The Mask Maker
The Mask Maker
Spencer Rook
Rumors abound about the mysterious young mask maker, everyone curious as to why he spends all his time hidden away in his house, barely talking past what's required to complete a job. Determined to learn more about him, Luk agrees to go speak to him about the masks commissioned for a coming festival. What he encounters is a man much more, and much less, than all the rumours warned him about.
The Mask Maker
By Spencer Rook
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Tanni Fan
Cover designed by London Burden
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition March 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Spencer Rook
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 9781620041895
Four hours into constructing the stage for the Festival of Parth and I was exhausted. Each time I went to hammer another nail into a board, my arms creaked and popped under the strain. Things would have been easier had we all been allowed to use our magic, but the precedent had always been that the group from Parth School would build the platform for their graduation performance with their hands. Perry insisted that no magic was allowed. Although everyone around me groaned about the workload, we all knew it would be worth it come the following week. With graduation comes the chance to practice magic without supervision and no more training sessions with Perry.
"Come on, you lazy bunch of incompetent dogs. If this thing doesn't get up, then we're never going to have a festival, and I know how crushed you'd all be about that," Perry, giving yet another pep talk, called from his comfortable seat on the grass. His green robes splayed out and caused him to take up twice the amount of space than he normally would.
Had he been helping us, perhaps the job would have been done sooner, but he chose instead to dictate our every move with the waving of his hands and the barking of his voice. Truth was, though, we all would have been crushed if the festival was canceled. Then again, we still had a few days to finalize everything, so I wasn't all that worried about it. The other boys didn't seem to be either because they only laughed or made a few rude gestures in his direction.
The only fortunate thing about being out in the heat, hammering together a wooden platform in the middle of a random field was that I didn't have to do it by myself. The other members of my class were with me, the seven of us in our matching brown cloaks. Unfortunately, I was also subjected to listening to their gossip about anyone and everyone in our town. When clumped together and forced to work, it never failed that someone would mention a rumor that they had heard and then it would snowball. This time was no different, and the subject was an old favorite: the mask maker.
"I heard that he only comes out at night and, when he does, he eats the cats that families have left out for the evening," one classmate said.
"Well, I heard that he put a hex on Old Lady Chuff and that's why she smells like cabbage all the time," said another.
A third piped up, shaking his head. "You're both crazy. I was told that he turned his father into a puppet and that's why we haven't seen him around much either."
The group laughed and I couldn't help but smile a little. Even though I was used to hearing the rumors about the mask maker, the puppet idea was a new concept. Perry roared behind us, getting up and storming over to our half-finished stage. "Really? Again with all this talk? This is nonsense. You've been on him for days, and I'm here to tell you that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that boy. So he likes to spend most of his time in his shop! Is there something wrong with that? The boy has good work ethic in my book."
Pat put down his hammer and looked at Perry. "Alright that might explain why we don't see him around, but explain why we've heard all of this other stuff. There's some truth behind rumors, you know."
"Pat, I've got a theory about this. You've heard this because you're all young and stupid and you like to make up stories about things that you know nothing about. Why you lot don't find something better to do is beyond me. But since we’re on the topic of better things to do, who wants to pay the mask maker a little visit?"
His question was met with silence. I knew that no one was going to volunteer for the chance to see him. The stories that had been created about his life had turned him into a terrifying legend amongst the younger people in the town. Pretending not to hear the question, I watched a beetle land on one of the planks I had just put together. It had a remarkable zebra pattern, and I couldn't help but notice how much more interesting it was than anything else that had been talked about thus far.
"No one? Someone has to. We need to see if the masks are going to be ready in time. You guys have to have something to wear during the festival." Perry paused, waiting for one of us to step forward. "Oh, I see how it is. All of you like to talk big up until it comes time to actually do something, and then you all shut down. That's very interesting." He seemed pleased with being able to mock us for once.
"It's not very fair to send one of us up to that death trap, now is it?" Pat asked, pointing his hammer at Perry.
"Fine! I'll go do it myself. But don't expect me to be in a good mood when I get back. And this stage better be near completion." Muttering a few choice words under his breath, he turned away from us and walked towards a small dirt path that led towards the village.
"Like anyone would want to go see the mask maker. I don't even know why he's still in business here. Shouldn't the town have run him out by now? Mark my words, boys, the second I'm allowed to practice unrestricted magic, I might just pay him a little visit," Pat said, sitting down on the grass.
