Muggles Bereaved Read online

  An oddly dressed, tall, thin man stood observing him. A very thin man, a man like a stick insect, a man who moved toward him with hesitant, chameleon steps.

  “Are you ok?” asked the man.

  “Yes, why not?” said Jim

  “Well, I observed you having a little trouble with the portal. I am the Harbourmaster for this gateway and I thought I had better come and rescue you. I was there when you triggered the portal, but you did not wait for me to direct you.”

  Jim dusted himself down thoughtfully. The man looked friendly, though being so thin did not seem at all natural. He could have hidden in a hawthorn hedge quite easily.

  “I didn’t see you coming down the path,” said Jim

  “No,” said the Harbourmaster, “ I came through a service portal in the hedge. Perhaps I could show you how to operate this portal more easily.”

  Jim watched as the man walked forward and stood before the bench. He leaned forward and placed one hand on the back of the bench and one hand on the seat. Then he gave one of the curved legs a gentle kick. The back of the bench leaned back, the seat of the bench tipped forward and between the two was an opening which a man lying on the bench might slide through.

  “ Don’t let go of your hand holds until the portal opens and it will then stay open and I will appear beside you. It looks narrow, but if you were sitting on the bench a space-time warp would fold you into the portal a bit like chocolate chips being folded into a cake mix. Quite painless and you would land on a dry platform on the other side, not in the swamp beside it.”

  “But where is the other side?” asked Jim, “What sort of place.”

  “Well it is the alternate of this universe. Here is universe B25Z and down there,” he pointed into the bench maw,” that is universe 633S. And now this is universe 633S and that is universe B25Z. They flip-flack every hour or so, you see. It isn’t confusing because planet Rowling also flip-flacks. Otherwise you would be experiencing some incredibly inconstant goings on.”

  “If I were to enter the portal....” mused Jim, “would I always be able to get out again?”

  “Oh yes, it is a physical law stating that what goes in must come out. Otherwise there would be an entropical disaster.”

  “And can I come out of another portal, a different one?”

  “Yes, you can, provided you know the dial up for the other portal. That is where the Harbourmaster comes in handy. If you know where you want to surface on planet Rowling, I can dial up that portal for you. Do you have somewhere in mind?”

  “Well,” Jim hesitated.

  “Oh don’t worry, you can tell me your choice of exit, we Harbourmasters are bound by a professional code of conduct. We must offer total client confidentiality or we’d lose our licences. We have to say that to make me seem more human. Of course I am both 'we' and 'I' being a manifestation that can appear simultaneously in billions of places. Of course, 'I' causes less confusion, don't you think? In fact we are all different manifestations of the same avatar and we cannot avoid adhering to the code of conduct.”

  “So if I come here, how do I contact you? Do you have a cellphone number?”

  “No need although we do have an app called Portalbin if you need one. But if you turn up here and activate the portal, I will turn up within an average of 15 seconds and you can tell me your desired destination. It could be a bit longer if I am in the loo, you understand. And I might turn up with a sandwich in my hand.” Considering that he was an avatar, the reference to the toilet and sandwiches was a programmer’s massive overindulgence. He pointed at the open portal;

  “Are you desirous of travelling today?”

  “Er, no, said Jim, but I might be travelling with two friends tomorrow, Saturday. Should I make an appointment?”

  “No, just turn up and I will respond. A bit like the Genie of the lamp I always think, but a lamp you kick rather than rub. As a matter of interest, where will you be travelling to tomorrow?”

  “Well, we thought we would like to travel to RAF Sculthorpe for their open day, if you can get us anywhere near.” Jim asked this question in this way because he knew that the cheaper airlines around the world often landed at an airport miles from your actual destination.

  “Oh that is easy. There is a portal actually on the base, behind hangar 3. We don’t advertise it widely because the Ministry of Defence gets a bit antsy about it. They seem to think it is for them alone, but of course the law states that all portals are derestricted and can never be placed under a reservation. The one restriction is that only approved travellers can use a portal.”

  “Law?” queried Jim, “Who makes the Law? And who gave me approval to activate a portal?”

  “Oh it's a Galactic council and there are millions of them. Billions, actually. Just in this one universe. But that law of Freedom of Portal applies to every portal in the multiverse. Once you get accustomed to travelling, you could cross time and space to anywhere. As to who is authorised to travel, that facility is highly restricted and you either have it or you do not. It’s a bit like eye colour I suppose, Though it is not actually genetic.”

  “Suppose I wanted to see Mars?”

  “Well there is a portal there for sure. The problem is that you would have to stay in the terminal on Mars unless you had an approved Mars EVA suit. And they are a bit expensive, even to hire. And you are not cleared for Mars travel.”

  Jim was still feeling suspicious. Suppose this stick of a man was something like the Pied Piper and was leading teenagers away to a fate worse than death.

  “If it is so easy and convenient, why isn’t it an open secret with time tables and locations of portals?”

