Bramah and the Beggar Boy Read online

  Inspired by the tradition of epic sagas, and influenced by poems such as Homer’s Odyssey, ancient Vedic texts such as the Mahabharata, as well as The Arabian Nights, the world of THOT J BAP eagerly awaits you.

  Characters

  Bramah: an English/Indian (South Asian) locksmith who is a demi-god and hero of the saga. Her motto: Let all evil die and the good endure. Bramah works on contract for the Consortium. Rescued by her grandmother after an earthquake, she is unaware of her origins.

  The Beggar Boy: Bramah’s apprentice. Rescued on one of Bramah’s travels. He rarely speaks.

  Bramah’s grandmother: a storyteller and mendicant known by the Four Women of the Wishing Well. She is a matriarch of the Resistance and adopts orphans.

  Dr. A.E. Anderson: born in the year 2020, she is a doctor helping poor village children.

  Investigator: perennial bad guy. There is one in every age.

  Guards of the Fifth Gate: they work for the Investigator. Specialists in surveillance.

  Consortium: employer of the bad guys.

  Rentalsman: Consortium’s property agent.

  Women of the Wishing Well (Aunty Agatha, Aunty Tabitha, Aunty Maria and Aunty Magda): In this book, we meet Aunty Maria, a Seed Saver who works with a group of outlawed scientists. We also meet Aunty Agatha and Aunty Tabitha. They are mendicant midwives who live over a hundred years.

  Abigail: a beggar girl and adopted daughter of Dr. A.E. Anderson.

  Bartholomew: scholar, Resistance fighter and lover of Abigail.

  Raphael: son of Abigail and Bartholomew.

  Beggar Boys: street urchins, displaced orphans who roam Outside Perimeter, often indentured as labourers. Their rhymes and chants, songs and slogans often act as an underground communications system, to which Bramah always pays attention.

  Sword Girls: well-bred rebellious women banished by Consortium for misdemeanours, then recruited by Bramah. The Sword Girls are famous for their smarts and weapon skills. They sometimes serve as mercenaries.

  The Village Spy and her daughter, Betty.

  Locations

  Consortium: an integrated global economic and administrative empire controlling all aspects of industry, agriculture and food production.

  Perimeter: cities and settlements fortified and controlled by Consortium.

  Towers and Gates: this is where guards and agents of Consortium, including the Investigator, control who can enter and exit Perimeter.

  Gates to the Portals of the Four Seasons: these are found in different locations Outside Perimeter. Although they are controlled by Consortium, if you happen to know the right spells, as Bramah does, the portals can act as departure points for time travel.

  Pacifica: a region extending from the western edge of the land mass once known as America.

  Cities: these include the Great Cities of Transaction: Toronto, Paris, Baghdad and Ahmedabad.

  Part One

  Arrival at the Gate of the Winter Portal

  That Gate, the Oracle, Her Icy Breath

  Beware increments that gather apace

  equinox and solstice shifting in place

  O Precession and ecliptic, our Earth

  on her axis, tilted and turned, pushed off

  course by our actions, her perfect ratio

  precision, twenty-three point five and turn

  yew berries misshapen, birds drop and fall

  fast is our future, the present, all gone

  O Precession and ecliptic, our earth

  on her axis, tilted and turned, spinning

  faster than we could ever imagine

  yew berries mutate, their toxin increased

  spores, viruses, spreading droplets released

  Beware increments that gather apace——

  Fragments of Old Reports Unverified

  Consortium Assessment: Pacifica Region

  in the year of the reign 20XX.

  Legal tender done, ice caps melting fast

  faster than expected, each paper said

  accelerated events, surging tides

  extreme conditions overwhelmed systems

  low precipitation, extended drought—

  wildfires, insect infestations and

  water rights abandoned, shortages vast.

  faster than expected, each scientist said.

  No one left to monitor the changes

  effects not well understood, large-scale shifts—

  scissors in hand, those beggar children snipped

  a thousand pages in exchange for food:

  as ordered by the Investigator

  documents reassembled, then hidden.

  Consortium’s Song

  We can see, in the pulsing places

  traces of our mordant graces

  Where our tanks grind and crush

  scornfully, placate the dust

  We can trade and gain and merge,

  Bitcoin plus, in case oil’s a bust

  We give them choice, we find them homes

  the finest art, the best designs—

  Never mind who doesn’t make it

  wire us and you can fake it.

