NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #27/NN_1992_27.iso/spool/alt/callahan/13982

Text File | 1992-11-21 | 5.3 KB | 123 lines

Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Path: sparky!uunet!munnari.oz.au!metro!news
From: [e-mail] (David Mar)
Subject: Mishael's Four Word Story
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Sender: [e-mail]
Nntp-Posting-Host: physics.su.oz.au
Organization: School of Physics, University of Sydney, Australia
Date: Sun, 22 Nov 1992 00:21:27 GMT
Lines: 111

Danger Mouse waves for attention again.

"Most of you will remember Alfvaen's request for four word story set-ups,
and my subsequent request for the same. Well, the first response I got
was from Mishael, who supplied the words:

"limn, hemidemisemiquaver, lambdoid, arquebus.

"He also admitted that he was trying to be difficult. Well, it took me
a while to come up with something, but here is the result. I hope you
like it, Mishael."

DM pins up a sheet of paper on the noticeboard. It reads:
=========================================================================

"Hemidemisemiquaver! Hemi! Hemi! Listen to me when I talk to you!"

The master's stick crashed down on the desk, causing Jacob to spill his
pot of ink. The brown sepia ran across the page, staining his painstaking
work beyond all recognition. He scrabbled to upright the pot and prevent
the further spread of the ink.

"Maybe that will teach you to pay attention, young Leitz. Now you can
start the page again, and there will be no supper for you until it is
done. With all of the notes correct! Four strokes, not three!"

Jacob wanted to mutter a curse but restrained himself. Instead he silently
rose and crossed the room for a fresh piece of parchment. Why someone
would want an illuminated manuscript of music was beyond him, but it was
not his place to question. As a mere acolyte, his lot was to carry out
the orders of the masters, however strange they may seem.

Normally Jacob spent his writing time copying and illuminating holy texts.
This morning, however, he had been given a piece of music to transcribe.
He was to copy the staves and notes, then limn the clefs as though they
were the initial letters of holy psalms. Presumably the music was for
performance during a service, but Jacob's musical training was too
incomplete for him to recognise the piece.

Jacob also collected a rag to clean the desk as he watched the master
leave the room. He wondered why the masters were so impatient lately.
Normally it was rare for them to become angry with the acolytes. Perhaps
this piece of music was needed urgently...

***

Jacob woke the next morning to the sound of shouting. He quickly rose, put
on a robe, and peered out his small window. In the courtyard of the
monastery was a group of soldiers, standing beside horses and armed with
arquebuses. One who appeared to be their leader was arguing with the High
Master.

"What do you mean, a week?" the soldier was yelling, "I told you we need
that music today!"

"And I tell you that such things take time," the High Master replied
calmly. "Would you be happy presenting an inferior work to your god?"

The soldier fumed, and Jacob thought that he would strike the High Master,
but he kept his temper and turned to gesture to his men. They shouldered
their weapons and went to their steeds. The leader turned back to the
High Master. "Two days, no more. Present me with your best then, or we
shall raze this place to the ground. I shall be camped outside with my
men."

That explains it, thought Jacob, worshippers of a heathen god, forcing us
to produce their filthy offerings. May the Lord have mercy on their black
souls.

He turned to his door as footsteps approached. There was a loud knock,
then the voice of one of the masters shouting, "Leitz! Get up! There is
work to be done!"

***

Over the next two days, Jacob worked harder than he had ever worked
before. The musical manuscript took shape under his skilful pen. His
masters had not told him about the soldiers; they had simply instructed
him to do his best and fastest work. Jacob knew that their doctrine
would not allow them to be satisfied with an inferior work, no matter to
what purpose it would be put.

But Jacob could not help thinking that some sabotage would not go astray.
Anything which disrupted the worship of false gods could only be good.
So, on the final page of his work, Jacob deliberately distorted the
shapes he drew. He had picked up the feel of the musical notation, and
simply invented his own instead of transcribing the rough sheets given
to him. He ended with a final flourish, an illuminated distortion of a
treble clef which ended up lambdoid in shape, and which he felt certain
would ruin the work for the purpose of being an offering.

The masters were so eager to get the completed work to the soldiers that
they did not check the final pages. They had complete faith in Jacob, who,
after all, was their best and most gifted scribe. The lead soldier
accepted the manuscript gruffly and led his troops away on their horses.

***

Late that night, in the smoky underground chamber of a temple dedicated
to death and destruction, the priests were astonished to be witness to
a full manifestation of their chosen deity.

"Your offering is accepted," said the semi-transparent figure above the
altar. "This music represents me well, and shall serve as our anthem as
we ravage this land. We are very impressed. Particularly with the ending."

Two hours' ride away, Jacob Leitz slept well.

========================================================================

- Danger Mouse.