On The Power of Klatchian Coffee, or How I Learned To Eschew it.
"…best avoided"
— sud
"It is by caffeine alone that I set my mind in motion. It is by the beans of Java that thoughts acquire speed, the hands acquire shaking, the shaking becomes a warning. It is by caffeine alone that I set my mind in motion."
— from Usenet
It was in the later part of the year when I met Achmed the Mad. It was in Omnia where I ran into him near the Library of the Cenobiarch, during my search for the magical scrolls of, well anyone. The Chair of Indefinite Studies had set me on this task, which I believed was to justify his existence during some political upheaval at the University. As a low-level wizard I was deemed expendable (to the business of the University, not as in the sense of krrrk) and so I was sent on a mission of discovery.
I'd spent most of the day surrounded by books and scrolls, taking notes of the more intriguing spells and incantations. In the days of the Omnian Quisition, this might have been dangerous, but these days at least I didn't have to read whilst looking over my shoulder. Nonetheless, I was hot and dry and grotty with dust. It was with this in mind that I elected to find some relief and gather my thoughts. Winding through the crowded reading room and avoiding the crowd of philosophers I finally found my way outside and on a whim, decided to head down to the souk to find refreshment.
I found my way despite being distracted by my meditations on what a philospher's collective noun should be. An argument of philosophers? A controversy? A fog? No, I decided, none of those were raucous enough. A racket of philosophers was perfect. It was at this moment that I noticed a disturbance ahead. The crowd was scattering to avoid what appeared to be a human dust devil, but the dust was invective and tatty robes. As the human sea parted, I clearly saw the object of their avoidance, a tall and wiry man with a brightly coloured turban, wild beard and wilder eyes. He made his way directly toward me and I, unsure whether to stand my ground or scarper, stood and twitched. "You are a charlatan!" he cried, raising a twiggy finger at me. "You are come for secrets about which you know nothing!"
I could hardly disagree, but in my nervous state could do no more than stammer. He reached out to me, grabbed the sleeve of my robe and pulled me close. His voice a rasping stage whisper in my ear, he said, "You seek the forbidden knowledge!"
"I can tell you how to find what you seek! I know the secrets of the heart of creation and destruction! I have seen!"
I was recovered enough to note the crowd was keeping what they felt to be a safe distance from which to observe.
He pulled at the sleeve of my robe, twiggy fingers stronger than they looked, and pulled me close. In a rasping voice well above a whisper he said to my ear, "I can show you! Come, come for coffee!"
I had little choice but to follow, all the while calling questions to him, all of which he declined to answer, bar one. "Who are you?" He stopped and whirled round to look into my eyes. "I am Achmed", he said, "You will have heard of me".
Indeed I had. Achmed the Mad. The author, or editor, of the famed, feared, fabled Necrotelicomnicon. A book whose very existence was doubted even by those who had read it. It is kept in the Unseen University Library, protected even more than the Octavio.
At this point, I chose to follow rather than be dragged. My following did not last long. Achmed had ducked down one sidestreet and another, now we dived into a narrow alley and into a tiny courtyard. Finally he swooped into a doorway and into a tiny table-filled space. Grabbing a couple of chairs for us, he thrust me into one of them and took his place in the other. He waved a gnarled hand at what appeared to be a waiter, who walked over with that special gait of waiters around the world (as though a crab were walk-sprinting to throw a discus). "Two coffees, and a plate of cakes", he said, and turned back to face me.
For the first time, I could take my time to observe him. He wasn't scrawny exactly, but twisted and contorted like a desert tree. Even his eyes were gnarled, his gaze bent by who knows what pressures. Yes, this was the man whose reputation was known by every wizard and mystic from the Agatean Empire to the Orohai Peninsula. "I know you, Sir, are Achmed the…", I trailed off before uttering the word mad, seeing it might just be a mistake, "…author".
"They call me mad, I know. But they do not know what I know, have not seen what I have seen. I've seen things you people wouldn't believe." He paused. "I heard you were here, searching. I knew I had to find you to Show You The Way!"
At this point the coffee arrived, and I could immediately see this was the real thing, the echte Kltachian coffee. His in a bowl, mine in a cup an eighth the size. He picked his up, raised it to his lips. I loosed closely at mine. It was black, of course. It steamed slightly and it had a crust, just as you'd find in a marsh; coffee quicksand. I'd had coffee in the touristy areas closer to the Library, but they were mere ghosts of this. Like those I'd had before, it came with a spoon; this could have come with a knife and fork. I prodded the surface. More steam escaped , or possibly smoke, and the aroma was intense. My eyes began to water even before I lifted the cup. I gazed into the dark liquid, at the multi-coloured oily slick with the texture of slurry. I began to stir it and watched in horror as it formed peaks like an eldritch whipped cream. This was the true gateway to horrors, I could feel it.
