Master Nose
My uncle was a man of the highest principles. When he fell seriously ill, he summoned me to his side.
“Elizabeth!” my uncle called.
That concludes the Dickensian side of this tale. The next part could well have been written by Wodehouse, for my uncle was known as Uncle Alfred, but really, this was the beginning of a string of adventures so fantastic, they wouldve left Stephen King blinking in disbelief.
I hardly knew Uncle Alfred. In truth, no one in our family knew him well. He had a reputation for eccentricity, lived a solitary existence out in the wilds, socialised little and no one seemed to know what he did with his time. Id seen him, perhaps, twice in my life.
So, when Uncle summoned me, I was understandably surprised. He didnt just invite mehe commanded. Thats the word he used down the telephone: I command you to attend to me on a matter of utmost importance. I was more surprised that he had my phone number. Intrigued, I packed a bag, and not five minutes later, the car hed sent arrived. He clearly hadnt doubted Id come.
“Elizabeth,” Uncle called again as I walked in.
He then lapsed into silence. It turned out he didnt live as far off as Id thought. After the turning off the A40, it was maybe three minutes on tarmac, but the landscape was curiously menacingtowering sombre pines pressed against the road, brushing the car with bristly branches. The sharp scent of pine overwhelmed my senses. Suddenly, ahead, a castle loomed into view. At least, it certainly looked like a castle at first sight: three storeys of gloomy brickwork, turrets, gothic spiresall against the backdrop of those pointed cypresses. It was striking, even a bit sinister, in a fascinating sort of way. The driver, who had been silent the entire way, simply walked me to Uncles study and quietly bowed out.
Yes, Uncle Alfred, I piped up, prodding him to speak.
Eliza he began, then broke into a fit of coughing.
He looked ill. I didnt recall his eyes being so sunken before, or his voice so husky. Nor had he ever laid so low in bed, vanishing beneath pillows, leaving only our familys notorious Bridgerton nose peeking out. After catching his wind, Uncle continued:
My days are numbered, but my lifes work remains unfinished. I relied too much on myself and didnt find an apprentice or assistant in time. But better late than never. Of all the possible candidates, Ive chosen you.
I reiterate, I had no idea what uncle got up to, nor did the gloomy house make me eager to find out.
But why me I started to protest.
Im leaving you this house, he interjected, but on one condition.
Suddenly, a bugle sounded in my head and pound coins jingled. Such a windfall was not to be passed up.
And what is that condition? I asked, with what I hoped was my most charming smile.
You must live here with me for exactly one month. There are plenty of rooms, pick any one you like, but you must never, under any circumstances, enter the cellar without me. Agreed?
A storm of thoughts whirled, then vanished, and the next thing I knew, I was eagerly shaking my uncles withered hand.
There really were a lot of rooms. By the fifth or sixth Id lost countand that was just the second floor! The décor was distinct: gloomy, gothic, a bit Draculas castle, truth be told. But each room was spotlessly clean, rather like an eccentric millionaires house. Or perhaps it simply was. I ended up choosing the room furthest from uncles quarters, turned on a crimson-shaded floor lamp, sprawled on the grandiose canopy bed under thick raspberry curtains and stared into an impenetrable wall of pines. Gloomy and boring, yes, but Id finished university early, my parents were off digging up the past, and if dead dinosaurs were more interesting than their living daughter, so be it. Assuming there was Wi-fi Which there was, and blissfully password-free.
The kitchen was thoroughly modern, and the fridge well stocked. The whole house exuded a sort of plush eccentricity.
While exploring, I wandered to the cellar door. It wasnt locked. Well, well. Just dont open the black door!classic Uncle. But I wasnt about to throw away my shot at a jackpot for the sake of idle curiosity. Spend a month, live it up, and dont stick your nose where its not wanted. Easy!
The hard part was waiting. Waiting for what, though? I had so many questions; I resolved to quiz Uncle Alfred in due course. Meanwhile, I took a few selfies, flicked through my phone, and soon the old-school rotary phone on my nightstand ringed. I picked up the heavy receiver.
Eliza! Uncles voice croaked. Tomorrow Ill show you my laboratory and explain everything. For now, please do not disturb me.
A laboratory? What on earth for?
Behind the wardrobe! Uncle barked. Good night.
Five in the evening! Good night, indeed! How did he know which room Id chosen? Ah well, curiosity could wait. I lazed on the bed, watched anime, then had supper courtesy of Uncle and turned in. I slept poorlystrange dreams haunted me. At one point I awoke, frozen, convinced footsteps and whispers echoed in the corridor. Or was that just my own heartbeat pounding in my ears?
