The Pale Locksmith

CHAPTER 21: THE NEED TO SURVIVE

As the morning light bathed the square, Adiniah surveyed the damage to the door and its frame. She was no carpenter, but she was confident that with a hammer and nails she could make most of the repairs herself. The lock, however, was a different matter. It was broken somehow, and now the door was impossible to close. Inwardly, she cursed the imbeciles who had been running amok through the market the previous night. Looking around outside, she could see little other damage; it appeared as though they were the most unfortunate ones.

As she headed back into the shop, she let out a yawn. She had been awoken by the disturbance last night and had gone straight away to check everything was okay in the Bakery. Nothing had been disturbed, but there was no way she was going to leave the shop unguarded while the door was stuck open. She had spent the rest of the night sitting in the shop, bludgeon on lap. There was little of value to steal, but still, there was nothing they could afford to lose. Fortunately, there had been no other happenings in the market that night, save for two more arrivals.

Trypha returning home in the night, creeping around the edge of the square, past the Ironmonger's and the Locksmith's homes, looking around as if fearful of being spotted. No doubt she had snuck out of the Tailor's earlier so she could see Phraim. Again. Adiniah reminded herself that she would have to have a long conversation with her soon, find out the latest gossip. After that, and more peculiarly, she had also witnessed the return home of the Locksmith, limping slowly across the market. As she had watched him, she had wondered where he had been. Perhaps he too had been at a romantic liaison, although he really did not seem like the sort to be able to charm himself into the heart of a woman. Possibly he had paid for the company, although he did not seem that type either. Maybe he had been out committing a crime, but again that did not really seem like the sort of thing that the Locksmith would do.

Anyway, it mattered not to her, as long as he was able to fix the door as soon as possible in the morning. After he had disappeared into his shop, she had maintained her vigil until morning. The shop was safe, but she was tired. Yet another night with no sleep. But Saturday was the busiest day of the week for the Bakery, there was no way she could relax. She would have to survive the day, then deal with the tiredness afterwards.

* * *

As the room gradually became lighter, the Locksmith remained in position. Studying the ceiling above his bed had become second nature to him, on the regular occasions when he was unable to sleep or was simply too scared to. He had memorised every bump and groove, every mark, even that solitary strand of cobweb that used any breath of wind as an excuse to dance with its shadow. Involuntarily, he rubbed his tongue over his cracked lips.

He had experienced bad nights before, and plenty of them, but this one had been something else. Nightmares were part of his life now, mostly when his desires were at their worst. Often in his dreams, he was the hunter, a creature that let its instincts rule as it devoured whatever it wanted. But this night he was the hunted. Whatever scraps of sleep he managed to have were filled with being chased. He could not quite see what was following him, but he knew it was close for he could hear it. Wherever he hid proved futile, for he could always be found, the sound of it coming nearer and nearer in the darkness. He would then wake up in a cold sweat, trembling and fearful. Finally, he had given up and waited for morning.

He reached for his cup, then lay back. Empty. His eyes meticulously surveyed the ceiling again. Every crack, every contour. He would get up eventually, to try to quell the desire that had set his throat alight. All he had at hand was water - it was not enough, but there was nothing else he could do for now. He would have to survive the day, then deal with the thirst.

When he did get to his feet, it was an effort. His legs did not want to move, for they were stiff and sore. Last night he had done something he had not done in a very, very long time. He had run. He was still feeling the effects, not just in his legs but in his mind. He thought back to when he was seen. The expression on her face would be with him for a while. It was his only stupid fault, he should have been more careful.