Chapter 6

The newspaper building wasn’t open yet, so Abbott made his way into the small alley next to the building and sat down. He needed some alone time to process everything that had happened. His ribs still sent sparks of pain through his chest if he moved his arms; he didn’t have any money, or he would have gone to the market that O’Leary sometimes picked up supplies from. He hadn’t had anything to eat for three days, and hunger was gnawing on the inside of his ribcage, intensifying the pain he felt there.

His attention was caught by a frazzled-looking man rushing up to the front of the building. Noticing Abbott camped in the alley, he fumbled with the key, trying to get through the door as fast as possible. Abbott stood quickly, moving towards the man inquisitively. “Do you work here?”

The man sighed. “Yeah, I’m opening up for the morning. What d’ya need? I don’t have any money on me.”

Abbott frowned, tired of people assuming he was some sort of dangerous bum. “I’m just- just looking for one of your employees. A guy by the name of Finnian G-Granger?” he questioned, not quite sure whether the last name was correct. “I- I think he lives here in town. Do you happen to know where it is?”

The man turned to look at him as though he were stupid. “I don’t keep tabs on my employees at all hours of the day. I don’t even recognize that name. Are you sure ya have the right person?”

Abbott felt his stomach sink. If he couldn’t find Finnian, what was he going to do? He had no money, no food, and no belongings. All he had was the knife he didn’t know how to use. A knife that would soon be buried hilt-deep in his own chest if he didn’t get some help.

“Are you sure that he doesn’t work here?” he practically whined in desperation. “Is there any way you can check? Please?” he added as the man gave him a dubious look.

The man exhaled, thinking. “Fine,” he muttered. “Come on in, now, don’t just stand there.”

Overjoyed, Abbott followed the man awkwardly into the building, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. The man pulled a pack of matches out of his pocket and began lighting the lanterns that lined the walls one by one, giving Abbott a better view of the building. Heavy-looking mahogany desks were set in rows as far back as Abbott could see, presumably for the people who worked there. Absentmindedly, he walked up and down the rows, looking for anything that might hint that Finnian did indeed work there. Finding nothing, he turned to the man, who had finished lighting the lanterns and was now watching him with a curious eye.

“Find anything?” the man asked, amused.

Abbott shook his head. “Do- do you have a book or something? That you would keep track of names?” In the Empyrium, Alastair had kept a large book at the front desk with information of everyone who bought something at the shoppe. Perhaps the newspaper building had a similar log.

Abbott could see the wheels in the man’s head turned as he considered this question. “Tell ya what,” he said. “In that cabinet over there,” he gestured at a large set of drawers pushed against the wall in the very back of the building, “there’s a stack of papers about a hand’s width thick. If you look through those, you might be able to find yer friend.” He looked Abbott in the eyes. “He is yer friend, right? Yer not gonna go and kill him in his sleep or somethin’?”

Abbott laughed nervously before realizing that the man was completely serious. He cleared his throat in a minute of awkward confusion before stammering some sort of assurance that he was not, in fact, a murderer. Hoping to relieve the tension, he turned quickly and marched back to the aforementioned cabinet. He could feel the heat of the man’s gaze upon his back. He didn’t like it. It made him feel like a target, as if the other man was the killer.

He opened three or four drawers before finally finding a stack of papers that fit the man’s description. Stretching his fingers, he grabbed around the stack and staggered back to a desk near where the man was standing, dropping them onto the tabletop with a satisfying thunk. He looked up to see the man was nodding in approval.

“Get to it, then. You gotta be outta here before people start to come.”

Abbott nodded and began to sift through the papers. He was having trouble making sense of some of the words, but he could tell that it was a mix of information. Some pages were covered in layout designs for the newspaper, and others appeared to be scratch paper. He paused when he reached a section of papers that had names listed down the left-hand side in a table of sorts. Following one of the names with his finger to the right, he reached what appeared to be a set of numbers and words he didn’t recognize.

He beckoned the man over with a swift wave. He approached, although somewhat warily. “What d’ya need?”

