3. The Escapades of Friends
A dark night had fallen over the town of Cheesebridge. Yet the young Archibald Snatcher was not asleep, lying in his bed and staring up at the ceiling of his room. The notes of a new song had gotten into his head, and he wanted to try and put lyrics to it before it went away.
Between this rather noisy train of thought and the sounds of Framley scuttling about in his cage across the room, Archibald completely missed the tiny patter of the pebble that bounced against his window. What he did not miss was the larger rock that completely shattered the glass, coming to rest unceremoniously on the carpet among glittering shards.
Archibald hastened to the window to see the source of the rock. It could only have been one of two things: a ne'er-do-well, or…
"Sorry!" Herbert Trubshaw hissed up at him from the street below.
"Trubshaw!" Archibald hissed back. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I didn't mean to break your window."
"Why are you HERE? The Boxtrolls are out at this time of night, you know! Do you want to get eaten up!"
"I keep telling you!" Herbert insisted. "Boxtrolls don't scare me! And I've just had a breakthrough working on a new project, and I wanted to show you!"
"At THIS hour?"
"It is pretty late, isn't it?" Herbert admitted. "It's all right. You can just come and look at it tomorrow."
"No, no…" Archibald sighed. "Give me a moment. I'm coming down." His fear of the fabled Boxtrolls was secondary to his curiosity about whatever adventure Herbert had in mind for him. He quickly changed from nightgown to street clothes, then scurried down the stairs, avoiding those that squeaked, and slipped out the front door of Snatcher's Stitches.
"I'm quite excited to show you!" Herbert said in a hushed tone as soon as Archibald was in closer range.
"Can't you tell me what exact sort of…mechanical doohickey you've come up with now?" Archibald asked somewhat pleadingly.
"No, no, no!" Herbert insisted. "I have to SHOW you! Come on!" He took off at a run down the street, which happened to be uphill.
"Trubshaw!" Archibald gave chase. "Trubshaw, you know I can't run that fast! TRUBSHAW!"
Herbert had the mind to halt and wait for Archibald to catch up some blocks down the road. "Now," Archibald huffed as he finally reached Herbert, "if we could proceed at a more…sensible pace…"
"I'm just excited!" Herbert bubbled.
"So you've said," Archibald replied with a smile.
The pair had become fast friends ever since the night of Charles Portley-Rind's thirteenth birthday. Over the next couple of months, they were scarcely seen apart, unless Archibald was caught up helping his family with business or Herbert was locked away working on another of his projects. Of course, this had only spurred on rumors about the two of them. Given the gossip that had already been circulating about Archibald, the rest of their peers in Cheesebridge figured that the only reason he and Herbert could be so close was if they were secretly romantically involved. Yet they stood apart, invincible to rumors. They had each other, so what did it matter what anyone else thought?
As they walked briskly toward the destination Herbert had in mind, Herbert asked, "So have you come up with anything new creative in your corner of the world? Written any more poems?"
"They're not POEMS, Trubshaw," Archibald corrected. "They're SONGS. There's a difference!"
"You can call me by my first name, you know," Herbert broke in. They both knew Archibald wouldn't; he simply couldn't break the habit. It was simply Herbert's habit to suggest it whenever they met up. "Or 'Trubshaw' is fine, too. So have you written any more songs?"
"I was working on one before you broke my window," Archibald informed him.
"Still sorry about that."
"No need to be."
"Can I hear it? The song you were working on."
"It's still a work in progress," Archibald admitted, "but here's how it goes so far." He sang softly, so as not to wake anyone or attract the attention of any nearby trolls: "There's a broken stopwatch in my chest. I think it ticks too fast. And every time it ticks, I know I won't forever last. Though I have flight of fancy dreams that would have made for tales most tall, the chiming of the clock reminds me I won't live them all…"
The song took up the rest of the duration of the walk to the alley where Herbert's project lay in hiding. At its conclusion, Herbert reviewed, "It's a bit morbid, but it's quite beautiful all the same."
"Of course it is," Archibald replied slyly. "I wrote it, after all! But in all seriousness, thank you. Now, what have we got here?"
"The 'mechanical doohickey,'" Herbert replied. "Now. Try and contain your excitement!"
