The Kindling of Norwich Pt. 2

A short story of lost magic in England

This is Part Two of a short story I am working out for fun (to grow my writing and storytelling). You can read Part One here.

Edmund jogged down the cobblestone street of Elm Hill, dodging dark puddles and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. The narrow street ran parallel to the River Wensum, which powered the local watermills. From where the street laid, you could hear the slow current of the water rush past like marbles dancing over stones.

Edmund quickened his pace as he reached the end of the street. His Uncle William had drilled it into him at a young age that you weren’t properly on time unless you arrived before the other guests with your pipe already lit and smoking. He shook the water off his umbrella and caught his breath as he walked up toward the paneled building. An old wooden sign swung and creaked in the wind above his head, depicting three stags painted in white. Edmund looked up and grinned, the familiar haunt settling over him like home. He pushed through the door and headed toward a round table with two seats a few feet in front of the lively hearth.

The small room was lit by the dance of candlelight and flame and held the rich scent of tobacco and well-lived life. Each of the blood-red bricks on the floor was laden with centuries of secrets and stories: from flowering love to bitter betrayal, salted tears to crackling laughter. The Three Stags had been the hub of communal life in the village since the 15th century—a kind of chapel for the ordinary man, where the daily mass was a torn hunk of hot brown bread and foaming ale. This homely establishment proved that not every roof needed a steeple to be a place where you encountered the sacred.

“I knew you would already be here,” said Alden, taking off his wet coat as he sat down. He stretched his cold hands toward the leaping flames, trying to take the sharp edge off the English winter.

“It is only proper, my friend.” Edmund smiled, lifting his mug. “Besides, I knew the best ale runs out fast on Friday nights, so my motives were not purely honorable.”

Alden leaned in close and whispered in a nervous tone, “I was beginning to get worried. I sent you two letters in the post and never heard back from you. What happened?”

Edmund’s eyes flickered as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in butcher paper sealed with wax. He looked around the room before placing it down and pushing it slowly across the wood.

Alden looked down at the table, then quickly back up at Edmund. His hands trembled as he picked up and turned the brown parcel over, his eyes widening as they fell upon the scarlet-inked word stretched across the top: “BANNED.”

Underneath that word there was more writing in a smaller script, this time in black ink:

Prohibited Register: Class III - Gramarye

By formal decree, this volume is forbidden to be unsealed by any reader from this date forward, except under the express authority of the Chancellor and select Faculty of Cambridge, and solely for academic inquiry. It is to be held in secure keeping within the R.S.

Lord Arthur Cay
23 August, 1705

Edmund’s face was still as stone as he met the eyes of Alden. They sat there in a prolonged silence, both saying more than they could with words. Alden quickly took the wrapped book and placed it in his coat, making sure no other eyes would notice. Their hearts were racing and both felt as though a bolt of lightning had shot through their blood. They felt more alive than ever before and yet also more afraid.

“I didn’t want to have a paper trail in case something went wrong. That’s why I burned up your letters when I received them. I knew you would understand. It was too much of a risk.” Edmund leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of his ale.

Alden nodded in sober agreement and stared blankly into the fire. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind all at once. He had never been part of anything this dangerous in his life, but he felt like he had to. Like it was a responsibility — no, a calling. Something was certainly calling to him. The voice rang from a depth he didn’t know existed. He felt he had no choice but to see the whole of it through, no matter the consequences.