Mr Love in September
Mr Love stood up from his work at last. It was about time for his midday stroll. He shuffled softly across his little office, taking his hat and cane as he went. Doc Aloise had told him last year that she expected him to go walking daily – for his heart, you see. Of course, in his old age Mr Love did not mind the simple and quite public pleasure of a stroll through Hellhest’s Federal Grounds, regretting dearly the wasted years of his indoor youth.
Mr Love gently smiled as he passed Mrs Matilde Swann’s stately corner office which looked out over the pleasant morning on the Rue de Jun. Mrs Swann did not mind Mr Love’s daily walk so much, so long as his work was finished each day.
“And finished it will be,” thought Mr Love as he called for the elevator at the end of the hall. The operator, a young chap in a red jacket called Mr Garide, smiled knowingly as Mr love joined him in the carriage. “Going for your walk, Mr Love?” He asked. “Yes,” came the reply, “I think the Federal Grounds will do nicely today.” Mr Garide commented that he had heard of a Wizard visiting the city recently, and that he may be down by the yew tree if Mr Love would like to take a look.
Stepping out of the handsome foyer, Mr Love found himself on the Rue de June, the sky hemmed in by tall office buildings like his own. To his left, following the cobbles and trams, was the menacing Academie de Hellhest; Mr Love often enjoyed roaming the old campus in the atmosphere of its young cohorts – which was quite a bit smaller than at Academies in neighbouring cities. To his right, past the Federal Grounds, was the Hellhest old town with the Federal Castle at its centre. Just over its heavy wall one could make out the iconic dual spires of the Cathedrale du Santiago and the Tower of Smooth Colour.
Naturally, Mr Love turned right, proceeding slowly down the pavement accompanied by the careful and familiar click of the cane. He smiled as a well-to-do automobile lazed its way past, a soft jazz tune playing from the radio.
The Federal Grounds, a crescent-shaped park split in two by the Rue de June, was fairly busy for a weekday. As Mr Love strolled along the river, which cut through the Northern half of the park and entered the old city under a bridge, he took pleasure in the comely delights of the active citizens that lazed on the grass.
Here, a young girl giggled as her date chased off birds from their picnic. Further down the hill, some boys were setting up a ball game; one of them had taken the lead, directing the others on the establishment of the boundaries and the division into teams; as Mr Love passed by them, an argument broke out over who would join which team, and a small scuffle ensued. Meanwhile, some schoolgirls were dancing about the jasmines and playing make-believe; they seemed to be recreating a Biblical court scene in which the mages of Lord Ibex were in dispute with the senate; “we must be allowed to produce magic in the city,” one of the girls was saying to the assent of her allies, “who was it that drove off the dark plague? and who was it that put sleep in the devil Alinorax?” “—Valinorax” another corrected. The scene went on. Continuing on the path, Mr Love overheard two ladies in quite modern dresses saying, “… and that Mr Shaw! What a sophisticated piano player he is!” “Oh, no, Bettie. He only ever plays blocky jazz! It wouldn’t hut him to try a Nocturne once in a while.” “Don’t be silly, he played a very good…” Mr Love walked out of earshot. Now reaching a small, paved circle, a photographer was determining the best spot to erect his camera while two businessmen stood by impatiently, one clutching his wand with a nervous hesitation, the other pacing as he said, “this won’t do at all. I ought to be back in the office by now…” Now electing to stroll on the grass, Mr Love noticed a small group of Dal Xe martial artists, the teaching reciting a song in Korema as the students followed her motions striking swiftly at some indetectable quarry. Over there were three women with rapiers, the one refereeing while the two (one in blue, one in red) duelled with precise thrusts and parries; in a flash, the blue lady made a lunge for her opponent’s knee, the red lady cut nimbly into the blade’s path in a quick arc that threw the stab off line but as she rounded the cut to take control of blue’s blade, blue pushed deftly up with her momentum, closing the remaining distance and striking the red fencer in the abdomen. Mr Love reminisced fondly on his fencing days as he went down to sit by a fountain which flowed into the stream below.
