Chapter 1

“Welcome, Master Giovanni,” said the doorman. “May I take your hat?”

Mortimer grinned benignly before handing his hat to the stone wall to his left. “Why thank you, young man.”

The doorman and I exchanged a glance, before I took his hat and handed it to the doorman. The doorman grinned at me bashfully, and I just nodded before leading Mort inside.

I wasn’t sure why Seneca was making me attend this thing. I knew Mort was blind and all, but really, didn’t he have other people for this? It was embarrassing.

We were brought to a great white marble ballroom, filled with nothing but dolls, standing about and chatting. Flashes of pink and yellow, bright green and deep teal were splashed on every partygoer. Their extravagant outfits matched their plastic smiles. These were the kind of people I used to live off of.

Glancing around, I noticed tables of food and refreshments spotted the room. The ceiling was as high as the sky, and I suddenly felt very small and out of my element. My turtleneck felt itchy. 

I followed Mort around as one by one, every person at this gathering, it seemed, stopped to socialize with him. I tasted every drink to tell him what it was before I gave it to him. I kept him from running into tables. I overheard some truly bizarre things. And all the while, I wondered what exactly Mort wanted me here for.

“Good day, Master Giovanni,” said a young woman, stopping us yet again. She was decked out in a deep shade of crimson. It lined her lips, it tipped her hair, and it hung from her ears. It colored her right down to her tongue.

I tried to not roll my eyes at her presence. I wasn’t sure how many more “How do you do’s” I could take.  

But Master Giovanni’s ears perked up at her voice. “Ah, Miss Perkins. I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

“This is him?” she asked, looking me up and down.

He nodded. “Yes. His name is Isaac.”

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt uncomfortably and scratched my irritated neck under her scrutinizing gaze. I felt like a dog behind the window of a pet shop. I didn’t like this.

“He’s so… young,” she mused finally.

“Fifteen, to be exact. A friend of mine has leant him to me for the day. I'm assuming you’ve brought the information I asked for?”

She smirked. “But of course, Master Giovanni. Do I ever disappoint you?”

Mort paused for a moment, as if about to protest, then let his face fall into a grin. He let out a small, short laugh. “I must respectfully ask to see it, before I lend you my charge.”

What? Wait, hold on.

Miss Perkins sighed, but retrieved a small slip of paper from her purse. She pressed it into his open palm.

He took it and smiled. “Very well. Don’t be too long.”

“Never, Master Giovanni,” she said, then turned. “Come,” she said to me.

I froze, glancing between her and Mort. I didn’t want to go with her. What was happening?

“Mort?”

He nodded encouragingly to me. “Go on. Do exactly as she says, Ike.”

My chest tightened slightly, but I followed Miss Perkins as she furtively slipped through the party. She brought me to one of the colossal marble staircases, weaving through the people who stood causally on the steps, socializing.

I wondered briefly who exactly all of these people were. Mort was a very famous watchmaker, but that was really all I knew of him. I could hardly imagine this being a great gathering of famous watchmakers. That would hardly explain the odd casual conversation I'd overheard. 

We skirted the top level, tracing along the railing above the party. They all looked like little ants from so high up. After we’d passed a few corridors, Miss Perkins paused, glanced around, then disappeared down a hallway. I followed her around the first corner, to find she’d stopped.

I came to stand beside her, and peered up at the wall she was focusing so hard on.

It was a depiction of a city skyline. It was very small, however, only about six by six inches. It seemed to be swallowed by the enormous expanse of wall.

“Isn't it spectacular?” she breathed. “Do you know what you're looking at, Isaac?” She spoke as if we were looking at the holy grail.

I wasn’t quite so sure what was so sacred about it. “It’s Malvern City skyline, isn't it?” I inquired. It was the Seventh City. It was just about as spectacular as the dirt on my left shoe. All the good stuff was reserved for the first four.

