The Imaginary

Chapter 6: Mr. Travis can be Nasty Part 3

THE IMAGINARY

CHAPTER SIX: MR. TRAVIS CAN BE NASTY

PART 3

From the hint of the approaching sirens, the police cars were nearing. Charles got nervous, stroke an arm to make that feeling subside. I wasn’t sure if the police was after him or Mr. Travis here.

"We should get going," said Charles, finally. He took a step forward, the others following, then stopped. "Sir, I didn’t catch your name. You are?"

"A madman. And a peddler who dreams his travels of worlds."

"I see. Good to see you, Sir."

And they left. I decided to stay when Mr. Travis, who was already fixing his things, noticed me. It seemed like he recognized my presence only now.

"Boy, it’s you." He stood up, in difficulty. His lumped bag made clanking sounds. "Can you stay for a while? I have them with me."

He ransacked his pocket brutally. Out came two pieces of paper, which he then gave to me. Written on them were 13F, Wallbridge and Page Seven, Word Thirty-Six. The pages...the words, ah! This had a connection to Oblivion. And there also was Wallbridge, where Julia Skyshell met that monster. Was Mr. Travis somehow aware of the sessions?

"I am here," said Silver. Wispy smokes were blown to image, then whisked away as the forming took place. "Jake, are those the pieces?"

I didn’t reply. I was afraid that the old man would think I had some abnormal friend. But from the look on his face, he knew. He knew that Silver was here.

"I have one myself." I had no idea what he was talking about. "He only eats and sleeps, that lazy brother of mine." He stood, then carried his bag over his shoulder.

"Mr. Travis, what are these?"

"Follow those." He trod along the lane, but refrained from the movement when he realized he wasn’t quite finished talking. "And beware, boy. I dreamt of flames. Flames will descend with the bright sun, and burn a large clump of flesh. Today, you will see the burning skeleton of the underworld."

He faded to the hollowness of the day, chanting verses of ritual songs like a hopeless man.

"Jake, let’s go!" called Tom. "We’ll be late!"

*****

The arena was as big as a football stadium. I heard they played that sport in the bigger towns and cities. We had a full show today; no Moonsbane folk wanted to miss the Stringball events. In the corner of two of the four stands, above, stood a platform. Mr. Littlepot was there; so were Mr. Rowlman and a few more clapping guests.

There was clear intimidation, but we were also excited for this. When we broke free from the huddle, our voices roared. We went to our designated positions. I stopped at the attackers’ lane, crouched. Billy and the other two were with me. At the defender’s side far behind were two boys who had face markings. These kids were Hans and Gian. They were making licking expressions.

"You ready, guys?" said Billy. He surveyed the place, all nodded. "Don’t forget what I told you. Let’s do this. We’ll win for sure."

"My jarwick," said Alex, in his jaunty and commanding voice. "Comrade Billy, you’ve turned traitor. You’re gonna regret going against the master."

"The master," now that was arrogant. Across us were these Class Two players in bright red, led by Alex Redsand. They were jeering in resonation, like a nasty band of bullies. On second thought, they were bullies.