The Sky Drifter (14 page)

As the last letter was written, whatever trance I’d been under was broken, and I realized that the word I looked at said CLOSED. As quickly as they’d appeared, they vanished, and as I looked ahead, so too had the shopkeeper. I picked myself up. Feeling slightly dazed, I mumbled, “He could just have said so,” while I dusted myself off and then continued walking up the street.

The next few shops also proved to be closed, which didn’t make sense to me. Though, to be honest, I’d never really spent time around that section of town, and wondered whether they opened at different times than the busier parts. Just as I’d resigned myself to head over to Shabli’s, I heard a
swoosh
somewhere behind me. As I turned, I saw that one of the shops’ doors was now open. The drawing on the display window showed all manner of strange and varied things. It was a bric-a-brac shop. My experience with the last shopkeeper still branded in the foreground of my mind, I tentatively walked to the door and then slowly went inside.

The first thing that hit me was the pungent smell. I guess the closest thing I could compare it to was the ancient, earthy smell of Brattea. As though thousands of dead leaves and soggy bark had rotted and mulched together and permeated into every particle in the air. You could almost feel its thick, humid presence on yourself. Mixed within it, though, was an unusual sweet fragrance that tickled the nose. So sharply sweet I could taste it. Once my eyes adjusted to the darker light inside, I gradually saw a huge array of objects, only a few of which I could recognize.

Stacks of circuit boards stood almost as high as the ceiling. On tops of tables, which could only barely be glimpsed, all manner of items were haphazardly placed—dusty screens, lamps of all shapes and sizes, creepy dolls from various species. As I said, those were but a few of the things I could recognize. On every wall various mirrors, plaques, and paintings hung, some askew and some completely upside down, as though the shopkeeper didn’t know or care how they were intended to be seen.

I took a few steps in, craning my neck forward as I looked right and left. It was difficult to see past all the clutter, and I could see no sign of a shopkeeper or anyone who might have opened the door.

“Good day, young one,” came a croaky voice as ancient as most items in the shop. As unlikely as it may sound, I couldn’t have told you exactly where the voice had come from, as it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

Immediately after the voice had spoken, another higher-pitched, croakier one repeated the same words. That one seemed to emanate toward the back of the shop somewhere out of sight.

“H-Hello?” I replied, timidly.

“Come in, come in,” stated the original voice, which conjured an image in my mind of a softly cackling, kind, gentle elderly being. Taking a further couple of steps in, I still couldn’t tell where the voice came from as the second one, once again, repeated those very words in its screeching, almost sarcastic manner.

“Quiet you,” said the first voice in a more aggressive tone. “You’ll scare our guest.”

“Nya, nya, nya,” retorted the second voice, mockingly.

After a loud sigh, the first voice said, “You’re impossible. No wonder the shop is so quiet, the way you carry on. Oh,
what
he must think of us.” To this, the second voice merely cackled animatedly.

I wandered farther into the bric-a-brac shop, my gaze darting all around, assimilating my eclectic surroundings, as I searched for the origin of the first voice. As I walked, the occasional glint caught my eye, and when I turned to face where they came from, I saw tiny crystals scattered around on various surfaces with some stuck on walls and shelves. Each sparkled white, red, and deep green as I staggered through the room.

“He’s still he-ere,” sung the second voice in a shrill pitch.

“And no thanks to you, either,” replied the first voice curtly as the second shrieked with laughter.

Walking through a couple of towers of circuit boards, I repeated, “Hello?”

I found myself near enough the back of the shop to try to see to whom the second voice belonged. I looked as far as my cluttered surroundings allowed, through piles and stacks. I was able to make out a series of vertical, coppery bars that arched until they gathered at the top. Behind these something rocked from side to side. I couldn’t tell what it was from where I stood, as I still didn’t have a clear view, so I craned my neck forward and to the side to better see it.

“Hello, young one,” came the soft voice I recognized as the first that had greeted me.

