Jenny Everywhere: Dog Days of Sumer
May. 25th, 2023 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scott_sanfordHere’s another Cornelius story earlier than expected.
I was going to post the second part of the nonfiction page this week – but then I noticed it was the 25th of May, a day for truth, justice, freedom, reasonably priced love, and maybe a hard-boiled egg. GNU Pterry.
Jenny Cornelius in
Dog Days of Sumer
by Scott Sanford; May 2023
Jenny Cornelius was coming home from shopping, a bag of groceries in her hand, when she had a divine encounter.
She was not even on the road to Damascus, it was a side street in London on the way home from the Marks & Spencer – but there was no mistaking the figure coming up the pavement the other way.
“Good morning, Mister Fell,” she called.
“Miss Cornelius! Oh, how lovely to see you!” He gave her a boyish grin, the kind which would have turned the heads of many women if he’d been remotely interested in such affairs.
“Likewise, though it’s a surprise. I might have thought you to be at your shop at this hour.”
“Ah, yes.” Her friend grimaced, and looked about nervously. “There’s an interesting story about that. I have an unwelcome visitor lingering about my doorstep.”
“Oh, dear,” she commiserated. “One of, ah, them, the opposition?”
“Not as such,” he told her. “More of an independent contractor in the same line of work. But I am feeling a bit exposed on the open street, which is why I came hoping to find you. Would you mind terribly if we stepped inside?”
“Not at all. Please do,” she said.
“It’s a bit of a loose end from a while back,” he explained as they walked down the covered alley into the mews where Cornelius lived. “All sorted out ages ago, I thought, but these days the fellows at the British Museum aren’t as careful about ancient artifacts as they used to be and oh dear.”
He stopped walking and said, “Look. There in the corner.”
Directly ahead of them, in one corner of the mews, shadows shifted unnaturally, gathering in a corner like spilled ink.
“I’m sorry, Cornelius, I seem to have been followed. It’s hard to lose one of these things here in London, with all the right angles…”
“Oh, one of those! Terrible nuisances, they are.” She glanced quickly around the rectangular open space of the old mews; brick walls gave them an abundance of right angles but a fortunate dearth of curious citizens. Luckily they had only the one manifestation leaking into mortal reality, but she shouldn’t like to have to explain it to anyone.
The shadows were already opaque and black, beginning to bulge outward in the shape of a doglike head. They were also in the same corner as the door to Jenny’s flat.
“Sorted it out last time, did you?”, she prodded him. “How’d you do it then?”
“Fire!”, he said. “Fire, and lots of it.”
“Fire? Yes, brilliant. A flaming sword, perhaps?”, she asked hopefully.
“That would do nicely yes,” he said, and added, “I, ah, actually don’t have one.”
“You don’t?”, she said with surprise.
“Why would I? It’s not something one carries around London!”, Mister Fell protested, rather more shrilly than one of his age should. “I haven’t for– I mean, I don’t have one!”
The mass had grown a protuberance the size of a cow’s head that twisted back and forth, tasting the air of reality with a glowing blue tongue.
“Bother. You’ll want to use mine, I suppose.” Jenny Cornelius sighed, put her groceries down next to the wall of Number One, and tried to look inconspicuous. She licked her lips nervously. “Right, right, hold your horses…”
“I assure you, if I had any horses I would be holding them.”
The thing was extruding a body into the human world now, a forelimb groping for purchase on the concrete ground, but she paid it no mind.
Jenny Cornelius knew what she wanted, knew where she’d left it, knew the feel of metal in her hand – and in the way of her kind knew. She reached, and then she truly felt it in her hand, a kilo of metal not forged in this universe.
“Ha!”, she exclaimed. “Got it! Mister Fell, use my sword!”
She flung the device to him and he caught it with surprising grace. He blinked in surprise at the cylinder in his hand, the size and shape of a hand torch, but feeling heavier than its physical weight.
“This?” he asked. “Cornelius, this is not a flaming sword! This is not a sword at all. We call this a hilt. I can tell, swords have more sharp bits on the end!”
“Touch the button!”
He found a control stud in the obvious place and a bar of light slid outward from the hilt with an electric hiss.
“Oh! Oh, yes.” He raised the glowing blade to a ready position, with the look of someone who was remembering things from long ago. The blade sizzled softly, as if searing holes in the air. He walked forward toward the middle of the mews, “Thank you, Cornelius, this will do. I think this will do nicely.”
