He did not need to wait long. Fefferman clambered out from beneath the bridge to his left with a triumphant spring in his hobble. Though the satchel was gone, the man clutched something round in one fist.
“Yes now, found you a reward, rightful reward, payment in kind for foolish kindness. Could’ve been hurt for old Fefferman, can’t have you doing that again. Fefferman can’t afford it, now, can he? Heh! No, you stay there, I’ll come up. Can’t move so good, but I can do more than you think now, can’t I?”
The man made his way at last up to where Austin waited and thrust his closed hand out toward him. “Put out your claw now, go on!”
Austin did so, half expecting Fefferman to drop a live mouse or other small animal into his palm. What he got instead was cold, smooth, and thankfully unmoving: a chunk of what was maybe amber. It was the size of a golf ball, but flattened slightly and quite polished.
“There now, the rest of your reward, all yours! Festering piss-pot would’ve howled if old Fefferman had time to pull this out before he’d run off! Has to work close-up, though. Might not even work for you at all, but you hold tight to it, man. This world won’t stay dry forever, blasted prison! They’ll come, the magic’ll come, and then you just wait. You’ll be remembering old Fefferman when that happens, you live to see it.”
“I, er — Thanks. Though I feel bad taking this from you.”
“Too considerate! No more of that, now! It’s not my last. And just you go trying to find a gomlen as striking as this one from anyone else ‘round here, Austin, Mister Austin! No, don’t thank me any more now, you best get away from old Fefferman. The debt’s repaid and I got things to attend to, mighty things.” He sucked his teeth again on a smirk, eyes glinting. For the first time Austin noticed a faint, triangular tattoo, half concealed by the grime on the man’s left cheek.
“Thanks,” Austin said regardless. “I’m glad I could help.”
“Don’t heed to folks much, do you Mister Austin, Had-To-Be-Austin? Heh! Good. Wish old Fefferman could do that all the time, I truly do. Mangy, festering taskmasters pushing him around! You don’t know what rat tastes like! Get on now!” Fefferman grinned despite his tone.
Austin wished him a good night and, as an uneasy feeling settled into the back of his throat, left Fefferman and the park behind.
FOUR
Having surrendered the night to a sudden exhaustion upon his return to the hotel, Austin rose early the next morning. He showered — fortunately the bathroom felt cleaner than the rest of the room — ate, and checked out as rapidly as he could.
Cardiff itself was nice enough, he told himself. The park was pleasant, the castle — his first — remained a positive experience. Yet, as cathartic as chasing down Fefferman’s thief was, losing Rhi’s pendant still stung. The sooner he put the city behind him, the better. Unfair, perhaps, but no more so than what happened to him. After one final, useless inquiry at the station about the pendant, he boarded his train and hoped for better luck at Worm’s Head.
Clouds covered much of the sky as the train made its way west along the coast toward the city of Swansea, the midway point of his day’s journey. Hints of sunshine promised a brilliant sunset if it could manage to burn away the clouds. Austin had a pair of seats to himself. The rhythm of the tracks rocked him into introspection. At last, he pulled out Fefferman’s gift to study it in the waxing light.
What was it made of? Amber? It looked the same as before, a brownish-gold lump, polished to a fine shine and speckled inside with tiny bubbles of trapped air. Though not perfectly spherical, it was symmetrical along each axis. He was midway through formulating a parametric equation to describe its surface when he noticed that the bubbles were uniformly spaced.
Maybe it wasn’t made of amber after all? Could amber be manufactured or molded in such a way? It was likely possible, but he refused to accept the hypothesis without proof. He would need to look it up when he could. What sort of process did it take to make bubbles symmetric?
Artificial or not, it was still an interesting keepsake, as much as he felt guilty for accepting it. Then again, Fefferman did say he had more.
