- Chapter 3 - The Matchstick Man

Bert scooped up his pastel case from behind the bush as he ran out of the park.

Can’t forgot this.

Jimmy was nearly to the Cherry Tree lane gate leaving the park. Bert took off trying to catch up to his friend.

That idiot! He’s going to get picked up by a constable in a respectable neighborhood like that!

Bert stopped as he left the park. He looked both ways. Jimmy was barely to the next corner off to the right.

“He was always the faster one of us.” Bert grumbled. “Jimmy! Wait up!”

Jimmy did not slow down. He sped across the street and turned left towards the harbor.

Bert picked up his feet and ran after his friend, crossing the street before the corner and not slowing down when he turned.

The pastel case had sharp corners and it was grinding into his ribs as he ran. He was careful not to drop it, lest it get damaged.

I’ll have to get a bag for my treasure. Will the magic of the pastels drain away if the case breaks?

Bert reached the end of the block and could see Jimmy starting to flag as the ran down the next block.

I let him down, but I won’t give up on him.

The boy leaned against a lamppost on the next block until he heard Bert gaining on him.

“Jimmy!” Bert wheezed. “Slow down idiot!”

Jimmy turned back to yell.

“Leave me alone traitor!” He cried.

“Shut up! We are friends! I ain’t no traitor!” Bert yelled back.

He should have listened to Marry Poppins, her magic is wonderful and good. Not like that stone boy.

Jimmy was jogging backwards picking up speed again. Bert was confident he’d catch him on the next block.

A man pushed a small rundown barrow cart around the corner. He paused in surprise at the two yelling boys.

“Now now. A fox hunt is it?” He chuckled to himself.

The man made a circle with the thumb and middle finger on his right hand, stretching his fingers as wide as they could go. He peered through the circle at Jimmy and Bert. A wicked smile crept across his face. His teeth were perfectly milky white like graveyard bones.

“Watch out!” Bert cried.

Jimmy turned around to run flat out again and barely had time to see the cart before the man lunged forwards and snatched up the boy.

He held Jimmy by the arm and the neck, his iron like claws shackling him fast.

“Let me go!” Jimmy squirmed and kicked at the man.

“No, you have no command over me. Now, do not struggle.” He said and squeezed Jimmy tighter.

Bert stopped in time to stay out of the man’s reach.

“Jimmy!” Bert cried.

“So that’s the young masters name. Is it?” The Matchstick Man said jovially. “Now what are two respectable young men like yerselves doing out so late?”

“Nothin! Let me go!” Jimmy shouted and kicked the worry man in the gut.

The man said a word to Jimmy but Bert could barely hear it. Jimmy fell asleep like a doused lamp.

He has magic!

“Oh ho! Such fire in him.” The man grunted. “He should not be running around in the dark hours of the night.”

He slung Jimmy over his cart like a hunting trophy.

“You have a touch of magic about you.” He said to Bert. “Come closer young master. Let me get a good look at you.”

“I’ll stay over here sir. Don’t want no trouble.”

The matchstick man pulled out a small knife with a round handle the size of Bert’s fist.

“Oh ho! Words are important. Be accurate. ‘No more trouble’ is more like it.” He said whimsically then he paused.

He stared up at the night sky wistfully. “Something given. Something taken. Something lost. Something found.”

How does he know about all that? Is he reading my thoughts?

“I’m not reading your mind. Fix that face of yours. You are simply a young scoundrel. Without a fully developed deceitful bone in your body.”

Bert clapped his mouth shut.

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“Give me that case and its contents, you can have your pal back.”

Bert’s heart skipped a beat.

Jimmy! My friend or my promise to Mary Poppins.

“You are going to steal it from me.”

“You are right, and you are wrong. That case is promise bound to you. I cannot steal it. As much as I wish I could. It can only be given. And only given freely.”

“I don’t believe you.” Bert said.

“Would you part with that case if it would save your life?” The matchstick man smiled. “No I suspect you would not be able to.”

This was a gift. But magic comes with a price. I made a promise. What will I pay to keep that promise?

The man dug into his apron pocket to pull out some scrap wood. He split the scraps of wood into sticks while he spoke with Bert.

“Let’s palaver then, kiddo. You answer my trifling questions, help me out a little, and you and your pal will be well.”

He is a magic man, I need to be careful with my words.

Bert watched as the man quickly notched two of the sticks and fit them together to make a cross.

“We can talk. But not for long.” Bert said. “I want my friend back.”

The matchstick man snapped two notched sticks on to the cross as legs.

“Do you know what’s most valuable to a matchstick man like me?” He asked suddenly.

“Money?”

“Information. Kiddo. Information is lifeblood to all men of power. Especially tonight.”

The matchstick man admired the little wooden figure he had made.

“I don’t know anything valuable.” Bert said.

“You should think a little longer on that kiddo.” He said with a wink. “Your pal here is missing an ear.”

Recognition flashed across Bert’s face before he could hide it. The matchstick man smiled.

“I know it was taken with magic and you know who took it.” He said eagerly.

“Tell me. What is in that case you are holding. Did you bargain away your pal’s ear for it?”

Bert hugged his case of chalks close to his chest.

The matchstick man nodded.

“Yes. Where did you get it? Did you steal it? Was it a gift? Tell me. That’s the price for you to have your little pal back.”

