The Pale Locksmith

CHAPTER 25: THE MOTHER VISITS

From his bed, he could hear sounds outside. Time to stand up. After a stretch that twinged a muscle in his back, the Locksmith made his way to the window and peered out of a gap in the curtains. There was just enough light for him to see what was causing the noises. The Tailor had begun to open up his shop. Even from there, the Locksmith could see the slumped shoulders. The slumped shoulders of a man who had the weight of the world upon his shoulders. The slumped shoulders of a man who had given up any hope of sleep and was hoping that his business would prove a distraction. The Locksmith slowly backed away from the curtain. He knew it was impossible that Wormcheeks could see him through the slither of a gap, but he did not want to take any chances.

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping. He had remained in his closed shop the previous evening, avoiding the discussions on the missing girl. He did not notice getting into bed, he must have been more tired than he realised. He had slept very deeply; his body and mind were obviously grateful to catch up on some of the missing sleep.

He knew that today, he would need to act as normally as possible. This meant getting ready for work. As he washed himself, he looked over all the walls again, in case he had somehow missed a drop of blood. He went downstairs to do the same in the shop, his face so close to the surfaces they almost brushed his nose. Here, as was the case upstairs, he saw no evidence that his previous cleaning efforts had missed anything.

In the little room that passed for a kitchen, he began to boil some water. Looking around for breakfast, he wished he had not eaten all of yesterday's Roundloaf. He did not feel particularly hungry, but no doubt he would later. As the pot bubbled ever louder, he went to the front window to watch as the preparations for Queens day continued. He noticed in the far corner of the square the Tailor's wife, at the door of the Fishmonger. She was animatedly talking to him while her husband hovered, unsure whether to be at her side or back at his shop. In truth, he did not appear to know where he wanted to be, or what to do with himself. As the Locksmith continued to spy on them, he saw the Fishmonger – the Locksmith could never remember his name – give an apologetic shake of the head before closing his door. Undeterred, the Tailor's wife moved on to the next door, to the home of Gershon the Butcher. Wormcheeks remained in the background, still undecided.

The Locksmith went to his kitchen. It would be his turn for a visit soon enough, but for now it was almost time to start work. Removing the pot from the fire before all the water evaporated away, he made himself a drink. Bringing it into his shop, he prepared to open it up for the morning.

She was the first person into the shop. She came alone. The Locksmith guessed her husband had decided to go back to the shop, where he could at least be of some use. She came straight over time him, her eyes showing all the evidence of a sleepless night and of tears. She came straight to the point, in one rushed sentence.

"Hi we're looking for Trypha have you seen her?"

He knew he was not the first to be asked that question today, nor would he be the last. There was no accusation in the woman's shaky voice, only a lot of desperation. Still, the fear that she somehow knew the truth was making him sweat. Literally.

"I have not seen her, sorry."

"Okay. Well thanks anyway."

And that was it. The Locksmith was in the clear. She turned around to head back out of the shop.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

He did not know why he did not just say goodbye or good luck. The question just seemed to fall out of his mouth. The Tailor's wife turned back around and almost managed a smile.

"It is kind of you to offer, err... Locksmith, but we will probably be fine."

He did not mind her not knowing his name, he did not know hers either. This time he kept his mouth shut, and instead tried to look sympathetic and reassuring. A moment later, he was once again alone in his shop, and he could begin to breathe again. He sat down, ready for the next customer.