Wyk

The Arthurs

They were in the middle of a nothing.

The nothing, it is fair to say, had somewhat taken Wyk and Marie by surprise. One moment, the pair had been walking along a rutted track, flanked on one side by a wall and surrounded by other animate entities, moving in largely the same direction; the next, well, the wall wasn’t there. Nor was the path; and nor, for that matter, was anybody, or anything else.

Wyk felt strangely unperturbed by this turn of events. The nothing felt strangely familiar: it was more a vague, nondescript space in between places than a complete absence of anything. It felt familiar, and besides, thought Wyk, she’d already had quite enough to be perturbed about. After they had left The Square, she couldn’t stop herself bombarding Marie with a fusillade of questions; these had petered out, however, as she found the answers only added to her confusion. Given that nothing made any sense whatsoever, she could take additional, random happenings, beings and so on largely in her stride.

Speaking of her companion: interestingly enough, Marie was still right there, by Wyk’s side. She carried her red coat under her arm and, frankly, she did not look happy. If Wyk wasn’t mistaken, Marie was starting to look just a bit angry. Nonetheless, Wyk couldn’t resist asking one more question—at the very least, to register her curiosity about the whole nothing thing.

“Um, what’s going on?”

“I’m not absolutely sure,” said Marie, through gritted teeth.

“Where did everyone go?” In for a penny, thought Wyk.

“They, well… here they are,” said Marie, just as everything, and everyone, reappeared once more.

“But…”

“Let’s just keep walking.”

“But can’t I…”

“Listen,” said Marie, making no further attempt to hide her exasperation. “There’s simply too much going on, and I can’t explain anything at all, not this, not anything. Not before you have understood, well, all that you are going to understand really soon. I promise, trust me, the Arthurs will explain everything.”

“The Arthurs will?”

“Yes. Well. In a manner of speaking. Trust me.”

“But…”

“Non. Je n’en peut plus.”

That was that: Marie clearly wasn’t going to say anything else. As the two trudged on in silence, Wyk found herself biting her lip, to stop herself from asking the questions still bubbling up within her. She could hardly help but be intrigued: it really had been such an interesting nothing, she wondered if it might actually have been a something; and meanwhile, of course, the whole ‘The Arthurs will explain’ thing was pretty darned weird. She glanced at Marie, who was staring straight ahead of her, jaw fixed and stride resolute. Perhaps now wasn’t the moment to chat, Wyk decided, keeping in step as best she could. Perhaps she should just accept that the nothing was no longer there, replaced once more by the motley collection of characters also making their way along the rutted track, in turn flanked, as this was still, by the wall.

For some reason (perhaps linked to the all-too-recent emotional overload Wyk had experienced before meeting Marie), Wyk didn’t want her mind to dwell on the other characters lining the track. Even if a telephone booth had just sauntered past her, that set of questions could wait to be answered. She was, nonetheless, really curious about all the walking—they seemed to have done nothing but walk since Marie first jumped up from the table at the café—but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful for the help. Marie seemed to know where she was going, so perhaps she should let that sleeping dog lie as well…

To take her mind off, well, everything, Wyk found herself paying the wall a fair amount of attention. It was old, for sure: built from large, oblong blocks of roughly dressed limestone, each looking too heavy for a person to lift, and all arranged into place without any apparent use of mortar. Wyk was more familiar with modern walls, which were generally made of brick; this looked more like something out of a film Mo might have talked about. Plus, the wall was getting bigger: Wyk could distinctly remember it being no higher than her waist, but now it reached up to her shoulders. As they continued, it wasn’t long before it was above their heads.

“Nearly there,” said Marie, unable to disguise her relief. “Look, there’s the gateway.” Wyk could, indeed, make out an arch in the distance. The closer they became, the taller the wall loomed until it towered above them. And before long, they arrived in front of the arch, which did indeed have a metal gateway inside. In Wyk’s eyes, the whole thing looked considerably like a medieval fort. That is, if she had known what medieval forts looked like, which she didn’t, precisely: she only had what Mo had said to go on. But anyway.

