Today is the last day of the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week, and I hope you have enjoyed the story and the format. This last post of the week is all about balance – how is balance in crafting achieved, and how should it be maintained? In the exciting conclusion to this week’s story, Agent K restores the balance of power between the knitters and the aliens. The aliens had the upper hand with their wool-altering drugs, but Agent K steps in to stop them once again!
And now, the exciting conclusion!
The formula worked. The garishly colored wool that was completely unaffected by standard color methods was easily bleached by Laci’s formula. Laci’s formula was also fortunately cheaply made from nontoxic substances found in nearly every home (or at least in nearly every dyer’s home). Now Agent K had to spread the word and let the aliens know that the knitters had an effective defense against their nefarious plans. How to do that, though? It would be dangerous to communicate with the aliens, but Agent K was just the knitter for the job.
The next day, Agent K sat in a public park near Agency Headquarters, calmly knitting row after row of the unbleached wool from the alien-poisoned sheep. It hurt her head to do it, but it was probably the method most likely to catch the eye of the aliens. Even though the town of the Agency Headquarters was well-known to the aliens, the exact location was a carefully guarded secret. The aliens were constantly on the lookout for Agents to tail to the Headquarters building. The best way to attract their attention was to knit in public. (Agent K frequently knit in public in other places too, and was constantly surprised when non-knitters commented on it. Everyone in the town where Headquarters was located was so used to seeing knitters that they never blinked when they saw one.) She figured that in this case, the best advertisement that she knew what they were up to and was not intimidated by it was to use the brightly colored yarn produced by the poisoned sheep.
She sat in the park and knitted the wool into a flamboyant cap for as long as she could stand to look at it. She winced at the result – a hideously variegated wool cap with every color of the rainbow in neon brights. It was horrendous. She would have to think just who she disliked badly enough to inflict it on this Christmas. Finally she couldn’t take looking at it anymore, and packed it into a bag. She collected her things and headed to her car. She noted with some relief that a black van pulled out of a parking space half a block away – at least she wouldn’t have to repeat this performance. She repeated the route she had taken earlier in the week, careful once again to keep the van on her tail, but not being obvious that that was what she was doing.
Once again, they ended up at the base of the trail up the mountain. Once again, Agent K raced to the top of the mountain clutching a valuable piece of information that the alien on her tail wanted very badly to get. Once again she climbed up the stone tower and waited at the top for the slimy green creature to catch up.
It was strangely peaceful at the top of the mountain. This time it wasn’t quite so beautiful. It had been raining for the past couple of days, and heavy clouds raced across the sky, plunging the valley into a deep grey and drowning out all the colors. Just as she was about to drown out the colors in the wool that the aliens had altered.
She heard a squelching sound of an alien footstep behind her, and turned slowly to face a laser gun leveled at her.
“You can put that thing away,” Agent K said. “I just want to talk, and then I want you to go talk to your superiors.”
“Talk? There won’t be any talk!” snarled the alien. He hopped a bit and reached down with a tentacle to pull a twig out of his slimy green foot. “Why the heck did you come back up here, anyway? Man, I really hate the woods!”
“Never mind the woods,” said Agent K patiently. “I’m here to tell you that we know all about the scheme for unbleachable and undyeable wool in Alaska. We know about it, and we have a solution.”
The alien’s eyeball shifted back and forth on its stalk. “Scheme? Alaska? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Yes, you do,” said Agent K. “You followed me here because you saw me knitting with some of that awful wool you aliens created. No human would ever create such terrible colors, and you know it.”
“Okay, so we experimented with some dyeing,” bluffed the alien. “So what? It doesn’t mean anything!”
“We know that you hoped to stop knitters from using the wool,” replied Agent K. “We know that you would stop at nothing to do this. You had us in a tight corner for just a bit there. If one of our independent dyers hadn’t figure out a counter-formula, you might have succeeded. We might have been brought to our knees, because let’s face it, we can’t use this stuff for long.” She pulled the cap she’d knitted out of the horrible yarn and displayed it to the alien.