She grinned at my response. “Yes, very good, Ike. But that’s not all it is. It is so, so much more than that.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a map, darling. Written on the back is a map. It belonged to my family centuries ago, and I’d like it back. However, it’s strapped to the wall with any number of physical and metaphysical measures which I can only imagine. Measures which, for someone with your talent, should be no problem.”

I looked at it for a few more seconds, then up at her. “You want me to steal this.”

“I do,” she said, nodding. But her amber eyes never left the painting.

I shook my head slowly. “I'm sorry, Miss Perkins, but… I'm not allowed to do stuff like that anymore,” I told her, thinking of Seneca’s face, full of disappointment and reproach. No thank you.

“Ah, yes. According to your loving Mentor, yes? The Architect.”

“You know Seneca?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders daintily. “Not personally. But I do know of him. And of his condition.”

I frowned. “How do you know about that?”

A sly smile spread across her teeth. “I know lots of things, darling. And that condition? My, I know a lot about that, too. First, he’ll forget where and when he is. Then, he’ll forget who you are, and everything that's ever been important to him. Your keeper is going to die very slowly, and very painfully, without even remembering who he is himself.”

“Stop it,” I hissed.

She frowned sadly, shaking her head and finally meeting my eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. But I can help you. The piece of paper I just gave Mortimer? It has information that can help Seneca.”

“How?”

“There is only one thing that can save Seneca at this point. And on that little piece of paper is the name of the person who has it. Now, that information is safely in Master Giovanni's hands.”

I frowned, glancing over my shoulder. Mort. He’d used me. That’s why he wanted me here today. I was an exchange. Of course… they didn’t think I knew about Seneca. That's why he hadn't told me.

Idiots.

“Unfortunately, I have an arrow pointed straight for our darling Mortimer right now. If you choose not to do it, I understand. Just know that you will never be able to save Seneca if I let that arrow fly,” she said lowly. “It would be such a shame if that piece of paper got… lost.”

My heart sank as she spoke, and I struggled to swallow around a lump in my throat. Mort… What have you done?

“It shouldn’t be too hard, should it? I hear you're very good at what you do,” she continued.

My fingers shook. “No, it shouldn't.”

She smiled brightly, as if we were discussing dinner plans. “Excellent, I'm so glad. I will leave you my purse. You are to return it to me with the painting inside, and tell me I’d left it in the restroom. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Perkins.”

Miss Perkins grinned. “Perfect. I shall be downstairs.”

And with that, she turned and started once again for the party. I looked back at the painting, seeing nothing but oil paints and smog. I closed my eyes then and took a deep breath. When I opened them, I could tell she had been correct; thin silver strands strapped across the painting, hugging it to the wall of the house. The silver shifted and melded with purple, gold, blue, green. Its color flickered and breathed like a life. 

I reached forward and grasped one of the strands, tugging at it. It bent easily under my fingers. This magic was ancient. It had been hanging here for centuries, protecting this painting. Now, it was less than useless. Miss Perkins could've easily plucked the painting off the wall herself. But the magic had done its job well enough that mortals must've gotten the hint, and stopped trying, long after the painting itself had stopped being untouchable. 

What could be so desperately worth protecting?   

I heard footsteps echo down the corridor then, and I jumped, shoving the painting into the big red purse I held. I started back for the party then, letting the unsteady man stumble by me. 

I'm sorry, Seneca. 

I made my way down the stairs, purse in hand. I paused halfway down the stairs to survey the room. Among the ocean of colors, I found the smoldering spot of red. Miss Perkins stood, socializing with a bright yellow man and his purple date. Miss Perkins twirled a strand of scarlet hair around a black gloved finger. Mort stood not two yards from her, talking to a young man, not much older than Seneca. 

I approached her, holding her red purse out to her. She smiled at her company, and seemed to excuse herself, turning towards me.

“Here, Miss Perkins. I found it in the bathroom,” I said obediently. My jaw clenched tightly.

