[story] the peculiar case of ginerva adams and the charing cross fair
author: akimoto taiki (shirokaras)
email: veldspar [at] hotmail.com



Ah yes, good sirs and madams, I bid thee welcome, and a good evening.

Now, come with me, as we tiptoe quietly through the cracks of time, to pass unseen through the thronging crowds, to travel a little way back in time to witness the strange events surrounding a certain girl, a Miss Ginerva Adams.

Ordinary, she'd be, I'm afraid. Don't expect to see additonal limbs, or a second head, or strangely proportioned features of any sort. Nay, she's a normal little girl of six, young, and strangely lost.

There she is. Yes, that little girl, the one with the slightly patched, slightly grubby dress that'd seen better days, but which she takes such good care of. Step carefully now, mind. Take care not to disturb anything here. The slightest touch or disturbance to anyone or anything here could trigger a temporal event of cataclysmic proportions! ... I jest, naturally. We are but observers, outside the flow of time for now, and naught that we do has any consequence on anything in this era. They won't even see us! But mind those oxcarts, lest they run you over. Will you get hurt, you ask? Would you like to find out first hand?

What year would this be, you ask? Why, 1752, of course. Can you not recognise the scene jumping out at you? Just like that painting by Canaletto? This would be the frontage onto the Strand, the Charing Cross of Northumberland House. Here! Follow me to the window. There would be the statue of Charles I, and there, the famous Golden Cross Inn!

But I digress. We are here to observe, to watch her story unfold, not to admire ancient architecture (though it does seem rather grubby and plebian to me). Now, come around again, gents and ladies, gather around this little lady whom shall be the star of our evening's entertainment!

As I have said, perfectly ordinary, is she not? But not so what shall transpire. Now, come wth us as we take a voyeuristic view of her life for these brief moments. For only sixpence! And here, with a snap of my fingers, we shall begin!

Do try to keep up.





Bewildered, Ginny shuffled her feet nervously as she tried not to cough. The smoke-filled air in the tavern was rather overwhelming, and it made her feel as if her lungs were being slowly but steadily coated with soot with each breath she drew. She looked around uncertainly, but studying the cracks and the scuffs on the wooden floorboards did little to help her out of her current predicament. Which, strangely enough, she had no idea how she'd gotten into.

The last thing she remembered was walking with her mother down a rather crowded street. The day was growing dark, and the street lamps were slowly flickering to life when, all of a sudden, the world went black, almost as if someone had blown out all the lights. With that, her mother's hand had disappeared like so much smoke in her grasp, and when light returned in gradual progression, she'd found herself... here. Wherever here was.

Something struck her as intrinsically wrong with the sight before her eyes. Despite the fact that her ears were filled with the sounds of a rowdy tavern, all shouting and callous singing and the sounds of offended cutlery and crockery as they were readily abused, what she saw before her confused her no end. In direct contrast to what her ears told her she should be seeing, she instead beheld a neat, tidy tavern, dimly lit, where everyone sat silent, their heads bowed over their food, which seemed little more than carcasses and scraps on their otherwise immaculate plates. No one looked at anyone else, and no one's mouth moved.

Her eyes watering at the smoke, she shuffled over to a portly gentleman, in overly frilly garb that seemed a few decades out of fashion.

"Please, sir, have you seen my mother?"

She looked up imploringly as she coughed, overcome by the smoke. Like a strange, grosteque statue, however, he swayed as she tugged on his sleeve, slowly rocking back and forth like one of those weighted dolls till, head lolling, he resumed his former position. His eyes remained fixed glassily on his plate.

Suddenly afraid, Ginny backed up a step, an involuntary whimper working its way past her tight shut lips. A sudden high-pitched cackle made her start and spin around. Wild-eyed and terrified, her hand flew to her mouth as she rapidly staggered away from the strange quintet of men that had sprung up before her. Their faces were painted a garish white, and frilly, ribbony tutus hanging limply on their gaunt frames as they pirouetted, bodies almost stationary as their legs moved, marionette-like, in pas de cheval.

"Greetings, youngest of ladies~ fairest of flowers~" sang five voices in strange falsetto unison as they all assumed arabesques and fluttered their eyelashes at her, their mouths pursed in coy moues.

Her eyes wet, and a keening cry taking shape in her throat, she started and almost fell as she bumped into a table while she backed away.

"How may we help..."

"... you, dear one? Are you..."

"Looking for your..."

"...dearest of dears, your..."

"... foremost of kins... your..."

"... mother?"