“It’s pretty horrible, isn’t it?” sneered the alien. “Don’t like the woolie stuff so much now, do you? HA!”
“Have you been listening?” sighed Agent K. “We have a way to combat this stuff and bleach it.”
“Wait, what? HOW?” roared the alien.
“An independent dyer figured out a formula to fix this wool. We’re even now dosing the world’s sheep to inoculate them against your drugs. So, nice try, suckers, but next time, don’t mess with our wool!” Agent K pulled a handful of the treated wool out of her bag and flung it at the alien’s eyestalk. It was a shame to use the wool that way, but she needed to get the alien to see the bleached wool and she also needed a way off the mountain.
A roar of pain and anger issued from the alien, and he instantly began scratching every bit of him that had been touched with the wool. More importantly, he dropped his laser gun, and Agent K took the opportunity to duck around him and head for the stairs.
Her last view of the alien was of him hopping around the top of the tower, trying to scratch every last inch of himself all at once. Giggling, she ran down the mountain side, raced to her car, and drove away triumphantly. No doubt the aliens would try again, but Agent K would be there to stop them.
Day 6 of the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week. Today it’s all about improving your skill set. Even though Agent K is an expert knitter, no one can know it all, and she’s challenged today to improve and try some new things. I’m not a dyer myself, so apologies for any inaccuracies that might creep in. One day, I’ll learn to dye my own wool!
The whirlwind trip to Alaska had exhausted Agent K, but there was no time to rest. If the trip to Alaska had accomplished anything, it was to convince Agent K at the urgency of the mission. If the Agency didn’t act fast, not only would Laci be in imminent danger, but independent dyers everywhere would lose their livelihood. There was also a danger that the wide variety of colors the wool world enjoyed today would be compromised. The garishly colored sheep couldn’t be bleached or overdyed, which meant that there would be none of the subtle and beautiful shades of nature, only wild neons. No matter what her color theory teacher had said, BRIGHT colors weren’t necessarily HAPPY colors. Neither were natural colors like cream, brown, or grey unhappy colors. The possibility of losing natural colors to a neon crayola palette was unthinkable.
Agent K took the precious cargo up to the chemistry labs, where Agents waited to examine the colorful sheep and Laci’s solution. Time was of the essence, and Agent K had radioed ahead to have the lab prepped.
Normally, Agent K would let the chemists do their thing, but she had recently taken an introduction class to dyeing wool, and she was eager to watch the process and help where she could. The Agency was very keen on having its Agents learn knew skills, and the Chemistry Department was constantly holding classes to introduce Agents to the art and science of dyeing. Long counters, deep sinks, and forests of drying racks filled the room on the third floor of the Headquarters building. The floor and counters were splattered with dye of every shade and hue, and rows of liberally splattered lab coats hung along one wall. Selecting one of these, Agent K snapped a pair of protective goggles over her eyes and drew some rubber gloves over her hands. (She had learned a hard lesson after her first class when she had purple hands for two weeks.)
One of the chemists, Agent C, stumbled in under a load of brightly colored wool, freshly shorn from the sheep Agent K had brought back from Alaska. (That was the one and only time she would ever have a live sheep in a helicopter so long as she lived, Agent K vowed.) Agent C dropped the fleece into a sink full of soapy water and began cleaning it. As he cleaned, he pulled locks of wool out and placed them on a tray next to the sink. The other chemists began picking through the wool, separating it out by color. One of the chemists took a bit to test for colorfastness. After all, they only had the word IGLOO and Laci that it was impossible to overdye or bleach. If it was ordinary wool that could be bleached, drastic measures need not be taken.
However, they did not have time to wait for the results of that testing. They were running against the clock. Agent K took a batch of particularly putrid puce wool and carried it to a sink. She dried the wool with a towel as best she could, then photographed it. They needed a basis to compare the change to, if any change took place. Agent K made a note of the camera settings and light intensity, then began mixing a solution based on Laci’s recipe.