  We Trace with Scorn

  Resistance Song

  At the year’s midnight, we sighed, heads bent to—

  Perimeter where oracles foretold

  colony collapse, our aunties saving

  mason bees, small finds in handmade glass jars.

  Wildfires in November, ash mixed with ice

  our skin dry and cracked, scalps covered in lice,

  grey skies unending, snow drought extending

  salal leaves withering, their spines snapped in two.

  At Tower Juniper, Rentalsman stood

  ready to accept payment for shelter.

  We bartered our daughters, we sold our boys

  WiFi on ration, our androids, no toys:

  Toxic Alert on high, we ached for green

  who would have thought of us, standing, unseen.

  mind those drones

  they’ll break your bones

  hide and sweep,

  duck and swerve

  watch us, learn

  these raindrops burn.

  From the Wishing Well to Perimeter’s Edge

  Said the four aunties:

  each portal a season, pulling the years

  waxing and waning, our joys and our fears.

  Said the four winds:

  North, East, West, South

  corner runners, always best.

  cross your fingers, tell no lies!

  Said the River to Perimeter:

  Swift currents, sly and deep

  you fool with me; I’ll make you sleep

  shorter days, longer nights.

  Said the City to Consortium:

  Secure for us the means, and we’ll stay true.

  After daybreak, called those Beggar Boys, Run!

  And their Sword Girls sang, Every star a sun.

  And together their voices, faint echoes:

  Our beehives all empty, our flags, half-mast.

  Turn your key, Bramah, and find us at last.

  The Summons: Bramah on a Job

  Every siren in Perimeter sounded an alarm!

  On that day, arrival, although no one

  knew who they were, small woman with a boy—

  She from around here? asked the settlers, one by one.

  Their voices even toned, their eyes, stone cold, gaze

  fixed on Bramah’s well-oiled leather satchel.

  Usurpers, what response might they expect?

  Settlers at Perimeter’s edge: they wait.

  Bramah’s slant smile, radiance as a foil,

  under her brown hands, hidden from sight

  her Pippin File, her keys and her drill, codes

  spells an
d chants to unlock any treasure.

  Street beggars, boys with brooms, girls with swords:

  from their bruised mouths, parched lips, masks torn away

  Until the rains arrive, and we survive—

  wash your hands, use your sleeve

  trust us now, you’ll never have to grieve

  At the Fifth Gate, transport drivers lounged:

  troop guards to inspect, their hands to scrounge.

  Bramah on contract, her face smooth as silk

  that Beggar Boy trailing behind,

  that last drop of milk—

  Village Women Gossip

  at Tower Juniper:

  Our bread set to rise but falling flat,

  oven door banging, unhinged and broken,

  all that heat, lost—

  at Cedar Cottage:

  Our milk soured,

  the butter wouldn’t set

  and then a black cat ran under the ladder,

  wood cracked—

  at Hemlock Place:

  That dog next door wouldn’t stop barking

  Look! Our keys broken inside their locks, stuck:

  well, Consortium said they’d send someone——

  at the Commons, gathered in a circle.

  ——in unison we told Rentalsman:

  Her fingers brown and strong

  smooth leather satchel

  her black braid shining

  Pippin File, drill, tweezers, lock and ghost key

  pulled one by one, gleaming in the sun,

  she worked fast, all the while her lips moving:

  Let all evil die and the good endure

  Video Surveillance Monitor, Malfunctioning

  As recorded: “Couldn’t say how old, but the boy, a ragamuffin for sure,

  gap-toothed. That hungry smile.”

  Informer #1: “Of course them keys were stuck, and broke, those locks.”

  Informer #2: “No one bothered to tell us about any safe.”

  Informer #3: “Well, if we knew that, then, we’d all be rich, eh—”

  Guards of the Fifth Gate: “Someone must have seen something.”

  Overheard

  Small wiry brown-skinned yet British; sly, too

  quick, skilled with lock and key, long black hair

  braids touching her leather packsack: tools plus

  lasers, all the latest gadgets for openings

  no lock that ever met her hands, too tough or sticky.

  A thousand scrapes, she’d dodged them all.

  One soldier from the Before-Time even called her

  K-Low. No one ever knew why. Just laughed.

  She collected nicknames, light year to portal:

  them hard ones, April, or June: the worst.

  In the nick of time, a turner of bad odds

  her body on the line of any fire, her cheek scarred

  smooth skin though, and the softest lips.