  “Simple. It is only available to people like you. To genuine enquirers, as pure of intention as that mediaeval knight, Sir Galahad. He used to use this very portal when he visited Queen Boudicca on the Feast of the Woad. Came back covered in blue glastum and made a right mess of this bench.”

  “Are you telling me this bench was here a thousand years ago?”

  “Yes it was. Not this very bench, you understand but a bench of properties befitting the Age. In Sir Galahad’s day it was a stone and flint construction in the shape of a shrine.”

  “I see. Well, I have taken up a lot of your time.”

  “Not at all,” beamed the Harbourmaster. “It is so refreshing to get a new customer trained up. Some of the regular travellers are downright rude and pushy. And always remember that you and your friends were chosen by The Good, The Quintessence.”

  “But you didn’t say that before....” began Jim, backing away as the Harbourmaster let the portal squeeze shut.

  “I didn’t? See you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, for sure. I will try and avoid lunch time, so that you can eat in peace.” This was Jim’s way of reciprocating for kind words. He had not missed the reference to “The Good”, an entity to which he would always have cause to be grateful throughout his long future.

  Trembling with excitement, Jim rang Lim as soon as the Harbourmaster stepped back into his hedge.

  “Guess what, Lim,” said Jim

  “About what?” asked Lim in an obvious prompt.

  “Oh, ‘Spectacles’, said Jim, “I have discovered how to open the bench portal and how to get into Sculthorpe any time we wish. I’ll explain all when we meet tonight. And the best news is – WE are chosen ones.”

  “Chosen? By whom?” the ‘whom’ came out naturally this time.

  “By The Good, The Quintessence. I will explain later,” said Jim who now realised that he couldn’t say anything at all about ‘The Good” until he had chance to question the Harbourmaster again. He thought of returning to the bench but guessed that the Harbourmaster might be having his afternoon-ses. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  That evening, Lim, Tracy and Jim congregated on their bench while Jim explained what had been said. He was so eager to show them the ease of opening the portal that he forgot that this would call the Harbourmaster forward. He showed Tracy and Lim how to
place one hand on the back of the bench, one hand on the seat and where to deliver a gentle tap of the foot. The portal obligingly opened and seconds later, the Harbourmaster stepped out of his hedge,

  “Oh, sorry,” said Jim, “I was so anxious to show my friends how the portal works. I hope I haven’t ruined your dinner.”

  “My, my,” said the Harbourmaster,” You are a really polite chap, aren’t you. But there is no need to apologise, It is a pleasure to be called to duty.”

  “Suppose we came at midnight?”

  “People do, you know, in fact there is quite a rush at that time of night. It doesn’t trouble me because I never sleep. Avatar, you see. I only eat as a way of whiling away the time and it is entirely virtual. All I really need is a reboot and update once a week.”

  “There was something I was going to ask you,” said Jim, “You mentioned that we had been chosen by The Good. What exactly is The Good?”

  “Answering that question is way above my pay scale,” said the Harbourmaster, “But I’d define it as the essence of all goodness made manifest. That is how I have been told to answer the question.”

  “So it might turn out to be The Wizard of Oz,” scorned Tracy, despite herself.

  “No, The Good is not The Wizard of Oz. I am programmed to deny that suggestion which is number two in the list of things suggested to me. It’s very real, so The Quintessence itself tells me. And you young people should always be ready to call on it for help. Mark my words.”

  “As a matter of interest,” asked Tracy, “What was number one in the list of suggested identities for The Good?”

  “That was ‘Tom Good”, the name of the Richard Briers character in the TV show, “The Good Life”. Number three was “Goody Two Shoes” and after that it got very silly, and “God” only came fifth.”

  “Well, look, we won’t be using the portal this evening,” said Jim, “but thank you for attending.”

  The portal slid shut and the Harbourmaster retreated happily to his hedge, murmuring his delight about the politeness of the young on Rowling World in Universe 633S. He glanced at his watch for a flip-flack check. It was already B25Z. That meant that he had to feed the time troll. Hey, ho, nonny.

  The Companions of the Order of the Spectacles watched the tall thin figure go and marvelled at the way that he merged with the hawthorn and became little more than a quivering branch. It was what happens when you slip sideways into a Space-Time crease, apparently. The Space-Time crease has subtle differences from the mirrored Time-Space creases, just as the stable magnetic swirls called skyrmions can be left-handed or right-handed. Right-handed molecules differ from left-handed molecules, sometimes manifesting the difference in terms of smells. The most obvious domestic example of this smell shifting handedness is demonstrated by the limonene in oranges and lemons. The right-handed limonene in an orange is a perfect mirror image of the left-handed limonene in a lemon. They are known as mirror molecules. This diagram shows the structures beautifully;

  More complex effects occur in the sheet excrescences exuded by our left handed Jim Bean. But these cannot be fully explained without a very boring treatise on fractalised handedness. An explanation which would send us all to sleep and, I promise you, only Isaac Newton understands the details. Or so he boasts.

