S.W.A.T. (book 2 of the hexology in seven parts)
Chapter 12: Secret Room

Phineas Bartholomew Saunders had been a civil servant for a very long time. Even he had to admit, that even he didn’t know how long. Because the office where he worked in, time didn’t pass. He was a chronological non-entity.

He had stumbled in to the office one day, looking for a place to hide from the police. And was surprised to find what he thought would be a broom cupboard, turned out to be a large Edwardian style office. It seemed to have been converted in to a junk shop. “Looking for something lad?” The ageing portly figure had greeted him from behind a desk. Rather distracting Phineas, or Phinn as we shall refer to him as from now on, as we’re all friends now. And the introductions had been made; or at least when Mr Gimlet had greeted the lad, for such was his name. “It’s more that I was trying to lose myself.” Phinn had explained, as a way of describing his attempting to evade the law. Mr Gimlet face brightened up at this, and he came round the desk to shake Phinn’s hand. “Well if you’re not after something, you’re just the man for the job.”

That was some time ago, or at least Phinn considered it to be. For as has been explained earlier, time in the office of lost and found took a back seat so to speak. It may have been years, centuries perhaps. But for Phinn and Mr G, as the lad referred to his superior, not a day had changed in their appearance. The only down side to this elixir of life was their inability to leave. The door was always there, but neither of them could walk through the portal, like an invisible barrier it held them back. It showed no inclination to bar the passage of their clients though. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

An eclectic selection of the populace through time and space would wonder in, pondering a long lost object. Which Phinn or Mr G would produce, much to the client’s surprise, as they had usually lost the artefact in question some time ago. And then with the treasured possession restored to them, they would leave. Unhindered by the force that kept the two men in servitude to the room.

Take today for instance. Mr G was tucking in to a pig’s trotter, for the room did provide an interesting variety of edible treats. From the Flotsam and jetsam of time and space, that arrived on such a regular basis. Along with the objects the clients would be looking for. Phinn baulked with disgust, as his boss slavered over his meal. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” Mr G had asked, waving the treat at Phinn, who shook his head. “I once got a chance to tuck in to a nice juicy Camel’s foot. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried one of those.” Just then a reedy man with shifty eyes came through the door, drawing the two men’s attention from the food. “Can I help you sir?” Phinn jumped up keen to talk to a stranger. But the man’s eyes had alighted on a VHS video sat on a pile of books. And reaching out he exclaimed. “I think this is a copy of a Traci Lords video I lost years ago. I recognized the stain in the bottom corner, it looks like a bowler hat.” Phinn glanced over at the film. It looked like a work out video. So he asked. “Yes she gets a good work out in this one. But I thought they’d all been destroyed.” He clutched the recovered film to his breast, and made his introduction. “Terry Trevor at your service, can I purchase this?” But Phinn just waved him off. “It’s yours already, good bye.” Then the man stepped back out of their lives.

Soon after Phinn had arrived, Mr G had explained the workings of the office. “The whole place used to belong to some professor at a university, doing work in to temporal displacement. But the laboratory got dislodged from its place in space-time continuum, and so it just pops up at random. Which was why you can only find it by accident. Funny thing is that small objects are attracted to the room’s field, which is handy for us.” He held up two apples, “Golden delicious or Cox?” “Whichever comes.” Mr G tossed over the Cox, and Phinn caught it deftly before biting down on the juicy fruit.

“Anyway these objects are attracted like nails to a magnet, falling through the cracks in the space time continuum. Which is where our clients come in. Somehow the objects owner becomes quantumly entangled to the lost treasure. So when possibly years later they find the door by accident, they finally get reunited. If you ever lost something, chances are its come here. The government got wind of it when some documents went missing. Then the professor, or was it a doctor. Who ever it was, got carted off to a loony bin. He kept having conversations with fourteenth century nuns, in the present day. I think it had addled his brain. It’s all in this file on the desk.” He indicated the document, and Phinn decided to study it later, he never did.

There was always some new distraction turning up between clients. For instance at the moment Phinn was engrossed in an episode of the Simpsons, playing on an old beat up television. This one was when Bart ruined Lisa’s science fair exhibit, leading her to try aversion therapy on Bart. As the lad reached up for two cupcakes he had been taught to fear, Mr Gimlet suddenly shot up. “I think we’ve got some cupcakes”, and he handed phinn a box from Lou Davico’s bakery. “You have them, I prefer Pears Gallumbits.” Phinn pushed the box away, still engrossed in the TV show. Hurt by Phinn’s lack of interest in his culinary foraging, Mr G called out from beyond hitting range.“You cheeky monkey, you’re not too big for a spanking. And I can tell you, I’ve had to spank a few monkeys in my time.”

