Humayre: The Chronicles of Ronin Wilder

THEATRE in big bright red letters glowed against the back drop of darkness. Without the street lights and lit-up windows, the small town would have been pitch black. Dark brooding clouds blanketed the sky. Ronin hopped out of the carriage, the last to exit.

A fresh layer of snow blanketed the streets and sidewalks. Ronin hands were freezing. All the other kids wore gloves, not Ronin, every pair he owned had been destroyed by his claws. Cupping his hands, he blew a burst of warmth through his fingers. It didn’t help.

The sidewalks were alive with town’s folk. They all stopped and stared at the BrightWood kids as they laughed and joked. Grace grabbed Cyrus’s hand. Ronin had to avert his gaze. Mom and pop stores lined each side of the quaint two lane street. A candy shop named Bette’s Chocolates caught Ronin’s eye. The lights were on, but a sign hung in the window stating they were closed. Too bad, he could’ve really use some chocolate.

“Hurry up,” said Cyrus. “It’s cold out here.”

Some kid Ronin didn’t know shouldered Cyrus, laughed and ran to the ticket window. Four more kids followed him. They all had rode in the carriage together, but no one said a word to Ronin, except Grace and Cyrus. It almost seemed like they were mad a first year got to tag along.

“Okay,” said Ronin. “Right behind you guys.” Cyrus and Grace turned and headed for the ticket window. Opening the flap on his coat Ronin checked his inside pocket. The letter was still there. Not that he thought it would have gone anywhere, but he had to check. For most of the carriage ride he held his hand over his chest pressing tight as though the pressure would keep the letter from falling out. After getting this far he wasn’t about to get stifled by something as silly as losing the letter.

The plan was going perfect. Earlier that morning in the Great Hall, during breakfast, Ronin managed to steal Mr. Wetstone’s key from his coat as it hung on the back of his chair. Because everyone was busy eating he ran into no resistance when he took the letter from Mr. Wetstone’s room. Even easier was getting the key back to Mr. Wetstone. He simply walked by the teachers table while they were all stuffing their faces and dropped it back into his pocket. Good thing the pockets were so large, he thought at the time. As a matter of fact. It all went so smoothly he felt for sure he had to be missing something. But nothing was amiss, it was just one of those days. Everything had been going his way. Well, everything except his final score projections he received from his teachers earlier that day. But now was not the time for doom and gloom, he reminded himself.

“Three tickets please,” said Cyrus, standing at the ticket window.

“No that’s okay. I can take care of my own ticket.” Ronin handed the lady cash. Earlier that day he transferred all the credits he had left into cash. It took him months to save as much as he did. Now he was going to have to waste it on movie tickets and cab rides.

“Suit yourself,” said Cyrus. “Although I don’t know that I could ever turn down someone offering me a free movie ticket.” He pat Ronin on the shoulder. “But I guess you’re a bigger man than me.”

“Thanks anyway,” said Ronin. He stuffed the change the ticket lady handed him inside his pocket, and added, “I like to pay my own way, though.”

“Fair enough,” said Cyrus. He took Grace’s hand. “Let’s get out of the cold. I’m about to freeze.”

Popcorn, soda, nachos, the smells hit Ronin all at once and made his mouth water. Nervousness had killed his appetite up to that point but now he felt his stomach grumbling. The need for something salty and delicious overwhelmed him. The money he had left was just enough to get a cab ride to and from O’Sheas Pub. At least that’s what he hoped. He couldn’t risk coming up short. If he had to walk home, it would take him all night and he might miss his first period class. His stomach would have to wait.

Grace got in the snack line. “Anyone want anything,” she asked, looking to Cyrus then to Ronin.

“Popcorn please, babe. I’ll meet you in the theater. I’ll grab us some seats.”

Ronin wanted nachos so bad he could taste them. But the guilt of her buying him something and then him taking off without eating it stopped him from asking.

“No I’m okay,” said Ronin. He waited for Grace to buy her stuff then escorted her into the theater.

The huge movie screen illuminated the darkness. Previews were playing. The theater was packed.

“I don’t see him,” said Grace. She searched up and down the rows.

“Me either.” Ronin closed his eyes. It took only a moment to pick out Cyrus’s scent from thousands. Ronin had become incredibly proficient at finding things in his scent library.

“I found him,” said Ronin, as he pointed to the fourth row up on their left.

Grace took a seat next to Cyrus. Ronin bent down so Cyrus could hear him over the sound of the previews.

“I’m not feeling well,” said Ronin. “I’m gonna have the carriage take me back.”

“What?” asked Cyrus. “Are you sure? Maybe if you sit for a second you’ll feel better.” He looked concerned.

Ronin felt guilty which then made him mad. Why did the guy have to be so nice? Shaking his head, Ronin said, “Sorry. I feel like I’m burning up. I must’ve caught a cold or something. Must be all this snow and cold. Just not used to it yet I guess.”

Cyrus held the back of his hand up and touched Ronin’s forehead.

Shock held Ronin still. What the…? Does this guy think he’s my dad or something?