"Trubshaw, you've built up so much suspense around this contraption, it's difficult to contain anything!"
"Right! Now, behold…THIS!" Herbert ducked behind a crate and brought out a small object wrapped in a sheet. He made a show of whipping off the sheet with the grandest flourish he could muster.
"It's…a small wagon," Archibald observed.
"It runs on a little engine I designed myself!" Herbert boasted, setting the tiny vehicle on the street and pressing a button. The small vehicle propelled itself across the cobblestone for a few feet before catching on a rough patch and toppling onto its side.
"Very impressive!" Archibald gave the display a round of soft applause.
"That was just the opening act," Herbert informed him. "The real show is this way!" He stepped back further into the alley, where an even larger sheet was draped over an object the size of fifteen crates.
"Trubshaw," Archibald commented, "you didn't…"
"I DID!" Herbert whipped the sheet off the much larger device. "Voilà!"
The great wooden wagon was cobbled together out of different planks and parts; none of the four wheels seemed to have come from the same object. An armchair was mounted to the top of it like a throne. Pipes protruding from the wagon hinted at the engine within.
Archibald was awestruck. "I can't believe you actually made all that."
"I…had a little help," Herbert admitted.
"Help?" This confused Archibald. He didn't know of any friends Herbert had besides him. "Who helped you with all this?"
"It doesn't matter," Herbert said quickly. "Want to take it for a ride?"
"Is it safe?"
"I don't know! We'll have to find out!" Herbert was already climbing onto the back of the wagon, gesturing to the armchair.
"Times like these, I wish I could argue with you," Archibald muttered under his breath as he clambered up to settle into the armchair.
Herbert threw a lever, and they were off, the wagon chugging its way down the alley. It got to the other end and turned onto the street before the engine died with a loud whine and the two left-side wheels broke down – and a lucky thing, too, or gravity might have carried the wagon all the way downhill until it crashed into something.
"I suppose it still needs work," Herbert sighed.
The two boys climbed off the wagon and began the laborious task of putting it back in the alley despite its two missing wheels. "I'm quite aware you'll have it in working order in very little time," Archibald stated. "I can see it now. You'll be wheeling all around town in this…whatchamacallit, calling out advertisement for your many inventions, and that's how you'll get your own White Hat to go with the one I'm going to have."
"You know I don't care about hats, Archibald," Herbert laughed.
"How can you not care about hats?" Archibald replied, somewhat stunned. "Don't you want to be a man of worth?"
"Yes I do, Archibald, but I can do that without a hat that tells me what I should be! And so can you!"
Archibald shook his head. "When I get mine, I'll still put in a word for you."
"If you should get one and I don't, I don't mind," Herbert admitted. "I quite like that idea you had of driving around town in my wagon and helping people by building and fixing things."
They managed to settle the wagon back down and cover it up with the sheet. "It's quite late," Archibald realized, somewhat nervous. "We'd best both get home before we meet with terrible fates. You live close by, don't you?"
"Perhaps we should go to your home first," Herbert suggested.
"Why my home? You live closer."
"I just thought…" Herbert knew Archibald wouldn't take it well if Herbert called him out on being more afraid of what came out after sundown than Herbert was, and would benefit more from having the company. "…Oh, never mind. It didn't really make sense."
They left the alley together, making their way through the labyrinth of back roads. No other human was around, but Archibald could feel eyes on him from the dark corners of the alleys. They were there, he knew it, and they were probably sizing up which of the boys would taste better…
It caught him off guard when a Boxtroll actually stepped cautiously out into the street, holding one of the wheels that had popped off the wagon and offering it out toward Herbert.
Herbert was already reaching for the wheel with a smile when Archibald threw himself between Herbert and the troll, arms spread out, forming as much of a wall as he could. "YOU WON'T BE EATING HIM ON MY WATCH!" he roared at the troll, who quailed and shuffled backward. "Herbert, RUN!"
"Er…Archibald…" Herbert said nervously. "Perhaps now's a good time to tell you that – "
"Do you WANT to be eaten? RUN!"
"Archibald, Shoe isn't going to attack us."
