\nIt takes months to grasp the basic mechanics of divining lentils with tweezers and years to attain mastery of the intuition required. In the beginning, Fabian had setbacks.\n<\/p>\n
\nWithin the first moon of his divining duties, after the starting bell tolled, Fabian studied the lentils piled invitingly on the left-hand side of his desk. An impulse of inquisitiveness tugged at his nape and he stooped, his nose hanging over the pile. He detected no scent. Stricken by naivety, he sniffed hard. A single lentil shot up his left nostril and before he could take corrective action he sneezed. A cacophonous waah-shoop<\/em> reverberated through the Great Hall, accusatory echoes ricocheting back. Fabian shuddered as the clamour startled and stupefied his fellows, disrupting their divining duties.\n<\/p>\n \nClenching his eyelids, Fabian prayed the Witch and the Warlock hadn\u2019t heard. He sucked in air and held it, counting his heartbeats, one-two, three-four, five-six, seven-eight. <\/em>But they did not emerge and he let the air whoosh past his quivering lips. Had the Witch and the Warlock been disturbed, Fabian would have been permanently displaced. But Fabian\u2019s overseer Freyja was as merciful as she was comely and chose to scold him instead.\n<\/p>\n \n\u2018Thank you, Freyja. Thank you.\u201d Fabian could not look at her for fear he would collapse into an unsightly emotion. \u2018I owe you everything.\u2019\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, Fabian. That\u2019s not necessary.\u2019\n<\/p>\n \nFabian heard it as you\u2019re not necessary <\/em>and his mouth went dry and his knees felt fit to collapse under him.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cContinue, Fabian. Everyone. Continue. Divine.\u201d Freyja waved with grace that Fabian regained his composure.\n<\/p>\n \nUpon completion of the shift, when the finishing bell tolled, before the Witch and Warlock emerged, Fabian\u2019s fellows gathered in a tight arc around him, humming their nasal admonishments and prodding his ribs with half-bent narking fingers. Two milk-robed portent folk brought forth the sizzling elixir. Fabian\u2019s kidneys twisted at the sight of the wheeled cauldron. Freyja nodded to Fabian, who knelt and positioned his trembling arms. Freyja\u2019s chestnut eyes bestowed such kindness as she ladled the viscous fluid onto Fabian\u2019s forearms. The skin peeled like dehydrated maize husks in a firestorm and Fabian gagged at the stench.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian took it well, everyone suggested later, remaining on his knees and uttering plentiful peeps and gasps but no primal screams. The portent folk shepherded him to the refuge and dressed the wounds with strips of nectar-soaked flax. They were tender and methodical, though the scars endured.\n<\/p>\n \nIt took months of diligent lentil divination for Fabian to regain the faith of the overseers and the bailiffs above them. And, after a decade of exemplary dedication, he was chosen to offer his guidance, insight and inspiration to the latest batch and to impart The Rules of Divining Lentils with Tweezers.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian beamed from the rostrum as the apprentices settled. Satisfied, he began.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cRule One: never sniff lentils.\u201d The words wafted above the recruits like steam from a kettle of simmering bone broth. \u201cTo divine lentils with tweezers, you must first comprehend the process. This is far from simple, but it is as simple as it will get.\u201d He wallowed in the thick fog of apprehension and remembered his induction eleven years earlier, the first time he had felt his kidneys twist.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOstensibly, the goal is simple. The diviner must relocate lentils from the desk pile to one of the two pots.\u201d He took his time, observing the trepidation and rejoicing that he would never again have to live with such incomprehension. \u201cThe relocation is undertaken one lentil at a time using the pair of stainless <\/em>steel tweezers provided. Your tweezers shall become an extension of you. They shall never blemish, and neither should you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSomeone\u2019s chair legs squeaked against the floor. Fabian glared at the culprit, a buck-jawed stripling whose shoulders were too square for his curiously ovoid torso. The lad shrunk into himself and Fabian left it at that, though he feared for that apprentice\u2019s divining future.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOne pot is marked \u2018Witch\u2019, the other \u2018Warlock,\u2019\u201d Fabian continued. \u201cFor each lentil, the diviner must discern\u2026 divine\u2026 <\/em>whether it better suits the Witch or the Warlock and place it in the corresponding pot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSir?\u201d A straight-haired, straight-faced apprentice raised a hand. \u201cMay I ask something please, Sir?\u201d His voice glooped out of his plump lips, viscous like treacle, each word clinging to the last.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou may. That is, you may ask another. Mr\u2026?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBottomley, Sir. How do you decide which pot is, well, better?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe way the apprentice\u2019s head tilted right and left reminded Fabian of the balance toy he\u2019d inherited as a child, a tarnished iron gnome-like monstrosity that could never find equilibrium. Fabian and the others rejoiced when such relics were renounced.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGood question, Bottomley.\u201d Fabian stood taller. \u201cI should clarify something. Neither pot is better. <\/em>Rather, each lentil is better suited <\/em>to one of the pots. More precisely, each lentil only <\/em>suits either the Witch or the Warlock.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut how can one tell?\u201d Bottomley\u2019s mouth opened and stayed open, his tongue protruding over his bottom lip.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian glanced around. The other faces remained blank. He noted some cheek muscles twitch and eyes that looked like they were being kept deliberately wide.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAh, Bottomley.\u201d Fabian wagged a finger in the same way his imparter of the Rules had all those years ago. \u201cTherein lies the wondrous mystery.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA troubling number of hands sprang up.