Chronicles of Waylon's Crossing - 3. Repairs

When the pistol clicked when Kynan pulled the trigger, he had a split second's panicked thought, and then he brought up the other gun and blasted the wooly-haired monstrosity right between the eyes. The minotaur dropped to the ground at Kynan's feet and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He sheathed the one pistol and then, cautiously, turned over the other, but he couldn't see anything wrong with it. Perhaps the mechanism was broken?

Well, duty first. He holstered the faulty weapon and reached for his knife. The queen wanted this creature's heart. She'd said live or dead, but the heart was what she wanted. Shrugging, he completed his grisly task, grateful that out here in the Borderlands he didn't need to worry about disposing of the body.

From there he returned to the Dark Court and presented the queen with his trophy. She smiled as she took the package and kissed his cheek, making Kynan flush a dark red.

"So speedy, Kynan," she purred, patting his head where he knelt at her feet.

"My queen," he murmured, knowing from the tone of her voice that she'd changed her mind about the dead or alive part. He braced himself so that he only swayed with her slap rather than tumbling from the dais. She laughed, dropped a sack at his feet, and rose.

Kynan scuttled out of the way, as did everyone else, only rising and leaving the throne room once she had gone. He grabbed his reward, mildly surprised to feel its weight, and returned to his own cramped quarters. He used a round-about route to be sure he wasn't followed, then squeezed inside. Removing his jacket, he set both pistols down on his workbench and set about cleaning them. As he worked on the one that had misfired, he looked up at the small sword hanging on his wall.

He rose and washed his hands, grabbing down the blade with cloth carefully wrapping his hands. He sat down, set the weapon in his lap, and reached for the dreamscape.

Keeping the sword's scent in his mind, Kynan set out on the hunt. He found the familiar shop after a lot of circuitous walking, realizing that something had changed, the scent itself was not accurate anymore. He stood outside the dream-shop and breathed in deeply, listening with his wolf-ears, and realized that the werewolf who had made his guns no longer lived at this residence.

He dropped out of the dreamscape fuming, and hung up the sword. His gaze fell on the dismantled pistol and tapped his fingers on the bench. Then he shrugged. He needed more bullets anyway. After finishing his cleaning, Kynan swapped to clean clothes, grabbed his most recent prize, and wandered back into the Borderlands. His first stop was the home of his mentor, the demon Karadur.

Once in his room there, he poured his jewels out on the small desk in the corner and sorted them. His appraising eye picked out a half dozen stones and he placed all but a few of the rest back in his hiding place.

He reached the city just after dawn, with plenty of time to get breakfast and meet with a money-changer before heading to the smithy. The little shop was in a moderately successful section of other mercantile stores, sharing the lot on the corner with a carpenter and across the street from a section of dressmakers, tailors, and milliner shops.

One of the smith's daughters manned the counter this morning and Kynan politely inquired if Alan were in the shop. She shook her head, looking both puzzled and curious so he asked where he might be found.

"It's his day off," she replied, "he could be anywhere."

"Oh, well," he paused, fidgeting with his hat. He hadn't anticipated not being able to find the boy.

"You might find him in the library," suggested the girl. "He's been working on some new gadget, so he might be there."

"Thank you kindly, Miss," he replied, nodding politely and left the shop. Library? What was that? Biting back a growl of frustration, Kynan went on the prowl.

In a completely different part of town, he approached the boy selling newspapers on the corner to inquire about a library. The kid blinked at him and Kynan bought one of the papers. Then he smiled and pointed down the street.

"Roight, sar, loibrory's roight next ta th' cathedrol, roight."

"Thank you," said Kynan and turned back down the street.

He cut through the large park in the center of the city and walked up Angel Way toward the massive and ancient church. He circled the park before he found the library, a plain-faced brick building with a pair of lion statues out front. A small plaque by the double-doors read: Waylon's Public Library. That had to be it, only Kynan couldn't cross the street.

He stared at the steps and entranceway and scowled at the cathedral. The library must be in one of the church's former buildings. Swatting his thigh with the newspaper, Kynan looked around until he found a good vantage point from which to watch the library doors. When Alan came out, Kynan could follow him. He sat down and scanned the paper.

After a while, the activity in the park behind him became far more interesting. A cluster of young men and ladies played croquet in one of the open grassy areas. Smaller children ran about in groups followed by their nurses or mothers, an old lady sat on a bench throwing bread to the birds, and a young man walked down by the lake, arm and arm with a young woman carrying a parasol. Businessmen in their fancy top hats and briefcases walked quickly along the paths, vendors and entertainers plied their trades, and all looked just like a picture in the stationer's shop.

