Eyelidiad by Rhys Hughes

Author:Rhys Hughes [Hughes, Rhys]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Gloomy Seahorse Press
Published: 2015-02-22T21:00:00+00:00

(14)

Phil the Liver, Padgett Weggs and Reverend Delves sat on the sofa in the lounge of Homunculus’s house. They were slightly uneasy in each other’s company. They were also impatient to face the enemy. The sofa was small and forced them to rub knees. Ro had been responsible for furnishing the rooms; she was inexplicably fond of small seats. It was probably because she had started studying a course in the Philosophy of Furniture but had dropped-out after the first semester.

All three had been eager to see Homunculus destroy the pagan god as quickly as possible. Beer’or, they knew, could be a seductive force. Best to rid the world of him immediately, despite the attraction of lingering measures. The mystery was why the mayor had sent them out of the bedroom but had remained behind himself. Surely it was unwise to put himself in such a vulnerable position? But orders were orders. At least he was not alone. Tourmaline was a loyal guardian, though they had doubts about the portrait. Homunculus claimed it was a picture of the man whose identity had been stolen by Beer’or for use as an avatar. Yet they could not help but distrust its oleaginous charm.

“Better not to question,” avowed Phil the Liver. “Homunculus mashes in mysterious ways.” He wriggled and took a cloth from a hidden fold of his sackcloth habit. Then he polished his tonsure. “What seems odd to us is doubtless necessary in the Great Scheme.”

“Well I don’t think much of it, mun. Sends us out, he does, without any tasks, after putting ourselves at his disposal. Ungrateful if you ask me, not that I’m complaining. Byth! More worried about him being taken in by the evil bachgennyn. All that talk, can’t be any good, bit soft if you ask me. Not that you should, mun.”

“Wasting time,” added the Reverend, through clenched teeth. “At this rate, we won’t meet the enemy till midnight.” He stretched and patted the neck of his pickling jar, by the side of the sofa. Pumpkin looked out at him with an infinitely sad expression.

Above them, in the bedroom, floorboards groaned and there were other odd sounds, raised but incomprehensible voices. Far below, in the cellar, there were hollow rollings and wry gasps. Homunculus had also sent Ro and the Anatomist away, politely asking them to fetch a bottle of Amontillado to celebrate the occasion.

“I must admit I don’t approve of us idling when there’s so much work to do,” said Phil the Liver. “He said he’d give us special tasks after he had discussed certain matters with Beer’or.”

“I’m keen to employ my palette, mun,” cried Weggs.

“Maybe, in the interim, you could paint disguises on our faces, make us blend in with the background during the battle?” asked Delves. Caught between the two sources of eldritch noise, the bedroom and the cellar, he felt agitated. They seemed to be twisted echoes of each other, as if two demons at opposite ends of a cave were playing differing arrangements of the same piece of discordant music.

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