The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Read online

  The old house was slowly becoming less foreboding with each opened curtain, and with each uncovered piece of furniture. But it took hours to finish exploring even a single room. Every new desk was filled with some pile of strange stones, odd figurines, or rolled up maps, charting out some unfamiliar chain of islands.

  One afternoon, while she was busy searching, she came upon a massive painting, more alike in size to a tapestry than to a normal painting. It covered the length of one entire wall, and though it seems peculiar to say, she was fortunate to have found it. Down one set of stairs, and up another, in a wide sloping attic-style room, she happened to fling open the curtain of what appeared to be a small attic window, which to her wonderment was a passage way to yet another large room.

  This ���window room���, as she called it, was not much unlike any other room in that great house, except for three obvious differences: For one, it was circular with high ceilings and no windows, save for a few small ones very near the roof. Secondly, none of the furniture was covered in blankets. And thirdly, and most impressively, was the painting. Covering half the room and stretching from floor to ceiling, it was the grandest painting Delany had ever seen, like the combination of the most lifelike atlas mixed with charts of stars that she was sure glowed somewhat on their own. Along the sides of the map were painted scenes of famous battles, and glorious cities. This room was the most difficult to leave.

  All the same, it was not till much later that evening, lying in her bed, thinking of those glowing stars (for she was sure by now they were indeed glowing), that Delany realized the significance of the uncovered furniture.

  ���What if I’m the only one still alive who knows that room exists?��� she thought.

  She was too excited for sleep, and thus resolved herself to stay up all through the night. Howbeit, as anyone who has tried can tell you, the worst thing one can do to stay awake is to try at it, and just before she was fast asleep she half-pondered that those old pipes were rather noisier tonight than usual.

  Chapter Four

  After Midnight

  Not long after midnight, she was awakened suddenly from her sleep by a series of crashing noises coming from the floor below hers. But for reason of her now helplessly tired eyes, Delany had nearly resolved herself that that loud racket was merely the latter part of a bad dream, or her own somewhat preoccupied imagination, and began again to fall heavily into sleep. Till she was jolted awake by a singular clank, coming from where she was now sure must be the downstairs kitchen.

  Those noises made her fright, sitting up in her bed, being sure to lift her bedsheets up to her nose. She knew for certain they could not be the creaking pipes, and wondered again whether or not this house may actually have been haunted after all: and how inconvenient it would be to have an angry ghost chasing her around such a maze of a house.

  The back of her neck was chilled. Sitting up in bed made it more difficult to wrap up warmly, and besides this she was scared. Furthermore, the old Greyford house was, by now, at least tolerable during daylight hours. But here, in the dim light of the moon, Delany was forced to travel around by candlelight; The hallways were too windy to walk about well at night without it, as she had not yet memorized the electrical switches.

  So with all the strength she could measure, she began to inch her toes to the floor, and then to her slippers. Fortunately, there was a set of matches in the bedside drawer along with a fresh candlestick. Then breathing in deeply, the match was struck, and she proceeded to the bedroom door, cautiously turning the knob, and being sure to not let the bolt click on her way out.

  Darkness seemed to crowd around every corner as she crept through the upstairs hall, and at every open doorway she made eager promises to shut each one of them tightly the next morning. Her heart beat in a flutter. She gasped quietly in the stillness, and when she came to the stairway the shadows jutted out in an obstinate manner, playing tricks with her eyes.

  At the first step, she almost lost her footing, but managed to catch herself abruptly by the railing. A bit angrily, she stiffened up straight to listen. ���Had he heard?��� she thought to herself, not realizing what a task it would be to actually come upon a ghost by surprise.

  After this, her steps were much more deliberate, and soon she found herself safely down, staring at a clearly defined column of light shining through the kitchen door; and in the emptiness of that old, ramshackled house she could hear strange noises drifting in through the open doorway. (I call them strange here, because although the sounds themselves were quite normal and easily distinguishable: the tinkering of plates while preparing a meal, and the earthy hum of a pleasant folk tune. To anyone who’d fully expected ghoulish, ghastly haunts, even these familiar tones can seem strange.)

  Now you must not think Delany rash here for what is to happen next; Being, for the most part, not easily frightened on account of her stubbornness. Delany was, however, altogether sick of being afraid that night. Presently convincing herself that the sounds of a late supper being prepared that night must have been caused by Maid Allen, who surely would have come to check on her, and was now helping herself to whatever wares were left over in the kitchen.

  All at once, she picked up her steps and came bustling into the kitchen, laughing as only one does when they are truly unnerved but wish to hide it.

  ���Maid Allen, why are you������ she stopped. There was no one in the room, and the door of the ice box was left wide open. ������not here?��� she concluded.

  Just then, with a short heaving sound, the door to the ice box was flung shut. And before her stood a large rodent-like animal, just tall enough to reach the lower compartment handle on the box if he were to stand on the tips of his toes. He was holding a plate of sandwich meats.