She cringed from the five faces that were suddenly pressed far too close to hers. The raucous laughter around her continued unabated, as five pairs of soulless eyes stared emptily at her, painted smiles and lashes fluttering like wings of poisonous butterflies.

"What's..."

"...wrong,..."

"...dear..."

"... one?"

With a small desperate cry, she ducked past them and she sprinted towards the door. A hasty glance cast over her shoulder showed them still standing at the spot where she'd been standing, and their faces slowly turning to follow her as she ran out the door.





Such a poor little girl, isn't she? She must be frightened out of her mind, she must, and yet, still so brave. What COULD her mother have been thinking, to leave her alone like that? Where COULD she have gone, abandoning her sweet little slice of sunshine?

Where indeed? You lot know not, nor do I. It's a mystery, it be, yes. And what do you mean, dear sir, when you say that I'm smiling too widely? Do you wish to impugn me as a sadist, for enjoying the suffering of this little girl? When you yourself stand there watching her in delighted inaction? Remember, we cannot do anything in this time and age, even if we wanted to. So since a show there be, a show should be enjoyed, no?

And how shall we get to bottom of this mystery then?

Well, the girl IS out the door. We'd better hurry up if we're not going to miss her.





She ran, not caring where her tired, painful feet took her, as long as it was away from that strange tavern. It was like a scene from a nightmare, all disjointed and and yet... familiar at the same time.

Even now, she couldn't tell with any amount of certainty if she were awake, or dreaming, or stuck in the strange limbo between the two where the realities intersected and intertwined.

Her steps slowed as, panting, she came to a stop and leaned weakly against a wall, the old red brick and cracked mortar rasping against her young skin. Slowly, she tried to wrap her mind around the problem at hand - she was lost, alone, and terrified. She had no idea where or when she was, and her mother was nowhere in sight. And she had no idea what she was to do.

Unable to take it anymore, her knees buckled and her bottom met the hard cobbles with a bit too much familiarity for her liking.

Dazed and confused, her mind all awhirl and her eyes all atearing, she wasn't really expecting what happened next.

"Now, now, ma petite fille, what seems to be the problem? Qu'est-ce que tu pleures, why do you cry, little one?" came a deep, tender voice.

Dashing the tears away, she looked around in surprise for the source of the voice. The sky was dark with evenlight, a stark light that lit little, and cast shadows in every nook and cranny it could find. The streetlamps had all been lit, but unlike the gas lamps Ginny was used to, these were old fashioned, with wax candles nestled within burnished glass and metal cages, giving off a dim, subtle light that flickered almost as though it were alive.

The people walking down the street reminded her of the strange people in the tavern - dressed in archaic fashions perhaps a few decades too late, all looking the worse for wear as they trudged along, lifeless and unseeing, their feet placing themselves grudgingly one before the other as they dragged their owners along to destinations uncertain, upon paths fixed yet unseen. Not a single one of them looked at her, nor did they look as if they'd even be halfway concerned with a lost little girl.

"Mon dieu, ma petite fille," sighed the voice. "Ici, here, my child."

She looked down, blinking at the black cat that sat before her, quietly preening itself. Arranging its whiskers with a quick flick of its paw, it regarded her solemnly with luminous green eyes. "You are lost, non?" it asked, inclining its head to one side as it studied her, its tail slowly keeping time as it swished from side to side.

"You... talk, kitty?"

Heaving a sigh as it rose to its feet, the cat stretched. "Naturally, I speak, ma cherie, we all do. After all, we did not earn the name chat in the land of France for nothing, non? And seeing you lost has made me feel... how would you say... chatty. I do not like seeing les damoiselles en distresse, non."

Ginny sniffed as she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, the cat watching her patiently.

"Pourquoi ces pleurs dans tes yeux, ma cherie? Why do you cry?"

"I'm lost. And I can't find my mother. And I don't know where I am."

The cat blinked at her, listening patiently as her story unfolded, disjointed, between tear-filled silences and sob-wracked shivers. "Ah. Une petite fille perdue. C'est tragique." Almost as if he were sympathetic, the cat rose and nudged her as she cried into her crossed arms, and did not struggle as she wrapped her arms around it and sniffled into his fur. Even though he did wrinkle his nose at the sensation. "There there, little one," he whispered. "I'll help you find ta mere... your mother."

"Really?" she asked, a pleading note in her little voice as she held him even closer.

"Oui, oui, ma petite fille perdue. Alain does not make empty promises." Sighing, the cat shook his head. "Alain is also not, as you would say, made of stuffing, so would you mind not squeezing quite so hard, ma cherie? I am finding it difficult to breathe."