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou shall learn, in time. With practice. When you hear the agreeable tinkle of the first lentil of the shift.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSir, may I?\u201d A female, one of the younger apprentices, spoke before Fabian had acknowledged her intervention.\n<\/p>\n \nHer sharp nose, narrow grey eyes and taut, cinnabar lips triggered something. Fabian recognised that combination of features. Ah yes. <\/em>\u201cShawcross, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat\u2019s right, Sir. You knew my\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, but your question, Shawcross?\u201d Fabian did not want to go there, not in front of the new batch. Not in front of anyone.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSorry, yes. It\u2019s just\u2026\u201d Her hand remained aloft.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian motioned for her to lower it.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, yes. Well, Sir. What\u2026 who are<\/em> the Witch and the Warlock?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLo-fi murmurs thrummed around the box-like room.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey are our\u2026 patrons.\u201d Fabian sought another questioner but Shawcross persisted.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHave you met them?\u201d Her hand floated back up as she spoke but stopped halfway and moved back to her lap.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMy dear novice, poor young simple apprentice, eager seeker of wisdom. It is admirable but I must be unequivocal.\u201d His fingertips tingled and he dug them into his moist palms. \u201cWe <\/em>do not meet them. No, no. That simply would not do.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut how do we know we\u2019ve made the right decisions?\u201d She shuffled in her seat, which was situated within one of the red boxes, none of the legs touching the lines. The other apprentices sat still, gazing at the polished wooden floor.\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \nFabian looked at the floor too. The boards ranged from straw to chestnut shades and with several scuff marks, perhaps made by chairs at previous batch gatherings, perhaps something before\u2026 before\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nHe clapped thrice, hoicking the apprentices and himself <\/em>back to attention.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhen you know, you know.\u201d Fabian\u2019s mouth was devoid of saliva and they\u2019d left no goblet of filtrate. They would have for Freyja.\n<\/p>\n \nShawcross\u2019s hand shot back up and her posterior jumped clear of her chair. Fabian ignored her. The red lines around the perimeter of the room and the grey markings on the otherwise white walls called to him. He used to know what happened there. He blinked and sucked in a swift breath.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian ended with the oft-told anecdote about the fellow who dropped a lentil. He explained in detail how the diviner in question was harshly scolded and displaced, never to return. He stood, silent, still. Let them breathe that in. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat you have been selected as apprentices suggests I need not state the next rule. But rigour is the better part of glory.\u201d He waited, but not long enough for any of them to spoil things with another intervention. \u201cRule Two: never drop lentils.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThere were mumbles, words he couldn\u2019t discern. Things looked brighter as if the lamps had been refilled. Fabian eyed his reflection on the back wall. The image was translucent as if trapped between the layers of glass. Returning his focus to the apprentices, he mumbled \u201cAny more questions before we tackle emergency protocols?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAnd there were, but Fabian didn\u2019t hear them or indeed the answers that passed through his torrid lips. Instead, he heard four words: how do we know? how do we know? <\/em>Looped, incessant, gnawing. He stuttered towards the exit, whispering, \u201cThank you, apprentices. You will divine well. Happy day. Happy day.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut aren\u2019t there supposed to be three rules?\u201d someone said.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian didn\u2019t\u2026 couldn\u2019t <\/em>answer. Couldn\u2019t remain in that red-lined glass-backed room. Curiosity, that most despicable of traits, had seized him. Ensnared him. He had to go. He had to know. <\/em>Had to know how the diviners knew.<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThe plan arrived fully formed as if it had been gestating in Fabian\u2019s subconsciousness for all eternity. When the finishing bell marked the end of the next day\u2019s shift, the diviners stood and walked towards the main doors at the end of the Great Hall. Some crossed one white line, some two or three, others none, it all depended on their desk position. Fabian stopped as he reached the circular line, the line he would ordinarily step over without pause, without thought. He crouched and adjusted the cords of his moccasins, making a show of it. But no one looked back, not even Freyja.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian sighed and crept towards the store. He\u2019d once heard Freyja and another overseer talk of the store. Until that moment he had blocked it out, but before he could take corrective action his hand had twisted the handle and levered the door open. Stepping into the darkness, he pulled the door almost shut, leaving a crack that admitted a tall prism of light. He reached for and pressed a switch next to the doorframe, a reflex, a long-forgotten habit? <\/em>A bulb ticked to life and hummed, hanging. It was of the old style, like in the peripheral compounds once upon a time.\n<\/p>\n \nThe air was cooler than in the main hall. And lighter, less oppressive. Spare desks and chairs, all folded, rested in rows along the back wall and a shelf held dozens of spare pots. A large tatty box contained several spherical objects, each the size of an ample man\u2019s skull, with black lines printed over noduled brownish-orange backgrounds. Smaller spheres were present too, greenish-yellow with white lines. Fabian grasped one. It was lighter than he had anticipated and the greenish-yellow sections were furry. Compressing it between my fingers and thumb, there was some give but it sprang back when he released the pressure. The spheres contained a script he did not recognise. A metal-framed article with a lattice of course netting rested against the perimeter of the store along with other perplexing paraphernalia.