  ���Did I wake you?��� the thing said politely.

  Chapter Five

  Secret Passages

  Her candle was thrown from her hand as Delany went screaming from the kitchen, tripping up the darkened stairway. Till she came fumbling to her room, securely bolting the door behind her. She stood hunched, panting feverishly. She was safe.

  But this was not to last for long. A subtle wheeling sound could be heard from inside the closet at the far side of the room; and she would not have that thing to run around her ankles in the dark. So she quickly switched on the bedside lamp, and stood atop her bed, making sure to first grab the largest and heaviest pillow she could find.

  Eek. The wheeling noise had stopped, and she could see that creature’s paw slowly push open the closet door. With a yelp she hurled her pillow, slamming it shut again.

  ���Go away!��� she cried.

  ���It’s just… I’ve realized what an awful introduction I’ve made for myself,��� said a voice from inside the closet. There was no response. So timidly the creature eased at the door again, and began walking open armed into the room.

  ���Allow me to introduce mysel–f.��� Another pillow hit him squarely in the face.

  ���Get out!��� Delany exclaimed.

  ���I come in peace,��� he said, his muffled voice from beneath the pillow.

  ���Do you promise?��� she asked.

  ���Yes,��� he said, peering out from the corner of the pillow, ������and do you promise not to throw things at me?���

  ���I guess so������ she said.

  The little thing let out a deep breath. ���Well, I suppose that will have to do,��� he said, throwing off the pillow and scurrying up the bedside. They both sat down cross-legged at opposite ends of the bed and he began again, but stopped, thinking of perhaps something better to say.

  Leaning his face into his tiny paw, he said, ���I believe these things go along much better over supper. Would you like me make you a plate?��� he said, motioning to the closet. ���It’s no trouble.���

  Delany graciously declined.
But before she could finish thanking him for his offer the little thing had noisily waddled into the closet, and was back before she knew it, carrying with both hands a hefty plate of turkey and sliced cheeses.

  ���Just in case you change your mind,��� he said. ���I’d nearly forgot my appetite, what with all the screaming downstairs.��� His stubby tail wiggled as he slid a very sizable late dinner up onto the bed.

  ���You know, there’s nothing that can ruin a conversation better than an empty stomach,��� he said, through a bite of provolone. ���You know it’s like I always-���

  ���How did you do that?��� Delany interrupted. ���Is it some sort of trick door or��� magic?���

  ���Oh that. No, it’s not magic,��� he said, his mouth full, and with a piece of turkey in his hand. ���There are secret passages all around you if you know where to look for them.���

  Delany’s eyes lit up. ���Like the one in the attic?��� she asked. The little mammal stopped chewing. ���…the one that looks like a window?��� she continued.

  A wide-faced grin crept onto her furry companion’s face, not the sort of grin one gives out of contempt, but the kind most related to pride.

  ���So we’ve found something interesting to talk about then,��� he said.

  Until this point, she had not thought it possible for animals to smile (which still may be the case). However, this was no ordinary animal. This one looked as though he knew a story worth listening to.

  Chapter Six

  A Late-night Story

  The following is a revision of the rest of that night’s conversations, in order that the reader might better understand the main points of his story. Left out are quite a number of unimportant side stories from which the teller was constantly needing to be brought back from. He began his story much like this:

  ���Many years ago, when I was much more of a pup than I am now, Arthur Greyford ran what some would call a holiday home for distant travelers, very distant��� from other worlds.���

  He spoke the latter part of this more slowly, to emphasis its importance. Delany, however, did not catch this and thought she could correct him. ���You mean ‘from around the world’, right?���

  ���No,��� he said, with a chuckle. ���I mean what I said.��� Taking a bite more of cheddar, he continued, ���Arthur was a business man, if ever I’d seen one…��� [Here he went on at length about how it’s become considerably easier to sell things these days, on account that most folks don’t really know what’s needed.] After which he said, ���So when he’d made as much money as any reasonable chap would want, and because he’d no kin to look after, he retired, in a manner of speaking. Setting himself to the occupation of travel and of collecting, the very rare and the very valuable.���

  [At this point, Delany interrupted the furry orator’s story to ask why Mr. Greyford hadn’t any surviving relatives. In most situations, this would have been met with a quick response. But considering he’d had relatively few house guest recently, and was rather enjoying himself, he began to talk about how sometimes the things you might wish for, and the things that actually happen, can be quite different. What Delany gathered though, in between chewed morsels, was that the late Mrs. Greyford had suffered a fever during childbirth some years prior, and that Mr. Greyford had decided to remain unmarried.]

  ���Where were we?��� he asked, scratching the hair on his cheek. ���Oh, yes,��� he said. ���The funny thing about collecting though is, that if you aren’t careful with it, you may find things that are actually worth something, and that was his [Arthur’s] case.���

  Delany was so excited at this point, that she knew what he might mention next, that she blurted out in amazement, ���So that’s how he found the painting?���

  ���Yeah, I suppose you could say it like that,��� wiping the crumbs from his whiskers. ���Or more likely, rather, it was the painting that found him. You see it’s not your average piece of artwork, it is… more like a motion picture than the ordinary, everyday still kind.���

  Just then a very eager rooster began to crow, and Delany realized her room was not so dark as it had once been. ���It’s late,��� she said with a yawn, as she leant back against the headboard.