"Sorry."

Embarassed, she let go of the cat, who backed away and, after stretching sinuously, sat down and stared moonwards for a time, as if deep in thought.

"Oui. I know who we must seek. Viens, ma petite fille perdue, viens, come this way."

With that, cat and girl stood and walked, vanishing into the growing mist amidst the ghostly crowds.





Fascinating, is it not, what one beholds on this little journey? And at no further expense than a few pence and a bit of legwork, which is hardly strenous on the wallet or on the legs.

Corny, you say? A talking cat, who talks because the French word for cat is chat? Sillier things have happened, my good sir. Yourself, for example, Mr Stan Still. Isn't your name quite the oxymoron for you as you walk along with us?

Now, now, dear ladies and gentlemen, let us not focus on unfortunate Mr Still, or his unfortunate name. As amusing as he may be, he offers mundane entertainment compared to the fantastical things that can happen on this little jaunt. You haven't even seen the half of it.

Now, if you would be so kind as to step this way? ... And do mind the... oh dear. Ah well. I'm sure the cowpats do contribute to the overall sensory experience, but I WOULD rather you cleaned your shoes, madam...





They walked a long time in the growing fog, which turned the world into a dark, gloomy shadow of itself, all sepia-toned and smokey and filled with silent apparitions who trudged their weary way through the mists. Still, though the faces she saw were disturbing, and seemed to turn into gaunt, grosteque parodies of themselves as she looked at them, she found she wasn't too afraid. Not as long as she saw Alain walking two steps before her, turning his head occasionally to check that he hadn't lost his little lost girl.

Casting her eyes at the dim lit streets, and the even dimmer lit buildings, she tried to quell her imagination from convincing her that the gargoyles were turning their heads to stare at her as she walked past, or that the shadows on the street were moving unnaturally, almost as if they were human. The cat didn't seem worried in the least, and that gave her some small measure of confidence as they made their silent way through the winding maze of streets. She did wish that Alain would tell her where they were headed, but all the cat would do was smile knowingly, and tell her to come along, all would be revealed in its own time.

She was starting to get a little cross.

She was, after all, six years old, and tired, and more than a little frightened and bewildered at her current predicament. Still, her mother had told her endless times that it did not do to wail and moan when things that didn't happen as one planned, or to sit and cry and hope that someone would take pity on her and make things all better. Be brave, Ginny, she'd say. The gods only help those who help themselves.

Sighing, she pouted, wrapping her old scarf a little more securely around her mouth and nose, and burying her small hands deeper in her pockets at a sudden chilly breeze. Glaring enviously at Alain, she fantasized how much nicer it would be if she had a coat of sleek, shiny fur like he had, all glossy and warm.

Almost as if he could tell what she was thinking, Alain cocked his head to one side, his luminous green eyes glowing in the growing dark. Then he stopped, and sat, looking straight ahead.

"Nous arrivons," he announced, with some displeasure in his voice. "Welcome to la carnivale du Croix Charing, the Charing Cross Fair."





Isn't this exciting, ladies and gentlemen? A carnival! Not unlike, and yet vastly different, from the one which has brought this chance gathering together. How coincidental, no?

Still, do take heed. This is no ordinary carnival or fair. From previous experience, this place can be far more exotic, and even dangerous, from anything you've known.

... and yes, dear lady, there may be more things on the ground to avoid. Do mind your step...





Ginny made her way carefully through the Fair, trying not to slip on the wet cobbles or to get her shoes overly muddy as Alain padded his quiet way beside her, guiding her through the treacherous tent-lined maze with its numerous turns and cul-de-sacs.

She couldn't help but be amazed, though. Unlike the city, with its strangely disjointed people, at once deathly silent yet raucously loud, the people at the fair were different, to say the least. For one thing, some of them weren't people. Just like Alain, there were various animals caught in rapt conversation with one another, or with the colorfully dressed people there.

Torn between cowering in fear, or staring in rapt fascination at what was before her eyes, she'd had to be reminded by Alain that it was rude to stare more than once as her attention got caught by a large dignified mastiff holding a conversation with a pale, frail looking gentleman dressed in a suit of black silk and satin, or by a trio of boys dressed in black leather garb with so many studs and thin chains of intricate design that she wondered how much they weighed.

"My word. An actual human child, here on this plane?"

Suddenly terrified, she froze, transfixed by a pair of liquid black eyes, set above a dark lupine muzzle.