I woke late, sluggish and puffy-eyed, managed a half-hearted wash and breakfast and, without waiting for an invite, marched off to Uncles room.
Uncle Alfred, may I come in?
The door was ajar. I knocked, peeped in, and all the hair on my neck stood on end.
Uncle was gone. The room was in chaos: drawers upended, bedding trailing toward the door, as if someone had dragged him out kicking. I remembered the footsteps at night. Sothey had been real?
Panic-stricken, I dashed about the house. No Uncle, no trace. Perhaps hed gone outside? But the heavy metal bolt on the front door stood firm, locked from within. No one had left by the main exit. The cellar!
The door to the cellar was hanging off its hingesa most ominous sign.
Uncle Alfred! I squeaked in a trembling voice.
I wasnt supposed to go in, but if he wasnt anywhere else, surely? I tiptoed to the threshold. A small lobby, a puddle on the floor, another heavy doorsafe-like, almost bank vault material. As I watched, it began to creak open, very slowly, as if it had been waiting just for me. A chill swept over me, thenappearing in the doorway, I saw Well, how do I describe it? In great boots, a sheepskin coat but the fellow himself was no bigger than a thumb.
Who are you? piped the thumb-man.
He looked even more startled than I felt. Frost on his eyelashes melted and ran down his rosy cheeks.
Im Elizabeth, I stammered, shivering with either cold or fear.
Elizabeth? Wheres Master Alfred?
I dont know
Terrible! Oh, terrible Theres a war afoot! The King is ill! Only Master Alfred can help!
My odd visitor wrung his hands, babbling quickly. His meaning was clear enoughthere was trouble, and only Uncle could solve it. He sniffled heavily, pointed at my nose, then settled into a more serious tone. Despite his height, I sawnot a boy, but a man, much older than me underneath it all, and for some reason, I suddenly felt uniquely responsible for saving Uncle. And strangely, he seemed dear to me already, perhaps because he hadnt thought twice before trying to help.
And so, wrapped in Uncles blanket, I trudged through a winter storm. Dont ask why there was a blizzard in June, for if you ask that I must ask why theres a snowy plain beyond my uncles cellar. I was simply shell-shocked, following my peculiar guide, trying to keep my trainers within his neat little tracks. His name was Nickor maybe Kit, I wasnt sure. His accent dropped some consonants.
Before long, I regretted my hasty agreement. Then I felt sorry for myself, and then I grew cold. Most of all, my nose sufferedit stuck out into the wind, freezing and dripping.
Listen, Kit, can we rest? I pleaded.
My name is Nick. He paused, peered pitifully at my blue-tinted family heirloom, rummaged in his coat and producednot the flask I hoped for, but a little box full of tiny compartments.
Sniff! he commanded, dropping a pinch of brown powder into my palm.
I braced myselfit wasnt what I thought, but it smelled sharp and spicy, warming my nose instantly. I sniffed the whole lot, sneezed ferociously a few times, and then, wondrously, I felt strength and warmth return. I leapt ahead, blowing steam like a kettle. Everything seemed bright and easy, and I half expected to splash through an ocean, had it appeared.
Come on then, Kit! I shouted back. Catch up!
My name is Nick, he smiled, picking up speed.
After half an hour of hard marching, I suddenly paused.
Where are we going, exactly?
Not weyou go. Youre the witch. You know the road.
What road!? I snapped. Dragged me out to the ends of the earth, call me a witch
Sniff! Nick suddenly barked.
I did so, surprised. Somewhere up ahead, I smelled thymefaint, but distinct, though there wasnt a trace of it in the empty white expanse. So that was where we headed. Or rather, where I did.
Gnomes! Master Alfred! Seek! cried Nick.
What am I, a sniffer dog? I grumbled, but finding Uncle was in my best interests too, so I obediently followed my nose.
Soon enough, a snowy mound appeared. The scent grew strong, leading us to a small wooden door, which looked to be an entrance to an underground denjust in time, as the magic powder was wearing off and my feet were frozen through. Kit opened the door, beckoned me inside, and down we descended into utter darkness.
Suddenly, a wave of noise and odours hit me: shouts, clangs, songs, sour wine, greasy food, and filthy linens. My eyes adjusted to see a room crowded with rough tables and rougher characters, a medieval inn scene come to life. Startled by the abrupt change of scenery, I half wanted to turn and flee, but the doorway was gone.
