The Veil Lifted

[Firefoot]

Raven heard the voice calling behind her, "No! Come back! Come back!" Why did that cat have to have been so noisy? The lady never would have realized it was them - at least, not for a while longer. Now she was after them; they needed to find the cat and duck into a hiding place somewhere.

Mreeeoooow!

That way! There were more trick'r'treaters around here, not so close to the outskirts of town, and a couple of people were staring at them, but Raven didn't really notice, so concentrated was she on listening for the cat. They had to find it! If they didn't, it would be even worse, and the cat would give them even more bad luck for getting it lost!

Then she slowed suddenly. "You have our cat!" she exclaimed, seeing an older girl with the cat in her arms and not looking at all afraid of bad luck and such. "Please give us the cat?" she begged, mindful of the witch lady that must still be chasing them and getting closer all the time. She realized then that the boy with the older girl, who didn't seem terribly inclined to give up the frightened cat, was one of Tucker's friends. "Tucker, get Ben to have her give us the cat. Tell them how important it is."

Tucker nodded importantly. "If you don't give it to us, it's going to give us bad luck for a whole year, so we took it and were going to... going to... what were we going to do with it, Raven?"

Raven shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to say the dreaded words, "I don't know." But she didn't know what else to say, and was starting to panic so she just started to babble, "If you don't give us the cat the witch lady with the mean jack-o-lantern's going to catch us and we'll be cursed and have bad luck and please please just give us the cat please!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It begins, she thought dramatically, quoting Theoden, or Aragorn, or somebody. She put out the clove cigarette she'd lit. She hadn't smoked it. It just smelled interesting. Tish loved the spicy scent. But you couldn't pay her enough to suck smoke. Still, the image of a black haired, black clothed, smoking Corruptor of the Youth worked for her; it meant no parents ever asked her to babysit. She'd made it this far in her life without close contact with diapers and she had no inclination to end the trend.

She got up slowly and moped toward the door, opening it, suddenly, harshly and leaning on the frame.

"Just what trick, little boy, do you think yourself capable of playing on me?"

[Noinkling]

‘Armundo?’ Bran looked at Tolly, who merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry never heard about you before.’

‘And, yeah, that’s our stuff out there. Left it for a trade.’ Tolly pulled out the small ball and shifted it from hand to hand. He was about to ask just what this ‘treasure’ was that Armundo had found, when a voice hailed them from the stairway.

‘Hey! You two!’ Ferdy paused on the steps coming up from the cellar, his face peering over where the wooden floor of the tenement met the stairway. ‘Come on! Daisy’s found some sacks for us.’ He held up a crinkly, plastic bag with the with the words Shop-Smart emblazoned in red across one side. ‘We’re going to try that trick’r’treat thing we saw them doing last year.’ He climbed up two more steps and sat down, grinning through the stairposts. ‘Daisy wants to be one of the ones who asks for treats.’ He held up a carton of eggs in one hand and pulled a piece of soap from his pocket. ‘I’m gonna try my hand at the trick part.’

Ferdy laughed, a merry sort of sound that rang across the room. ‘Remember that big place we saw, the one with the moving pictures? Well, Bilbo and Frodo’s books, it seems, have been done up in that way. Or so Daisy said she’d heard from someone. Imagine that! Well, anyways, her friend says the big folk are quite fond of the Hobbits from the stories. So that’s what we’re going out as tonight. Ourselves…..’ He burst out laughing, thinking about pretending to be what they really were.

Ferdy came on up the steps, stopping short as he reached the top. ‘Hey! Who’s that with you?’ he asked, a suspicious look on his face. ‘You know him?’

Bran and Tolly shrugged their shoulders, not really wanting to get into the whole story of how they’d ‘met’ Armundo. ‘Sort of,’ they gave as a grudging answer.

Tolly turned to Armundo, an expectant look on his face. ‘Well, you want to come along?’

[Glirdan]

Armundo looked between the three figures. They seem friendly enough. Besides, I'm interested in finding out what they're going out to do.

"Sure I'll come," he answered as he rose to his feet, dusting himself off as he did. As he rose, he noticed that they too were Hobbits. "Hmmm, I don't think I reconize any of you either. I know that you're all Hobbits like myself, but from where?" he asked, quite interested and unafraid for the first time that night.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil blinked once, then twice, as he strained to get a better look at the small beggers who bounded up the steps and pounded at the door, yelling for treats until someone in the house responded. Most of those wandering the streets after dark were children or young teens, although the tiniest had a mother or father in tow who stood behind on the sidewalk waiting for their little one to scoop up candy and come scampering back.

