ogre sat at his own table, scratching his horns and picking the remnants of something out of his overhanging teeth.
Elli looked for somewhere inconspicuous to sit and found a table towards the back where she sat down with her snacks. She could see that the dog-head on the stage had an upside-down harp affair, and was strumming it at least consistently. The ogre-
child (assuming that’s what he was) was surrounded by small drums of various colours and textures, which he was attacking in a random pattern that seemed to be about venting frustration. At the back sat a dark-haired human boy, his eyes wide with fright, holding a long oblong
shape
with a series of pulleys and levers attached to it. He was playing the closest thing Elli had heard to music, and although occasionally it produced a tortuous squealing noise and he reddened, it generally sounded fairly melodic. All she could see that he was doing was p
ressing down on the levers
with his fingers, which looked terribly complicated and not always successful.
From the right of the stage strode Elvis, the hair on his face fully grown and swept back. He wore a vest, shawl and a cape, all adorned with something shimmering that reflected what little light there was. A girl on Norman’s table screamed and Billy was on his feet shouting, ‘go on my son!’
Elvis steadfastly ignored him. ‘This one is called ‘Sympathy for the Weevil,’ and is about those misunderstood little creatures,’ he announced, before launching into something she assumed was supposed to be singing. At their cue his band began playing their instruments together, generally trying to keep up with Elvis who was parading around the stage.
Elli munched on a pig’s ear and listened rapt, watching as he wiggled his hips and flicked his cloak behind him. Some of the gorgades girls in the front row were on their feet and standing near the front, occasionally shouting out things that were drowned out by the noise. At one point one of the girls ran up on stage and kissed him, and he sang a song to her called
I love the way you comb (the hair over your face),
which sent the small but feisty crowd into rapture.
‘Thank you very much,’ mumbled Elvis finally from the stage. ‘We’re gonna take a little break. Don’t you go away now.’
‘We won’t Elvis, we won’t,’ squealed a voice that Elli recognised as Norman, who immediately sat very still as everyone on his table turned to look at him. Some more candles were lit around the room, and Elli watched as Elvis patted his band-members on the back and walked off-stage towards his parents, who picked him up and ruffled his hair. She sat thoughtfully for a few moments and then made her way to a small bar where she bought some weak beer and curried winkles. As she sat down she caught the eye of the human boy who’d been on stage and she quickly looked away, sure she recognised him from somewhere. She watched as he made his way over to her.
‘Hello Miss,’ he said, smiling and looking down at her. ‘You look a bit better the right way up.’
‘Do I?' she asked, 'I can't seem to remember where...'
‘People don’t tend to
remember stable-hands,' he replied
, putting his music machine down on the table and sitting down beside her. 'I’m Whaler. So, what do you think of our band?’
‘They’re...um...loud,’ she answered, ‘and this thing here is interesting. Where did you find it?’
‘Oh, on my many travels. I practice every day, my fingers bleed with it sometimes. And do you know what?’ he asked, leaning forward. ‘I’m still no good. Haven’t got a clue how you play it properly of course, but Elvis seems to like it.’ Elli found herself relaxing and laughed.
‘And I thought you played the best of anyone,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘But don’t mention that to the others.’ She paused and toyed with her drink. 'I’m Elli, and you’re welcome to share my food. It’s nice to have somebody to talk to.'
‘Are you new here?’ he asked, crunching into the remnants of a pig's ear.
‘Um...sort of, and I’ve never heard anything like that music before. How long have you been in your band?’ she asked, pleased with her sudden change of subject.
‘Not long, but we try to practice our instruments every day. Elvis says we’ll make it big, but who knows?’
‘Oh hello,’ came a deep, throaty dog-head voice behind her. ‘Who’s been a busy girl?’ Rufus sat down next to Elli and immediately launched into the last of the winkles.
‘This is Whaler,’ she said, staring at Rufus and narrowing her eyes. ‘He’s in the band.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Rufus, yawning. ‘I heard that racket downstairs. Is this your harpsichorgan Whaler?’ he asked, the candlelight glinting in his eyes. Whaler nodded mutely. 'I haven’t played one of these
in a while. Hang on.’ He scooped
it up and adjusted some of the levers. ‘That’s on the lowest setting for a start, and this one needs bleeding, it’s full of trapped air.’ His fingers moved nimbly along the various levers and pulleys and over the coloured raised rectangles. Music cascaded out of it, clear and perfect, and Rufus’ fingers danced rapidly all over it. He stopped and handed it back to Whaler, aware for the first time that people were looking around at him. ‘There you go, sounds fine now. And if you’ll excuse us a moment, we need to have a little talk with Billy.’ They stood up and walked towards Billy, leaving Whaler looking dejectedly at his harpsichorgan.
