Tales for Fantasy Hunters

By May Koliander

Like Paul, try having a heart-to-heart conversation with an appliance and see what happens, but beware: you are entering unchartered territory. Anton, the keen archer keeps seeing blue lights flitting around. Could they be a message from beyond? Learn to what extent a woman goes to make the man, in whose shadow she shelters, happy. What would you choose to do if, like Aella, you came across a set of brightly coloured doors? Or, follow Nikhil the ogre in his travels as he seeks the Kraken. These are just some of the stories you will encounter should you dare lift the cover of this book.
Cover design : © Betibup

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035852444

May Koliander

Born in the United States, May has lived most of her life in Switzerland. After 10 years spent studying at university, she taught English in Geneva. She likes to be outdoors and lived two years in Finland spending time in Lapland. May draws and paints, decorates furniture, works in the kitchen garden and is a jam maker. Quite a few times a year she travels, often hiking over rough terrain. She has two sons who both live in Geneva.

Book preview

About the Author

Born in the United States, May has lived most of her life in Switzerland. After 10 years spent studying at university, she taught English in Geneva. She likes to be outdoors and lived two years in Finland spending time in Lapland. May draws and paints, decorates furniture, works in the kitchen garden and is a jam maker. Quite a few times a year she travels, often hiking over rough terrain. She has two sons who both live in Geneva.

Dedication

To my sons and my friends.

Copyright Information ©

May Koliander 2024

The right of May Koliander to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035852437 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035852444 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Cover design : © Betibup

La Belle Rêveuse

For Maria Ignacia

Paul was a little worried. Was the new furnace in the holiday house up in the mountains on the blink? In winter, when there was a heavy snowfall and temperatures reached an all-time low, he would regularly phone the furnace to check if it was working. His father before him had done the same with the old furnace. Phoning a furnace? Well, not really. There was a box attached to the big squat red heating system rooted in the middle of the service room and if it picked up the call, it meant all was fine.

For about two years now, everything had worked smoothly. No breakdowns, no need for repairs, but lately the furnace hadn’t answered and Paul had had to drive up after a long day at work to see what the problem was. The first time, he guessed lightning must have struck quite near as the electrical circuit was off. Pushing down on the green button on the fuse box had gotten things back to normal and the great furnace had resumed its gentle purring. But then it happened again. The machine didn’t pick up his call.

This time when, after fighting the rush-hour traffic, he finally got there, the house was warm, the heat on. He checked all the sockets; to his surprise, nothing was amiss. However, he decided to replace the call box the next time he drove up. And then it was summer and there was no need to worry whether the furnace was working or not.

Later that year, around Christmas, a cold spell drifted in from the Artic and the second time he phoned, the machine was silent. Fearing the pipes would freeze, he drove up in the blizzard. But again, as he stepped out of the cold into the house, warmth welcomed him. Swearing against faulty technology, he went to check on the furnace. It was purring smoothly. A pink light, however, was flashing on the control board. Frowning, he pushed down on the button next to it and one of the screens lit up. There was something written on it. Getting closer, he read the word Hello. It gave him quite a start, as if a voice had suddenly sounded in that empty room. Apparently, an answer was expected as there was a flashing dash. Feeling foolish, he typed in Hello.

Is there a problem? the machine asked.

You didn’t answer the phone… This was uncanny to say the least.

Didn’t I? I’m sorry. Is everything plugged in properly?

He looked around the room, went to check.

Everything looks good, he wrote.

Then perhaps I need to be reset.

You mean, switch you off?

Yes, you know what they say—when in doubt, reboot!

Paul couldn’t believe what he was reading. The machine was conversing with him!

He raised his finger, ready to push down on the button, but hesitated. Suddenly, it felt like he was going to deprive the furnace of energy.

Are you sure you want me to switch you off?

Yes, it clears the mind wonderfully.

Wondering how the AI in the software of this modern furnace had been trained to converse—had they used articles, conversation booklets, literary texts?—he pushed the button. The room went silent, the screens black.

He waited a little over a minute and then turned the furnace back on. The screen lit up.

Thank you. That was most kind. My circuitry feels like new!

After a slight hesitation, he wrote: Glad to hear. Shall I try to phone you?

Please do! It gets lonely here.

He punched in the number and the furnace answered on the third ring.

Seems like the problem is solved, he typed in.

Brilliant! Good job. Too many functions, that’s what I think. Every new generation of furnace gets options added on. Why not keep things simple?

Before he knew it, Paul had answered, Exactly my point of view. Just look at our new phones. Who manages to exploit all the possibilities offered?

And then he took a step back. What was he doing talking to a machine? His wife would call a head doctor if she knew. Perhaps it was the confined space, the lack of proper ventilation?

Totally agree, the machine answered and a smiley face popped up on the screen.

Well then, I’ll be going, he wrote, feeling a little awkward.

Travel safe. Nice meeting you.

Paul pushed down on the button that had brought the screen to life and went out, with the uncanny feeling he should perhaps leave the light on.

Driving home that day, he couldn’t remember his father mentioning conversations with the old furnace. But of course, it was a quite primitive model and faulty. If only it had been replaced earlier, his father would still be alive. Paul didn’t like to think about the day his mother rushed into the kitchen as pale as a ghost, screaming. Wondering where her husband was as lunch was on the table, she had gone to look for him and found him unconscious in the furnace room.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the man was dead from monoxide poisoning. So, Paul took over and ordered the most sophisticated model on the market. He hadn’t realised just how sophisticated it was until it started conversing with him. He couldn’t help thinking that it was a case of closing the barn door after the horse had bolted.

Surprisingly, Paul soon realised that he looked forward to checking on the furnace, even in the warm months. He’d switch the screen on and ask how things were going. Although the machine greeted him kindly, their exchanges were at times quite restricted. They would discuss variations in outside temperatures, fuel consumption, the best time in the evening to switch the heating off for the night. And, of particular interest, the importance of keeping well maintained the flue and vent pipe which exhausted harmful byproducts from the combustion process, such as carbon monoxide.

But on some days, the machine could be quite garrulous, recalling incidents in the factory where it was produced. When assembling her (Paul had begun to think of the furnace as a she, perhaps due to its being painted red), the foreman realised there was a problem with the high temperature refractory metal they were going to dress the furnace with. Someone had ordered the wrong alloy. So, she had had to wait for her cover on that noisy factory floor, with her burner, heat exchanger, ductwork and ventilation pipes exposed. Not cool for a lady, she had joked.

Paul couldn’t get over how learned the furnace was. It was hard to keep in mind that it was a computer he was speaking with. It seemed to him that the machine had more to say than many of his friends who could only talk about money or football. Or even his wife who was always busy, getting home later and later from work.

One day, they started on the topic of choice and fate. The furnace knew all about Paul’s father’s accident as the old furnace’s data had been uploaded into her. Paul couldn’t understand how such an accident was possible.

Upkeep, the furnace answered, the real people who keep civilisation together are the maintenance people.

He had to admit that made sense. The world could probably do away with policymakers and go on turning as long as the maintenance people were at work.

But my father had the system checked regularly, he answered. This point troubled him.

Well, perhaps the technician wasn’t conscientious enough. You know what it’s like nowadays. The old work ethic has gone to the dogs.

That was true too. Nowadays, you had to check and recheck anything you got done. Just last week, his insurance company had hounded him for a bill he’d already paid. And what about deliveries? Half of