Chapter 1 - The Stowaway

The Stowaway

“Oh my gods, Lapis!” sighed Emerson Lighthouse with great exasperation. “It’s only been how many hours now… and already you are driving me crazy.” The two men, along with Junie Ginsburg and Captain Maynard Quinn, sat around the galley table aboard the magnificent sub-aquatic vessel The Leviathan’s Bane.

Lapis seemed to shrug off Emerson’s rhetorical complaint as if it were merely some piece of soot which had landed upon his shoulder from above. After an uncomfortably lengthy silence he asked, “To which ‘gods’ are you referring Mr. Lighthouse? I’m curious. Enlighten me please.”

“Oh come on Lapis, there will be time enough for that discussion later, if you know what I mean,” said Emerson. “But first things first; we seem to have a stowaway on board. It is the only explanation for why so much food is mysteriously disappearing.” Emerson looked at Junie and winked.

“I’m sure there are other explanations,” Lapis replied. “For example I’ve observed that you, Mr. Lighthouse, seem quite prone to raiding the ice box at various times... perhaps to satisfy a sudden craving. I’m willing to bet that explains a great deal of the missing food right there.” Lapis furrowed his brow before adding, “besides, how much food could be missing? We’ve been underway less than a day.”

“All right then,” conceded Emerson, “forget the food evidence. Just take a look at ART Hoo though.” He indicated the small clockwork owl merrily bleeping away across the room. “For crying out loud, Lapis! I left him alone in this room for less than ten minutes with nothing more than a simple screwdriver and when I came back he’d been all remodeled. How do explain that?”

“Oh, yeah...” Junie murmured to herself as she leaned in close to focus on the ART Hoo Unit. Then she asked, “what’s wrong with his mouth?”

“He’s got fish lips!” replied Emerson. “I mean who ever saw an owl with fish lips? It’s ridiculous.” Emerson paused for a moment before adding, “speaking of lips... that is a nice shade you are wearing, Miss Ginsburg... a great match to your hair I might add.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Lighthouse,” replied Junie as she held Emerson’s stare.

Captain Maynard made a sour expression. ““Would you two try to limit that a bit? Need I remind you that until we reach the shores of New Nublar, we are all confined to the rather tight quarters of this sub aquatic vessel?”

Emerson broke his gaze with Junie and glanced across the room. He then shook his head and shot Lapis the dirtiest look he could muster when he saw the brother nodding in exaggerated agreement to the captain’s admonishment.

“I think Emerson has a point,” said Junie, returning everybody to the topic at hand. “When I was in my cabin getting changed earlier, I kept thinking I could hear someone, or something, running through the passageways. At one point I swear I heard that someone or something listening at my chamber door... as if they had their head pressed right up against it.”

Lapis looked over at Emerson with an inquisitive expression to which Emerson shook his head and mouthed the words ‘not me.’

Captain Maynard glanced at Lapis and said, “I’m sorry, Brother, this time I’m going to have to side with those two.” He cocked his head towards Emerson and Junie. “I think we have ourselves a little stowaway to take care of.”

Lapis nodded. “The evidence would seem to indicate that possibility.”

“A thorough search of the vessel is in order.” said Captain Maynard.

***

Emerson, Junie, and Brother Lapis made their way down the dimly lit passageway. All was silent but for the sounds of the ship, the echo of their footsteps and the occasional conversational exchange.

“Hey, I was just struck with a thought,” Emerson said.

“Apparently not hard enough,” said Lapis.

After a few moments, Lapis spoke again. “Well? Are you going to enlighten us or keep us guessing?"

“If I tell you, you’ll think I’m paranoid,” said Emerson.

“If you don’t tell me I’ll know you are paranoid,” Lapis responded.

