note: From hereon out, the chapters will be getting longer. If this chapter seems to cut off abruptly - well, that's because it does. There is basically a second 'half' to this chapter planned, but I know it's tough to get through six or seven thousand words in one go, so I'll wait. Special thanks to everyone I've been chatting with lately (you know who you are) for being so inspirational, whether you know it or not. -Keza.
seven: promises.
I woke early and dragged my still-exhausted body out of bed and downstairs. Dutchy was just beginning to stir. I closed the stair door behind me and gathered myself together. Swifty was standing at one of the windows in the main room, mug once again in hand and looking outside with an almost thoughtful air.
"Morning," he said without turning.
"Morning," I answered. It sounded more like a statement than a greeting. Yes, it was morning, though there was little to distinguish morning from afternoon in the Dark; the city was usually covered up with thick gray clouds no matter the time of day.
"Ok," he said, facing me and adopting a businesslike manner. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"
I had to laugh, he sounded so much like a disapproving mother. He allowed himself a flash of a smile, too, and so in turn I allowed myself to relax.
"You'd be surprised," I said, crossing my arms. "It wasn't me. I got tricked into the whole thing." My tone turned a little more serious as I tried to figure out how to explain things. "It's Specs," I said simply, and chanced a look up at Swifty. He was looking out the window again.
"I figured," he said quietly, troubled. "He…" Swifty hesitated and pretended to study something outside. "Never mind. How bad is it?"
"Bad." It was my turn to pause. "Fever."
He just nodded. "And so you were going to Sofia's. That does make sense."
"Yeah, and I guess it was obvious," I said, not a little bitterly. He just shrugged, dismissing it.
"Looks like whoever did this means business," he said. "Do you have any idea what you're involved in?" He asked this as an actual question; he didn't seem to know anymore than I.
"I was volunteered," I explained. "Those two words? Bad? Fever? It's the extent of my knowledge. I have no idea what the hell's going on."
He just laughed and returned his gaze to the window. We stood like this, in a silence that was approaching companionable, and despite everything, I began to feel just a little better about the whole ordeal. Dutchy appeared behind me with a yawn, and Swifty was all business once more.
"An early start is the best way to go," he said, nodding at me. "I thought for a long time last night, and I came up with a few ideas." He walked to the table in front of the couch and picked something up, it was a corner ripped from a newspaper. Words were scrawled over the print in a heavy black hand. "This is probably your best bet," he said, and handed the paper to me. "Madame Proulx. It's an alright walk from here, depending on which way you go." Again he nodded at me. "She'll talk to you."
"Does she have the Cure?" Dutchy asked eagerly.
Swifty just shrugged. "She'll talk to you," he repeated, looking at me as he did it.
"Thanks," I said, and Dutchy echoed me.
"Don't think of it," said Swifty. "And, hey, if you can wait here a few more minutes, I'll find you something to eat." He disappeared into the kitchen and Dutch and I sat at opposite ends of the couch. I noticed with surprise that there were already two mugs of coffee on the table, and chuckled. Dutchy didn't think it strange and immediately downed half of his, then stopped to regard me from his position a few feet away.
"He seems different this morning," he said. I shrugged and tasted my coffee. Delicious. Of course. "Why did he decide to help us, anyway?"
I thought about several possible answers, but in the end just shrugged again. "I don't know why he does what he does," I said, only somewhat honestly. "Just be thankful that he's on our side."
Dutchy considered this. "Race," he said haltingly, "you never… well, you never answered my questions last night… like… where has he been, and all that?"
I heard a noise from inside the kitchen and so just muttered, "I'll explain later," and in the next moment Swifty came out balancing a couple of bowls filled with something akin to oatmeal. We accepted them with more thanks.
"Are you coming with us?" Dutchy asked through a mouthful of the stuff. "Ow, this is hot… good, though."
Swifty, who was leaning against the wall over the fireplace, smiled a little, but shook his head.
"No, not today," he said. "I have a few things to take care of. You'll be fine; she's a good lady." I smirked inwardly. 'Good' in the Dark could mean any number of things.
"Oh, ok," said Dutchy. "Um, so, when will we see you again?"
"I'll be around," answered Swifty, looking at me once more. I felt uncomfortable and finished my breakfast without meeting his gaze.