“Thank you dear,” she said sweetly, but her eyes were searching intently as she opened it. They found the painting inside, and she grinned wickedly. “Thank you,” she repeated.

I didn’t like the look in her eyes.

She lifted her wrist to her lips then and whispered, “Do it.”

No. She… lied to me. My chest constricted in my chest, and my blood went cold.

I spun away from her, but Miss Perkins grabbed me around my waist, trying to pull me away from him. “Mort!” I yelled.

I watched with shock as his arm flicked up towards the arrow as it soared for him, and he plucked it effortlessly from its path.

There were a few girlish screams, before Mort retrieved a pocket watch from his robes and clicked the top in. The entire room froze.

Mort ran his fingers along the metal shaft of the arrow, and down to the head. He felt the small iron triangle, then looked up benignly. “Did someone drop this?” he inquired.

I broke free of Miss Perkin's frozen arms and ran over to him. “Are you alright?” I asked, putting a hand on his arm.              

 His head turned so his ear was facing me. “I'm fine. Are you alright?”

I didn’t even respond. I turned, trying to lunge for Miss Perkins, but Mort caught me just as she had before. “You liar!” I roared, struggling against Mort. “You lied to me!”

Her eyes were wide, and she stood motionless, gaping at Mort and I. I glanced around to find no one was moving. We were standing in an ocean of frozen people.

Mort softly righted me. “Ike. Compose yourself. Come, let’s go.”

I took a moment to let the anger ebb away. The hatred remained, but I regained control over my emotions. “Yes, Mort.” I turned back to Miss Perkins, prying her purse from her lifeless fingers, ripped it open, and pulled the painting out. I dropped the pure, then angled her arms and placed the painting in her fingers. 

"There," I spat, then turned and lead Mort towards the door.

We left the petrified ballroom behind us, still holding its breath. We approached the doorman, who leaned sleepily against the door frame, his eyes half-shut. I grabbed Mort's top hat from the rack and gave it to him. 

It wasn't until we'd passed over the threshold that Mort pulled his stopwatch back out and clicked the top button again. The manor behind us erupted into screams, and something shattered. I just grinned. 

I remembered what had just happened then, and I looked up at my old, frail friend. “Mort… how… how did you…”

Mort chuckled. “I'm far more capable than I appear, Ike.”

 

That night, I sat beside the vent in the upstairs bathroom.

“You lied to me. You used Isaac!”

“I'm sorry, Seneca. It was for your own good,” Mort said.

“I don’t care, Mort! Can you even imagine if they’d tried to shoot him instead of you?” Seneca said. “Did you even consider that?”

“She wouldn’t have, he’s too useful. And either way… I'm sure that he would have been more than willing.”

There was a slam, and I imagined Seneca dropping his enormous sketchbook onto the drawing table. “Get out, Mort.”

“Seneca, be reasonable-”

“Get out. And take your damn information with you. I'm going to suffer honorably. There will be no shortcuts. We’re done here.”

I listened as there was a slow scraping of chair against the wooden floor.

“I hope you know I was only trying to do what’s best for you,” he said.

Seneca didn’t respond.

I listened as Mort trod out of the drawing room; I quickly stood, sprinting silently to the top of the stairs, where I saw him starting for the front door.

The doors to the drawing room slammed behind him.

“Mort,” I whispered.

He paused, turning to me. “Ike?”

“Please. Give it to me. I’ll use it.”

Mort chuckled. “I wouldn’t bother, Ike. You can’t convince him to let you help,” he started.

“I don’t intend to convince him of anything.”

Surprise covered his features then, but he just shook his head, starting back for the door. “I'm afraid I can’t allow that,” he said, stepping outside.

I followed him out, stepping onto the porch. “Mort, you have to give it to me. Please. You owe it to me. It’s for his own good,” I pleaded.

This made him pause. He turned then, grinning at me. “For a street urchin, you’ve got quite the noble mindset.”

And with that, he continued down the walk, away from me.

