[Original Novella] Not Long Now, Part 3

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The rest were unremarkable pleasantries concerning the day to day operations of the Ministry of Child Welfare, the sort of compulsory but banal small talk which I can tolerate only so much of. I was about to open the second envelope when I heard a bell chime. Remembering Agnes’ insistence on punctuality, I tucked it back betwixt the pages, then followed a series of signs to the dining hall.

I should say galley. Like my room, it quite resembled what you might expect to see aboard an ocean going vessel. Long, rusty tables made from the same iron as the chairs, and just about everything else I’d seen so far for that matter.

Above, a great chain like the sort which drives a bicycle wheel whirred about, strung between a pair of massive gears. The grubby looking children seated at the table below showed no concern whatsoever, despite the constant racket.

I took the nearest seat but was soon ousted by an irritated Agnes, who clued me in to the fact that I was intended to sit in a particular place and must remember to return there for every future meal. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anything but a guest in someone elses home, so I know better than to protest the house rules.

All around us, missing wall panels revealed thumping, grinding machinery of the sort I felt quite fearful to be seated so close to. The children serving the rest ducked and hopped over exposed machinery so deftly it could only be muscle memory. I wondered how long until I’d be equally accustomed.

When the servers reached me, they deposited onto my plate what I couldn’t deny was a nutritionally sufficient meal, but only just. The thinnest cut of beef I’ve ever seen outside a deli, assorted greens, rice and potatoes.

“There’s a floor for cattle? He really thought of everything” I remarked to the lad sitting across from me. “Mind your station” he muttered, not even making eye contact. I picked at my food, wishing for spices before realizing they’d have to be manufactured someplace within the building. A ‘needless frivolity’, Gramps probably decided.

Just enough, not more. A theme which extended to the clothing worn by everyone seated around me. Some grey, some blue, some white. Still others wore a queer black apron over a stained white frock, like something you might expect on a butcher. I wondered if they were responsible for putting the meager portion of meat on my plate.

No good to ask. I knew better by that point. It wouldn’t be ‘minding my station’, after all. This place had a definite, rigid structure to it. Roles and regulations, strictures and schedules. I welcomed it. I could at least study the details of what they expected from me on my own time.

In fact, it was to be even more straightforward than that. The room quieted and as my gaze swept around the room in search of the cause, I caught sight of a shockingly expensive looking litter held on the shoulders of four older kids being carried around the far corner.

One of those people carriers, which are themselves carried by people, that you sometimes see royalty or nobles transported about in. A beautifully decorated gold trimmed carriage, the figure inside obscured from view by a sheet of silk draped languidly over his or her form.

The silk was itself dazzlingly detailed with a pattern resembling Henna. When the carriage passed between myself and a wall mounted light, I caught the briefest glimpse of the shadowed silhouette of the slender, frail woman under the sheet. What is all this? Everyone around me looked on in awe and solemnity.

Finally the carriage came to a stop at the head of the room. The quartet carrying it gently set it down, then withdrew. Following this, the woman beneath the sheet moved subtly, gesturing as if to focus our attention on her.

Sure enough, a moment later she addressed the room. Her voice was deep and raspy like that of an aging smoker. “Good evening, my dear little grease monkeys. I see a new face among you.” I shrunk into my seat as all eyes in the room came to rest on me.

I worried I was expected to say something. A speech? But a moment later, the concealed woman continued. “If you find yourself overwhelmed, do not fear. Life here is simpler than it first appears. It obeys a particular rhythm and structure, as well as five simple rules. Tell him children, what is my first rule?”

Everyone boldly called out “The product comes first!” in unison. It startled me. Some sort of local shibboleth? The woman explained it somewhat. “In order to make good on certain debts, to refill the pockets of the generous fellows who funded the construction of our wonderful home, it is necessary to create something to sell for a steep profit. Many of the children here are employed in that capacity.”

She next asked what we’re all meant to do, regardless of station. Everyone again chimed in, this time with “Fix problems as soon as you spot them!” She explained this too, but it seemed plainly sensible. With no new funding coming in, and every dime from sales returned to investors, there would be no way to hire a mechanic to perform repairs. It would be up to us to keep the machinery running.

“What is it you’re to do right now, as you’re gathered for supper?” the woman inquired from within her gold trimmed carrier. They all answered “Eat everything on your plate!” Another self evidently practical rule, presumably meant to minimize waste.

“For that matter, isn’t supper nearly over? That’s quite important to keep track of, isn’t it? What do I always say about that?” The children called back “Mind the schedule!” I recalled Agnes hurrying me to my room, urging me not to miss the dinner bell.

“Last, but by no means least, what are you all to remind each other of when nosy fellows pry into what your daily tasks entail?” They all simultaneously replied “Mind your station!” Aha, I’d been wondering about that. Efficiency, routine, and division of labor appeared to be top priorities. Understandable, all things considered.

That was the end of it. She concluded that, should I remember and obey those rules, I would fit neatly into her family and enjoy a fulfilling life in this place. I wasn’t remotely satisfied and had many questions I wanted to ask, so I got up and approached the front of the room.

On the way I noticed everybody staring as though appalled. Agnes got between myself and the intricately embellished people carrier. “No closer than that. Only I may approach Miss Alice.” I explained that I simply had some questions I wanted answered. I could tell from Agnes’ glare that I’d committed some sort of faux pas.