“This way!” said Marie, sweeping under the arch and through the black-painted gateway. Following as best she could, Wyk found herself inside a vast courtyard. To her left, a row of trees provided dappled shade to horses tethered below their branches. On her right, alcoves within the wall were stacked with fighting equipment. Wyk could see swords of all shapes and sizes, from a slender rapier to a giant scimitar, and long poles topped with a variety of sharp, pointy things. Ahead of her were rows upon rows of tables and chairs, stretching away into the furthest corners of the courtyard. Most chairs were occupied, largely by bearded men: each was looking studiously at the table in front of them. Upon each table was a black and white checkered board, decked with carved figurines. Occasionally, Wyk noticed, one of the (largely) men would pick up one of these and move it a short distance across the board, before putting it down again.

“What’s that?” Asked Wyk.

“It’s a game, it’s called chess. You shift your pieces around the board, and try to capture your opponent’s pieces. Each can only move in certain directions. It’s quite entertaining,” said Marie.

“Okay,” said Wyk, quite mesmerised by the scene. “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to one of the nearest (largely) men. He was older, with a grey beard. On his head was a small circlet of jewel-studded gold.

“Ah, that’s Arthur. King Arthur, to be precise. He comes here every day.”

“And how about that one?” Wyk shoved a finger towards a younger man, with a lush, black beard.

“That’s King Arthur, too.”

“Oh. That’s stra… who even is King Arthur?”

“Arthur was an ancient king of England. He was a lowly pauper, but then he pulled a sword from a stone, which proved he was the true king. Then he had many adventures, and fought a last battle before going away forever,” said Marie. “It’s said he will return one day, to fight the final battle, when the need is the greatest.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because I asked one of them! That one, I think,” said Marie, pointing to a particularly good looking fellow. She smiled, and shrugged.

“Who’s he? Don’t tell me, it’s King Arthur.”

“How did you guess?” Marie cocked her head. “They’re all King Arthurs. Or at least, most of them. There’s a couple of tourists in there.”

“Those ones?” Wyk asked, pointing at a couple of women in the middle distance.

“Oh no, they’re Arthurs. Alternate histories,” said Marie.

Wyk wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “But, what are they all doing here, these Arthurs?”

“They’re playing chess!” laughed Marie.

“But why?” asked Wyk, persevering.

“I genuinely don’t know, but I do know that they keep coming back. They must enjoy chess, I suppose! Every now and then, another one appears: eventually, they all find their way here, I think. It keeps them happy.” Whatever their reasons, the Arthurs looked like they were taking their games very seriously. A crowd had gathered around one table, voices hushed. “They must be close to finishing. Let’s watch,” Marie continued. The pair moved to stand with the crowd, and all looked on as the two Arthurs stared at each other.

“It’s very slow,” whispered Wyk.

“Shhh! Look, he’s about to move.”

Wyk wasn’t sure how Marie knew this, but eventually one of the Arthurs did indeed lift his arm and move one of the pieces—a black one—towards the other player. The other sat for an interminable amount of time, before reaching out and flicking one of his pieces over.

“What just happened?” said Wyk, still whispering.

“He resigned,” said Marie in a normal voice. That’s why he knocked over his own piece.

“Oh,” said Wyk, feeling decidedly flummoxed about the whole thing. Questions were bubbling up inside her like a spring—about the game, about the Arthurs, about all of it. “I still don’t understand why there are so many of them,” she said.

“No, but you will,” said Marie. “Trust me, I said, right?”

“Sure. I guess.”

“Everybody does understand, eventually.”

“Oh. Right.”

“If they want to, of course.”

“Right.”

“It sometimes takes a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll just stop saying anything now.”

“Okay.” Wyk paused. “Right.” Another, longer pause. “But…” On the tables all around Wyk and Marie, the Arthurs carried on playing their games of chess, or watching others, or simply idling around. “Wait.”

“What?” asked Marie.

“Um… nothing. It’s just…”

“Go on.”