\n<\/p>\n \nThe main doors clunked shut. Fabian was alone. Taking a slow, deep breath, he pulled the store door closed and knelt to peer through a small hole that must have been created for that exact purpose: to observe the Witch and the Warlock gathering their pots of lentils of an evening.\n<\/p>\n \nA door opened. He\u2019d noticed that one before but had never known it to open and had assumed it had been welded shut like many in the compounds. Two figures emerged, one bulky, one slight, their faces obscured by ashen, billowy hoods. They glided to their nearest desk. Each lifted a pot from the right-hand side. They examined the contents of their respective pot, faced each other and nodded. The broader of the two \u2013 the Warlock, Fabian presumed \u2013 pitter-pattered his lentils onto the left-hand side of the desk. The Witch followed suit, tipping her lentils on top. Each then replaced their pot on the right-hand side of the desk and nodded to one another again.\n<\/p>\n \nThe metallic panel on the inside of the cupboard door chilled Fabian\u2019s forehead. A rapid pulse pattered through his right eye and sweat moistened his back. The Witch and the Warlock moved to the next desk and repeated their sacrilegious routine. This time, after comparing pots, the Witch tipped her pot, then the Warlock his. They visited every desk in the Great Hall, the ones Fabian could see from his vantage at least, comparing pots and nodding before emptying lentils to form piles. Re<\/em>-form piles. Sometimes the Witch tipped first, other times the Warlock tipped first. They nodded to one another after they had tipped and moved on. Fabian didn\u2019t see or hear a single lentil fall to the floor.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian\u2019s gluteus went numb and his heart beat as if seeking to escape the confines of his chest. His kidneys twisted and he urinated where he knelt, the wetness warming his groin, thighs and calves. When the flow stopped, he sighed into calmness and observed. Sometimes the Witch and the Warlock were obscured by the edges of the hole through which he peered and he wondered if this was a design fault. It was not fit for purpose.\n<\/p>\n \nAfter completing their duties, the Witch and the Warlock exited the Great Hall through the door whence they\u2019d entered. Fabian remained in the store: tense, swaying, damp. Mere minutes appeared to have passed but as he marvelled at the steam rising wisplike from the tops of his thighs, the starting bell tolled. His daily task of divining lentils with tweezers was set to commence. Fellows streamed in through the main doors as Fabian emerged from the store. Nobody noticed, except Freyja.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFabian? What\u2019s going on?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2026 I\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHave you been crying?\u201d She looked confused but not concerned.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo. Just tired.\u201d He attempted a smile and his head tilted left then right, alternating several times like a gnome seeking stability.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd your smock. Fabian, what\u2019s happened to you?\u201d She pointed at his wetness.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, that.\u201d A noise came from his throat that could have been a laugh on another day. \u201cI was clumsy.\u201d He attempted another smile. \u201cMy morning hot malt. Just clumsy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSomething flared in Freyja\u2019s irises and Fabian tried to reach out, to explain everything, but his arms and tongue remained motionless and Freyja\u2019s fire burned itself out, leaving the kind and secure eyes that comforted Fabian.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOkay.\u201d Freyja beamed. \u201cHappy day, Fabian.\u201d And she got in position.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian\u2019s fellows took to their seats. As did he. Clasping the tweezers, he selected a lentil from the top of his pile on the left-hand side of the desk. He examined it, rotating it, admiring its opacity, sensing its longing, its be<\/em>longing. Holding the lentil over the pot marked \u201cWarlock\u201d, Fabian let it linger, wondering if he truly knew and, if he did, how he knew. The thought dissolved as Fabian closed his eyes and dropped the lentil into the pot, savouring the agreeable tinkle.\n<\/p>\n \nFabian smiled and whispered, \u201cRule Three: never miss a shift.\u201d\n<\/p>\n DLC Hanson grew up in the north of England before travelling the world, falling in love and moving to London. After finding neither fame nor fortune, he moved to a small market town to start a family, a business, a covers band and to become a writer. Among various longlists and honourable mentions, he has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize, a finalist twice at Globe Soup and had a Commended Story at The Moth. His poetry has been published in Raw Lit magazine and he is currently editing his first novel.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It takes months to grasp the basic mechanics of divining lentils with tweezers and years to attain mastery of the intuition required. In the beginning, Fabian had setbacks. Within the first moon of his divining duties, after the starting bell tolled, Fabian studied the lentils piled invitingly on the left-hand side of his desk. An …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107962,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20136],"tags":[20137],"class_list":["post-140346","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-51-spring-2024","tag-the-colored-lens-51-spring-2024","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140346","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107962"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140346"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140346\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140347,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140346\/revisions\/140347"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140346"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140346"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140346"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}