“You don’t feel warm,” said Cyrus.

Grace scrunched her eyebrows. She leaned over Cyrus, and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Ronin says he’s not feeling good, so he’s going to take the carriage home.”

“You okay?” she asked, looking up at Ronin.

“I’m fine,” said Ronin. This is harder than stealing the stupid letter. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Cyrus. His right eyebrow raised. “But, you have to promise me you will go straight to the carriage. No stopping anywhere. If Mr. Wetstone found out that I let you leave without a chaperone, he’d kill me.”

“Yeah, no problem. Straight to the carriage. I got it.” Cyrus’s expression made Ronin think he might be onto him, but he quickly dismissed it as being paranoid.

“You want me to go back with you?” asked Grace.

“No, I’m a big boy,” said Ronin “I can find my way back.”

“Okay,” said Grace. “Well. Feel better.” She smiled at Ronin. “I’ll come check on you in the morning.”

“Okay,” said Ronin. “See you guys later.” He nodded and headed out of the theater.

The crisp air blew across Ronin’s right cheek. The wind creeped under his beanie and chilled his ear. He pulled the beanie down and looked up the street. There was a little hotel just north of the theater. At least that’s what Mr. Wetstone’s map had shown. He headed down the sidewalk until he came to a sign that said Mountain Inn.

The warmth of the inn was a relief to Ronin’s aching hands. A fireplace on the far left wall blazed. The smoky smell of burning wood was absent however. Instead a slight hint of gas filled the room. It wasn’t a pleasant smell. Standing behind the concierge desk was a man. The only person in the room besides Ronin.

“Can I help you?” asked the man.

“Yes. Please,” said Ronin. “Anyway you could call me a cab?”

“No problem,” he said. “Might I ask where you are headed?”

The question made Ronin nervous. He wondered why the guy wanted to know where he was headed.

Seeming to sense Ronin’s hesitation, the man quickly added, “Its standard procedure now in this area. We can’t get a cab unless they know where they are headed. Probably to keep from giving rides just down the block.”

“Oh,” said Ronin. “Okay. Have you heard of O’Sheas Pub?”

“Yes sir. It’s a famous land mark in this state.”

“That’s where I’m headed.”

The man picked up a phone and dialed. After talking to the cab dispatch, he hung up and said, “Fifteen minutes.” He glanced outside, then back to Ronin. “You’re more than welcome to wait inside if you’d like. Looks pretty cold out there.”

“Thanks,” said Ronin.

“Here we are,” said Bob. He turned in his seat to face Ronin. “You sure this is where you want to go?”

Ronin liked Bob. For his entire thirty minute cab ride, Bob acted as a sort of tour guide. Apparently the grey haired old man knew just about everything about everything. And not in an annoying know-it-all sort of way. Turned out Bob was a history professor in between teaching positions.

“Yes sir,” said Ronin. He pulled out his cash and looked at the meter.

“Okay young fella,” said Bob. “You’re the boss.”

Ronin handed him the money. “You can keep the change.” He stepped out of the cab and stared at the bulk of man standing at the entry way to O’Sheas Pub.

Bob rolled down the front passenger window. “Young Buck,” he called out.

Ronin turned. Bob held a card out. Ronin reached into the cab and took the card.

“If you want a ride back, give me a call.” said Bob, “I’ll be in the area for a while.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Good Luck,” said Bob, waving as he drove off.

O’Sheas Pub was sandwiched between two buildings which were at least thirty or forty stories tall. The pub looked English and old. Medieval actually. Most likely some kind of elaborate reproduction, kind of like Dr. Storms’s Colosseum. Behind the pub was another tall building. The three buildings framed the pub, making it look like an ant amongst trees.

From the sidewalk a cobblestone path led to the pub’s entrance. The pub was made of ancient looking wood and stood about a story tall. Iron framed windows sat at each side of a large wooden door. An iron knocker rested at the center of the door. Above the door, branded into the wood, were two crossing swords. They looked just like the ones on his father’s pendant.

“No kid’s allowed,” said a deep voice.

The behemoth before Ronin stood with his arms crossed, obviously guarding the door. Something caught Ronin’s eye. Just under the man’s black coat, on his back, was the outline of something that looked very similar to a sword. With eyebrows furrowed, the large man turned to face Ronin.

“Get out of here,” he said, waving his massive arms.

“I’ve got something the owner will want to see,” said Ronin. He didn’t know what else to say and his brilliant plan was no longer seeming so brilliant. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out the letter. He held it up so the behemoth could see the red seal.

“Give me that,” said the behemoth. He stepped forward. It looked like he was about to try to take the letter by force.

Ronin quickly stepped back. “I’ll take off and then no one will see it.”

The behemoth froze. He looked to the door then back at Ronin. “Very well.” He grabbed the iron knocker, slammed it three times, then opened the door and stepped aside, so Ronin had a clear path in.

As Ronin stepped into the dank dark pub, the behemoth said, “It’s your death, you stupid human.” The door slammed behind Ronin.