As she mixed, she wondered about Laci. According to Agency records, Laci was an independent dyer who had once worked for one of the world’s largest chemical companies. Laci had become disgusted with the corporate red tape and struck out on her own. She had been impatient with Agent K, demanding instant action on her formula. Agent K had tried her best to make Laci understand that they couldn’t just take her word that the formula worked. It needed to be tested to make sure that the cure actually worked and wasn’t more harmful than the disease the aliens had caused the sheep to have.
Agent K looked doubtfully into the dye pot. The solution was comprised of individually harmless elements, but the resulting dye bath looked like a witch’s brew. It bubbled ominously and emitted a surprising smell of butterscotch. Agent K picked up a lock of wool, dropped it into a mesh bag with a label on it, and dropped it into the dyepot. She continued to drop locks into the pot at regular intervals. These individual locks were coded so that she could tell how long they had been in the pot, and they would know if there was an ideal exposure time for the wool to be in the pot.
It wasn’t terribly challenging work, and as she waited the alloted interval time between dropping locks, she watched the other Agents working. Some were doing similar dyeing work to what she was doing, only with different color wool. Agent C was still at work washing and drying the rest of the fleece. Another Agent was preparing a set of powered drugs to be fed to the affected sheep. They would closely monitor the sheep Agent K had brought back with her to see its reactions to the drugs. If there were no issues, more drugs would be fed to the rest of the sheep in Alaska.
Agent K dropped the last lock of wool into the chemical bath. She turned off the heat under the dye pot and let the mixture cool down somewhat. Once it was cool enough, she poured the contents of the pot out over a strainer, which caught the wool but let the liquid run off down into the sink. The wool was still steaming hot, but she carefully spread it out on the counter to dry. Again she patted it dry with a towel, and was interested to see the color was gone from all but the last few locks of wool to be dropped into the pot. It seemed that Laci’s formula worked.
All around the room, pleased murmurs came from Agents bending over steaming locks of wool. Agent K set up the camera apparatus to the same conditions as before and took a set of photographs showing the change in color. Any lock of wool that had been in the dyepot for more than ten minutes was a snowy white. Agents around the room began reporting the same results. No matter what color the wool started as, the solution had removed it.
The door burst open, and the Agent who had taken a bit of the wool to try to bleach or overdye it using normal methods came into the room holding a steaming pot of brightly colored wool. Normal methods had had no effect whatsoever.
Laci’s formula worked! Now for the hard part.
To be continued…
It’s day 5 of the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week, and today’s challenge is to look at a different way to present content on your blog. Normally this blog is a text-based story telling, but today’s blog will be a cartoon. Please excuse the amateurish drawing. I am not an artist, and it’s definitely a challenge for me!
To be continued…
It’s day 4 of the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week, and today’s prompt is A Knitter for all Seasons. Weather and the seasons are the topics, and Agent K is about to learn what the code means by WINTER COLD WOOL WARM IGLOO HELP…
Agent K descended in the elevator to the bowels of the Agency, heading toward the basement archives. She glanced at her paper scrap once again, frowning. WINTER COLD WOOL WARM IGLOO HELP must mean SOMETHING. There must be a reason why the color theory teacher had risked her life to pass it to Agent K, and there must be a reason why an alien would chase her up a mountain side to retrieve the message.
The elevator doors slid open, and Agent K stepped out. She was directly across the hall from the entrance to the Strategic Wool Reserve, but she didn’t have time to go in and swim around in a vat of cashmere today, as much as she would have liked to. Instead, she discovered that there was a door to the right of the SWR’s entrance. She had never noticed this door before today. Well, she had never actually LOOKED at anything but the SWR’s door. She’d always gone straight into the Reserve without pausing. Now that she did pause, she discovered an ill-lit musty room.
She sneezed as she opened the door, a wave of dust greeting her as she entered. Choking just a bit, she waved dust away from her face and saw a morose, elderly clerk sitting behind a counter. He was painstaking knitting a grey wool scarf in garter stitch with size 0 needles and fingering weight wool. She coughed gently, and the elderly man looked up over his gold-rimmed glasses at her.
“Yes?” he asked, wheezing just a bit. “The Strategic Wool Reserve is down the hall. You can’t miss it. Thank you for stopping by.” And he looked back down at his knitting, slowly wrapping stitch after stitch as if he had all the time in the world.
