13. Perspicacious

Dax pushed between them. “Everyone shut up.” Placing a large ear against the door, the other ear twitched. “Höbin, you still got your tools?”

CHOICES is the first book in the Chronicles of a Hero fantasy series. This is the story of Wendell P. Dipmier, who I’ve been writing about since 1990. I hope you’ll join me on this new adventure….as I tell the honest, complete story of this amazing 17 year old, exclusively on Life of Fiction.

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CHAPTER 13

The more experiences I have here, the more convinced I am that timing is a principle of the Universe.

I’ve read, somewhere, that there is a time and a season for everything. A time to laugh, to cry, to celebrate, to love and to mourn. There’s even a time to act and a time for patience, especially when we’re waiting on people we care about, right? I’m believing the Universe is constantly trying to teach this principle to us. That got me thinking…

What if the Universe is setting up the dominos for us…and we just have to see it?

Perspicacious was one of the less frequented shops deep in the Black Market, but one of Chuck’s favorites. The shop proprietor, Dathern Istul, had an obsession with knowledge and a talent for collecting extraordinary tidbits of information. It came as no surprise that his shop gained a reputation for its unusual and unequaled library.

I wasn’t sure how we’d ended up here. First, the wizard was speaking fondly of the shop owner and then suddenly he had a great idea. “Let’s get the boy some reading materials. He needs some schooling.”

“Yeah,” I said with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm, “I just graduated from High School a few days ago…what about my summer break?” 

They ignored me. “Here I was, set on taking a year off before I applied to community college,” I grumbled to myself, frustrated. It didn’t last long once I reminded myself that this ‘schooling’ was learning magic and becoming a mägo.

What kind of word was that, anyway? ‘MAH-go’. Sounded more like some purple and green-haired animal stylist. Get a trim for your poodle and a tattoo for yourself, while sipping a decaf soy-latte.

I’d said that out loud and got a slight ram on the head by Chuck’s staff. “Respect, son. The word ‘mägo’ means one who works with the arcane. The sorcerers, magicians, wizards, crafters, artificers, and every branch of script magic.”

So, no soy-latte.

I was just trying to avoid the thoughts of psychotic grandmothers and cannibalistic supermodels scraping at my mind. Ever since the old woman had grabbed my arm, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I suspected every persona I was introduced to. Every conversation was questionable. People stared at me just a tad too long, and that had me questioning everything.

We rounded a corner onto a narrow pathway of sunken stones, the blackened buildings leaning in on each other. The tattered sign of Perspicacious swung from rusted rings over a shop with darkened windows. A stubby little man pounded vigorously on the door. I wouldn’t mistake him for a child. There was too much facial hair, but he couldn’t have been much over three feet tall.

“Höbin!” Chuck shouted. “How are you, young one?”

The gnome turned to face us, wearing an agitated expression, and I did a double take. Metal encased the left side of his bald skull. In place of his left eye was a telescopic-looking device and for an ear, a metal stub. In stunning contrast to the metallic hardware and tanned skin, the snow white bundles of hair gave him a distinctively uncivilized look. The wild explosions over his ears could put Einstein to shame. A bushy mustache that rivaled any walrus, eyebrows like bloated, fuzzy caterpillars, sideburns like chipmunk cheeks and a comparatively tame beard that tapered off into two ponytails.

And that was just his head.

“Hello, Uncle Chuck.” The gnome leaned against the door, rattling it again. “We had an appointment, Istul and I, but it’s locked.”

Chuck frowned, peering through one of the cracked windows. “He hasn’t left the Market in over a decade. What would possess that man to lock his doors?”

“Exactly my thought,” Höbin said.

Dax pushed between them. “Everyone shut up.” Placing a large ear against the door, the other ear twitched. “Höbin, you still got your tools?”

Höbin rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you just port in?” I said.

“Heh, and break a market law?” Höbin asked, “No, no, no. I mean, yes, I’d agree with you, but none of us wants to end up in the stocks.” He glanced over at Dax. “Who’s the new kid?”

Dax glanced at me, then looked to the wizard. 

Chuck nodded.

“The kid,” Dax said.

Höbin jerked to a stop. “As in…”

Dax nodded. “Pick the lock. We’ll talk inside. There’s definitely someone in there.”

Extending his left hand, the tip of Höbin’s pinky finger popped back to reveal a tiny tool of a curious shape. He inserted it into the lock and in a snap; it clicked, and the door swung open.

