Mrs Scrimshaw

The afternoon sun was reflected golden on the glass front of the old grandfather clock. The clock began to chime as the kettle finished boiling. Mrs Scrimshaw poured the boiling water over her teabag and let it sit. She opened a can of Deeeelish tuna and tipped it out onto a pansy-patterned saucer. The cat flap sounded.

“Right on cue, Frank,” Mrs Scrimshaw told him. Frank was a fat beast of a cat with coarse motley fur. He was covered in scars, some of which left one eye squinting. One of his lower teeth was missing and he dribbled through the gap. He had four socks: three black and one that would once have been white, but was now permanently stained. He waddled over lazily and pounced up from the floor to a chair and then to the bench.

Mrs Scrimshaw had found recently, what with her back being the way it was, that bending down to place and retrieve Frank’s food dish was too hard. So now he was the one who went to all the effort, and he was allowed to eat from the bench. As he chowed down, rumbling like a steam engine and getting gravy all over his crooked whiskers, Mrs Scrimshaw removed her teabag and added milk. Once, when travelling in her youth, an old man on the far side of the world had told her that she must put the milk in first. He had some logical reason for that, but this was how she had always done it, and it was how she liked it.

She took her cup of tea, and a chocolate biscuit from the packet, and she hobbled back to the living room. Just as she settled down onto the couch, the doorbell went. Mrs Scrimshaw sighed to herself. She looked over at Frank, who had long finished his tuna and now sat in the doorway. He gave her a noncommittal look as if to say ‘I’m not going to get that’. With a tired groan, Mrs Scrimshaw eased herself out of her seat and made her way to the door.

The man at the door was a wizard. She could tell from the long beard, sturdy staff, and pointed hat covered in stars. It was possible he was just a cosplay enthusiast, but wizard seemed more likely given his demeanour.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Scrimshaw.” He lifted his hat to the old lady.

“Well, good afternoon.” It didn’t surprise her in the slightest that he knew her name. He was, after all, a wizard. “I’ve just boiled the kettle. Would you like to come in?”

“I, um… I’m in rather a hurry, unfortunately,” he replied. “You see, the Stone of Destiny has been stolen!”

“Right.” That sounded very serious indeed. “I have chocolate biscuits. Do you take tea or coffee?”

The wizard blinked. He drew himself up seriously, and then pulled the hat bashfully from his head.

“Tea please. Peppermint if you have it. Two sugars.”

“Lovely,” Mrs Scrimshaw smiled. “Come in.”

The wizard ducked politely under the doorframe and tucked his staff and hat on the coat rack. Mrs Scrimshaw made the tea as requested, arranged the entire packet of biscuits on a pansy-patterned plate, and brought everything through to the living room. The wizard was sitting on the couch trapped by Frank. Frank, being the old beast he was, wasn’t afraid of anything, and had climbed onto the wizard’s lap. He had made himself comfortable in a nest of robes and bunted his head until he received the desired scratch behind the ears. At which point, he had begun to dribble on the wizard’s knees.

“Oh Frank,” Mrs Scrimshaw sighed. “Don’t mind him. He gets a bit desperate for attention. Big softie.”

“How did you come by him?”

“I believe he came by me. He just turned up one day and started hanging around for scraps, well – I couldn’t just leave him out in the cold, could I? Not after everything he’s been through. Frank and I, we’re old souls now. We need to stick together.” Mrs Scrimshaw sat down and pulled out her knitting as she readied for a story. “Now, tell me more about this stone and what has brought you to my door.”

“Well,” the wizard sipped his tea. “The Stone of Destiny is a very important artefact, as I’m sure you can imagine. It can be used to control and guide all life on the planet – if you know how to use it. Now it has been stolen, and whoever has the stone could end every life and destiny on Earth!”

“Goodness!” Mrs Scrimshaw knitted away. “That does sound serious.”

“Indeed. Indeed it is, my good lady. So now, I am looking for someone to take up the quest and retrieve the stone!”

“Hm,” Mrs Scrimshaw wracked her brain. “Well, there’s a young chap down the road who could be the hero type. He comes and cuts my lawns every fortnight.”

“My good Mrs Scrimshaw, I am beginning to find that these young hero types are unreliable. They are hormonal and restless, and too often turn their back if a girl asks for their attention. I have come to you.”

“Me?! But… but I am too old for such nonsense.”

“You are never too old for adventure, Mrs Scrimshaw,” the wizard advised. “You are never too old to save the world.”

