An
address given by Miss Mary Hamilton in the upper room of the
Wheatsheaf Public House, Rathbone Place, London, on the 12th
of July 1904.
Ladies and
Gentlemen.
You have come here
tonight expecting miracles. Perhaps some of you are familiar with my
act. You have seen me read minds. You have witnessed me channelling
the spirits of the dead. They have spelled out messages, moved
furniture, perhaps even materialised before you.
So I will begin with
a confession. I am a fraud, and everything you have witnessed was
nothing but a conjuring act.
Cinderella stretched sleepily and disentangled her limbs from the lacy, white bedclothes of the four-poster. She lay dreamily in the bright noon sunlight and began to think about rising. Life after marriage was decidedly agreeable. Slowly sitting up she considered if there was anything to do that day; other than improve the quality of life and ensure the well being of her people, of course. She found she had taken naturally to the ruling of a princedom. It just took a little effort and, without her, the Prince had been, well, rather lax.
Jennifer’s hair in the mirror was a little redder and shorter than she’d asked for. When Debbi, the stylist, spun her around in the chair so she could see the cut from all angles, Jennifer stared at herself for much longer than she normally felt comfortable doing in public, tilting her chin, watching how the new bangs suited her cheekbones. When she stood up from the chair, she felt lighter. As she paid the bill, tipping more than she usually did, the receptionist said,
‘You like it, huh?’
Jennifer, answering her own reflection in the small desk mirror, said, ‘Yes.’
The High King of the Lotus Empire summoned his chief advisor. “I am bored,” he said.
“I am sorry to hear that, your Majesty,” said the chief advisor. “Let me summon the cooks.”
“I have eaten the dawn-fruits that appear once in ten years in the shadowed valleys of the tallest mountains. I have tasted the dried tongues of singing fish, and steaks cut from a living unicorn and seasoned with its tears; I have eaten the breasts of virgins sautéed in wizard’s blood. What else is there for me to try?”
His toenails. How would they get through the interview after seeing those? My God, the nails curled out over the edges of his cheap plastic flip-flops; long, yellowed. He stalked around the trailer, Mr. Host, offering them a stiff drink. He smelled like he’d already had one. Did he think this was a social call? Mr. Pendergast knew this interview was about whether or not he would get his kids back. “No thank you, Mr. Pendergast,” Ellen said, injecting some formality into this visit. She exchanged a glance with her co-worker, Tracy, who had seen the toenails and looked as if she could use a stiff drink.
Longtime contributors Niall Boyce, Jonathan Pinnock & Richard Smyth all have books out which you'd be well advised to buy, then read, then buy for others. All genres are catered for, from novels (Niall's Veronica Britton) and short stories (Jonathan's Dot Dash) to nonfiction (Richard's Bumfodder)
KATY LIAR'S DEBUT NOVEL
Liar Katy Darby's debut novel, a Victorian drama called The Unpierced Heart (previously titled The Whores' Asylum) is now out in Penguin paperback. It's had nice reviews in The Independent on Sunday, Sunday Times & Metro (4*).
OUR INTERVIEW WITH ANNEXE MAG!
They came, they saw, they asked us a bunch of interesting questions. Interview by Nick of Annexe Magazine with Katy of LL: here