"Oui, Anubis, and one with business with the Master of the Fair. Leave her be," called Alain, staring calmly up at the jackal-headed god and his entourage of fellow Egyptian gods and godlings. "Or do you wish to be banned for a few centuries?"

"Ach, you talk big for a cat," Anubis spat as he turned to walk away. "'ware, Alain. I shall not let this be forgotten."

She started as the cat nuzzled her leg.

"Are you alright, ma cherie?" he asked, his tail twitching nervously.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she nodded, shivering a little as she recalled how Hathor had turned to look at her, fixing her and Alain with a wink and a feral feline smile.

"Is my mother here?" she asked Alain for the umpteenth time. The cat sighed good-naturedly and replied, "Non, ma cherie, or at least, I am not certain. There is someone here who can help us though. Even though he be nothing by un poisson énorme."

"A huge fish?" she said hesitantly as she tried to recall what little French her mother had taught her.

"Oui. A huge fish. Viens, ici."

Confidently, he led her down yet another small, snaking path, moving slowly so she could stick close despite having to thread her way through the horribly compacted mass of individuals, animal, human and god alike. She still found it odd that she wasn't more afraid of the strange things around her. Perhaps it was because she felt she wasn't alone.

The stalls and tents she passed were getting more bizarre, though.

Fortune tellers, in their flashy garb and their tarot decks and crystal balls, called out to the passers-by, claiming good fortune and calamity both, save for one with a raven perched on a skull serving as proxy, as she had her lips sewn together. Ginny shuddered as she passed her by, more than a little frightened at the piercing look in her eyes as Alain hurried her along. Try as she might, though, it was difficult to ignore the feeling of her searching eyes almost boring into the back of her skull.

Then there were the tents of the grosteque and the weird. None were quite as mundane as bearded ladies or exotic animals, though - before one stall stood a strange eight armed man, demonstrating amazing skill and dexterity with the knives and various weapons in each of his hands, while another had a flirty catlady, complete with fur, claws, perky ears and a long, slinky tail.

"Ah, Alain. Fancy seeing you here," came a bored lazy drawl.

Alain slowed, and stared up at the man who had spoken, reclining on a large ornate chair in an immaculate suit and scarf, lazily twirling his black oak cane as the undead skeletons beside him stood vigilant guard.

"The last time I, I was not speaking to you," Alain said venomously as his hackles rose, his tail thrashed from side to side in agitation.

"Now, now, Alain, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

Alain spat. "No Necromancer is a friend of mine. Stay away from me." With that, he stalked away, a flustered Ginny following closely behind. Nervously, she cast a glance at the pale man, who studied the silverwork on this cane disinterestedly.

Shrugging, she decided that there were things better left unknown and unsaid. Besides, the venom in Alain's eyes made her afraid to ask.

She sighed as she continued to walk. She was getting rather hungry, but the food on sale disturbed her. Drake's tail and various strange crustaceans did not appeal much, nor did candied crababbles, complete with snapping claws.

Vendors called out as they continued on their way, hawking their exotic wares, or offering quick glimpses into other realms. One art vendor caught Ginny's eye as he expounded vociferously on a beautiful painting while, as he spoke, hands gesticulating, the lady in the painting behind him shrieked and tried to move away from his groping hand.

Her forehead throbbing at the sensory onslaught, Ginny hastily followed Alain as he ducked under a tent flap.

What she saw stunned her. The tent itself had seemed rather small on the outside, but the interior was massive, the roof of the tentage towering into indiscernible blackness, and the floor excavated into a series of terraces surrounding a central pit. In the central pit stood a huge cylindrical tank, full of water and bordered by a series of elevated platforms on which stood a series of pianos and organs.

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Ginny looked at Alain, who shrugged a catty shoulder and made his way to a series of small winding stairs leading down the terraces. Trepidation starting to build in her, she followed, stepping carefully past the smokey apparitions that bustled along the walkways, heading from piano to piano and picking out careful precise melodies on the keys.

"I sense a feline presence," came a deep, booming voice that shook the earth and made Ginny cringe. "Alain, have you come to make trouble again?"

"Not in the least, kind sir," called back Alain, as he tried to fight his tendencies to slip back into his native tongue. "I have come to ask a favour."

The water rippled ominously as something stirred deep within. "Come closer then, you rascal cat. And shift your form before your feline instincts get the better of you and you start trying to claw your way in here again."

Mumbling embarassedly, Alain sighed, then stretched as he stood on his hind legs. As Ginny watched in shock, he grew in size and height, his features rippling until finally a young man of about sixteen stood before her, picking uncomfortably at the grey three piece suit that he was wearing.