I had only seen the mask maker once, when we were young children and his father was still the mask maker. This was, of course, before his father had died and all of the rumors had started. It was before he had become known as the demented mask maker. Now, seeing how everyone talked about him, I almost wished I had been able to befriend him when we were younger. No one should live alienated in his own town, with only his shop and whatever else lurked inside of it.
"Where do you think you're going?" Pat asked me as I started walking towards Perry's direction. The others had already sat down. If they didn't plan on working, I figured there was no point in me sticking around.
"Don't worry about it," I called over my shoulder.
"Going to see the freak?"
My steps faltered as I heard the others chuckle over his remark. Pat had always been the ringleader, causing trouble which the others always defended. He was the type of kid who would carry groceries to help a lady and then steal something from her bags before she knew what was happening. The festival couldn't come soon enough, and then I wouldn't have to see him anymore.
I shot him a smile. "If I wanted to see a freak then I would just stay here." I'm sure he was furious, but I didn't pay him anymore attention.
Perry was already halfway up the path by the time I had trotted close enough behind him to speak. "Sir," I said. "I can go and check."
He turned around, squinting at me, a look of mild surprise mixed with amusement on his face. "What's that, Luk?"
"I was just saying that I would go and check on the masks for you." I looked over his shoulder rather than directly into his eyes. Now that I had stopped him, I felt uncomfortable with continuing on.
"Are you sure, Luk?" Perry smiled at me. "I know that you and the rest of your cronies are all frightened of Alexander." Alexander. That was his name. I hadn't heard anyone call him that in years.
"No, sir. That's them, not me. I really don't believe in all of those stories that they talk about." I paused. "I shouldn't, should I?"
Perry let out a long sigh. "Listen, Alexander is a very special young man. I know that there were stories that started a few years ago. The death of his father didn't help with that, with no one around to protect his name. He just doesn't like coming out and seeing others around the town all of the time. Probably because of the stories that people like your friends go on spouting. Trust me, I would not send you up there if I felt that you would be in any danger. Heck, I've visited him several times."
"You have?" I don't know why I found it surprising. Someone had to visit the shop—otherwise he wouldn't still be in business.
He let out a small laugh. "How do you think we place the orders to get the masks in the first place? I'm not in the habit of just wishing for them to order themselves. He's really a nice young man. He's just a little private."
I nodded and that seemed to convince Perry because he nodded and began walking back towards the others. Since I was no longer with the other members of my class, I took off my cloak and carried it over one arm. My red tunic and black leggings were a far more comfortable choice in the summer heat.
"Alright, might as well do this," I said to no one in particular.
From the field to the town, the walk was not that long. Once in the village, I was greeted with the usual noises of the townspeople walking in and out of the large wooden shops. It seemed as if the entire street was lined with two-story buildings, each one filled with any object necessary, or unnecessary, for each individual's survival.
"Good afternoon, Luk," said a small woman with a rounded face.
"And a good one to you, Lady Chuff," I said back to her, smiling. As she passed by, I noted that she smelled an awful lot like cabbage.
Continuing my trip down the crowded street, I was greeted by more people who wanted to wish me a polite hello. When you live in a village where everyone knows everyone, it's hard to walk from one end to the other without someone wanting to stop and talk. Even the shopkeepers always seemed to be taking time off from their busy stores in order to track down a friend who was passing by in the street.
After many minutes of giving polite greetings to those I passed by, I made my way around a corner and the mask shop came into view. It was one of the older looking buildings, and it certainly needed at least a new coat of paint. There were large patches of black paint that had been stripped away to reveal a golden-hued wood. The walk that led up to its front porch was made of stones—an uncommon sight in the village—that were cracked and crumbling. Although any fears that I had about coming here had been put to rest by Perry, the building itself was doing no favors for Alexander's reputation. The only piece of the building that looked alright was a wooden sign that said "Master Marper's Masks". It looked the same as it had when I was a child.
I was suddenly struck by a memory of Alexander when we were children. Why had I not managed to ever remember it before? My immediate impression of him had been that he was a dark child, but only in the sense that he was dressed from head to toe in black. His hair was black and it covered his eyes, which were not on the lighter side of the spectrum either. I was walking through town on my way home when I was nine, and he had been standing, hunched over, outside of his father's shop, examining something on the ground.
"What are you doing?" I had asked him.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm looking for slugs," he said, smiling up at me.
"Are you finding any?" At nine, slugs were a high priority to me.
He shook his head, his hair waving about in all directions. "Nope. I could use a little luck."
"What a coincidence! My name's Luk!" I exclaimed, extending my hand to him. That phrase had been one I was proud of, using it whenever my mother said that she needed some luck.
