Wow, this took way too long too. Sorry about the wait; I've been favoring FF7 work over this.
I'm cutting down on the length of the chapters. Hell, chapter 2 was 10,000 words! All successive chapters should be somewhere in the 5000-7000-word range from now on, so they'll be easier to digest.
Elihice - Clyde's going to be a boy for a couple more chapters, since I have a few things planned for him 'til he becomes a man. Don't worry, the wait shouldn't be too long (er...I hope).
Ok, on with the story.
Relm hadn't even been gone for five minutes. She was back with a well-walked Interceptor and entered her home to find the family room empty. "Hey, Grandpa! Where are ya?"
No answer.
Oh yeah, that's right, he's probably napping now.
And apparently she hadn't woken him up, so she led Interceptor inside and went upstairs. The dog followed her loyally. She entered her room with a mind to finish that drawing she'd started earlier. It surprised her to find it sitting askew on her bed, facing her doorway. That hadn't been where she'd left it the last time.
Hmmm. He could've just asked if he wanted to see it. I woulda showed it to him.
She knew her grandfather had been looking in on her work again. It didn't bother her; she was proud of what she did so far.
Interceptor took a seat on the floor while Relm climbed onto her bed and resumed her work. She reached for her pencil, glancing at the clock on her wall.
I'll give 'im another hour.
Then she got down to work again.
A little after five o'clock that afternoon, Strago was awake. Relm was waiting downstairs in the family room for him, sketchpad on her lap and pencil in her hand.
Strago saw her as he was descending the stairs and started griping automatically. "Oh, wait, lemme guess: you want me to get on with the story, don't you?"
"Actually, I was wonderin' if we could just take a little walk around," Relm responded simply, not looking up from her work. Her drawing was almost finished. "You know, just stroll around an' get some fresh air before dinner..."
"Got sick of hearin' me tell it to you indoors?" her grandfather asked slyly. I know you all too well, Relm.
Relm nodded, grinning, finally looking up from her sketch. "Yup. You're a regular mind reader, grandpa." She got up and left her pencil and sketchpad on the chair she'd been sitting on.
"Where's the dog?" Strago asked, watching his granddaughter make for the door.
"Upstairs. He's all tired out---which," she added hastily, spinning around, "is an excuse that YOU don't have, since you just got done nappin' for over an hour now." She looked at him cunningly. "And besides, old people do need their exercise." She reached for the doorknob.
"'Old people'?" Strago huffed. "You see here...!"
"Oh, c'mon! You're not gonna try and deny that, are you?"
Strago fell silent. Little brat. He leered at her. "All right, let's go then."
Relm opened the door. It was still oppressively hot outside, but the blue sky had turned cloudy. Relm took no notice. "You do remember where you left off, right?"
"I think so. It was the fireworks, right? Narshe's five-month anniversary?"
Relm's eyes grew wide. "Hey, you remembered!"
"Yeah, well, this old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve." He turned around abruptly then and crossed the room, opened a closet, and removed a dark over-robe with a hood. "Just in case it rains."
They locked up and headed down the path to the main road of Thamasa, where Strago began the next part of his old friend's story.
After Narshe's five-month anniversary, after the fireworks and the meeting with Gavin's pretty fiancée, Clyde's life took a turn for the better. Days came and went and soon turned into weeks. During one of those weeks, Gavin had left for Matrese to pay Claire yet another little visit. That left Clyde alone with Mr. Abbingway, though he didn't know it just yet.
He went to pay his usual visit to their little shop across the street. He found Mr. Abbingway there at the counter, leaning over it, hands folded on top. By now Clyde had lost most of his fear of the man. "Hey, where's Gavin?"
The great dark eyes of his friend's father fell upon him slowly. "He's off to Matrese to visit Claire. Won't be back for a couple of weeks, I reckon."
Clyde's face didn't betray his surprise, but his voice did. "Coupla weeks? How many?"
"Don't know," said Mr. Abbingway. "Considering it takes a week or so to travel from here to Matrese... I don't know. Maybe a month, at least."
A month? One whole month without Gavin? Clyde's spirits fell, though not entirely. He could wait; he was patient enough. He'd mark the days off on his parents' calendar.