Abbott pointed at the sheets. “What are these?”

The man squinted down at them with a scrutinizing gaze. After a minute of reading, he straightened up, chuckling. “Well, lad,” he said, “It appears to be a list of employees and their addresses. You’ve found what you’re looking for.”

Abbott squirmed where he was sitting. “I- I can’t really read it. Is there a Finnian on the list?” he questioned sheepishly. He felt awkward about his literacy- or lack thereof.

The man grabbed the sheet from the desk. “Let’s see,” he murmured. “Finnian… Finnian… Granger, ya said?”

Abbott nearly jumped out of his seat. His heart in his throat, he struggled to contain his nerves. “Y-yes, Granger.”

The man slammed down the paper with a triumphant ah-ha! “There it is,” he crowed, jabbing his stubby finger at a spot towards the middle of the paper. “Granger, Finnian.”

Abbott craned his neck to see what the man was speaking of. Underneath his finger, there was a name that looked like it could have belonged to Finnian. He hoped the other man wasn’t messing with him. “What’s the address?”

“102 Mapleberry Lane,” the man responded after a second of looking at the paper.

Abbott felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up the back of his neck to his ears and cheeks. Ashamed, he admitted, “I don’t know what that means.”

“Hell, kid, did ya grow up under a rock or somethin’?” the man joked playfully. After recognizing the growing shame on Abbott’s face, he quickly covered, “Just a joke, son. The name, Mapleberry Lane, is the street where ya friend lives. And the number is the number that yer gonna see on the house. Just look for that number, okay? You’ll get there. Mapleberry Lane is around seven streets down, to the east.” At Abbott’s confused look, he clarified with a quick point of his finger, “that way. Ya should pass a church and a bookstore on the way there, and then you’ll be in the right place. Okay?”

Abbott nodded quickly, thankful that the man wasn’t laughing at him anymore. He gave the man a grateful glance and whispered, “Thanks.”

The man looked into Abbott’s eyes and said, “Anytime, kid. Now, you’re gonna answer a question for me in return. What are ya doing with Finnian? Why do ya need to know this? It seems urgent, and paired with the fact that you look like you crawled out of the sewer, I’m gonna wager that ya got something going on right now.”

Abbott nodded, and muttered a hasty reply. “I… just need some help. I know he will help me. He has to,” he added, more to reassure himself then provide a backstory.

The man sighed. “You got a name, kid?”

Abbott hesitated, then replied, “Abbott.”

“What about a last name?” the man pushed.

“Don’t really know,” Abbott admitted.

The man nodded. “I’m Wilson. If you need anything, stop by the store. I’m serious.”

Abbot was shocked. He wasn’t used to being shown kindness, especially from a complete stranger. He murmured his thanks and made a beeline for the exit, unsure just how to deal with a situation like that. He felt a little bad for leaving so abruptly, but he told himself it was better than turning into a blubbering fool in front of a man he had just met. He was going to find Finnian.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky and more people began to emerge from their nests, Abbott wandered through the streets, taking everything in. No detail escaped him. He was amazed by the way the clouds drifted through the sky, as if of their own free will, and he was startled when a carriage shot past him, carrying people inside of it and pulled by two beasts that snorted when Abbott looked them in the eye. The world was certainly large and complicated, but was it truly as bad as Alastair had made it out to be?

Abbott looked up and realized that he was standing in front of the church that Wilson had mentioned, meaning he was on the right path. He gazed at the church with its massive pillars and stone cross. He had not been raised religiously, as magic and religion tended to clash and create conflict. Those individuals who worshipped higher deities often disliked the fact that other humans could harness the power of magic, thinking that it was something sacred that should be left to the gods only. However, while Abbott didn’t often agree with the religious opinions that he occasionally was forced to deal with when angry protesters stood outside the shoppe, he certainly respected all that practiced religion, and he was in awe of the building that stood in front of him. With a nod to all that were entering and exiting, he looked down the road in search of the bookstore that Wilson had spoken of. He took one last look at the church and continued down the street, following his gut.

