He invites the teacher in, finds a second glass, blows the dust out of it and pours his visitor a dose of mead. He and his wife met the teacher during their first months in the house. He taught mathematics in the town but his passion was local history.
The teacher sucks his teeth after taking his dose, as if trying to discover if they had any enamel left after sinking the drink. “That’ll descale the pipes,” he smiles. The teacher always talks with a smile. “Thus fortified, we must away. Shit’s going down, the balloon’s going up, it’s all gone pear-shaped and whatever other transformative metaphors you like. Off through the magic door we must go.”
He asks if the teacher means the fogou. The teacher laughs.
“God, no. Your front door. I could not in all conscience leave you here alone to face the oncoming storm. We’re heading north. My family has a house in Wales with plenty of room. Light a couple more candles and I’ll help you pack a go-bag. My car’s at the top of the road. I put it in the trees to cover it. Can’t be too careful. Now then. On with you.”
He tells the teacher he cannot leave. Shows the teacher his calculations.
“Son,” the teacher says. “Even if you were right and your fogou is due to reopen. Even if your wife really did disappear through it, and you still think it will wake up one day and let her back out. She is better off where she is. If she comes back to what’s coming, she’ll wish she hadn’t. Your best hope is that she’ll stick her head out, say ‘fuck this’ and climb back into Annwn.”
Discover more from WARREN ELLIS LTD
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.