This way, Nick whispered, oddly formal.
Strangely, no one paid us much heed. This was odd, as I surely didnt blend innot with my height or my bright dressing-gown. Everyone here was Nicks size, except me, and I had to stoop.
We crossed to a heavily bearded innkeeper.
You know who I am? demanded Nick.
The innkeeper nodded briskly.
Then bring us your best, Nick gestured to a free table in the corner.
Opposite me, Nick looked differentconfident, almost regal. People eyed him furtively, then looked away. The place quieted, the atmosphere heavy with expectation.
Meat, bread, a jug, wooden cups appeared. The meat stank of garlic but was soft and juicy; the drink, thin and sour, defeated me at the first sip.
Water! Nick signalled, and water promptly arrived.
Have you seen any gnomes about? Nick asked abruptly.
No, my lord, murmured the innkeeper, backing away.
At that moment, the medley of smells shiftedsomething metallic, rusty. I sniffed.
What do you smell? Nick asked at once.
“Something like iron… maybe,” I replied.
Nicks face darkened; he marched to the bar, fixing the innkeeper with a thunderous glower.
Tell the truth! he growled, gripping the poor mans beard.
Ill tell, Ill tell! babbled the fellow.
Suddenly, a whiff of swamp-rot reached me. Three drab customers sidled towards the bar. It definitely reeked most foul from their directionand of fear, too.
Nick, watch out!
I leapt up and threw my jug at the trioone went down, the other two brandished knives and sprang at Nick. He grabbed the innkeeper, shielding himself as the first blow struck the man in the back. At once, Nick vaulted onto the counter. One opponent lost his weapon; Nick laid the other out with a fierce kick, then pounced like a panther. As he bested the last of them, I couldnt help but admire his agilityhe even seemed to radiate a fresh, cucumbery scent. With all three assailants subdued, silence settled in the inn; even the flies seemed to pause.
Then, applause. I initiated it, the crowd followed, and soon the buzz resumed, bodies were cleared away somewhere out of sight, except the one who had caught my jug and was left sitting, dazed. Nick dragged him behind the bar. I saw him open his box. I thought I caught a whiff of cinnamon.
“Talk! I heard Nick demand.
A long, anxious muttering followed.
Lets go! Nick called to me at last.
To where? Oof I banged my head on a beam.
Outside, it was duskand summer. You stop being surprised after a sequence like the above. Well, summer then! Why not? The street was pure medieval England, everything as youd expectcobbles, horses, a town crier perhaps.
Nick pulled on his sheepskin, I wrapped Uncles blanket round my waist, and we hurried along, villagers gawking at me but bowing deeply to Nick.
I couldnt get used to the new scents. In England, riding the Tube was always awkwardclose quarters and dozens of brands of deodorant. Thanks to our familys prodigious nose, Id always had a sharp sense of smell. Here, though, it was otherworldly: I smelled not just street and stables but peoples moods, their status, even their intentions. There was certainly magic at play.
This way!
Nick finally halted before a grand door, decorated with an elaborate crest. It swung open; we entered, passed some immaculate guards and went into a grand hall. Several crisply dressed gentlemen bowed. Nick murmured to them and had me shown upstairs. A polite, smart boy sort of like a porter opened a door for me and lit the candles.
Make yourself comfortable!
The room was nearly a replica of one in Uncles house. I tried the curtainsrather than pines outside, there was the familiar old street.
Rest well, said the porter, spritzing the air with a spray of vanilla and lavender before leaving.
Yet all I could do was lay upon the bed and promptly drift away.
A cautious knock roused me. For a moment I was utterly lost, but memory returned. Stillwas this a dream? I cracked open the door. The same youth, the same bed.
Good morning, madam!
Is it morning already?
Yes, madam. His Royal Highness awaits you at breakfast.
He misted the room againwatermelon and almond this time.
What is that? Why do you do it?
Morning scent, madam. For alertness. The one I used last night is for sleep. Breakfast will be in five minutes.
He bowed and left. Amazingly, despite sleeping fully dressed, I felt spry and ravenous.
A quick brush-up, and I was presentable. I wonderedwould Nick be at breakfast?
He was. No one else, just him, decked now in a brilliant blue uniform with enormous golden epaulettes, exuding an air of gravity and prestige. Or rather, a scent of it.
Had I landed myself in a fairy tale court?
I sat opposite.
How did you sleep, Lady Elizabeth?
Oh, perfectly, Your Highness? Should I call you that?
