Sort of Dead

58 - Dolls Drive Carriages

Wanna know where he takes us? To his vehicle.

Which just so happens to be a carriage they probably used in the 17th century. And connected to the carriage by a harness to get it going, there is –

'What is that thing?’ Aar shouts.

Well, I think it looks kind of like a horse. But it’s bigger. And its skin is . . . pebbled. Embossed. Like, a mackerel skin? You know? Thin, too, so thin you can almost see the skeleton poking through. It’s really hard to describe, wow. I’d use some of my poetry skills, but they seem to have gone on snooze. And the thing's got two extra legs in comparison to a horse. And its eyes are red, sans-eyeballs, ever-rolling, mad. Drunk, if I may say.

Okay, I think I may have an impromptu poem. I’m nervous, pardon me if I stammer.

(“Mad are your eyes
High are your cries;

Six are your legs
In your cobbled nose are two pegs;

The cast is you and we’re the crew
Take us to the Coven, please, will you?”)

(How about that?)

'That, my compadrés,' the deep-throated man called Rasthrum says, laying one gloved hand on the creature's long, strong back, 'is what is called a Nerth-doll.’

‘That thing is anything but a doll,' Aar comments.

Rasthrum seems a tad annoyed. Understandable, I guess. When I insult See, Bee gets mad at me, too. Pet insecurities. Anyway, he starts introducing us to the Nerth-dolly and all. ‘Saayu, meet our passengers. Passengers, meet Saayu.’

‘Saa-you?’ Aar said. ‘More like “I'll-kill-you”.’

‘Will you look at those calves?’ I observed.

I swear, Saayu the Nerth-dolly-creature gave Aar and me the death stare with those drunk, eyeball-less eyes. If looks could kill. And if I could die.

‘Come on, get on board.’ Rasthrum starts waving at us impatiently. For a moment I am afraid all this waving will get his scarf off, but fortunately, that doesn’t happen. Phew. I do not want to see that face again. ‘Quick, chip-chip.’

We start getting into his carriage, one by one. In a neat row, one proper file, like disciplined students and –

Ahh, who're we kidding? We behave like savages, fighting our way in. Even Mr. Om. All of us are tired beyond tiredness – I don’t think that makes sense, but okay; I said what I said – and need a place to rest.

However, once we get in, we wish we’d rather stayed out.

It’s cramped in here. And hot. And it reeks of cabbage.

I don’t like cabbage very much. You could even say I hate it. I detest it from the root of my heart. Anything that involves cabbages shall have no business to do with me.

Now that that’s out of the way . . . yeah. I have to compromise.

We wait for the carriage to get going – all but See, who’s already snoring in his slumber – and soon, Rasthrum enters and lies down beside us.

'Wait, shouldn’t you be driving?' I ask. My Dad’s resurrection is at stake here. ‘I mean, riding? I mean, whatever you call it – '

‘I told you to not ask questions, boy.’

I wait. Perhaps he'll answer anyway.

But no.

I open my mouth, then shut it again. In the background, Es is composing a new song which I think consists of only four words, and those four words are 'I' and 'don't' and 'wike' and 'it'. So there’s that.

Rasthrum smiles. Then he whistles. Then he mutters something – I suspect an incantation – under his breath.

And the carriage starts moving.

Fast.

hello there.
nice to see ya again.
okay, bye.