In the corner the intruder pulled itself free from the angle that had let it into the universe and stalked forward threateningly.
“Begone, foul beast!”, he commanded it.
Instead the thing leapt forward, but he stepped to one side and swung the glowing blade; it swept through the thing’s leg without slowing down and the severed limb fell to the concrete.
The creature tried to spin about but Fell’s sword came down and swept through its neck with an unearthly snarl.
The Hound’s head and body fell to the ground in two lumps, and Mister Fell watched them dissolve into smoke and foulness.
When he was certain the thing was gone he looked up and gave Cornelius a slightly embarrassed smile.
“I, ah, had forgotten how invigorating that can be.” He shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t make a habit of it, really. Not these days.”
“I know how that is,” Jenny said. “Not everything we can do is something we should do, at least out where everyone can see it.”
“Smiting is part of our function, you know. I just, ah, haven’t had much reason lately.”
He lifted the sword and pondered the humming blade of light briefly, then touched the control button again. The glowing blade shrank back into the hilt with a disappointed hiss and he was left holding an inert torch.
“My goodness,” he remarked. “I haven’t done that in… a terribly long time.”
“You guarded a gate once, I heard.” Jenny put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. “You still remember how.”
Looking a bit flustered, he thrust the hilt back into her hands.
“I’m sure that isn’t standard issue from any of my people, Cornelius. Where ever did you get it?”
“I picked it up in a place far, far away from here,” she said, contemplating the thing briefly and tucking it away into a pocket. “Better not to use it in modern London; it would only attract attention. Flaming swords are an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.”
“Might have done,” he acknowledged. “Although back in the day… I don’t think we’d invented civilization yet.”
The song quoted at the beginning is from a Terry Pratchett book and may be heard here or here.
No, I don’t actually know if the M&S on Oxford Street was there in Jenny Cornelius’s era.
.....(August 2023) However, the M&S Marble Arch branch definitely was in business at the time, but a kilometer west of the store I had in mind. See here for a picture of the groceries.
Why does Jenny Cornelius have that sword, anyway?
Read other Jenny Everywhere stories
The character of Jenny Everywhere is available for use by anyone, with only one condition. This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Everywhere, in order that others may use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.
P.S.: Author flattery was achieved on Discord with the comment, "T'was a fun read! I heard the lightsaber sound effects in my head." *grin*
I was going to post the second part of the nonfiction page this week – but then I noticed it was the 25th of May, a day for truth, justice, freedom, reasonably priced love, and maybe a hard-boiled egg. GNU Pterry.
“All the little angels rise up, rise up.
All the little angels rise up high!"
All the little angels rise up high!"
Dog Days of Sumer
by Scott Sanford; May 2023
Jenny Cornelius was coming home from shopping, a bag of groceries in her hand, when she had a divine encounter.
She was not even on the road to Damascus, it was a side street in London on the way home from the Marks & Spencer – but there was no mistaking the figure coming up the pavement the other way.
“Good morning, Mister Fell,” she called.
“Miss Cornelius! Oh, how lovely to see you!” He gave her a boyish grin, the kind which would have turned the heads of many women if he’d been remotely interested in such affairs.
“Likewise, though it’s a surprise. I might have thought you to be at your shop at this hour.”
“Ah, yes.” Her friend grimaced, and looked about nervously. “There’s an interesting story about that. I have an unwelcome visitor lingering about my doorstep.”
“Oh, dear,” she commiserated. “One of, ah, them, the opposition?”
“Not as such,” he told her. “More of an independent contractor in the same line of work. But I am feeling a bit exposed on the open street, which is why I came hoping to find you. Would you mind terribly if we stepped inside?”
“Not at all. Please do,” she said.
“It’s a bit of a loose end from a while back,” he explained as they walked down the covered alley into the mews where Cornelius lived. “All sorted out ages ago, I thought, but these days the fellows at the British Museum aren’t as careful about ancient artifacts as they used to be and oh dear.”He stopped walking and said, “Look. There in the corner.”
Directly ahead of them, in one corner of the mews, shadows shifted unnaturally, gathering in a corner like spilled ink.
“I’m sorry, Cornelius, I seem to have been followed. It’s hard to lose one of these things here in London, with all the right angles…”
“Oh, one of those! Terrible nuisances, they are.” She glanced quickly around the rectangular open space of the old mews; brick walls gave them an abundance of right angles but a fortunate dearth of curious citizens. Luckily they had only the one manifestation leaking into mortal reality, but she shouldn’t like to have to explain it to anyone.
