File type: Rich Text File (.rtf) [Download]
-----------------------------------------
Could not generate preview text for this file type.
-----------------------------------------
Could not generate preview text for this file type.
Interview with the Publisher
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2019 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: hardback
The beaver shuffled some papers, set them aside, and looked at the book again. It really was a beautifully paw-bound tome and its sheer uniqueness drew the eye. The head of the Bowton-Woofton publishing house glanced up to look at the politely smiling caracal sitting across the desk from him. “This really is a remarkable effort, sir,” the beaver said.
“Thank you,” the caracal replied. “I put a lot of body and soul into it.”
The beaver grinned. “All good writers do, sir. And you want this printed using the same materials? I’m afraid that it might be quite expensive.”
The feline smiled a bit wider. “Money’s not a consideration, sir.”
The beaver tried to avoid letting the caracal see the dollar signs that abruptly appeared in his eyes. Keeping his voice under control he said, “In that case I’m going to have to ask you to please list for me the materials that you used.” He got out a notepad and a pen. “Now, first, the paper – “
“Not paper, sir. Parchment.”
“Parchment?”
“Yes. Specifically sheepskin.”
The beaver’s eyes went wide and he felt his tail quiver in a barely suppressed, atavistic urge to slap the chair as an alarm signal. “Sheep . . . skin?” he managed to squeak out.
“Yes.” The caracal nodded.
A hard swallow. “And – and the i-ink?”
“Sheep’s blood,” came the all-too-ready reply. “The binding is sinew. It took a great deal of time and effort to craft the book the way I wanted.”
It suddenly occurred to the beaver that he might not be exactly safe, even with the desk between him and the feline. “I-I see,” and he scribbled some notes. His paw was shaking slightly. “W-Will you w-want this in softcover?”
“No. The cover – ahh, the cover was a masterwork, if I do say so. Note, if you will, that it feels hard but has a slight amount of flexibility.” The beaver tried it, and blinked as it behaved exactly as described. “The secret was in its construction.”
“H-How - ?”
“Bone.”
“Bone?”
He was squeaking again.
The caracal put his paws together, one crossed against the other. “Thin layers of bone, offset - like you’d see in plywood – and the glue gives it its flexible nature.”
Glue. The beaver gulped. “Sh-Sheep?”
“No.”
The rodent started to relax.
“Horse.”
There was nothing to say, and if there had been the beaver would swear he couldn’t find it.
“The cloth cover,” the caracal remarked, “is wool, dyed with woad. I carded, spun, dyed and wove it myself,” he summed up in a proud tone.
The beaver pulled his pawkerchief from a pocket and mopped his brow. A glance at his notes showed that he had unconsciously written Call the Police among the scattered notations about the materials that had gone into making the book. Just contemplating the object in front of him, and the still-smiling author beyond it, made his blood run cold.
Still, all that money . . . he might get a promotion.
“Um, w-w-well, w-we can certainly acquire the m-materials – “
“You could help reduce the prison population,” the caracal offered.
“Uh. Um, y-yes. W-Well, we can get a contract drawn up, and I’ll c-contact your agent - yes?” he asked as the feline raised a paw.
“While he was extremely helpful in my creative process,” the caracal said, “my agent’s no longer representing me. So there’ll be no commission or percentage. Simplifies things, yes?”
“Er, yes, I suppose it does.” The beaver mopped his brow again. “Then I think we can get your book published, sir. The m-m-materials will make it a limited run – say, fifty copies at first? Numbered and signed by you?”
The caracal smiled happily. “I’d like that, sir.” He stood, looming across the desk, and offered a paw. “I think we have a deal.”
They shook paws, the beaver acting somewhat hesitant, and the caracal left the office. Once the receptionist had confirmed that the feline had left the building, the beaver relaxed.
But he kept staring at the book.
Down at street level, the caracal flagged down a cab and gave directions back to his hotel. He started to chuckle as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
He’d been joking about the book.
The glue was made from ram’s horn, not horse’s hooves.
end
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2019 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: hardback
The beaver shuffled some papers, set them aside, and looked at the book again. It really was a beautifully paw-bound tome and its sheer uniqueness drew the eye. The head of the Bowton-Woofton publishing house glanced up to look at the politely smiling caracal sitting across the desk from him. “This really is a remarkable effort, sir,” the beaver said.
“Thank you,” the caracal replied. “I put a lot of body and soul into it.”
The beaver grinned. “All good writers do, sir. And you want this printed using the same materials? I’m afraid that it might be quite expensive.”