  ���Or early,��� said the marmot, who had nearly finished his plate by then and was looking just a bit plumper than before.

  ���You know, child, I haven’t properly introduced myself yet,��� he said.

  Delany, who had listlessly slid down into a large fluffy pillow, could not let this go, even as tired as she was. So she responded, ���I’m not a child,��� her face scrunched to the side, looking very much like a child.

  ���Alright then, what should I call you?��� he replied.

  In an effort to redeem herself, she sat up, trying to appear much more awake than she really was. ���Oh, I don’t know…��� she said. ���My name is Delany, but my friends like to call me Del.���

  ���And I’m Meris,��� he said. Then lifting up the plate in front of him, ���Would you like the last piece?��� he asked.

  The pair had been awake for hours by then. So relatively speaking it was well past breakfast time, and under normal circumstances, Delany might have refused a slice of gouda offered to her by a rodent. But since she had never met a talking animal before, and being so dreadfully hungry, she obliged.

  ���I guess so,��� she said.

  Chapter Seven

  The Next Day

  All the next day, two things withheld Delany from believing her midnight meeting with that fuzzy creature hadn’t all been some strange dream: For one, being that they had ended their talk so late (or early depending on your point of view), Delany had not been allowed to fall back asleep. And secondly, because of that, she was miserably tired the whole day, a good enough sign to her and to anyone else that she’d had precious little sleep the night before.

  One of those who had noticed her obvious lack of sleep that day was Mattie Hardy. She had sat behind her during a lecture on photosynthesis that morning in science course, and was a good enough sport to kick her chair as the professor came near their row. Delany was surprised, and grateful. Mattie had not taken her chance to spite her, even though she very well could have. Which made Delany wonder that perhaps she had not hit her as hard as she thought.

  ���You saved my life,��� Del said, while fighting back the urge to give a noticeable stretch.

  ���Just try to keep your eyes open, then…��� Mattie whispered, with a failed attempt at harshness, the kind you may try at when you’ve done something nice and would, just as well, not like to be congratulated for it.

  Delany sat upright. Still mostly bored, and altogether too tired to concentrate on the lesson, she started to think about how Mattie was not as mean to her as she thought she should have been. Soon another queasy feeling began stirring inside Delany’s stomach. Although, not completely unlike her feelings of guilt just a few days prior, this newly unsettled feeling could be compared more precisely to the feeling you may have if you’d invited a new friend home for dinner, and then realized your kitchen table was a squalor, and not at all as clean as you’d remembered. Delany was confused and could not help but think, no matter how hard she tried, that she had done something wrong.

  (Whatever that thing was that Delany felt, and however it had happened, I believe it is important to note here that it was at this exact moment the two girls first let off being enemies. Don’t misunderstand however, the two were still very much at odds with each other, and would be for quite some time, but they were no longer enemies, not in any unchangeable sense. And, although some may argue differently, I believe it was here, also, that the pair first began to become friends.)

  The rest of the day at Mayfield
was an uneventful blur, and to tell the truth Delany was glad to see it go. The usually long walk back from main house to Greyford was moving along, this evening, at a hurried pace. But she was still a good distance away, staring up at the faded white house, when a sudden flash of light broke through a tiny slatted gable window. At the sight of this, Delany ran up the lawn, and burst open the front door, too excited for walking.

  ���Meris,��� she said breathlessly. ���Meris, are you here?���

  The house was noiseless. She shut the door, and began to search through each tangled room. ���Come out, Meris!��� she yelled, but there was no reply. Each winding hall and each forgotten study, was as lifeless as the one before.

  A little bewildered, she decided to make her way up to the attic. ���Here, squirrel������ she said, as she peered through the curtain, looking hopefully into the window room.

  The massive colored painting shone starlight onto her face, but there was no one there. So finally, when she had convinced herself there was no one to be found, disheartened and alone, Delany slunk back downstairs, helping herself to half a piece of leftover dutch apple pie. And, thoroughly exhausted, laid her head down on the dining table, and fell asleep.

  (Now the reader should note that, at this point, Delany was not a very keen naturalist. So that when she called Meris a squirrel, what she actually meant by it was ���ground squirrel���. Although, it could be supposed, that if she’d been raised in a place that had them, she might have referred to her houseguest as a gopher, but even that would not have been the closest approximation. For as anyone can tell you, who’s been a student of North American zoology, what Meris was most akin to, in our world, would be the Gunnison���s prairie dog, only proportionally much larger. Granted, however, if it helps to think of him as a somewhat larger and stockier ground squirrel, then I suppose no real harm has been done.)