Despite its softness, I couldn’t help jumping in fear where I stood, so sudden had the greeting been. I turned abruptly to see a being I hadn’t seen before. From the looks of it, he was male and half my size. His two orange eyes were right next to each other, right above a long, pointy nose in the middle of his face. The corners of his mouth extended up on both sides so to be level with his eyes, and long, straight orange hair, the same shade, cascaded down from inside each corner, dangling loosely past his fairly slim shoulders. Above his eyes and wide forehead, no hair was to be found, and his skin was as gray as titanium. He wore a long, tatty, dark-red robe that rested past his feet onto the floor.

The shopkeeper’s hands and spindly fingers rested one on top of the other, the bottom one holding the top of a gnarled black cane almost as tall as he was. Despite his appearance, his smiling eyes and demeanor radiated friendliness.

“So,” began the shopkeeper, “how may we help you today?” His smile widened so it filled his entire face.

“I—”

“
Have you asked him what he wants, yet
?” screeched the second voice behind me.

The shopkeeper sighed exasperatedly, closing his little eyes for a moment. Opening them again to look at me once more, he said, “Pay him no mind. He must like your smell. However, he’ll become increasingly louder until he meets you, won’t he? Ah, best you meet then. Best you meet. Okay, young one, this way.” The shopkeeper glided past me, as though hovering, and turned left toward the back of the shop and out of sight.

I hesitate. Part of me just wanted to ask the shopkeeper about the mysterious girl and leave, but the other part really was certain it wanted to meet the owner of the screechy voice who liked my smell.

As if sensing my reluctance, the shopkeeper, whose voice once again seemed to come from everywhere simultaneously, said with a giggle, “He’s a little rude, young one, but you have nothing to fear, you have nothing to fear. Come.”

I felt some relief at his words, and walked forward and farther into the steadily dimmer cluttered shop.

As I walked, awkwardly attempting not to knock any of the strange items over, I tried to keep my gaze in the direction I’d seen the shiny brown-orange bars. The closer I came, the louder I heard the sounds of rattling and inane laughter.

Moments later, I reached a low arch made of ancient paper books, beyond which distorted, elongated inky black shadows danced in a soft yellow glow. Turning my head, I saw what I’d suspected as being a large bell-shaped cage, inside which a much smaller version of the shopkeeper stood eerily watching me with a large crooked smile on its silvery face. Though I could see he looked exactly like his taller counterpart, none of the kind charm was present. Instead, chaotic malevolence radiated from his diminutive frame, and his eyes burned with gleeful contempt.

Unlike the shopkeeper he was dishevelled, the orange hair that dangled from the corners of his mouth was unkempt and in knots. His clothes, a match to the shopkeeper’s own, were torn and dirty.

His little hands grasped the coppery bars in front of him as he stood unmoving, fixedly watching my every move.

“This is Mr. Tabby,” said the shopkeeper, adding, “don’t worry, the bars are solid. He has no way of getting out,” as though having read my thoughts.

The shopkeeper stood kindly next to the cage, which hung from a free-standing copper stand whose base spread in every direction like gnarled roots, and whose top hooked at the end like a twisted branch. My gaze drifted toward Mr. Tabby, who made unpleasant gurgling noises while still gazing resolutely at me as though I were some great attraction.

“If I hadn’t,” continued the shopkeeper as though in reply to me, “he would have continued screeching, and there isn’t a single body who can hear himself think when he does, you know.”

Convinced now that the shopkeeper could hear my thoughts, I opened my mouth with the intent of confirming it when he said, “Right, then—to business it is. How may we help you today?” He rubbed his hands together.

“
How can we help you
?” Mr. Tabby laughed as he repeated the shopkeeper’s words, excitedly bouncing up and down on the spot.

I needed a moment to absorb and process what was happening around me, and looked about the room, taking in my surroundings for the first time.

Like the front section of the shop, clutter abounded. To my left, a long, polished wooden desk with bowed legs stood proudly against the back wall. On top of it various types of ancient scales,
weights and glass spheres sat or lay haphazardly around, among which large jewels of every color and gold coins were scattered around.

Below and around the desk, hardback books, some pristine, some old and tatty, stood in piles like miniature buildings. Lying across the floor and hanging from certain parts of the walls were intricately woven and patterned rugs, completing the look of ancient opulence of this section of the shop.

