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Characters: Silver and Phosphorus
Gen, c.2700 words
For bluespirit.
Sing A Song Of Silver
There was music coming from somewhere. Silver looked instinctively for an orchestra, but instead saw only a small box at the side of the room. He glared at it in mild disapproval, for the room was a sumptuous one, the perfect setting for a live recital. Nonetheless it was a cold room - a chill seemed to lurk, despite the fire that burned in an ornate hearth. It put him immediately on guard, for it made the back of his neck prickle, in expectation of lurking danger.
"So where are we today?" he asked the room at large. Only silence answered him. He had materialised beside a piano, gleaming from a recent application of furniture polish, and he realised that he could see himself reflected in its surface. A trace of a frown looked back at him, and he allowed it to smooth itself away, his bushy eyebrows repositioning themselves into an expression of mild curiosity. He was dressed, as ever, in a neat, grey suit, but in place of the usual, matching tie, he was wearing a silver cravat. The effect pleased him, and he admired it for a second, congratulating whatever instinct, or order from Beyond, had conjured it. He allowed himself a little self-satisfaction, before turning to explore - and stopped short. There was somebody new in the room. Somebody not at all welcome.
"Oh, not you." Silver's expressive eyebrows regained a little of their frown, embellished now with more than a hint of displeasure. The new arrival, in the form of a younger man, with rather spiky, ill-behaved hair, smiled in undeterred cheer.
"And hello to you too." He sauntered closer, his perfect dress suit flickering from black to white to brilliant red, as though attempting to coax ever greater horror. "What's the show?"
"Nothing that could possibly require your services, I'm sure." Silver sighed, resigning himself to the assistance. Assignments were not given out in error, and were certainly not up for appeal. "Oh do stop flickering about like that, Phosphorus. We're supposed to be unobtrusive."
"Do humans not change the colour of their clothes?" asked his companion, the innocence of his voice rather belied by the bright spark of mischief in his eyes. The outfit changed colour again, to a bright shade of the palest grey, before apparently settling there. His eyes had changed colour to match it, and they glowed with a distinctly inhuman light.
"I can only assume that I did something particularly awful on my last assignment." Rolling his eyes in eloquent illustration of his woe, Silver turned away to once again begin an examination of their surroundings. "And in answer to your question, the 'show' isn't clear as yet. We appear to be in a building. It's very large; built of stone, I would say; and rather old. Aesthetically pleasing, but full of antiques. Any number of places for Time to make an entrance. Did you notice how cold it is?"
"Yes, I did. It's nothing to do with the temperature though. I doubt anybody other than us would notice it. Yet." Phosphorus ran a hand over a bust on a nearby shelf. "Not all of these are antiques, you know. Some pieces are old, but others are new. There are quite a few anachronisms here."
"Yes, I'd noticed that. The room has the look of the 1930s, but some pieces date from the 1960s. One or two from the 1990s." Silver picked up an ornament at random, and turned it over in his hands. "This is plastic, but it's been made to resemble metal. Quite the patchwork."
"But is that more or less deadly than if everything were from the same era?" asked Phosphorus, setting off towards a doorway on the other side of the room. His feet struck sparks from the floor as he went, and the little radio that had seemed so anticlimactic to Silver upon his arrival, crackled briefly and fell silent as he went past. Silver's eyebrows once again danced their annoyance.
"Must you be so wretchedly flashy?" He followed his colleague at a much more measured pace, his own movements smooth and elegant, where those of Phosphorus were quick, almost jerky.
"I don't flash, I spark." From beyond the doorway they heard voices, and Phosphorus seemed to rein in his behaviour a little, although his eyes remained almost white. "They don't feel as though they belong from the same era as much of this room."
"No." Silver drew alongside him. "They sound... more like the plastic ornament than the piano. Not as out of place as us, but still alien, in a sense. Interesting."
"Do we let them see us?"
"Not yet, I think." They nodded in unison, and although they remained visible to each other, when the owners of the approaching voices came through the doorway a moment later, they clearly did not see either Element. There were three humans in all, two dressed in evening wear that seemed styled in keeping with much of the room's décor, the third in a t-shirt and jeans. Phosphorus's own outfit stuttered in sympathy, briefly a bright, white ballgown, then a curious mixture of white tie and denim. Silver glared.
"The piano was tuned this morning," said the man in jeans. "We'll have a practice run-through later. A song or two, so you can get the feel of it, and we can be sure of the position of the microphones."
"Sure." The other man, his evening wear immaculate, struck a sharp contrast to his companion. The third human, a woman in an elegant ballgown, ran a hand over the piano's keys, producing a shower of notes.
"I'm looking forward to this scene," she said. "I think we need a lighter piece before the darker themes come into play. Not just the murder, but the social themes, and the lost children."
"Just as long as you don't mind my singing," said the more grandly-dressed of her two companions. "We'll have to hope the cinema audiences don't run out."