It pleased the old heart of Mr Love to see so many young people out in the park during the day. At the height of Queen Valentina’s tyranny – well before the city-states confederated – common folk were on a strict curfew, only allowed to go home, work, church, or the market. Mr Love’s natal city of Vunie was not a free state like Hellhest in the 1850s, and young Love spent most of his time play-fighting in the yard with his brother. By the time the city was free in 1867, Mr Love had no interest in the outer world which was forgotten to many. Besides, by the time he’d moved to Hellhest, he had no time for anything at all.
Now meandering down to the river, Mr Love enjoyed the sights of handsome men and women on bicycles (their wheels jumbled and clattered pleasantly along the cobbles), of charming couples giggling (they perched comfortably on the stone wall by the river), and of cheeky tourists on river boats (their raucous laughter leapt down the length of the stream). Mr Love cross slowly over the stone bridge now, glad for the old hat which shielded him against the pleasant sunlight that congregated in jovial spirits along the river’s surface. At the apex of the bridge’s arc, Mr Love halted, resting on the low metal fence with his free hand. From here, he had a perfect view of the majestic Federal Castle, its simple, medieval structures providing a pleasant relief from the sights of the modern city. Right now, Mr Love figured, its courts and corridors would be busy with officials and assistants hurrying between the offices and chambers which were shared by politician and odd magic alike. Mr Palenx once explained that the entire building’s ink supply came from a single “ink spirit” enclosed in a large brass vat in the basement – though this seemed too ridiculous to be true.
Now on the other side of the river, Mr Love strolled down to the old stone amphitheatre which often served its purpose well for the young artists of the city. The approach to the ancient structure revealed (between equally ancient firs that is) the more well-to-do estates of the city just north of the park and conveniently adjacent to the city centre. The maroon and blue and lemon roofs of these eloquent buildings lorded gently over the edge of the park, their authority known and accounted for. Sure enough, Mr Garide had been correct – at the base of the amphitheatre, kneeling under the shade of the yew tree was a Wizard, speaking softly to a small crowd of children encircling him in the dusty arches of the theatre. He wore a green pinstriped four-piece Wizard’s suit (that is to say, with a matching pinstriped robe) and his simple wooden staff was resting on his knees as he spoke., Mr Love watched silently from the top row of seats as the children nodded along with an air of wisdom that they must have felt becoming of a Wizard’s audience. Occasionally, the Wizard would let out a vibrant burst of magic, its colourful mists dissipating into the open air, and the children would chitter like birds before falling silent as the man began to speak again.
After some time, Mr Love decided to walk back, satisfied with the nourishment of the city’s moments.
As he followed the pavement by the river, Mr Love spotted his old friend Mr Barro, the gardener alongside a younger fella in the same khaki uniform with the deep blue cap. The two men seemed to be watering the concrete base of a lamppost, and Mr Love immediately remarked: “Water it as much as you like, gentlemen, it won’t grow any taller.”
“Well,” Mr. Barro turned, smiling, “Maybe not, but the water keeps the lights on!”
“Hm?” Was all Mr Love could manage in his confusion.
“Oh yes, Council just installed new charms on the lights in the park. Apparently, some new initiative with the Academy to involve its students in public infrastructure.”
“What a waste!” Mr Love responded.
“Aye, mate. Of time and resources!”
“I reckon it’s a brilliant idea,” piped up the gardener’s apprentice.
Introductions were made, and Mr Love resolved to return often in the name of old friends.
Now, our old stroller began to retreat to his office. As he passed by the trafficked streets and stoic facades, he dwelled on the pleasant sights of the city he had seen. What a delightful day! What a delightful city! The old man practically licked his lips at the sweetness which his walk had brought upon him, nourishing and exhilarating him with bountiful floral blessings. Mr Love smiled brilliantly at the traffic controller in his grey uniform as he shuffled now back across the Rue de June, to which he received a small tip of the cap in response. The cars chuckled in wait as Love reached the pavement before his office, and they honked in a musical orchestra as they bobbed along with the permission of the controller. And Mr Love returned to his desk and the day carried on with a serene bliss.