Austin squeezed it, both testing its rigidity and playing at it being something more than it appeared. Throughout his life, he had nearly always kept his imagination under the reins of factual observation. He had made exceptions to this in astronomy, an interest kindled by the boyhood gift of a telescope. Looking up into the infinite mystery of the universe, to eschew fantasy completely seemed to deny the cosmos its due grandeur. An unusual orb from a man with purple eyes talking of magic somehow tempted the same treatment. Austin allowed himself the amusement of imagining it might come to life in his hand were he to focus properly.
Of course, nothing happened. The orb — a “gomlen,” Fefferman had called it? — remained inert and solid, as any rational person would expect.
The train soon arrived in Swansea. Austin disembarked, then confirmed the next leg of his journey from the printed itinerary in his luggage. He had discovered late last night that his first copy, kept in his pocket with Rhi’s pendant, had been lost in the theft as well. The itinerary was worthless to anyone but him. Austin took pleasure in imagining the thief’s disappointment upon learning the snatched paper wasn’t cash.
It was only a small pleasure. He would not forget the woman’s face. Even counting the odds at astronomical of running into her again, he nonetheless kept a sharp eye out.
The train’s early arrival gave him an hour before the bus would leave for the village at Worm’s Head, and plenty of time to walk through Swansea to the station where he would catch it. Austin spent the time first navigating the streets to make sure he understood how to find the bus station — he had planned that on the train, but it never hurt to review — and then ducking into an Internet café to email friends and chase off the homesickness brought by the previous day’s stress.
He kept the emails brief, mentioning his safe arrival and having reached Swansea. He left out the pendant. The previous night’s activities he touched on only momentarily, deciding to tease everyone’s curiosity: “Oh, I chased down a thief in a park last night. Nothing special. Met a weird guy who gave me a golf ball made out of amber. Anyone know if they can make amber synthetically? Weather’s fine.”
An email from his apartment manager popped into his inbox as he prepared to sign out. Austin hesitated to open it. She knew he was on this trip. They were hardly close enough for her to write him unless there was trouble, and he did not need to hear about another problem. Then again, if he ignored it, he would spend the rest of the trip worrying what it might say. Maybe she had only misplaced his rent check.
Austin, there was a break-in at your apartment. I heard the culprit and came to investigate and must have scared them off because they were gone when I popped in. Please don’t worry. I didn’t spot anything taken. I’ve already brought the locksmith out to fix the door. You need to see me when you return for another key and there will be a $5 charge for that on your next rent check. I hope your trip is good. I’m jealous! All I get to do this week is walk Mister Pickles and see the doctor (terrible headaches all of a sudden)! –Harriet
Hell, a break-in? Was it freaking thief-week or something? Austin clutched the mouse until the plastic creaked. What the hell was going on in his life?
Despite the extra knife-twist of his being so far away, he tried to think rationally. Harriet had seen nothing taken and heard when it happened. The thief likely had no chance to swipe anything, and even so, insurance covered everything a thief would want. Anything with irreplaceable sentimental value, which Harriet would not have noticed missing, was unlikely to attract a thief’s attention. It was impossible to check until he got back. Worrying about it now would only ruin his trip further. For Rhi’s sake — to say nothing of his own, and the money the trip had cost — he couldn’t let that happen.
Now he just needed to repeat that to himself constantly for the next week, and he would be set. Why the hell was she cha
rging him five dollars, anyway?
Austin fired off a quick thanks to Harriet for looking after the place, checked the weather report for Worm’s Head — partly cloudy that afternoon — and left. He tried to focus on looking forward to the scenic bus ride and the pleasure of finally seeing Worm’s Head. A spider crawled across the sidewalk in front of him as he turned toward the bus station. Austin crushed it underfoot on impulse and felt a little better.
Directly ahead stood a thin man in a red, threadbare sweater. Austin noticed the man just in time to avoid running into him. Tightening the grip on his bag, Austin stopped short and covered the pocket that held his cash for the day. With an apologetic smile, he then sidestepped to go around. The man sidestepped the same way, still in Austin’s path. Both corrected themselves almost immediately and chose the same direction once again. Austin chuckled and apologized. The other said nothing.