No need for formality, he smiled warmly. You may call me Nick.
In that case, just Lizzy, please. And I wish someone would finally explain what on earth is happening, where this is, and what my role is meant to be?
Breakfastomelette, toast, coffeefelt very British and comfortingly normal. Information was harder to digest.
To summarise: Nick was both Prince, General, and the de facto ambassador between this world and my world, our world, via certain gatewaysalways through a snowy wasteland, for some reason. Nick mentioned the passageways appear and vanish, and only some can traverse them. Next door, was the land of Gnomes; both it and Nicks country bordered this one. I didnt catch all the local namespronunciation wasnt my fortebut that never proved relevant.
The Gnomes werent allowed access to my world, but Nick traveled regularly, primarily for the scents. Uncle brought necessary supplies and traded. All went smoothly, until Uncle went missing. When supplies of essential fragrances ran out, the King (Nicks father) fell ill and the Gnomes started a war.
Oh dear Nick groaned, just as he had the previous day in the cellar. I really wanted to pat him on the head and reassure him.
Making matters worse, it turned out, the Gnomes had sneaked into my world and kidnapped Unclelike he was a goose that laid the golden eggs.
Nicks kingdom was left desperate, and when they learned Uncle was gone, they turned to me. Or rather, to my nose.
I needed to find Uncle (that much I was certain about), but everything else seemed chaos.
After breakfast, we set out to find Uncle and save the world. In a carriage, no lessa proper one, drawn by four spotted ponies, with a squad of flying hussars in tow. I felt like a half-made princess, and peered eagerly out the window. Only the journey soon became an exercise in enduring every bump known to English backroads. Eventually, rattling from head to toe, we arrived at a large village: chimney smoke, geese honking, women washing by the stream. It smelled of smoke, geese and river waterbut not a trace of gnome. Still, the intelligence Nicks men had extracted suggested Uncle was hidden here. I twitched my nose, trying to recall Uncles scentmedicine? Musty old books? His blanket? But the blanket Id brought for myself was inoffensiveperhaps his spirit had faded away.
I was stumped. Eyes fell on me, expectant, as if awaiting a prophecy from a modern-day Moses. And I? I despaired. Until I caught the scent of despair, and realised it was strongest near an old barn.
“There! I commanded, and the party rushed forward.
Nick burst in first, freezing. The hussars followed. There, at the centre, was Uncle, gagged and bound to a beam, while by his side, a hefty gnome (I now knew the type) brandished a torch. He reeked of thyme.
Dont come near! the gnome shrieked, torch raised.
Hay was everywherea sea of it. One spark and boom. Uncles wild eyes pleaded. I surged with both fury and protectivenessa volcano, a tank in motion.
Give him herenow! I roared.
The gnome shrank, dropped his torch, and I went to untie Uncle.
But then, from the hay, dozens of gnomes burst forth, little sabres flashingthey ringed us in immediately.
Eliza! Uncle cried, I was trying to indicate there was a trap!
Give us the scent-bearer! shrieked the chief gnome. Or everyone dies!
My anger evaporated. I was, it seemed, no longer in a childrens adventure, and these adversaries were all too real.
I agree! Nick shouted.
What! After everything? After Id just saved him in the tavern? I felt a rush of betrayal as the gnomes hustled me out a side door, into the woods. As they bound my wrists and sat me in a cart (less bumpy than the carriage, mercifully), I had plenty of time to stew. Betrayal, I found, doesnt have an odour, but it chokes all the same.
After a long ride through wild lands, we finally reached Gnome country: a capital spread around a white-knuckled hill, buildings like cubes of sugar, a palace perched atop. The city had its beauty, but I saw it as a prison.
I was not thrown in a dungeon, however. I was given a comfortable room in the palace, albeit well-guarded. Days passed, then I was summoned: His Majesty wishes to see you, madam.
The King (or Kolor, as they said here) proved to be the picture of benevolenceand smelled it too.
Please, be at your ease, he said politely. We ask for your help in a small matter. In return, you may ask anything. Truly, it will not be any great trouble.
Now things grew interesting. How could I be of use to a den of cut-throats?
Im all ears, Your Majesty.
As youre doubtless aware, we have been attackedby gnomes…
What? But this was Gnome land! Wasnt it?
Pardon, Your Majesty, but arent you a gnome? Isnt this the gnome kingdom?
What? The King went purple in the cheeks at the insult, and his guards growled. Do not dare use that filthy word! The gnomes are those outlaws who captured you.
