Top Hat Spider has been reviewing the nom de plumes everyone has suggested. Some made him chuckle. Some made him grump. But he settled on one and informed me last night.
“‘Nathaniel’ would suit me. Yes, ‘Nathaniel’ would be a pleasant name to refer to me by.”
I asked if that was “Sir Nathaniel”. He reminded me I am American, and such titles are not part of my culture. I said I wanted to be respectful.
“Death removes such requirements.”
“That doesn’t give me excuse to be an ass to you.”
He talked a bit about not having a family name to be properly addressed by, and the formalities of cross-class (caste) conversation. “But if it soothes you that you refer to me as ‘Sir Nathaniel’, then I shall take no offense to the implied familiarity that shall arise when others refer to me as such. Your writing style is quite informal and open as it is. As such, it is understandable by all classes, which is important in that literacy focused form of communication dominating this Internet that you use.
I think he predates “The Elements of Style”. Not sure. I love his wordiness. He has not been exposed to Yahoo forums. I don’t want to crush him.
After bidding Sir Nathaniel a good night, Head In Chest came frightened to me again. Took some handholding, some leaning, but I got him settled down. Horatio and I checked the house to see what scared him. The Regulars were giving something in the attic stinkeye.
Soon, you bastards. Soon.
Dropped into deeper dreaming and found myself at the base in the forest. My hand was holding the door to the commander’s tower. I was picking up yesterday’s dream right where I left off. Only a second had passed here.
The shadow unit’s captain and two others from the fifty-odd man unit came with me. The base commander was waiting for me and was surprised to see the others with me.
“Weaver, the courier. Welcome.” He stood long enough to greet me and shook my hand. He returned the salute of the men behind me. “I understand you have something for me.”
“Yes, Sir. I do.” But I was not comfortable speaking it.
“Well?” He had a smirk on his face.
I kept my head still but made sweeping sideeye movements. I did not want company with me. He smiled openly. Fine. “Sir, the message is for you, and you, alone.” My severe tone chased his smile away. I realize my involvement in this may be part of a game, but I take my courier duties seriously.
He takes on my seriousness and dismisses the unit members that came with me. I close the door they left open in departing. “Speak freely, Weaver.”
I wanted to. But, my senses still were in alarm. “Sir. Have you a notepad? I am restrained from speaking. The walls have ears.” He laughs openly, starting to state his base is secure. But I remain silent and slowly shake my head from side to side. The gate guards were compromised and they did not know until the shadow unit confronted them. My courier duties will not allow me to speak if I sense eavesdroppers. His room was bugged, I’m sure.
As he retrieved paper and pen from his desk, I heard the shadow unit still in the hall. If I could hear them shuffling feet, they could hear my words. He handed me a pad. I ripped off the top sheet. He handed me a book to place the paper on. I draped it over my arm instead.
Writing the message, I duplicated it exactly the same as it was shown to me. No letter or space omitted. No errors corrected. I folded the paper, twice, and handed it to him while placing the pen on the desk. He stared at me while I made a formal bow indicating I have delivered the message.
He unfolded it, read it, scowled, read it again, then folded it and tucked it in his coat pocket. As courier I asked the required question. “Do you wish for me to return a message, Sir?” He shook his head.
“Did you know you were being followed?” “No, Sir.”
“What gave away the gate guards were imposters?” “Their… aura… I guess you could say. They had the right uniforms but the wrong spirit.”
“And the spirit of the unit that came to your defense?” “I can’t tell, Sir. Their armor hides it well.”
“Very well, Weaver. I have no returning message. Your duties are completed. Thank you.” I stand at Attention and salute the commander to his surprise. Before I could catch myself, I take a step backwards before turning About Face. “I thought you are civilian, Weaver.”
Embarrassed by the betrayal of sudden remembered training, I admit, “Civilian, now, Sir. Once upon a time… Well. Some training never leaves.” He laughs and nods. As I leave, he calls the shadow unit captain into his office.
I note there is a muttering about Weaver being in the base. Soldiers are trying to hang around for a glimpse of her. Time to scramble witnesses.
I walked cloaked through the commander’s tower in my trademark feathers, but when I passed through the door, I stepped into daylight as a tall, thin, light skinned, human male in a plain black leather cape. I made sure I turned my head when someone mentioned “Weaver?”. I noted some folks lost bets about my appearance.
I had a following even up to the repaired gate. As I passed that boundary, I changed form to a tall, too thin, pointy eared, fey androgynous youth wearing a cloak of black feathers. Looking back with a smile, I made sure everyone saw what I had become. The look on their faces made me laugh. It sounded like the wind was taunting them. In full light, and with deliberate showmanship, I turned into a raven and flew off.
The fading sounds behind me were full of “discussions” about my appearance. Now, not only was my gender in question, but my species as well.
I wake up full of nefarious chuckles.
Good morning.