Silence fell then, between the two. During that time, the main street of Valdebrooke bustled with its many residents. Streamers and old banners from the celebration of weeks ago still littered the curbs, and it seemed to Clyde that more people had moved into the small outskirts town---it looked more crowded than ever, and that surely couldn't be attributed to visitors.
Suddenly, out of the blue, Mr. Abbingway's deep voice rang out. "Do me a favor, youngster." He shifted and stood upright, making for the door to his home. "I'm goin' in to get a cigar. Won't be too long, but I want you to keep an eye on things real quick for me. You can do that, can'tcha?" He fixed Clyde with a meaningful gaze, almost hypnotic in its power.
Clyde blinked once, twice, for a brief moment bound in the grip of that almighty stare. Then his thoughts wriggled free. Of course he would watch this little shop! It'd be a piece of cake. So he nodded. "Yup."
Mr. Abbingway nodded back. "Good." He opened the door and disappeared into his dark dwelling, leaving Clyde standing where he was. He couldn't see over the tall counter, not very well at least, but a tall stool leaning against the wall behind him provided the extra height he didn't have. He moved it into place and climbed onto it. From there he looked out over the street, watching the people go by. His moment in charge didn't last long, though. He soon heard the door creak open behind him and Gavin's tall, slim father emerged, empty-handed.
"No cigars," he growled. He was going through his pockets, in a fashion that was seemingly absent-minded or done mainly out of habit. "No cigars, no pipe tobacco... All out, damnit." He faced Clyde again. "Stay there. I'll be back in twenty minutes." He turned and began to walk away.
Clyde called after him. "Where're ya goin'?"
"To get some tobacco," Mr. Abbingway replied over his shoulder. He paused then and turned around. "Before I go..." He reached the counter and picked up one of the objects lying there for sale: the funny-looking headdress. "You know what this is, right?" His eyes were meaningful. There was only one answer he expected.
Clyde leered. He felt in the mood to pull at the man's leg. It would be quite a brave feat to pull off though, considering he still had his reservations. Nevertheless, he went for it. "It's a silly ol' thing that Gavin bought from someone a long time ago and you found out and got mad, so you made him call it a moogle headdress. So people would buy it."
Had he made a good call? Would Mr. Abbingway be mad at him?
The old man's eyes twinkled. "Not a damn thing gets by you, does it?" Then his features, once momentarily softened with humor, grew stern again as usual. "It's a moogle headdress, if anyone asks." He placed the item back on the countertop. "I won't be too long. Half an hour at most." He turned and left then.
Clyde turned back to the counter. Twenty minutes---or a whole half an hour---and he was in charge. He liked that. The idea of running something, of being the wielder of all the power that a shop owner possessed---slightly magnified as that power was, in the eyes of a boy---it seemed so very wonderful. Eight years old and here he was, in charge of a small store. He looked out on all the people of Valdebrooke that passed him by, his eyes hooded confidently, his expression oozing complete and utter calm.
The feeling of being all-powerful quickly subsided into boredom after a few moments, however. Five minutes turned into ten and Clyde felt like he was going to go nuts. Is this what a shopkeeper did, just stare out at potential customers? Why couldn't they just come over here and buy something? He wanted to leave now, but if Mr. Abbingway didn't find him there when he got back... Well, Clyde didn't want to think about what could happen.
So he sat there on the stool, squirming occasionally, wishing he could disappear again and be off somewhere else. Or maybe he could talk his parents into doing what he promised to do, so he could find something more exciting to pass the time. Anything to get him out of this trap!
He never left though, so he was there to see his ship come in, a few moments later: a mother and her son, the latter leading the former, holding her hand, almost dragging her around town. It was clear that he was the one who gave all the orders, despite the fact that he looked to be no older than Clyde himself. The both of them were very nicely dressed, rather strikingly so in the environment of this little town.
The boy's eyes gazed over the Abbingways' shop, left to right, then settled on something and widened. Immediately he steered his mother over to that incredible something.
"Look! Lookit this! Hey, mom! Look!" The boy grabbed the so-called moogle headdress off the countertop.
His mother gave it a look and sighed theatrically. "Why ever would you want that, Benjamin? It looks like junk to me---"
Benjamin spun around, the headdress in his greedy little grasp. "Because I want it! Isn't that enough? Dad'd get it for me if he was here!"