“Ludgate park, I didn’t steal it. It was not a bargain for Jimmy’s ear.” Bert said carefully.

“Oh ho! Do not lie to me.” The Matchstick man growled.

He carefully plucked Jimmy hand up by the fingertip. Without waking the boy, he cut Jimmys hand and applied a drop of the boy’s blood to the figurine.

“Tell me everything you think I might want to know, and tell it to me true or your friend is mine for ever.”

“We were at the park and met the stone boy.” Bert said.

“That would be Ludgate park. How did you wake him?” The man asked.

“Jimmy said his name three times.”

“A name is a powerful thing.”

“He chased us but we escaped.” Bert said with a grimace.

“You lied to me laddie.” He said sweetly. “Jimmy tattled on you.”

The matchstick man twisted the little wooden effigy and Jimmy groaned.

“You met the young master at Ludgate park. But how did you know his name to wake him? Who told you his name?”

She did say to spread her name. Only she didn’t, did she? She said to spread joy and whimsy. Her name is secret, names are powerful.

“A witch told Jimmy the name.” Bert said. “It was his punishment for his disrespect.”

Bert stared at the matchstick man’s hands, fingers stained and callous from making paste for his match heads. Dark and red like dried blood.

“Come closer young master. This chachka is for you.” He said with a honeyed voice.

“You will give it to me?” Bert asked but he did not step closer.

“You have given me some of the truth freely. And I will give you this chachka of your friend.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Smart lad, maybe you are ready to wander on witch’s night.” He hung the chachka on his cart and stepped back. “This chachka will not free your friend. He is mine.”

“I answered your questions!”

“But only to the barest of truth!” He growled. “But I won’t fault you that. You are a savvy lad.”

The matchstick man shrugged.

“I am looking for this witch.” He said calmly. “But she eludes me at every turn.”

He is mad! Does he think he can do anything to her?

“Can you bring her something for me. A present.” He said.

He pounced on something in the gutter. When he stood up he held a rat nest of sticks and trash, all twisted and woven together. He pulled a fat rat from the nest and stuffed it into a pocket on his apron.

He wove the nest back into shape and tied it with a rough string of twine.

“Bring this to her. She will speak with me then.” He said. “Bring this to her and you will have won back your friend. Do we have an accord?”

What is the worst that can happen? Mary Poppins is more powerful than him.

“I will bring her your gift.” Bert promised.

“Fantastic!” The matchstick man said and clapped his hands. “Your word is your bond, young master.”

Bert stepped closer tentatively and the matchstick man kept his hands up to show he meant no harm.

“How do I know Jimmy will be okay ?” Bert asked.

The matchstick man, set the rat nest on the sidewalk and then plucked up the little chachka and placed it inside.

“Take the chachka with you. It will let you know that your friend is alive. But he stays with me until our deal is complete.”

Bert stared at the nest and wooden figure.

It’s a trap.

“It’s not a trick for you. Take it to the witch. You have until the next full moon to find her.” He said and wheeled his cart around.

“Wait! I don’t know how to find her!” Bert called out to the man’s back.

“You will find a way, young master. You have to.” He laughed.

-

Bert sat on the curb with his feet in the gutter and his case of pastels resting on top of his knees. The rat nest and chachka waited impatiently just out of reach.

What am I going to do? Jimmy is gone, I let that man take him away. All so I could keep this magic chalk that I can’t even use. Who was I kidding? I’m not an artist!

He stared at the case.

When he’d first opened the case, Bert had spent hours smiling at the chalks. He had been unable to pick them up, too mesmerized by their magic to dare scrape them on the dirty London sidewalks.

He had opened it a dozen times that afternoon. The vibrant colors were distilled candied apples, carousel horses, English gardens, golden flowers, bright happy blue skies. Each stick as captivating and magical as ever.

The night wind picked up and tousled his hair, blowing grit into his eyes and making them water. He slapped the case down beside him on the curb.

The moon waxed gibbous, nearly full.

I shouldn’t be sitting here dreaming! The Matchstick man couldn’t have gotten far. How long has it been? I can find him and trade him the chalks for Jimmy. He would take that deal. I know he would.

The wind blew harder and the rat nest slid. Bert had to jump up and grab it before it blew away down the street.

How can I find Mary Poppins in one day? Will she accept the matchstick man’s present? Is it a trap?

Bert focused on the nest in his hand. It did nothing. It was made of sticks and straw, fur and paper, and shredded burlap. It was itchy to hold and weighed less than you would expect.

“Why didn’t I trade him the chalk?” Bert asked.

Did the matchstick man tell the truth?

He slammed his fist into his knee.

This chalk set was a beautiful gift. They were a promise of a lifetime of spreading joy and whimsy. They now come at too high a cost. Are they worth my friend’s life?

With the nest and chachka in one hand, he reached down and opened the case. The vibrant colors of the chalk disregarded his personal reservations and feelings, they cared only for his promise and their own beauty.

I can’t stay mad at you lot. I need to fix this. I’ll save Jimmy then I’ll find the most perfect spot of sidewalk, untouched by anyone’s filthy feet!

The Bride’s bell chimed 6 am over on Fleet Street. Bert watched the first hints of the summer sun struggle to break through the smog of the city.

“Alright Bert.” He said to himself. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you and no plan. Might as well get started.”