Page 108 of Shroom for Improvement

“Jenny asks what books you’d like to start with,” Claude said. He pulled out a leather-padded wooden chair from a nearby table and sat down. Evidently, this trip to the library had been solely for my benefit.

“Got anything on the history of this place? About Stinkhorn Manor?”

Claude was quiet, but a smile crept across his face. An unnatural darkness fell over the room, as though a cloud had drifted in front of the sun, and a light switched on. A lamp, like one of those desk lights with bendable necks, illuminated a section on some distant shelves about two feet tall and three feet wide.

I spared Claude an excited, curious glance, and I practically ran to the light.

“Oh, my gods. Oh, my gods,” I whined, openly bawling now, as I retrieved tome after tome and stacked them into my arms. I brought the pile of books over to the table Claude sat at and pulled out a chair.

A history of Agaricus Town Centre

Secrets and Traditions of the Agaricus Townsfolk

The Legend of Stinkhorn Manor

A Collection of Documents pertaining to Stinkhorn Manor

Phallus Impudicus: Why the Stinkhorn Mushroom is Supreme and all other Mushrooms are Craptastic

For the next few hours, or possibly days, I read. Claude sat at the other end of the table joining the edge pieces of a new jigsaw puzzle. He would pause often, leave the library for a few seconds—though in reality it was closer to fifteen minutes—and would return with chai lattes for us both, or muffins, again for us both, or an empty notepad, sticky tabs, and a variety of stationery for me.

I had one-to-ones to attend later that day, but I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from the texts.

There were family trees—Claude’s family trees, stretching back millennia. Angus his father was there, as was Angus his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather, all called Angus. The Stinkhorn line ended with Claude.

It entered my thoughts that Claude might want to continue this line to keep the house alive, but I batted it aside. Another problem for another day.

There were ledgers recording every person to have ever stayed in Stinkhorn Manor, and separate ledgers for the guest house. There were planning applications, floor plans, blueprints, letters to the council, all relating to the B&B, and yet nothing onthe construction of Stinkhorn Manor itself. I couldn’t work out how the house came to be. It seemed as though one day Jenny was not there and then the next, it was.

“Are you organic, then? Or were you designed and built? And if it’s the latter, were you given glamour, or did you grow into it? Because of it? And how are you sentient?” I said to the house, and because Claude had paused his puzzle assembling to stare at me, I added, “I need to know.”

A book wiggled itself free from the pile and dropped into my lap. I guessed it was Jenny’s way of telling me I’d find the answers in there.

The cover was a forest-green, cotton-like fabric with gold-embroidered stinkhorn mushrooms. Gods, they were so phallic it was impossible to look at them and not blush a little. The gilt script read:AMOR SUI VITAS SALVAT,the house’s motto, andGaius Valens, which presumably was the author. The pages were aged and yellowing, and the text was all in another language. I recognised the language as the one we used for plants. The one the motto was written in.

“Okay, thank you,” I said, puffing out a determined breath, and opening my new notepad to page one.

Shamelessly Phallic

Hyphal knots

Glamour

Germination

Some of the words I’d understood from my everyday mycological usage and could therefore translate easily. I didn’t understand everything—partly because of the dead language, and partly because it had been written at a time when printing presses omitted certain letters from its typeface. Ss were Fs and Ts were Ys, and so on. I had to write things down several times before they made any real sense. But also because back in thosedays, nobody ever got to the fucking point when they wrote something.

Why not just say,the house is organic, borne from magic?Why say,the residence in question is of the most natural sort, brought forth by sorcery both worthy and noble in nature?Why?

And I wasn’t even sure that’s what it said. Took me over thirteen scribbled attempts to decipher that one. There was a good chance I was projecting what I wanted to read.

My pen scratched against the paper as I copied another sentence out over and over.

Magia in sporis est.

Sporis had to be spores, right? And magia must be magic. Magic spores.

The magic in spores? The magic is in the spores?

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