Clyde's eyes widened for a second, until he forced himself to go back to looking calm again. Well, here was something interesting. He might actually make a sale here! This kid didn't look like he was going to part with that gaudy thing anytime soon. Clyde leaned over the counter as far as he could and spoke. "Hey, kid! No touchin' unless you're buyin' it."
The grabby boy looked up at him for the first time, as if he only just realized that Clyde had been sitting there. "This your shop?" he asked, and none too politely.
Clyde nodded casually. "Yup. I run this shop."
The boy's mother's eyes grew large. "So that's what kind of town this is!" she exclaimed. "They let little children run shops here? All by themselves?"
Clyde felt a bit taken aback. What was wrong with a kid his age running a shop? As far as he was concerned he was doing a pretty good job of it so far---even though all he'd been doing was looking out over Stratt Street. "My dad's on an errand," he fibbed easily, then changed the subject as quickly as he could. "So where are you two from? Narshe? Never saw you here before."
The mother opened her mouth to answer, but her son ended up doing the talking. "Narshe?" he sneered. "Pfft! We're not from that crummy ol' town. We're from Jidoor," he added with pride. His stare met Clyde's, that same hooded look that Clyde himself had been using earlier during his first moments of shop keeping.
Jidoor, Clyde thought. "So what're you doin' all the way out here?"
"Antique hunting," said the boy's mother. Clyde noted that she answered very quickly, as if she feared her son would cut her off again. "We're out here looking for valuables. These places usually don't have much, but if you're lucky you can find something really nice."
"Like this!" said Benjamin, holding the moogle headdress high over his head. "I want this!"
"But I told you, dear, it's just junk..."
"Ain't junk, ma'am," Clyde interjected. "S'a moogle headdress, you know."
"A what?" asked Benjamin.
"A moogle headdress. From one of them little critters in Narshe. You mean you never heard of 'em?" Clyde asked contemptuously. For a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, he really wanted to make this two Jidoor folks look like fools. Maybe it was the way they carried themselves, like it was beneath them to wander into this little outskirt village.
"I've heard of 'em. Just in stories though. I never knew they were real..." Benjamin looked to the headdress again, even more eagerly than before. Even under the awning of the shop, its feathers and gaudy beads were bright and beckoning. Behind her son, Benjamin's mother was chewing her lip cautiously. "How much is it?" Benjamin asked unabashedly, his eyes glittering like the headdress' rhinestones.
Clyde paused awkwardly, losing his composure. How much was that thing anyway? Mr. Abbingway was quick to point out to Clyde what he should say to customers, but he didn't tell him how much to charge them. "Oh, that's a really rare thing there," he began slowly. "Ya ain't gonna find that anywhere else, so I can't sell it cheap---"
"I don't care!" Benjamin interrupted. "I won't be payin' for it." He turned around and shot his mother a look that Clyde couldn't see. "Now how much?"
That slight pause was all Clyde needed. He didn't care how much he'd have to fork over? Fine then. "S'fifty gil." It was the biggest number the boy could think of. He wanted to go with one hundred, but he was aware of the look Benjamin's mother had.
And sure enough, she had something to say about the fifty-gil price. "Fifty gil? Oh, that's just insane! Your father would never get you something like that for fifty gil! That's just part of a costume! Look at it!"
Benjamin rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Weren't you listening? He said it's a MOOGLE HEADDRESS. It's RARE, mom. Don't you like rare things?"
His mother was silent. She looked very haggard at the moment.
Benjamin continued. "I want it, so we're gettin' it."
And get it he did. His mother reached over with another overemphatic sigh and dug into her purse, retrieving the necessary payment. She dropped the coins into Clyde's outstretched hand. Clyde took a moment to look over the money and make sure it was indeed fifty gil, before dropping it into a little pile right before himself. He placed his arms around it protectively. He'd ask where the money was put when Mr. Abbingway returned. "Thank you very much, ma'am."
Benjamin took off with a cry, planting the headdress on his head and running about in the streets. A chocobo-drawn cart nearly collided with him, much to his mother's---and the driver's---distress. The woman ran after her boy, calling his name helplessly.