“No, sorry, nothing.” Wyk bit her lower lip, as she knew she did when she was concentrating. Or at least, she thought she knew. “But…”

“Yes?”

“But, these Arthurs. Why are they all here?”

“Well, that’s for you to work out.”

“Why are there so many of them? It doesn’t make sense. Unless, I don’t know. Are they… it’s almost like… I mean… well, it’s like… Well. What is this place, anyway?”

“Which place?”

“This courtyard castle thing.”

“Ah, that’s for you to work out as well.”

“Oh come on, this isn’t fair!”

“It’s not supposed to be fair.”

“Please! Couldn’t I have a hint?”

“Okay. Understand this place, and you understand the Saysay.”

“Right.” Another pause. “It’s almost like… it’s almost like, I mean, I could imagine, that, well, it’s like these Arthurs, they’re all from the same story. Are they actors?”

“Not really, but sort of.”

“Why is it mostly men?” asked Wyk. “Where are the women? Weren’t there women in those stories as well?”

“Well, yes.”

“Oh, wait. Are all the women somewhere else?”

“No.”

“They’re not actors, then.”

“No, they’re not.”

“You’re being infuriating! So, what are they?”

“Just… look. Open your mind. Allow what you see to become its own explanation. Stop asking, and start paying attention.”

“But, what…”

“Shut up and just… look at them, properly!” hissed Marie.

“Bu…”

“Shhhh!”

Wyk shhhhed. She glanced at Marie, who was staring straight ahead again, hands clasped in front of her. With no other option, Wyk forced herself to stare at the Arthurs.

At first, nothing happened. Then, still nothing happened. And then… what was that? For a tiny moment, the Arthurs seemed to blur, their edges losing their detail. Simultaneously, Wyk’s mind started playing tricks on her. The more she tried to focus, the less the Arthurs seemed to matter. As she stared at one, bearded man, she started to wonder why he was there at all… And then, the Arthurs became rows of bearded men playing a game, once again.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“You know, they all changed!”

“Ah. Did they now.” Marie looked strangely satisfied.

“Yes! You didn’t see?”

“No. But, that’s because I chose not to,” said Marie.

“What?”

“I chose not to. You have a choice as well, you know.”

Wyk looked back at the Arthurs. As she did, they seemed to blur once again, before snapping back to their normal selves.

“What are they?”

“That, my dear girl, is why we are here, for you to answer that very question.”

“Oh.” Wyk furrowed her brow. “Well. They’re not people, then?”

“No.”

“Are they even real?”

“What is real?”

“Well, I am!” Marie didn’t say anything to that, but Wyk continued regardless. “It’s almost like… it’s almost like they only exist because they’re characters in a story!”

“That’s what I thought at first, but it is more complicated than that.”

“But that’s impossible!” said Wyk, pressing on. “Characters don’t exist, not just like that! Do they?”

“They’re not quite characters, Wyk…”

Wyk thought really, really hard. “If they’re not characters, what are they? Wait. They’re all from stories about Arthur, right?”

Marie nodded.

“So, where are all the other characters? And how do they just appear?”

Marie shrugged. “That is what you are working out.”

“Can’t you give me a clue?”

“No, but understand these things, and you understand the Saysay.”

Wyk’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are there are as many Arthurs, as there are stories about Arthur?”

“Perhaps.” Marie shrugged again, adding the slightest of nods.

“I get it! They’re the essence of stories about Arthur, represented by the main character! That makes sense.” And just for a moment, to Wyk, it really did. “They’re men because, well, that’s what that particular story is about. Being a man, in a man’s world.”

“You’re right. It’s not pretty, but it’s true.”

“And this place, it’s not death, it’s where stories come to life!”

“You could put it that way, yes.”

“This is great,” said Wyk, smiling broadly. Finally, something about this place, whatever it was, made sense. She looked at the tables, at each of the (largely) men playing chess, at how they looked, in general, quite content with their lot. For a moment they shimmered again, before settling down once more but Wyk wasn’t phased this time. “Yeah, this is really great,” she said as she looked beyond the Arthurs and at the walls beyond, at the accoutrements of battle within the alcoves, and at all the people watching the gameplay, just like they were. “So, those people there, they’re stories too?”

