Chester's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The black water soaked Chester to the chest before his boots found solid ground. He dragged himself up to the tavern door and pushed it open. Inside, one lamp burned. The floorboards sagged under his weight. A skeleton stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a white cloth. He wore a deep red coat with gold trim and a black bow tie. His eye sockets glowed faint orange. He did not seem surprised to see a soaked elf drip across his floor. "You're wet," the skeleton said. "Sit anyway. I'm Mortimer. This is my house." Chester dropped onto a stool. His hair hung wet across his eyes. "I'm looking for my sister. Small girl. Dark purple hair, like mine. She was taken. Her trail ends at your door." His voice shook. "Have you seen her? Heard anything? Anything at all." Mortimer set the glass down. His bony fingers went still. For a long moment he only looked at Chester. Then he leaned across the bar. "A girl came through," he said. "Not by choice, I think. Something big carried her past that door. It didn't stop. It didn't drink." He tapped one finger on the wood. "But she dropped something." Chester stood so fast the stool fell. "What. Where." Mortimer turned and reached below the bar. He lifted out a small bundle and placed it in front of Chester. It was a worn bindle, tied at the top. The cloth was striped in faded pink, yellow, and blue. Stitched symbols ran across it, sun shapes and small marks. Chester's breath caught. He knew this bundle. She had sewn it from her old blanket. He had watched her knot it a hundred times. He pulled it close and worked the knot loose. Inside he found a folded scrap of paper, a smooth grey stone she liked, and a strip of dried food. His fingers found the paper first. He opened it. Two words, in her shaky hand: help me. Chester pressed the note flat against the bar. His jaw tightened. "When," he asked. "When did the thing pass through?" "Two nights back," Mortimer said. "It went east, deeper in. Toward the sunk ground where the mud eats horses." His orange eyes dimmed. "No one who follows that way comes back to my bar, boy." Chester tied the bindle to his belt. The note stayed in his fist. Two nights. She had been alive two nights ago. She had begged for help and left it where someone might find it. She had trusted that someone would come. "Then I'll be the first," Chester said. He walked to the door and looked into the dark. He had no light now. He had only her note and a direction. Behind him, Mortimer picked up his glass and went back to wiping. Chester stepped out into the wet night and turned east.