“He smells good,” said Mr. Tabby in a low, high-pitched tone.

Lifting his cane, the shopkeeper hit the bottom of the hanging cage with force, causing Mr. Tabby to turn his head toward him with a sad, regretful expression on his face. “Quiet you. You’ll put off our guest,” stated the shopkeeper through his teeth.

Mr. Tabby turned back to face me with the same sad expression for a moment, only to revert back to the violently mischievous look I knew him best for.

I didn’t want to hang around longer than I absolutely had to, so I proceeded to ask the shopkeeper whether he’d ever seen or knew the mysterious girl. Suddenly Mr. Tabby said, “Pretty. Mysterious,” in a low, giggling voice as he gazed at me.

“Yes, she is,” agreed the shopkeeper in a slightly more serious tone. “I
do
wonder who she is,” he added pensively. His eyes, despite being a bright shade of orange, seemed then to be as cold and hard as steel. As though catching himself, the shopkeeper’s expression returned to the same kindly one as before, and he said, “Sorry, young one, I don’t know who she is. Perhaps, should you find her, you could send her my way? She arouses my interest.”

“
Interest
,” repeated Mr. Tabby, giggling, once again bouncing up and down in his cage.

Now knowing without a doubt my mind was being read, I thanked the shopkeeper for his time, and avoiding Mr. Tabby’s glare I turned and headed toward the front of the shop and the exit.

Just as I turned the corner, however, I heard the shopkeeper whisper, “Wait,” in an urgent tone. Unlike before where his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, I was now able to pinpoint it as coming from behind me.

I turned to see him standing directly in front of me, his face no longer kind but gravely serious and ominous. “There are times, young one,” he began, his voice matching the gravity of his face, “when secret doors we seek to open lead only to oblivion.” Having spoken those cryptic words, the shopkeeper remained silently gazing at me as though watching an approaching, distant storm. Unable to make any sense of his words, I thanked him again and then hurried out of the bric-a-brac shop.

The artificial sun above shone brightly, causing me to squint, so dark had the interior of the shop been. There were, I hoped, a few shops left to visit, so I walked down the dusty yellow path, glad to have gotten away from the shopkeeper and Mr. Tabby. My hopes suddenly faded, however, as I remembered the inconvenient number of shops that had been closed before I’d found the bric-a-brac shop.

A quick glance ahead and around another winding bend confirmed my fears that all shops appeared closed. Momentarily disheartened by my failed attempt to obtain information on the mysterious girl, I felt slightly calmer at the thought that Iris and Pi were likely faring better. They’d gone to the more popular areas, after all. With that in mind, I decided to go straight to Shabli’s, fully expecting to wait there alone until they’d finished their own investigations.

As I walked, the only sound I heard was my muffled footsteps on the path, so quiet were my surroundings. It was true that I hadn’t been to that section before—I’d had no reason to—but I found it hard to believe no one else was around. I continued pondering why this could be when from somewhere behind me came the sound of an enormous explosion, immediately followed by a slight rumble at my feet. I turned instantly to see the steadily expanding head of a rising serpent of coarse dark smoke.

My jaw dropped and my eyes widened at what I saw, my mind unable to provide answers to the phenomenon it witnessed. As I stood, motionlessly gazing at the thick, climbing pillar, I felt a force greater than my own grab my shoulders and drag me with such speed and force it wasn’t until I was pinned against the wall of a building in an adjacent alley that I saw my attacker. Standing in front of me, still holding tightly on to my shoulders with great force, was the alabaster face of the mysterious girl, who looked utterly furious.

“
What do you think you’re doing
?” she spat through gritted teeth.

Her vivid green eyes churned with inky blacks and gilded golds like silent, brooding storms. No lines marked the pale white skin of her face as she frowned and glowered. It was as though I looked at a living doll, like the ones I’d seen in the bric-a-brac shop moments ago.  When I’d first seen the mysterious girl outside my window, I’d been convinced she was a Simian like me, but looking at her so closely now, it was clear to me she wasn’t. It still amazed me how, despite having been aboard for quite some time, there were still species on the
Sky Drifter
I’d never seen before.