“Only I can speak directly to Miss Alice! Mind your station, won’t you? Unless I’m mistaken, your plate’s not yet empty and there’s but a few minutes of supper left. Having only just been versed in our rules, have you already forgotten the third?”

Of course. Finish everything on my plate. I backed away sheepishly, turned and headed for my seat. As instructed I gobbled down the remainder of the spartan meal, then joined the rest in the laborious process of collecting and washing the dirty dishes.

They all kept a close, seemingly disturbed eye on me for a while. Agnes was polite enough that it was difficult to accurately gauge how severe my transgression was. I determined to study their ways more closely in the coming week, so as to avoid any similar blunders going forward.

In time, they lost interest in me and I began to detect a sort of jovial camaraderie among them. A rhythm developed as we all worked together to complete our shared task. Each of us knew just which part of it we were assigned to perform and who to hand it off to next.

It is sort of beautiful when you get a ‘flow’ going. Like all the parts of an engine moving synchronously, for however long it lasts. Life becomes unusually simple. The hundreds of things you must normally stay on top of to be considered competent are suddenly reduced to just one, or a few.

The lifting of this burden was something I found curiously joyful, and soon I invested myself fully in the task at hand. I felt sincerely satisfied to perform it as efficiently as I could, one small cog doing its part amidst a larger assembly of spinning gears.

It was finished in no time to my astonishment, and I may even have skipped on my way back to my room. Aside from my misstep earlier, I felt I was starting to fit in. To understand what my life here would be, rather than viewing it all as a tourist might.

What a prospect. No longer will I be a begrudgingly tolerated stowaway! The dismal life of a kitchen mouse. Here, I might actually make friends. At least I might be of some use to somebody! There was a lingering warm feeling, that of belonging to something larger than yourself.

Yet despite my invigorated state, some unnamed thing troubled me. Tucked away in the back of my brain, a faint little voice insisting something’s not right. Something to do with the rules, with Alice. With the way that they talk, their mannerisms, and mechanistic way of life.

I buried it more deeply. That’s the last thing I need right now. Surely it’s enough to let a good thing be a good thing, without dissecting it to scrutinize its insides? In spite of whatever vague sliver of all this feels wrong, the rest of it feels unexpectedly right.

All I have to do in order to avoid ruining the good hand life’s finally dealt me is to mind my station. What a simple, wise rule that is. I contemplated it as I lay on my bed, recalling the recitation of rules over dinner.

Sleep did not come easily though. The longer I lay, the harder my mind worked. Trying to piece it all together, wrestling with the persistent feeling that there was something I missed. Gears turning, chugging away, my thoughts slowly swirling about like the formative stages of a hurricane.

I recalled the letter I meant to read before the interruption of dinner, pulling it free from between the brittle pages. It consisted of fine red paper with elaborate inked designs in the corners, fastened shut with a wax seal rather than the usual adhesive.

For the first time I wondered whether I might be invading someone’s privacy by reading these. Not Grandfather’s, certainly, but that of a living person. An insignificant transgression I decided, my guilt easily overpowered by ravenous curiosity.

“In reply to your letter dated the fifteenth of October, it is my pleasure to have met someone with your considerable experience in this area. I, too, have on occasion tarried here and there in the world of limited run, exclusive items targeted at the boutique crowd.

You may recall four years ago, I built and sold a series of twelve original automobiles with cutting edge hybrid petrol electric drivetrains, each boasting a hand crafted one of a kind chassis, interior and exterior designed by the unnaturally talented Hermann Strauss.

Just the latest in a long line of brief but profitable distractions I have found necessary to fund the orphanage, my magnum opus. I am, now more than ever, bombarded by letters from journalists requesting information about it.

I fear if they could see the big picture, what I hope to accomplish in this world with the completion of the orphanage, they would recoil. For that is the typical reaction the public has to something so grand as to exceed their comprehension.

I compared it to the reaction an ant might have as it crawls across your shoe, were it intelligent enough to suddenly grasp what shoes are, what sort of creature wears them, and how it relates to our species.

You no doubt relate, as your line of work often sees your involvement in the procurement of delicacies, curios and all manner of exquisite items that might confuse, repulse or outrage laymen whose palettes are after all limited to what they can afford.

Such a person might spit out caviar, wondering why on earth anybody might wish to eat fish eggs rather than the fish itself. They might turn their nose up at fois gras, regarding as perverse the consumption of offal which, in their view, should be thrown away in the course of butchering geese.

Pearls before swine! We are, you see, very much congruent in our appreciation of unusual rarities, and the necessity of sometimes practicing that appreciation out of public view. I am only too happy to fulfill the demand for a product of such an exclusive nature, for one whose clients as are discerning as yours.

Already, the considerable financial return from the samples you so quickly found buyers for has ensured the continuation of construction for the next three months. A new batch of the product should be ready for you to pick up on the first Saturday of January. As usual it’s imperative that it be delivered with the greatest haste, as it does not keep for long.

Quality will only improve from here. The source of this urgency is well known to you, surely? I would never have engaged in such a risky, discreet venture if there were any simpler way to raise the tremendous sums I need, in a timely manner and employing as few extra pairs of hands as possible in the interest of maintaining secrecy.

I look forward to handing off the next batch, and to doing continued business with you and your clientele. It is my great fortune to have met you, and to have found an appetite of the wealthy which someone else had not yet satisfied.”

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^{Stay tuned for Part 4!}