Seoul 2022 Part 5: Unhyeongung

(continued from Part 4)

27.10.22

A week. A whole week has now passed. Ugh.

Wednesday was another mostly sleepless night, although, ‘Train to Busan’ did give me dreams of zombie dinosaurs. The breakfast at the hostel was surprisingly decent; boiled eggs, fruit, cereal, bread, tea/coffee, and good company. A group of four twenty-somethings made a huge stack of pancakes and didn’t offer any to anyone, nor even make eye contact the entire time. I remember I made pancakes for everyone in the hostel last time I was in Seoul. That was an excellent night.

I spent the morning trying to write in my journal as best I could, but I wasn’t successful as I planned to be. Between a new fleet of Dutch and Germans arriving and others leaving, I spent more time talking than writing. One of the people I talked to was in town to see family, and his main job was in acoustics. He was researching how to levitate objects by manipulating soundwaves. He said that although it would technically be possible to levitate a human this way, they would die long before it happened. I liked that he told me this without prompting. Everyone wonders the same things.

Another short-term distraction was another Dutchman checking in, who did not exactly make the best first impression. He was an older man, in his early fifties, and had a large rucksack with him. He began cheerfully, greeting the hostel owners as you would expect. His demeanour changed when he asked for a refund for an extra night he had booked by mistake.

“No, we can’t cancel the booking at this point,” said Juina, one of the owners.

“Surely we can work out some sort of discount then,” replied the slightly frustrated man. He was the only one who thought he held any cards, but they were all blank.

“Sorry, no. We would have to put the rooms back on availability, and it's in the terms and conditions that less than 48 hours before cancellation means there's no refunds.”

The man was visibly frustrated now but had no choice. He left with the passwords to the rooms, and I never saw him again.

The reason I had so much time to witness all of this was because I was waiting to see if Yoomin was feeling well enough to come out around town. She’d called me the day before to let me know she might not be able to as she was feeling ill with a cold, but around midday she gave me the all-clear. She’d taken a pill and was feeling well enough to venture out.

We planned to meet at Anguk station, right next to where I’d been yesterday. When I tried to go through the ticket barrier, I got an error number which meant I had ‘already’ checked out. I was stuck on the wrong side of the barrier with no way to get through. My only consolation was that I wasn’t alone – someone else had also got stuck, though trying to look casual about it. Eventually I found a help button next to the ticket barrier, and after a brief miscommunication with the man in the box, I was let through just as Yoomin appeared in front of me. It was perfect timing. Or, she had rushed after seeing all my panicked texts.

Our first stop was Unhyeongung , another former royal palace that at one point housed the king’s mother. It was nice enough to wander around. Mostly, it felt like another courtyard with lots of space and a lot of dark wood, which I suppose is slightly redundant considering it’s likely just the architectural style. Might as well say lots of Western palaces have large rooms made of marble. Still, it was nice t walk around and kill time whilst Yoomin finished with a call.

Now before Yoomin and I went any further, we agreed we should get some lunch, but only after that discussion where both of you clearly would prefer to get food but are too polite to insist. So, you both say you’d be fine with eating now, but also stress that you would definitely be happy not eating for at least another two hours if the other person isn’t hungry yet. We compromised and took the slightly less direct route to the restaurant. I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I am so incredibly grateful that everyone in the world that the people I travel with always have a plan. Otherwise, I would never do anything on these trips.

The indirect route we took led us back down Insadong Street, and as we walked, I reminisced directly this time about when we were last them together. Then, after concluding that the restaurant was not inside a car park, Yoomin was clever enough to find it inside the hotel on the other side. In fact, it ran through the whole ground floor of a building, so it acted as a delicious corridor to the main road. She asked for a table for two, and we were eld to a table of four for two.

Though Yoomin and I chose a selection of food together, she guided me in the right direction. And it was a pretty tasty direction! Of the different dishes we had, I’d have to say my favourite were the ‘Korean’ miso soup (as Yoomin referred to it) and the cold bibimbap, I think it was. The beef rib soup was different, although the stew itself was a bit thin. I also remember my glass being a bit dirty. In fact, I’d already drunk a full glass before spotting the random lemon seed inside, and the subtle crusty marks around the rim. The meal was nice, but it was also three weeks ago at this point, so apologies if I’ve forgotten some of the details.

The Death of Ambassador Janus

"Convent of St. Saba" - David Roberts (Old Book Illustrations 2007-2023)

[1] A figure, barely visible

As they approached the tents.

Her cloak and headscarf billowed hard.

The wind appeared incensed.

[2] She clutched in hand a leather bag

A satchel filled to burst.

And staggered through the waves of sand

To reach the shelter first.

[3] The guards bowed out of guardhouse

And asked the stranger where

And why they looked to come this way

And if they’d stay long there.

[4] “Imperial business," said a voice

Calm despite the questions.

They handed over several notes

That would serve as distractions.

[5] Safely sheltered from the storm.

They ducked behind a column

And pulled the scarf down from her face.

A face most thought was rotten.