Clyde watched the pair head down Stratt Street, until the wild colors of the moogle headdress were no longer visible. That was when he decided to gloat over the fifty gil he made for the Abbingways in their absence. A thought pricked him then, almost guiltily: he could have sold the Jidoor folk the silver sword that had caught his eye when he first arrived in Narshe, but it was too late now. Besides, he didn't know how much that was worth. Even a hundred gil might not have been the Abbingways' asking price. And those stuck-up folks weren't worth handing over that nice weapon.
About five minutes later, Clyde spotted the thin black form of Mr. Abbingway coming up the street, an animated silhouette. The boy was tempted to fly off the stool and greet him with the news of his first sale, but he decided not to look too excited about it. He wanted to seem mature.
Mr. Abbingway was puffing on a cigar. A whole box of them was in the crook of his right arm. "Any trouble?" he asked lightly, his gaze sweeping over the store's countertop. Of course, he noticed the missing headdress. "Where's the moogle headdress?" He looked up at Clyde almost accusingly.
"I sold it," said the boy proudly. He leaned back, away from the counter, to display the gil pieces piled before him.
"You sold it?" Mr. Abbingway repeated incredulously. "For how much?" He shot Clyde a skeptical look, then scooped up the gil and counted it. "Fifty gil... Fifty gil! I was only selling it for twenty!" When he raised his eyes to Clyde again, they were smiling. "You're a smart little bugger, aren't you?"
Clyde beamed. The first time in all the weeks he knew this man, and he finally smiled.
Mr. Abbingway did something unexpected then. "Hold out your hand," he told Clyde, and into the open palm he dropped a total of ten gil. "Commission," he explained laconically.
Clyde looked at the ten gil in his hand. He earned that money. That was his reward for being clever enough to know when opportunity was knocking. Yes, that was what commission meant, wasn't it? His pride was a very bloated thing at that moment, but light enough for him to carry. He slid off the tall stool and went around the counter towards the street. He was off to show this latest payoff to his parents.
Strago and Relm's walk had taken them to the heart of Thamasa City, where the roads there were just as bustling as those in Strago's tale, in that far-off city called Valdebrooke. The two of them had stopped at a vendor's cart earlier, and were now off with apples in their hands.
"Daddy was pretty smart then, for a kid," Relm piped up out of the blue. She stopped then thoughtfully, something keen shining in her green-gold eyes. "I'm a lot like him, aren't I, Grandpa?" She sunk her teeth into the ripe fruit, awaiting the old man's response. She was certain it would be affirmative; she just liked to needle him every now and then with a healthy dose of arrogance.
Strago snorted. "Yeah, you sure are. I wonder who you get the modesty from?"
"Well, was mom like that? Was she modest?"
"Ah, not really. Well, not as I can recall..." The old mage scratched his head. His gaze grew distant. She wasn't what I'd call "modest." But she wasn't quite like her daughter here...
Relm threw Strago a quick corner-of-the-eye glance. This little pause brought to us by senility. She smiled to herself.
They were very proud of him---Clyde's parents, that is, and for the most part.
He was back in his family's hotel room, having just finished explaining to them what happened at the Abbingways' shop. His father seemed notably happier than his mother, who had been commenting recently that her boy was spending far too much time with those people.
"You don't spend half as much time with your own parents," she chided him. "I almost feel like you're a stranger living with us."
Edmund waved his hand at her, as if that gesture could shoo his wife's complaints away. "Ahh, he doesn't spend that much time there. Hell, if he's gonna come home with money like this, I ain't gonna complain. It's almost like he's got a job there."
"Don't we need the money?" Clyde added.
"Yeah, we need the money. You don't need to tell me that." Clyde's mother paused momentarily, then she said, "But I really don't want you gettin' too attached to those people. Sure, they're all friendly like, but we ain't gonna be here forever. You're gonna be awful sore when we have to leave them---"
"But he'll have the money to remember them by!" Clyde's father pointed out cheerfully. He winked at his son conspiratorially.
"And the bandanna," Clyde offered, indicating the raggedy black thing that had covered his blond hair for the better part of his days. It was as dirty as he was now, no longer new and outstanding as it once had been, but it was still very loved. It didn't always provide luck, but it was a constant reminder of the nice man who gave it to him for nothing, on that sullen day when he first arrived in Valdebrooke. Already it was a piece of history.