The thin man moved to block his way a third time, this time with obvious intention.
“Where are you going?” he asked Austin.
Taken aback, Austin struggled for an answer. “Just — ”
Austin broke off to point beyond the thin man, and then sidestepped anew.
Again, he blocked Austin’s way. Short black hair covered his head like a dandelion gone to seed, and sideburns sliced down his jaw to a broad chin. Austin always felt a little unclean himself if he wasn’t clean-shaven. That usually failed to extend to other people’s shaving habits, but the thin man threatened to be an exception to that rule by virtue of the sideburns alone. Austin’s gaze lowered out of discomfort; the man wore expensive sandals that seemed out of place with the sweater and faded jeans.
“You shouldn’t tread on spiders,” he told Austin.
“Did I? I didn’t see. Sorry, I have to get a bus.”
Austin feinted one way and then went the other, ducking into the crosswalk where he quickened his pace. The thin man did not follow, nor did the contents of Austin’s bag appear molested when he made a discreet check on the other side of the street. He resumed walking and tried to shake off the foolishness he felt for his paranoia. With Austin’s travel bag and American accent, the thin man probably pegged him for a tourist and decided to have some fun at his expense. Hey, just like high school.
Austin reached the bus station five minutes later.
The thin man was there.
He was standing in a corner and picking lint from his sweater, paying no attention to Austin. Austin returned the favor and moved to the line for the bus that would take him on the long ride out to Worm’s Head.
The station buzzed with travelers, arrival announcements, and engine noise. Still, Austin kept an occasional watch on the man. They never made eye contact. Each minute he stayed in his corner made Austin feel increasingly foolish about it all until, finally, he stopped caring.
Austin’s bus soon arrived and released its passengers. The line began to move. He took an elevated seat on the wheel hump near the back, and basked in the accented conversations humming around him. A few minutes later, the bus engine roared to life. The doors closed. They were on their way out of the bay — perfectly in sync with his itinerary, Austin noted with pride — when the bus stopped, and the driver reopened the doors to admit a final passenger.
The thin man boarded.
He bought a ticket from the driver and took a seat near the door. This time, his gaze did catch Austin’s. The gaze carried with it a slim smile that failed to reach the man’s eyes and brought the word “predatory” to mind. Austin took comfort in the fact that he was taller than the thin man — and a little more muscular as well — before again feeling silly for needing the comfort at all. After a few moments, the man turned his gaze out the window, and made no overt effort to bother him further.
The bus rumbled along its route, with the thin man at its head. Austin’s unease turned to resentment at the way his presence distracted from a ride he would have otherwise enjoyed. Yet after a while, as the bus wove its way out of narrow streets bounded by stone walls and passed into open, fenceless fields where sheep and horses roamed, the resentment faded almost to nothingness.
For a time. With every stop the thin man failed to disembark, renewed unease ticked another notch up Austin’s spine. Now, they were fifteen minutes from Rhossili, the seaside village where Worm’s Head lay. Only Austin, the thin man, and two elderly passengers remained. It became difficult for Austin to avoid glancing up toward where he sat. Each time the man caught him and returned the same narrow smile. Any chance of his presence being coincidence had dropped away to near nothing miles ago.
Yet what, if anything, he should do about it?
The bus made another stop, releasing one of the other passengers, picking up none. Austin checked his watch. Ten minutes to go. If he knew how many more stops there were, he would have calculated odds at the thin man getting off at each.
Again, Austin considered that the thin man might have nothing better to do beyond spooking him for the heck of it. He hadn’t known how far Austin was traveling when he boarded, after all. Maybe he hadn’t realized his stupid prank would require an hour-long ride. Maybe he would simply stay on the bus once it arrived at Rhossili and turned around. If he did not, Austin would have to confront him.
Yet what would he say? “Stop following me?” Austin tried to draw other options up on his chalkboard; none were any better. And what if the thin man ignored the demand?