[6] Tremendous scars ran up her face

From cheeks to her hairline.

The rub of cloth across the cracks

Were painful every time.

[7] In front was a kaleidoscope

Of brightly coloured men

A rainbow of alliances

And swords to govern them.

[8] Horse lords, merchantmen, and dwarves

From Volca to the Sea.

Dignitaries from Lattenfluss

And slaves from Drummerdy.

[9] Although most travellers would be

Bewildered and unsure.

To navigate a gathering

Had never been a chore.

[10] And though the throng was numerous,

The woman found a path.

Despite the noise, despite the heat

She found the Orthic heart.

[11] An Orthic tent, coloured with red

And gold around the seams.

Guarded by two grim soldiers with

Such sweat that ran in streams.

[12] She knew to wait until their break

Before she headed in.

No witnesses, as usual

Nobody there to scream.

[13] Once the heat had grown too much

And they had left their post,

The woman slipped into the tent

Almost unseen. Almost.

[14] Inside the tent, a welcome space

Of cool and pleasant air.

Two pots of water mocked the vase

Of flowers, which despaired.

[15] A broad and wooden bed was there

Quite opulent in look.

Such effort must the men have made

To bring what they had took.

[16] And in the centre of the space

On top of sequined rug

A wide, map-laden tabletop.

A handled, wine-filled mug.

[17] From what she guessed the map suggests

Invasions of the West.

From what she saw ‘twas little thought

For peasants and the rest.

[18] But truth be learned the woman turned

Her back against it all

And from her satchel took an orb

Well-polished, black, and small.

[19] Inside the orb, if you had looked

Was swirling, turning smoke.

So much contained inside the ball,

Enough to make it choke.

[20] The woman threw it up and caught

It in her clever hands.

With one examination of

The room, she made a plan.

[21] The bed would do, at night he would

Return and think him safe.

He’d take off all his fancy clothes

No longer would they chafe.

[22] Then when under the covers he

Would roll and toss and turn

Until the orb made contact.

His final payment earned.

[23] She held the key and wound the lock

Until it was prepared.

But from outside the tent she heard

The sound of laughter flare.

[24] The giggling of figures who

Should know better than that

Were edging nearer to the tent

And to the woman’s trap.

[25] But she was still inside, and still

Beside the target’s bed.

So hastily she hid the orb and

And grabbed her bag instead.

[26] With one last placement of a note

She dipped out the front door

And made a show of disconnection

From the tent, before

[27] She ducked her head and pulled her cloak

Around herself to hide

From anyone discovering

Their privacy denied.

[28] She slipped out just in time to spy

A sodden diplomat

Supported by two guards and then

A third one at the back.

[29] “Oi! What you think you’re doing here?”

The last one grabbed her arm.

“What business do you have to share?

Or do you mean us harm?”

[30] “No sir,” she said without a pause,

“it’s just that I was sent

“By members of the Conclave to

Ambassador Janus’ tent.”

[31] The giggling Janus overheard

and whooped, “that’s me! I’m him!”

The suffering guards continued on.

The bed they’d put him in.

[32] “The ambassador is, ah...indisposed

Right now. So, what is it?

“You have something to share with him

You’ll share it with me quick.”

[33] “Umm...sir,” the woman feigned again

“It’s already inside.

“Apologies but nobody

Was here when I arrived.

[34] “I left it on the table,

There’s a note for you to read.

‘Twas meant for master Janus

But maybe you’ll read instead.”

[35] The guard had barely time to register

What had been told

Before the woman slipped his grip

And through to the crowd she strolled.

[36] When she was out of eyeshot the

Guard rejoined the group.

The ambassador let his men

Unclothe him head to boot.

[37] And whilst they did so, on the desk

The guard noticed the note.

It had no signet on the wax,

And in the note was wrote:

[38] To Ambassador Janus.

Tallo does not forget.

For wasting all our children’s blood

You’ll have no more regret.

[39] Just as he finished reading,

“What’s this? A funny orb?

I don’t remember owning this -”

Then out all the smoke poured.

[40] To people in the makeshift town

All that they understood

Was one moment a tent was there

The next a pilar stood.

[41] A pillar of black flame ascended

Far into the sky.

It even stopped the sandstorm for

A second, then it died.

[42] The flames and smoke were gathered up

Back into the small orb.

It steamed atop the dusty ground

And rocked from south to north.

[43] Meanwhile, the woman slipped back out

And went into the sand.

She fixed her headscarf back in place

And left that horrid land.

[44] Later, inside of Tallo’s hall

She met the ruling Thane.

She took his gold and left the town

And was never seen again.

The Crooked Man of Smuggler's Perch

"Dreadful It Was" - John Tenniel (Old Book Illustrations 2007-2023)

[1] The man was old and crooked,

Like so many before.

The caretaker of Smuggler’s Perch

And owner of the moor.

[2] Smuggler’s Perch, the manor house.

An unusual name.

It’s said the early crooked men

Were smugglers all the same.

[3] And for their cargo, it is known

They'd shed a lot of blood.

