Pieces from The Mosaic

PIECES FROM

THE MOSAIC

by

Chris Keaton

Copyright 2017 by Chris Keaton

All rights reserved.

Except for the use of short excerpts for noncommercial review and instructional purposes, as permitted by current copyright law, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the authors or their authorized representatives.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Introduction

Magic is real.

I don’t say this lightly. I also don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not talking about illusions on stage, where a rabbit appears to materialize out of a hat, or a potion that can make someone love you. I’m talking about imagination, that thing that can create worlds in your mind and anything seems possible.

Imagination is why I started the story of The Mosaic. I imagined what could be and why it came to be. I imagined what kind of amazing history might be lurking under our routine existence. I also wanted to show that almost everything is amazing if you look at it the right way. To use an old saying, never judge a book by its cover.

The Mosaic, the universe I created, has endless possibilities, with so many stories that could be told from all times in human history. Pieces From The Mosaic is the child of these side stories.

I present you with a series of short stories set in the universe of The Mosaic. These stories span a great block of human history, from the ancient Mediterranean to a modern-day retirement community. For those of you who have read the novel, these stories will expand your view of the world prior to and during the events of The Mosaic. If you have picked this up before reading that, you’ll be introduced to the possibilities and rules of its world.

To benefit those not familiar with the novel, here is a little history of the universe you’re about to delve into:

Before the dawn of time, humankind and magickind lived hand in hand, but there was a break, a conflict. In the magic beings’ wisdom, they created a magical mosaic to forever contain all the magic in the world, separating mankind and magickind forever.

But nothing lasts forever...

Contents

INTRODUCTION

MAGIC BIT

INVISIBLE THIEF

MIDAS TOUCH

THE MAN WENT WEST

MIRROR, MIRROR

THE WEE FOLK

ALL THE LUCK

HAPPY HOME

ALL THAT’S PRETTY

THE FORGOTTEN GARDEN

THE OTHERS

LUCRETIA

Magic Bit

I don’t know where it came from originally. I just assumed my grandfather brought it home from Europe as a souvenir. I discovered it in the attic—a week after the reading of his will—on a hot July day, while knee-deep in cleaning out his house.

The WWII military chest had been buried under boxes and old magazines in the farthest reaches of the attic, with my granddad’s name, rank, and serial number stenciled on the lid: Sergeant Michael ‘Lucky’ Wilson.

He wasn’t Hobart, Harold, Elmer, or some other atrocious name they used back in the day, which was fortunate for me, since my parents had named me after him. My older sister, however, hadn’t been so lucky. They saddled her with Freda, after Mom’s favorite aunt.

Anyway, Sis had gotten it in her head that Gramps’ place must be chock-full of Antique Road Show fodder and didn’t want her dimwit little brother tossing anything of value out the door.

She’d been dogging me around the house all morning, inspecting the trash can every few minutes to be sure I hadn’t disposed of something in between eye blinks. At one point, I considered mentioning how she’d put Dad’s original Mickey Mantle baseball card in the spokes of her bike when she was a kid. I kept my mouth shut because I enjoyed being unbruised.

I’d forgotten what a pain she could be and finally had to get away from her before I lost it. While she basked in mismatched china in the kitchen, I decided to tackle the attic. Even though it would be hot as Hades up there, I definitely preferred it to Sis’s dramatic vocalizations that accompanied each of her archaeological discoveries.

Michael, please don’t throw out anything before I see it.

I wouldn’t dream of it. After all, the world might end just because I did something stupid like toss a piece of junk into the trash.

I’d been up there for nearly an hour when I discovered the old chest and dragged it into the center of the floor. I pushed sweat-damp hair off my forehead with the back of my hand. Mom always said I looked like the old codger when he was my age, with the same laid-back attitude. She’d say that if we were watching the end of the world, we’d both kick our feet up as if it were a baseball game. My gramps always said don’t worry about what you can’t change, and I’ve taken that to heart.

Our family was full of pithy sayings like that, and Granddad was full of tall tales. You could never be sure when he was spinning a yarn or telling the facts. I loved listening to his stories, true or not, especially the one about how he lost three fingers fighting Hitler. Imagine that. Of course, Mom said the story was preposterous. She was a young girl when he returned from the war, and by all her recollections, he had all of his digits at that time. I missed him and his stories.

I shook the lock with all ten of my digits. It responded by creaking. It wasn’t even going to be a challenge. I went downstairs into the basement to procure the necessary tools.

I enjoyed the cool air, a striking contrast to the heat and stuffiness of the attic. I rummaged around the basement and found his toolbox. Sis eyed me with suspicion when I headed back to the attic with tools in hand. Michael Wilson Junior! Where are you going with those?

I found a few nails sticking up. You wouldn’t want me to step on one. Then you’d have to take me to the hospital instead of being here to revel in all these treasures. I shot her a wide grin. The lie would cover any pounding I’d be doing while opening the chest. She returned to her packratting, while I trudged back up the stairs.

Not unexpectedly, the hasp gave way on the third hammer blow. With heady anticipation, I lifted the lid. Inside, I found a leather-wrapped package about the size of a loaf of bread. The joys of a childhood Christmas morning swirled in my head as I unwrapped it, but what I saw next put the brakes on my enthusiasm.

What I had unwrapped was a metal lockbox, and not only was it locked, but Granddad had filled the keyhole with lead and melted more around the edges and hinges. On the lid he’d taped a note: WARNING! DO NOT OPEN. The warning served to motivate me even more. I attacked the box with hammer and screwdriver. Because of all the pounding, I periodically stopped to listen for Sis coming up the stairs to see what the ruckus was about. At one point, she did holler up, Mike, is everything okay? You’re not breaking anything, are you?

