Ch. 2

Ch. 2

I woke up in a cell. My swollen wrists were in irons. Water leaked between the bricks of the ceiling and slid toward a corner. It was an uneven dungeon floor.

“You and your faster,” Nickel said. He was in the same situation as me, with similar wrist-weights but his had no chain between and so his hands were in the prayer position, probably for the first time in his life.

“Get these off me. They’re heavy and I’m lazy.” Our room was quiet and though it kept historically representative with its repairs, it also had fluorescent lights, a metal vent, and an electronic lock on the door.

“Already tried,” he said. He sat against the wall adjusting his hair which was frizzy and tangled. He was always itching for a shower to flatten his hair, and yet he always stunk. Australia didn't believe in deodorant. “They’re built of lead. I can’t do anything to them. Bars too. This is probably a prison for rogues.”

Where the water gathered in the corner, it drained through the mortar that was eroded and porous. But even the bricks near the puddle were slimy with algae that had grown from poor ventilation and housekeeping. It stunk.

“How’s your ‘faster’ looking now?” Nickel said.

I pounded my shackles against the door. The chain whipped and rattled against the bars and flecks of rust flew up my nose. “Why don’t you try coming up with a plan?”

“Your plans usually involve breaking things. Like your wrists.”

“I’ll be fine. And we took out a few of the peons. That’ll make this next part less of a hassle.” I had given up noisying up the joint with clangs and I had taken to pushing, with my feet, the cuffs over my hands. They were small hands but the restraints were tight and I’d have to shave down the bone to slide them beyond my thumb. “How many you take out anyway? I must've gotten half a dozen. Should I have gone for more?”

“Absolutely,” Nickel said. “I didn't get any.” He was resigned to waiting. His eyelids slid down. “Mind not yelling?”

“Please,” said a girl agreeing with the Australian bastard as she came down the stairs. “I already have a headache.” She had a big nose, lopsided eyes, and big and lopsided breasts. She was stunning.

“I think we found her.”

“I guess,” I muttered.

~

“Alchemist?” I asked. I forgot to breathe from the shock of the info until my stale, held breath burst out in her face.

“In a traditional sense.” She walked a little faster down the cobble street. It was covered with shoppers and one haggled for a fish with the head still on. It stared at each person as they barked German at each other. It was a lovely language but over the bustle of market street, they had to shout. So did we, but I didn't mind. No one heard us. Not even the chubby, braless woman that’d been rubbing elbows with me since the last intersection. We were alone, forgotten to everyone and forgetting everyone but each other and whomever we bumped into.

“Like magic? Water to wine? Lead to gold? Pulling rabbits from your floppy sunhat?”

She had just bought it. It covered her luscious hair except what fell down the back of her shirt, but I had taken to walking next to her or else I’d stare at the sheer fabric on her back. The front was solid. And there wasn't much to see in back, not even a bra strap, but she was modest and just knowing I had a peek at what was beneath was exciting—too exciting actually, so I walked next to or in front.

“I don’t really believe in the stuff but I observe the holidays. Like Seok. We fast all day and then feast at sunset. But I’m not above sneaking a few digestives and tea. It’s just what I grew up with.”

We walked a ways without saying anything. It was the first time all day. We had spent it chatting and retelling our best stories and learning each other’s favorite colors (she didn't have one) and falling in love. We had gone shopping too. She held the bags at the tip of her fingers, but everything in them was mine. I had bought souvenirs, but the vendors gave us these dainty paper bags with ribbons hanging from the handles and blowing in the wind. I had tried stuffing them in my backpack but she insisted she didn't mind carrying them and I resisted but ultimately let her because I couldn't be seen, not even in a foreign country, carrying a dainty bag with ribbons on the handles. I bought her ice cream as payment.

She wore aviators too. Most of her face was covered by them and the hat and when she wasn't talking or when I wasn't, a frown fell on her face. It was the kind models got when they strut Milan. But the moment I spoke or she did, her smile radiated, especially when her teeth—straighter and whiter than my American ones!—peeked out. I smiled the whole time with her, except when I was afraid I had said something awful or embarrassing.

“I wasn't making fun of you or anything,” I said. “It’s just so completely removed from my world. We don’t have alchemists. Are there a lot where you’re from?”

“Small pockets of them, but there aren't very many anywhere really. Especially America. I don’t think many Americans are fond of Alchemists. That's probably what scares me the most about living there.”

“I’d punch whoever even sneezed in your direction.”

“You shouldn't be so reckless. And how about if I lived in California and you were in Chicago?”

“If you move to California, I’ll meet you at the airport and we can be neighbors. We can get a giant swimming pool spanning the two backyards.”

“You really think being reckless and impulsive is sweet, don’t you?”

“I think it makes you smile.”