Fiddle Game, page 6
“You won’t let me tell my story!”
“Of course I will!” Olli protested. “You were dawdling around,”
“I think you mean waxing poetic.” Razor smirked. “Mind if I get back to it?”
Olli sat still for a minute. She pursed her lips and shook her head a little. “All right. Sure. I don’t really have anywhere else that I need to be right now. What with my jacket being—” —the first two fingers of each hand moved in air quotes— “tailored.”
Razor grinned at her brilliantly. “Thank you.”
Anthony fought to keep his eyes open. The stars were so pretty. But he was so tired. And he knew that he needed to sleep if he was going to be able to keep up with his father in the morning.
“Aces! I get it, Razor. The stars were beautiful.” Olli held her hands out and half grinned a little.
“It’s my story! I should be able to be able to tell it the way that I want to!” Razor smirked.
“You’re getting dangerously close to abusing that.” Olli smirked.
“Fine. How about I skip to the next morning? Maybe a couple hours after the sun came up, we were walking. Had been for maybe two hours at the time…”
“Ya hear that, Boy?”
Anthony looked up at his father from the countryside he had been studying. His father hadn’t said two words to him since he had woken him up just as the sun was starting to crest the horizon. Now that he was focused on what his attention had been called to, he listened closely. “It’s a wagon.” He turned slightly and looked behind them. “I think it’s coming this way.”
“It is. We’re going to get to ride a bit, Boy.” His father nodded and looked at him.
Anthony smiled and nodded eagerly. “That sounds nice.” He didn’t want to admit it beyond the statement he had just made, but his legs were tired. It was the farthest he had ever walked before. He had never been so far from home.
There was a good chance that he didn’t even know how to get home from here.
All he got in agreement was a grunt.
Anthony looked up at his father and then frowned slightly. He looked back over his shoulder, hoping the cart was coming soon.
The cart crested a little rise just a few minutes later.
Two beautiful, well-built sorrel horses. Flaxen manes and tails, large matching blazes that covered most of their wise faces. Behind them rolled a four-wheeled buckboard filled with some barrels. The man driving looked like he hadn’t fully woken up yet. He stifled a yawn with the hand that wasn’t busy keeping the long lines straight. He had a broken down, brown Ivy hat. Pulled down low over his eyes, hiding them from the beginning of the day. He hunched slightly in his seat, letting his body absorb the bumps in the road like a loose sack of potatoes.
Anthony watched the horses walk up and over the crest of the hill and smiled. Even the thought of riding in the back of a bouncing wagon sounded exciting. He wondered for a moment if he would be able to pet them both. Their noses looked so soft.
The horses noticed them before their driver did. Both of their heads picked up and two sets of ears pitched forward. Their nostrils flared a little and their heads bobbed a little as they walked a little faster.
“Whoa there. Mind if we bum a ride?”
The man on the buckboard sat up a little straighter and looked between the pricked ears of his team. He pushed up the front of his cap and tilted his chin up. “Hello there!” He looked at them curiously. “Where are you off to?”
The horses snorted and walked along in tandem, pleased to do the job that they were asked to do. They pricked their ears sharply and looked at Anthony and his father curiously.
Anthony smiled and looked them over. Even just getting to see such pretty horses was worth the walk that they were on. He always thought they were beautiful animals.
“Anywhere you’re willing to take us.” His father informed, shrugging slightly.
The man on the buckboard bobbed his head in a good-natured way. Content with the non-answer. “Looking for a lift?”
Anthony looked at his father hopefully.
“We won’t slow you down.” His thumb hooked a thumb slightly toward Anthony.
Anthony shook his head a little while his father talked. He smiled hopefully and looked at his father.
“Then up you come. The back should be open for the both of you.” The driver hooked his thumb to the back of his wagon. He shrugged slightly and adjusted the longlines in his hands.
The horses kept walking, not slowing down.
“Much obliged. Get over there, Boy.” His father half gestured for him to step toward the back of the wagon with the hand that wasn’t holding the carpet bag. “You heard him. Don’t slow the man down, Anthony.”
Anthony rushed forward and braced his hands on the down tailgate and ran a couple of steps trying to match the pace of the horses before hopping up and jumping onto the wagon. It took him a couple of awkward seconds to hoist himself up, shifted his hands around, and turned to sit so he was on the tailgate of the wagon. He brushed his hands off and smiled. He hooked his ankles together and swung his legs a little.
His father didn’t have nearly as hard of a time hopping onto the wagon. Of course, he was much taller, and the wagon wasn’t as high of a jump for him.
And he had more practice.
He set the carpet bag next to Anthony and hopped up to sit on the other side of the bag. His right hand dropped loosely on his lap and he draped his left over the edge of the wagon. After looking around them for a while, he looked over at Anthony and smiled. It wasn’t a big smile.
Anthony felt like a warm bucket of water was poured over him. He smiled back at his father happily. It was rare that his father smiled at him, and he didn’t want to the moment to pass.