“No, I don’t want the SWR,” said Agent K. He looked up at her in disbelief. “Okay, I do want it, but I can’t right now. I’m looking for something. An old code, perhaps 40 years old. And I need to hurry, someone’s life may be in danger.”
“In danger, eh?” The old man pushed his scarf up onto the needles and creaked as he got up from his chair. “What code did you want, now?”
“I’m not sure what it was called, but it was put together using hand-drawn symbols from Barbara Walker’s third treasury. Can you help me, um, Ronald?” Agent K glanced up from his name tag and smiled in a friendly manner.
“Barbara Walker, third treasury, yes, yes, let me see…” Ronald shuffled off slowly, muttering to himself. Agent K sighed. How long was this going to take? Several minutes passed before Ronald came shuffling back, holding a copy of the third treasury and a dingy file folder.
He placed both of them on the counter, then resumed his seat. He slowly opened the book and placed the file folder next to it. He looked expectantly at Agent K. She wordlessly slid the slip of paper with WINTER COLD WOOL WARM IGLOO HELP written on it under the symbols from the ball bands.
He glanced at the paper, then gasped and jerked his head up to look at Agent K intently.
“When did this come in?” he said urgently.
“Um, this afternoon,” she said, startled. “I just got it this morning, and have just had it decoded.”
“This says IGLOO,” he said, shaking the paper under her nose.
“Yes, it does,” she replied, backing up just a bit. “What’s IGLOO?”
“Not what,” he said. “WHO.”
“Okay, then, who?” asked Agent K.
“IGLOO was an operative in the old days,” he said. “She was the best. She took all the hardest assignments and always came home from them. This was back in the days when the Agency was little more than a resistance movement, operating out of a small local yarn store. Not like this.” He waved his hand in the direction of the SWR. “In those days, it was hard to get good wool. We didn’t know what we were up against, just that it was big. The aliens hadn’t shown themselves at that point. They were careful, very careful to stay in the shadows. They made it look like it was a natural wool shortage at first. They tried all sorts of things, introducing gosh-awful acrylics that made your hands bleed to use them in disgusting colors. It was the seventies, of course, so no one thought much about that barfy greens and oranges. Until IGLOO was nearly killed on a sheep ranch, we had no idea the terrible danger we were really in. She was nearly killed by a wool-bailing machine, and it was no accident. That’s when she became IGLOO.”
“So what does the rest of this mean?” Agent K asked, frowning at the paper. “I’ve never heard of IGLOO – surely she must not be an active agent.”
“She retired, long ago. A recalcitrant sheep kicked her hard, and her knee has never been the same,” explained Ronald. He opened the manila folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. “WINTER COLD WOOL WARM is an SOS. She must not have been able to include more, but it basically means to send an Agent ASAP. These are all the agents who would have used the Walker codes. There aren’t many of them left, even though everyone uses the Walker books. Let me see…” He ran his finger down the page, reached the bottom, turned the page, and reached almost the bottom before stabbing the paper with his finger and looking up in triumph at Agent K.
“She’s here.” He wrote out an address on a sticky note and handed it to Agent K. “Enjoy your trip!” He picked up his scarf again and patiently resumed knitting. Agent K realized that the interview was over, and quietly left him to it.
Stepping out into the hall, she examined the note.
“Moose Creek, Alaska,” she read with dismay. “Alaska!” She glanced down at her summery outfit. It was late April, but the weather had been exceptionally warm this year, and she wore sandals, shorts, and a handknit, lightweight silk and cotton t-shirt. She had been so glad to set aside the heavy wool knits for such light, cool knits. She pulled up the forecast for Moose Creek, Alaska, on her phone. Below freezing, with a snow advisory. Even though there hadn’t been much snow this year where Agent K was, she was still sick of cold, grey skies and the wintry lack of color. She should have known – with a name like IGLOO, there was no way the agent would live in Costa Rica where it was warm.
