An Exaltation of Muse Ch. 04

An Exaltation of Muse Ch. 04

Thalia is mentor to the frustrated muses assigned to writers who don't publish stories but comment freely—and frequently harshly—on other writers' stories. She has dubbed this unlucky lot Muses to the Overt Commentariat (MOCs); they meet each Wednesday at their local, The Fleeting Muse. Three Wednesdays ago she mocked some of the commentators assigned to the muses present, paying particular attention to the one attended to by Clio; she then held Clio up to ridicule for not properly inspiring him. Two Wednesdays ago, she apologized profusely for being so thoughtless and rude, then tried to explain how and why she came to be assigned as mentor to the MOCs. Wednesday last she was struck by a lightning bolt as she left the pub, found herself in a surgery waiting room, then was taken to a pub in a sedan chair borne by invisible carriers. In this pub, The Uneasy Head, she is met by her father Zeus, the king of all gods, who advises her how to find her heart's desire.

Previously on An Exaltation of Muse:

Zeus leaned forward and fixed her with a godly glare. "Be consistent; don't jump back and forth between being a sarcastic prima donna and a comforting best friend. In your discourse with others, always be honest; never take the easy way, instead make the hard choices." He cushioned her hand beneath his. "And don't worry about them liking you, Thalia, worry about them respecting you."

He abruptly stood, his anorak and cap replaced the chiton. His face reverted to the features of a handsome, virile young man, not the commanding visage of the king of gods. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment—or soon will make one—with a winsome milkmaid I spied entering a nearby barn." He leaned down and kissed her gently on the top of her head, then disappeared.

Thalia looked about frantically, but he was truly gone; no one else seemed to have noticed his disappearance. Just then she heard several horses whickering outside the pub, then a coachman opened the door and looked about. Spying Thalia, he gestured for her to come along.

"Your coach awaits, My Lady Thalia." When he saw her glance toward the toilets, he hastened to assure her. "You'll not need to use the facilities, it shall be a brief journey." And so it was.

IN WHAT SEEMED but a few minutes, Thalia felt and heard the carriage wheels clattering over cobblestones, then they lurched to a stop. Once again the horses whickered their impatience at not moving. She peered out the window and was startled to see that they were standing outside The Fleeting Muse.

While she pondered how such a long outbound trip could be navigated in reverse so quickly, the coachman clambered down, opened the door, and placed a velvet-covered footstool on the ground. After Thalia stepped down, he handed her the briefcase and purse she had carried into the pub when she last visited. He addressed her before she could ask how he came by her possessions.

"It's now Wednesday next, yer Ladyship. Time flows like a river, and we be aught but flotsam and jetsam carried hither and yon in its current." With that, he gathered up the footstool, climbed back up to his post, fanned the reins in his hands, and shouted "Blucher!" The four black chargers reared, whinnied, then thundered off, dragging the carriage up Tribar Mews at a terrible pace.

Thalia stood for a few moments, trying to reconcile the footman's calendrical announcement and florid philosophy with her perception that only a few hours, at most, had passed since Zeus summoned her from this very spot with a lightning bolt. Accepting that hers was not to question why, she set the briefcase and purse down, smoothed her hair and clothes—noting without surprise that she was wearing different, yet still stylish, business wear—then picked up her accoutrement and enteredThe Fleeting Muse.

SHE SMILED AT THE familiar confines—and odors—but was surprised that none of the MOCs (Muses to the Overt Commentariat) were here yet. She thought that a bit odd, since the clock over the bar said it was already gone five. She shrugged and walked up to the bar. The barman held up a bottle of Navy Strength and gave her a quizzical look. "No thank you, I would prefer a lemon squash." She pointed to the stock of beer glasses. "A pint, mind, not one of your wee girly glasses.

The barman chuckled as he fixed her drink and put it on the bar, then waved toward the pushed-together tables. "It being Wednesday, we supposed the other ladies would be gathering today, so we fixed the tables ready for them. They should arrive quite soon now." He glanced down at her purse and briefcase, then reached for her glass on the bar. "Carry your drink for you?"

Thalia smiled at his chivalrous offer and wished she knew his name so she could thank him properly. "No thank you, kind sir, I can manage." Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she hefted the briefcase, picked up her drink, and walked to the empty tables. Sitting toward the middle, she took the laptop from her briefcase and opened it on the table.

Before she had a chance to turn it on, the screen lit up with the image of Zeus. "I forgot to tell you what you'll be doing next. You won't be babysitting the MOCs anymore." He explained how and where she was going to spend the next few years. Or perhaps centuries. Thalia found the news rather exciting.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, daughter dear, I have an appointment to partake of a bit more milk of human kindness." He leered as his image faded, replaced by the Windows logo, which Thalia did not find rather exciting.

Sweeping in on a wave of laughter, four MOCs came into The Fleeting Muse. The laughing stopped when they saw Thalia, then all four tried to talk at once.

"Thalia! What happened/Are you all right? Did you/Crikey, that must have been/Glad you're okay." They paused for breath, then spoke together as a Greek chorus. "You are okay, aren't you?"

Thalia just grinned and gestured for them to stop. "Sit, sit, I'll tell you all about it immediately the others get here." Just then two more came in the door; within a few minutes, all the chairs were filled with familiar faces. Thalia signaled the barman, who dispatched a barmaid. "Drink up, ladies, I'm standing the first round. Please think of it as penance for my churlish behaviour, and a bribe to listen for a mo."

When their drinks arrived, she stood and raised her glass in a toast. "To paraphrase Tricky Dick, you don't have Thalia to kick around anymore. This is my last meeting."

Again, they spoke together, a Greek chorus. "Who?" Thalia sighed.

"Never mind, it's not important. Now remember, those drinks are supposed to bribe you to let me talk for a while." They quieted down, still curious about Thalia's newfound solicitude.

SHE FOUND HERSELF slipping into Received Pronunciation. "This is the last time I'll join you in any official capacity. I've been reassigned—not to Coventry, praise the gods—by my very own father. He said I'm about as inspiring as a dog's breakfast, so how on Earth could I guide an exaltation of muse?" She quaffed a deep draught of her lemon squash and, fleetingly, wished it were augmented by some Navy Strength. "The solution, of course, was to get me off Earth.

"Some of you have divined, albeit in a lesser fashion, that many, if not most of the men you're trying to inspire are seriously damaged. A few may be broken beyond repair. The best you can hope for in those cases is merely to soothe, not motivate. Olympus knows, it's gone time to accept more realistic goals." A nervous murmur passed around the group.

"And speaking of Olympus, my secondment is there. I'm being relocated to a darling bedsit above the nicest Olympian brothel—well, the only Olympian brothel, but that's neither here nor there. It has a fibre link direct to the interweb backbone that Daddy Zeus claims is good for a gig down and half a gig up. I shall believe that when I see it." She spun her laptop so all could see a splash screen that proclaimed Thalia Thinks It Through!

"The exclamation point wasn't my idea, I think it's a bit twee." She shrugged. "But it's not mine to change. In any case, I'll be writing the occasional blog on topics of my choosing. In the main, I'll probably choose—"

Once again, as on the Wednesday last, a brilliant light flared through every opening to the outside, accompanied by a stupendous thunderclap that made everyone clap their hands over their ears. The pub was plunged into stygian blackness, a momentary silence was quickly broken by exclamations of fear and—in a few instances, where a pint had been tipped into a lap—of outrage.

In a few moments the lights sputtered back. Shrieks quickly quietened to murmurs, until one of the MOCs, most later recalled it was Clio, cried out. "Bloody hell! Thalia's gone!"

And so she was.

Relax, there's no more.