I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets as I watched him go. I paused as my hand ran into something thin, flat and stiff.

I frowned, pulling it from my pocket. It was a small, charred piece of parchment. As I unfolded it, I came face-to-face with a name and an address.

I looked up to watch Mort still continuing down the road away from our house.  Perhaps he was more capable than he seemed.

Thank you, Mort.

2: Twenty One

I stood over the bench in the park, assembling my tool. The shaft extended as I put its parts together. I admired it, running my fingers softly over its curves and odd square edges. It really was a piece of art. 

Slowly I lifted, aiming, and was about to take my first shot – at a beautiful, delicate little bird – when a small body flung its arms around me.

“Ike!”

I leapt, nearly dropping my camera. Of course, I was wearing the strap around my neck, and I really should’ve been expecting it, but they were early this week. What could I say.

I looked down at my attacker to find Oz’s face buried in my crisp blue shirt. I rubbed the boy’s back, ruffling his ruddy brown hair. “Hey, buddy, how’s it goin?”

Oz pulled his face from my shirt and grinned brightly. “Good. Me and Ms. Molly are going to get ice cream today. Wanna come?”

I chortled before glancing up to find Molly, who was still strolling towards us. “Does Ms. Molly know you're asking me that?”

She didn’t entirely favor my presence in Oz’s life. She seemed to think that people never just helped others, unless they wanted something from them.

She was smarter than I’d have preferred.   

Oz shrugged in response to my question. “Does it matter?”

I grinned down at him, then gave him another pat on the back. “Go occupy yourself. I’ll see if I can wrestle it out of her. Twenty minutes.”

Oz snickered before running across the patch of grass which my bench sat facing, across the brick path, and straight for a mumo hole. The little brown mumo saw him coming, yelped, and sunk into his hole just as Oz reached it.

“Capture anything interesting this morning, Mr. Pender?”

I looked up to meet Molly’s scrutinizing gaze, and grinned. “Not yet, Ms. Molly. And really, it’s Ike.”

“It’s well into mid-morning, Mr. Pender,” she said, her big brown eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly. “A little tardy today, are we?”

I chuckled, irked by her acuity. “So critical, Ms. Molly. I may have overslept this morning,” I admitted. “But I promise you, I’ll meet my quota.”

She just smirked, seating herself on the other half of my bench, her eyes falling to study Oz. Worry crept into her expression then, although I was sure she didn’t know it. She seemed more … tense than she normally was.

“He’s a resilient kid,” I said quietly. “You worry too much.”

Her eyes cut up to look at me. “Says a man who spends only two hours a week with him, at the most,” she said tartly. “What would you know of Oz and his resilience?”

Her words stung, but only for a moment, and I dropped my eyes to study the pictures my camera held. “Oz and I have much more in common than I think you know, Ms. Molly.”

She studied me up and down for a moment, then returned to watching Oz. I nearly thought the conversation was over.

“You're the only reason we come here, you know.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “I'm sorry?”

“That first time we came to the park, it was going to be a one-time thing. He didn’t even want to come with me, but I had to get him out of the house, what with his nightmares, and the onset of depression after…” She said, shaking her head slowly, a distant look in her eyes. She took a deep breath.“But then he met you, Mr. Pender, and all of a sudden, all he could ever think about was spending his Sundays here. And seeing you.”

It was silent for a moment. She took a deep breath then and met my eyes.

“He puts so much… hope in you, Mr. Pender,” she said. “More than I think you know.”

Her words weighed heavily in my chest, and I glanced over to watch Oz for a moment. The mumo had returned to the surface in its third hole, a foot from its first. Oz dove for it, but his fingers closed around empty air as the mumo dove back underground. Still, he laughed.

“And I won’t let him down.”

She shook her head, as if that was the wrong answer, before returning her gaze to Oz. “Words, words, words,” she breathed. Her arms crossed over her chest.  