“Cool,” I grinned.

Cautiously stepping into the store, Chuck called out. “Istul?”

“I’m c-closed this afternoon,” came a faint voice, but from where exactly, I couldn’t tell. “P-please come b-back tomorrow.”

In a flurry, Chuck entered the narrow maze of shelving toward the voice and I followed suit, Dax and Höbin close behind.

It was plain to see Istul’s fervor for information. Each shelf, and there were many, held a full stack of books, with some places having two rows deep. That did not deter Istul from acquiring yet another and another and another volume — until he literally swaddled himself tightly in neat towers of books. It was clear that he treasured each one — he made sure there was not a speck of dust or cobweb anywhere.

As we worked deeper into the shop, I passed a small nook nestled amid Istul’s treasures. A simple wood table  stood at its center, with a majestic leather high-back chair next to it. The work space had a stack of parchment, an ink well, and several newly cut quills laid out on it. Someone had brushed aside the shavings and knife, leaving them as the only clutter in the shop. A single volume in faded brown leather lay open, a tattered bookmark in its folds and a candle lamp. Shaped to mimic a young plant, the lamp extended a single leaf where the remaining nub of a candle waited.

“Look,” I whispered, pointing to where a dim light glowed. The narrow way was cluttered with several piles of books. A pair of spectacles glinted in the lamplight, twisted and smashed in the aisle, fragments of glass littering the floor.

Höbin and Dax rushed forward as one.

Chuck, however, stayed his ground and stomped his staff on the floor with a heavy thump. Light flared throughout the room. “ISTUL!” he boomed.

“Here!” shouted Höbin, his voice anxious. “I found him!!”

Chuck dashed off, the blaze of light following overhead.

When I came around the last bookshelf, I stopped short. A frail looking old man was reclining in a stuffed leather chair, in a back corner, taking the handkerchief being offered to him by Chuck. He wiped the blood from a broken nose and swollen, split lip. Shocked, my heart went out to him.

The gentleman looked frail to begin with and he’d obviously taken a beating. Minor scratches and cuts littered his cheeks and brow, a heavy swelling under one eye. Who would do such a thing? The blood from his wounds was fresh — it still glistened in his thin beard — dark shadows becoming visible across his cheek and throat.

“Dathern Istul, I have not seen you so worn or battered in…”

Reaching out, Dathern patted Chuck’s hand. “T-thank you, friend,” he whispered, then coughed hoarsely into the handkerchief. He looked to the gnome. “I’m alright,” Dathern said, looking to the gnome.

“Who did this?” Höbin demanded, his voice gruff. “Who in their right mind would attack one of the Market’s oldest citizens?”

“That’s the point now, ain’t it?” fumed Dax. “Those who did this weren’t IN their right mind. I’ll grab the Sentry.”

“They t-t-terrified T-Tilly,” Istul murmured, and Dax stopped in his tracks. “I d-don’t have my glasses to find her.” He looked at Chuck, his face strained. “She hissed at t-them when they g-grabbed me,” he took a shuddering breath, “…and t-they threw her ac-cross the r-room!” He looked past us, eyes searching blindly…desperately. “T-Tilly,” he called weakly, “where are you, my darling? P-please answer me!”

The gnome leaned forward, gripping the old mans hand. He patted it lightly. “We’ll find her, Dathern,….but tell us — who did this to you?”

“It’s j-just like you said, Chuck,” he whispered, “It’s T-thule. He’s sent his men throughout the land…l-l-looking for the Hero.” Trembling fingers rested upon his forehead. “They know the young man will come soon. How they know or what they know, I…”

My sharp intake of air caused Chuck to spin around and glare at me. It was a clear warning. “Dax, take the boy to the front of the store. See if there are any books that grab his attention.”

“T-Tilly,” repeated Istul, waving the bloody handkerchief, “p-please find her. She has to be hurt for her not to answer me.”

“We’ll find her,” Dax nodded and shoved me out of view.

So this Thule, who I knew little to nothing about, was looking for me at this very moment. Did they rough up that old man because of me? What bothered me was not being allowed to take part in a conversation that directly involved me.

Dax pushed and shoved me to the front door.

“Thule’s here?! In the Market?!” I hissed, panic swelling in my gut.