Well, now! If two sides say the opposite, one must be lying. But which?
But Nick said the invaders were Kolors!
Impossible! The king nearly choked with rage, the guards bristled and reached for their weapons.
I beg your pardon I must be confused, Im not from here I tried.
The King composed himself. Let me clarify: Kolor is an insult herethe penalty is death. In the land next door, their king is called Kolor, and calling him King brings similar punishment. The words themselves have led us into this absurd, terrible conflict.
You mean, the war began not over land or gold, but because you call your rulers different names? I gasped.
He confirmed itfor local politics, even smaller things sufficed. I recalled the war between Big-Endians and Little-Endians. Perhaps nothing is ever truly funny when the death toll mounts.
Anyway, I was tasked with helping them win. Deciding in the end that this was at least better than a noose, I became the State Alchemist of Scent.
* * *
Days blurred into weeks as I learned the art of scent-magic. It turned out, Uncle had secretly traded with both kingdoms, supplying aromasnot perfume, but compounds that actually affected emotions: courage, sleep, truth-telling, even love. With their supplies gone, the kingdoms were falling apart. Commanders refused to go to war without a whiff of bravery; aristocrats couldnt sleep without a whiff of peace; and, frankly, no one was honest in a world without a spritz of integrity. This was partly why Uncles house was so grand. When he vanished, all hell broke loose.
Fortunately, I inherited Uncles worn-out notebookcryptic recipes for the scent of fatigue or scent of exhaustion (saffron petals, dust, a dash of saltpeter, steeped in warm milk you get the drift). Slowly, through trial and error, with help from willing recruits (who couldnt help but sniff everything I gave them), I learned the ropes.
Progress was slow, but soon enough, I was conjuring not just fear but panic, not just cheer but euphoria, not just sadness but utter despair. In time, I surpassed my uncle’s notes, scrawling new discoveries in my own.
The King cared little for most of my scents. His eye was fixed firmly on one thingthe scent of victory. He expected me to whip up barrels of it, and especially, an aromatic weapon no one here had yet dreamt of: chemical warfare in the form of panic and terror.
I was promised vast rewards but indulged freely already. Nobles queued to buy obedience-powder for their sons and chastity-perfume for their daughters; a matron presented an especially worthy challenge: a scent to cure stuttering. When I saw it work, I almost gave back the fee in sheer glee.
Rumours began to swirl of a Good Scent blanketing the city; crime reports evaporated, and at night, the people slept in peace and all but glowed with kindness. There was an unexpected side-effectsoldiers returning from leave had become too good-natured to fight effectively. Losses mounted at the front. The king grew dark with rage and threatened dire consequences if I didnt deliver quick results.
When the secret was ready, I revealed it to the King and made my way to the battlefield.
The situation was dire: our men held the low ground, the enemy the heights. Rain threatened and the wind was in our favour.
Nick appeared on the horizon, bedecked in epaulettes, leading the enemys charge; by him, I recognised Uncles unmistakable nose.
I armed our sidefish bladders filled with panic-powder, trenches dosed with courage-scent. As battle commenced (arrows raining, horses charging, Nick splendid in his uniform), I watched as the first line of soldiers buckled under the onslaughtthen, just before disaster struck, panic-powder burst, courage surged and instead of mass slaughter both armies collapsed into laughing, weeping, hugging each other.
The two leadersthe King and Nickrushed to embrace, weeping with joy. Uncle appeared at my side.
Elizabeth! he said. You surpassed all my expectations. But do tellhow did you do it?!
Oh, it was quite simple I grinned. I added an element destroyed by water, so that when the rain struck, everything turned into the scent of total happiness and goodwill.
You genius! Uncle exclaimed, clutching my hands.
Nick, abashed, joined us and apologised for his earlier betrayal. I waved it awayall for the best. The King nodded; peace was signed on the spot, both the word King and Kolor added to the official lexicon as equal terms, and the old insult gnome was outlawed (save for cabbies and dockers, who, naturally, couldnt help themselves sometimes).
As for me, I went home in time for the start of the term. I set up in Uncles mansion, often visiting King and Kolor (and hosting them in turn). Nick eventually married the Kolors cousinI danced at the wedding for three days straight. I graduated from university, and in my spare time, write poetry thats all the rage among travelling minstrels.
And with Uncles help, in a laboratory cleverly hidden behind the wardrobe, I produce ever stronger scents of kindness and happiness for our friends in the fairy-tale world. Alls well there now.
Shame aramatic magic wont work in our world yet. But were working on it.