Dutchy got up, bowl still in hand, and wandered over to one of the small windows.
"Lots more people out today," he commented. "Too bad it's cloudy again." This time both Swifty and I laughed. Swifty joined him at the window.
"Sun don't shine here, kid," he said with a grin, and clapped him on the back. He laughed again, then returned to the kitchen. I glanced at the address on the newspaper, then folded it carefully and stuck it in my waistband.
"I think that's our cue to leave," I said, setting my bowl on the table.
"Ok," said Dutchy, and I watched as his puzzlement visibly turned into determination. This transformation never ceased to amaze me. "But shouldn't we at least…"
I shook my head. "It's ok. Come on, we want all the daylight hours we can get."
Dutchy followed me outside with a smirk of his own. "Ain't no daylight here, boy," he said.
We continued down the street in the same direction we had been headed the night before. Today we stuck to the side of the road; away from the unpredictable traffic in the middle, but, at the same time, not so close to the edge that we risked being unwittingly pulled into an alley. It was a relief that we weren't alone on the streets, but only just. As we walked, I began to give Dutchy a quick lesson on traveling in the Dark.
"Anything you have, you hide," I told him. "If you can't hide it, then you pretend it's nothing. You could be walking down the street with a gold brick hefted on your shoulder, fine. But if you're a good enough actor, you can get away with anything. People are interested with what you're interested in.
"Everyone's a pickpocket; of course some are better than others. If you bump into someone – or, really, if someone bumps into you – check your person immediately. If you wait even a beat, they'll probably already be gone, so get a good look, too. If you think you can take them, well, ok. But think carefully."
"It's just like our New York," Dutchy reminded me.
"Yeah, ok, but with no police, no allies, and no strangers with hearts of gold," I retorted. "Of course there are similarities, Dutch, but don't waste your time making comparisons. We're in a whole 'nother world now, and not only that, but we're completely, and I mean completely, alone."
Dutchy nodded, resigned at least for the moment, so I continued. "Everything here is sizing you up, so get used to that feeling that you're being watched."
"Thing?" he interrupted. "Why do you keep saying that? Everything, something…" he motioned around us. "Looks pretty normal to me, looks like people."
"Yeah, well, it's also daylight," I said. "Will you just let me talk?" I was starting to get annoyed. "I don't plan on traveling at night, so it's nothing we'll worry about right now, ok? Just… remember that appearances are deceiving."
Here we reached an intersection and I stuck an arm in front of Dutchy's chest to stop him while a black carriage pulled by two enormous gray horses roared past. I watched it go for a second, then we crossed and I resumed my speech.
"It'll work out better for us both if you don't speak unless spoken to, and even then, think carefully about what you do decide to say. A lot of people are just looking to an excuse for a fight. In general? Be careful. You don't want anyone to think you're challenging them, but at the same time, acting too meek will lead people to believe that you're easy prey. Basically, you gotta just… I dunno, blend in. Don't stand out. If you're outside, make sure you have someplace to go. People don't wander around out here unless they're wasted drunk or dying, and no one just hangs outside." I stopped to take a breath and considered what else to mention. How much was too much? He was still clearly processing everything I'd just said, and it was certainly a lot to think about.
So, what else? I thought. Should I bother mentioning that the nights were longer than the days, that any sense of real time was skewed? Or that a woman wearing a black sash spelled trouble, or that unpaved roads were to be avoided at all costs? I was torn. If I told him too much, he would stop listening at some point and barely anything would stick… besides, there was only so much I could warn or teach – he would have to experience some for himself in order to truly understand.
I broke myself away from my thoughts and noticed Dutchy looking at me expectantly.
"Is this fun for you?" I asked, bitter with indecision.
"I need to know everything I can learn so I can help Specs," he said, a little hurt. I sighed and launched back in.
"Ok. There isn't really money here. You… you trade things. See, everybody needs something. Remember that. Everyone is missing something, they are searching, wanting." He nodded along with me.
"Then I guess I'm not so different after all."