Mrs Scrimshaw and Frank exchanged a look. Frank could say a lot in a look. He explained that he and the wizard had already had a discussion about this while she had been making tea. Frank thought it was a good idea. The world needed to be saved or there wouldn’t be bingo on Tuesday. The TV could be set to record everything important while they were gone. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the time. People much more significant than them were at stake. The destinies of the people who made and packaged Deeeelish tuna were at stake.

Mrs Scrimshaw sighed and laid down her knitting. She had started using a chunkier wool and bigger needles as finer work became difficult, and what had started as a jumper was fast turning into a giant lumpy mess. She was going to pack it anyway, because it was something to do while they travelled.

“I guess we can leave in the morning then,” she decided. “If we go after nine I can use my senior’s card to get us on the train for free.”

The Staircase of Despair crept like a snake up the side of the Mountain of Doom. Halfway up, Mrs Scrimshaw stopped for lunch. There was, somewhat unsurprisingly, no handrail, and she was glad she had brought her cane. Frank kept a watchful eye on her as he stalked up the stairs at her side. The scarred, patchwork-furred cat had a tough protective look in his eyes. Mrs Scrimshaw sat his container of Deeeelish tuna on one of the stairs above her as she rested her weary bones. Frank demolished his tuna as Mrs Scrimshaw and the wizard ate lunch and admired the view. She had made club sandwiches and brought some fruit, the rest of the chocolate biscuits, and some juice boxes. All in all, the Mountain of Doom seemed rather pleasant. It was a long hike, to be sure, but she could take it slow and the scenery wasn’t something you saw every day.

She imagined that this was supposed to be a challenge, and it certainly would be for anyone who tried to do it all in one go. The thing about getting older was you learnt to pace yourself. They packed up after lunch, and there was still enough tea left in the thermos from morning break to get them through the afternoon. They continued on, and finished the tea with a chocolate biscuit each at the top of the stairs. Even Frank got some tea in in the lid of his container. Mrs Scrimshaw finished her knitting as they all tried to ignore the gaping dark hole in the peak behind them. However, it wasn’t something anyone could ignore for long.

They all stared anxiously into the mouth of the Cave of Catastrophe. It seemed a dark and dismal place, but there was no time like the present, and they were all out of tea. Mrs Scrimshaw tightened her headscarf and stepped forward.

“Mrs Scrimshaw,” the wizard warned, “there will be challenges and dangers in there. You will have to face and conquer them to reach your goal.”

“Yes dear,” Mrs Scrimshaw smiled. “That’s life.” She entered the cave. Frank stayed loyally at her heel. The wizard followed cautiously behind. He was right about the trials. The first one announced itself with a blood-curdling howl. The giant hound burst from the shadows and stood growling before them. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness and drool dripped from its fangs. It stank of wet dog. Behind it, the cavern was littered with bones and the remains of past heroes. Frank leapt forward and hissed fiercely. All his fur stood on end like a porcupine and his tail bushed out.

“Frankenstein!” Mrs Scrimshaw scolded. “What kind of language is that?”

Frank sunk down meekly. Mrs Scrimshaw rounded on the dog.

“And you! Look at that mess! Somebody hasn’t been a very good boy. Have you no shame? What would your mother say?”

The dog whined, and then began to cry with a pitiful whimpering sound.

“Well, crying won’t do anything about it,” Mrs Scrimshaw told him.

“I-I’m just d-doing my b-best,” the hound wailed.

“Now that can’t be true,” Mrs Scrimshaw disagreed. “This place is a cold damp dump. It can’t be good for anyone. There must be something you can do.”

“My boss says it’s atmospheric. He likes it. It’s not easy, you know. Everyone’s turning to electronic security systems. No one uses guard dogs anymore.” As if on cue from Mrs Scrimshaw’s comments, the hound sneezed.

“Look at you, you’re freezing. Poor thing. Here now, I might have something for that.” Mrs Scrimshaw dug around in her bag and pulled out the chunky shapeless sweater. She held it out and the dog tentatively poked his nose in. She tugged it around him as he stepped into it.

“There we go. What do you think?”

“It’s very warm and cosy,” the hound replied bashfully.

“Good. Then it’s all yours.”

“You… you’re just giving it to me? You don’t want anything?” The hound burst into tears again. “No one’s ever j-just g-given me anyt-thing before. This is the nicest t-thing anyone’s ever done. Most people just run at me with swords.”

“That sounds awful, dear,” Mrs Scrimshaw sympathised. “Have you considered getting out of this line of work?”