"Who in the WORLD is…"
Realization struck. He looked back over his shoulder at Herbert, then in front of them, at the tiny troll clad in a cardboard box displaying a picture of an effeminate shoe. "Trubshaw," Archibald said slowly, deliberately, "what is going on here?"
Herbert stepped around him, extending a hand to the Boxtroll. "I'm sorry about all that," he said softly. "I haven't told him about you yet. All he knows is the stories. Thank you for finding my wheel."
The Boxtroll said something in return, in a language Archibald couldn't make heads or tails of, and handed the wheel off to Herbert.
"Is Fish around?" Herbert asked, glancing into the side streets. When he spied what appeared to be an ordinary abandoned cardboard box, this one decorated with a fish-shaped emblem, he called out, "It's all right! Archibald is a friend! He won't hurt you! Come on out; I want him to meet you!"
The box seemed to sprout arms, legs, and a head. Archibald transitioned from surprise into flat-out bewilderment as a second Boxtroll left the security of the side street and came to stand next to Shoe.
When Herbert turned back to Archibald, his expression was almost apologetic. "I want you to meet my friends," he introduced. "Shoe and Fish." He turned back to the trolls; "Fish, Shoe, this is Archibald." And then back: "Shoe and Fish have helped me build a lot of things. And I've helped them build things, too."
"When you said you had help with the machine…" Archibald realized.
"It was them," Herbert confirmed. "They're not like what the stories say at all, Archibald."
"They're not cannibalistic thieves?"
"Good heavens, no! They'd never dream of eating one of us! And they only take what they're sure other people don't want! They don't have much for themselves, after all!"
"You always said Boxtrolls didn't scare you," Archibald recalled.
"When we first met," Herbert recalled, "I realized they were just as scared of me as I was of them."
"And when was THIS?"
"Since before I knew you."
Fish stepped forward and tugged on Herbert's sleeve, telling him something. Herbert nodded. "He says he's glad to meet you," Herbert translated.
Shoe asked a question, to which Herbert replied, "No, he's not much of a builder. He writes poems – "
"SONGS," Archibald insisted.
"Songs, sorry," Herbert amended. "And they're beautiful songs, too."
Herbert took a moment to look around at his three friends. "We're all just a bunch of misfits, is what we are," he realized. "But that's all right."
...
After the trolls had parted ways with the human boys, Archibald ended up accompanying Herbert back to his home, then walking back to the tailor's shop alone. He wasn't afraid of the night anymore. Herbert had proven it didn't hold anything to fear.
And when he lay back down to bed, it took him quite a while to get to sleep. It wasn't every day that you learned your best friend's other best friends were the creatures children were warned about by parents. It wasn't every day that you learned that such myths of bloodthirst were baseless. It was simply a lot to think about.
...
The town became blanketed in snow, and nearly all of its citizens began to walk with an extra spring in their step at the idea that Christmas was coming. It was, in fact, the first Christmas that Archibald was actually looking forward to. He'd never seen the appeal in the holiday, but now he had a friend to share it with. He and Herbert had planned to exchange gifts before heading down to the frozen river to skate.
With a small wrapped box in hand, Archibald stepped out of the shop door on his way to the designated rendez-vous place only to find Herbert approaching already, carrying a much larger box that was crudely wrapped, the paper torn in places. "I know we said we'd meet halfway," Herbert grunted, struggling to keep the box held up, "but your gift ended up being heavier than I expected, and I didn't want you to have to walk far."
"You didn't have to go overboard with it!" Archibald replied, now overcome with curiosity as to what exactly Herbert had for him.
"I hope you don't mind if I set it down a moment…" Herbert kicked a patch of street clear of snow before kneeling to place the box.
"Here." Archibald handed over the gift he carried. "Open yours first."
Herbert eagerly took the box into his own hands, ripping away the paper and ribbon to discover a pair of thick brown leather gloves. Experimentally, he pulled the right one on; it fit just perfectly. "Archibald!" His face lit up. "I don't know what to say!"
"We had a large order of leather gloves, and there was a pair left over," Archibald explained. "Thought you might want something to protect from burns while working on your doohickeys."
"I absolutely love them!" Herbert gushed, now wearing both gloves. "All right, it's your turn! I can't wait to see what you think!" He hoisted up the large box.