Sighing, she phoned the Agency travel agency (”The Agency for all your Agency travel needs!”) and booked a flight for Moose Creek, Alaska, then went home to regretfully put aside her cool summer knits and pull out the so-recently put away wool sweaters, socks, mittens, hats, and cowls. She contemplated how many of these to take, and began stuffing her suitcase with wool.
An hour later, she was heading out the door with her suitcase bulging with wool. It had taken her most of that hour to wrestle as much wool into the small capacity suitcase as she could. She had had to stand on the lid to get it to close. Good thing wool was so squishy. If it were cooler today, she would have worn some of the sweaters and socks, but she would have died of heatstroke if she’d tried. As it was, she’d had to leave behind the sock project she was halfway through in favor of the laceweight shawl. The laceweight took up less room in her carry-on, and was perfect for knitting in her warmer location as well as in the frozen north. Summer knitting for Agent K usually meant socks or lace, rather than a heavy blanket of wool on her lap.
Agent K pulled up to the airport, where a helicopter was revving up its blades for the trip to Alaska. The Agency travel agency had told her that no flights were expected into Moose Creek until two days from now, so it would have to be a chartered helicopter. As the helicopter picked itself up from the pad, she pulled out her lace knitting and settled in for the long flight.
To be continued…
We’re on day 3 of the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week. All this week, bloggers are writing posts with given topics. I’ll be doing a week-long story, using the topics to shape the story. Did you miss the posts from Monday and Tuesday? If so, go back and read the beginning of the story. Today’s challenge is to blog about someone in the fiber crafts who truly inspires you. We pick up Agent K’s adventure as she returns to Agency Headquarters with the mysterious code on the ball bands…
Agent K sat watching the Agency’s top code breaking team puzzle over the strange symbols on the ball band she had been given by the mysterious color theory teacher. They had been at it for hours now, and no one appeared to be any closer to the solution then they had been when Agent K had arrived. Right now they were arguing over whether the symbols might be Sumerian or Comic Sans. Okay, maybe they weren’t such a crack team of code breakers after all.
Agent K got up from the metal stool she had been sitting on with a groan and a stretch. A race up a mountain and back down again had left her muscles sore and tight, a condition which hadn’t been improved by sitting on a cold metal stool. She wandered around the code breakers’ room, randomly picking up and putting down books, drawings, and inscribed amulets. (The amulets had turned out to be a gift from a code breaker’s mother and had no significance whatsoever, despite days of code breaking attention.)
As she ran her fingers along the bookshelf, she came across a section of Barbara Walker stitch dictionaries. She’d always loved flipping through these, and a little Barbara might make the time pass more quickly while she was waiting for the code breakers.
She flipped slowly through the first treasury, with the stitch patterns passing under her gaze like old friends. She remembered when she had first had the epiphany. Knitting patterns were really just blank canvases on which could be painted just about anything the artist wanted. Designers weren’t really gods and goddesses from on high, they were just humans who picked a silhouette and picked a picture to draw on that silhouette. Barbara Walker had taught her that there really were infinite possibilities, and you could do almost anything you could dream. All you needed was a swatch to determine how the stitch pattern affected gauge.
Agent K set the first treasury back on the shelf and picked up the second. More stitch patterns, when it seemed that there couldn’t possibly be any other way to combine knits and purls.
Then she picked up the third treasury: Charted Knitting Designs. This was her favorite. This was the first of the treasuries to chart out the stitch patterns. Agent K was a very visual person and the charts made much more sense than the lines of knitting code that Barbara had presented in previous volumes. Feeling like she was visiting an old friend, she paged slowly through the book.
She stopped. She flipped back to the front of the book. She blinked. She shut the book, then opened it again.
She snatched up the ball bands and held them next to the book. She could have smacked her forehead, and thought very seriously about cracking the heads of the code breakers together. The symbols weren’t ancient Sumerian or Comic Sans.
They were knitting symbols.
Of course, many of the symbols in Barbara Walker’s books were hand-drawn, not like the slick computer-generated and standardized symbols that most modern knitters were familiar with. The Agency had long-ago standardized symbols for the codes used in official documents and communications, but these standard symbols were based on the earlier hand-drawn symbols used by an earlier generation.