The shadows were already opaque and black, beginning to bulge outward in the shape of a doglike head. They were also in the same corner as the door to Jenny’s flat.
“Sorted it out last time, did you?”, she prodded him. “How’d you do it then?”
“Fire!”, he said. “Fire, and lots of it.”
“Fire? Yes, brilliant. A flaming sword, perhaps?”, she asked hopefully.
“That would do nicely yes,” he said, and added, “I, ah, actually don’t have one.”
“You don’t?”, she said with surprise.
“Why would I? It’s not something one carries around London!”, Mister Fell protested, rather more shrilly than one of his age should. “I haven’t for– I mean, I don’t have one!”
The mass had grown a protuberance the size of a cow’s head that twisted back and forth, tasting the air of reality with a glowing blue tongue.
“Bother. You’ll want to use mine, I suppose.” Jenny Cornelius sighed, put her groceries down next to the wall of Number One, and tried to look inconspicuous. She licked her lips nervously. “Right, right, hold your horses…”
“I assure you, if I had any horses I would be holding them.”
The thing was extruding a body into the human world now, a forelimb groping for purchase on the concrete ground, but she paid it no mind.
Jenny Cornelius knew what she wanted, knew where she’d left it, knew the feel of metal in her hand – and in the way of her kind knew. She reached, and then she truly felt it in her hand, a kilo of metal not forged in this universe.
“Ha!”, she exclaimed. “Got it! Mister Fell, use my sword!”
She flung the device to him and he caught it with surprising grace. He blinked in surprise at the cylinder in his hand, the size and shape of a hand torch, but feeling heavier than its physical weight.
“This?” he asked. “Cornelius, this is not a flaming sword! This is not a sword at all. We call this a hilt. I can tell, swords have more sharp bits on the end!”
“Touch the button!”
He found a control stud in the obvious place and a bar of light slid outward from the hilt with an electric hiss.
“Oh! Oh, yes.” He raised the glowing blade to a ready position, with the look of someone who was remembering things from long ago. The blade sizzled softly, as if searing holes in the air. He walked forward toward the middle of the mews, “Thank you, Cornelius, this will do. I think this will do nicely.”
In the corner the intruder pulled itself free from the angle that had let it into the universe and stalked forward threateningly.
“Begone, foul beast!”, he commanded it.
Instead the thing leapt forward, but he stepped to one side and swung the glowing blade; it swept through the thing’s leg without slowing down and the severed limb fell to the concrete.
The creature tried to spin about but Fell’s sword came down and swept through its neck with an unearthly snarl.
The Hound’s head and body fell to the ground in two lumps, and Mister Fell watched them dissolve into smoke and foulness.
When he was certain the thing was gone he looked up and gave Cornelius a slightly embarrassed smile.
“I, ah, had forgotten how invigorating that can be.” He shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t make a habit of it, really. Not these days.”
“I know how that is,” Jenny said. “Not everything we can do is something we should do, at least out where everyone can see it.”
“Smiting is part of our function, you know. I just, ah, haven’t had much reason lately.”
He lifted the sword and pondered the humming blade of light briefly, then touched the control button again. The glowing blade shrank back into the hilt with a disappointed hiss and he was left holding an inert torch.
“My goodness,” he remarked. “I haven’t done that in… a terribly long time.”
“You guarded a gate once, I heard.” Jenny put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. “You still remember how.”
Looking a bit flustered, he thrust the hilt back into her hands.
“I’m sure that isn’t standard issue from any of my people, Cornelius. Where ever did you get it?”
“I picked it up in a place far, far away from here,” she said, contemplating the thing briefly and tucking it away into a pocket. “Better not to use it in modern London; it would only attract attention. Flaming swords are an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.”
“Might have done,” he acknowledged. “Although back in the day… I don’t think we’d invented civilization yet.”
The song quoted at the beginning is from a Terry Pratchett book and may be heard here or here.
No, I don’t actually know if the M&S on Oxford Street was there in Jenny Cornelius’s era.
.....(August 2023) However, the M&S Marble Arch branch definitely was in business at the time, but a kilometer west of the store I had in mind. See here for a picture of the groceries.
Why does Jenny Cornelius have that sword, anyway?
P.S.: Author flattery was achieved on Discord with the comment, "T'was a fun read! I heard the lightsaber sound effects in my head." *grin*
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Date: 2025-01-16 10:18 am (UTC)