‘That was rude,’ she said to Rufus as they weaved their way through tables and people. ‘That poor boy has to go back on that stage now knowing that everybody heard it played properly. And I was talking to him before you interrupted.’
‘I’m assuming you haven’t talked to Billy yet, which is the reason you were up here. I only asked you to do one thing.’
‘The reason I was up here on my own in the first place is because you were downstairs with your lady friend, leaving me to sort things out as usual.’
‘Well if you must know she didn’t turn up,’ he hissed. ‘I was stood up. Me. I’ve
spent most of the evening fending off people from my past, and I finally had to settle the bill in this place as the owner put me into a corner. He told me I wasn’t coming out until I paid and he cracked his knuckles at me. Things have really changed around here.'
‘You haven’t,’ she replied, looking up at him. ‘You’re still feeling sorry for yourself, as ever.’
‘You do realise that a bottle of finest malt whiskey was on my tab because you told that old rottweiler to buy himself a drink.’
‘Was it?’ she asked innocently.
‘We’d better make sure we get those jobs. That’s three groats you owe me already. Billy!’ he called out loudly, waving his hands and walking towards him. Billy turned around slowly, beaming with pride.
‘Rufus, and little Elli isn’t it? I saw you at your table. What did you think of my boy?’ he asked, patting Elvis firmly on the back.
‘I heard it from downstairs,’ said Rufus, ‘that’s why I came up. I didn’t know it was your Elvis, it was like nothing I’ve ever heard before.’
‘Did you hear that, son?’ Billy asked him. ‘It’s innovative, see. I don’t know where he gets it from, both me and his mother are stone deaf.’
‘That’s got to help,’ said Rufus, ‘to....um... create something so new and fresh-sounding. And the costume,’ he added dramatically, ‘so unusual.’
‘That’s archangel fish,’ mumbled Elvis. ‘You dry the skin first then heat it up and it shimmers. You put varnish on it to stop the smell.'
‘Do you,’ said Rufus admiringly. ‘Of course Elli here is a great fan of your music, she just said she thought you were very...’
‘Musical!’ interrupted Elli, ignoring a glare from Rufus. ‘Yes, very musical indeed.'
‘We just wondered if we could have a little chat to you about Goat Cuisine, when you’ve got a minute,’ said Rufus, ignoring the darkening candle-light and jumping up and down that Elvis was doing.
‘Hmm? Oh yes, of course,’ replied Billy, distracted now. ‘We’ll talk about it afterwards. Why don’t you sit with us for the second half? Then you’ll be up nice and close.’
‘We’d love to,’ said Rufus with feeling. ‘But Elli here has had a long day. We’ll call in tomorrow to talk to you.’
‘No, I feel fine thanks Rufus,’ she said brightly, ‘really wide awake. You couldn’t really appreciate them from downstairs, I think we should sit here and enjoy the show.'
Rufus looked down at her and visibly sagged, slinking into his seat. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased you can stay,’ said Billy with a wide grin. ‘You’ve got to hear their rendition of
I go cheap cheap
, it’s about a depressed chicken who feels isolated from the other chickens. It’s very moving.’ Rufus smiled politely and pinched Elli’s arm underneath the table as she stamped down on his toe. Both glared at each other but were interrupted as Elvis ran back onto the stage, clucking and thrusting his elbows into his sides. ‘I don’t know where he gets his moves from either,’ Billy whispered to Rufus, who sank down further into his chair.
The next morning Rufus walked towards the doors of Goat Cuisine poking his finger in his ear. It had been raining earlier, and his trousers had begun to absorb some of the rain travelling up towards his knees from the deep, heavy puddles he’d trodden in. ‘You couldn’t appreciate it from downstairs,’ he said, mimicking Elli’s voice. ‘I doubt I’ll ever be able to hear again. All I’ve got is a strange ringing now.’ She yawned and looked up at him, her lids heavy with lack of sleep.
‘Well you left me up there in the first place. Thanks for the support. I had to sit through it on my own, think how I felt.’
‘It really was awful,’ he muttered as they approached the large white doors of
Goat Cuisine
. ‘How did that kid manage to make a worse noise with the harpsichorgan
after
I’d tuned it up? And don’t get me started on Elvis. That was the least amusing chicken dance I’ve ever had to sit through,’ he whispered, looking up at the sign that hung over the door. It was the face of a smiling goat, and was painted with intricate precision. Every detail was there, from the autumn landscape behind it to the smile of its peg-like teeth. ‘Max did that one. He won’t touch goat now of course.’
Elli nodded mutely and knocked on the door, pleased that her new shoes had kept her feet dry. A huge ogre answered it, his mottled hair greying around his gleaming horns and a pristine apron pinned to his front. A small pair of ornate glasses were perched on his bulbous nose and hooked up around his horns, magnifying his glinting eyes as he looked down at them. Elli could faintly smell mud and earth.