For the third time in so many minutes, Nevin reached out and knocked tentatively on the stalwart three-panel door.
“Do you suppose we're at the wrong place?” Aidux danced uncomfortably atop the low stoop, unable to keep his paws still on the mist-slick cobbles. His hindquarters sank briefly every few seconds, his tired mind urging him to sit, but the thought of plopping his butt onto the hard, slimy stone kept him upright.
Nevin understood his discomfort. The sustained humidity had steadily accumulated until nearly everything they carried practically dripped with water.
He shrugged, peering out over his shoulder and into the night. He shifted his dwindling torch to his other hand to give his arm a rest. Relief was brief but welcome. “I can't tell. It's got the sign, though Theis never mentioned anything about an engraving.”
Compared to Elbin's scattered homesteads and winding dirt roads, the seaside city of Comelbough was a labyrinthine mess of cramped, hulking buildings and congested thoroughfares. To make matters worse, a gluttonous fog loomed at every turn, constricting their world to a repeated series of bowed cobblestone streets and overbearing shopfronts. The ponderous haze, empowered by the night, had trailed them closely as they attempted to follow the man in black's directions, giving ground only reluctantly as they soldiered forward. All trace of life had presumably retreated to the safety of the darkened buildings, leaving Nevin and his feline companion alone to navigate the hauntingly empty corridors of shadow and stone.
The pair stood beneath a tattered canvas awning, its color indeterminate after years of sun damage and the darkness of a fog-shrouded Waking night. Clumsily interlocking stones matching those paving the drab streets framed the ground floor like every other building on the block, with the overhanging second story trading heavy stone for a wood-framed cream stucco facade. Murky water dripped from the angled edges of clay shingles, smelling faintly of brine and soot.
Nevin craned his neck to look around the awning. Suspended overhead, a decorative sign advertised the purpose of the business before them; three polished bronze spheres suspended beneath a wrought iron bar.
He recognized the sign from his studies with Ishen. The three spheres were the universally recognized symbol of a pawnbroker – a collector of non-specific items of value from both locals and travelers through the city. He stretched his torch high as he tried to read the single letter engraved on the side of each sphere.
“D-O-N? What is that? Is that a name or a title?”
“Maybe internals?”
Nevin eyeballed the cat, always surprised by his friend's tenuous grasp of the language.
“...initials?”
Aidux eyeballed him back. “How come when you repeat what I say it always sounds different?”
“Because it is different?”
Somewhere out in the pervasive fog, the sudden clatter of metal silenced the pair. Nevin spun around, ushering the cat behind him as he stared out into the gloom. He remembered thinking how strange it was that they hadn't crossed paths with any of the locals as they traversed the city, but had chalked it up to the late hour and eerie weather. Still, no stray animals, no vagrants, no city guard...the emptiness was both complete and unsettling.
“Eww,” said Aidux, suppressing a gag. “Your breath stinks.”
“Shhh.” Nevin extended the flickering torch out before him. Theis had nearly sent the two of them into the city without the simple light source, but the young man had adamantly refused to depart without it, citing a complete inability to see the dark. Etro had only just entered its waxing phase, and wasn't yet bright enough to pierce the dense, low-hanging clouds.
An rare tactical misstep by the man in black. Nevin wondered if his glowing eyes afforded the man some measure of night vision he hadn't mentioned.
Now, though, the presence of the torch left Nevin feeling exposed, and with nowhere to hide, being spotted out in the open like this could be more troublesome than blindly wandering the streets.
Chain rattled on stone, closer than he would have liked, and Nevin didn't waste another second. The torch clattered to the cobbles, hissing in protest as the damp stone consumed the waning flame.
The darkness rushed in and swallowed him, and Nevin held his breath. He stretched his eyelids wide, fully expecting at least half a minute of unavoidable blindness as his eyes adjusted to the complete lack of light. He reached over his shoulder, trying to feel for the Sharasil's coarse stone grip, but Theis had made him hide the weapon within a sheath of burlap, and Nevin's fingers found only cloth.
“On the left!” Aidux whispered, sinking into a crouch.
Nevin flinched in surprise, and nearly fell backwards off the low stoop.
He looked left, and was surprised to see a faint orange glow peeking around the corner of the pawnbroker's shop. As he watched, the glow listed ever closer, until a tall figure rose up through the fog and lumbered into view.
With no other option, Nevin raised his fists defensively, feeling like a child next to the burly shadow growing ever larger as it approached the pawnbroker's storefront.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Is that you out here, banging on the door of a closed shop at this ungodly hour?”
The figure extended a fluted glass-shielded candle overhead, revealing an aging bald man in a pale blue robe and matching night clothes. Even with Nevin standing atop the raised stoop, the white-bearded stranger gazed down at him through a cumbersome pair of thick spectacles. Concern, not annoyance, colored his hushed tone, and Nevin found himself quietly hoping that this was indeed the man they had come looking for.
The stranger squinted first at Nevin, then turned his attention to Aidux and started, stumbling back a step. “Whoa! You know you keep the company of fanged horse, young man?”
Aidux cocked his head in confusion. “You've got your four-legged animals confused. Clearly, I am a cat.”