“Lower your voice, kid,” Dax warned. His tone, surprisingly, wasn’t harsh. It was actually calm and reasonable. Glancing at my shirt, I looked down, too. Whatever enchantment it possessed had the smarts to play dumb right now. The smiley maintained its original cheeky grin, frozen in place.

“The BOY?” I blurted in a tense whisper, incensed by the implication. “Is that all I am? Just some kid tagging along?  Well, I’m not just anybody, Dax, and you know it. I want to know what is going on. I should know what is going on!”

“You don’t understand…”

“No — I don’t!” I snapped, forcing myself again to keep my volume low. “I never will unless you two start including me in some decisions and gathering of information around here. There are goons out there looking for me to do who-knows-what to me and I’m being pushed out of the room to avoid having a conversation with the grownups? Seriously? You have no right to—”

Dax pounced at me, the movement so fast that I recoiled.

“Look!” He sneered, bearing his full teeth in a snarl, “There’s a time and place for things — and this ain’t either. Not for yer two-year-old tantrum…GOT IT!? Now shut it and help me find Tilly!”

I fumed. My face flushed. My fists clenched tight as my mind reeled with sharp, sarcastic rebuttals, but I held his tongue. It’s wouldn’t do any good. Instead, I grit my teeth and turned away.

Thule is here AND he’s looking for me, AND I’m being excused AND shushed! I figured this was going to be tough — but I thought Chuck and Dax were supposed to help me. I glared over my shoulder at Dax by the front door, shuffling around the stacks of books. The sooner I understood, the sooner I could protect myself and do this on my own.

The letter was right. I can’t trust anyone. I mean, if someone is trying to kill me, shouldn’t I be the first to know? Thule even beat up an old man to find out about me, in a hidden community where the laws are supposed to protect against such problems?

Dax was right. The Black Market was a bad idea. 

“Who’s Tilly?” I asked in a monotone.

Dax worked his way down the aisle next to me. “Istul’s angel.”

“His, huh? We’re looking for an…angel?” Now who’s gone from rude to stupid?

Dax peeked around the end of the aisle, searching. “Angels. Little furry creatures. Makes cute sounds. Brilliant. Enormous eyes, about as big as your forearm…it’s Dathern’s pet.”

“So, not like a person in white robes with wings sticking out of their back?” I said.

“What the crud are ya talkin’ about?”

“Never mind.” 

Dax rolled his enormous eyes. “Did ya think that old man’s actually capable of keepin’ this place so spotless by himself? Look around, kid. There’s not a single speck of dust on these books.”

“Hadn’t thought about it,” I lied. Yes, I had to admit, it seemed rather amazing. To feed my curiosity, I ran a finger along the top of a shelf. It was spotless. “Maybe he uses magic,” I added.

Dax scoffed, “Istul? Hah. Magic ain’t as common as ya might think, kid — and most human folk are afraid of it — especially farmers, holy men, and let’s not forget the politicians. People who don’t like what they don’t understand or can’t control. Those who use magic in Andilain are under the protection of the King, but they’re careful about what they do and in front of who they do it. It’s different down here in the Market, but Dathern doesn’t touch the stuff if he can help it. Not that he’s afraid of it. He understands more than most, but he stays clear of it whenever he can. Now pay attention — Tilly could be anywhere.”

I wandered through the narrow maze of books, trying to refocus my attention and cool down. It didn’t just annoy me to be ignored and pushed around; it angered me. The last thing I wanted was to get pushed around here by another set of bullies. Rounding a corner, a tiny blue spine caught my attention. It was hiding among the thick, faded black and brown volumes piled on the floor. A few specks of what looked to be dried blood littered the floorboards next to the pile.

The book looked completely out of place. Its cover practically glowed in its dark environment, standing out like a sore thumb. Just like me. I pulled it from the dog pile of formation and held the book up close, having to squint at the small type.

The Pilgrims Pocketbook of People, Places, Predicaments and Pain: The perfect panacea for prepubescent adventurers…by Höbin Luckyfeller? 

I smirked. This ought to be interesting. 

When I turned to walk away, something caused me to stop mid-step. It was almost imperceptible. A soft, shuddering sound…

Breathing.

The sound would linger, then change to a high-pitched sobbing. Turning my head, I strained my ears, listening.

Sure enough, I heard it again.

Sobbing.

Stepping quietly, I inched toward the sound.

At the end of the aisle, where the shelves met the wall, another pile of books littered the floor. This one was considerably bigger, volumes of reference books clumped together with cracked spines and torn pages laying about.