"We'll advise the managers to lock the doors," said the man in jeans, and the threesome laughed, beginning to drift away together, back beyond the wide door through which they had entered. There was a hallway there, and as Silver looked out into it, he saw several groups of people now milling about. Some had clipboards, and one carried a large microphone on a long pole. Silver's sharp, practised eyes scanned them all, assessing, considering threats, chemical make-up, temporal stability. Behind him, Phosphorus was playing the piano, not entirely tunefully.
"It's a film," said Silver, before crossing the room in obvious exasperation, and shutting the piano lid. Phosphorus glared, and rescued his fingers.
"A who?"
"A film. An... entertainment. Humans record stories on strips of celluloid, and then play them to each other as projections. Like moving light. It explains the anachronisms, anyway. I suspect it's some sort of historical drama, which certainly would have the potential for danger, but..." He turned in a slow circle, head tipped back to survey the room and its grand décor. "Hundreds of such films must get made every year. Collections of period ornamentation, but tempered with modern equipment, and frequent errors. Otherwise we'd be called out to destroy every film long before it could be finished. What makes this one so special?"
"Perhaps too much of this stuff is genuine?" asked Phosphorus, then wrinkled his nose. "No. It almost tastes anachronistic. But like I said, could that be more dangerous at times? Contrasts and errors can be weak points."
"They can, but no, I don't think so." Silver's fine red head moved slowly back and forth in a shake that was more thought than negation. "Sapphire would be useful here. She could properly divine the provenance of many of these items, and we could determine where the threat is most likely to lie. Whilst you..."
"I have my uses."
"Other than starting fires, and making bad sartorial decisions?"
"Sometimes."
"I can't wait." Silver sighed, his natural grace reasserting itself, and overpowering his frustrations almost against his will. "At any rate, Sapphire isn't here, and you are. Do you have any ideas?"
"Yes and no. You say this is some sort of entertainment. A fiction? The room, presumably the whole house, is decorated to represent a particular point in time?"
"Yes. I believe the 1930s." Silver's head cocked briefly, as though he were listening to the room, and its many knick-knacks. "It's sprinkled with anachronisms though, as we've already established. I do take your point about errors having their own dangers. It can be almost as though Time takes offence at them. But here..." He passed a hand across the top of a rather grandiose armchair, and shook his head. "This isn't especially old. It's nothing more than a reproduction, and few of the individual elements have been recycled. The piano is quite old... but no, I think we can rule out this being anything to do with the usual collection of antiques."
"The building itself?"
"Old houses aren't usually any great danger. Houses are altered by those who live in them. New people, new energies. Time can rarely gain a foothold."
"But they're focal points. Things happen in houses. They're keepers of secrets." Phosphorus was sparking again, his fingers striking little splinters of light from the surfaces that he touched. It was like a graphic illustration of his thinking process, mused Silver, and found that it sparked his own thoughts as well.
"You're thinking that this film..."
"...might not entirely be a fiction," finished Phosphorus.
"That the story it tells has perhaps been played out before. Here?"
"In itself not necessarily a danger, but if some antique..."
"...some key piece of furniture, or ornamentation..."
"...is still here, to witness the re-enactment..."
"Or worse, brought back here to witness it."
"Adding coincidence into the mix?"
"Coincidence, parallel histories, a smattering of antiques. Perhaps even of anachronisms to season the recipe." Silver's own eyes had brightened with inspiration, almost bright enough now to rival those of his companion. He frowned suddenly, and inspiration seemed to dim. "I don't know. As I said before, the humans delight in these films. In their retellings of old tales. We would be summoned to many such films if there could be such danger. It must be more than chance meetings of stories and objects."
"Stories, objects... and music?"
"Music." Silver remembered the music that had been playing when they had arrived, on the now deceased radio. The music that had set that early scene, and perhaps even opened a door, even if just a crack. He looked instinctively towards the piano, gleaming black under the room's bright lights. "It's known to be a very powerful conductor of human emotion. An intensifier even. In a material sense it can break glass, shake walls. The right piece of music, at the right time, could in theory act as a catalyst."
"Then... we destroy the piano?"
"I doubt that would stop them, not permanently. And if it's to be the right music at the right time... That might recur at any point during the making of the film."
"Remove the pianist?"
"Must you always be so destructive in your suggestions, Phosphorus? Not everything has to break. Especially living creatures, if at all possible."
"I didn't say that we should break him. Just remove him."
"To?"
"Well." The expressive face warred between confusion and wounded innocence. "To somewhere else."
"Grabbing humans, and vanishing them, tends to get noticed. Particularly by the human who is being vanished. Our interventions are best kept unnoticed." Silver watched yet another shower of sparks fly from fingers, shoes, and even hair, and arched a meaningful eyebrow. "I dread to think what happens when you touch people, anyway. Stop sparking for goodness sakes. I will admit that you can spark inspiration, and in a manner that is quite invigorating, but it's like conducting a conversation with an electrical storm."
