Chapter 4 Emergence
EMERGENCE
Stepping out onto the street after Lent, I have to fight to hide my emotions as intense sounds and smells crash over me.
The street is narrow and carriages rush down it in careening paths as though in the middle of some race.
There is a thick and smoky fog in the air that immediately burns my lungs.
Just down the street, several people seem to be fixing a building, and the tools they are using send sharp, explosive sounds through the air and directly into my skull.
Carriage drivers yell and scream at each other as they speed past, and the sound of wheels driven fast over cobbles on the street adds to the din.
“It’s too early to be very busy,” says Lent, speaking over the wild noise, “but all the same, stay close so you don’t get lost.”
Then, without looking at me, he steps off along a narrow path running along the building, which seems to be the only safe place from the speeding carriages.
I follow close behind him and try to keep up and not trip over my own feet. As I do, I crane my head up, looking at buildings so tall they disappear into the smoggy sky.
“Magnificent, huh?” calls Lent, turning to face me for a second with a grin. He then continues on rapidly, leaving me to think that this is not the word I would use to describe this place.
His long legs attempt to outpace me, so I break into a jog. Suddenly, as though realizing I’m not easily able to catch up, he slows down, walking beside instead of ahead of me.
“I’m a bit of a researcher for the other work the band does,” he says. “I have a book I must pick up for that work. Do you like books?”
An answer rises unbidden from my lips, and I’m likely as surprised as Lent as I say the words, “I love books.”
Lent flashes me a grin. “You’ll fit right in then,” he says enthusiastically.
Soon, we arrive at a crossroads. Catching the fabric of my hood in his fist, Lent looks across the street and then, pulling me, darts across.
We only narrowly avoid being run down. I hear curses hurled from the carriage behind me as Lent continues on, apparently accustomed enough to this to be unflustered by the near-death experience.
We continue for a while at a fast clip down the same street, and then he turns off to the left and almost immediately steps into a small door at the front of one of the tall buildings.
I follow him into near silence, especially relative to the noise outside. In this small shop, the smell of musky books mixes with the acrid scent of smoke from outside. Books line the walls from floor to ceiling, and we have to walk through a maze of shelves before we get to a small counter.
Lent clears his throat, and the tiniest man I have ever seen, not that it means much at this point, appears from somewhere behind us.
Taking a pull on his pipe, he walks around to the opposite side of the counter.
He peers through narrowed eyes at Lent, who waits as though for the man to recognize him.
Finally, Lent grumbles, “You were holding a book for me on hag stones. You told me to come back today and you would have it.”
“Ah, though I don’t remember you, I remember the book,” says the little man. “It is over here, no wait, wait, I’ll fetch it.” Grumbling quietly to himself, he disappears into the maze of bookshelves that are behind and to both sides of the counter.
While this happens, I wait, standing slightly behind Lent. Catching my attention, he crosses his eyes as though telling me something about the little man I didn’t already realize. I smile, looking down to hide behind my hair, and while I look at the floorboards, the little man returns.
He takes the pipe from his mouth and sets a small book on the counter as he says, “That’ll be forty coppers.”
“No way,” says Lent, “you told me you could get it for cheap. That price is not what we agreed on.”
“Hmm, well, I’m certain I don’t remember that. This book will cost you no less than forty, and look here, son, I’ve got plenty of customers who will take it for that, so no bargaining.”
I can only see Lent’s back, but he seems upset. Finally, he digs something out of his pocket and sets it with too much force on the counter.
The little man slowly counts it as though expressing boredom at Lent’s outrage and then nods and, wrapping the book in brown paper, hands it over.
Once again smoking his pipe, he grins at Lent and says, “Enjoy it there, young man, great book that.” With that, he turns and disappears again into the maze of books.
Lent stomps out of the shop, and I can tell that I’ve been forgotten. I pause when I get outside and, looking down a small alley, see something that brings a smile to my face.
I turn down the alley as Lent continues down the street, heedless of my change of direction.
Soon, I am at the side of a harnessed horse.
He is mainly white with some strange markings.
