Once again, I'm going to Hell.
Sep. 14th, 2004 11:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynThe conversation with the Wizard was- well, I hate to say it, but most of it was going right over my head. I know Oz more or less, but only through the books. This was a man who’d lived there for years (and ruled the country to boot). There really wasn’t anything I could say about the place that he or Dorothy didn’t know better. As for the other aspects of what we were proposing to do, I’m neither an inventor nor a magic-user. That kind of thing is Tom’s line of work, or Miss Poppins’. As I said, the conversation got away from me very quickly.
This time, though, I didn’t mind it. You see, I’d realized something after our brief, disastrous trip to Ev, something I'd all but forgotten. It was an old lesson from my time in the Yukon: sometimes, no matter how good you are at what you do, the best way to solve a problem is to bring in someone else. For me that’s usually Prince. I’d be lying if I said I never had critical help from another human when I least expected it, though. If I couldn’t participate in our plans beyond the purely martial contributions I’d be asking Inspector Moore’s constables to make, then maybe the best thing I could do would be to get someone more suited to the task to stand in for me. Someone who wouldn’t mind being hip-deep in children’s stories and fairy-tale nightmares, who knew how these things worked and how to turn them to his advantage. All I had to do was figure out where such a person might be.
I thought for a moment, then tried to catch Lord Peter’s eye. It wasn’t hard; he was seated across the table from me, listening to Miss Poppins with a half-serious, half-distracted expression. When he turned my way I leaned in to speak to him. “Lord Peter,” I said as quietly as I could, “I’ve thought of somewhere else we ought to turn for help.”
“Ah? Where’s that then?”
“I’m not sure, exactly, but I can think of two possibilities. I need your advice, though. Which would you say is easier to reach from here- Oxford, or Cambridge?”
“Hmm.” He stroked at his chin, thinking. “Fond as I am of the old school, I daresay you’d have an easier time havin’ a go at her rival, Sergeant. What d’you want with Cambridge, then? Or ought I not to ask, so as to avoid spoilin’ your surprise?”
I told him, and he laughed. “Well done,” he said. “Should’ve thought of the idea myself. Here- I’ll give you directions, and a bit of an introduction. Likely you’ll need it- is that fell beast of yours going along?”
I glanced down at Prince, who wagged his tail at me. “What do you think?”
“Of course, of course. Silly of me to ask, really.”
**
I had a pretty easy time slipping away from the meeting, at least once I explained my idea to Miss Poppins. Finding my way to Cambridge and getting the right building was a good deal harder. I’ve been to college, but it was a small school in Minnesota, in the States, and I was there for less than a year. There just isn’t any kind of comparison between the two schools. Cambridge is- well, it’s bigger than all of Dawson City, and that’s just the school itself. An unprepared man could get lost there in a heartbeat. Even with Lord Peter’s directions, I had to stop a couple of times and ask for help, both to find the right building and then to find the right door inside. We finally stopped at an office door that smelled so strongly of smoke it made Prince sneeze. “Sorry, fella,” I murmured before knocking.
The door opened. The man who answered was a little shorter than me, and had a suspicious look in his eye. I can’t say I blame him. I don’t look much like a student, and Prince doesn’t look like anything that belongs on a university campus. “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked, removing his pipe from between his teeth.
“That depends, sir,” I said. “Are you Professor John Tolkien?”
He gave me a peculiar look and pointed with his pipe-stem. “That’s what it says on the door, isn’t it?”
I winced. “Sorry, sir,” I said, “but I’m not used to college professors who haven’t got white hair and beards. You seem a little bit young for the job, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
He didn’t laugh, but the suspicion eased out of his eyes. “I see,” he said. “All right, then- yes. I’m Professor Tolkien. And who, may I ask, are you?”
“My name is Sergeant Preston, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I believe I may need your help.”
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Why, yes. yes you are.
Date: 2004-09-14 08:24 am (UTC)Re: Why, yes. yes you are.
Date: 2004-09-14 09:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 09:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 09:44 am (UTC)*points up at ebony14*
Date: 2004-09-14 10:46 am (UTC)Re: *points up at ebony14*
Date: 2004-09-15 10:05 am (UTC)Re: *points up at ebony14*
Date: 2004-09-15 11:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-15 11:11 am (UTC)No, that's not damnable.
Date: 2004-09-14 11:43 am (UTC)Re: No, that's not damnable.
Date: 2004-09-14 12:51 pm (UTC)Re: No, that's not damnable.
Date: 2004-09-14 02:09 pm (UTC)Re: No, that's not damnable.
Date: 2004-09-14 03:07 pm (UTC)Re: No, that's not damnable.
Date: 2004-09-14 03:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 06:45 pm (UTC)...
I think you broke the Batya.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-15 11:03 pm (UTC)