I estimated it was about noon when we reached the street of our destination. Water street was the very definition of claustrophobia. The road itself was narrow, too narrow for all but the most daring driver. Dutchy walked behind me; if we were to walk abreast, we would be blocking the path for everyone. The buildings on either side of the road were huge in both width and height, even looking up at their height was dizzying. The sky above was a thin strip of gray between their tops. Sometimes the buildings even intruded upon the street, making it narrower, and then wider. It was at one of these wide sections that I pulled Dutchy aside and, with our backs to a stable looking wall, I pulled the newsprint out of my waistband to check the exact address.
"Shit," I said, and Dutchy looked over my shoulder with concern. The print had been completely rubbed out as we had walked, and now the ink was smudged all over my hands as well. I dropped it to the ground. Wisely, Dutchy didn't say anything.
"We're in a tight place," I said needlessly. I had a feeling that our destination wouldn't simply have a large sign announcing its presence, and even if it did, I had no idea how long Water street was – it could stretch on for a miles, and we didn't have time to walk its entire length and find a place to stay before night fell. I was just wondering how many more things could go wrong when I saw an unusual flash of movement from the corner of my eye. I watched it with my peripheral vision, giving no indication that I had noticed anything strange. It was still, then moved in front of us.
Dutchy was crouching on the ground and had picked up the newspaper and was trying to get something from it. Now I looked directly at the figure in front of us. It was a boy, very small and skinny, with dirt covering every inch of him. I decided he couldn't be more than four or five years old. He had bare feet that were covered in scabs and insect bites, long pants held up by suspenders, no shirt, and a brown bowler hat that was way too big for him and that he wore at a tilt. It was so big that it covered one eye and half of his nose. The other eye was a deep brown and it looked straight up at me. We regarded each other silently, then the boy raised his hand and beckoned, turned, and started walking slowly down the road.
"Come on," I said to Dutchy, not taking my eyes off the boy, as though if I did he would disappear. "Come on, let's go."
Dutchy looked up from the newspaper and frowned. "Where to? Did you remember?"
"What? No… come on," and I started walking, my strides catching up to the boy fairly quickly. Dutchy wasn't far behind.
"Where are we going?"
"We…" Well, I wasn't too sure. But I had a feeling, and sometimes that was enough. "Just… don't worry about it," I said, and so we walked, three in a single file line, and said nothing.
Presently the boy stopped at a door on the right side of the street. It was brown, with no handle of knob on the outside; nothing but a large, rusty knocker. The knocker was below one equally rusty number (a five) that hung upside down. To its left were patches of lighter brown, I assumed that at one point they had held numbers as well.
"I guess the address wouldn't have helped after all," I muttered to Dutchy. The boy raised his hand up, but it didn't reach even halfway to the knocker. He looked at me expectantly, and I grabbed him under his arms and lifted him up to it. The knocker creaked a little as he pried it up, then hit it four times, twisted around in my grasp, and smiled at me. I put him down and the door swung open.
"How do we know this is even it?" Dutchy asked as I followed the boy inside. I just looked over my shoulder, where he stood, confused as hell, and beckoned with a grin. Dutch grumbled something, but entered, and the door closed behind him. It was completely dark. There was a hiss, and a small flame danced into being. It was brought to a lamp, and the following glow illuminated both the face of its holder and the surrounding room.
It was a woman, older than old, with thin gray hairs gathered into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, piercing, pale green eyes, and wrinkles that folded in and among themselves a thousand times. She had thin, pale lips, and these smiled at me to reveal a mouth missing all but a few teeth. Dutchy coughed nervously behind me. I was entranced.
"Good afternoon, boys," she said in a voice that creaked and wheezed. It spoke of her age, but still seemed stronger than her body – her voice matched her eyes. "What took you so long?" And with that she brushed by us and down a hallway at the other end of the small room. I shrugged at Dutchy and turned to follow before the light disappeared completely, noticing as I left that the boy had disappeared. The only other object in the room was a tall stand with just one brown bowler hat hanging atop it…
The hallway was equally dark, and again I felt the claustrophobia from outside closing in. The woman stopped abruptly and the lantern illuminated a door, this one with a handle, which she turned and turned out her lantern at the same time. The light that came after she opened the door was so bright that I had to back a few steps, my arm in front of my eyes, and I bumped into Dutchy, who just grunted. Now that I was close to him again, he took hold of the chance and hissed, "Where the hell are we?" in my ear.