Using the cable crossing reference guide and the list of symbols in the treasury, Agent K had the code broken in no time. It was an old code, one that had not been used in nearly forty years. Once she realized what the key was, it was easy to translate the symbols into letters and words.
On second thought, WINTER COLD WOOL WARM IGLOO HELP was perhaps not quite so helpful. At least she had translated it into English, which was more than could be said for the bozos in the code breaking department.
Agent K and the code breakers looked at the semi-sentence in dismay. What was she going to do with this? Everyone knew that winter was cold, and that wool was warm. And obviously someone needed help. But igloo? What did it mean?
“Time for a coffee break!” said one of the code breakers. Agent K sighed in exasperation. They had been taking coffee breaks all afternoon, and then taking bathroom breaks. It was no wonder that they hadn’t gotten anywhere. When she had confronted one of them with the time they were wasting in coffee and bathroom breaks, he had said “But I do my best thinking in the bathroom!” Trying to get THAT picture out of her head, she concentrated on the igloo problem instead.
“What if IGLOO is a code name of some sort?” she said to the coffee-sipping code breakers, who blinked stupidly back at her. “Does it mean a location, maybe?”
“You could check the archives,” one of the said doubtfully. “There’s all these papers and stuff downstairs next to the Strategic Wool Reserve. I don’t think anyone goes down there anymore. There aren’t any computers down there.”
“Right,” said Agent K, snapping shut Barbara Walker’s Charted Knitting Designs in decision. “I’m off to the basement. Enjoy your coffee.”
The code breaking team sighed a breath of relief as she left the room, and they turned back to their Sudoku games.
To be continued…
It’s day 2 in the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week! All this week, bloggers are writing posts with given topics. I’ll be doing a week-long story, using the topics to shape the story. Did you miss yesterday’s post? If so, go back and read the beginning of the story.
Day 2 is a photography challenge. I had intended to take some pictures that artistically looked at how Agent K foiled the aliens, but it was pouring all day on the day I had planned to take pictures. So instead, the story will be slightly altered to take advantage of the wildcard challenge. I haven’t been hiking in a long time, but I used to take my dog (Agent K-9) up to Sleeping Giant Mountain, on top of which is a stone lookout tower. If the weather cooperates, maybe soon I’ll take my knitting up there and enjoy the view. On with the story!
Agent K got into her car and closed the door with a sigh. Finally the class was over. She leaned back and pressed her hands over her eyes in an attempt to block out the bright colors from the class. It didn’t work – the colors still popped and danced across her retina. She wondered if she would ever see normally again. After a few minutes, she gave up and accepted that she would probably have the afterimages for the rest of her life. She pulled out the ball bands that had been cleverly palmed off onto her by the class teacher and examined them.
The ball bands were by themselves unremarkable. From the outside of the bands, they looked like ordinary labels. On the inside, though, there were strange drawings, hieroglyphics almost. Agent K turned them this way and that, but couldn’t make heads or tails of them. The geeks in the lab would have to deal with them.
She shrugged and tucked the ball bands into her jacket pocket. As she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, a large black van pulled out of the lot from across the street and pulled into traffic behind her.
She sighed. Just how dumb did the aliens think she was? She shifted into merged onto the highway and shifted into high gear. Weaving in and out of traffic, she looked back to see the van easily keeping pace. She had to find a way to lose them and get these ball bands back to Headquarters.
After a few minutes of thought, she yanked the steering wheel suddenly to the right and, tires screeching and horns honking in protest, cut across three lanes of traffic to take the next exit. She checked the rear view mirror – the van was still there. Good.
She led the van through the small town where they had left the highway, making sure to keep the van in sight behind her the whole way. She couldn’t risk losing it now and having her scent picked up again later. She led the van through the small town where they had left the highway, dodging down alleys and making sudden turns, all the while leading the van on. Finally, up ahead she spotted the park entrance that she had been heading for.
She zoomed into a parking space and took off running towards the hiking trail. She knew this trail like the back of her hand, having brought Agent K-9 here many times for walkies. At the top of the trail was a small stone tower overlooking a deep valley full of woods and streams.
