The Seller of Empty Space

Edgar Marrick paused in winding his pocket watch and blinked at the tall gentleman sitting across from him. Either Edgar had misheard, or the man had used a term he was unfamiliar with. They had shared a compartment on the train for more than an hour now, and had struck up quite a rapport. Perhaps the man had forgotten Edgar was not a local in the area. He finished winding the old watch and put it back in its place in his pocket. “I… see.”


Eventually he ventured a guess. “You… sell land?”

The man, who had introduced himself as William Horn, smiled. “Not quite, Mr. Marrick. When I say that I am a seller of empty space, I mean just that.” From his waistcoat pocket he pulled a flat copper case and withdrew a card. He passed it to Edgar, who read it curiously.

William S. Horn

Seller of Empty Space

Fully Licensed

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” Edgar confessed. “You are a licensed seller of empty space. Of…” he waved his hand vaguely in the air between them, “this?”

“Exactly!” William confirmed. “You understand perfectly, sir. Well done. Most men accuse me of being a seller of nothing at first, but you’ve hit it right off.” His expression darkened. “Selling nothing is an entirely different affair, and dangerous to boot.”

“But, licensed?” Edgar interjected nervously, trying to steer the conversation back into shallow waters before he lost sight of land altogether.

“Of course!” William sat up proudly. “Top marks. They keep asking me to take a training position and give up the legwork, but they’d have to nail my feet to the floor first.” He nodded happily at the barren countryside rolling by outside the window. “I’m heading out to the wasteland right now to close a deal for almost a square mile of wide open space. I’ll take it back to the Capital and give them some elbow room.

“Besides, who would take over for me if I did retire, some new recruit?” He snorted. “Ha! Make it five, and they might come close to being able to handle a full square mile. They’d make mistakes too; lose bits of it, probably take some of the wasteland back with them. Ever hear of Fiddler’s Green?”

Edgar thought for a moment. “I believe I may have overheard some crewmen on the ship saying something about it. Is it an island somewhere?”

William nodded sadly. “It used to be. It’s the whole reason re-certification is required every three years now. The most beautiful port of call this side of Heaven. Then some young fool got it into his head to make it a bit nearer by taking out a bit of the space between it and the shore.”

“Oh dear,” Edgar said. “Did something go wrong?”

“He overshot by a clacking league. Lost the whole island in only a few minutes.” He pulled a pipe and a small bag from another pocket and, after looking to Edgar for permission, tamped a pinch of tobacco into the bowl as he spoke. “When he realized what he’d done he tried to sort it out again, but he was already out of his depth. He hadn’t even bothered to store the space properly, you see. Just pushed it aside like it was in his way. In the end he only made it worse, until no one could find it.”

Opening the window a crack for ventilation, William lit the pipe with a struck match and sucked on it broodingly. “Believe me, Mr. Marrick,” he said with the stem clenched in his teeth. “We tried our best, but no one could find where Fiddler’s Green had gone. I hope it’s still out there on the ocean somewhere, in one of those blank spaces past the edges of the map, but it could have ended up stuck half-way to Hell for all I know.”

Edgar pulled a cigarette from his case and accepted a light from William. They sat smoking in somber silence for a moment, watching the scenery go by as they smoked.

“Bah!” William exclaimed suddenly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put us in such sour moods.” He pointed the stem of his pipe at Edgar. “Tell me, Edgar. What is your profession?”

Edgar fidgeted under the unexpected question, and took a moment to throw his cigarette butt out the window and rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I deal in wishes.”

William’s eyebrows lowered skeptically. “You answer peoples’ wishes?”

Fully prepared to deny accusations of being a genie, Edgar was taken aback by the question. “Er, not as such. I evaluate wishes and distribute grants accordingly.” He took out his pocket watch and started winding it again. “Of course, I only handle cases involving low- and medium-grade wishes.”

“I… see.”

The moon was smaller tonight

The Moon had never looked so small.  The sun lit it from far below the horizon, creating a crescent of mottled white.  The rest of the sphere lay in shadow, though it still glowed just barely brighter than the black space beyond, bathed in the dim blue earthlight reflected by our planet.  It hung suspended in the sky, so crystal clear in the still night air it seemed to be only a few feet above rather than thousands of miles.  Every crater was so clear and detailed that it appeared a delicate and fragile thing.  I worried that a careless bird or even a sudden wind might dislodge it and send it spinning away helplessly into the stars or worse, to fall and shatter on the ground.

The Moon remained silent, continuing on above heedless of the danger.  I stood in shivering vigil for several minutes both to assure myself of its safety and should disaster strike, to catch one last glimpse before it was lost forever.  Eventually I was forced by the cold to return home, leaving the Moon to whatever fate awaited it.