Nevin shot the lynx an icy look. “Aidux.”
“What? The rules only applied to Elbin.”
The old man dug a finger around in his ear. “And a talking one, to boot! Obolvia take me, my mind is finally giving out from all those years of cheap whiskey and baccy rolls!”
Somewhere in the dark, the unseen chains rattled again, and the old man whipped his candle out toward the street, a serious expression wiping the surprise off his face. He squinted nervously into the mist, but nothing moved.
“Don't you two know there's a curfew in place?” The man shuffled forward, quickly sizing him up. “The benighted streets are no place for children and their pets, especially considering the horrors that now patrol the dark. Have you nowhere to go? Speak fast.”
“We're looking for the home of an old pawnbroker.”
The man nodded, adjusting his spectacles. “Well, you've found one. What's your business?”
Nevin licked his lips. He wasn't sure how much trust he should place in the stranger, but remaining out in the open felt increasingly unwise. “Theis Bane sent us.”
The man's untamed eyebrows slowly reached for his non-existent hairline. “If that's the truth, we'd better get you inside before something unpleasant this way comes.” He squinted into the gloom once more as he turned, gesturing for the boy and his cat to follow behind. The two shared a quick look before stepping down from the raised stoop and circling around behind the fog-wrapped building.
The bald man raised his candle high as he approached an unpaved alley that split the broker's shop into two buildings connected by their second story. A weathered hand-cart emerged from the mists like a silent sentry as they stepped single-file beneath the arched opening. Their leader carefully picked his way around it, grumbling to himself about needing to find a new place to store the blasted thing.
Behind the building, warm light spilled from an already open door and into the night, pushing back the gloom to frame a small wooden porch decorated with a single three-legged stool. The man rested a hand on the door and beckoned them both to enter. Nevin flashed him a weak smile as he passed, the lynx trotting along at his heels.
The cozy living space reminded him of Ishen, and Nevin experienced a pang of longing as he acclimated to the abrupt change in scenery. A hodgepodge of scents drifted about the still air: a balanced mixture of spent tallow, vegetable broth, wood smoke, and mint. Assorted lamps and candles of every shape and size decorated the peeling maroon walls, the gentle light touching nearly every nook and cranny of the common room. A single round tabletop, empty but for two porcelain cups of cold tea, waited in a domed niche beneath the open banister staircase leading up to the second floor. A pair of plush lavender couches faced a crackling fire, and a small cast iron pot belched out puffs of stewed cabbage and potatoes. In the far wall, another door stood closed, the only secret the open room allowed.
The bald man gingerly placed the shielded candle on a small table beside the entryway and closed the door behind him. He paused, sinking into a long sigh of relief. “I have to admit. A boy and his talking cat were not the visitors I had expected to darken my door on this night. And in such dangerous times. The Fates, they toy with you, young one.”
Nevin slid his pack from his shoulder with a groan of relief. “You don't know the half of it.”
The man chuckled. “A story better shared on a full belly and wrapped in warm, dry clothing. I can address both, if you'll grant me the pleasure.”
The young man nodded gratefully. Uninterested in conversation, Aidux simply padded across the room to stretch out on the floor before the welcoming fire.
“But first things first,” said the man, extending an open hand in greeting. ““My name is Donald Iustus. You may call me Donald or Don, though never Donny. The rights to that name will forever be reserved by my late wife, and even then, I only tolerated it because I loved her so.”
Donald placed his other palm to his chest, thumbing a rigid lump hidden beneath the fabric of his nightshirt. The young man shook his burly hand. “I'm Nevin. Pleased to meet you, Donald.”
The larger man smiled. “And your furry friend? I believe I heard you call him Aidux?”
The tired lynx had rolled onto his back, his massive paws floating limply in the air. A faint grin parted his toothy maw. The two men shared a laugh at the sight.
“Come,” he said, releasing his grip on Nevin's hand to take him by the shoulder. “Drop your things over by the table and I'll take you upstairs. My clothes might be a touch large on you, but they'll suffice until we can clean and dry your current set.”
Few things sounded better to Nevin in that moment. Comfort was a long forgotten luxury. How many days had come and gone since the tragedy in Elbin had put them on the run? How many miles of unmapped wilderness had passed beneath their feet? How many hours of sleep had been disrupted by near-constant nightmares? Nightmares of fire, of spiteful gods, of Dalen's cruel and twisted face?
He dropped the satchel in the seat of a dining chair as Donald gathered the tea cups from the table and placed them in a water-filled washtub in the corner. Unstrapping the burlap-shrouded Sharasil, Nevin moved to place it at the center of the table, but quickly thought better of it. It would be safer for everyone if the weapon never left his side.
“What have you got there?” said Donald.
“That's what I hope to figure out. In the meantime, just make sure you don't touch it. It apparently doesn't like it when anyone but me gets near it.”
Donald's eyebrows reached once again for his non-existent hairline, but he didn't argue.
“Very well,” he said finally, smiling. “Let's go see about those clothes, shall we? And maybe a bowl of hot stew to warm you up once you've changed.”
With a final glance at the snoring lynx, Nevin followed the man upstairs.