"Like I know," I muttered, and dragged him inside behind me.
I scanned the room quickly as we entered; it was small, square, and bare of any furnishings save a round wooden table and four chairs surrounding it. The brightness came from three lights on the ceiling, which was curious. Each wall had a door, making me feel strangely like we were being watched.
The woman turned and smiled widely at us, motioning that we sit down. I obliged, and Dutch just followed my lead.
"Tea? Coffee?" she asked, and again her steady voice surprised me. I hesitated, and the smile appeared again. She went to one of the doors and knocked twice, then made her way back to the table. Without thinking I jumped back up and pulled a chair out for her. She tittered and patted my arm as she slowly sat. Idly, I wondered how old she was, and returned to my own seat without taking my eyes off her. She didn't seem to notice, however, as her own gaze had fastened on Dutchy. He watched nervously back, eyes flitting to me every once in awhile. But I couldn't help him.
"Danya," she said softly, and he leaned closer in spite of himself. "Child, you are lost. Why have you come?"
Just as he opened his mouth, two knocks sounded at the door the woman had been at earlier.
"Come on," she said clearly, eyes never leaving Dutchy.
A short, colored boy poked his head in, then took a few tentative steps forward, holding the door open with his fingertips.
"Peter, please fetch us something to drink," she said, and twisted to shine her smile at the boy. He nodded and disappeared. When she turned back to us, her manner had changed completely.
"I see Joseph sent you, but have I seen the boy in months? No, of course not." The smile returned. "How is he?"
I shrugged. I didn't know how much to say, maybe he was close with the lady, but I'd never seen her in my life. "He's fine."
"Mmm." She eyed me critically but didn't press, instead she focused her attention back on Dutchy. "My name is Madame Proulx," she said. "I run an orphanage of sorts here. Now, I know you, Danya… and you, Anthony," she nodded in my direction. "But tell me; why are you here?"
"Swifty said-" One gesture with her hand silenced me. I stopped, confused, and again Dutchy looked to me for help.
"Danya," she said gently. "This is not his story." Instead of relief, I felt a little bit of resentment at her comment. After all, what had Dutchy done in the few days we had been out? Nothing. He was just there because I wouldn't be able to get the Cure without him. I could do it easier by myself. I stayed quiet.
"Uhh," said Dutchy. I glared at the door, and almost as if I had willed it, there was a soft knock, then a click. The same boy was back and carrying a tray of cups and saucers with utmost care. He slid the tray on the table next to me and hurried out. Grateful for the distraction, Dutchy grabbed a cup and stared into it as if it had the answers. I smirked inwardly but said nothing. Madame Proulx waited patiently.
"Specs… well, he's my Love, see, an' he's sick. An' I had no idea what was going on except that something was wrong, and then they all told me it was a Fever…" his words came faster and faster as he spoke and began to drew confidence from her concerned air. "So Race, he said that we gotta find the Cure, and that we gotta come here to do it. But the place we went to first, something happened, and it was burned down, so we went to Swifty – Joseph – instead, and he sent us here… except…" Now he frowned, puzzled. "Well except we got lost, and then this boy led us here, an'… well, never mind." He shrugged. "That's the story. It doesn't sound so grand now that I say it." He took a sip of his tea and his hand rattled the saucer. Some liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup and in a moment I forgot any traces of resentment I'd felt. I felt a wave of pity that tightened around my heart. Madame Proulx was right, no matter his actual age, Dutchy was just a child, and so, so lost. And me? I was just the helper. It was I who had no reason to be there, none except to teach him the ropes so he could save the person he loved, truly loved.
I burned my tongue on the tea and wondered miserably if anything I'd ever done approached the scale of his current trials. No, nothing, I was always the sidekick, always –
"I wish I could say I could help you, Danya," Madame Proulx spoke, dragging me back from my thoughts. "I don't know if I can." She stopped and closed her eyes to think. I was honestly afraid she might fall asleep. "Ah," she said finally, "I know." She opened her eyes. "Yes, I can help. But I will need something from you."
I was mildly worried, and remembered my earlier warning to Dutchy. Everyone wants something, I thought. Nothing is free.
"Anything," said Dutchy.
I sighed.