Deuteronomy is old, some children joke that Deuteronomy is as old as some of the older parts of the city. Deuteronomy hasn’t spoken in years. Some say this is due to a vow of silence. Some of the crueler children joke that a prophecy from Deuteronomy angered a previous monarch and they removed his tongue. Deuteronomy looks every inch the angry prophet, grizzled face, grey beard and balding head.
Old Deuteronomy collects dreams, visions, prophecies, stories, gossip and any related fragments. He has an elaborate classification system, different colour thread criss cross the shelves and onto the floor.
Deuteronomy rises early in the morning and writes down his own dreams in his ledger and replaces the red thread that links his dream to the gossip from a passing trader about a King ten years ago, threads a blue flecked with silver through the edge of the page he has written on and ties that to a wicker basket half full of sea shells. Deuteronomy casts his gaze across the shelves and tries to discern a pattern, an increase of woolen threads there and an introduction of grey feathers over there.
The door to Deuteronomy’s house is never locked and residents let themselves in to pass a tidbit of information, a fragment of a dream, a bawdy joke. The only signal that Deuteronomy offers to dismiss you from his presence is two methodical strokes of his shaggy grey beard.
Deuteronomy has slowly been circling two or three dream images. First: A pair of hands roughly hold slender wrists onto the arms of a wooden chair.
Second: Two black blades sharpen against one another.
Third: A locked wooden door (Deuteronomy is certain the door is locked) in the base of a tall wall in a garden. A dark sense of foreboding pervades despite the garden setting.
The Recording Angel, Eremiel, notes the three dream images of Deuteronomy in his ledger, cracks his knuckles and mutters “well, well” to himself.