He arches his neck to blow at me, his nostrils standing square.
Unsure from what part of myself I draw the knowledge, I know that he is a young stallion and full of himself, but well-behaved.
He is also well-loved, and his shining coat shows it.
I run a hand over his shoulder and blow into his nostrils, getting to know him. Suddenly, I hear a loud shout from behind me, and the horse and I shy apart.
“Hey!” Lent yells as he walks swiftly towards me. “Those horses are dangerous, you will get kicked or worse! I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to explain to the others that you ended up as sausage in the street.”
I glare at him from under the fringe of hair that fell into my eyes and then step forward to the horse as it snorts.
His ears are pinned at Lent, but I return to our previous silent conversation and begin to stroke his shoulder again.
Calmed after a moment, the horse leans his head against me, his ears forward, and with a snort expresses his disgust at stupid boys.
I laugh and then turn and walk to Lent, brushing the hair out of my face.
“Don’t stray, you don’t know this city yet,” Lent says before he starts off again. Thankfully, it seems his mood has improved, and he leads me more calmly on the rest of his errands as I trail in his wake.
Next, we stop at a small shop that seems to sell random items. I’m not sure what he buys. They look like strings made of metal and some type of writing instruments. Finally, with his shopping done, he turns us toward home.
When we arrive back at the mansion, Reem meets us in the entry hall. Glancing at me, he then looks at Lent and asks, “Did you get the banjo strings I asked for?”
Lent nods and hands him one of the packages.
Reem frowns as though unsure whether Lent would have correctly fulfilled his task. After checking the contents of one of the small packages, however, he mumbles a thanks.
Then he looks at me and back at Lent before saying, “The others are waiting in the floral room, let's go talk.”
I feel as though there is something he isn’t saying.
Lent says, “Lead the way, fearless leader.”
The corner of Reem’s mouth quirks up, but he shakes his head at Lent.
Then he leads us into a room I haven’t been in yet.
Painted flowers cover the walls. In the center are a couple of leather couches sitting facing each other.
A few other chairs are set across the open spaces.
The ceilings are high with white designs painted on them, and there’s a large chandelier in the center of the ceiling.
Fem is already here, standing along a wall with a book in his hands. When we arrive, he takes a seat on a couch, watching me closely. I stand awkwardly as Lent and Reem each sit, and then, realizing they intend for me to as well, I sit at the end of the couch Fem is on.
As I wait for them to speak, I look at each of them again.
Some awareness, I’ve been gifted with, tells me they are in their mid-twenties.
That same awareness tells me that I appear to be about the same age despite my rather recent gift of life.
That same awareness also tells me that they are young for them to have experienced the success they have.
Studying them, I note that Lent fiddles with the package he brought with him, seeming to have rather too much energy to sit still. Reem sits with his arms crossed, looking at all of us as though wondering who is going to start this conversation. Fem sits quietly, still studying me.
Finally, as though he’s grown tired of waiting, Reem begins, “You have been dragged into our life with almost no explanation. You should know that we are a group of musicians, a rather talented group, and we live here in relative decadence. Right now, it is the three of us, as our fourth bandmate recently left us for love.” Reem scoffs, as though leaving this band for love is a ridiculous practice, one that he doesn’t endorse.
“Lent is our guitarist, and he also does some work for our other project.” He gestures vaguely in Lent’s direction.
When I glance at Lent, he grins at me and gives me an awkward wave that makes me laugh.
Then Reem continues, “Fem is our fiddle player. He also has some experience as a healer from his work prior to joining the band.”
Fem just nods at me, eyes still searching as though he might find the answer to a puzzle. Unsure what is expected, I avoid his eyes.
“I play Banjo,” Reem says simply.
As I wait for him to say something else, Lent chimes in, “Reem is also our fearless leader. This band is his passion, and he has led our group to much success.”
Reem makes a noise as though he might disagree, but there is a smile on his face.
Then he continues, “We have a performance soon, and tonight we are setting up to rehearse and prepare for that concert. I fear it will be terribly boring for you here, and if you would like me to arrange some other mode of board for you I would be happy to.”