I’m fine. I found more nails than I expected up here.

After several more attempts, the box finally gave up the ghost.

What the hell? Inside the box I found another package, this one tightly wrapped in frayed cloth and tied with twine, along with a second note: I MEAN IT! LEAVE IT ALONE!

I quickly, but carefully, unwrapped it to find a piece of ceramic half the size of a credit card and made up of a few painted tiles bound together by grayish mortar. The tiles were blue with a white haze over them. A hint of a black border ran along one edge.

That’s it? All that trouble for a piece of someone’s bathroom floor? Although I had to admit it would have been a pretty fancy bathroom. Whose house had it come from, and why was it wrapped this way?

The attic looked more of a mess than when I’d first come up, but I was hot and tired. I tossed the piece back into the chest and went downstairs to see if my sister had found any real treasures.

She caught me on the way down and gave me the stare. Did you find anything?

Besides mice? I smirked at her cringe. Just Granddad’s old military chest.

Anything in it? His uniform maybe? That could be valuable.

Nope, just a pile of old clothes and a pair of dirty shoes. Looks like you found something, though.

Some beer glasses. I wonder if they’re worth anything.

I picked up one with a duck painted on it. I highly doubt it.

You never know what collectors will pay money for. I’ve seen some surprising things on those antiques shows I watch. She turned back to the cabinets.

If you say so.

You just don’t know what something may be worth just by looking at it, Michael Trenton Wilson Junior. You don’t know everything.

Ah, she knows how much I hated being called by my full name. All right, enough of this crap. Matter of fact, I found something very valuable in the attic and I was going to keep it a secret.

Her eyes perked up. Really. Then she noticed my smirk. Yeah, right.

I rushed back up to the attic, grabbed that tile piece, and came back downstairs. Chuckling to myself I shouted, I’ve got the find of the century for you. Proud of myself I presented the tile to her. Check this out.

What is it? She turned around. Mike? Come on. She stared through me as if I wasn’t there. Where did you go?

I’m right here.

Michael, I don’t have time for games. She marched straight at me, and I stumbled back to get out of her way, but I wasn’t fast enough.

That’s when things got weird. Instead of knocking me down, she passed right through me! I’m not sure how people are supposed to react when something like that happens, but I jumped aside and let out a gasp... Okay, I might have squealed like a girl. The piece dropped out of my hand and onto the counter.

No doubt hearing my outburst, she stopped, swung around with her arms out, and smacked me.

Ow! I rubbed my cheek.

Damned fool. What’d you do that for? Are you trying to scare the bejeezus out of me?

What? You hit me! I was just going to show you— I touched the piece with my other hand, and she got that same look as before, only now her face had turned ghost white. And she fainted.

I caught her in time. Being made of sterner stuff, she recovered right away.

We spent the rest of that day and most of the night experimenting with that magic bit, as Sis christened it. We could walk through walls, even drop from one floor to another. Believe me that took both of us by surprise the first time it happened. It worked with your will power somehow. If you thought the floor could hold you, it did.

Anywho—one of Sis’s favorite words—by the early hours of the morning we both were well past the point of needing sleep.

You found this in the trunk? she asked. Maybe this is the treasure Granddad mentioned in his will.

We’d both heard that during the reading and had dismissed it as another of his exaggerated tales.

I didn’t think so, but I remembered something else about the attic. The dimensions just didn’t seem right.

Let’s check out the attic, I said. I have a feeling about something.

She narrowed her eyes at me.

I didn’t see any mice, if that’s what’s worrying you.

The attic space should’ve been a few feet wider. No one would’ve really noticed the difference, but I’d been sizing the place up for renovation when I noticed it. I grasped the magic bit and passed behind the odd wall. And that’s where we found his real treasure stash.

I produced the flashlight from my pocket and illuminated the dusty space and a dozen shiny gold bricks stacked neatly in the space barely large enough for me and my slight beer gut to fit. Of course, while I held the magic bit, I couldn’t touch them, so I set it down to lift a brick. Oh, yeah, they were real.

You’re kidding me, she said when I backed out of the wall.

Cross my heart and hope not to die by your hand, I said.

Well, isn’t that a fine Jim tooty.

I know she makes up these folksy phrases, but I agreed. A fine Jim tooty indeed. How are we gonna get them out?

You pick them up and carry them.

This is where I should mention that difficult tasks are best left to well-rested heads. Instead of doing the sensible thing, like pulling down one of panels to get at the gold, our sleep-deprived minds concocted a less strenuous course of action. I would grab a brick, grab the magic bit and in one smooth motion, I would push a brick through the wall then let go of the piece after the brick cleared the wall.

It was over in a split second. The first brick was liberated, as were half of my first three fingers. My sister’s shriek punctuated my Holy Mother of God! Then I saw blood gushing from my left hand. Let me tell you that it hurt. I collapsed to the floor yelling foul curses in between halting gasps.

I lay back, staring up in the poorly lit space. In my agony, stuck between the walls, I noticed a secret door that could only be opened from the inside. Gramps had written on the door I Warned You!

Granddad had given me several warnings, and I’d chosen to ignore them all.

I managed to grab the magic bit and roll myself through the wall.

Hold it tight! she said while she wrapped a towel around my hand. Tears had blurred my eyes as I heard her calling on her cell phone.

Thank you. Please hurry, she said. She turned to me. The ambulance is on the way. You’ll be fine. Stay calm.

We heard the siren approaching a few minutes later. Let’s get you downstairs, she said.