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Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: France
Gender: Male
Posts: 15
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Molly and the Agalmata, 1892 words
This is the beginning of a young person's fantasy novel, Molly and the Agalmata. I appreciate any views and thanks for your time.
Prologue
Six year old, Molly Hargreaves, let go of her father’s hand and stepped onto the first, large, grey, flagstone. Taking a small shuffle and a graceful skip, she reached the next one, without stepping on the crack between the two. She was now that much closer to the pigeons that were still pecking at the ground. A cautious third step brought her in amongst the outsiders. They seemed not to notice. Just one more and she would be deep in their midst. She gathered up her new dress and stepped.
Without warning, two hundred pigeons took to the air in an updraft of wind and feathers. Terrified, Molly held her breath. She flicked her head towards her parents, looking for help. They were smiling, mockingly so. Her older brother, Guy, was actually laughing.
There was a man in a uniform. He was a big man with white hair. When he bent down and spoke to her, his breath smelt of something sickly. He had been with them for the last hour, telling them things about London.
“Did they frighten you, Molly?” he said.
She held her breath again.
“You see, when Lord Nelson shifts his weight from one foot to another, the birds feel it and take off,” he said in a serious tone. “He’s alive you know,” nodding in the direction of the great column with the tiny figure on the top. “And one day they will all come to life and take over the world!”
The Tour Guide roared with laughter as he walked on.
Molly looked up, squinting against the sunlight. She knew the statue was staring down at her. She had been told a secret that she ought not to know. This was the worst birthday ever and she would never forget it.
Chapter One...
“How about you stop staring out of that window and come and give me a hand,” said her mother.
It was dark outside and Molly was staring into the blackness through their bay fronted window. It was also raining, and she had been racing the beads of water down the glass.
“Come on Molly,” encouraged her mother. “The guests will be here soon.”
Molly didn’t want the guests to be here, soon or otherwise.
Her mother slipped her arms around Molly’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
“Am I to guess that you are feeling a little sad?” she said.
She detected a slight nod of the head.
“Because we are going?”
Another nod.
“You could have come with us, we did say,” continued her mother.
Molly lifted her head. “I know. It’s just, I shall miss you and Dad, that’s all.”
Her mother smiled. “We know, and we shall miss you. The decision to let you and Guy stay was not taken lightly. Come on now, help me put some snacks out.”
Before long, the doorbell was ringing with each guest’s arrival. This was followed by an opening of door; stamping of cold feet or shaking of dripping umbrella; disposal of wet outer garments; hugs and kisses. Guests were accompanied by bottles of wine, and sometimes a small and decoratively wrapped gift. Molly shook hands with a few, hugged even less and repeatedly nodded when told that she was so much more grown up than the last time they saw her.
Mum and Dad had an odd assortment of friends. The world of academics and scientists perhaps, and especially conservationists. Many were from the University where her parents worked.
Molly fetched, carried, and topped up wine glasses, including one of her own.
“Where is that brother of yours?” asked her mother.
Guy was still out despite promising that he would be home at a reasonable hour.
“We suspect he’s got a girlfriend,” said Dad, addressing everyone in the room. “About time too, at seventeen.”
Guests smiled and nodded.
The doorbell rang.
Dad chuckled. “Right on cue,” he said. “Another one who can’t remember to take a key.” He ruffled the top of Molly’s hair as he walked passed.
As he turned the catch, a gust of wind forced open the door, followed by a spray of rain. Everyone peered towards the hall and the front door. Dad stood back, staring at the doorbell ringer.
“Oh my God,” said Dad.
“What-ho, Hargreaves!” shouted a strong and powerful voice, and followed by the thrust of a hand clutching a bottle of wine. Sliding a soaking wet raincoat of his shoulders as he stepped in, the new guest enthusiastically shook hands with Molly’s father, reclaimed the bottle of wine by hugging it to his chest and walked into the sitting room.
“Where’s that lovely Mrs Hargreaves, then?”
“Oh my God,” said Molly’s mother, perhaps copying her husband’s surprise. “Gee-Gee!”
They hugged and kissed on the cheek. Some of the others guests knew him, and they stood to shake his hand but it was clear that Gee-Gee hadn’t been seen for a long time.
Molly hadn’t seen him before in her life, as far as she could remember, and she thought she would remember. He was a big man, with big hands and feet, broad shouldered, unkempt white hair and a solid looking head. Even his teeth looked bigger than they ought to be.
Her dad reappeared, wiping his hands dry after hanging up the wet coat. He walked over to Gee-Gee, who was now standing with his back to the fireplace.
“For those that don’t know, this gentleman,” said her dad, “this is Gee-Gee, a long time friend, not seen in ages, historian, traveller and an authority on all things weird.”
The other guests laughed.
