The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Holdfast

The inland wind was stinging, even through the wool of the cloak and scarf that Able clutched tightly around himself. Chessie and several other people on the road into the city were doing the same, so certainly they did not look suspicious. The wharves that lined the bay ahead were smaller than the ones in Fairbanks, but it looked like there was some construction on the eastern side. Able lost sight of it when Chessie turned them from the broadway down to the harbor up into the city.

As per her inclination, or so it seemed, she had them weaving through side and back-streets. Still, after the forests, this felt simple and straightforward, especially since, unlike Fairbanks, the mild grade of the city had allowed it to be built like a grid. Exhausted as he was, Able could easily find his way back to the broadway.

Chessie stopped at an innocuous shop and popped up the stairs like she had not been walking all night. A little bell chimed when she opened the door. The narrow storefront was split in half by a counter, behind which sat a young woman with a long, brown braid. She had been filing at a tiny object, perhaps a pin, given the row of locks sitting on the shelf behind her. She eyed them warily as they removed their hoods and scarves.

"Ah, you made it," she said with a relieved smile.

"Able Houser, Wren Holdfast." Chessie gestured between them. "Have my things arrived?"

"Yes, three days ago." Holdfast nodded. "And the Captain got your request and asked about you too. He said he's good to go whenever. I'll let him know when I go for lunch in a couple hours." Her voice was familiar...

"You're the one they call Ferret?" Able guessed.

"Tell that to the whole world, why don't you!" Holdfast snapped, her eyes flashing with fear.

Able glanced at the closed door at his back but said nothing else.

"He's with me," Chessie intervened. "We'll just go upstairs, see to our things, rest a little...would it make sense to go with you to fetch your brothers from school, then take the little Arcways home?"

"I'll ask him about that, sure." Holdfast drummed her fingers on the counter for a thoughtful moment. "Would you like water for a bath too?" Yes, this small room wasn't airing their personal odors well.

Chessie nodded. "Yes, thanks."

"I appreciate it," Able echoed and felt fortunate that Holdfast barely spared him a glance.

"I'll bring some water up in a bit." She gestured to the narrow staircase buried in the wall behind the counter.

Able squeezed by the counter after Chessie. The passage up was so narrow that he had to tuck his arms close to his sides. And then the abode above was not much better, a hallway not wide enough to accommodate doors, so the doorways were all open. They passed a tightly packed kitchen and a bedroom with two stacked beds before entering a room with more of a living arrangement. A locksmith would not need much space for their work, but could surely afford better personal lodgings? But then...this was still Borealund.

"Wren's been looking after her three younger brothers since their parents died during the war," Chessie explained as if reading his thoughts. She slipped around the tight furnishings to a trunk against the wall between two slim windows. "She's pretty amazing, isn't she?"

"Oh, as a...uh, well I didn't work with her, but..."

"It's fine to say you're not sure what I mean." She chuckled and tossed an amused grin at him as she opened the trunk. "She took over her father's livelihood, takes care of her brothers, and is a key—if you like puns—operative for the Resistance. And she's twenty."

"Yes," Able then agreed.

Chessie pulled out some clothes then a purse and then...his satchel. She turned and held it out to him.

"Thank you." He nodded as took it and, with a deep breath, withdrew the two notebooks. Lark, presumably, had tied them together with a white ribbon and also folded his remaining writing supplies inside a linen like it was a bag. His lower lip trembled as he ran his thumb around the clever folds. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If anyone could look after themselves, Lark could.

Chessie had pulled his sea chart and map from the chest as well, so Able gathered his things and retreated with them to a corner. There he sat and opened his journal to see the to-do list on the first page.

Something resembling a laugh welled in his chest as he looked his own naivety in the face. He'd learned so much in every project he'd ever undertaken. But he'd never before felt, at the end of a project, like a different person had started it. He'd always enjoyed looking at his earliest musings and lists, enjoyed the feeling of pride and accomplishment over what he knew now that he didn't know then. Where was that now? No notebook in the world could contain a list of all the things he did not know and could not learn in one lifetime.

Well. For here and now, then, he pulled out a pencil and checked a few things off the list. There was more to add to it, sure, there would always be more to add. But for now, he needed to take control and work with what he had.

"I'm going to need more writing supplies," he announced after he had taken inventory.

Chessie looked up from her own inventorying. "You don't have some right there?"

"Not nearly enough." He found his purse in the bottom of the satchel, counted out his few remaining coins, and sighed. Not nearly enough.

"Hey." Chessie reached out and put her hand over his. "If you need it, I'll get it for you."

"This isn't..." he stalled and took a breath. She'd already been more than generous with him, so it would be much worse to lie for his own benefit. "This isn't for our mission. This is for me. Only me."

"I think," and she smiled her patient smile, "you already know how that's not true."