"I'm chemical. Not electrical." Phosphorus put his hands behind his back, and kept his feet still, successfully managing to mute his natural energies, temporarily at least. "Alright, so we don't destroy the piano or the pianist. They're coming back, though. They spoke of a rehearsal, and I can hear voices. The right time, in the right place..."
"Yes, yes. Time is always against us. Even more so if it's realised that we're here to stop it. That's no reason to unleash your sparks on innocent humans. Or pianos." Silver turned in a circle, eyes seeing all, thoughts racing. He could destroy the piano music, but that could too easily be replaced. He could meld objects, alter the ornaments, even the furniture; but which pieces? Where in the room did the greatest dangers lie? Was it even the room itself that held the greatest threat? It was unlikely, but that did not make it impossible. He could hear the voices as well now. Recognised them. The man in the dress suit, and the woman in the ballgown. Cheerful voices, swapping jokes. Humans, always so blind to the dangers of Time. To the precarious balances that held their world in check. So thoughtless with their décor, their clothing, their music, that they seemed forever to require him to risk his own existence to save everything else. One part of his consciousness listened to their conversation as they approached, even as the rest of his mind thought about furniture, ornaments, clocks, light fittings. Phosphorus was fidgetting again, his reignited splinters of light casting thousands of reflections across the surface of the piano. They would have to make a decision soon. Would they have to destroy the humans alongside their infernal collection of bits and pieces; their period nonsenses that reverberated their stories back and forth through time? Glittering, phosphorescent sparks, barely reined in, could so easily, so simply, and without malice, incinerate these storytellers, and bring their tale to a close. So easily. So simply.
Footsteps on polished floor tiles. Bright white eyes seeking his opinion, his decision. A laugh, a man's voice, practising a song. Something facile, about starlight. They were in the doorway now, more interested in each other than the room, singing and laughing in their narrow-visioned human foolishness; but Silver felt a sharp breeze chill the back of his neck. Voices whispered in his ears, words he couldn't catch, that nonetheless made him want to shiver. Phosphorus had heard them too - he could see his own concerns mirrored in the pale eyes opposite. The humans had reached the piano now, and sat down at it, still singing of starlight, reaching out for the piano keys. Seeking again that spark of inspiration, in purer form, Silver grabbed his compatriot's hands, and held on tight. A strange heat rushed through him, and for a moment two sets of eyes glowed in unison. For that brief moment, the room looked different - stark, monochrome, the oldest objects highlighted in brighter, sharper tones. Brightest of all was a small, silver candlestick that stood on a table almost exactly in the centre of the room. Silver grabbed it, spun it in his hands, turned it first into a ball of molten silver, then into soft, whitish magnesium. The man began to play the piano in earnest, singing more loudly now, and within Silver's fist the magnesium stirred, and the chill wind grew frostier. Abruptly the ghostly words were audible. Something was laughing at him, he realised. Taunting him. Something was waiting to be born. His jaw clenched, and he hurled the ball into the fireplace. There was a flash, shockingly bright, that burst out of the grate, and sent flames rocketing up the chimney with a resounding bang. The humans at the piano jumped and spun around, eyes wide. They could not see Silver and Phosphorus; and the magnesium ball, its flash spent in a moment, had already ceased to exist. There was silence. After a moment, the pair began to laugh.
"Okay Claudie?" asked the man. The woman turned back to the piano, and played a few jaunty chords in answer. He turned back as well then, and began to sing once again, laughing as he did so. Silver listened hard, but there were no ghostly voices this time. No more threats hidden beneath the song. For the first time since his arrival, he felt comfortably warm. He breathed out a long, relieved sigh, and shot a glance at Phosphorus. The younger man smiled at him - then disappeared, his white teeth seeming to hang in the air after he had gone, in a momentary echo of all his flashes and sparks. Then Silver was alone again. He smiled, and turned back towards the piano. The man was singing heartily now, something absurd about a mother. The woman was clapping along, her eyes bright and warm. Silver listened for a moment, their innocence enjoyable now that the danger was gone. Then, with a wave that neither could see, he vanished. Left behind, the two humans fell silent for a moment, distracted by something. Neither of them knew what. The unpredictable fire? Or perhaps it was the change in air current, where the Elements had vanished from the world? It didn't last. With a smile at each other, they turned back to the piano, and once again began to sing.
The End
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I saw the first batch of them, or some of them, a few years ago, and but I hadn't checked back to see if more had appeared, so I then also watched Sophie Thompson and Amanda Root on Persuasion and Romola Garai on Emma.
Was Christopher Biggins in Rentaghost? I don't remember him being in it, at least not regularly, but I may only have seen the last series, possibly.
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Here via
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Thank you. :)