Gee-Gee was handed a large goblet of red wine, which he held up in toast to everyone in the room.
“So tell us,” said Dad, “where have you been, what have you been up to?”
For the next hour, Gee-Gee did just that. No one else got much of a word in, even when he paused to gulp wine, which was often.
“Take Edith Cavell,” said Gee-Gee.
There was a discussion going on about how to become famous.
“Shot in 1915 after being caught in Brussels helping British and French soldiers to escape. Patriotism is not enough, she said, I must have no bitterness or hatred towards anyone. Now, there’s no doubt that she was a brave woman, working as a nurse in difficult times, but the allies used her execution as propaganda, increasing recruitment in America. Was she a hero, or heroine, or whatever is politically correct these days – or a result of the media?”
“She also said,” quoted one of the guests, “that she didn’t want to be remembered as a martyr or heroine, but simply as a nurse who did her duty.”
Molly had read about Nurse Cavell. She wondered whether she would have the strength to cope in a crisis such as a war. Would she be frightened, would she be determined? She didn’t believe she’d be the sort of girl who would stand there and scream.
In his over-enthusiasm, Gee-Gee spilt red wine over the carpet. It was obvious to all that he’d had too much to drink and some of the guests made movements to leave. It was getting late – thank you so much for the party – have a great trip. Just as quickly as they had all arrived, they were all gone. All except for Gee-Gee who had taken no part in cleaning up, but had refilled his glass instead.
“When do you leave then?” Gee-Gee asked her dad, who was getting comfortable on the sofa, with his right arm curled round the back of it.
“Monday. We’ve got the weekend to pack.”
Molly collected the used napkins and cocktail sticks.
“And what do you think about going to South America, young Miss Hargreaves?” asked Gee-Gee.
It was the first time he had spoken to her all evening.
“It must be eight or nine years since I last saw you. You were a wee pup,” Gee-Gee continued without giving Molly time to answer his first question. “I don’t suppose you remember me?”
Molly shook her head.
“The kids aren’t going,” said Dad. “We feel they are old enough to make their own decisions and they want to stay here.”
Gee-Gee looked alarmed. “That’s ridiculous. They must go!”
Molly’s parents looked puzzled.
“The family should stay together, is what I mean. London’s not a safe place at the moment.”
“What do you mean, at the moment,” her father mocked.
For the first time that evening, Gee-Gee looked flustered and lost for words.
“Look, Hargreaves,” he said putting his glass down. “I can’t explain but I must urge you to take your two with you.” His faced relaxed a little. “Trust me, take the kids and you’ll all have a great time in South America. I insist.”
“Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?” asked Molly’s mother. She glanced at Molly to see what effect this was having on her.
“I can’t, that’s all I can say, but it’s important you all go,” said Gee-Gee.
“Is it terrorism?” asked Dad.
“Look, it’s not that I’m a part of it anymore, but the Agalmata –”
“Oh no, for goodness sake, Gee-Gee, not that Agalmata thing again?” said Dad, getting up. “Come on you, you’ve had enough to drink, it was brilliant to see you, really, thank you for dropping in.” He placed his sofa arm around Gee-Gee’s shoulders and was ushering him towards wet raincoat and front door.
Gee-Gee waved a hasty goodbye whilst being gently pushed out into the night, followed by Dad who pulled the door to, behind him.
Molly looked at her mother for an explanation.
“I wish your brother would hurry up home,” said her mother, as she collected more empty wine glasses.
Molly could hear the two men discussing something outside. Then it went quiet, followed by Dad coming back in. His hair was glistening with the rain and he had rounded his shoulders against the chill.
“What’s an Agalmata?” Molly said, still wanting an explanation of what had just occurred.
“Err, it’s nothing to worry about,” said Dad. They had always encouraged Molly to ask questions and he knew he would have to provide some answer. “Gee-Gee is someone we’ve known for a long time. He is a very clever man, a professor who used to work for the University and a holder of two doctorates, he’s written any number of books. He got involved with some people, a sort of society who had some strange beliefs. In the end it cost him his job and nearly ruined his reputation.”
Dad threw Mum a concerned look.
“He’s a friend of both of you?” Molly asked, looking at each parent in turn.
“Well, yes, he was my professor when I was at university. We’ve both worked with him at one time or another, he’s had a hand in many pies,” said her dad. “I wonder why he turned up tonight. You didn’t invite him, did you dear?”
“Not at all,” said Mum. “I haven’t seen him in years, and I can’t think who, out of our lot, would have invited him.”
“Anyhow,” Dad said, relaxing his quizzical look, “what a splendid evening.”
The doorbell rang.
It was a wet, bedraggled and keyless, Guy Hargreaves, who was sorry he had missed the party but was there anything left to eat.
Last edited by rosearche : 03-26-2008 at 01:01 PM.
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