Status: Re-uploaded 29/09/2012. Paperback $15- http://www.lulu.com/shop/tristrum-rees/the-macabre-tales-of-young-edgar-paperback/paperback/product-20248115.html
The Macabre Tales of Young Edgar
Black Magic
'Oh, Edgar!' fawned the old Lord, when Edgar came to visit him in his study. 'However did you do this? Not only your latest story -polished to perfection, I might add- but a poem too!'
'Black magic,' replied the newly garbed young man, grinning devilishly.
His handsome mask was such that, had he known of the narrative traditions that were to follow later, he might have thought his grin vampiric. He was highly conscious of, and liked perhaps more than was healthy, the way his new, midnight black attire made his teeth and the whites of his eyes brilliant in the dim light, and the way it brought out even the faintest of flushes in his cheeks.
Illuminated thus by the sputtering piles of dribbled wax, much of his pallor was gone. In fact, he even had a youthful vigour. In particular, Edgar admired the way his high, bat-winged collar concealed his thin neck and the hollows underneath his collarbones. He relished the way his cape added weight to his shoulders, and was quick to throw it about, so that he also looked less stiff than usual. The cape cascaded down his back like a velvet waterfall, making him appear taller and more impressive.
He was pleased to see that the effect was not lost on Lord Edmund Vile.
'And you've even parted your hair the way I like it!' The smile that curved his lips, which were slightly plumper than Edgar's, was covetous and satisfied.
He reached out with a hesitant hand to pat at Edgar's slicked back locks, then quickly withdrew it, as though he thought he had better not. His fingers hovered over Edgar's hair as though torn between longing to touch a fragile relic, and the fear that they might sully it. A momentary frown eclipsed his smile like a cloud skating over the sun.
'I wanted to make you happy,' Edgar piped up, boldly. 'I thought I ought to smooth things over after our... disagreements, beginning with my appearance. You were right to observe my sickliness before, and it has done me good to hear it. I will make it my first priority to take better care of myself from now on. Thus, in turn, I may take care of you, my Lord, by not worrying you further.'
He feigned an expression of childish innocence that was pixie-like rather than cherubic when imposed on his thin features. Thus, not all of his deviousness was disguised. A hint of mischief still glittered in his hard, grey eyes.
'Why, Edgar, this is, er, most unexpected!' replied the Lord, happily. When he flushed, his cheeks and arched nose rouged in a rough, blotchy way, like wine spilt on a napkin when compared with his protégé’s rose-petal stains. His hands fumbled at the tip of his staff. Distracted by this unexpected turn of events, he had lapsed back into his stutter.
Could it be? he dared to hope. Does the lad return my affections? Has it simply taken him this long to come out of his shell?
'But, however did you manage it?' he pressed. 'A story and this poem in a single evening? Both for, er... me?' He almost choked the last syllable. 'I cannot express my, gratitude, and my, ah, admiration!'
'I suppose,' said Edgar, sweetly and through clenched teeth, 'that I was inspired. Your own poem was quite... enlightening, you know, and so I wished to emulate it. I owe my industry to you, just as I owe you so many other things.' He gestured broadly. The wide motion of his hands, which were now gloved like his benefactor's, encompassed the breadth and height of the spacious study as though it were the inside of the Sistine Chapel.
Lord Vile was easily persuaded. It was all he could do to nod and mutter, while privately, his thoughts raced.
Why does he come here directly? he wondered. He has never come to my study before, not in person, and not when he knows that I will be here. Whatever could he mean by it? Perhaps...
But, no! It would be disrespectful to the memory of his father, who only meant that I should care for the boy... and yet... What would be the harm in it? Who could dictate the details of our acquaintance?
The smitten Viscount held his breath when Edgar leaned closer, but he was disappointed.
'So,' the youth began. He led his host with a competence that had always lurked beneath the surface of his troubled demeanor, though it took great effort to dredge up and master. 'I believe you promised me a proper tour?'
Of course, Lord Edmund admitted, he was right.
'Black magic,' replied the newly garbed young man, grinning devilishly.
His handsome mask was such that, had he known of the narrative traditions that were to follow later, he might have thought his grin vampiric. He was highly conscious of, and liked perhaps more than was healthy, the way his new, midnight black attire made his teeth and the whites of his eyes brilliant in the dim light, and the way it brought out even the faintest of flushes in his cheeks.
Illuminated thus by the sputtering piles of dribbled wax, much of his pallor was gone. In fact, he even had a youthful vigour. In particular, Edgar admired the way his high, bat-winged collar concealed his thin neck and the hollows underneath his collarbones. He relished the way his cape added weight to his shoulders, and was quick to throw it about, so that he also looked less stiff than usual. The cape cascaded down his back like a velvet waterfall, making him appear taller and more impressive.
He was pleased to see that the effect was not lost on Lord Edmund Vile.
'And you've even parted your hair the way I like it!' The smile that curved his lips, which were slightly plumper than Edgar's, was covetous and satisfied.
He reached out with a hesitant hand to pat at Edgar's slicked back locks, then quickly withdrew it, as though he thought he had better not. His fingers hovered over Edgar's hair as though torn between longing to touch a fragile relic, and the fear that they might sully it. A momentary frown eclipsed his smile like a cloud skating over the sun.
'I wanted to make you happy,' Edgar piped up, boldly. 'I thought I ought to smooth things over after our... disagreements, beginning with my appearance. You were right to observe my sickliness before, and it has done me good to hear it. I will make it my first priority to take better care of myself from now on. Thus, in turn, I may take care of you, my Lord, by not worrying you further.'
He feigned an expression of childish innocence that was pixie-like rather than cherubic when imposed on his thin features. Thus, not all of his deviousness was disguised. A hint of mischief still glittered in his hard, grey eyes.
'Why, Edgar, this is, er, most unexpected!' replied the Lord, happily. When he flushed, his cheeks and arched nose rouged in a rough, blotchy way, like wine spilt on a napkin when compared with his protégé’s rose-petal stains. His hands fumbled at the tip of his staff. Distracted by this unexpected turn of events, he had lapsed back into his stutter.
Could it be? he dared to hope. Does the lad return my affections? Has it simply taken him this long to come out of his shell?
'But, however did you manage it?' he pressed. 'A story and this poem in a single evening? Both for, er... me?' He almost choked the last syllable. 'I cannot express my, gratitude, and my, ah, admiration!'
'I suppose,' said Edgar, sweetly and through clenched teeth, 'that I was inspired. Your own poem was quite... enlightening, you know, and so I wished to emulate it. I owe my industry to you, just as I owe you so many other things.' He gestured broadly. The wide motion of his hands, which were now gloved like his benefactor's, encompassed the breadth and height of the spacious study as though it were the inside of the Sistine Chapel.
Lord Vile was easily persuaded. It was all he could do to nod and mutter, while privately, his thoughts raced.
Why does he come here directly? he wondered. He has never come to my study before, not in person, and not when he knows that I will be here. Whatever could he mean by it? Perhaps...
But, no! It would be disrespectful to the memory of his father, who only meant that I should care for the boy... and yet... What would be the harm in it? Who could dictate the details of our acquaintance?
The smitten Viscount held his breath when Edgar leaned closer, but he was disappointed.
'So,' the youth began. He led his host with a competence that had always lurked beneath the surface of his troubled demeanor, though it took great effort to dredge up and master. 'I believe you promised me a proper tour?'
Of course, Lord Edmund admitted, he was right.