His mother sniffed. "Ain't no good to form attachments. People often end up goin' their separate ways."
She left to make dinner then, leaving Clyde to ponder her words. Yes, people often did go their separate ways; he knew that already. Take his sister. She'd been kidnapped before Clyde had been born. Was she even alive now? And his stay in Valdebrooke was never meant to be permanent. He knew that too. Trouble was, the idea of moving to Narshe was still a faraway concept, something he wouldn't have to deal with for a long, long time.
...Until six days later, when the Arrowny family got a letter from the famed Silver City. There was a place for them now in Narshe. They were to move in as soon as possible, because the vacancy would remain waiting for them for a sixty-day period, no more, no less.
The letter arrived very early that morning, during breakfast. Clyde's father was most elated. He pounded the breakfast table with his fist and declared, "Can you believe it? Thank gods! Finally! I was gettin' sick of looking at this place!"
Clyde, on the other hand, was thunderstruck. The day he'd been dreading had finally come. He was going. He would be leaving Valdebrooke forever. Suddenly, everything within the city took on an air of utmost importance, from the alleyways he discovered while goofing off to all the time he spent with Gavin and his father.
Gavin. Clyde hadn't gone outside to see if his friend had come back from Matrese yet. He had to do that immediately.
He fled the room and shuffled downstairs as his parents uttered words of protest. He was out of the hotel in a flash. Halfway across the cobblestone street he stopped, shielding his eyes from the morning sun. Few people were about so early, as it was hardly into the nine o'clock hour.
A thought hit him. These streets would no longer be his home. That hotel, the Marx, the one he was so used to by now, would be nothing more than a memory. When---or rather, how fast would his parents be packing up what little they owned in a rented cart, drawn by one of this small town's overworked chocobos? How fast would they be on the road to a city that had been for the past several weeks nothing more than scenery, a skyline, a small cluster of lights at the base of the great mountains?
Clyde would never see the Abbingways again, not while he was in Narshe. His parents wouldn't want to waste money paying for trips back to this place. They'd be too concerned with the silver that Narshe offered, and how to make their fortune...which was their reason for coming here in the first place.
And what would Narshe be like? Would it be as dusty as this small town? It would certainly be more crowded, that much Clyde could bank on. It would probably be filled with strangers high and low, all of them bent on seeking out silver. And he, little Clyde Arrowny, would be but one speck amidst all the commotion. He might very well lose himself in Narshe.
His feet were lead as he dragged them step by step to the Abbingways' residence. He rounded the counter, found the doorway to the house and knocked a few times.
The butterflies in his stomach were throwing a party. All would be well if Gavin were there to greet him, he assured himself. He'd feel more confident about moving on if he could get one last word in with his old friend.
He waited for a time, but there was no response. Frustrated now, he banged on the door, until a deep voice from inside met his ears through the walls. "I'm comin', damnit!" Then the door opened and Clyde backed up mechanically. He recognized the voice; it wasn't Gavin's.
Sure enough, Mr. Abbingway was standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and blinking in the bright sunshine. "Clyde... Pretty damned early to come callin'. Whaddo you want? Got your folks mad again, I take it?"
His words barely registered in the boy's mind. In fact, Clyde was stunned into a momentary silence after the door was opened; he nearly forgot what he wanted to say. "I'm leavin'," he finally admitted. His eyes raised from his feet to Mr. Abbingway's solemn, lined face. "Jus' wanted ta tell ya." Then he remembered why he came knocking in the first place. "Is Gavin back?"
Mr. Abbingway shook his head. "Nope. Probably on 'is way, though." He eyed Clyde. "So Narshe finally has room for you and your folks?"
Clyde swallowed and nodded, but the response was absentminded on his part. So Gavin hadn't come back yet. Then that meant that he'd never see the man again. Clyde doubted if he'd make it back in time for whenever his parents wanted to leave. He also doubted if his parents would wait a few days, maybe even a whole week, for the man to return. Their anxiousness to get into Narshe had not totally waned. They had no attachments to Valdebrooke that made moving seem like the most terrible notion on earth.
He was frowning, the boy who never liked to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Mr. Abbingway saw this and softened up a bit, though Clyde was too depressed to be flattered by the reaction. "Ahh, I know, I know, you wanted to say goodbye to 'im. I c'n see that; you two were pretty close. Come on, come inside." He turned and led the way into his customarily dark residence. Clyde followed him like a little wind-up toy.
