They get out, toff stumbling through the entryway first. The boy follows him and stretches the kinks from a half day’s worth of travel out of his back. He looks around and sees what a new beginning means.
It means curious faces, smiling ones. People here are friendly. They don't have the ‘shove off’ attitude of city dwellers.
A group of country boys crowds him. They're bigger than him, all of them, grown fat on the cream of the country as opposed to the crumbs of the city gutters. They're here to mug him for his shoes; they're the only thing of value he's got. What else could they be here for? But the big boys have no interest in what he's got on his feet. They're interested in him of all things. It's a cacophony of “Hey there!” and “Hallo!” The boy struggles to keep up with too many voices and far too many questions in too short a time.
“What’s your name?”
“Where'd you come from?”
“Are you new here?”
*Smack.*
“Oww! What was that for?”
“For being an idiot is what it was. Course he's new here, we never seen him before.”
“Who’s the toff?”
“‘The toff’, as you boys so politely put it, is here to escort this young man to his uncle.” The toff doesn't wait a moment to let the boy socialize as he pulls him away by the arm. “Come along. Don't you dally. The road back is long and the sooner I get you home, the sooner I depart.”
The boy looks back at the group. They're still waving to him.
“We’ll see you around, alright?”
“Bye now!”
The boy waves back, or tries to. It's a hard thing to manage with the toff pulling him. He doesn't squeak so much as a word before the toff drags him into the nearest shop. As it turns out, the nearest shop is a general goods store managed by a pleasantly smiling housewife.
Everyone smiles out here. Amazingly, those smiles are heartfelt, honest. Nobody smiles like that back home.
The boy blinks. No, nobody smiles like that back in the city. This is home now. It'll take some getting used to, calling this place home, but it'll be worth it.
The lady smiles at the strange duo. The boy smiles back. The toff doesn't waste his breath on niceties. “I'm looking for this boy’s uncle.” He yanks the boy upward by the arm, as if he’d be invisible otherwise.
The lady frowns at the toff. “Well, I might be able to help, but you'll have to tell me a name first.” There's the barest edge of chiding in her voice. It's like she's scolding the toff for being a twat, which he is. The boy likes her. Hopefully she's family. An aunt perhaps? There must be some relation.
“Ah, right, that.” The toff starts and stops as he digs around in the many pockets that line his fancy coat. “I- ahem- if you’ll be so kind as to give me a moment, I know I, ah (no, not there either), I have the name on my person. Somewhere…”
The lady waits on the toff for a minute or two, plenty of time to realize he shan't be finding that name soon.
“I am so sorry Madam, this will only take a moment.” The lie is so obvious, it's painful.
The lady’s smile stretches a fraction more. “It's no trouble at all. You take all the time you need, sir.”
The toff distractedly mutters a reply. A vague word of thanks, perhaps? Whatever it was, he doesn't stop his rummaging to say it. The boy rolls his eyes; it's not like the toff's going to notice, occupied as he is.
“Do you know your uncle’s name?” The lady asks.
The boy looks up. He hasn’t the foggiest idea what to say. When adults talk it's with other adults or at boys like him. Surely she should be talking to the toff and not him. Surely not him.
“Are you alright?” The concern wilts her lovely smile.
The toff answers for him “Of course he's alright. He's tired is all. A day’s travel will do that.” He still hasn't found what he's looking for. He's given up searching the cavernous insides of his coat and is fiddling with the lock on his suitcase instead.
“He's been on the road all day? Like a gypsy? Oh! You poor thing, it's no wonder you're tired.”
“I'm okay,” the boy protests. “I mean, I'm not tired. I didn't realize you were talking to me.”
The lady squints at him. The smile's gone. “Who else would I be talking to?”
The boy looks down at his feet. He shrugs.
The toff interrupts. “Here it is. I got it. I got the name right here!” He’s so proud of himself, waving that little scrap of paper aloft.
The lady ignores him. “Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?”
The boy can't understand why she's asking, much less why she cares. He answers anyways. “Not since this morning ma’am.”
She tutts and gives the toff a hard stare. “It's no wonder you're all skin and bones. How shameful.”
“Excuse me! What is that supposed to mean?”
“What it means is it'd be a darn shame if the child didn't get something for lunch.”
The boy perks up at 'lunch’. Lunch sounds excellent. He’s never been one to turn down what he's offered, especially not food.