I looked closer. The largest book in the pile, an encyclopedia, slowly rose and fell in place. Kneeling down, I crawled around the edge of the pile…and found a slender, blue tail jutting out from under the books.

“Tilly?” I whispered.

The sobbing sounds immediately ceased. Ever-so-slowly, the tail curled up into a ball and slid under the books, disappearing from view.

What was I supposed to do? What if the animal is in the habit of biting those it doesn’t know? This is stupid. Dathern is concerned for this little creature and loves it dearly. The man seems harmless enough, which means it’s highly unlikely he’d have some ravenous pet, right?

But I still hesitated.

Right.

So I risked it.

“Tilly, it’s ok,” I whispered. Taking a deep breath, I reached out, slowly sliding my fingers under the edge of the largest book on top. Please don’t be a creepy, ugly thing that bites. “Dathern asked me to find you.”

At the mention of the merchant’s name, I heard a tiny gasp, then the sobbing resumed. 

It turned out that Tilly was a blue ball of fur — or at least she looked like one — at first. The volumes of leather-bound knowledge trapped Tilly, nearly folding her in half with her limbs pinned under the weight of books many times her size. Her body was long and sleek, with pink hands and feet that reminded me a great deal of a spider monkey.

She lifted her tiny head up at me, the round crystal-clear eyes staring, capturing my full attention. They sparkled like diamonds. They also encompassed most of her oval face, nestled between two cat-like ears. Tears matted the long lashes and the fur of her cheeks. Her nose, two pink, slitted-stubs, poked out over her tiny mouth, quivering. 

As I reached for her, she cringed. Her ears quickly laid flat against her head and small, slender hands grasped onto the corner of a book. Her fur ruffled in a wave, from head to the tip of her tail, instantly changing from blue to the cadmium yellow of the volume she clasped onto.

“It’s ok,” I said softly and showing her a smile. “I’m going to take you to Dathern, ok?” It was stupid, I know, talking to a beast. But after the experience with the dragon, I though…and Tilly nodded.

“You…understand me?” I asked.

Enormous eyes blinked. Another nod. Her fur, like a setting sun over the horizon, faded from yellow back to blue.

“Wow,” I gasped. “Ok then…I’m going to lift you up. Try…not to move.”

I reached down, sliding my fingers awkwardly between books, under her shoulders and hips, and scooped Tilly out from the pile. 

She flinched and let out a sharp squeak as I lifted.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” I frowned, moving slower. “So sorry, Tilly — I’ll try to be more careful.”

Her fur was soft and warm to the touch.

As I cradled her tenderly in the crook of my arm, I noticed that her left leg was bent the wrong way. Her toes twitched and I could see they were darker than the digits on her good foot. It definitely looked broken.

Holding onto the shelves, I used it as leverage to rise steadily. Maybe Chuck could heal her? 

Tilly looked up at me, blinking repeatedly.

“It’s going to be alright,” I said calmly, a coo escaping my lips. It probably sounded stupid, but I thought about little babies, and she was so small, I just…

The corners of her small mouth curled up in an innocent smile. Turning her head inward, she snuggled against my chest, purring like a house cat. Her long tail wrapped around my wrist. It was so adorable, I couldn’t help but smile.

Working my way through the small labyrinth of shelves and scattered books, I paused at the desk, nestled in the shop's nook.

Maybe it was the innocence, or perhaps the soft purring that appealed to me — but holding Tilly made me happy. You had to be some serious dirtbag to hurt this little creature.

Laughter burst throughout the shop.

Tilly, surprisingly, didn’t react at all, staying neatly snuggled against my shirt. Chuck continued to laugh as Höbin said something unintelligible. The three men wandered up to the desk, Dathern Istul hobbling along with the help of a cane. The bruises had taken their place along his face, neck and arms now, showing their purple and black streaks across pale skin.

Chuck waved me forward.

“Dathern, I’d like to introduce you to Wendell.”

Reaching out, Dathern offered his hand, then pulled it back. “P-pleasure to m-meet…OH!” he exclaimed, gasping in delight. “Tilly, my b-baby girl!” He looked at me appreciatively, “Where d-did you find her?”

“Over in that aisle, sir. I think she’s…” but before I could finish, Tilly leaped up from my arms and stood up on my shoulder. A tiny hand grasped a lock of my hair, her slender tail wrapping around my neck, the tip caressing my chin. “…hurt,” I finished, though no one took notice.