The angry ghosts of murdered souls

Still lingered in the mud.

[4] From son to son the keyrings

were passed from hand to hand.

From grave to grave their names

Were fading faster than the land.

[5] The crooked man, ‘twas said of him,

Resolved to let it die.

The moor was vast and vacant.

To pleas to help, he’d not reply.

[6] The fishing folk all wondered

But never meant to ask

About the noises coming from

The manor house at dusk.

[7] They knew he was unmarried,

No relatives, no child.

But something must reside there

For those voices to be riled.

[8] The crooked man would wander,

With bobbing lamp in front

Across the moors and babble

Things meandering and blunt.

[9] And whilst away the townsfolk

Would swear by God above,

A cry had called from Smuggler’s Perch,

Cries silenced by a thud.

[10] But when they found their courage

And went to source the noise,

Not a sight or signal

Of men, women, girls, or boys.

[11] And when the crooked man saw

The gathered, worried flock

He stared them down and muttered

“Leave us to our Godly work.”

[12] New rumours spread around the

Town of what the man had done.

He found a girl and killed her,

Had her fall instead of run.

[13] Why for the deed conducted?

No single person knew.

‘Twas ever in the minds of those

With Smuggler’s Perch in view.

[14] Soon parcels came in paper

Wrapped with simple thread.

Dark people in deep hooded cloaks

Knocked on the door instead.

[15] There were no visitors who came

To stay at Smuggler’s Perch.

But crooked men aren’t lonely,

Thanks to the skeletons at church.

[16] So why now were there hooded men

Arriving at the door?

With packages both smaller

And heavier than before?

[17] One night, the moon was fullest,

And one small boy had guessed

The crooked man was planning

For his own eternal rest.

[18] He’d heard he slept in coffins

And so he stalked the moors,

Haunted by his victims’ voices

His brother had assured.

[19] So curious and silly,

The boy snuck out at night.

He snuck up to the manor,

If he’d left, he would be right.

[20] The manor’s gates was broken

The gargoyles were gone.

Though lights were lit, 'twere no one

For the light to settle on.

[21] But he heard one voice clearly.

It echoed through the hall.

The soft voice of an elder

To no audience at all.

[22] He followed round the windows,

Legs scraping through the brush.

As tiny blooming petals

Formed the boy began to rush.

[23] The voice was growing further.

So closer he would get.

He found an open window

And through the crack he crept.

[24] The floor had heavy carpet,

The air was thick with dust.

The boy felt near to sneezing,

So the nearby drape he fussed.

[25] The armour by the staircase

Was rusted, ancient fare.

The plants inside the manor

Were dead from lack of care.

[26] The boy followed the voice

To which belonged the crooked man

Until he saw him standing

With a crucifix in hand.

[27] He hid behind the doorway

And for a moment paused.

When he was undiscovered

He peeked between the doors.

[28] The boy saw the crooked man

Standing amongst a crowd.

His lips were trembling more

And now the muttering was loud.

[29] “God’s work be done, my family.

The curse will soon be gone.

I’ve gathered all the pieces

And soon will right this wrong.”

[30] Now looking round the crooked

Man, the boy saw many

Shapes and shades. Figureless and

Yet he counted twenty.

[31] And now he saw the vial

Uncorked, held in his hand.

On knees he kneeled and drank it.

Nevermore did he stand.

[32] The crooked man was bending,

He screamed to be alone.

The lights began to flicker

And scream became a moan.

[33] Outside the boy heard thudding,

The cry as heard before.

Yet now there was a body

Coming through manor door.

[34] Except it was no body.

It had no face or neck.

It had no limbs or muscles

Save for one finger, erect.

[35] It disregarded the boy,

Who now could only cry

To see the wretchedness crawl

Down the hall, then pass him by.

[36] The crucifix was broken.

The shades were gathered round.

The mass had joined the crooked

Man, and in that hall they drowned.

[37] At least, that’s all the boy said

When he came back that night.

He dared not talk about it

Until the morning light.

[38] It was only at noontime

That any of them went.

They daren’t venture further

Without the Lord’s consent.

[39] And when they saw the manor,

The den of crooked men,

They found the doors wide open,

And laughter from within.

[40] The laughter was so horrid

In its pitch and mood,

That half the villagers ran

So that just the bravest stood.

[41] Inside they found no sign of

Anything the boy had seen.

The air was clean, the armour sheened

More than it’d ever been.

[42] But neither did they find the man

They had expected there.

Indeed, they found no body

Not a trace of nail or hair.

[43] Instead, that laugh that echoed

Through the house soon flew away.

It raced over the cliffs and

Seemed to cross the sleepy bay.

[44] The house was burnt to ashes

The villagers agreed.

The ashes thrown to moorland

So none could be received.

[45] Now no old man was crooked,

Like those that came before.

No caretaker of Smuggler’s Perch

No owner of the moor.

[46] Just laughter at the witching hour

Which chased the dogs away.

A strangled, choking, dying laugh,

Until the end of days.