The toff, however, has other ideas. “Oh no you don't you little…” He bites back that last word. Barely. “I’m sorry Madam, but I did not come to your establishment to buy something. And I assure you this… young man has no money to speak of. Thus, sadly, we will not be buying anything. Now, can you tell me where I might find a Mister…” He squints at the paper. “Ezekiel... Myr?” He squints again, then nods to himself. “Yes, I am looking for Mister Ezekiel Myr. Do you perchance know where I might find him?”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Ezekiel you said? I… hmmm…” She pouts. “That name, I…” And now she looks the other way and sighs. “No, I might've known that name a long time ago, but not anymore. I can’t say who he is much less where you might find him.” She looks to the boy. “I'm sorry I can't help.” She means that last part. The sorrow in her eyes is proof.
The toff huffs and resigns himself to sorting the contents of his case back into some semblance of order. He murmurs under his breath nothing the boy can make out.
Meanwhile, movement from the counter catches the boy’s eye. It's the lady. She beckons him with a finger. He hesitates. Slowly, cautiously, he approaches. When he's near, she slips something round, wrapped in paper, and fist sized over the counter top and into his hands.
“For the road,” she mouths. “On the house.” She smiles, gives him a wink and a shush for good measure.
He shoves the package into a trouser pocket and smiles back, mouthing a word of thanks.
The toff turns back to the company at hand. “Ahem. Are you aware of anyone who might know who Ezekiel Myr is?”
“Hooo… I doubt that. Just about everyone comes here once in a while, whether it's to buy or to chat. There's not a name or face I don't know.”
The boy’s brows shoot up. He can't remember the names of half the boys at any of the homes he's been to, much less an entire town’s worth of them. The toff, on the other hand, looks like he's swallowed his own foot. He clears his throat and turns a bright shade of pink. As far as toffs go, this one does not look dignified. Not. At. All.
The boy laughs this time. He couldn't hold it back. The toff glares at him. Worth it. The boy looks at his feet and appears apologetic. Still worth it.
The toff doesn't give up. He still feels like he has a point he can press somehow. “Well, ah, is this or is this not...” He squints at the paper again. “...Glenholm village?” He looks up, expectant.
Nobody responds.
Is he asking himself about the name?
“...Well? Is this not Glenholm?” He repeats to definitely not himself.
“Yeah, no, this is Glenholm, you're not wrong about that.”
“And you are positive there's no Ezekiel living here?”
“Can’t say there is. Hasn’t been in ages.”
The toff harrumphs and quickly moves to get out and make inquiries where people are more obliging. He doesn't take kindly to being shown up.
“You take care now. Have a lovely day!” The lady's not talking to the toff.
The boy waves back.
“What did I say about dallying? Keep up!” the toff barks. The door slams behind him.
The boy follows, grinning. He likes this place. He likes the people who live here. Even the buildings feel friendly, seated next to each other, side by side like old chums. It already feels like how home should feel. A new beginning, he hums.
The boy looks back at the group. They're still waving to him.
“We’ll see you around, alright?”
“Bye now!”
The boy waves back, or tries to. It's a hard thing to manage with the toff pulling him. He doesn't squeak so much as a word before the toff drags him into the nearest shop. As it turns out, the nearest shop is a general goods store managed by a pleasantly smiling housewife.
Everyone smiles out here. Amazingly, those smiles are heartfelt, honest. Nobody smiles like that back home.
The boy blinks. No, nobody smiles like that back in the city. This is home now. It'll take some getting used to, calling this place home, but it'll be worth it.
The lady smiles at the strange duo. The boy smiles back. The toff doesn't waste his breath on niceties. “I'm looking for this boy’s uncle.” He yanks the boy upward by the arm, as if he’d be invisible otherwise.
The lady frowns at the toff. “Well, I might be able to help, but you'll have to tell me a name first.” There's the barest edge of chiding in her voice. It's like she's scolding the toff for being a twat, which he is. The boy likes her. Hopefully she's family. An aunt perhaps? There must be some relation.
“Ah, right, that.” The toff starts and stops as he digs around in the many pockets that line his fancy coat. “I- ahem- if you’ll be so kind as to give me a moment, I know I, ah (no, not there either), I have the name on my person. Somewhere…”
The lady waits on the toff for a minute or two, plenty of time to realize he shan't be finding that name soon.
“I am so sorry Madam, this will only take a moment.” The lie is so obvious, it's painful.
The lady’s smile stretches a fraction more. “It's no trouble at all. You take all the time you need, sir.”
The toff distractedly mutters a reply. A vague word of thanks, perhaps? Whatever it was, he doesn't stop his rummaging to say it. The boy rolls his eyes; it's not like the toff's going to notice, occupied as he is.