Elbow on the back of the bench, chin in hand, Kynan watched the activities with some measure of curiosity, longing, and bewilderment. The people changed, but the atmosphere stayed relaxed and pleasant. The croquet game morphed into a Badminton game, then later into cricket, a completely baffling game that involved a lot of ball rolling and raucous cheering. About that time Kynan started to get hungry so he strolled into the park and approached one of the men selling hot dogs. While he waited, a group of children ran up the the proprietor and asked him if he had any tins. Kynan watched in amazement as the man smiled and handed the children a couple of circular, light-metal discs. They squealed in delight and for the next few minutes, while Kynan ate, he watched as the children threw the discs back and forth to each other.

There didn't seem to be much in the way of skill involved, and, apparently, no rules. When they finished, abandoning the toys in search of other amusement, Kynan wandered over and picked one up. They were very light-weight and indented on one side, deeper than a plate, but not as much as a bowl, and with a wide rim. After its handling by the children, the disc was battered and bent, but he gave it a cautious toss and found himself grinning as the disc soared over the grass and impaled itself in a tree. He was going to retrieve it when he realized that the very person he was waiting for was walking down through the park -- not towards the cathedral, but away.

"Alan!" he called, stepping out of the trees.

The boy jumped, dropping the books and papers he held in his hands. "Ah! Fuc -- Shit!" He recoiled from the man standing suddenly right next to him, barely keeping from bolting. He blinked a couple of times, breathing hard. "Uh ... Kynan?"

Kynan dragged his hat off his head, turning the leather around in his hands. He blushed, his pleased smile fading to a worried frown. He hadn't meant to scare the kid, he'd wanted to ask if he'd grown. He sure seemed taller.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

"Huh? Me? Why?"

"Have a technical problem I thought you could solve." He patted his hip.

"What's wrong?"

"You tell me."

Alan kneeled to gather up his scattered books and papers and looked back, towards the cathedral, visible over the tops of the trees, and the library, which was not. "Who told you I was going to be here?"

"Your sister," Kynan replied, chasing down a roll of thick paper, held together by string. "Did I ... come at a bad time?"

"No," Alan replied, shaking his head, "No, you just startled me, that's all."

"Then you can fix it?"

"What? You mean, like, right now?"

Kynan handed him the paper tube, suddenly feeling foolish. "I guess it's not urgent," he said slowly, thinking that he would still have the other pistol, and his sword work was a little rusty.

Alan arched an eyebrow. "So you've been waiting around for me for hours because it's 'not urgent'?"

"I never said I'd been waiting for hours," Kynan pointed out. "I had other things I needed to do, I was just on my way to the library. Got distracted by some kids throwing around --"

"Pie tins, I know," Alan interrupted, sorting out his books and hefting things in his arms again. "Must be the same group of kids that smacked me with one last week."

"Pie tins?"

"Yeah, hurt like a bitch, those edges can be sharp. Sure would be nice if they could coat the edges of those things in rubber or something. Hmm, or even the whole thing, but then I don't know if they would fly so ... well?"

He had started off down the sidewalk, and now he stopped and turned around as he realized Kynan wasn't following. "Look, why don't you come with me to the shop and I'll take a look at the gun, okay?"

"If it's not an inconvenience."

"Of course it's an inconvenience," said Alan, rolling his eyes, "but I'm headed there anyway."

Kynan scratched his head, then shrugged and put his hat back on. "Sure."

They walked along quietly, most of the way through the park before Kynan asked, "Can I carry something?"

"No, I've got it, I'm fine," huffed Alan.

With a frown, Kynan whisked the top three-quarters of books and bundles off the stack. "Really. You could barely see over that, and you were going to walk all the way home?"

"It's not that far."

"It makes me feel better," said Kynan, surprised to find that it was true.

"O-kay," said Alan. They started walking again. "You better not lose anything, though."

"I won't. What are you working on?"

"Oh, I've moved out on my own now, these are drawings and plans for my new place, I'm going to put in a heating system."

"A what?"

Kynan listened avidly as Alan told him all about his invention, for heating his house using hot water or hot air or hot something that would keep his home warm all the winter long without having to worry about multiple fireplaces or purchasing the wood necessary to keep even a small cottage heated during the winter snows that could sometimes come howling into the city. Kynan barely understood one word in five, but he listened anyway, just blown away by wild imagination of this werewolf pup.

