Speaker 1: A forest of Earth and Moon, an Arcane Heart Studio
production created and written by Eansley Bay. Chapter twenty four,
the inspection. The manager of the construction company, a man
named mister Henderson, is standing in the foyer. Unlike a
lot of humans. I like his smell. It's of sawdust
and sweat, and not much more than that. His personality
is similar. Still, he's not supposed to be here. The
work is done. The closet is now separated from my
father's suite and it has its own door to the hall.
The painters have left. We paid the invoice, we tipped generously,
we did everything right, and yet here is mister Henderson
holding a bun cake. Just wanted to check the work personally,
he says, beaming at my father, and bring a little
thank you. It's been a while since we did work here,
and I wanted to let you know we're always here
if you need us. That is generous, mister Henderson, Malcolm
says flatly. He is blocking the hallway with his body,
but we are quite busy. Oh it'll only take a minute.
Just want to make sure my boys did a good job.
I pride myself on the details. Mister Slate the details
are where the devil is ray. Indeed, Malcolm says the devil.
I am standing behind my father calculating the odds of
the cousin staying in their room. They are low, they
are non existent. The moment the door rang, we asked
them to stay in their forest of suits and ties.
We beg them, but well their fae. Please, I say,
stepping forward, let me take the cake. It looks delicious,
while Nutt Henderson says proudly my wife's recipe. So mind
if I take a peek. He steps forward, Markham doesn't move.
Is there a problem, mister Henderson doesn't look suspicious? So
much is hurt? Malcolm sighs and steps aside. No, not
at all. We are just very busy. Please make it brief.
We walk down the hall. My heart is hammering against
my ribs. Every shadow looks like a fay creature. Every
treek of the floorboards sounds like magic. We reach the
new guest room, formerly my father's closet. The door is closed.
Here we are, Henderson says, let's see how that joins
to the stone. He reaches for the handle. I hold
my breath. He opens the door. The room looks like
a closet that opens to the hall. We haven't had
time to convert it yet, I note. Mister Henderson nods.
Nice work. Henderson says, running a hand over the doorframe. Seamless.
You'd never know this wasn't original. Yes, Malcolm says, relaxing visibly, seamless. Well,
I won't keep you. Henderson turns to leave. We welcome
back toward the foyer. We are ten feet from the
front door. We are free, we are safe. And then
the front door opens. The cousin walks in. They're wearing
one of my father's suits, a vintage tweed that makes
him look like an eccentric professor from nineteen twenty. They're
also wearing a scoff that appears to be made of
living ivy. They're carrying a squirrel. The air is crisp,
they announce. Mister Henderson stops. He stares at the cousin.
He stares at the squirrel. Hello, Henderson says, greetings, builder
of walls. The cousin says. They stroke the squirrel. The
squirrel does not move. It looks terrified. I'm sorry I
didn't know you would company, Henderson says to Malcolm. My
cousin Malcolm says quickly, from Europe. The cousin speaks a
word that a human mouth shouldn't be able to pronounce.
Mister Henderson doesn't miss abeat. However, where's that? It is?
Near nowhere? The cousin says, it is a place of
mist and silence and better nuts. He offers the squirrel
a nut. The squirrel accepts it. Trembling right. Henderson says, well,
whis to meet you? I'm Bill, I do the renovation.
He cousin steps closer. He circles Henderson, inspecting him like
a piece of furniture. You have texture, texture your shell.
The touch Henderson's tie, it vibrates with static, like a
trapped storm. It's from sears. Henderson says, bewildered sears. The
cousin repeats, they must have power. Do they weave the
storms themselves? I guess I step in. My cousin is
very artistic. He speaks in metaphors, the speaking truths. The
cousin snaps, they look at Henderson. You have kind eyes.
They are the color of mud, good mud, fertile. Henderson blinks,
then slowly he smiles. Well, he says, my wife always
said I had swamp eyes. I guess fertile is better.
It is. The cousin agrees you should plant things in
your soul. Ay I garden a bit tomatoes. The cousin
releases Henderson's tie. I like this one, they say to Malcolm.
He is grounded. He does not float. Thank you, Henderson says,
looking strangely touched. That's nice of you to say you
are welcome my eyes. Now I must return the furry
brother to his tree. He has told me his secrets,
and he MUSHes to sleep. The cousin walks past us
out the front door and disappears into the forest. Silence
stretches in the foyer. He's a character, Henderson says, Filey,
you have no idea, I reply. Henderson chuckles. You know
he's right about the tomatoes. Takes patience. It does well.
Henderson claps his hands together. You folks have a good day.
Enjoy the cake, he weaves. Malcolm and I stand in
the foyer. The bump cake is heavy in my hands.
He charmed him, I say. He told him he had
mudd eyes, and he charmed him. He is dangerous. Malcolm says,
he is getting better at this. I admit sort of.
He was carrying a squirrel. Kiernan. He put it back.
He was wearing my tweet. It look good on him.
Welcome glares at me. This is not funny. He walks
back toward his study. I look at the buncake walnut dense.
I take a bite. It's dry, But we survived, and
the cousin is learning. Maybe or maybe they just like
sears ties. The shadow moves where the light one stood.
So then whispers in the etid. The wind did cry.
It calls the mind a fleeting ancles signal box rosen
fir