The feline smiled a bit wider. “Money’s not a consideration, sir.”
The beaver tried to avoid letting the caracal see the dollar signs that abruptly appeared in his eyes. Keeping his voice under control he said, “In that case I’m going to have to ask you to please list for me the materials that you used.” He got out a notepad and a pen. “Now, first, the paper – “
“Not paper, sir. Parchment.”
“Parchment?”
“Yes. Specifically sheepskin.”
The beaver’s eyes went wide and he felt his tail quiver in a barely suppressed, atavistic urge to slap the chair as an alarm signal. “Sheep . . . skin?” he managed to squeak out.
“Yes.” The caracal nodded.
A hard swallow. “And – and the i-ink?”
“Sheep’s blood,” came the all-too-ready reply. “The binding is sinew. It took a great deal of time and effort to craft the book the way I wanted.”
It suddenly occurred to the beaver that he might not be exactly safe, even with the desk between him and the feline. “I-I see,” and he scribbled some notes. His paw was shaking slightly. “W-Will you w-want this in softcover?”
“No. The cover – ahh, the cover was a masterwork, if I do say so. Note, if you will, that it feels hard but has a slight amount of flexibility.” The beaver tried it, and blinked as it behaved exactly as described. “The secret was in its construction.”
“H-How - ?”
“Bone.”
“Bone?”
He was squeaking again.
The caracal put his paws together, one crossed against the other. “Thin layers of bone, offset - like you’d see in plywood – and the glue gives it its flexible nature.”
Glue. The beaver gulped. “Sh-Sheep?”
“No.”
The rodent started to relax.
“Horse.”
There was nothing to say, and if there had been the beaver would swear he couldn’t find it.
“The cloth cover,” the caracal remarked, “is wool, dyed with woad. I carded, spun, dyed and wove it myself,” he summed up in a proud tone.
The beaver pulled his pawkerchief from a pocket and mopped his brow. A glance at his notes showed that he had unconsciously written Call the Police among the scattered notations about the materials that had gone into making the book. Just contemplating the object in front of him, and the still-smiling author beyond it, made his blood run cold.
Still, all that money . . . he might get a promotion.
“Um, w-w-well, w-we can certainly acquire the m-materials – “
“You could help reduce the prison population,” the caracal offered.
“Uh. Um, y-yes. W-Well, we can get a contract drawn up, and I’ll c-contact your agent - yes?” he asked as the feline raised a paw.
“While he was extremely helpful in my creative process,” the caracal said, “my agent’s no longer representing me. So there’ll be no commission or percentage. Simplifies things, yes?”
“Er, yes, I suppose it does.” The beaver mopped his brow again. “Then I think we can get your book published, sir. The m-m-materials will make it a limited run – say, fifty copies at first? Numbered and signed by you?”
The caracal smiled happily. “I’d like that, sir.” He stood, looming across the desk, and offered a paw. “I think we have a deal.”
They shook paws, the beaver acting somewhat hesitant, and the caracal left the office. Once the receptionist had confirmed that the feline had left the building, the beaver relaxed.
But he kept staring at the book.
Down at street level, the caracal flagged down a cab and gave directions back to his hotel. He started to chuckle as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
He’d been joking about the book.
The glue was made from ram’s horn, not horse’s hooves.
end
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Beaver
Gender Male
Size 120 x 92px
Listed in Folders
Thank you!
I was puzzling over the prompt word, and while I was doing my 2.5-mile walk at 6 this morning the entire story, dialogue and all, popped into my head.
I was puzzling over the prompt word, and while I was doing my 2.5-mile walk at 6 this morning the entire story, dialogue and all, popped into my head.
“While he was extremely helpful in my creative process,” the caracal said, “my agent’s no longer representing me.
Please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means about the agent...
Please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means about the agent...
Ha! So evil!
Now I need a reason for my human captain to be selling chakat pelts ...
Now I need a reason for my human captain to be selling chakat pelts ...
I'm sure fava beans and a nice chianti were involved, somehow.
If I ever intend to replicate Lovecraft's Necronomicon, I think I have a good outline now, lol. The timing in the dialogue was excellent, it was a sudden and unexpected twist after I had already gotten comfortable with the scene at the beginning.
Thank you! It just felt so right to have this completely surreal element slip into a mundane setting.
Now can I interest you in investing in my franchise line of Tindalos Hound Kennels? High end and guarenteed to summon the most Eldritch of canids.
I had a Hellhound, for three years.
I divorced her in 2003.
(drum sting)
I divorced her in 2003.
(drum sting)
Comments