Had it really been six months ago that he'd found him and bought the guns? Alan had given him lots of bullets and he'd hidden out in the Borderlands for a couple weeks learning to shoot and hit what he aimed at. He hadn't thought so much time had gone by as all that. No wonder the scent was stale. Alan had changed, grown somewhat, and moved into separate lodgings from his folks. He was going to have to get his hands on something only Alan had touched in order to keep his scent, and the more important the token, the stronger the trace would be and the longer it would last. He gave the books and papers in his arms a more speculative look.

Alan was still talking a mile a minute when they reached the shop. He whisked the long tube out of Kynan's arms, uncorked one end to slide out the drawing, and rolled out the schematic on the counter.

"See?" He pointed. "Here and here, and here. There'll be vents and grills, and I've still got to figure out how to keep the thing clean. I don't want to have to crawl through there, and a broom won't work, I need something that bends."

"Uh, sure ...." Kynan stared blankly at the drawing. He could barely make out the house with all the added lines and marks. "You're going to do this all yourself?"

"Yeah!" Alan's finger jabbed at another section. "Look, this's where the actual furnace will go, and here ...."

"Do you have another one of these?"

"Oh, yeah, it's not as detailed, but I didn't want to take the larger one to the library." He waved his hand distractedly. "What do you think about the flooring material? I was thinking stone perhaps, because the boiler has to be iron and I don't know how hot ...."

Kynan rubbed his head, pushing his hat back. This was all making his head hurt. What was Alan now? Fifteen? He had certainly grown an inch, maybe two in the past few months, still all angles and sharp lines. His hands and feet still looked huge incomparison to his lanky frame, so there was still more growing to do, but no other teenager he'd ever met had this kind of imagination. In some ways he seemed far older than his years, but then he'd turn to look at him with those puppy dog eyes sparkling and Kynan had to grin at his childish excitement.

Neither of them noticed the older man standing in the doorway of the shop's main room. He looked from his hyper son to the bewildered-appearing stranger with the sunglasses and back again. Kynan. That was it, he'd made the man a sword some time ago. And he'd bought something from Alan, the boy had been frantically banging on things for a couple weeks and, just as he'd announced he was finished, this mysterious man had shown up again. He seemed to be taking an interest in Alan and that had his father worried.

He stepped forward, into the light, and cleared his throat.

Alan let go of the drawing, which rolled itself off and flipped off the counter. Kynan grabbed it instinctively, and almost dropped it again. This rolled up sheet of parchment was practically singing with Alan's presence, and Kynan had a strange reluctance to set it down again.

"I wasn't blabbering, Dad!" Alan was saying.

"Good evening, Mr. Mammon," said Kynan evenly, switching the paper to his left hand and holding out the other. "Alan was just telling me about some modifications he's going to make to his house." They shook hands and Kynan reached into his holster for the gun. "And then he was going to make some repairs for me."

The older werewolf looked neither satisfied nor pleased, but he nodded curtly and returned to the workshop. As Alan dutifully went around the counter and perched on a stool, Kynan slid the roll into an inner pocket of his coat, tucking the other end under his arm, and then leaned against the counter across from Alan, shifting the books so he could see.

"What do you think?"

Alan had the gun broken down to its constituent parts in seconds. "Hang on," he murmured, "I need to grab some things." He returned a minute or so later with a rag and a can of grease. Minutes later, he had more grease on his face, hands, and hair than on the weapon itself, but Kynan decided not to comment.

Alan wiped his hands on his shirt and held up a tiny metal sliver. "Firing pin's busted," he stated, holding it up in the light from the lamp on the wall behind him and squinting.

"What does that mean?"

"Let me see the other one."

Slightly more nervous, Kynan handed Alan the other pistol. He watched, silently and with a concerned frown, as the second gun turned into bits and pieces of greased metal.

"Yup," said Alan, "this one's a goner, too." He looked up at Kynan. "Guess I need a tougher metal for this piece, it's worn clean through. How often you do shoot?"

"Um, I'm not sure, but I'm almost out of bullets."

"Already?"

"Target practice."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, this shouldn't be too hard to fix, I can probably have them ready for you again in a couple days. Bullets may take me longer, a week, tops."

Kynan breathed in and out of his nose a couple times. He would have to walk back through the Borderlands with only his knife. "Uh, sure, then I'll check back in a week." He straightened and pulled out a small sack and placed it on the counter. "See you next week, then."

"Wait," Alan called him back. "I won't be here, that'll be my day off."

"Then leave the guns here and I'll pick them up." He smiled faintly. "I think you'll find that covers everything." Tapping his hat firmly back on his head, he stepped through the door and into the gathering gloom.