“Do you know your uncle’s name?” The lady asks.
The boy looks up. He hasn’t the foggiest idea what to say. When adults talk it's with other adults or at boys like him. Surely she should be talking to the toff and not him. Surely not him.
“Are you alright?” The concern wilts her lovely smile.
The toff answers for him “Of course he's alright. He's tired is all. A day’s travel will do that.” He still hasn't found what he's looking for. He's given up searching the cavernous insides of his coat and is fiddling with the lock on his suitcase instead.
“He's been on the road all day? Like a gypsy? Oh! You poor thing, it's no wonder you're tired.”
“I'm okay,” the boy protests. “I mean, I'm not tired. I didn't realize you were talking to me.”
The lady squints at him. The smile's gone. “Who else would I be talking to?”
The boy looks down at his feet. He shrugs.
The toff interrupts. “Here it is. I got it. I got the name right here!” He’s so proud of himself, waving that little scrap of paper aloft.
The lady ignores him. “Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?”
The boy can't understand why she's asking, much less why she cares. He answers anyways. “Not since this morning ma’am.”
She tutts and gives the toff a hard stare. “It's no wonder you're all skin and bones. How shameful.”
“Excuse me! What is that supposed to mean?”
“What it means is it'd be a darn shame if the child didn't get something for lunch.”
The boy perks up at 'lunch’. Lunch sounds excellent. He’s never been one to turn down what he's offered, especially not food.
The toff, however, has other ideas. “Oh no you don't you little…” He bites back that last word. Barely. “I’m sorry Madam, but I did not come to your establishment to buy something. And I assure you this… young man has no money to speak of. Thus, sadly, we will not be buying anything. Now, can you tell me where I might find a Mister…” He squints at the paper. “Ezekiel... Myr?” He squints again, then nods to himself. “Yes, I am looking for Mister Ezekiel Myr. Do you perchance know where I might find him?”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Ezekiel you said? I… hmmm…” She pouts. “That name, I…” And now she looks the other way and sighs. “No, I might've known that name a long time ago, but not anymore. I can’t say who he is much less where you might find him.” She looks to the boy. “I'm sorry I can't help.” She means that last part. The sorrow in her eyes is proof.
The toff huffs and resigns himself to sorting the contents of his case back into some semblance of order. He murmurs under his breath nothing the boy can make out.
Meanwhile, movement from the counter catches the boy’s eye. It's the lady. She beckons him with a finger. He hesitates. Slowly, cautiously, he approaches. When he's near, she slips something round, wrapped in paper, and fist sized over the counter top and into his hands.
“For the road,” she mouths. “On the house.” She smiles, gives him a wink and a shush for good measure.
He shoves the package into a trouser pocket and smiles back, mouthing a word of thanks.
The toff turns back to the company at hand. “Ahem. Are you aware of anyone who might know who Ezekiel Myr is?”
“Hooo… I doubt that. Just about everyone comes here once in a while, whether it's to buy or to chat. There's not a name or face I don't know.”
The boy’s brows shoot up. He can't remember the names of half the boys at any of the homes he's been to, much less an entire town’s worth of them. The toff, on the other hand, looks like he's swallowed his own foot. He clears his throat and turns a bright shade of pink. As far as toffs go, this one does not look dignified. Not. At. All.
The boy laughs this time. He couldn't hold it back. The toff glares at him. Worth it. The boy looks at his feet and appears apologetic. Still worth it.
The toff doesn't give up. He still feels like he has a point he can press somehow. “Well, ah, is this or is this not...” He squints at the paper again. “...Glenholm village?” He looks up, expectant.
Nobody responds.
Is he asking himself about the name?
“...Well? Is this not Glenholm?” He repeats to definitely not himself.
“Yeah, no, this is Glenholm, you're not wrong about that.”
“And you are positive there's no Ezekiel living here?”
“Can’t say there is. Hasn’t been in ages.”
The toff harrumphs and quickly moves to get out and make inquiries where people are more obliging. He doesn't take kindly to being shown up.
“You take care now. Have a lovely day!” The lady's not talking to the toff.
The boy waves back.
“What did I say about dallying? Keep up!” the toff barks. The door slams behind him.
The boy follows, grinning. He likes this place. He likes the people who live here. Even the buildings feel friendly, seated next to each other, side by side like old chums. It already feels like how home should feel. A new beginning, he hums.
Officially edited. Hopefully, the pacing should be better. If not... Well, at least I tried.
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