At the Grub'n Booze Cafe

When the bus dropped me off at the harbour, it was 7 am. It’s my habit to arrive always earlier than originally planned, just in case; even more when I’m worried.

I stopped on the docks for a coffee. Right on my way, I found a big sign on the sidewalk that read:

“The Grub’n Booze Café opens most days at 6 or 7; but sometimes as early as 5am; though occasionally, it could be as late as 10; maybe 11.

The Grub’n Booze Café closes every evening about 9 or 10pm; perhaps at 7 or 8; even at 11. Some days we’re gone fishing; but lately, some other days we’re around most of the time, except when we’re somewhere else.”

The author of these unfathomable paragraphs displayed a twisted, rather brilliant, sense of humour. They made me smile. And this was my lucky day: 7 am and the Grub’n Booze Café was open.

I had a look inside. The place had its charm, but it was weird as everything in North Sandwich: the glassware, dinner sets and cutlery were strangely shaped, but they had mouth-watering cakes and incredibly yummy biscuits called pannekoekies in the Northern language, which was slightly different from my Southern native dialect. Or perhaps it was the other way around: they certainly thought it was me the weird one, not them. Everything is relative. It all depends on how you look at it.

Talking about swimming against the tide, I noticed that hardly anybody took the bus in North Sandwich. The vast majority of locals moved about by bicycle. They drove carefully in a parallel lane to the road, driving odd bikes with baskets, shopping trolleys, baby seats and other useful accessories on the handlebar.

Come hail, rain, snow, sleet or high winds, North Sandwichians cycled to go to work, to go shopping, to take their kids to school; they even cycled to walk their dogs.

It was clear that if I wanted to pass unnoticed, I should have to buy myself one of those as soon as I’d make enough money, or better find me a second hand one, because my budget was really skinny for the moment. But when in Rome... I should do as the Romans did.

The harbour was very busy and I could perfectly see the “Ice Flower” ferry from my position at the Grub’n Booze Café. I ordered a cappuccino. The guy behind the counter said:

- Sorry sweety, but we only have Northwiccinos here.
- What’s a Northwiccino? –I asked-
- A tasty delicacy of my invention: a North Sandwichian cappuccino. I sprinkle it with cocoa powder, icing sugar and cinnamon.
- That sounds very delicious! Then, I'll have a Northwiccino with one of these cookies. –I said, pointing at them-
- We call them pannekoekies. You’re not from here, right, Missy?
- Ehm… no.
- Are you Southerner?
- Yes. I didn’t realise it was so apparent.

The guy introduced himself, trying to break the ice.

- My name is Archimedes Smith, but you can call me Archie. My wife Elektra and I are the owners of this humble tavern. Elektra cooks and bakes the panekoekies. Since I’m not as talented as she is, I only serve the grub and booze to our distinguished clientele. We’re aliens too, from the East corner of Burdishland.

In just ten words he had updated me on his life. Elektra Smith waved hello from the back door.

- Pleased to meet you, Elektra and Archimedes. By the way, I suppose you have nothing to do with the famous principle of physics…
- You mean that when a body is immersed in liquid, it receives an upward thrust from the bottom towards the top, equal to the weight of the displaced liquid and blah blah blah? –he asked-

That man didn’t cease to amaze me.

- I wouldn’t have expressed it better. –I answered-
- I’ll tell you a secret: Archimedes the Great was my most famous ancestor. The family pride and joy. And sorry but… I think I haven’t heard your name yet…
- Nicolette Bixby.
- Pleased to meet you, Nicolette. Tell me, what brings you to the Nordvyken harbour? –he asked, holding out his hand to me-.
- Pleased to meet you, Archie. I’m going to work in a ship. –I answered, shaking his hand-
- Oh really? What ship?
- The “Ice Flower”.

Archie suddenly got startled, threw his mug on the counter and sprayed the coffee out of his nose.

- You said the “Ice Flower”? That one over there? –he asked, pointing at the ship-
- Right. What’s the matter? –I asked back, in alarm-
- Doing what? –he asked again, leaving my question unanswered-
- I’ll work as a kitchen hand. Why do you ask?
- For no special reason. –he said, looking down-
- Come on, tell me: what’s wrong with the “Ice Flower”?
- Listen Nicolette: in this land there are lots of sea legends and harbour gossips about strange phenomena happening in that ship. Don’t take it too seriously, but if I were you, I would be careful. -he whispered-
- What kind of strange phenomena? Blackbeard? Guybrush Threepwood? Jack Sparrow? –I asked, skeptically-
- No, sweety. There are no pirates in the "Ice Flower", but don't make jokes, please. There are missing persons; abnormal appearances; weird journeys. That ship is cursed. The captain takes ages to find a new crew and staff for every trip. They pay well, but nobody's crazy for enrolling in this ship. But enough of that story.

