Jack Of All Trades ✓ | steampunk, dragons, trickery

Chapter 12.2: All He Has

The four-hour flight deep into the night was worth it. Amsgeld glittered with golden lights that reflected off buildings in copper rays. Rain fell here, too, but it was a soft mist that clung to anything it could. Jack found the airship port and stopped it there as quietly as he could. He left the keys inside just in case someone might try to mug him. Besides, no one looked into parked ships.

Good old Amsgeld, Jack thought with a smile, feeling a bit strange somehow to be back to a place he used to call his second home. Because so much had happened, it didn't feel like only three months and a bit had passed since. Felt like years to him. He breathed in the cold, but somehow stuffy air and headed for the station. He recognized the place where he first learned about a stone called dragon's breath by that street seller called Timothy.

Is Timothy still alive? He wondered. The last he saw Timothy was at the mechanical Enchantress' cave. Perhaps the gas might have killed him?

Since it was so late at night, the blackened streets only had him and a few lone drunkards leaning against the walls of buildings with half-smiles plastered on their sleepy faces. The rain made the building lights reflect on the road below. Jack slipped into the alleys when he spotted a police officer. He had to be careful.

Splashing in puddles, he traveled the backroads, searching for the turn off when he recognized the old bar he used to go to.

I'm close! Jack grinned and found the old office, but the door was locked, and the shades were drawn. He slipped around to the front and saw an eviction notice on the door. Well, without Jack paying the rent, it was bound to happen. He hoped the Kaleidoscope was still there. The rent of the space shouldn't be up for another couple months if he remembered right.

Passing familiar buildings, Jack quickened his pace. Heart thumping in excitement, his sure footing took him to the one place where he always felt he belonged—the Kaleidoscope. But it wasn't what it used to be.

Rain had blown in through the broken windows in the front. The neon sign was dulled, and the 'K' had fallen off its hinges, laying on the ground before the door. Jack pushed the 'K' away and tried the handle. It was open and squeaked in protest.

"Dungs and apples," Jack breathed out in shock. The walls were broken, the ceiling peeled, and the floor was strewn with broken display cases, rusted jewelry that might have been someone's product, and all the decorations had been torn to shreds. Boxes lined the walls and when he looked into one, there were all the decorations for other seasons. The boxes said, 'combustibles'.

Tears formed in his eyes, and he wiped them away. The Kaleidoscope, his pride and glory, a combustible? Nothing remained of all the years he tried so hard to make this the best gallery in Endil. Not just the main gallery, but the banquet hall was covered in dark stains on the rug and the memory of the day Norman came to expose him returned. People had died that day, staining the rug with their blood.

And I had abandoned the Kaleidoscope. But what could I do? Jack swiveled around at the sound of footsteps crunching stone debris. A light shone in his face and Jack shielded with his arm.

"Jack?"

"Old man, Simon," Jack breathed out in relief to find at least one thing from his past not withered away.

Simon set the lantern on the windowsill. "You shouldn't be here," he said in a low voice.

"What happened?" Jack asked. Simon looked older than he remembered. More wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. Hair, whiter than gray. Lips cracked.

"What happened?" Jack said again.

"I want to ask you." Simon narrowed his eyes. "Four months, Jack. Gone. Not a word. What am I supposed to do? I have no money and I have a family."

A family? Jack didn't remember anything about Simon having a family. He never talked about a family. "I didn't know you had—"

Simon scoffed. "Never cared to ask, did you? About my sick granddaughter? Estranged son-in-law? No medicine could we afford."

"Simon, we can start over again. Make money for your family. You and me like old times." Jack took a few steps forward, holding out his hand. "What do you say? The Kaleidoscope again. Maybe not here because I'm wanted, but somewhere..." He tried to find the right place, but not even Miremand wanted him. "Trident?"

Simon's shoulders rose and fell. He shook his head. "I'm old, Jack. Can't keep going on like this."

"You're giving up the Kaleidoscope? After all the hard work we put into it?" Jack said in disbelief. "Combustibles?" He pointed to the boxes. "All of that?"

"I didn't think you would care enough to come back. It's just another of your pasts, isn't it? I closed it. Forever."

Jack felt frozen in his spot again like he had with Mister Weatherbee. A sense of lost control. "But, Simon, all this, it's my lifeblood, and yours'—"

"What it had been, good memories!" Simon barked. "Now it makes no money, and I can't Jack. I can't continue. I won't. I just came here tonight to say goodbye, damn it, and then you show up!" He softened his voice. "Tomorrow this land will be the king's property. So, you best say your goodbyes. It served us well. So long, Jack."

Fear overwhelmed him as he saw Simon take up the lantern and make his way towards the door. He couldn't lose this, too. If he couldn't be Jack Montague, he had to be Jack Ogswold, and the Kaleidoscope and Simon tied him to that name. He grabbed Simon's frail body, knocking him against the windowsill.

"Let go of me!" Simon swung the lantern. It hit Jack in the head. He released Simon, staggering backwards. "Don't be rough with me or I'll call the police."

In that moment, as Simon slowly made his way to the door, Jack saw himself overlapping Simon. It was himself in that feathered hat and fancy clothes with his signature smirk. It was Jack Ogswold and Simon was taking his identity away.

"Stop!" Jack barreled into Simon, crashing through the window. The two of them hit the ground. "Don't take it away from me!" Jack grabbed Simon's collar and shook his head, "It's all I have!" 

But Simon didn't say anything, and his head bobbed heavily. Getting off of Simon showed a piece of glass had penetrated his chest, stomach, and the back of his skull had cracked open on impact, bleeding out on the asphalt. Jack saw the illusion of Jack Ogswold fade away.

It was an accident, he thought in a daze and stood. He heard sirens and ran. In his mind Norman's words replayed over and over, "Who are you, Jack?"

Who was he? Fear struck him. His heart pounded. Stumbling and slipping on the wet ground, he ran to the last and only place that called him Jack Ogswold.