"We should probably take it indoors and open it on a table if it's so heavy," Archibald suggested.
"Good thinking!" Herbert agreed.
Inside the shop, the boys set the gift box down upon a spare table, and Archibald delicately peeled the paper off of it.
"I've been working on it for a while," Herbert blurted before the gift could be revealed.
"This…is something you made?" Archibald responded, somewhat taken aback.
Herbert nodded enthusiastically.
The box was opened, and it took Archibald a moment to register what he was actually looking at. He lifted it out of its container, setting it down on the table.
"It's a sewing machine!" Herbert explained. "A bit of a small one, but I thought you could use it for your work and for other things, too."
Archibald stared in awe at the machine, unsure of what to say.
"Archibald?" Herbert asked worriedly. "Is…it all right? Or don't you like it?"
"I…love it," Archibald answered honestly. To bequeath him something like this was a gesture of extreme magnitude that he hadn't expected, not even from his best friend. How many hours of hard work, how many trials and errors, had gone into its creation? And did this mean Archibald should tell Herbert the truth about the gloves?
In the end, he simply said, "I'll take it up to my room. Then we can make our way to the river." Lifting it up, he gave Herbert a direct look in the eye; "Thank you, Trubshaw."
"No need to thank me!" Herbert replied. "It's Christmas!"
As Archibald carried the precious device up the stairs to his chamber, Amelia appeared from the back storage room. "Herbert Trubshaw!" she greeted. "I had thought you and Archibald were going down to the river! Would you like a cup of tea?"
"No thank you," Herbert told Amelia. "We're heading to the river soon. How has business been?"
"Rather slow," Amelia admitted.
"What about the glove order? That must have taken some work."
"What glove order?" Amelia was baffled.
"Didn't you have to fill a great order of leather gloves?" Herbert asked.
Amelia shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I do know Archibald had been getting invested in leather work lately. He's spent the past two months trying to make a single pair of leather gloves. Don't tell him I told you this, but he had to start over several times, and there was a lot of cursing involved. Leather is a finicky material to work with, after all."
That was when Herbert realized what had really happened. He wasn't wearing a pair of leftover gloves after all. He had been happy with them all the same, but he looked at them anew, through the new knowledge that they were the result of two months' hard work.
"Trubshaw!" Archibald's voice interrupted his reverie. "We'd best get a move on!" Herbert faced his friend, who carried his ice skates over his shoulder.
"Yes!" Herbert agreed. "We'd best!"
...
The river was somewhat crowded with skaters already; it was a popular winter destination. Herbert, with skates laced on, took one step out onto the ice and lost his footing immediately, slipping and crashing onto the crystalline surface.
Archibald had no such issues, and skated around to hover over Herbert. "I would've thought you'd done this before."
"I've never SUCCESSFULLY done this before," Herbert said cheerily from where he lay. "But that doesn't mean I should stop trying, now, should it?"
With a sigh, Archibald extended a hand. "Here."
Herbert took it, and Archibald hoisted the smaller boy to his feet. As soon as Archibald let go of him, however, Herbert took three confident strides forward before hitting the ice again.
After Archibald set him upright the second time, he sighed, "Must I do everything for you? Don't let go this time."
"What are you – "
"Teaching you how to move on ice without falling down, Trubshaw."
It started with Herbert trying to skate while holding onto Archibald's hand to steady himself. Even that didn't turn out to be enough, and Archibald ended up holding onto both Herbert's forearms from behind in order to stop him from falling, instructing him how to place his feet and shift his weight in order to stay upright. It was much less of a frustrating process than Archibald had suspected it would be.
All the while, the other skaters stopped to gawk at the proximity of the two boys, and Archibald just knew certain rumors were resurfacing. "You realize they're talking about us," he whispered.
"Let them talk," Herbert responded.
At last, Herbert mastered the art of moving across ice, if a little less graceful than would have been optimal, and Archibald let go of him – which he realized made him slightly disappointed. "Look!" Herbert crowed. "I'm doing it!"
"That you are," Archibald confirmed, skating up next to him and making a pirouette on the ice. "Though I can still skate circles about you."
All in all, it wasn't a bad Christmas.