Science, Eternal Life, and a Traveling Circus |1|

Chapter Twelve

Abraham Walters peered at his reflection in the dark window panes of the college. He carried a small lantern with him, and a sack packed with what he had deemed necessary.

"You're a real charmer, Abraham," he said, and lightly punched his reflected self on the shoulder. His knuckles tapped the glass. He ran a hand through his choppy hair and looked away.

He had a map, he had food, he had his glasses. What he did not have was company, which he felt himself sorely missing. But a handful of hours ago had he entertained the delightful William and Jen Octienne in a rousing round of cards. He released a long exhale and moved along to the door.

On Jen's key-ring, only one key stood out as suitable for the gaping keyhole of the grand double-doors, and he inserted it with a trembling hand. The keys jingled on the ring. The doors groaned at the heavy clunk of the lock. They inched open. Abraham abandoned the keys and squeezed through.

He made his way across the foyer hall and tried the knob of the first blacksmithing classroom. He rubbed his jaw and chewed his inner cheek. He set down his lantern and squinted out the window by the door. The old bunker cover-up—the cement block—obscured his view of the town and cast a long shadow into the college.

A chill ran down his spine and he rubbed his bony arms. He drifted back to the classroom door and studied the knob.

"Here goes."

He stepped back and charged it at an angle with his shoulder. It burst out of the rotting wood. He fell to the ground and chomped on his hand to muffle a pitiful cry. He rubbed the afflicted area and weakly breathed it out for a brief while. He rose with his satchel and lantern and crept into the room.

Each shadow agitated a nerve in him as he navigated the room. Each table, each chair. His heart skipped a beat. The forge, the anvils and the sharpening wheels. He tripped over his feet. Tools hung from the ceiling. Exposed to the lantern's light, they projected themselves on the peeling walls and eerily shifted in a draft. Abraham shrunk into his collar and reached for a cabinet.

It didn't open. He laughed and smiled and tutted and shook his finger.

"Oh, Abraham." He raised his hand to his head. "You didn't expect it to be easy, did you?"

He shook his head and set his things on a workbench. He rubbed his hands together and eyed the tools overhead. A mallet hung on two hooks. He clambered on a chair to reach it. He clambered on the desk and tried again. As soon as the it left its hooks, its weight jolted Abraham downwards. The man stopped it inches from the floor, sprawled over the desk. He wheezed and slid to his feet. He lugged the mallet to the cabinet. He took a deep breath and blew at the two longer pieces of his hair, which dangled above his brow.

He swung the mallet, and it pulled him in the wrong direction. He swore and set it down to massage his shoulder. He dragged it back to place and tried again. The lock cracked under the force, and Abraham tossed the mallet aside. It fell an inch short of breaking his toes, but he took no notice. His eyes widened to the glorious stores of the cabinet.

The lantern-light cast his shadow over the array and bounced off the assorted metals. He took a pistol off a set of hooks, and a handful of bullets from a box beneath it. He stuffed it all into his sack and greedily reached for a polished dagger and a weapon belt to accompany his firearm.

Many of the weapons were sloppy and lopsided, or merely unfinished. A curved saber hung at the back, dull and missing a hilt. Abraham equipped the belt and shut the cabinet. He grabbed the pistol back from his sack and loaded it with four bullets. He slipped it into a holster on the belt and slid the dagger into a holster on the opposite side. It stuck out awkwardly.