Baking and burning

"Baking and burning"

When Bernard October opened his front door, his foot knocked over two
of the empty milk bottles that he kept lined up along the wall; they
made a skittling blank noise as they fell.

"Hello Edward, " he said to the man on the doorstep, who was briskly
rubbing his gloved hands together to defeat the imaginary cold.

"Not bothering to dress today? " asked Edward, with some sarcasm.

The contrast between the two was obvious. Edward was dressed in a
deeply expensive suit, black shoes that were pointed and glistening
with small lozenges of light on their highly polished surface. His hair
was immaculately coifed, wavy and neat, his face smooth and
moisturised. His was a look that took some working at. October, on the
other hand, was wearing some turquoise slippers that slopped about on
his feet, a pair of football socks in amber and black that were baggy
at the tops and kept sliding down his calves and topping all of this
off, a tattered red dressing gown belted at the waist.

October also wore an oven glove on his left hand.

"Just come back from the inquest, " said Edward, rolling each word
around his mouth to extract maximum use from it. This was the
portentous way in which he generally spoke. Edward resembled nothing so
much as a government minister, October a kindly eccentric.

"Oh, " said October sadly, "I hadn't realised. I might have gone along
to that, had I known. "

The inquest had been to discuss the death of a colleague; more than a
colleague, one of the Company, a committee member who had been there as
long as both Edward and Bernard. A man who had seized power alongside
them, and who had now been replaced, in full accordance with the
Rules.

"The damn fool Coroner went with the story we suggested, " Edward
January said, "That poor Anthony had been attacked by a lion while
wandering about in a long-disused Underground tunnel. "

October raised an eyebrow. This, he thought, would have required a lion
that possessed not only claws and jaws, but access to a blowtorch as
well. Poor Anthony had been badly charred before the others had got to
him - and, as October understood, had continued to burn for some
minutes afterwards.

When he thought of it, October was very glad that he hadn't been a part
of that whole business. Anthony was the fourth to have gone from their
original group; all lost to violence.

"Perhaps it's fitting, " he said, barely realising that he spoke aloud,
"We took these robes by violence - that's the way they seem destined to
leave us. "

"Nonsense, " said January sharply, "I'll brook none of that talk.
Anthony was just careless. He knew what they were dealing with and
failed to take the elementary precautions. "

October let this pass, he knew of old that there was no sense in
arguing with Edward. How different the two of them were now and how
similar they had once been. It seemed to him that the power had become
less important once he had seen the Wonder for himself, raw and
beautiful, a far cry from what he had read in dangerous books, whereas
to poor January that side of things had become more and more
dominant.

"I smell burning, " January said, with great precision.

October turned on his heels, knocking down two more milk bottles and
fled into the kitchen. Edward followed him but at a much more leisurely
pace, his face screwed up in distaste at the shabbiness of October's
home, the unpleasant carpets, the wallpaper that would have put Oscar
Wilde's to shame, the heaps of old books, maps and newspapers that
cluttered every aspect of it, the cork noticeboards covered with colour
photographs of frogs of all shapes and hues and the gas meter that was
screwed onto the wall.

Once inside the kitchen, October tugged open the oven and pulled out a
tray.

"Why DO you live in this hovel? " Edward asked with equal parts of
amusement and bemusement, "You could easily afford a place like mine.
"

"I could, " said October, wafting the smoke away from the tray, "I
choose not to. How is the new fellow shaping up - young Deane?"

Edward scowled, clearly a nerve had been touched, "Please. I can't bear
to hear his name. If only poor Anthony had been more careful. If he had
known what would have replaced him? "

"I liked him, " said October brightly, "He seemed fun. A breath of
fresh air. It's what we need. All us stuffy old men, the new blood has
brought new spirit to our task. It's hard to believe we went so many
years with the same Committee!"

Edward despaired of October. His mechanism seemed to have broken. He
shambled about in this bears-pit of a place, his mind wandering and his
thoughts clouded with ideas of helping and bringing happiness. No
concept whatsoever of what could be achieved with the skills they
possessed. Still, he was one of the originals and when he thought
clearly, his abilities were at least a match for Edward's. Their
talents lay in different areas, but both were a force to be reckoned
with in the Company. It was such a shame that October could never take
anything seriously.

"Why couldn't Anthony have touched a barrister or a doctor? Someone
with brains, with breeding?" complained January, "This system leaves a
lot to be desired. We should select our new members, not acquire them
by blind chance. "

"It's Old magic, " said October calmly, "The last person to touch our
hand before we finally die, they take our powers, our knowledge. It
can't be altered. That is the way it is. "

"And, " he observed dryly, "You certainly didn't complain when you were
the beneficiary."

He knew too well what lay behind this outburst of Edward's. It was not
only snobbery and the wish to keep the group selective and elite.
October had known for some time that January had satisfied his desires
of the flesh with professionals. It was obviously January's fear that
he would die unexpectedly, leaving a lady of the night to take all of
his power. The shame of the full Committee being brought face to face
with a new member with fishnets and a shiny handbag full of unusual
things haunted Edward.

Sometimes, Edward would wear gloves throughout his transactions,
although October did not know this. He had, however, seen January seek
out men of power and substance to shake hands with, just in case
something untoward was to happen that evening.

"Anyway, " said Edward, "What are you baking?"

"Gingerbread men, " said October, with great delight.

Edward January pondered. Although both were well versed in magic, their
particular talents lay in very different areas and there were many
skills October possessed of which Edward knew nothing, "Are they a
protection against harm?"

October shook his head.

"A device for summoning Those Who Snip? To be worn as a talisman,
warning if anyone were plotting against you? Do you plant them in
ground where blood has been spilt and raise them as warriors? Or
perhaps?"

"Sometimes Edward, a gingerbread man is just a gingerbread man. "

Edward looked horrified, "You mean you're cooking them to EAT?"

"Of course, " said October, "Once they've cooled on a wire rack. See,
they have currants for eyes and as buttons on their coat. Three buttons
each. Five currants in all. Quite delicious. "

Edward pulled a box of matches from his pocket, "You're mad. There is
no sense cooking when there is magic. Why, with one match from this box
taken from a suicide, I can conjure a banquet of the finest meats and
fruits, with wine besides. Moist roast duck that falls into slices when
the knife approaches, sauces that haven't been matched for fifty years.
I haven't cooked since I learned this small magic. I have friends that
keep me well supplied with matchboxes. "

October shook the gingerbread men onto a wire cooling rack and then
used his ungloved hand to move them about, touching them lightly and
moving them into a rank.

"January, when I eat your banquets, all I taste is sorrow and wood.
And, I prefer sorrow in sad songs and my wood to remain a tree. "

Not for the first time, October found himself pondering how far it was
from January to October.

Edward looked more than a little hurt and thrust his box of matches
back into his pocket. His eyes blazed and he waited for a few moments
before speaking again.

"I am concerned about the new member of the Company, " he said, "Not
only what stock he is from, but the whole process of integration. It
can be very difficult. "

"And very lonely, " observed October, as he blew cold air onto the
gingerbread men, "Even when twelve of us did it together, it was very
very lonely. "

This remark did seem to soften Edward's manner and something in his
eyes told of things long ago.

"Quite, " he said, "So, I was wondering whether you would like to give
the new member the tour. He'll remember it all in time anyway, but it
might be less painful if we were to help him. "

"Excellent idea, " October said, lifting up the first of the
gingerbread men, still warm and soft to the touch, if a little burnt at
the tips of the arms, "Will you have one? "