“Where would I go? I need the job. Daisy took the pups and left when I didn’t have a secure job. Sure, it’s not what I want, but I’ve got to think of them.”

“That’s very responsible of you, but maybe this isn’t the right thing either. Have you thought about what you want?”

“What kind of jobs are there for hellhounds?”

“Well, there’s always the movies. You know, I think you could really take to that. There’s nothing wrong with playing the villain. You could be the next Vincent Price! How glamourous.”

“You really think I could?”

“Of course! Why not you?”

“Yeah, why not me?”

“You can do it!”

“I can!” the hound bayed happily.

“Go! Call Daisy and tell her you’re moving to Hollywood! You’re going to be a star, my friend!”

“Thank you, kind old lady! I will never forget this!” The hound licked her cheek with a smelly slobbery tongue and then bounded out the cave door bundled in his reindeer-patterned jumper.

The wizard stood rooted to the spot. He did not look like he had been expecting any of that. Mrs Scrimshaw wiped her cheek with her handkerchief.

“Well, Frank, wasn’t that nice?”

Frank meowed noncommittally. Mrs Scrimshaw chuckled as she replaced the handkerchief. She motioned to the wizard and they all set off deeper into the cave.

Eventually their path was halted with a second challenge. Doors ten feet high and far too heavy to move blocked their way. Before the doors was a table with various symbols carved into it and words etched around the edge. Mrs Scrimshaw pulled out her glasses and peered at the writing.

“Man-made infinity to measure and consume. The more you have, the more you want, and forever is too soon.”

“Oh goody,” the wizard drawled. “Mind games.”

“Meow?” Frank leapt up to the edge of the table and prowled around, careful to keep to the writing and not to step on any of the pictures.

“Yes Frank,” Mrs Scrimshaw confirmed.

“You know what it means, don’t you?” the wizard asked.

“You don’t get to be my age without learning a thing or two,” Mrs Scrimshaw replied. “A wise old man once told me that the greatest cage man ever built himself was time. No other creature is aware of it, but we invented it when we started measuring it, and now we can never escape it.” Mrs Scrimshaw reached for a wooden tile with an hourglass relief. “Although, he also said you should put your yak milk in the cup before you pour your tea, so who knows.”

She pressed the tile down and the whole cave rumbled. The walls shook and trembled. Dust and stones rattled down from the ceiling and onto the table. Frank yelped and jumped into Mrs Scrimshaw’s arms. The wizard ducked fearfully as chips of the ceiling rained down. Then, with a deep grating rumble, the doors shifted open. As they stopped ajar, the cave became still. The wizard let out a sigh of relief. Mrs Scrimshaw let out a sigh of weariness. It had been a long day.

They continued through to the third trial. This one caused Mrs Scrimshaw to stop and pause. She gave it a long hard look. Of course, she had been expecting this, but that didn’t make it easier to see. They had come so far, and done so much, just to stop and go home now. Still, that looked like the only option left. The chasm stretched a dozen feet wide and endlessly deep. It was too far even for Frank to leap. Mrs Scrimshaw sighed again. She sat her bags on the ground, and very, very slowly sat herself down too.

“What are you doing?” the wizard asked.

“I’m having a rest.”

“A rest?! But we’re so close!”

“Yes, we were. We were very close, but, unless you have a spell that will fly us over there, we will have to head home now.”

“What? You mean you don’t have a way over?”

“Of course I don’t,” Mrs Scrimshaw snapped. “I told you I wasn’t a hero. I’m just an old lady, and I can use my wits to tame beasts and solve puzzles, but my body is in the worst state it’s ever been in. My knees are too shot to jump the curb, let alone this, and don’t get me started on my back. I’m sorry. The hellhound was one thing, but this is a physical challenge I can’t outsmart. What about you? You’re a wizard, aren’t you supposed to be good for something?”

“I… well I…” he looked ashamed. “My magic is… you see… the council banished me for breaking tradition…”

They all just sat and stood in silence for a moment. Then Frank nuzzled up against Mrs Scrimshaw’s knees and meowed plaintively.

“Frank…” the wizard cleared his throat softly. “Frank seems to believe in you,”

“He’s a good cat, but that doesn’t change anything.”

Frank poked his nose into Mrs Scrimshaw’s bag and dug around. He pulled out the leftover ball of wool from her knitting.

