After falling, Lane struggled to disentangle himself, his view obscured from the fallen curtain. However, someone else was trying to get away at the same time and the combined efforts only served to make the tangle worse. Lane was starting to get angry when he heard a girl complaining.
“S-stop it, stop moving already!” She cried. So he did, and after a moment, he felt the person behind the curtain pulling away. Free to move once again, Lane managed to toss the curtain away and finally caught sight of a girl sitting by his side and rubbing her cheek.
Looking carefully, Lane was she was a tiny thing. Probably two or three years younger than him. She wore a white short-sleeved blouse, a brown leather skirt, and a pair of black boots.
Her hair was a sandy yellow and fell in loose waves just above her shoulders. A second look showed him some streaks of vibrant green sticking out at some places. Peeking at her eyes, he saw they were brown but had the same streaks of green darting away from her pupils.
Lane gasped, and he looked at her neck. Sure enough, the girl had a string holding a small crystal bottle. Inside the bottle, there was a single blade of grass with the same green color of the streaks on the girl’s hair.
“No way!” Lane said, “You are having a reveal this winter? You are… Fourteen?”
The girl, who by that time had stopped rubbing her check and was sizing him up in return, stood up and covered her chest with both hands.
“Y-you! What do you want?” She asked. But before Lane had the chance to answer, they heard a croaking sound.
Lane turned and found the old man laughing at them with his eyes half-closed and a new, bottle in his hand.
“What are you looking at, lad?” asked the old man, “the lassie’s escaping!” But when Lane turned back he only grasped the hem of her skirt flashing behind a corner.
Shaking his head, Lane stood up and dusted himself. That’s it, Lane thought, this is the last time I follow Rolf’s advice with stores. And ignoring the grumbling old man in the background Lane finally focused The Broken Wagon.
With the linen curtain down, Lane realized that the store had a wood door that obstructed his vision. He pushed it and had to pull back closing his eyes as a thick scent of incense hit his face.
“Cough, cough, cough.”
After waving his hand in front of his face for a moment, Lane opened his eyes and saw purple smoke coming out of the store. Obscured by the smoke, Lane could see flickering lights that danced in their place.
“Ah fuck it!” He said after staring at the smoking entrance for a moment, and taking a deep breath walked into the smoke. He did not make it far though because after taking only three steps he felt a flash of pain in his shin and fell once again.
“Arg!” Lane grunted.
He rolled on the floor holding his shin and cursing Rolf until a croaking voice stopped him. “Oi, oi brat! Are you trying to bring down my shop?”
Opening his eyes, Lane found a wrinkled face that frowned at him upside down with a black right eye and a white glass eye.
“Uh, Half Glare?” Lane asked.
By that moment, Lane had made plenty of mistakes in a single day. However, when he saw that wrinkled face lean back with frowning eyebrows and a growing scowl, it was already too late to make amends.
The next thing Lane knew was a stick closing in before everything went black.
Lane woke up stiff, tired, and with a throbbing pain in his head. He opened his eyes and the first thing that greeted him was a row of big, sharp teeth.
With a gasp, Lane rolled back and reached for his knife only to find it missing. Still, he jumped up and got in guard as he could. However, a second inspection revealed the teeth were part of a massive taxidermy mount. Before Lane, stood a bear twice his height with his paws upward in an eternal combat pose among purple swirls of incense.
“Are you done playing?” came the voice from his back.
“Uh?” Lane said turning to find the wrinkled old man watching him with a deadpan face from behind a desk, “Half-eh, sir! I didn’t mean it, this is a misunderstanding!”
“Misunderstanding?” asked the wrinkled old man, “Then what is that? Look at how you trashed my shop!” he said pointing with a suspiciously familiar staff behind Lane.
And trashed it was because there was a mess of random things sprawled all over the floor including his knife, the grinner’s skin, a bunch of books, and a decapitated mount of a chicken?
“And Martin! Look at what you did to my poor Martin!” said the wrinkled old man waving the missing head of the chicken.
“S-sorry!” answered Lane.
“Sigh, never mind brat. Just pick up your trash go tell that bastard I will give him back his stupid old coins. He doesn’t have to send more brats here to waste my time!” And began checking the chicken’s head.
“Please wait,” said Lane, “I’m a customer, a customer.”
“A customer?” Asked the wrinkled old man before looking Lane from head to toe and back up again. Somehow, the way the old man stood there squinting his single eye and rising the opposite eyebrow made Lane’s hair rise.
“I mean it,” He said, “Look; I need your help readying that skin!” And pointed at the grinner pelt laying on the floor. The wrinkled old man peeked at the skin and considered a moment before looking back at Lane.
“Well?,” he asked, “What are you waiting for, brat? Do you want an old man to pick your mess for you? Bring it here!”
“Ah. Yes!” Lane said hurrying to carry the skin and putting it on the desk.
After closing in, Lane saw that the desk had a candle, an oil lamp, and one taxidermy mount of a raven. The elder focused completely on the skin, poking it with a set of bony fingers, and mumbling nonsense.
The raven mount, however, caught Lane’s attention because unlike the ones in front of the upholstery shop, and the massive bear in here, this raven looked rather shoddy. For starters, various patches of feathers were missing, revealing the grey, and poorly stitched skin underneath.
Then were the mismatch eyes. As if to make a sick joke, the left eye of the raven was black and looked vibrant while its right eye was a lame glass replacement that stood there with dull, white color.
“It’s a good skin,” The wrinkled old man said, distracting Lane from the raven mount, “If you have the coin, I can have it in a week. Fifty draks will do it, can you afford it?”
“Sure!” Lane answered taking a small pouch from inside the quiver, “I’ll pay right away! In old coins even.”
However, the elder stopped him, waving his hand.
“Stop it brat, I don’t want that old trash, and only thieves charge upfront,” Huffed the old man, “I tell you what; leave a hand-sized patch of the skin for me, and you can pay, in new coins mind you, the next week.” He finished extending a bony hand at Lane.
“That’s, that’s fair.” Said Lane returning the handshake.
However, when his hand closed around the old man’s one, Lane heard a caw. When he turned to look the raven mount was flapping its wings and rushing at him claws first.
“Ah no!” He tried to pull away but the old man clasped his hand in a grip that held him in place. “You, let go!”
“Down, Maggie!” Said the old man. And just like that the raven stopped charging and sat back on the desk, completely still. Nevertheless, the bony clamp still held firm around Lane’s hand. When he turned, Lane found the elder’s face staring closely at his.
“That’s weird,” the elder said, “Maggie usually does not react with anyone or anything for that matter.” Lane tried to put distance but the elder stopped him, grasping his shoulder with his other hand.
“Ah!” Lane said, still trying to free himself.
“Stop, boy, and look at me!” Commanded the elder. And for some reason, Lane found himself stopping his struggle and looking back at the elder’s face. This time, however, the glass eye was shining gently, with streaks of white lightning flashing inside.
Maggie doesn't like him? Not a good sign, never a good sign.