Damn it!
Austin glared out the window at the fields and water beyond them. He was going to Worm’s Head to be alone, to remember Rhi, to experience it for himself; if this jerk kept harassing him, he would ruin it all. Almost nothing had gone right on his trip so far. Couldn’t he even have this? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!
Austin turned back toward the man. They locked eyes, and Austin realized he was still glaring. Good! Austin refused to look away. Don’t mess with me.
The thin man merely smirked. Austin turned away first. A staring contest probably only encouraged the weirdo.
Then Austin caught his first glimpse of Worm’s Head itself: a thin, green, rocky tidal island in the shape of a dragon lying in the surf. The tide was not yet low enough to reveal the causeway one could walk across to the “worm,” but it was due to recede soon. Austin had planned his entire trip around the timing of the tide with the intention of exploring there. Today, the tide would give him only an hour and a half before sealing the island up until nighttime.
A quarter of a mile later, the bus released another passenger. Only he and the thin man remained.
Don’t pay any more attention to him, Austin told himself. That’s what the jerk wants. Austin had to chuckle despite himself. Ignore the problem and it will go away? Yet in the absence of other options, it was the best he had.
He strengthened his resolve with memories of Rhi, imagining she was in the seat beside him, her arm through his, and the smile she would give him as he saw this place for the first time. That fascination, both with sharing a discovery and the discovery itself, was a quality common to them both. Rhi remembered so little of her life’s years that when she did find something new and wonderful to show people, she treasured doing it all the more.
It really was beautiful. The sun highlighted patchy clouds as it broke through them and sparkled off an expanse of water leading to the horizon. Sheep grazed in open fields of green grasses, some bounded by stone walls, others by terraced, yellow flower–speckled cliffs that dropped away to where waves crashed below. Cottages dotted the landscape. They did not urbanize the countryside so much as they coexisted with its natural beauty. Pastoral, Austin supposed was the word.
Rhi had told him of a smooth beach stretching away like a curving bow where surfers came from all over Britain. This he had yet to spot, but his refusal to even glance in the thin man’s direction anymore kept him from seeing exactly where the bus was headed. Perhaps he would see it when they arrived. He would need to explore.
Would the thin man follow him then, too
?
On impulse, Austin pushed the stop-request button. The end of the line lay about a quarter mile ahead, but the bus pulled over at a roadside stop in just a few moments.
Not entirely sure of his plan, his stomach tightening with the thought of straying from his itinerary, Austin stood with his bag and strode down the bus aisle without a glance at the thin man. With thanks to the driver, he stepped down to the gravel on the shoulder and regarded the tiny pub beside the bus stop. He did not dare look back. Nothing sounded behind him but the closing of the bus doors. The engine revved to life. The bus rolled on.
Austin turned, half expecting to find the thin man had crept after him. No one was there.
Okay, so now what?
He could easily find his way to where the bus would have taken him from here. He had disembarked early because, why? To try to lose the thin man? To force a confrontation sooner? To remove any temptation for the guy to keep following him if they were, by some astronomical coincidence, going to the same place? Austin supposed all three were valid; a plan hatched in the back of his mind before he could get it up on the chalkboard, yes, but a decent plan, more or less.
He could duck into the pub and wait for the bus to come back the other way. That would keep the thin man from seeing him walking along the road if he was still aboard. But no, he had lost enough time getting off the bus here. There was still the tide to worry about.
Taking a deep breath of salt air, Austin resumed his journey on foot, following the main road and trusting he would get where he was going eventually. It was windy, but the weather was fair and the sun and exercise kept him warm.
Soon he caught sight of the bus, heading toward him around a bend in the road. Should he duck behind a hedge? He would avoid appearing a fool who got off the bus too early — or worse, giving the thin man, were he still aboard, the satisfaction of seeing he had been spooked enough to do so. But, no, that would be cowardly. Maybe getting off early was cowardly, too, but his pride would only allow so much.
Memory of Dragons Page 4