I frowned, affronted. “What would you like me to do? He’s the only reason I've been coming to this exact spot every Sunday for the last four years. Is there something more you want me to do? What is this all about, Molly, did something happen?”

She sighed, and finally calmed, dropping the passive aggressive aura she was exuding. Now she just looked sad. “The constable contacted us the other day. They said the trail went cold. They’ve decided to end the search for Oz’s father. He said there was nothing more they could do.”

I made an extra effort to make sure all emotion stayed off my face, until I was sure of which one I wanted to display. I sat down beside her, frowning. “You weren’t expecting to take care of Oz forever.”

She looked down at the ground, tears surfacing in her eyes. She shook her head slowly. “No.”

“… What are you going to do?”

She looked up at me sharply. “Well I'm not just going to dump him on someone else,” she said quickly. “He’s my little cousin. I couldn’t do that to him. I'm going to keep taking care of him.”

Slowly, I understood. “You … you want help. You want me to help you take care of him?” I asked. To her it just looked like I was surprised, but inside, it might as well have been Festivus morning.

She looked up at me with defeat. “I know you're not really technically family, and I know it’s a lot to ask all of a sudden. But my parents can’t take care of another child, they're retired, living off slim pensions. Both of our grandparents are in assisted living homes by now. And his mother’s family, they're off, who the hell knows where. And he likes you. I mean, really likes you. It’s already been five years … I don’t think I can keep doing it alone.”

I watched her quietly. She was only twenty, and she ran a flower shop for a living. I could tell, underneath the sadness and the weariness, she was just afraid. Frankly, I was surprised she’d made it this far.

Finally, I nodded. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you.”

She looked up at me, her eyes full of disbelief. “Mr. Pender, I don’t want to do it because you feel like you have to,” she started.

I sighed pensively. “Oz is twelve, correct?”

She nodded, unsure of why I was pointing this out.

“Ms. Molly, when I was twelve, my father disowned me. He kicked me out. I lived off the streets, conning rich people and stealing from convenience stores. I was very… lost. But a man found me, and he took me in. He fixed me,” I said. For once, she was looking at me as if I had information worth sharing.

“I do feel like I have to take care of Oz. Not for him, but because that’s what my mentor would have done. I would be honored to help you take care of him.”

She stared at me for a few moments. “You do realize, Mr. Pender, that this wouldn’t just be for a few months, or even a year. This is … well, if they never find his father, it’s … forever. You know that?”

I sighed. “That’s okay. It’s nothing I can’t handle… What’s the arrangement going to be? Weekends and weekdays? I have plenty of space in my flat, you could both come stay with me,” I started.

“No, no, for now, we can do weekends, he spends with you, weekdays he spends with me,” she said quickly. “We’ll see how that goes, and I’ll … I’ll decide from there.”

I paused for a moment, but just nodded. “Alright. I won’t push. But, just out of curiosity, if you are so against me, if you think I have some sort of ulterior motive, why are you trusting me to do this?”

She shrugged. “I'm … desperate. And I know, whatever it is you want, you won’t hurt Oz.”

I grinned softly. “I'm glad I've gained that much trust.”

She sighed, but a ghost of a smile hovered on her lips.

Oz ran over to us then, grinning up at me hopefully. “So are you coming for ice cream?” he asked eagerly.

My mouth fell open. Oh yeah. I looked at Molly then, who was looking at us with skeptical eyes.

“I do like ice cream,” I said.

She rolled her eyes as Oz dove for her lap. “Please, please, please, Ms. Molly!” he begged. “It would be so much more fun!”

She looked down at Oz for a few seconds, and it was obvious her resolve was crumbling. Finally, she sighed. “Alright, fine.”

Oz leapt in the air. “Yes!”

I grinned over at her, and she just rolled her eyes stubbornly. “Are we going to be interrupting your picture taking, Mr. Pender?” she inquired softly.

Is shook my head. “Not at all. I was thinking of getting sunset shots this week, anyway.”