His father looked away from him almost instantly.
The horses started to trot together as they reached a flat piece of the road. Their hooves hitting the hardpack dirt with sharp, bright clopping noises.
Their driver didn’t stop them, he just started to whistle to himself as they moved along.
Anthony wasn’t insulted that his father was no longer paying attention to him. He leaned back against the barrels in the wagon. He looked the opposite direction his father. Content to look over the countryside and listen to the horses trot.
A few hours later, the wagon crested a small hill. In the valley below was a decently large, sprawling city.
Anthony looked at the city and then at his father, curious if this was their destination. It seemed to him that the road didn’t head toward the city, which meant they were going to have to take their leave of the wagon and walk themselves that way.
More walking...
His father hopped off the wagon a moment later, the carpet bag going with him at almost the exact same time.
Guess that was the plan then.
Anthony jumped off the wagon and stumbled a couple of steps. His legs were much shorter than his father’s and the wagon was going a little too fast for him. He took a few large tumbling steps, each one almost his last. But he caught his balance and stayed on his feet. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be if his father saw him fall…
“Come on, Boy. Keep up.”
Anthony stood up straight and adjusted his Ivy hat on his head and started across the road after his father. He followed him into the lush grass that spilled away down the hill toward the city’s outer limits breathless from his near miss with falling on his face in the road.
The wagon clatter-bounced away down the road, the happy sorrels trotting brightly. Their driver whistling softly to himself.
“Stay close now. I don’t want to lose you in a strange place. Your mother would never forgive me.”
Anthony looked up at his father and nodded. He hadn’t planned to wander off, and he had a hard time imagining that scenario. Usually, when someone wouldn’t forgive in their house, Mama wasn’t the one.
“Is this where we’re going?” Anthony looked up at his father.
“This is.”
Anthony tried to squash the disappointment at the two-word answer. He had been hoping for more of as explanation. Maybe a story. He looked over the city as they walked closer, two of his strides for each of his father’s.
He wasn’t sure why his father was walking so fast…
Chapter 6
The One With The Instructions
Anthony stuck close to his father as they joined the street that lead to the city they had left the wagon for. The closer they got to the first buildings that surrounded a part of the town with high stone walls, the more traffic joined them on the road.
Wagons, people on foot carrying things, people on horseback.
It seemed like everyone was going every direction except the way that Anthony and his father were going.
It was a maze of legs and animals.
It scared Anthony a little. He had never seen so much movement; it was a little overwhelming. He reached for his father’s hand a couple of times, but never committed to grabbing it.
He wasn’t a scared little child. He was old enough to go on this trip with his father; he was old enough to handle the overwhelm of all the people.
Anthony looked up at his father. It didn’t seem like he was affected the same way. In fact, he didn’t even look like he noticed it at all.
When they finally reached the city limits, Anthony finally found a break in the traffic to look around and see where they were.
It surprised him how familiar it looked.
So close to the same that he was convinced that he would be able to walk up to the front door of the little house they were walking past and move through the house like it was his own.
Anthony looked over at the most recent house that looked like his and wondered if there was a small room off the back behind the kitchen. Was there a bed in that room like his? Or was it just a storeroom like it was supposed to be?
His attention wandered from the house as they walked with the traffic heading toward the main part of the city.
Anthony looked up, not bothering to hide the awe when they walked through the large arch in the wall that surrounded an obviously older part of the city. He had never seen something so large and impressive.
“Don’t get lost, Boy.”
Anthony looked up at his father and nodded. “I’m right here.”
They got a room at the small hotel that sat near the edge of the middle of the old town, right on the edge of the road that ran through the center of the city. It wasn’t a very large place, only a half dozen rooms total, most of them shared. The building was old.
Anthony wondered how long it had been there while he half listened to his father book a room for them.
The woman who ran the hotel pointed them up the narrow stairs to the second floor. She offered a worn brass key to his father and smiled at Anthony softly.
Anthony smiled back and hurried after his father when he headed toward the stairs. He looked back at the lady behind the desk. She reminded him of the nice neighbor lady two houses over to the right of home. She was always so nice to him, giving him little treats from her kitchen. More than once she gave him an entire short stack of Struffoli all for himself. He could still smell the hint of orange and honey wafting off it while he ate it in his little room off the kitchen.
“We’re going to set our stuff down and then go for a walk, Anthony.”
Anthony walked up the stairs after him and nodded. He ran his fingers along the railing and looked at where his feet were falling on the treads. He wasn’t sure what his father was talking about when he said ‘our stuff’. Anthony hadn’t packed anything into the carpetbag. At least...he didn’t think he had.
Maybe his mother had last night. Or this morning before he was woken up.
It surprised him how at home he felt in the hotel. It was decorated about the same as his house. Which wasn’t all that surprising now that he thought about it. The woman even looked like his mother a little. Perhaps they had the same tastes in décor.