Tilly let out several melodious notes, then rubbed her face against my cheek, purring.

Dathern laughed. “I see you’ve m-made a n-new friend, little one! I’m glad those n-nasty people did not harm you. N-now come h-help me.”

She jumped from my shoulder onto the table.

My mouth dropped open. She swung about. Her leg...had healed! It made little sense — when I’d picked her up; it was facing the wrong way — wasn’t it?

Running to the corner of the desk, she hung off the edge and lifted a slender brown ledger from a small pile stacked on the floor with her tail. Her nimble hands snatched up a small box nearby, flipped it open and struck a match. She lit the candle stub in the holder as she placed the book in front of her master and flipped it open with the end of her tail. The old merchant scratched her behind her ears appreciatively, but when she looked up at Dathern, she cocked her head to the side.

The shopkeeper smiled. “Missing something?” He tapped the end of his nose.

Tilly trilled, her tiny teeth showing in her unique smile.

Climbing onto his shoulder, she wrapped her tail around his neck and leaned forward. Hanging from the old man’s vest, her tiny hands pulled at the narrow front drawer of the table until it slid open. Shuffling around, Tilly found a small case, popped it open, and pulled out a set of wire-rimmed glasses. Kicking the drawer shut with a hind foot, she scampered up Dathern’s arm and stood on his shoulder. 

With deft precision, she placed the glasses on his nose, adjusting them several times. Satisfied, she nodded and her fur turned a brilliant green. She kissed the old man’s cheek and hopped onto the table, sitting quietly in one corner.

“Avid r-reader, I hope?” the shopkeeper asked, looking at me over his spectacles.

I smiled, but only half-heartedly. “Yes sir. Love books.” Do I still have to be polite? I wondered, looking between them. My life was in danger and they’d all acted like this was just another happy day in the neighborhood.

The shop keeper grinned and gave me a nod. “G-good lad. T-thank you for rescuing T-Tilly. D-didn’t mean to s-scare you b-back there…all the b-blood.” He grinned, which made his eyes smile doubly so. “V-vallen,” he scoffed, eyebrows arched. “Who k-knew they could read?”

He noticed the small blue book in my hands and pointed at it. “Good b-book, that is. One of my f-favorites. Out of p-print, though. Gnomes refused to d-do a r-reprint. Shame. That’ll g-give you spot knowledge, but not a p-proper education.”

“Isn’t Höbin…” I started.

“Brilliant, amazing and all around good looking?” chimed the gnome loudly. “Well,” he grinned and tapped the metal shell on his head with a knuckle, “two outta three isn’t too bad.” He took the book from me and inspected it, shaking his head. “Don’t bother with that rubbish, Wendell,” he said scornfully. He slid the book  across the desk to Dathern. “Why do you hang on to this garbage?” He said with feigned sternness,

The merchant grinned, handing the book to Tilly. “C-collectibles. W-waiting for y-you to k-kick off before I c-collect.” He looked at me and winked. “Bought fifty copies.”

“Yes, well,” said Chuck, lifting his hat from his head and plopping it onto the table. Reaching in, he pulled a shoulder bag out. “Do you have my order ready, Istul?”

“Y-yes,” he replied. The old shopkeeper looked utterly exhausted. Tapping a tall collection at the side of the table, he asked, “Höbin, w-would you m-mind? Thank you.”

The collection, when stacked, nearly reached the brim of the wizard’s hat. Istul looked around the volumes and grinned widely at me. “Good t-thing you like b-books!”

“What?” I responded, confused. “Those can’t all be for me, can it?”

Chuck stepped in front of me, looking over the titles. “Sanctuary, Iskari & Gatelore.” 

Höbin rolled his eyes.

“The Black Market, A Comprehensive Guide, is very useful for finding your way around here when you need to know which merchants to contact. Oh, good, you found another copy of Humär — The Land of Seven Kings!”

“Last one available, I’m afraid,” Dathern replied.

“Does this need to be copied, then?”

Dathern shook his head. “I have the original. This was a spare. You’re fine.”

Chuck grinned. “Oh, and here’s one of my absolute favorites: The Races We Love To Hate!” He beamed at me, then. “Incredible histories, that one, just…don’t read it alone…in the dark. You’ll wet the bed with that one.”

I grimaced.

