in my eyes.’
‘I see no tears.’
‘All in good time,’ said Father. ‘You may anticipate a veritable flood.’
‘I’ve better things to do than stand here anticipating your secretions!’ yelled the Verger, and slammed from the room.
‘Did you hear that ?’ I said to Father, with meaning. Ofcourse I hadn’t the faintest idea what was in the Verger’s jars but I was damned if I’d let him steal the show with lies inferior to my own.
One night when the household was performing a ritual in the reading room, I snuck into the tower with a torch. I swept the beam along the shelves and selected a good-sized jar labelled V5, taking it down and unscrewing the lid. Shining the torch inside, all I could see was a murky green sludge. I rocked the jar a little. A pale object emerged through the surface and disappeared again. Impatient, I took down a larger jar. V9. I found a pair of tongs and dipped for the contents, bringing out something which looked like a severed tap root, covered in slime. As the slime drooled away I discerned rudimentary features carved into the mould, incredibly ghoulish in the torchlight. I took this as confirmation that the Verger was a member of the clergy.
A creepy feeling was crawling over my shoulders as I shifted a container the size of a larder keg and removed the lid. A soft doll rested inside, half-submerged in liquid. Flashing the torch around, I could see traces of the Verger’s sombre expression in its face. I dropped the torch, and daren’t reach in to fish it out.
Stumbling in the darkness I crashed through something, grabbing out for a handhold - the surface in front of me gave onto an unknown space. The Hall was wormholed with hidden anterooms, the blueprints resembling a Mandelbrot fractal. This one was narrow and carpeted with warm earth. Something glinted in the darkness.
This was not a horror movie - I reached aside and switched on the light. A large glass vat stood before me. Emerging from a fog of sediment was a fish-eyed Verger, frilled with drifting, ragged mycelium. The cowl had begun to emerge from its head, darkening and hooding over. Here was the last in a series of experimental, trial-run Vergers, each more complete and distinct than the last.
‘You’ve done it now, laughing boy,’ boomed a voice behind me.
‘Verger,’ I stammered, spinning to face him. ‘Why aren’t you with the others?’
The Verger cast a wily eye at the pupa floating in the tank. ‘ That’s why. Don’t worry, boy, I won’t bite.’
I hadn’t even known this was among the options.
‘Seat yourself on this pile of rats, boy, and I’ll explain everything – we’ve a very limited time.’
I sat down and glanced at the glass vat - the contents moved a slow arm and I heard a faint clink.
‘Well it’s the old, old story,’ the Verger began. ‘As you know, people generally delegate any real achievement to their offspring and so little is achieved in any one generation. Add to this the contamination of a million opinions it’s a wonder anyone does anything by their own impulse. Me and the line were devised to speed up the process unaffected by human concerns. All this cloak and scowl nonsense is just a bit of pretending, the simplest camouflage. We’re grown out of spores.’
‘I must say Verger you seem remarkably light-hearted about all this.’
‘D’you take a dim view?’
‘Well I don’t know. I don’t know, Verger, it’s alot to absorb - I mean you tell me you’re grown in a jar and then expect me to chuckle or something? Yes I suppose I do take a dim view. I won’t sleep soundly for weeks after this.’
‘It’s a shame, it really is.’
‘So when did this nightmare kick off? Who grew those jammy monsters out there?’
‘The prototypes? The real Verger - a hundred and fourteen years ago. Keen gardener. Here’s one of his botanical sketches, if you’re interested.’
He unrolled a scroll which portrayed the Verger’s head emerging from the gilled
‘I see no tears.’
‘All in good time,’ said Father. ‘You may anticipate a veritable flood.’
‘I’ve better things to do than stand here anticipating your secretions!’ yelled the Verger, and slammed from the room.
‘Did you hear that ?’ I said to Father, with meaning. Ofcourse I hadn’t the faintest idea what was in the Verger’s jars but I was damned if I’d let him steal the show with lies inferior to my own.
One night when the household was performing a ritual in the reading room, I snuck into the tower with a torch. I swept the beam along the shelves and selected a good-sized jar labelled V5, taking it down and unscrewing the lid. Shining the torch inside, all I could see was a murky green sludge. I rocked the jar a little. A pale object emerged through the surface and disappeared again. Impatient, I took down a larger jar. V9. I found a pair of tongs and dipped for the contents, bringing out something which looked like a severed tap root, covered in slime. As the slime drooled away I discerned rudimentary features carved into the mould, incredibly ghoulish in the torchlight. I took this as confirmation that the Verger was a member of the clergy.
A creepy feeling was crawling over my shoulders as I shifted a container the size of a larder keg and removed the lid. A soft doll rested inside, half-submerged in liquid. Flashing the torch around, I could see traces of the Verger’s sombre expression in its face. I dropped the torch, and daren’t reach in to fish it out.
Stumbling in the darkness I crashed through something, grabbing out for a handhold - the surface in front of me gave onto an unknown space. The Hall was wormholed with hidden anterooms, the blueprints resembling a Mandelbrot fractal. This one was narrow and carpeted with warm earth. Something glinted in the darkness.
This was not a horror movie - I reached aside and switched on the light. A large glass vat stood before me. Emerging from a fog of sediment was a fish-eyed Verger, frilled with drifting, ragged mycelium. The cowl had begun to emerge from its head, darkening and hooding over. Here was the last in a series of experimental, trial-run Vergers, each more complete and distinct than the last.
‘You’ve done it now, laughing boy,’ boomed a voice behind me.
‘Verger,’ I stammered, spinning to face him. ‘Why aren’t you with the others?’
The Verger cast a wily eye at the pupa floating in the tank. ‘ That’s why. Don’t worry, boy, I won’t bite.’
I hadn’t even known this was among the options.
‘Seat yourself on this pile of rats, boy, and I’ll explain everything – we’ve a very limited time.’
I sat down and glanced at the glass vat - the contents moved a slow arm and I heard a faint clink.
‘Well it’s the old, old story,’ the Verger began. ‘As you know, people generally delegate any real achievement to their offspring and so little is achieved in any one generation. Add to this the contamination of a million opinions it’s a wonder anyone does anything by their own impulse. Me and the line were devised to speed up the process unaffected by human concerns. All this cloak and scowl nonsense is just a bit of pretending, the simplest camouflage. We’re grown out of spores.’
‘I must say Verger you seem remarkably light-hearted about all this.’
‘D’you take a dim view?’
‘Well I don’t know. I don’t know, Verger, it’s alot to absorb - I mean you tell me you’re grown in a jar and then expect me to chuckle or something? Yes I suppose I do take a dim view. I won’t sleep soundly for weeks after this.’
‘It’s a shame, it really is.’
‘So when did this nightmare kick off? Who grew those jammy monsters out there?’
‘The prototypes? The real Verger - a hundred and fourteen years ago. Keen gardener. Here’s one of his botanical sketches, if you’re interested.’
He unrolled a scroll which portrayed the Verger’s head emerging from the gilled
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