The same ghost of a grin returned to her lips, and she stood with resignation. “Alright, you guys win. Let’s go.”

Oz dove at Molly, hugging her tightly. She looked down at him, first with shock, but then with a smile. She ruffled his hair.

I knelt quickly, and snapped a picture.

The two looked up at me quickly. Molly looked appalled, but Oz grinned.

“You're so sneaky, Ike!” he said. “Like a burglar.”

I paused at the ironic comparison, then forced a small laugh. “I do take pride in my furtive abilities, thank you.”

As I finished my sentence, I snapped a second shot of Oz, although this one was very catawampus, and not centered very well.

“Stop!” Oz cried, still grinning.

As he yelled, I pressed the button again, this time just to get at him.

His face scrunched, and he ran and grabbed the keys from a pocket in my camera bag, dangling them just out of my reach.

I stood casually, shrugging. I moved to disassemble my camer and return it to my bag. “Whatever. I don’t need those.”

 He paused for a moment, looking baffled, before I turned and lunged for my keys. He just barely jumped out of my way.

“Oh no you don’t!” I yelled, before I grabbed him, lifting him up and tossing him over my shoulder, fireman style.

“Put me down, Ike!” he yelled, laughing and beating at my back.

“Never!” I roared, spinning in a circle. “If you're not giving my keys back, then I guess I’ll just have to take you home with me.”

“No!” he laughed. “Fine! I’ll give you your keys.”

I dropped him back onto his feet then. “That’s more like it.” I held out my hand expectantly, and he dropped my keys into my fingers. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Oz smiled, then stuck out his tongue at me, and turned to start off down the path, towards town.

I grabbed my bag off the bench, zipping it up before slinging it over my shoulders. I paused when I saw Molly just staring at me with an odd emotion I couldn’t quite discern.

“You coming?” I asked. “Ice cream and whatnot?”

She blinked out of her state then, and started for Oz without another word to me.

I watched her quizzically for a moment, before following.

 

The three of us sat in triangular formation around a tall circular table inside the ice cream parlor. Oz’s feet dangled four inches above the metal rungs of his stool. He seemed to be enjoying his mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Between them, Molly seemed to just be staring down at her ice cream.

“Your ice cream’s melting,” I said quietly in an undertone.

She took a deep breath, looking up at Oz. “Oz,” she blurted. She was obviously desperate to get this over with.

Oz paused, his mouth full of ice cream, looking between Molly and I.

“Yes?” he asked around his mouthful.

She took a deep breath, then said, “From now on, while the police are continuing their investigation for your dad, you're going to be spending weekends with Mr. Pender.”

Huh. She was lying to him?

But Oz’s face lit up. “Really?” he asked, swallowing his food so he could better express his excitement. He looked over at me, and I nodded.

“You betcha, buddy.”

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Why?” he asked, looking at Molly.

Molly let out a slow breath. “I just need a little help, Oz, that’s all,” she said quietly.

Oz looked sad for a moment, but smiled up at me. “Okay. It’ll be fun, right Ike?”

I nodded again, grinning. “Absolutely.”

When we were finished, Oz ran off ahead of Molly and I as we walked along lackadaisically.

“So … you think lying to him is the best idea?” I asked calmly.

She sighed. “Don’t judge me, Mr. Pender,” she said.

I shrugged. “Whatever you say.” I then held out a napkin to her. It held my address, and my number. “I’ll be expecting to see you Friday night?”

She nodded. “Right. And if anything goes wrong, Mr. Pender, anything at all…”

“I understand. Deal’s off,” I said.  “Let me know if anything changes. And it’s Ike.”

She said nothing more.

“Oz!” I yelled.

He paused, turning and running back for us. He stopped in front of me, looking at me eagerly.

I grinned down at him, ruffling his hair. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

He grinned. “This’ll be great,” he said, then turned as Molly grabbed his hand.

I waved to them as I watched them go, then slowly let the grin grow on my face.

They just made everything so much easier.