Nearly everyone was dressed in costume. Even some of the adults had t-shirts festooned with pumpkins and black cats, or sported a clever hat. A few of the young boys wore clothing that made Aiwendil remember with longing his distant friends in Middle-earth like Aragorn, Treebeard, and Gandalf. The wizard had also counted at least one Galadriel and two Arwens by the time he walked the ten blocks and reached the center of town.

At the point when the two crossed the railroad tracks to continue into the tougher neighborhoods, the istar could not help but notice something else. Although there were a host of friendly types still roaming the streets, Aiwendil was struck by the number of teens who looked as if they were about to enlist in the army of the Dark Lord. Six hulking figures blocked the sidewalk in front of a decrepit storefront and glared at him menacingly as he strode past. They hung together in a single bunch, wearing an odd assortment of patched together clothing and implements: black robes, bat wings, fangs, bones, and axes smeared with gruesome make-believe blood. He even saw one miserable looking Orc tagging along at the back of the group.

Aiwendil had been walking for a long time. As they passed a small park overrun with weeds and trash, the wizard thought he saw a few grim figures flitting in and out of the bushes, glaring at him with menace in their eyes. A chill ran up his spine. These were not the elves or hobbits dear to the wizard's heart, but hints of things much darker and scarier, secrets hidden in the bowels of the earth that only reared their head on this single night of the year. He stopped for a moment and peered into the shadowed cement recesses behind the basketball court, but there was no movement or sound. He gazed confusedly from side to side, unsure of where he was. None of the streets looked familiar any more. Maybe Owl was right. Maybe he was going batty and would soon fade away.

After a long spell of silence Hedwig spoke. This time his sharp tone was softer and full of concern, "Where are we going, Master? Are you alright?"

"Patience, Hedwig! I haven't been here in a year. It's just that everything looks different. If you give me a minute, I will have us on the right road." But as much as Aiwendil stared, he could not figure out where he was. He had memories of a rambling Victorian house that should stand on this corner; it had been the kind of place with lilacs and rambling rosebushes that he instinctively liked. But now it was gone, apparently torn down and replaced by a parking lot that was meant to house more of the monster machines during the day when the residents of New Ford went to work.

Hedwig's eyes grew wide with concern. The Owl did not like how Aiwendil was acting. Perhaps the old man was truly going daft, and he should lead him back to the old shack in the woods where they normally made their home. But when Hedwig suggested that they might consider returning, the wizard had fixed on his face with a jaundiced eye. "Not tonight. I have things to do. Look here. That young woman. Perhaps she can help us." The wizard pointed towards a lone figure on the opposite side of the street. She was older than the teen but still young enough to have a look of longing and mystery in her eye. Her black hair fell down to the middle of her back. It reminded Aiwendil of the last time that he had seen Arwen. He sidled up to her and cleared his throat, "Excuse me. I'm so sorry to bother you. You see, I am trying to find my way to the library, the sacred hall where the books are kept. Someone or something is waiting for me there. And I must get access to a computer terminal." Aiwendil stumbled over the unfamiliar words and then continued. "But I am afraid I have lost my way. You wouldn't happen to know where that place is? Perhaps you could tell me or even lead me there."

For a moment the young woman stared at him, her face registering cnsiderable surprise. "I'm sorry," added the wizard, leaning on his staff. "I didn't mean to startle you. Let's see now...... Your name....your name is....."

For a moment the old man stopped. Sometimes the old osanwe trick let him peep into the mind of a resident for a single instant, just long enough to know by what name they preferred to be called. At first, Aiwendil glimpsed a plain simple name --the honest one that her parents had given her. But though sturdy and decent for the everyday world, this was not what a fine young woman should go by on a special night like this. He drew a deep breath and continued, "I believe you are Darlariel. My fine lady Darlariel, can you help me find the library?"

[Durelin]

Flapping wings excitedly, the black, smaller than a cat but bigger than some breadboxes form hopped around a lonely read container adorned with a golden 'M' which bore something he knew to be very tasty. Bringing his beak down with a snap he snatched up a long, mushy piece to munch on, half of it sticking out and up from his beak. He frequented this area often, knowing that many a delightful treat could be found on the pavement. Sometimes he would be forced to flee, whether another gang came by, or if other larger animals chased him away. Then he might perch up in a nearby tree to wait for the chance to finish his meal, or, if he was feeling bolder, he might venture towards a house, to see what he might find around it.

A flash of headlights and a low growling of engines sent him bounding off onto the sidewalk and into a yard as he used a combination of his thin, ungainly legs and his slightly less ungainly wings to propel himself away from danger. Each time he did it with less and less enthusiasm, understanding more and more that as long as he was out of the way, he was safe. But by the time he had slowed to a bobbing strut through the grass, he had forgotten the potatoe-y treat he had found in the road, and now made his way slowly toward the house, his head twisting restlessly from side to side at every noise he heard.