“Oh Frank,” Mrs Scrimshaw sighed exasperatedly as she took the wool off him. His faith was sweet, but misplaced. Her grip tightened on the fluffy scratchy ball. Frank meowed and bunted her hand. She stared out at the chasm… and she wondered…

“Hm…” Mrs Scrimshaw rolled the ball of wool. It spun out over the floor leaving a knobbly colourful tail behind it. The ball crept towards the edge of a chasm, wobbling along the ground. It rolled over the edge, and it kept going. The ball of wool rolled out over nothing, seemingly hanging in the air. It slowed as it ran out of momentum and stopped. They all stared at it.

“What in the world…” the wizard breathed.

“A leap of faith,” Mrs Scrimshaw smiled. “No one could really jump that gap – not even a hero. But there is no gap. You just have to believe enough to try.”

The wizard came over and helped Mrs Scrimshaw to her feet. They gathered up the bags and the wool and headed out onto the chasm. As they started across, the wizard squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking down at the terrible drop of nothing beneath them. Mrs Scrimshaw smiled and removed her glasses. They made it to the other side and pushed through the last door.

The chamber on the other side was warm and lit by a fire. The room was dim, but there was still plenty of light to see by. Someone stood in the room, carefully holding a small stone the size of an egg. They looked up as the group entered, but their face was quite unreadable. Mrs Scrimshaw knew them. They had met several times already.

“Mrs Scrimshaw? I was not expecting to see you for quite some time.”

“Hello Death,” she smiled. “How have you been?”

“Well. Work keeps me busy. Hello Frank.”

The cat gave the cloaked skeleton a dismissive look. Death turned his sockets back to the old lady.

“How have you been since last time, Mrs Scrimshaw?”

“I’ve been well, thank you. The past year hasn’t been too bad. Although the last season of that 5pm soap got pretty awful.”

“It did. The lady who lied about her abortion and came back to town with triplets. That was terrible writing.”

“It was pretty ridiculous, but I remember talking to you about how ridiculous the season before that was too. I suppose we’ll catch up again after next season.”

“It is likely. Do you still have the recipe for that carrot cake you made for Jude’s wake?”

“Of course.”

“I… I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some? There’s no hurry.”

“I’ll bake one when I get home. You can come and help yourself.”

“You’re too kind.”

“It’s no trouble. Not between old friends,” Mrs Scrimshaw smiled. “But I must ask, what are you doing here?”

“I’m borrowing the Stone of Destiny.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because all destinies flow to me, and there will come a time when I will need this stone to bring all destinies to me. I am trying to make things easier for myself in the future.”

Mrs Scrimshaw looked over to the wizard. He stood frozen in fear by the door, and seemed to know enough about the destinies of old magical mentors not to try and involve himself. Death had not said he wasn’t expecting him. Mrs Scrimshaw turned back to Death with a sigh.

“You can see why that would make people nervous, can’t you?”

“I can.”

Mrs Scrimshaw thought for a moment. They had come all this way to reclaim the stone, but she wasn’t just going to take it. Fortunately, she had learnt more than a thing or two about compromise in her time.

“I tell you what,” she mused. “How about I take it for now? I can look after it for you, and I’ll leave it in the cake tin. Then you’ll always know where to find it when you need it, but until then superstitious folk can rest easier in their beds. What do you say?”

“That sounds agreeable,” Death nodded. He held out one bony hand and deposited the stone in Mrs Scrimshaw’s palm. It was warm and smooth and glowed slightly. She wondered if it would help to keep baking fresh. Could it control the destinies of cakes and cookies too? Something small and soft bunted her ankle. She looked down at the scarred face of Frank. Their quest was done. She smiled.

“Well then, Frankenstein. Shall we go home?”

He meowed enthusiastically.

The afternoon sun was hidden behind the clouds and it left a white glow on the glass front of the old grandfather clock. The clock began to chime as the kettle finished boiling. Mrs Scrimshaw made her cup of tea and Frank bounded up to the bench for his a can of Deeeelish tuna.

She took her cup of tea, and a slice of carrot cake from the warm tin, and she hobbled back to the living room. Just as she settled down onto the couch, the doorbell went. Mrs Scrimshaw sighed to herself. Frank meowed. With a tired groan, Mrs Scrimshaw eased herself out of her seat and made her way to the door.

The woman at the door was a queen. Mrs Scrimshaw could tell from the golden circlet atop her perfect hair, the regal amour she wore, and the sword she carried that glowed with a faint white light. It was possible she was just a cosplay enthusiast, but queen seemed more likely given her demeanour. Mrs Scrimshaw sighed.

“Come on in, dear. I’ve just boiled the kettle. Would you like some carrot cake?”