“Well, what if the stowaway is a serial killer? Or perhaps even some kind of alien-like monster? It could be stalking us right now through the bulkheads. It will start picking us off one by one as we get separated from one another and then taunt and terrorize the rest of us with gruesome scenes of bloody body parts and psychological mind games. In the end Junie and ART will be the only two left alive on the ship. The monster stalks Junie throughout the ship until finally, looking determined and all sweaty she uses herself as bait to lure the alien, into one of the sub’s airlocks; then through trickery and cunning, she manages to lock it in the air chamber before throwing the switch and watching with grim satisfaction as the creature is blown deep into the ocean. She then strips down to her undergarments and wanders around the ship looking all forlorn before crawling into her bunk with ART Hoo for the remainder of the voyage to New Nublar. Is that paranoid?”

There was a stunned pause.

Finally, Lapis spoke. “No, that’s not paranoid,” he assured Emerson. “That’s just old-fashioned crazy.”

Suddenly they were interrupted by a distinct yet muffled thump which came from behind a small door leading to one of the galley’s storerooms. The unexpected sound interrupted the discussion as all three investigators stopped... listening. For the first time there really was a sense of silence. Even the ship seemed to be holding its breath in nervous anticipation. From a distance of about ten feet, they watched as the handle of the small door slowly began to turn. The sudden click as the latch released made Emerson and Junie jump. Slowly, the door began to open.

“Bugger! You startled me!” said the wild-eyed and excited urchin as he stepped from the shadowy passageway.

“It’s that Gadget kid who’s been jumping around Wheatstone all week!” said Emerson. “What’s his last name again?” he asked, looking around the room.

“Looks like we got ourselves some scullery service,” said Captain Maynard, entering the room and regarding Gadget with a steely stare.

“As long as scullery involves tending bar,” said Emerson.

“Gadget,” said Junie with a touch of concern, “have you been in there all this time?”

“I was miss...” Gadget affirmed, sounding none the worse for wear, “what with all the absinthe and dancing last night I musta wandered in an’ fell asleep behind some crates on my way ‘ome... but bugger if I weren’t alone in there.”

Just then a second figure stepped from the passageway. At the very moment of recognition Emerson called out “Shoot him Lapis! Now! Don’t waste a second!”

“Are you daft?” shouted Captain Maynard. “Never shoot a gun on a sub-aquatic vessel!”

Lapis pulled his dagger and stepped forward. The dark figure was quick and clearly not bound by Captain Maynard’s rules of submersible combat. The figure stepped forward, taking aim at Lapis with a Navy Colt. Whether Lapis could have disarmed the intruder before being fired upon was anybody’s guess. Before he had a chance, quite suddenly, a single shot rang out!

Emerson’s jaw dropped as he stared at Junie, who held a smoking revolver in her outstretched hand.

“Oh my gods!” he shouted. “Junie Ginsburg, you killed Petharic!”

Lapis looked at the body. “That bastard.”

Photo by Junie Ginsburg. Link

Prologue 3 - Brother's Little Helper

Midnight Mania

“ART Hoo,” said Emerson with wild-eyed suspicion. “I sincerely hope you are not recording certain key words and phrases,” he paused, swallowing several times, “in my own voice,” this point he emphasized with a smack in the chest,“in order to cut and splice them into some devious form of mechanical mischief at some point later in this adventure.”

The wind-up owl just hooted and tweeted in mechanical bleeps that were really quite endearing.

“Great Gods!” Emerson shook his head. “ART Hoo! ART Hoo...” he held up his hand pausing to struggle with some pseudo-philosophical conundrum. “I must say... I am grappling with the concept that you may have some sort of...sentience in there and if you do, what does that say about...” Emerson gave a flourish with his hand, “...life?”

Tweetle-hoot was all Emerson got by way of reply.

