1
Grober Gasher, or Mr. Gasher as his friends called him, was just putting down his steaming cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Now, Mr. Gasher was not very surprised at this. For you see, Mr. Gasher was the mayor of the small town of Baste Ville, which happened to be named after his great-great aunt. In Baste, as most people called it, everyone was related to each other in some way. So naturally everyone was treated with equal rights as if everyone were of the same family.
There was only one person who had no relation to anyone. His name was Stride Dragorn. Most people kept a distance from him, as he was of the “unusual western type”. One thing that bothered most people was that his first name and last name started with two different letters. It was the custom of the Bastes to name their Younglings with a name that matched their last name. Stride lived at a house at the end of town, where he settled down to spend the rest of his days.
When Mr. Gasher opened his door he was surprised to see Stride huddling under his umbrella. As soon as Mr. Gasher had opened the door Stride ran in, threw down his umbrella, and sat himself into Mr. Gasher’s favorite chair. Mr. Gasher shut the door, dried off Stride’s umbrella, and sat down on the other chair. “Chilly night,” Stride noted. He picked up the now warm cup of tea and took a long drought. Mr. Gasher walked over to his desk where he took his pair of spectacles. When he sat down again he was all business.
“Yes, it is a chilly night.” Said Mr. Gasher as he took a pen out of his left pocket. He took a pad of paper from off the small circular table in front of him. His grandfather had made it seventy years ago and he was very proud of it. “So what brings you here on this chilly night?” Mr. Gasher asked. Most likely he is here to argue about our housing arrangements Mr. Gasher thought.
In fact, that was the exact reason Stride was here. Now, you must remember that the people of Baste, or the Bastes as they were called, were all six feet high. So, everyone’s house was built so that each floor was exactly seven feet high. Now, Stride had nothing against this, as he was six feet also, but it was the houses them selves that he didn’t like. For you see, to you and me their house is particular. But to the Bastes there houses were normal. Now, the Bastes loved old style houses, for they were in their Medieval age. They still used swords, horses, and carts. Carriages were sadly not created yet. The Bastes loved the earth, as most of them were gardeners. What they would do to build their houses took a while. First, they would dig a very deep hole. Then, they would build a Medieval style house from the bottom to the top. In the end, all floors were bellow ground. Now, unlike the rest of the Bastes, Stride hated far underground. Which was unfortunate, because all the houses in Baste Ville were made underground.
“I come to complain about the,” Stride took a long pause “housing arrangements.” Mr. Gasher sighed. He knew this day would come eventually. His friends had told him of Strides complaining and saying that he was going to talk to the mayor about it. Now, in Baste talking to the mayor was a big thing. It certainly wasn’t done by ringing the doorbell, sitting down, and declaring the meaning of your coming. The Bastes were courteous folk, and meeting the mayor was planned and scheduled carefully months before.
Stride looked around the room. A candle chandelier dating back many generations lit the room. In fact, almost everything in the mayor’s house dated back from the Early Days as it was called, when swords were sharp rocks and houses were burrows. There was a desk that sat in the corner of the room with papers piled neatly in stacks. On the other side of the desk were a book and a feather pen. In the other corner of the room was a door frame that let to the kitchen. There was no door, and no one knew why. The real reason was that Gasber Gasher, Grober Gasher’s great grandfather, liked to bake a meal for his guest while he was doing his mayor business.
“Is it possible if I build my house, above ground? You know, only one story. So that it looks nice and tidy.” Mr. Gasher was a bit surprised by this. He had expected Stride to ask to move away. But instead he had asked him to build himself a house above ground. Which, as every good little Baste knows, is preposterous. “Well…” Mr. Gasher decided, “I guess we could…” “I’ll pay for the materials and the land!” Stride declared. “Deal.” Mr. Gasher and Stride shook hands. This would not be the last time.
Stride jump to his feet, grabbed his umbrella, and ran out the door. Stride ran as the rain poured on, sometimes slipping on the wet cobblestone. It had grown dark and already the sun had disappeared behind the hills of the west. Suddenly out of the darkness a foot shot out and tripped him. There was only one person in the whole of Baste who had the courage to stand up to Stride, Chesker Caphen. Chesker was the bully of the town and wanted something Stride had and no one else, gold. Stride had moved in with an innumerable amount of gold. Some believed that a fairy created gold for him by the thousands. But of course, fairies are only myths in stories from the Early Days.
“Look who ran past.” Chesker said smugly. “Running off to gloat over your money no doubt.” “Actually,” Stride said while getting up, “I was just going home to make plans for my new house.” “Humph. That’s just a cover story, isn’t it.” While they were talking Stride’s best friend walk up behind Chesker. His name was West Wasé. “Knock it of Chesker.” He said as he shoved Chesker out of the way. “Stride, do you need any help with the planning?” “In fact I do,” Stride answered gratefully “my mind is too full of Victorian houses. I need some more, eh, interesting ideas.”
They walked down the open street while Chesker sulkily crept away into the shadow of one of the houses. He walked over to his house at the edge of town. His wife would be baking cookies, which would keep his kids at bay. He smirked as he climbed through the window of his pitch-black room and walked down his familiar steps to the locked room that know one went to but him. If you went close enough to the door you could just hear the piercing cry as he activated his portal.
By the time Chesker entered his house West and Stride were all ready had reached the end of town. It was almost Seven-O-clock in the evening when they reached Stride’s house. His house, unlike the other houses, had a very plain look to it. It was build like an ordinary house, out of red bricks with cement filling, unlike all the other marble houses that reflected light. Some Bastes laughed at his house, some smirked or haughtily walked away. Most people took a glance and quickly walked past. For you see, the Bastes were very proud of their houses and Stride’s did not fit their standard.
Stride fished through his pocket for his key. He took out a short weather worn copper key. Stride carefully fed it through a brass lock on his dark brown door. On the top of the door was a golden lions head, which had a small loop for a knocker. It was weather worn yet still magnificent. It’s face stood proud and fierce, staring into the eyes of all who stood on the front step. It had been there ever since the settling of the town, which was one hundred forty years ago. Some say the dwarfs crafted it out of golden rocks that were more valuable than gold and held mystic powers. Stride would never sell the knocker for two reasons, one: it was a beautiful door knocker, two: it was so weather worn it wouldn’t be worth over half it’s full price.
There was a soft click as the door opened. Stride turned on the light as West hanged his coat up on a coat rack near the door.
They dried off their umbrellas and set them near the door. The inside of his house was much more beautiful than the outside. There was a crystal chandelier that was lit by seven candles who’s light lit the whole room. There were two comfortable looking chairs that sat around a round table near a blazing fire. On the table was a scroll that was been held by three stones. On the other side of the room was a table with a feather pen and some ink. The ceiling was of course seven feet high.
That all I wrote- for now....
