Bone Pattern

August and Gwendolyn- August 30, 2014

Today I did make it out to see August.  I would say I finally made it out to see him, but I can't bring myself to regret days lost to that deep city.  August's bookshop is in a little street off Sante Fe.  It's in his home, by appointment only.  I figured the tapestry ought to be enough, and I have been there before.  So I came to a long, narrow Victorian house beneath shaded trees.  Ivy covered the front, twining round the ginger bread and casting everything in green.

I rang the bell and August came, with his new baby in a sling.  A small, shabby man in a dressing gown with long, tousled hair.  His baby is lovely.  A tiny black girl with wide eyes and the kind of flower mouth you only ever see on babies.  Morning light fell through the doorway and onto her face and made her blink.  Apparently, her name is Gwendolyn.  He did not say where she came from.  But he looked pleased to have her.

August was pleased with the tapestry.  It tugged upon my heart as I gave it up to him, but when I came home my feet seemed more firmly planted in the shallows.  I did not ask what it was meant to do, why he wanted it.

Then he led me up the steps to his shop.  He keeps his stock in the green dappled upper floors and lives on the ground floor.  Well, there and in the basement I suppose.  A door stood open with steps leading down.  Only candlelight down there.  Candlelight showing rugs on the floor and a scatter of soft toys.  But we went past that door without stopping.

Up into three rooms crammed with books.  Most of them old, and the new ones looked hand bound.  People printing and binding editions of one or two.  I saw rumored volumes up there.  Tainted Violet and Salt Words and a volume of poetry by Coffern.  There would be grimoires in there, dark splatterpunk novels, last editions of certain zines. Perhaps botanies of the uncanny that the Weaver would like. For a moment I kicked myself for not coming to this shop more often.  But then I remembered that I really cannot afford these treasures.  Unfortunately, posts in forums, buried a thousand links deep are more my speed.  These thigns are free. Alas, August led me past all of these beauties, cooing to Gwendolyn as we went.

I hadn't thought to be paid for playing courier, but he gave me a map.  A crosshatch of streets angled together, drawn in heavy ink.  No street names on it, but the shape looked familiar.  Looked like old Denver.  At near one side of the drawing, something was circled, and a spiral drawn within it.  

"I know this is just a scrap," August said to me. "But I'm grateful that you came all this way.  I found this in a notebook I bought on ebay.  The writer was local, anyway.  Most of it was just rambling scrawl.  But he hinted at some things... Anyway, this is more coherent than most of the text.  Maybe you would like to follow it up?"

This is exactly the sort of thing I can't resist.  Of course I took it.  And I'm grateful.  Things have been moving slowly lately, and I need a good lead.  I need the money.  Tomorrow, if I can, I'll try to track down the location on the map.  Googlemaps ought to help.  And hopefully the Taste of Colorado will keep most of the shallow crowds away from where I need to be.  

I wonder what it is, the thing on the map.  I wonder if its still there.

Tomorrow.