“Did you buy anything that wasn’t written by me?” Höbin complained. “The poor kid’s going to think you’re partial, Morph.”

“Nonsense,” Chuck laughed. “I like your aggressive view of the world, my little friend. You short change yourself too often.”

“Whatever,” sighed the gnome. “You’ve been partial ever since I was five years old.”

The wizard grinned, though he didn’t look up from the book he was thumbing through. “Clever and wise, Höbin Luckyfeller, not partial. I knew you’d be famous some day…and I was right.”

Dax chuckled. “Let it go, Höb — you know you can’t win.”

Chuck gave the elf a wink.

One by one, the wizard placed the books into the thin bag, each volume disappearing entirely. “And for a little light reading, we’ll give the lad Prestidigitation & Legerdemain - Why Wands Are For Wusses & Brooms Are For Bums.” With a thunk, he dropped the giant volume into the bag, leaving the desk clear.

Höbin flashed Chuck a wide grin. “Now that’s one even I like…and I didn’t write it.”

“No one’s perfect.”

Watching all those books stuffed into such a little bag, I couldn’t help but poke it with a finger. It felt as empty as it looked.

“How much do I owe you, my friend?” asked Chuck, flipping the strap back over his shoulder.

Istul opened the ledger and did the math. “One,” he said casually.

Chuck reached into his sleeve and pulled out three gold coins. He placed them on the desk and slid them in front of Istul.

“T-too m-much,” stammered Dathern, averting his eyes. He slid two coins back towards Chuck.

“A deposit,” the wizard said calmly. “I want a copy of what was taken and what was asked about. Can you do that? If I owe you more, I’ll settle when the order is ready.”

The merchant didn’t nod right away. When he finally did, Tilly snatched the coins from the edge of the table. Jumping to his shoulder, she placing them securely in her master’s vest pocket.

“Say,” blurted Höbin cheerfully, “why don’t you boys follow me back to the tavern!” He looked at all of us with a you know you want to look. “I’ll buy,” he grinned, displaying a set of yellow stained teeth. He tapped the table with his metal hand. “You too, Dathern. You certainly look like you could use a break…and some friendly company!” He poked the old merchant with a finger. “I’ll even buy Tilly some fruit.”

The angel trilled softly at the offer, clapping her tiny hands.

“T-thank you, but no,” Dathern answered. “I’ve got m-much work to d-do.”

Höbin nodded, obviously disappointed.

“We should report what happened to you to the authorities,” I said. “The guards seem pretty strict around here. They…”

“Won’t do a blasted thing,” Dax scoffed. 

When I looked between them, Dathern frowned, avoiding eye contact. Tilly, seeing the worry of her master, cuddled up to his temple and stroked his thinning hair with her tiny fingers.

“But you said that the laws here were…”

“They won’t do a blasted thing, kid,” Dax cut me off, “because Dathern won’t let them.”

Well, that made little sense. Why would an old man, who’d just gone through a beating and possibly theft, not want justice? When I opened my mouth, Höbin shook his head at me.

“My offer still stands, you know,” said the wizard. Chuck had a stern, yet not unpleasant expression on his face. He hovered closer to Dathern, then gave the old man’s shoulder a single squeeze. Chuck looked concerned, his eyes studying the merchants every twitch. He stood there — one hand firmly around his staff — the other on Dathern’s shoulder…unmoving, unblinking, waiting for a reply.

Dathern looked tenderly at his furry little helper, but not at the wizard. His sigh was accompanied by hunching shoulders. “Thank you, b-but no.” He pulled the soiled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “All things happen for a reason.”

“Then we’ll be off,” was Chuck’s only reply. He shook the merchant’s hand once more. “Take care of yourself, Istul. I’ll be back in a fortnight to check on that book order.”

The sudden motion completely threw me off. That was it? No clarification? No standing up for your friend,…who was just assaulted and his livelihood violated? That Dax didn’t insist on beating SOMEone to a pulp doubly surprised me. Yet all three of them walked away from the old main the chair, leaving me in the middle of confusion. So I did the only thing I knew how to do at this point in my new adventure.

I followed them.

At the door, I looked back, peering between the aisles. Something just wasn’t right.

“Come on, kid!” snapped Dax.

Dathern pulled off his glasses and let them fall from his fingers to the table. Still hunched over, he slapped the cover shut and slid the brown ledger to his chest, gripping it tightly.

He slowly, silently, rocked in place.

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