Agent K paused for breath, chest heaving as she listened for pursuit. The sounds of aliens struggling through the underbrush filtered through the trees, and she continued up the trail, panting slightly.
She reached the top of the trail and entered the cool stone tower. She could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit, but she knew that the aliens would be along shortly. She climbed slowly up the weathered stone steps to the top of the tower and gazed out across the valley. It had turned out to be a beautiful spring day, and the trees were beginning to spread their leaves after the long winter. It would be hazy later this afternoon, but at just that moment everything was perfect.
Well, almost perfect. She sneezed violently and, wiping her streaming nose and eyes, fervently hoped that she had some antihistamines in the car.
At that moment, though, a cold voice said "Give me the ball bands!"
She turned reluctantly from the peaceful vista and stared defiantly into the eyestalk of an angry alien. He was considerably worse for wear after the hike up to the tower. A small branch was embedded in his slimy foot, a leaf stuck up behind his eyestalk like a feather in a Native American headdress, and a tentacle was distastefully brushing pollen off his eyestalk.
"Why would I give you the ball bands?" asked Agent K.
"Because I have a ray gun," replied the alien, waving a tentacle holding this in her face. "Enough of these games, I want those ball bands and I want them now!"
"Any particular ball bands?" asked Agent K sweetly.
"The ball bands you got from the class teacher this morning!" the alien shouted in frustration. "You think you can lose me in traffic, or dodge me in town, or try to escape through the woods? Well, you’re trapped now, missy, and I want those ball bands! I know you haven’t interpreted them yet, and if I take them from you the Agency will never know when we will strike! BWAHAHAHA!"
Agent K waited for his maniacal laughter to subside before saying dejectedly, "Well, I guess I don’t have much choice." She pulled the ball bands out of her jacket pocket. "Oops…"
Just then, a small gust of wind blew the bands out of her pocket and over the tower parapet. She watched as the paper seemed to hover for a second on the breeze before plunging down into the valley. The bands were quickly lost to sight among the trees.
With a roar of rage, the alien leapt for the edge of the tower only to have the papers slip through his tentacles. While he was preoccupied, Agent K slipped around the slimy lime green body and dashed down the stairs out of the tower. She could hear alien curses being flung from the tower but made it to the tree line just ahead of the laser guns blasts. A small tree directly behind her burst into flames when a bright blue beam struck it.
Agent K knew that the alien would be right behind her, but she also knew that aliens had difficulty navigating downward slopes. She should be okay as long as she hurried.
She slid down the last few feet of the trail, skidding on a handful of loose gravel. She had been careful to park her car at an angle to facilitate a quick getaway, and now all she had to do was jump in the driver’s seat, crank the engine, and speed off out of the park with a spray of gravel.
As the car merged back onto the highway, she slid a finger between the car seat and the center console. The precious ball bands were right where she had left them, hastily tucked down out of sight before she raced up the trail. It had been a gamble that the alien would chase her rather than search the car, but it was a gamble she had won.
Now it was off to the Agency to see of anyone could decipher the strange characters.
To be continued…
Today is the first day of the Knitting and Crochet Blog Week! This is a challenge where knitting and crochet bloggers are given topics every day to interpret as they wish on their blogs. The topics are wide-ranging, but all of them relate back to fiber crafts in some way. I decided to write a serial story for Agent K that spans the entire week, using the challenge for each day to give that day’s episode a slightly different flavor. The story spans the entire week, you’ll have to check back every day to get the next installment. (Or, I suppose, wait until Sunday to read everything at once. But where’s the fun in that?) The first challenge is to blog about color. We start our adventure at a color theory class with Agent K. Not just any old color theory class, though…
"The vibrant greens of happy little trees in the spring! The bright yellows of a sprinkling of hopeful dandelions pushing their way up through the carefully manicured grass! The bright red of a robin perching on your windowsill first thing in the morning, tweeting a happy "HELLO!" to you! These are what we will be discussing today!" The lady teaching the color theory class beamed at Agent K through thick horn-rimmed glasses. Agent K smiled weakly at her and reached for the large cup of caffeine on the desk in front of her.