"Drink!", said Achmed, "Don't be afraid". He wiped his twitching lips, looked hard at me and I could see the same oily swirl in his pupils.
But I was afraid, enough that my hand shook as I raised the wee cup to my lips for a sip. Oh, the taste! It was as though the flavour of every cup I'd ever drunk was distilled into this one. Immediately, possibly even earlier, my weariness fled. I looked at my companion, who was well into his cup. His eyes were staring, his lips moving as he leaned forward. "What you seek is here!" he said, gesturing to my cup. My hand trembled as I took another awful sip. As I swallowed, I felt a heat spreading through my throat. Not the heat of fire but something somehow mystical, and fearful. I was awake now, more fully than I had ever been. This was the beginning of the state of knurd I had heard about. This is the opposite of drunkenness, the absence of delirium. I looked around with my eyes and perception opened. And drank the remainder of the cup.
The colours were intense. I'm not talking brighter, I'm talking real, solid somehow. My head was pounding. I could see the outline of everything so clearly. I looked into the bottom of the cup, there was still something there. I reached for the spoon, scraped out the grounds and noticed Achmed nodding approval. I sucked the matter down, swallowed. I could feel my mind jolt and I could taste the spoon. This must be the onset of knurd.
You, dear reader, may have drunk alcohol. You may have had the notorious scumble in your time, or even several mugs of beer. You will have notice how reality slips somehow, becomes softened and blurred. The world appears safer for a while as your perception nullifies threats, then as common sense fails and the world falls apart, so do you. Knurd is just like that, just the other way around. Things become so clear that they hurt. Every little thing stands out in sharp relief to everything else, as though Reality Just Got More Real. You're familiar with the phrase "I know it like the back of my hand"? Well you don't. One cup of this horror and every hair, every wrinkle will stand out in sharper contrast that you could ever have imagined.
Somehow I had procured another cup. Was it a mistake to drink it? My curiosity was stronger than my caution, and I did.
I looked about me at the other customers, who were both moving slowly and yet unnaturally alert and talkative. I looked at Achmed, who was talking nineteen to the dozen. Why hadn't I responded? Oh wait, I was talking, I just hadn't paid attention. I recalled the conversation, caught up with myself and the conversation continued. I looked over to see the staff behind the counter preparing the coffee for the next day, slowly stirring large pans of the brew. I saw myself eating the cakes and I watched myself as I drank the third cup in one gulp. Achmed was now ranting, and the staff were gathering as (Gods, I can see through walls) he levered himself to his feet. We moved to a table outside and I continued to read my notes and question Achmed. It was as though time had telescoped. People outside seemed to be moving slowly, or maybe my mind was just racing. We talked for what seemed like hours as the floor pulsed and the walls breathed. By the time the place was closing I had more material than I could have imagined. The reading I had done was so clear now, I could see it all. And then we left.
Finally the bill was paid, Achmed walked me back to my lodgings. The world was still moving slowly as we talked about the Necrotelicomnicon. Of course no-one had read the book since it had been chained and locked at the University. But I was learning things that none should know. I learned the names of gods, I learned what they wanted, I learned the formulae to call up spirits and other dark forces. I learned the true nature of the denizens of the Dungeon Dimensions, but above all I learned that this man, this dangerous man, had learned all this the hard way and written it all down. Little wonder he was driven nuts.
Finally we reached my lodgings, where we drank some dark and fragrant booze until I was moderately sober. Finally after one last farewell drink, he left. The last I saw of him was his tattered turban disappearing around a corner.
So that is the end of the story, I returned home to great praise for my excellent research and all was well. They do call me "Mad" now, but I just have these headaches.
What I did discover is that just as there is a hangover after alcohol, there is the reverse after Klatchian coffee and it lasts for a long time. The stretching of reality continues in my mind and interconnects with all that I learned and the Understanding. But now the world appears flat and still, and the enhanced reality of tentacled and many-mouthed beasts peek through the walls at me and gibber.
Libera te Tutemet ex Inferis: The 2023 Halloween Horrorquest
$ xclip -o | wc -w
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