Horacio Ashmont's Arc

Chapter 7 of 12

Horacio returned to the warehouse cellar and counted what he'd need. Twelve people. Three days' worth of food at minimum, since Scrooge might lock the townhouse and cut off access to the storm cellar. Water jugs. More blankets. Candles and matches. He found a rickety storage shed behind the market square, padlock hanging loose on rusted hinges. Inside sat rows of wicker baskets, some empty, others holding turnips gone soft. The owner appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Those ain't free," the man said. Horacio offered two pounds for three baskets and use of the handcart leaning against the wall. The man shook his head. "Four pounds. Cart comes back by morning." Horacio counted out the coins, watching his savings shrink again. He filled the baskets at the market stalls. Dried fish wrapped in paper. Loaves of bread, some already hardening. Apples with brown spots the sellers sold cheap. Cheese wheels small enough to carry. He loaded everything into the handcart, then added two water jugs and a stack of tin cups from a rag seller's pile. The cart's wheels creaked under the weight. He pushed it through the alleys, keeping to shadows, until he reached the manhole behind the wine merchant's vault. Getting the loaded cart down the tunnel took an hour. He lowered each basket with rope, then carried the jugs and supplies through the passages to the storm cellar. When he'd finished arranging everything in the alcoves, he stood back and looked at what he'd built. Pallets lined the walls. Blankets folded at the foot of each. The baskets held enough food to keep twelve people fed while he figured out what came next. His coin purse felt light in his pocket, but the cellar was ready. Tomorrow Scrooge would return to the townhouse, and when he did, Horacio's people would already be gone.