“Dammit ART Hoo, why can’t I sleep? What exactly did those church brothers put in that so-called coffee, because don’t try and tell me this is caffeine alone! My mind is racing like a steam engine out of Bump… so much happening all at once. Look! It’s got my foot tapping in nervous energy.” Emerson’s eyes narrowed in on the flashing light on ART Hoo’s breast. “Hey!” he grabbed the bird and held it tight. “Why is that red light blinking?” he gave ART Hoo a little shake. “You did say you weren’t recording this right? Wait!” Emerson paused as if considering something. “Do I sound paranoid android?”

The owl responded with something that sounded like: ‘nah-ah’ carrying the distinct intonation of a wink.

“Listen, since we’re both still up, I might as well tell you what happened today. First, I hired Arnold back as the Major-domo.” Emerson paused to scratch his arms frenetically. “I have to pay him this time so I’m expecting a larger role from my cat friend.”

Emerson started to pace and run his fingers through his hair. “It happened early this evening, I was getting ready to attend a very important date for coffee with Brother Riddler and other church officials and I had just sparked the hookah, when Arnold walked through the front door of the clock. He was all excited to tell me about the new asylum for the insane he so thoughtfully commissioned and had built right here in the neighbourhood.”

By the way Arnold, I’m sure Breezy, Bookworm, Jonathan, and all the Wheatstone residents share with me in the hope you somehow manage keep all that crazy on the inside.

“Anyway,” Emerson shrugged, “I rehired him with some vague (but sincere) plan to pay him this time. For his first duty as the newly reinstated major-domo, I had him accompany me to my meeting with the mysterious members of the clergy from the Church of the Builder.

“It would be a mistake to underestimate the importance of this meeting, ART Hoo, and how crucial it is to the potential success of the mission to save Malus. I need someone with me who, if need be, can match the skills of my young squire in both cunning and fighting talent. Someone from the church, trained in the same style could prove invaluable at the most opportune time.

“You might wonder why I should think I would need such skill behind me? I’ll answer that with a question of my own: ‘Who in their right mind wouldn’t?’” Emerson’s leg continued its staccato tap against the floor as he stared at the little ART Unit. “Right, here is what happened at the meeting.”

Lapis’s Sweetener

“Okay, Major-domo.” said Sir Emerson as he and Mr. Arnold stopped before the doors of the Mnemotechnics Institute on Perdido Street in Babbage Square, “I think we are here. How do I smell?” he asked.

“Like you've chain smoked narcotics for years and never bathed.” Arnold responded.

“Good,” said Emerson as he knocked on the door, “we’re on the same page.”

They looked up as the knock was answered by the young Brother Riddler. While Arnold maintained a discreet air of indifference Emerson flashed a smile in return to the brother’s welcome. It was a larger gathering than Emerson had initially expected with Father Pizzarro, Brother Lapis, Brother Scorpio, and Sister Loxley all present. Nevertheless he was grateful for the audience with such an esteemed organization.

Once the introductions had been made and the expected socially mandated pleasantries were exchanged, including the pouring of the coffee, Emerson began to relate his distressing news to the accompaniment of the rather thoughtful and melancholy tune being plucked on the guitar by Brother Lapis.

“Brother Riddler, I know you and my squire, Brother Malus were close. He told me often of how you would comfort each other after the rather gruelling training at the hands of Br…. er... at some of your tutors. He wanted me to tell you how he had met a princess, helped her regain her crown, was knighted and such.” Emerson allowed this opening a moment to sink in, taking a sip of coffee under the inquisitive and perhaps critical eye of all those present. ‘A little bitter,’ he thought, glancing at his cup, dismissing the odd aftertaste as the Brother’s use of unfiltered water. His face must have betrayed him for Brother Lapis very thoughfully paused in his guitar playing long enough to slide the smaller of the two sugar bowls across the table. Emerson reached for the tiny sliver spoon resting against the lip of the small sugar bowl to sweeten things up. Had he glanced up for a moment, he might have noticed Sister Loxley’s eyes going slightly wide as he stirred in his fourth little spoonful.

“Was he brave?” Brother Riddler finally broke the silence.