A child ran past him, twirling some sort of colorful stick. Abbott couldn’t help but stare; he had never had a childhood, and so he was often confused when children came in the store, little bundles of energy, full of life and love and joy, and not full of resentment and pain as he had been at that age. Abbott had long ago vowed that if he ever escaped the horrors of the Empyrium, that he would do everything in his power to make sure that no one else had to experience what he went through. Gazing down at the child, he felt sick to his stomach. How demented did you have to be to look at a child, especially an infant like he had been, and decide that you were going to be cruel to them? To lock them in a room, to barely feed them, to beat them with a stick until they cried and screamed for it to stop, not understanding what they had done to upset you?

Abbott remembered the first time Alastair had shown his true colors. He had been around the age of six when his master began drinking heavily, and one night after the man had indulged himself far too heavily, Abbott had been running around the halls, being a typical child. He had rounded the corner to the store too fast, though, and not looking where he was going, ran straight into O’Leary. The older man had grabbed him by his collar and lifted him up almost to eye level as Abbott squirmed, the shirt digging into his neck, cutting off his air. He gasped and groaned as Alastair stared into the boy’s eyes with his own bloodshot, unfocused ones. The alcohol on his breath was strong, and Abbott coughed as the man shook him roughly, then tossed him onto the ground.

“Damned idiot child,” he snarled. “Thinks he can run around without looking where he’s going. Thinks he can run into me and get away with it. Well, think again!”

He kicked the child in the side with a steel toed boot, sending the frail frame sliding across the slick floor. By this point, Abbott was crying, taking heaving breaths in an attempt to make up for the air he had lost. It hurt, and he didn’t understand why Alastair was doing this to him. He was normally so calm…

Abbott could barely recall the days when Alastair had been a good master. He knew that he wasn’t always treated like a piece of shit, but he couldn’t imagine the man ever being nice to him. What had changed?

He realized that while deep in the fog of his memories, his legs had carried him past the bookstore and onto another road. He gazed up at the sign that stood sentry on the street corner, his mind struggling to turn the odd symbols into words that made sense. Mapleberry Lane, he thought. Could those letters be spelling out that name? He thought he recognized the letter m, but in the bright glare of the sun, reading was even harder. He took a chance and continued down the road.

Numbers were a little easier for him after working in the store, labeling prices and such. He remembered Wilson telling him that Finnian lived in house number 102. He wandered up and down the street, desperately looking for any house with that number, but they all looked the same. Narrow cottages, practically stacked on top of each other, all with a small front porch and layered shingles. They seemed warm and inviting, but provided no clues as to which house Finnian’s could be.

He was unsure of where to look to find the numbers. His eyes took in a house on the left side of the street, noticing a small ‘109’ tucked into the corner next to the door. His heart racing, he ran down the street as the numbers descended. 107, 105, 103, 101.

He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure that 102 was in between 101 and 103. So where was Finnian’s house?

Turning to look at the other side of the street, Abbott noticed that the first house at the end had ‘102’ tucked in the same spot. This was it! This was Finnian’s house.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. Abbott felt as though his legs could not go any slower as he stumbled up the front steps, weak with hunger and dehydration. He reached the door and, seeing as there was no knocker, curled his fingers into a fist. Inspired by the beautiful church he had passed on his way there, he sent a quick prayer to whatever god was listening. Then he raised his hand and rapped on the door.

Once, twice, three times. Then he stepped back and waited.

All Abbott could hear was the pounding of his own heart in his ears. It was going fast, so fast.This, followed by the squeaking of the front door, was enough to make sparks of anticipation, or perhaps dehydration, pop in his vision. The door opened at a snail’s pace, followed by a face appearing in the doorway.

Peering around the doorframe, face creased with sleep and hair mussed as if he had just rolled out of bed, was Finnian.

“Finally,” Abbott slurred as the sparks took over his vision and he blacked out.