  Tattoo on her arm: Ishmael Joe and laughed—

  As Recorded by Several Un/named Witnesses

  Front doors locked, we turned: stood, facing the road.

  A breath for each forward step, scuffed shoes worn.

  In front of us, a woman: long black braid

  over her shoulder a leather satchel,

  locksmith by trade, her Pippin File, her keys

  her pliers, her pick and drill, titanium.

  Many called to her and ran to her side.

  She held the hand of a small, ragged boy,

  his gap-toothed grin——

  The Adventures of Bramah and the Beggar Boy

  Their First Adventure

  The Scraps They Kept: missing pages, cut, torn, stained

  The Letters They Took: that red seal, broken, ribbon untied

  The Map They Stole: a thousand creases, worn and rough

  The People They Met:—Inside and Outside Perimeter—

  The Things They Carried: that bronze compass, battered; that gold coin, tossed

  The Things They Saw: first of two moons, the night Aunty Pandy swept in

  The Journeys They Made: by foot, by ship, through beams and holograms

  The People They Met: those street-sweeping children, all their songs—

  The Things They Carried: masks and hoods—small bars of soap—

  The Things They Heard: those Beggar Boys chanting,

  Un coup de dés, jamais jamais

  Their Second Adventure

  Once inside a Portal, they would divine

  streetside or mountains, rivers, oceans, maps

  a fist full of soil, their nose to the wind

  iterations of this blue-green planet

  decades, centuries, era to epoch

  in the Before-Time and after: their days

  in a café on Rue Mallarmé, that

  black book, unlined, cream pages, a few marks

  left open with a felt pen inside, no

  sign of them, on the wall a painting

  rescued from that fire, singed edges framed, hung

  over that threshold, carved greetings in wood

  golden locket opened from round that neck

  that time they met, diving into the wreck.

  Their Third Adventure

  Hold my hand and don’t let go, said Bramah

  The little Beggar Boy kept his head down.

  In the year of the reign, these portals deep:

  In the year of the reign 2020

  In the year of the reign 2001

  In the year of the reign 1985

  In the year of the reign 1973

  In the year of the reign 1968

  In the year of the reign 1962

  In the year of the reign 1933

  In the year of the reign 1945

  In the year of the reign 1914

  In the year of the reign 1919

  In the year of the reign 1848

  In the year of the reign 1897

  In the year of the reign 1704

  In the year of the reign 1715

  In the year of the reign 1613

  In the year of the reign 1492

  In the year of the reign 1381

  In the year of the reign 1215

  In the year of the reign 762—

  And in the time of the Age—

  And before—and then further, further, that far future, flung—

  The distance between———

  And then to return to Pacifica.

  Silent, that Beggar Boy took it all in.

  The Beggar Boy Meets Bramah’s Grandmother

  When Bramah brought the boy to Grandmother

  they both laughed: Not another one to feed!

  Oh well, said Grandmother, shaking her head.

  Come with me boy, you can help carry seeds.

  —that Beggar Boy said not a word and looked

  at Grandmother, her warm hands, her unlined skin.

  She taught him everyday threshold magic:

  the way all doors and gates stored their secrets

  the way calendars contained codes

  the way dawn and dusk, circles and lines

  might lead to a thousand steps.

  One night they walked past that carved portal gate

  Grandmother took the boy’s hand and shook kernels,

  red dawn, sequoia swirls, hard spindle-shaped,

  seeds as thin as oatmeal flakes fluttered down.

  The Things They See

  Two lovers locked in one another’s arms.

  Gates, doors, locks. Midnight. April. October.

  Portals to a very still afternoon.

  Electricity and the Inner-Net.

  Birds. Stars. Trees. The names of things, rough, smooth, whole.

  Ruptures and interruptions.

  Tilts and slants.

  That game of chess, unending, and the D
ead.

  The Rani of Jhansi, her lotus flowers.

  The city of Ahmedabad, twelve gates opening—

  Roses.

  Honeybees, their panniers, gold laden.

  Green, blue, black, pink. Ombré shades in between.

  Rajas and Sutras, hours before dawn.

  Cardamom, ginger, turmeric, crushed.

  The years: Before to After, sweet. Salty.

  Echoes of the S-curve in everything.

  English, French, Arabic, Irish.

  Gujarati, Latin, Greek: pictograms.