You would have thought that given the nature of things just turning up, would eventually cause the room to fill beyond capacity. Even given the odd client removing their prised possession. But an odd quirk of the room was that a minuscule black hole existed in one remote corner. The strange properties of the office also meant that its gravitational effects were kept within the event horizon. Giving it a very useful function of removing any waste from the room. Mr G always insisted that Phinn disposed of any out of date food. “I won’t have any gastronomic terrorism, bin it before it goes off.” Phinn’s predecessor, when he had managed to get Mr G to admit to the fact, had fallen prey to the black hole. He had only spoke French, and for the brief time he spent there, Mr G had tried to explain the simple rules to keep the room tidy. But when he had mentioned the black hole, giving its French translation. The poor fellow had laughed so much; he had accidentally touched the event horizon. “I can never stand the sight of spaghetti since.” Mr G had concluded with a grimace.

One afternoon, or so Phinn assumed it to be; stared idly out of their one window, which was sadly sealed. Not that it worked, as a real window should. They just got random images from the space-time continuum, like visual driftwood. “It’s showing Victorian Harrow again”, Phinn called over his shoulder. “Remember when we got that naturists resort in Rhyll, if only we could have got the catch undone. Or when we got abutted up to the window, of that Russian priest and his flock.” Mr G emerged from behind a shelf. “Particularly educating as I recall. He was a very cunning linguist, and a master of many tongues. Here try this out”, and he tossed a magic eye book at Phinn.

The lad took hours staring at the pictures, until finally exasperated at Phinn’s failure to see anything; his boss snatched the book back. “Not got it yet lad? You have to look at things a bit skewwhiff to get them.” He crossed his eyes, and then they widened as if in shock. Coughing he shoved it under a stack of sheets. “I’ll just save that for studying later.”

The door opened, and a portly looking man followed his belly in. He gave a surprised double take then exclaimed, “This isn’t the gents then?” But before Phinn could answer, the man’s eyes fell on an ornate bottle of liqueur, in the shape of a nymph. “Well I never, I’ve got one of those at home, I thought mine was unique. May I buy it?” Phinn waved him away, now intent on a comic he’d just picked up. “Help your self.” The man turned to go, but for some reason the door wouldn’t let him through. This did get Phinn’s attention; expecting some new company, and effectively an underling for him. But Mr G who had witnessed this scene stepped up. “I think you need to put down the bottle.” The confused man did as he was told, and stepped gingerly out of sight. “What happened there?” a distraught Phinn asked. “He’s a reverse timer. They can’t leave with the object, because they’ve not lost it yet. He’ll never find that again when he loses it.”

Picking up the bottle, Phinn decided to see the bright side of this experience. And pulling out the cork, he took a swig. “Apple brandy I think.” Mr G held up his hand, when Phinn offered him the bottle. “No thanks, now if it were a nice red, perhaps with a nice bit of rump steak. Mind you I do find them a bit tough for my teeth, so any rump I have needs a good pounding. I’ve got a mallet round here some ware, if we ever find some.” And he disappeared still pontificating, in to the maze of shelves. Phinn just shrugged his shoulders, and went to work on the bottle.

When Phinn finally awoke, he had a very bitter taste in his mouth. And opening his eyes, he realised he was lying face down on a rug, chewing the pile. “Up you get lad, I’ll have no carpet munchers here.” Mr G held out a coin. “Here lick on this instead, it’s a hangover cure.” Phinn took the tuppence and gave it a lick. The pain in his head didn’t go, but the bitter taste on his tongue did distract him briefly, while Mr G. routed about in a box. He fished out one of the star wars films. “Have a watch of this.”

By the time the film was over Phinn had demolished a bag of oranges, and was feeling much better. “I see that Lea’s put on a pound or two. Mind you I heard she was a bit of a cake addict, she never could walk past a Battenberg. Not like that clean living Han Solo, he survived on cheese all these years. I heard Caerphilly was his favourite, but he was always partial to Wookey Hole.” Very droll replied Phinn, as leaned over and took a bite of a jellyroll. It was a bit dry, so he had to take a sip of a milk shake. “Is that raspberry?” asked Mr G. “No the carton says its strawberry, Alberto frog brand”, replied Phinn taking another swig.

Just then Mr G jumped up and strode over to a pile of junk. He picked up a plack he had just notice, and read the legend. “The secret room within my head, Where no lewd though is left behind, There the truth disguised so fair, Is edified and laid so bare.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Phinn. “It means you’ve got a promotion” came the reply. And with that Mr Gimlett stepped out of the exit, with his long lost possession.

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