The Sybelline Books Part II

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

"The Syphilline wha'?" said Brenda, gazing at the cylinder now in front of them on the oak table.

"Not Syphillene, you dolt," snapped Myra.  "Sybelline.  The Sybelline Books."

"What are they?  Never heard of 'em," said Brenda, shaking her head but not taking her eyes off the cylinder, which Myra was now opening.

"When Romulus became the first king of Rome, an elderly woman tried to sell him twelve books of prophetic sayings, revealed by the oracle at Delphi."

"The first Romulan king?" said Brenda, watching as Myra set the lid to the container down on the table on a neat stack of towels.

"Rome!?  Ancient Rome -- not ROMULAN!" She sighed irritably at her servant's stupidity.

"Oh, OK, Rome, like in the song "Gary, Indiana," said Brenda, waiting to see the contents of the cylinder.

"What?" Said Myra, completely thrown by this.

"'Gary, Indiana', you know..." she began to sing the song.

"Never mind," said Myra to the cylinder more than anyone.  "I don't want to know..." She continued to look at Brenda, who gradually became quiet.

"You said twelve -- but you only have nine," observed Brenda, looking around at the numbers.  "Where are the other three?"

"Well," said Myra.  "Romulus received three because it was all he could afford at the time.  The story is that the woman who he bought them from destroyed the other nine -- but I know for a fact they weren't destroyed at all.  Instead, they were hidden in the old woman's wagon.  Now they're here," said Myra, pointing to the ceiling.

"I always wondered what those were," said Brenda, rubbing her stubbily chin.  "How do you know these are real?"

"Because my great-great grandmother was the woman who sold them."

"Whoa!" said Brenda.

Myra had taken out a scroll with dark wooden spindles at either end.  She began to unroll it and the papyrus was covered in Greek letters, collected together in what looked like short paragraphs.

"How does it work?" asked Brenda.

"Formulate a question.  Something only you know the answer to..." said Myra, examining the handles, which were in remarkably good condition.

"OK?" said Brenda, eagerly.

"Don't tell me the question," ordered Myra, peering over her reading glasses.  "Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Brenda.  "I'm ready."

"OK, here we go," said Myra.

"Four turns forward and six in return,

  Stand to the west, where the candles burn,

  Then turn the scroll, six and then four,

Now face the south and all redo.

When this you have done, retake the front

And be ye forewarned of the prophet's strong brunt."

She opened the scroll and examined what was written there through her reading glasses.

"Here's what it says -- translated, of course:

"From the Beloved One

You shall receive

A device for calculating time

Past, present, and future."

"Why...why...that...that is the watch you got from Senga last Christmas!" said Myra, delighted.

"Hey!  You're right!l" exclaimed Brenda, examining a very feminine watch on her brawny wrist.  She laughed and looked back at Myra, who appeared to be fixing her with an intense stare.  "What?" she said, her face falling somewhat.

"Senga???" She paused.  "The Beloved One?"

Brenda smiled sheepishly and blushed.

(c) 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

The Sybelline Books - Part I

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Myra Dick's secret kitchen under the Overdale East Frieze Church, south of the River Cathclyde.

The room swam with warm, humid steam.  It was magnificent, quite large with two grand fireplaces in it, a number of doors that led off to various rooms, a very old cast iron stove, painted blue and in pristine condition. Copper pots, pans, and innumerable utensils of all types, shapes, and sizes were hung all around.  In between the two fireplaces, which were each big enough to play football in, was a seventeenth century French Morbier clock with its four and a half foot, ornate bronze pendulum swinging lazily behind two black cast iron weights.  Its golden surface reflected the amber light cast by scores of candles.

On three of the walls, high up, was a short shelf on which stood three capped terracotta cylinders, each with a different Roman numeral carved into it.  Below the individual shelves dangled three ladles, one of which was big enough to take a bath in.  In a circular alcove just past an oak table that was eight feet long was a black cauldron simmering away;  its contents being stirred by Myra Dick, who strongly resembled a wicked witch.

Through an archway next to the alcove wandered in a short, squat woman whose cartoonish face appeared to have been whacked in by a shovel.  She had on a black leather jacket that creaked as she moved.

"Ohh, it's so steamy in here, Myra," she complained, waving a masculine hand.  "Turn on that new fan you bought."

Without speaking, Myra clicked a big red button on the yellow wall next to the cauldron.  There was a soft whir and the steam began to ascend into a round, stainless steel hood over the billowing pot.

"Aye," said Myra, stirring and watching the steam rise.

"What are you brewing?" asked the woman.  "Smells like pasta sauce."

"Not quite," said Myra, now turning to peer over reading glasses that made her black eyes look enormous.  "But I do have a job for you," she continued.  It was as if she'd just realized the woman was there.

"What?" she replied, apprehensively.  "Please don't send me out again.  I've only just warmed up from the last errand."

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Myra, smiling.  "Fetch the step-ladder, Brenda."

"Oh...not that..." whined the woman.  "I've just gotten all the asbestos out of my lungs from going up to the attic last week to get clamps and electrical equipment for the church harvest festival..."

Myra pointed to a ladder nestled next to the blue stove.  "Fetch!" she demanded.

Brenda grumbled and groaned as she retrieved the ladder.  "Where do you want it?"

"I'd like you to climb up there and hand me number seven," she said, mysteriously.

"Eh?" said Brenda, completely befuddled.

"Number seven!" she repeated.  Myra moved under one of the shelves with the numbered cylinders on it.  "There!"

Brenda looked extremely curious.  "Oooohhh!" she moaned.  She positioned the ladder under the shelf indicated by Myra Dick and climbed.

"Now, be careful, Brenda.  Be extremely careful."

"OK," she replied, reaching for the cylinder.

"Now, that's it.  These things must be done delicately or you hurt the spell," said Myra, both hands raised toward what was now cradled in Brenda's leather-clad arms.  "Careful...careful...that's it...now...slowly...come down...slowly..."

Brenda came down the ladder, wheezing and groaning, her jacket creaking.  "What is this anyway?"

"This," said Myra, gingerly taking the terracotta container from Brenda as though it might explode at any second.  "Is one of the Sybelline Books."

The Morbier clock struck 1 AM, loudly.

(c) 2012 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.