Sir Squire Brother Malus was very brave.” Emerson assured him. “He was also very chivalrous. One might overlook the fact that he may have broken three hearts… a farmer’s daughter, an airship captain’s daughter and a queen… in the course of our travels as being merely examples of the exuberance of youth. Of his conduct, the church may be proud, he only turned down one marriage proposal. A rather sticky situation that occurred over a leg of lamb. Fortunately I was able to extricate us from the situation, but I digress.”

Emerson took another sip of coffee before adding another little spoonful of sugar. “A few days ago I received word via an ART unit that there may be something unpleasant happening. About a month ago Malus led a party of soldiers to a large jungle island by the name of New Nublar. This island is truly a lost world... a land that time forgot... a land of the lost. It is, in effect, the very heart of darkness. The horror... the horror of that place is unforgiving.

“Have you been to this island?” asked Brother Riddler.

“I have not.” replied Emerson.

“Then how do you know all these things?” Riddler asked.

“I am well read.” replied Emerson, impressed at Mr. Arnold’s restraint with the potential snide comments. Brother Riddler nodded, accepting Emerson’s explanation.

“I’m afraid the news turns quite dire at this point.” Emerson noticed that Brother Lapis’s song had taken on a rather sombre note. “Somehow in the course of the mission, contact was lost with Malus and his men. There has been no word since. The queen is understandably distraught and has turned to the only person she can for assistance. That, of course would be me, one of the heroes of the revolution.”

Brother Lapis missed a note.

“I have been to see Commodore Dagger to officially request the assistance of the militia, however I was declined. Something to do with jurisdictions and other such trifling legalities.”

This is hardly a matter for the Government,” said Father Pizzaro, “to rescue a single citizen half a world away...” the father paused before adding, “who left on his own volition?”

Emerson missed the rising intonation in the father’s tag, which may have been interpreted as either a question or a subtle accusation.

“As the burden of this rescue appears to have fallen to me, I come to you tonight Father Pizzaro, to most humbly request the assistance of the church in bringing Malus home. Even if you could spare but a single brother. I have already commissioned a ship and a captain. I just need some man-power to help me - preferably someone who knows how to wield a sword.”

“We are not accustomed to doing charity work.” said Father Pizarro.

“Of course not, nor would one expect such of the church.” Despite his outward composure, Emerson started to stress a little at this point in the conversation. What if the church was not willing to provide assistance?This adventure could end before it even started and it all came down to the next three minutes.

Brother Scorpio cleared his throat, "Malus left our order. We are under no obligation to retrieve him. He decided to abandon us. We are not responsible for him. Whatever his predicament may be."

“I have no doubt that Brother Malus is staring death in the eye.” Sister Loxley bit her lip at Emerson’s rather bold statement. “Such an experience changes a man,” Emerson continued, “reorients him to what is important in life. This is a mission to save a young man so full of promise and perhaps return him to the fold.”

Brother Riddler looked to Father Pizzaro. Having presented his case, Emerson sat back in silence, holding tight to his now empty coffee cup, letting the church confer amongst themselves.

(There are some wonderful responses to this post. They can be found  here)

Prologue 2 - The Queen's Message

The Queen’s Message

“I come bearing holiday greetings,” said Junie, smiling as she held out an envelope addressed to the Daggers after Jed had opened the door.

“Thanks,” said Jed taking the envelope. Jed raised her eyebrows as she looked at the card inside. “Mumsy looks so...delightful.”

“She has her days,” said Junie.

Jed shifted her gaze from Junie to the man who stood behind her with a dented mechanical owl cradled in the crook of his arm. “Nice bird you’ve got there Emerson,” she commented.

“Thank you but I think it is a bit defective.”

“That’s a shame.” She looked back at Junie with a smirk.

“I thought maybe Kimika could have a look at it… see if maybe she can get it functioning properly again.”

“I'm sure she’d like to but to what end?” Jed asked. “What’s that bird to you?”