"Merde, I hate assuming this form...</i>" he muttered as he shrugged. Flashing Ginny a guilty smile, his slitted green eyes still glowing in the dim light, he took Ginny's hand and led her down to the source of the ripples at the base of the tank. Despite herself, Ginny felt her face growing hot, though she wasn't sure why.

It wasn't long before they reached a raised dais before the base of the tank, on which stood an imposing pipe organ, the piping wending its way around the tank crazily. As Alain led her to a small raised platform with a strange console and what looked like a gramophone horn attached to the top of it, shadows coalesced in the water as the ripples grew stronger and more turbulent till, with a sudden rushing noise, a gigantic shape appeared before them.

She shrank back as it loomed closer, many times the height of a human, and cracked open an enormous silver-blue eye, the pupil expanding and contracting with horrifying speed as it focused on the pair.

"I see you've brought a lost kitten with you, Alain," sighed the huge fish, causing the floor to tremble as it gestured with a fin. "Still can't get over being a hero, can you?"

Alain shrugged expressively, and stepped backwards off the platform, smiling at Ginny as she turned back uncertainly. Clearing her throat, she leaned forward and clutched the horn.

"Mr Fish?"

"I, young lady, am a Piano Tuna," it sniffed disdainfully, if a fish could sniff without a nose, its gills flaring in spectacular fashion. "And I find it insulting to be compared to those... brainless bubbly brethren who do naught but fiddle their fins in a pale mockery of life as they float around in their bowls."

It flicked its fins as it regarded her with one eye, then the other.

"You're lost, and not in your own time, little girl," it intoned thoughtfully. "You're not the first such to end up here in my fair, nor will you be the last, I suspect. Still, this is the first time it's been like this. I do not recognize the signature of the person who brought you here, nor can I fathom why he has."

Ginny nodded, slightly surprised that the fish knew her story without her saying a word. Then again, she still couldn't understand how her mind had gotten used to the fact that whatever couldn't possibly be happening was already happening.

"I can attempt to send you back, but... I cannot guarantee it. The initial spell was far too convoluted to be easily undone, or even traced back to where you were." The Tuna closed its eyes, swimming slowly in a small circle as it thought.

"I will try to raise a portal for you, but since I cannot predict if it will lead you back home..."

"I will go with her," announced Alain, stepping forward.

The Tuna turned to regard the cat. "Still dreaming of gallantry and heroism, eh Alain?... Hmmmph. Be warned though. In the other worlds, your abilities may be terribly limited. You may not even be able to speak, or to metamorphosize. Would you be willing to take that risk?"

Alain shrugged. "I can't turn my back on a little lost girl and let her be abandoned to the demons of chance. Especially on so perilous a journey. Je suis un imbécile, non?" Smiling, he took Ginny's hand, who squeezed his hand in return.

Ginny never knew that fish could laugh, but apparently, this one could. And loudly too. A portal yawned open before them then, glowing a soft blue in the darkness of the massive tent as it shifted and undulated. Try as she might though, she could not see what was within.

"So be it then. A girl and a crazed cat. The oddest of couples for the oddest of journeys. Bonne chance, chat. Don't get eaten."

Sighing, Alain ran a hand through his hair before he leapt forward, shrinking in midair as his outlines blurred like smoke, till four grey paws landed lightly on the packed earth. He yawned, then sat on his haunches, waiting for her to follow. Ginny smiled as she stepped forward to stand beside him, and they both turned to look at the Tuna, who nodded his assent.

With a deep breath, they advanced, vanishing into the portal, which vanished behind them.

Shaking its head, the Piano Tuna twisted its huge lips into a smirk as it swam upwards, analyzing the data that the smoke-ghaunts fed it via the pianos.





And that would be the end of it all, dear ladies and gentlemen, the conclusion of our time together, the end of our tour, la grande finale!

Our time together was short, but I hope you enjoyed yourselves, yes. After all, it isn't every day that you get to feast your eyes and ears upon sights and sounds so unique and rare, no?

What happens next, you ask? Well, you can always return at some other time, and perhaps we shall follow them again. Or some other strange but wonderful people. After all, they ARE a mystery, and this is a mystery carnival tour, no?

Still, it is with deepest regret that I bid thee adieu, bonne chance, and bon voyage. Farewell, ladies and gents, and to the next time we meet!

... and please, do clean your feet at the door before you leave, madam, I notice you haven't been too successful at avoiding those... things, so far...



the end