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.