“It is a message of distress from my most sovereign majesty Queen Princess. I believe my young squire, Sir Brother Malus, is in peril, for were he not, the Queen would be appealing directly to his more immediate availability.” Emerson shrugged.

Jed just stared at him for a moment with a look that was quite unfathomable. After a brief pause she looked at Junie with an expression that made one think that it wasn’t a question of if Emerson had been drinking the paint thinner, but how much. She finally said, “I have no idea what you are talking about but it sounds somewhat intriguing, so let’s go and ask Kimika. Follow me.”

***

The dark haired woman stared intently into the now-open access panel on the back of the ART unit, poking at the mechanical guts of the device with a fine tipped screwdriver.

“I think it is just a wire shorting out,” Kimika said. “Perhaps due to the change in temperatures it has gone through… not to mention crashing through your window.”

“Do you think you can you fix it?” asked Emerson as Kimika closed the panels and pushed the little button on its chest.

“Of course,” she replied, putting down her screwdriver before giving ART a mighty smack on the top of its head. Suddenly the static broke and the unmistakable voice of Queen Princess delivered the following message:

Emerson Lighthouse, weeks ago you served me in the Sagrada Lucia Rebellion. Now I implore you to help me once more. Shortly after you departed for New Babbage, putting your personal glory and self-interests above that of the realm, Sir Malus and a band of my most trusted warriors left on a mission of mercy to save the survivors of the terrible Henri Gifford airship disaster. Reports suggested that they had been marooned on a remote jungle island known as New Nublar. Since leaving the landing craft upon the shores the morning of their arrival and setting off into the jungles, we have had no word, no message, and no idea what has become of our greatest soldiers. The realm is on the verge of teetering back into anarchy and I fear what will become of us if our peacekeepers are not found safe and returned to service. We may yet lose this rebellion which we have won. I have placed information vital to any potential rescue mission into the memory systems of this ART Unit. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Emerson Lighthouse, you're my only hope.

PS. Maid Marion says to say ‘hi.’

***

“Well, I was right,” said Jed, “that was interesting.” She looked at Junie.

Junie grinned from ear to ear as she looked at Emerson. "You met a maid named ‘Marion?” She burst into laughter. “That’s so awesome!”

“Isn’t it? You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction.” Emerson smiled.

Jed cleared her throat and redirected their attention to the task at hand. “This is all very nice, but what are you going to do about Malus?”

“Right,” said Emerson. “I thought you would take the militia and go save him.”

Jed shook her head. “This isn’t a matter for the militia. Besides being way outside our jurisdiction, I don’t think we can get away with mounting a full-blown military expedition to save one wayward ex-churchman. No, this has to be a private mission. Since this monarch is appealing to you personally, I think you need to be the one to take care of it.”

***

“So what are you going to do now?” asked Junie as they left the Dagger residence.

“I’m not sure,” said Emerson, “but I did get an invitation to go have tea from one of the church brothers. A close friend of Malus’s named Brother Riddler. I think I need to let them know that Malus is missing and in all likelihood in grave danger. Maybe I could talk the church intoproviding some sort of assistance in helping us find him.”

Prologue 1 - An Owl Named ART

The light dusting of snow that had fallen during the night frosted the walkways and rooftops throughout the Wheatstone Waterways with a fresh unblemished sparkle. The snow was so powdery and light, in fact, that Emerson Lighthouse was using nothing more than a broom to sweep clear the steps of his house next to the clock. He was just wondering if he shouldn’t perhaps cover the Tesla cannon on the roof to protect it from the elements for the remainder of the season when a call of greeting pulled him from his early morning reverie.

“Good morning Mr. Lighthouse!” Junie Ginsburg called cheerfully from the bridge as she crossed over the Peral Canal and made her way to the base of the steps.

“Good morning Miss Ginsburg,” Emerson smiled. “What brings you all the way down to the Waterways this morning?”