Other customers had arrived and Archie left to approached them. What a good excuse to avoid answering my tricky questions. He left me worriedly thinking. It was hardly surprising that there would be a weak spot or something fishy in Falkenberg's job offer. My life was full of these unforeseen circumstances.

I sat at a table and peacefully contemplated the harbour landscape while I started pondering the option of skipping the job interview with the ship kitchen manager, to prevent further knock-on effects.

The docks were a hive of activity: busses loading passengers; busy passers-by rushing to work; heavy trucks unloading huge containers with goods and merchandises in the ships; the grey sea in the background; cars heading to the ferry queue… did I say cars?

Suddenly, I was shocked to see a majestic shiny black Bentley entering the “Ice Flower”. It was Ed’s car. His favourite among the ones he owned. Not just that: two workers unfolded and glued to the ship wall a huge poster, displaying this message: III Annual Kynkybooks Awards Ceremony. I must admit that my heart skipped a beat when I realised that Ed would be in the ship, chairing the ceremony and cocktail party. Now I knew who organised the event.

I covered my face with my hands but kept peeking through my fingers to see what was happening. Ed was not there, but Moebius Hax -his mysterious and arrogant lawyer- was.

Moebius left the car carrying a thick briefcase under his arm and speaking on the cell phone.

I was moved deeply. I felt distressed. I wanted to see Ed again, but after my misfortunes and fall into disgrace, I was too ashamed: there was a significant difference between being the Queen of the Dumbass Industries in Grytviken and being the lowest of the low in the Nordvyken ferry.

I had been a posh lawyer at one of the biggest corporations in South Sandwich and the right-hand person to one of the most powerful men in the island. But I had been sacked and now I was a poor devil; a liar on the run; a nobody at the bottom of the dung heap.



"One better day" (Madness)

Picture nº4: "Cookies" by Antoine Helbert

The oranges of truth

The Falkenbergs offered me to stay in their house that night. They were weird but nice and it was not hard to decide between a warm bed at the peaceful lighthouse and a pitch battle with the hobos on the beach.

- You can sleep in my daughter’s room until you find accommodation. Now she has her own flat downtown. You will find some old pajamas and a pair of bear slippers in the wardrobe that you can use, if you need them –said Mrs. Falkenberg sadly, looking down-

It was very apparent that she was suffering from a bad case of empty nest syndrome and was unconsciously adopting me. But we were one and alike: I didn’t mind receiving some maternal comfort at that very moment.

- How old is your daughter? –I asked-
- Vera is more or less your age, Nicolette. Her name means “faith and truth” in Latin. I’m her mother and of course, I cannot be impartial, but I think she’s a real gifted artist. She paints most peculiar landscapes of this island –she said smiling-.
- Why so peculiar?
- Because they’re magic. Let me show them to you.

Mrs. Falkenberg took a sketch book from one of the shelves in the room and showed me the images that Vera had painted there. The drawings were done in colour with the point of a brush and, to my huge surprise, they were animated and set in motion. The waves crashed over the rocks at the beach; the wind blew through the weeping willow branches; and the clouds travelled across the sky in the prints. I had never seen anything like that before in my whole life.

- This is simply… amazing! – I said-
- She can also make the viewers travel through space and time to the places she has painted. Would you like to join me here? –she asked, poiting at one of the sketches-

She held my hand and before I could even answer I was carried out to a two-dimensional colourful beach, all covered with sea shells and pebbles. I took a starfish as an evidence of our trip. Some seconds later, we were back in the house.

- Did you enjoy this little journey? -she asked-
- Sure, Mrs. Falkenberg. It was thrilling! –I said, staring at the starfish, still in shock-
- Very few things are impossible in this life, Nicolette. You just have to have hope and faith.

It was a nice little trip, and I still ask myself how could possibly Vera Falkenberg’s paintings could teleport those who watched her magic landscapes to the real location.

I became a bit suspicious. I had far surpassed my annual blind faith amount and preferred not to think too much about that, but believe me when I say that only Hell can work these visual wonders. I just didn’t have the guts to tell Mrs. Falkenberg that her beloved daughter probably had some kind of deal with Hell, by virtue of which she was able to cast a spell on her canvasses and make them truly “unique”.

I drank my cup of tea and Mrs. Falkenberg offered to cut my hair to jaw-length bob before I went to bed, so that no evil beings would recognise me in the ferry.