No one ought to be that chirpy this early in the morning. Agent K snuck a glance at her watch. 8:06 am. Perhaps not quite so surprising – it had been 8:05 am when she had looked at her watch a minute ago. She glanced up at the teacher, who was dressed in a long flowing skirt and long flowing blouse in bright spring colors. Birkenstocks with brightly colored socks peeped out from under the skirt. A Crayola box must have had a slight accident over her, Agent K decided. At that moment, she flung her hand outward in an exaggerated movement to illustrate the vibrance and vitality of color and neatly swept a student’s work in progress off the table and onto the floor. Agent K leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a brief nap while the student and teacher bumped heads under the table trying to retrieve the fallen WIP.
Order restored to the classroom, the teacher once again began whittering on about colors and their happy and hopeful nature. Agent K pried her eyes open and glanced casually around the room. One of the people in this class was her contact, but which one? The Agency hadn’t sent her here just to learn some elementary color theory, of course. One of the other students had sent the Agency an SOS, begging for help. According to the scrawled message on the back of the sheet torn from a first edition of “Knitting without Tears," the aliens were hot on the trail of an independent dyer. (Agent K tried to contain her dismay at the desecration of the first edition masterpiece and focus on the emergency at hand.) The message had warned the Agency that the aliens were now targeting dyers to reduce interest in wool, and the message writer had proof that a particular dyer was next on the aliens’ hit list. The only other piece of information was the date and time of this color theory class.
So here Agent K was with her project bag stuffed with scraps of a wide variety of colors, a large reservoir of caffeine, and small reservoir of patience. She had been up late last night chasing what the Agency had thought was a small group of alien infiltrators but which had ended up being bored and surly teenagers. By the time she’d gotten to bed, it had been nearly time to get up and come to this class. So, yes, she was just a bit grumpy and fed up with the cloak-and-daggerness of the whole thing. A nice, normal desk job seemed like heaven just now.
“Please, take out your needles and pick two BRIGHT colors to knit with! Remember, BRIGHT colors are HAPPY colors!”
Agent K grudgingly pulled out a set of needles and a neon pink and eye-searing yellow. She hoped these would be bright and happy enough to satisfy the teacher. They were certainly bright enough to give her a headache. Would it be rude if she put on her sunglasses in the class? She decided it probably would be and that she would have to squint instead.
“I’m sorry, those colors just don’t go together,” the teacher said in a happy sing-song. Agent K looked up to see the teacher looming over her like a very colorful shadow. She looked back down at her knitting and frowned. The colors were appalling, to be sure, but mostly because they were just very bright, not because they didn’t go together.
“What did I say at the beginning of class?” the teacher chirped. “Remember that colors should be HAPPY! Try these colors instead!” She dropped two balls of yarn onto the table in front of Agent K.
Agent K was about to tell the teacher exactly where to get off when she looked her in the eyes. She stopped and looked again. The teacher’s gaze was boring directly through Agent K’s eyes in an extremely tense and anxious manner. Suddenly something clicked, and Agent K realized she had just made contact. As she picked up the two balls of yarn (a violent violet and a gross green), she realized there was writing on the insides of the ball bands.
“Thank you, those are much better!” Agent K lied. “I will use these lovely yarns instead of the ones I brought!” She nodded to the teacher, who gave her an apologetic look and moved off to help another student.
Agent K slid the balls of yarn off the table into her lap, where she quickly and unobtrusively swapped the ball bands for the ones on her own neon yellow and pink yarns. She sat back and began to knit. The pattern provided for the class to practice with was of a bird pulling a worm out of the ground. Agent K quickly had it knit in the violet and green colors and sat back to admire her work. It was frankly appalling. The bird glared at her balefully as the worm writhed in agony. Agent K reflected that it must be a metaphor in some way that she couldn’t comprehend. The early bird gets a barely digestible worm in exchange for crawling out of his comfy and warm nest.
Agent K sighed. It was going to be one of THOSE cases.
To be continued…