by

Mary Alice Kropp

The cramped, spidery script crawled across the parchment. The quill stopped, hovered over the last word.

"Sir?" The voice came in a neatly clipped accent from above and to the right of the pen. When the hand holding the quill did not react, the owner of the voice became more insistent.

"Sir! I really must insist! Listen! They are getting closer." Tall and thin, with a pinched look to his face heightened by a long hooked nose and high, smooth forehead topped by a sweep of white hair, the speaker strode to the narrow window embrasure set into the stone wall. The shaft of sunshine slipping in glinted off brightly shined brass buttons sewn on a dark coat. The open coat revealed a conservatively striped waistcoat crossed by the gold links of a watch chain. Perfectly creased dark trousers just brushed the tops of dark, spit shined shoes topped with spotless white spats. Leaning carefully forward to peer out of the narrow window, he raised a monocle dangling from a golden chain around his scrawny neck to his eye. Turning again and letting the eyeglass drop, he brushed imaginary dust from the fingertips of immaculate white gloves.

"You are late again, you know." He said it quietly, but the disapproval in his voice was obvious.

"Can't rush genius, you know, Grievous. Won't give it to 'em until it's right. Now, let's see, where was I?" He turned back to the parchment under his pen.

"That's Greeves, sir. Greeves!"

"Yes, yes, whatever. Can't you go butle something so I can get some work done?" With a deeply injured sigh, Greeves turned back to the window.

Looking out over the countryside, Greeves could just see the tops of many heads appearing at the crest of the hill. The crowd began to pour over the crest and rush toward them. There were shouts and whistles as the mass of bodies approached.

"No, no, no! That's not good at all, Melvin! You can do better than that dreck!" With a sharp scratching sound, the quill crossed out the last sentence. As he did so, the long sleeve of Melvin's pale violet robe trailed in the ink, smearing the page to unreadablity. He lifted the arm and stared at the ink stain, noticeable among many similar streaks only because of its freshness. Bright blue eyes behind thick spectacles squinted at the stain. With a shrug, he let the sleeve fall onto the paper again. Laying the quill on the worn, scratched and gouged desk top, he crumpled the page and tossed it onto a pile of similarly crumpled pages on the floor. He grunted as his rather stout stomach squeezed against the edge of the desk. Pudgy brown hands reached across to pick up another sheet in stubby fingers. Placing the parchment carefully on the desk, he picked up the quill again and dipped it into an inkwell. Knitting bushy, yellow-gray eyebrows in thought, he immediately dripped a splotch of ink onto the page. Running a hand through wildly disarrayed hair of the same yellowed gray color, he sighed and put pen to paper.

"They are gone, sir," Greeves said simply. Melvin waved a hand impatiently.

"Yes, of course they are, Grievous! I'm simply not ready for them yet. Now, go, will you? Or I shall never get done!" Greeves sighed again and left the room quietly. Melvin did not appear to notice. He hunched over his page, muttering distractedly to himself.

"Yes! That's it! Melvin, old man, this may just be your best yet!"

"There are more of them this time, sir." Greeves stood in the doorway, holding a large silver tray on which lay a thick stack of parchments. Each sheet was covered with Melvin's spidery script. "Shall I begin?" He carried the tray to the window and set it carefully on the ledge. Melvin looked up sharply. The noise from below was even worse than before. Now individual voices could be heard.

"Send it out!"

"Give him over!"

"Melvin!"

"Now!"

Greeves picked up the first sheets carefully in his long, gloved fingers.

"Don't even think it, Grievous!" Melvin's voice was hard, commanding.

"But, sir, they are almost to the walls. And this is a rather rowdy lot. You have made them wait over a year, you know." Greeves peered out the window. The first wave of the crowd was milling around under the window. There were people as far as he could see. He shook his head. This was the worst yet. Each time Melvin wrote one of his books, the people came. They existed, clamoring for the finished work, until the old man made a revision in the story. Then they disappeared to return at the next draft. At first, they were ghostly, unreal. But their existence became stronger with each new appearance, until at the end, they were as real as Greeves himself. The old man's wizardry chose to manifest itself strangely, indeed.

"And they will wait a few moments more, I say! The castle walls will stand a little pounding, what?" Smiling impishly, Melvin returned to his writing. Greeves placed the pages carefully back on the pile and turned to the window once again. The crowd was getting more and more restless, their shouting more insistent. Greeves could see several with ropes and hooks attempting to toss them over the gates or window ledges.

"Sir,..." he began, a bit of worry beginning to creep into his polished demeanor.

"I've done it!" Melvin leaped up, overturning his chair and the inkwell in the process. He just barely snatched the last page away from the spreading puddle of ink. "Get me some tea, will you, Grievous? I'm going to meet my fans." Greeves nodded once and left the room.

Melvin stumbled over to the window and peered out. When he saw the size of the crowd, he began to giggle.

"Best one yet. Yes, indeedy. Bestseller, easily. Too bad every author can't create his own readers!" Thrusting a sticklike arm through the window, he began to let the pages of the manuscript flutter slowly down. The crowd rushed forward, picking up each one lovingly and placing it in a pile with the rest. Greeves returned with a silver tea service just as Melvin was about to let the last page go.

As the page was collected and the crowd turned to leave, cheering and shouting his name, Melvin returned to his desk.

"Well, Grievous, another one down. Must start the next right away. Can't keep the folks waiting too long, you know."

"Yes, sir, of course," Greeves said as he poured the tea. Knowing Melvin, it would be months before he even thought about beginning again. He sighed and handed over a cup of tea. Still, life was rarely dull with this wizard-writer. There was really only one thing Greeves would change.

"My name is Greeves, sir. Greeves."

The End