Suddenly he caught sight of a familiar figure: sleek black feathers, long pointed beak, beady black eyes on either side of the head, long spindly legs... He froze and observed it, standing as motionless as it did near the front door of the house, seated atop a large, round orange thing that triggered his desire to eat. But he would have to watch this one that seemed to have already claimed the orange ball for himself. Slowly the feathered being approached the similar feathered being, sizing it up as he did. It was smaller than he, and the fact that it did not note his presence made him feel it was too weak to attack him.

With a giant leap and a screech, with much flapping and jolting, he shot himself at the creature who had claimed the small orange mountain, feet first. His enemy fell to the ground with his feet, and after a bit of pecking and clawing, he was fairly sure it was not going to attack him. So, immediately claiming triumph, he turned on the orange object that seemed to glare at him. An aroma that translated to food filled the air around him, and so he plunged his beak into the thick skin, poking with a moist thud in order to get at the inside, which he knew was the best part. The fact that it was strangely warm was not a feeling that registered in his mind. A crow could comprehend the science behind a Jack o’ lantern even less than the confounded technology of plastic and fake feathers.

[Undómë]

Jack laughed, a rich sound as the throaty clinking of brass bells in a long gone garden. ‘My business? Why “treats”, of course. Though not those sweets I can see that just the mention of has set your mouth watering.’

Reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat, he pulled out a small paper sack, crumpled from much opening and reclosing. ‘Here, have one.’ He offered the little bag to Gilli. ‘Mind you, though, they’re boiled sweets and quite sticky. You’ll need to lick those fingers of yours clean before you pick up your bow or fiddle.’ He took one for himself. ‘The old sorts are the best, don’t you agree?’ he added with a wink, sucking on the sweet.

‘Hey, why don’t you just come along? It’s quite warm where I’m bound. All closed in and cozy like.’ He grinned at her questioning look. ‘The New Ford Library, m’dear.’

From some other pocket in the interior of his coat he pulled out a slender volume bound in a dark blue cover. ‘Just listen here,’ he instructed softly, the slender fingers of his right hand turning pages.

I am the Fairy Mab: to me 'tis given
The wonders of the human world to keep;
The secrets of the immeasurable past,
In the unfailing consciences of men,
Those stern, unflattering chroniclers . . .

He closed the book, putting it carefully back and pulling out another. A paperback, this time, and from the dog-eared pages, much thumbed.

Setting: A street.

He began, one hand motioning round the alleyway they stood in.

Romeo:
I dream’d a dream to-night.

Mercutio:
And so did I

Romeo:
Well, what was yours?

Mercutio:
That dreamers often lie.

Romeo:
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mercutio:

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep . . .

‘Who could guess the words of Will and PB would still be found captured in these books?’ He grinned. 'Old El’s house library could have used some of this bookbinding knowledge, I think. They’re quite durable. Nothing like those old vellums and parchments gone all stiff and cracked and torn.’

Jack closed up the book, giving it a satisfied pat. ‘And all praise, too, to Mr. Dewey, and his lovely system. I’m just dipping into the 821’s and ‘22’s these past few years.’ He ran one finger over the letters and numbers on the spine of the book. ‘Unlike, again, the library of El’s where one had to spend a great deal of time poking about in this hole and that for an interesting scroll to read.’ He put the small book back in the pocket with the other and buttoned up his coat.

‘So . . . come along, eh? No one will be there. You can play in the stacks.’ He raised his brow at Gilli. ‘Lovely high ceilings. I’ll bet there are some great acoustics in the reading rooms.’

[Celuien]

The children were fast. Too fast for Becca, hindered as she was by the thick folds of her skirt and her stiff boots. They darted around a corner, and by the time she caught up, the catnappers were nowhere to be seen. Worse, Midnight had fallen silent. The trail was cold.

Becca stopped and stared down the street. It was filled with trick'r'treaters. Someone must have seen if the children passed that way. Or if Midnight escaped (as Becca hoped she would - Midnight was a special cat and always had always been bright, even for a cat), maybe they would have seen where she went.

Then Becca noticed a boy jogging up behind her. He came up alongside her. Becca couldn't help smiling at him. Recalling that footsteps had echoed behind her during her frantic run, she realized that he must have been following the whole way.

"Hello."

"Any trouble?"

"Yes. Someone stole my cat."

The boy flourished a painted cardboard sword. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I shall protect you from the miscreants."

Becca's eyes danced in friendly amusement. "Aragorn. I'm Becca. Mae govannen, Dúnadan."

Yeeeeoooooowwwwww. The sound came from just down the next street to the right.

"Midnight!" Waving to her new friend to follow, Becca ran towards the sound.