Story part 10 – The Raspberry Message

The voice coming from the hut asked about the grandson again, but Benjamin didn’t intend to impersonate anyone.

“No, no, my name is Benjamin Corvus, the Imperial…” he began, however decided that this time titles were not a must. He was talking to a simple man, aged, the type of which was likely rushing for a pitchfork at the first sight of officials. “I study plants. Slickhaven has some magnificent specimens.”

“Magnificent, you say? Ohoho, not many people speak in such a manner about our mother nature’s gifts these days! I am delighted to hear that,” the old man replied cheerfully. “But why do you study them, grandson? Are they sick?”

“I shall hope not. I simply noticed they are exceptionally robust and durable, and I am in search of the cause. Would you mind if I looked around your farm, made some notes and collected samples for the herbarium? For scientific purposes, of course.”

The wind howled again before the other man replied.

“Study away, grandson! I must apologise for not going outside. It’s a bit chilly today, and these old bones are well past their prime, I’m afraid! I have a feeling that if the wind pushed me but once, I’d fold right where I’d be standing. And standing is an issue itself.” A heavy knock on the floor and a whimper were heard. “This wooden leg for support I have, just this one…”

Benjamin set to work. The irises were first on the agenda, the sketch of which he put into his notebook alongside a detailed description of the specimen. Stem flattened, averaging twenty-something centimeters, the leaves one centimeter wide. Outer perianth sepals in the color of light lily, bent, narrowing down from the middle. In other words, it was an absolutely typical representative of its species. A pity. Benjamin hoped to observe some morphological anomaly that had prolonged their lifespan up to this point, but he found nothing. They just flourished, stubborn little things.

Next on the list was the vegetable garden. The notebook was filled with huge cucumbers, heavy potatoes, shiny tomatoes and golden grains that grew beside the hut under the watchful eye of another scarecrow. It looked very much the same as the last one, and was also likely serving as a bird hotel. It looked almost identical, but… no, it wouldn’t have moved on its own, after all. It must have been another.

A quarter had passed, two quarters, eventually a whole hour, and with each flowery note Benjamin’s own smile bloomed. A solid work! He gathered enough data for a few good letters to the Association, and all of it came from but one farm. How many more such treasure troves were there under the walls of Slickhaven? How many more oddities were left to be discovered in the town itself?

“Going well, grandson?” the old man spoke up. Noises suggested that he had just finished cooking, and beside the frying pan, something like a decanter and a clay cup being filled were heard. “Have you found anything yet?”

“All I have so far are more questions. I thought that after the verbena in the shade and that potted vetiver outside of its climate, nothing would surprise me anymore, but I haven’t seen a juniper like that for a long time. Something beautiful!” he replied, amazed.

“Ohoho, you should see the forest, things really do grow beautiful there!” the old man giggled. “But hardly anyone knows that anymore, because they no longer go to the forest. They don’t remember! The rulers have forgotten, so the people have forgotten.”

Benjamin raised his head from the flowerbed as the old man continued.

“You see, grandson, in the olden days they used to go to the forest. The locals knew how to live in harmony with nature and how to make use of its gifts. Because they used it wisely, the forest looked after them as they looked after it. I used to go too, when I was younger,” he admitted longingly. “Then the old have died, the young preferred merchants from distant countries, and there was no one to take care of their own backyard. Everyone would just take and take, because more food was needed, more wood for the buildings… sad, sad indeed.”

“Well, if they’ve forgotten, how about reminding them?” he suggested.

The sky darkened, the wind moaned mercilessly, and Benjamin couldn’t shake off the feeling that the old man’s grievances were more than just senile whining. However, the elder laughed, coughed dryly, and knocked his cane on the floor again.

“Ohoho, I’ll remind them! The harvest on Slickhaven is near, grandson, very near. Those who have forgotten themselves will be sorry!”

“Do you often talk to yourself?” an approaching voice joined the conversation. Salina, clearly annoyed, was heading towards the farm. “I understand that you talk about plants, but I didn’t know that botanists also talk to them. Is that how you guys learn all their secrets?”

Benjamin glared at her like she was crazy.

“What do you mean, to myself? What are you talking about?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “About the fact that you were supposed to go to Radomil’s farm. I’ve been looking for you, but I didn’t find you. I went halfway across the village asking about an elegant man in a coat who’d cuddle a celery. Fortunately, your species is rather unique around here.”

“It’s because I turned left when I was supposed to go right? I must have ended up at the wrong address, I see,” Benjamin realized and waved his notebook. “Well, no harm done, I took a lot of measurements, and the host was immensely helpful.”

“What host?”

“The one who lives here?” Benjamin’s finger shot. “In this hut?”

Now it was Salina’s turn to look at him as if he had gone completely mad.

“Listen to me carefully, Mr. Botanist. I have no idea who you were talking to, but this house has been empty for a long time. The owner died of old age sometime in spring. The reverend Bishop himself conducted the ceremonies, and buried him by the church.”

Benjamin snickered.

“An excellent jest, indeed. Forgive my colleague, sir, but someone seems to be eager to distract me from my research. We’re just having a nice little chit-chat here, don’t we?” he asked and waited a moment, but no one answered him. Salina raised her eyebrow. “Hello, sir? Is this a conspiracy between you two? As a scientist, no, as a gentleman I implore you, let me get out of this with a face!”

The blowing wind was the only answer, cold and uncompromising.

“Mr. Botanist…” Salina began, looking around. “Benjamin, we should go. Something is not right here.”

“No, now it is a matter of the value of my word. Sir, is everything alright?” Benjamin asked, and when he didn’t get any reply, he headed towards the hut. “What if he fainted? Sir, I apologize profoundly, but we’re coming in!”

“Wait, what ‘we’?” Salina protested, but followed him anyway. “Are you out of your…”

Benjamin pulled the door open, they were fortunately not locked. He stepped inside and, as expected, found himself in a single room that was a bedroom, kitchen, and living room all in one, but instead of a busy household he found something  he had not anticipated at all. To make things worse, he didn’t understand it at all.

The hut was empty.

The room had one door and a few windows, tightly shut, and no sign of a possible cellar. The frying pan was cold, long unused, as was the emptied fireplace, while the decanter and the mug standing on the windowsill were only filled with dust. The shelves were empty, the bed was devoid of covers and there was no trace of the host.

Benjamin and Salina’s attention was drawn to the table. In the middle there was a jar filled to the brim with fresh raspberries, with thick red juice dripping down its outer walls. A well-sharpened sickle lay next to it. When Benjamin leaned over, he noticed someone must have used the juice to scribble on the oaken tabletop. Mangled letters formed an inscription.

THE HARVEST IS NEAR…