“An errand of delivery.” Junie smiled as she fished into the handbag she casually wore over one shoulder. “A holiday greeting card,” she said, shuffling through a handful of envelopes until she found the one addressed to Emerson. She came up the steps to hand Emerson his card, then caught her breath as she noticed the view down the street towards Piermont Landing.

“It all looks so clean and fresh,” she said, inhaling deeply.

“Indeed it does Miss Ginsburg,” replied Emerson following her gaze along the canal for a moment before regarding his visitor. Emerson watched her for a moment, enjoying the view before saying quite casually, "How fortunate you dropped by Miss Ginsburg.”

"Oh?” she shifted her gaze. “How so Mr. Lighthouse?"

"There is something I've been meaning to give you for quite some time now," said Emerson. Junie raised her eyebrows.

"Something I found during my travels,” he continued, “a couple of months back."

“You found something...for me?” she asked, visibly surprised. “How thoughtful of you Mr. Lighthouse.”

“I seem to recall you mentioning something about enjoying pickled air kraken,” he said, “during the air kraken festival this past summer.”

“You have a good memory Mr. Lighthouse,” Junie said, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“I happened to find a jar of pickled air kraken tentacle tips and I have it on strong authority that this particular jar is of the finest quality,” Emerson boasted.

“I hope you didn’t trouble yourself on my account,” said Junie.

“What better account is there Miss Ginsburg?” Emerson winked.

“Mr. Lighthouse,” Junie replied playfully, “one might think you were trying to flirt with me.”

Emerson placed his hand on his chest in mock surprise. “I am guilty of many things Miss Ginsburg... but I would never dare to offend you.”

“How odd,” said Junie. “I don’t recall saying anything about being offended, Mr. Lighthouse.”

“Come Miss Ginsburg,” said Emerson opening and holding the door. “The air kraken is just in the kitchen and I can’t have you standing in the cold while I fetch it. That would be so unmannerly of me.”

“Quite so,” said Junie as she passed into Emerson’s house and looked around the main room. A fire crackled in the fireplace offering a comforting warmth. “What a lovely home, Mr. Lighthouse.” Junie commented. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost a year now,” he replied before pausing. “You know, I was just about to put a kettle on the stove,” he said casually. “May I offer you a cup of tea Miss Ginsburg?”

“Mr. Lighthouse, that sounds positively delightful.” Junie replied.

Emerson excused himself to the kitchen to light the stove. Junie heard the sound of the kettle being filled with water.

“You know,” she called out to him tentatively, “it’s a shame we didn’t have time to become better acquainted before you left New Babbage with Brother Malus.”

A pot clattered to the floor.

“Is everything alright out there, Mr. Lighthouse?” Junie asked, craning her neck to peek into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t be better,” said Emerson as he returned to the front room. “It might be awhile before the water is ready, however.”

“You know what they say about ‘watched pots,’ of course.” Junie winked.

“Indeed.” Emerson smiled. “In the meantime, perhaps you would care to join me up on the roof and watch me dust my cannon.”

A reckless grin spread across Junie’s face. “I would even be happy to lend a hand in that task Mr. Lighthouse,” she said. “I’m not the type to simply watch while others do all the labour.”

He was about to respond in kind when they were interrupted by a tremendous crash and the sound of shattering glass coming from the back of the house. A look of concern passed between them as they both ran into the kitchen. Right away they noticed the window nearest the back door had been broken; shattered glass covered the floor.

“Do you have any enemies Mr. Lighthouse?” Junie asked.

“Of course,” Emerson replied, “but they’re usually of a more visceral sort, preferring to strike at me, not my house.”

Suddenly they were both quite startled by a call of “hoo-hoo” from behind them.

Quickly spinning they saw what appeared to be a rather odd-looking owl perched atop the icebox. As they cautiously approached they noticed that it was a clockwork owl. Across its chest were the words ‘Aerial Recorded Transport’ and then in smaller letters below the designation: ‘Device #2.’

