There was a boy who lived in the Magma’s cellar. His name was Checker, and he had some idea what had transpired on the night Tommy lost his mind. When the Magma’s chimney shattered into brickstone rubble, he had been dusting his violin. When Tommy demolished the display window with his skull, he had been polishing his flamboyant boots. Long after Tommy had been taken care of, and all had retired to their rooms, Checker hugged his shivering knees in the darkest corner of his room. His psyche was fragile, and memories of the night’s violent noises would cause him to tremble all night long. He was a pathetic boy, but he did have one thing to offer.
Checker happened to emerge from the refuge of his room just as Hadraniel brought up the matter of checking on Tommy. Checker knew where Tommy lived, and he offered the information. He followed Mr. Cross’ posse to Gerrod’s cottage, and then to Tommy’s family home. Checker seldom felt as useful as he did then, and smiled all the way.
“Will you come with me?” Hadraniel spoke kindly. To him. Checker couldn’t believe it. Was he allowed to…answer? His fingers drummed an imaginary fretboard. His subconscious howled his least favorite lullaby at triple speed. He was panicking.
“What…” he managed. Hadraniel’s smiling eyes lost none of their kindness during the three breath period it took Checker to come to his senses. “Ok…thank you…so much.”
“Is this Thomas’ home?” Hadraniel gestured to the hut of russet brick at the foot of Tommy’s long, narrow cabbage field. Checker nodded yes.
“Thank you!” Hadrianiel whispered happily. “Come on.” He led Checker to Tommy’s doorstep.
Hadraniel’s knock was answered immediately by a spritely crone called Cibille. Her face was all wrinkles, and her veins showed through her skin like the bright purple river lines on the map page of Larconica’s Continental Compendium. Her posture was that of a young woman, and her eyes twinkled in their sunken sockets.
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“Oh, hello,” she whispered conspiratorially. All of her grandmotherly cheer could not hide her worry.
“Hi there! I’m Hadraniel. Is Tommy home?” Cibille looked disappointed.
“Oh my, well, no, he isn’t. I was hoping you all were going to tell me he was alright.”
“Apologies miss, I’m sure he’s fine.” It seemed to Checker that Hadraniel really did believe Tommy was fine. He cast aside his own analysis of last night’s mayhem. Hadraniel was so kind and wise. He must be right!
“We’ll leave you be, miss. Do you know where Tommy might be?”
Cibille shuffled onto her porch and shut her front door with the gentlest of shoves.
“Yester night, well, Trevor, that’s Tommy’s son! He agreed to have a bath. He’s not often so agreeable so Tommy went down to the river to fetch some water.” Cibille peered down the brambly river path beside her home. “He never came back. ‘Celie told me he was sick. I’ve been waiting up with little Trevor all night. He’s just now gone down. Will you come back when you know Tommy’s alright?”
“Of course, miss.” Hadraniel took Cibille’s weathered hand in his own mechanical one. “You’ll be the first to know.”
“Oh thank you dear! You’re all such nice boys.”
The trek down Cibille’s river path was a long one for Hadraniel. Prior to his conversation with Cibille, Hadraniel had returned to Gerrod’s house. Through a door the deputee refused to open, he had been told that Tommy would be fine. Gerrod was not a good liar. So what had really befallen Tommy? His clothes had been soaked through. His limbs had sported the bloody evidence of a scuffle with thorn bushes. According to Cibille’s story, Tommy had been just fine before his mission to fetch Trevor’s bath. So Tommy must have contracted his mania at the river. Why did Hadraniel seem so unafraid of the waters that had broken Tommy’s mind? It was because he was very good at acting brave.