  You might understand the Harbourmaster’s disappearance a bit better if you think of standing at the corner of a shop’s plate glass window. Half your body appears in the window and half in the street. A two-mirror kaleidoscope effect. Then if you slide into the shop the image dwindles to a single line and you disappear. Well Space-Time creases are something like that. But not really. That would be too simple.

  Chapter Seven – A World Apart

  The following day, the Companions of the Order of the Spectacles gathered back in the walks. This time they carried rucksacks and were equipped with all the things an adventurer might need. They had torches, night vision glasses that were Samsung Gear variations linked to cellphones, Swiss army knives, Leatherman Wave multi-tools, helmet cameras, belts with carabiners and lots of chocolate and kendal mint cake. They also had day-glo alarm flags but rejected the high-vis jackets suggested by Jim as the very antithesis of the stealthiness that was needed. They also carried rape alarms, pepper sprays and LED blinders. These non-lethal aids to escape were very effective, according to the advertisements. Before long, the Companions would discover that Portal travel was as simple as catching a bus and they didn’t need their mountaineering provisions.

  They stood by the bench and looked furtively about, quite unsure if they should operate the portal only when not observed. The Harbourmaster had yet to explain to them that on the very instant that they operated the portal, they became totally invisible to the world about them. To a passer-by the bench looked unchanged and could even be used while they were making their transit. There was a lot to learn. The onset of invisibility was so fast that it fooled not only the eye of a passer-by but the brain too.

  “You see,” said Jim, feeling very important, “you put one hand on the back of the bench, one hand on the seat and then you give the leg of the bench a slight tap with your foot. Abracadabra!”

  The bench did its yawning crocodile thing and a good 10 seconds later the Harbourmaster appeared. Jim’s introductions were not needed as far as the Harbourmaster was concerned. He already had an affirmed list of users in his memory which was linked to a local neuron of The Good. The Good also being The Quintessence to the casual observer. But the Harbourmaster observed the niceties with extra politeness.

  “Is today’s destination still RAF Sculthorpe?” he asked

  “Er, yes,” confirmed Jim, the others being speechless in awe, “yes it is. Hangar 3.”

  “Your destination is set, please enter the portal.”

  While Lim and Tracy were still wondering if they had to lie on the bench and roll into the opening of the portal, Jim sat down and was folded into space-time as easily as hot hazelnut spread folds into whipped egg whites. After a moment’s hesitation, the others followed him. The same Harbourmaster, or perhaps a linked avatar, was waiting for them.

  “Here you are. Behind me is hangar 3. Now be sure to make a note of this location and, if you turn and look, you will see a bench behind you in a rather nice floral setting. It has a nameplate honouring an RAF pilot, Douglas Bader, and the portal is named after him too. Use the same technique to enter this portal and it will return you to base. As you are returning passengers, I will not appear, unless of course there is some difficulty or an, er, emergency. And I will not have to make this sort of announcement each time you travel. There is one possible source of difficulty, if not danger.”

  “Danger?” sparked Jim, his red curls almost rigid with alarm.

  “Yes,” said the Harbourmaster, “There is an unfortunate hack in the software that allows a time troll to manifest from time to time, or space to space, as it were.”

  “A troll?” chorussed the companions, recalling the travails of a Hobbit called Frodo.

  The Harbourmaster could read minds, though he did not advertise the fact because it made people very self-conscious.

  “Not a giant ogre like Quirinus Quirrell’s mountain troll, oh no. This troll is quite small, being left or right handed depending on it being a Time-Space or Space-Time troll. They are mirror images, you see. The danger is that they can easily lead you to a portal exit you don’t want. You might end up in a totally different universe pair. That would be very confusing and dangerous because when you got home, you might find yourself already in bed.”

  “How will we recognise a troll?”

  “Happily,” said the Harbourmaster, “though trolls look very much like me, they are atomically handed and have a strong scent of lemon or orange, strong enough to make your eyes water, but not unpleasant. Right handed trolls smell of orange and left handed trolls smell of lemon. The left handed ones fairly screw your mouth and eyes up, but if in any doubt, offer to shake hands with the creature. To remember which is whic
h just note that ‘orange’ has an ‘r’ in it denoting right-handed and ‘lemon’ has an ‘l’ in it denoting left-handed.”

  “Is it important to know if they are left or right handed?” asked Tracy, planning ahead. Jim’s head was spinning. He had never quite been sure which was ‘left’ and which was ‘right’ owing to some kind of spatial dyslexia. Now he had Time-Spatial dyslexia to worry about. Or was it Space-Temporal dyslexia?

  “Oh yes, a left handed troll will look a bit like me but will want you to move to the left hand portal having contrived to make two benches appear. The right handed troll will advise you to take the right hand portal. They can be very convincing giving all sorts of reasons and insisting that they really are me!”