“Everything that you see. Look, let me show you something.” Marie picked up a table and moved towards the entrance to the courtyard. As she approached the gateway, the table collapsed into dust. At precisely the same moment, the air shimmered where the table had been, and it reappeared as though it had never moved. “It’s just a concept, part of the story, of this place.” She waved her arms as she walked back.

“This place is a story?”

“You’ve got it. Everything is a story, or belongs to one.“

“Yeah, that makes sense. And—wow!—that’s why there’s been all those strange folks on the road!”

“Precisely.”

Wyk was smiling broadly. She carried on smiling, then… then it was like a smile remained, but behind it, her face was finding it hard to keep up the appearance of delight. “So… Marie,” she continued, her voice quavering ever so slightly.

“Yes, my dear.”

“What… what am I?”

Wyk already knew the answer. She knew it just as she knew how Tammy and Mo loved stories, they were forever reading books, and how Sahil never seemed that interested, and how Adam, and Lucy, and her little brother used to play games but these days just seemed to hang around in the park. She knew it, just as she knew all of these people so well that it hurt, and yet they didn’t know her. And nor could they, because they were just characters in her story. Her story… she played the concept over and over in her head. “Oh crap. Oh crappity crap. But I thought…”

“Of course you did. We choose what we want to think.”

Wyk’s face had well and truly dropped. “No, that’s not how it is! Yes, it is, isn’t it?” She held up her hands, and as she did, she saw them shimmer ever so slightly, before settling back down.

“Wyk,” said Marie, smiling gently.

“I think I need to sit down.” Wyk allowed her legs to shift beneath her until she was, indeed, sitting on the dusty stone of the courtyard. “A story. Is that all I am?”

“That is what you are. But, that’s not all you are. You are far more than that.”

“I am?”

“The Saysay, yes? We’re here because we exist, because our stories are being told. That means, somewhere, to somebody, you matter.”

“I do?”

“You do. I said you could trust me, yes?”

“Yes. I think.” It wasn’t that Wyk wasn’t sure, but more that, having completely lost track of what she thought was real, concepts like trust were somewhat out of her grasp. At least all those questions she had no longer felt urgent, she thought.

“Now you know why you are here. But you still do not understand how you are here.”

“I don’t? No, I don’t.”

“No, you don’t. And, to tell you the truth, nor do I. You should not have come to my café, not without coming here first. You should have gone to The Square, and then arrived at this place. It is all very strange.”

That was something Wyk could agree with. “It is,” she said.

“Things should happen in the right order,” said Marie. “If the order is changed, there must be a reason, non?”

“Like what?”

“That, I do not know.”

This was not helping Wyk’s anxiety. “Why didn’t you disappear?” she said, abruptly.

“What?”

“You know, when everything vanished. On the path.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yes, that. Everything disappeared, but I could still see you.”

Marie shrugged. “I’m not sure about that, either.”

“Oh.” Wyk looked crestfallen.

“But I do know that everything is connected, even if the relationships aren’t clear. Maybe my story and your story are linked in some way.”

“Am I like the table?”

Marie laughed at this. “Oh no, dear, you are not like the table. But… but, when you arrived, that was not normal. When everything disappeared, that was not normal. Everything is connected, I’m sure of that. We need to find the reason”—Marie emphasised this word—“and then all will become clear, I know it.”

“Oh. Good.”

“We will work it out!”

“We will?”

“Of course. You have a lot to find out, a lot to learn, and a lot more to understand. You just need to be patient!”

Wyk wasn’t feeling particularly patient. ”Can we leave now?”

“Yes, let’s. Now you know what you know, we can start.”

“Start?”

“Oh, my dear, this just the beginning.”

They exited, via the same entrance they had arrived. Marie looked determined, and Wyk felt more perturbed than ever.