"Had breakfast yet?" Mr. Abbingway asked as he parted the curtains of some of the windows, allowing the light to seep inside. He gave Clyde a look, awaiting an answer.
"Yep."
"Mmm. Hadn't even had mine yet. Been sleepin' too late these past coupla days. My son's the early riser, see." When he was satisfied that the room was well-lit---as much as his liking of darkness would allow---he crossed the room and sat down on a sofa there.
Standing where he was, Clyde was swallowed up by nostalgia: that was the same spot Mr. Abbingway had been sitting on that same sofa, a long time ago when Clyde first visited this house. It was on the day he got his precious bandanna. He felt like falling to pieces. He'd never be inside this little house ever again, not at least until he was old enough to travel himself without his parents, but even then, would things be the same here? In ten years, would the Abbingways have packed up and moved on?
Just then, Mr. Abbingway coaxed Clyde closer with a crooked finger. "C'mere, son. I got a little somethin' for ya."
There was a small table beside the sofa with a lamp resting atop it; beneath was a little cubby filled with books and things. Clyde had seen that during his past visits, but he never thought much of it until now. He watched as Gavin's father pulled out one of the many books there: something of average width, not too thin or too thick, with a worn burgundy cover. There were gold letters etched on the front, spelling out words Clyde couldn't readily see.
"I want you to have this," Mr. Abbingway began, holding the book upright to Clyde could read the title.
"'His Empty Hands'?"
"It's a good book; it's one of my favorites. Had it since I was sixteen, I think. Not too sure though; it's really been a while. Book must be fifty years old by now, so take care of it." He held it out to Clyde, who took it reverently.
He studied it with curiosity that was subdued, for heavy matters weighed down his mind. He turned it over a few times, then opened it to a random page and read a few lines to himself:
"I wasn't much older than five, maybe six, but I learned then something that would be with me for life. It would be an impression I couldn't ever erase, and even if I willed it to, it would never have left me. It was a part of me, ingrained in my mind, etched onto my soul like the gilded letters of an ancient text. I embraced the ideal. I was the ideal."
Clyde looked up. Those words were rather touching, although there were a few he couldn't understand, given his lack of formal education. There were even a few he couldn't pronounce, but he got the message. He closed the book. "If you like it so much, why're you givin' it to me?"
"Call it a farewell gift," came Mr. Abbingway's reply. "I've read it over so many times I got the whole thing memorized. I think you'll like it. It'll give you somethin' to do on your way to the Silver City."
Silver City. Sucks to the Silver City, Clyde thought. He lowered his head and felt tears touch his eyes, but he restrained them. Gods, was he ever angry. Why did he have to leave? Why couldn't that stupid letter have waited for Gavin's return?
When he felt his emotions were back under his command, he looked up again. "D'you think... If my parents left this afternoon, rather than this morning, d'you think Gavin'd be back by then?"
Mr. Abbingway shook his head solemnly. "Don't think so. Takes weeks to travel from here to Matrese, and vice-versa. I reckon he'll be back by the time you're all settled in up there."
Clyde sighed loudly. The whole situation was so awfully unfair. Why now, of all times? Oh, asking why questions wasn't going to make his burdens any lighter! He'd have to do something about them himself. "Thanks," he said to Mr. Abbingway, and the old man nodded.
"And if I don't see you after this, you take care a' yourself up there."
With that, Clyde left the Abbingway residence for the final time. He had many things on his mind, including what he was going to tell his parents the moment he got back to their room. Thus he didn't realize that that had been the last time he would ever be in his friend Gavin's house.
He stormed across Stratt Street and back into his hotel. Inside he confronted his parents, upset as he was, demanding, begging, pleading that they put off leaving for at least a few days. Maybe Gavin would be back by then. Then he'd be able to say goodbye to the first real friend he made outside of Zozo.
His parents would hear none of it, as could be expected. However, Clyde was able to persuade them to wait at least until mid-afternoon that day. He had successfully bought a few hours of time.
So he waited. He was so caught up in his wishful thinking that he didn't bother to visit all the places he'd found during his stay in town, or see any of the other things he wanted to see before he left. He never strayed too far from the curb before the Marx hotel. At any moment, he told himself, a cart could come up bearing his good friend fresh from his trip out west.