“ART,” said Emerson.

“Hoo,” said the clockwork owl in response.

“Be careful Mr. Lighthouse,” Junie warned as Emerson reached out to touch the little mechanical bird. There was a button on its chest just above the lettering. Emerson pushed the button. With a mechanical click, the sound of static suddenly emitted from the owl’s beak. Emerson looked over at Junie, who merely shrugged. Then the static took on an almost staccato cadence, as if it were masking words. Finally, as he was about to push the button again to shut off the static the bird started to move its beak as if trying to speak and the words “Help me Emerson Lighthouse... you’re my only hope” could be discerned above the white noise of the static.

“Did you hear that?” Emerson looked at Junie.

Junie raised her eyebrows. “I most certainly did.”

“I think I recognized that voice,” said Emerson, a look of concern spreading across his face. “It was Queen Princess from the newly united Southern Island Kingdoms.”

“Isn’t that where your ‘squire’ Malus is?” asked Junie.

“That is correct,” confirmed Emerson.

The message (or what there was of it) having played out began to repeat for the second time. “Help me Emerson Lighthouse... you’re my only hope.”

Autumn Epiphany

Petharic leaned out over the handrail of the Stora Canal Bridge staring down at the murky water below. He watched as his blurry image danced a choreography of variegated distortion across the lazy ripples. It was a quiet, crisply cool autumn afternoon during which he contemplated a life without purpose. What might it be like, he thought, to wander this world lost... without any clear sense of direction?

Mr. Petharic liked things to be concrete and predictable so this reflection came as a particularly troubling meditation. Existential angst did not become him.

It was in the midst of this rather dark reverie that the flash of something metallic near the end of the bridge caught his peripheral notice. The object, channeling what it could of the attenuated New Babbage sunlight, interrupted his thoughts not only as a curious distraction, but a welcome one as well. It looks a bit like a key of some sort lying by the end of the bridge.

Upon closer examination, having picked up the small steel item from the cobblestone nearest the bridge, he determined it was indeed a key of sorts… a wind-up key designed to work ratchet-like to tighten the spring of various clockwork devices. From what device had it come and what mechanical effect would its turning cause?

Petharic looked around wondering what to do. He contemplated taking the small metal key with the intention of keeping an eye open for whoever may have dropped it. But wasn’t that a rather foolish plan? The owner could be anyone? Petharic was not the type to just walk up to random strangers and ask them if they were missing a wind-up key. Wouldn’t it be better to simply leave the key where it had fallen? The owner, should they ever search, would likely retrace their steps and in that case taking it with him would have the opposite end result to what he wanted.

Wait…what he wanted! Something curious suddenly dawned upon his wonder. What Petharic wanted was to make someone happy. How remarkable! That sudden realization made him smile and want to laugh out loud because that desire… to make someone happy… was something he only knew from another life.

He twisted the little key back and forth between his thumb and index finger watching it as if it were enchanted with the hypnotist’s charm.

Distracted by the moment, he was uncharacteristically caught off guard by the approach of a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four.  In her hands she held a small music box adorned with butterflies. She held it up to Petharic who took it and inserted the key. He turned it several times before handing it back, with the key still inserted. By now the child’s slightly panicked and out of breath mother had finally caught-up. She looked relieved when she saw her child merrily dancing to the chimed rendition of a popular folk melody.

“What do you say to the nice man?” prompted the mother.

The little girl looked up at him with big hazel eyes and said, “Thank you mister” in the sweetest little voice he’d ever heard.

“Bye-bye.” she said with a wave.

Petharic continued to watch as the little girl skipped down the street, pausing to share in a moment of laughter with her mother. Within that laughter he found a new sense of clarity and a great deal of relief... he never needed to kill again. He may not have discovered a purpose, but he discovered a direction. He needed a new job.