- Take no risks if you want to pass unobserved. –she said-

She was probably right. But I was a bit reluctant about letting her do that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to upset her while she had a pair of scissors in her right hand. She didn’t waste any time and started immediately. Strands of my long black hair fell on the floor. I can’t deny I felt a bit sad.

- Don’t worry, Nicolette. You look very cute now, almost like a teenager and your hair will grow stronger. You’re elegant and sophisticated but you may want to wear something more comfortable, like an average North Sandwichian youngster.

Did I have to look like an average North Sandwichian teenager in order to go unnoticed? She gave me a cotton pad to remove my make up and a pair of black baggy trousers from her daughter. I put them on and took off the white gold and diamond earrings that Ed had given me for my birthday the year before.

- Now you look simply perfect. –she said after my metamorphose-

That night, the sound of the waves rocking the beach didn’t help me sleep: I had fuzzy dreams and nightmares about cheeky mice sleeping inside my boots and giant spiders casting their huge cobwebs around me. At 6 am sharp, Mrs. Falkenberg knocked on my door.

- Nicolette, it’s time to get up. –she whispered through the door-

I had a quick shower, got dressed and joined her and her husband for breakfast. Before I left, they wished me good luck on my first day at work.

As a city-proud urbanite in true love with the modern world, that never lived in a house with a nice garden in the suburbs, but in a concrete flat downtown, the sight of the flowers and plants at the Falkenbergs’ cottage fascinated me. They had wood kittens, miniature ships, roosters, swallows, weather vanes, small bells, sheep, seagulls, ducks and hedgehogs all over, decorating their garden and patio. There was even a wicker basket inside the barbecue, with three little wooden puppies inside!

I hadn’t yet crossed their fence on my way to the ferry, when something powerfully caught my attention: in the enchanted garden, near the shed where they kept their tools and bicycles, there was a long row of bushes loaded with tiny fruits that looked incredibly mouth-watering.

I knew it was very unwise, but their delightfut scent was so tempting that I couldn’t help picking some of these little shiny orange-shaped balls and eating one of them. They were ripe, sweet, tender and so tasty that I had not just one but two, three, even four more, and then I filled the inner pockets of my jacket with some of them, when I heard a low voice behind me say:

- Be on guard against the oranges of truth and wooden animals at night. Even little kids know that!

I had been caught red-handed with my mouth full of these small oranges. I turned back to see who was talking, but I could only see Mr Falkenberg’s Pegassus. I looked in all directions but couldn't see anyone else.

- My name is Colt. Cornelius Colt. –said the Pegassus, to my surprise-

Oh man, that sounded very much like 007’s equine version! But joking aside, I had the fright of my life: a winged horse was talking to me!!! I was speechless, in utter nightmarish panic.

- I haven’t heard your name yet, Miss…
- Qinan. Leni. –I grumbled really frightened, with my mouth still full of tiny oranges-

I was shocked by my own answer. I was supposed to be Nicolette, not Leni, and keep my real name secret for my own safety. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t control my words.

- Nice to meet you, Miss Qinan. I would recommend you not eating too many of those. They’ll make you tell the truth and unveil your secrets to the most unsuitable people, like me. But these little fruits are very useful when you want to find out if someone is telling lies, just like you’ve been doing since you arrived in this island. Hopefully, it only lasts a few minutes, so never do that again.
- Oh, ok, I won't. –I said to the cheeky horse, with eyes big as saucers-
- And please, be careful with the wooden animals in the garden: they’re cute and all, but at night they become real and they’ll love to steal your expensive designer's boots; they have a strong inclination to sleep in warm places and your boots look very warm and cosy. And the spiders will cast massive webs around you, also.

They had already done it in my dreams.

- Last, but not least: never talk to strangers, even if they look like reliable winged horses. Thank you for telling me what I needed to know.

After his misterious speech, Cornelius Colt -the talking Pegassus- took off neighing and laughing. I watched him disappear among the clouds, as my jaw dropped.

I was so shocked, annoyed and worried. Just one day in North Sandwich and I had already confessed my real name to a feathered horse! Who had sent him? What was it he needed to know and I had supposedly told him? Was it my real name? Now I was really concerned.

I took my backpack and left the lighthouse under the drizzle. It was still dark. North Sandwichians start their working day very early in the morning and the streets were already busy at 6,30am. I walked to the bus stop to catch the bus that went to the harbour, hoping that nobody would ask me again what my name was or where I came from, until the effect of the oranges of truth had passed.



"Hide and seek" (Imogen Heap)