His father walked halfway around the courtyard on the second floor and finally stopped. He shifted how he was holding the carpetbag and unlocked the door quickly. He looked at Anthony and opened the door to a simple room. “This is us for the time being, Boy.” His hand shooed Anthony toward the room.
Anthony walked through the doorway and looked around.
Clean, organized, and with a window to the back alley between the two single beds. There was a bright red, yellow and orange rug that was on the middle of the floor. A single leg of each bed set on the rug, partly to hold the rug it place, partly to tie the room into one piece. There were a pair of light-colored curtains that hung on each side of the window, billowing slightly in the soft breeze that drifted through the two inches of window that was open.
Over in the corner of the room was an open-faced wardrobe with a couple of hooks and drawers in it. At the foot of each bed was a footlocker. Each one had a lock with a key setting on the top of the cover, left so the occupant of the bed would be able to lock his things until he came back to fetch them.
Anthony stood in the middle of the rug and watched his father shove the carpet bag under the furthest bed, close to the wall. “Where are we going?” he wondered. It surprised him that his father didn’t use the footlocker, but perhaps he would later.
“We’re going to walk around and see what there is to see.” His father stood up from where he had been half crouching on the other side of the bed. He walked toward the door of the room again, only sparing Anthony the barest of glances.
Anthony nodded and waited to move until his father walked past him toward the door again. He allowed his eyes to follow him until he was passed.
Once his father was past him, he followed after him, making sure to stay a few steps behind him.
A couple of minutes later, they stepped out of the hotel, walked across the large porch, and were walking down the road two over to the left of the main road that ran through town.
Anthony wondered a little as they walked.
Why were they not on the main road?
Wouldn’t it be easier to get to where they were going on the main road?
He didn’t want to ask, but the curiosity was gnawing at him. Anthony thought for a moment and then shrugged. It was worth asking. Now that they were here, his father surely would be willing to answer a couple of questions. He started to take a breath to ask.
“If we were to walk down the main road, people would notice that we were new. We would draw attention to ourselves. Even in this large of a town. Someone would notice us, and you bet those shoes that you’re wearing, someone will talk to someone else...bad for business. Makes working the mark over a little more difficult. Work smarter, not harder.”
Anthony looked at his father, surprise all over his face. He hadn’t expected the question to be answered before he even had the courage completely worked up to ask. He looked up at his father and processed a little.
He wondered if he would ever be able to do something like that.
Olli sat up straight and looked at him sharply. “So, it’s a genetic thing!” Her eyes flared, and she pointed at him, a large smile on her face.
Razor looked at her for a moment. “Oh perfect. I always wanted to be like my father…,” He smirked and shrugged.
Olli folded back into her chair. “It’s not a bad thing. A lot of good detectives have it too,” she tried to recover lamely.
“I’ve also honed it over years of watching people.”
“And learning who to con and how to do it?” Olli finished, tilting her head slightly.
“Allegedly.” Razor smirked.
“Didn’t I say that?” Olli lifted one eyebrow.
“Well, not out loud.” Razor shrugged. “Just figured it would be best to make sure it’s out there to make sure I don’t get arrested tonight.”
“I can’t arrest you for something that you did when you were ten...and in Italy.” Olli smirked.
Razor sat back in his chair and looked at her sagely. “Doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t try to add it to all my other alleged charges.” He smirked.
Olli scoffed and shook her head. “You know me better than that.”
Razor grunted, and half lifted his chin. “That’s true.”
“I can do it, too. Not as well as you, obviously. But I can.”
“Can you?” Razor smirked. “Let’s hear it.”
“Like right now. You’re smirking because I’m a detective and it should have been so incredibly obvious to me before you said it. It’s literally what you do. How else would you be able to con someone. You have to think on your feet, sure...but the ability to read people and anticipate them makes you so effective.” Olli shrugged. “And you’re almost a little disappointed in me that I didn’t piece that together a little faster.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t say that at all. There isn’t a person in this whole world that can think of everything. But you’re right. On a few of those counts.” Razor nodded a little and shrugged.
Olli pointed at him and shook her right first finger at him a couple of times. “You’re a little disappointed. I know you expect more of me because I’m a detective.” She smirked. “And a rather good one, if I do say so myself.”
“Now who’s anticipating?” Razor smirked at her. “But you’re right. You are a good detective.”
Olli smiled and looked vindicated. “Sorry. I interrupted your story again. Go ahead. I’ll do my best to stop interrupting you.”
“I highly doubt that.” Razor looked at her shrewdly. “But I don’t mind the little ego stroking.”
Olli’s mouth popped open. “Aces!”
Razor ignored her protest. “And, in the interest of being honest, I rather enjoy your insightful interruptions.”
Olli narrowed her eyes a little and tilted her head. “I’m not quite sure what to do with that.” Her mouth opened a couple of times before she shook her head. “I don’t know whether to say thank you, or to be insulted…”