The sun climbed higher into the sky and the streets grew busier, but no cart ever came with Gavin riding in it. It was with spent fury and empty sadness that Clyde returned to his parents room, where he found them packing their meager belongings for their trip. Clyde's father soon left to secure the rental of a cart and a chocobo, and soon the little family was going in and out of the hotel, loading their things. It was a really nice day out, and the little Arrowny boy hated it passionately. He would have rather had it raining, to match how he felt. The sky didn't deserve to be bright. At that time, nothing did.
When the cart was loaded and the chocobo hitched up to it, the Arrowny family was ready at last to bid Valdebrooke farewell. Edmund sat up front with his wife and Clyde sat in the back with the family's possessions, bandanna on his head and book in his arms. No one could have pried either item from him without quite a tussle.
He was sitting as far back in the cart as he possibly could, so he could look back on the town he'd called home for the past few weeks. There was Mr. Abbingway right where he should be, minding his shop. His dark eyes were trained on the dusty boy in the cart with a sort of father-to-son affection. For a moment Clyde was hit with the thought of running out of the cart and stowing away somewhere, maybe even in Mr. Abbingway's house the way he always did in the past when things went awry. Then he could stay in Valdebrooke forever with Gavin and his father.
But he couldn't find the strength to climb out of the cart; he felt weighed down by all his feelings. They felt heavy, soggy with unshed tears.
The crack of the reigns greeted Clyde's ears as his father spurred on the chocobo. He heard the bird snort and chirp in reply and the cart lurched forward, starting to move. Clyde didn't even turn around. Instead, he watched as Mr. Abbingway left his place at the counter and came to stand before his small shop, the better to see the Arrowny family off on their way.
"You take care now, ya hear?" he called to Clyde.
That was when Clyde saw him: a boy probably no older than twelve, taking advantage of Mr. Abbingway's turned back. He crept around to the front of the counter and tried to reach for something. Clyde couldn't tell what it was, because Mr. Abbingway spun around in the blink of an eye and grabbed the would-be robber by the wrist.
"Go on, git! Ya wretched vermin!" He jerked the boy free and he took off as quickly as he had appeared. Mr. Abbingway turned back to Clyde, who was by then over twenty feet away down the cobblestone road. "Business as usual, Arrowny!" he shouted, smiling.
Clyde couldn't muster the energy to return that smile. He clutched his book tighter and watched as Valdebrooke passed him by. Soon the cobblestone road ceded to a rough dirt path, a winding road that would lead to the outskirts of Narshe. There his family would have to find the elder's residence and inform the city's Lot Commission of their arrival, before they could be shown to their new home. The scenes of those people, those endless streets of hotels, and that of Mr. Abbingway, clad in his usual black attire, waving at him as they grew further apart, would be the last scenes of Valdebrooke that Clyde would ever see in his lifetime.
It was raining, as Strago had predicted. The old blue mage had the hood of his robe drawn over his thinning white hair. Relm, however, was getting soaked as the pair made their way home. The sky seemed to snarl down at them now, an ugly mix of rain-drenched grays. There was no thunder or lightning at all.
The little artist girl was frowning as she and her grandfather rushed back to their house. Strago had just finished the latest chapter of her father's story and the ending had been a particularly depressing one. Fitting then that the sky should be so cruel in its bearing as to rain on them now. "Did daddy ever see Mr. Abbingway or Gavin again?" Relm inquired.
"Oh no, no, he never saw either of them again," Strago replied. "Watch out there---mud puddle. Don't want you trackin' anything into the house."
Relm stopped abruptly and skirted around the depression in her path. Already the dirt roads of Thamasa were turning muddy and her shoes were slick with it. "That's so sad. I hate sad stories!"
Strago swallowed. Oh, Relm... Don't say that. You're making me feel guiltier than I already am for tellin' you this.
The two walked on further in silence, soon reaching their house in time for the first rumble of thunder to boom overhead.
Relm had another question. "So what happens then, when daddy gets to Narshe?"
"Well, for one thing, he finally gets a chance to go to school." Strago wiped his feet on the little doormat outside before opening the door and heading into his home. Relm did likewise.