Ezra Knox's Arc

Chapter 3 of 11

The stranger pulled a chain from under their collar. A brass tag hung from it, scratched and dulled by years of weather. They turned it so Ezra could see the back. A small dent matched the one on the lamp, struck by the same tool on the same day. "We were kids," the stranger said. "He took the lamp. I kept the tag. He promised to trade back someday." Their voice cracked on the last word. Ezra looked at the cross, the lamp, the tag swinging in the stranger's fist. The mother's words pressed against their ribs. Light it when you know the name. Ezra crouched and lifted the lamp, then held it out. "Take it," they said. "But tell me his name. Tell me yours. And come Friday, come to the tavern with me." The stranger closed both hands around the lamp and nodded. The list in Ezra's pocket had two names on it now. The stranger stepped back and pointed to a small patch of dead grass near the base of the wall. A folded blanket sat there, weighted by a stone. A tin cup. A candle burned down to a nub. "I have been sitting here three nights," they said. "Waiting for whoever painted him to come back." Ezra felt the ground shift. They had not been watching longest after all. Someone else had been keeping the same vigil, and now that someone had a name, and a reason, and would be walking beside them on Friday. Ezra knelt and set the cross straight again. The lamp was gone from its foot, but the promise stayed. They looked at the stranger, then at the blanket on the rotten grass. "Pack your things," Ezra said. "You sit with me now, not alone." The stranger gathered the blanket and the cup. Ezra slid the brass tag chain into their own pocket beside the list. Two names. One wall. One Friday coming. The search was no longer theirs alone.