them said. “Always gettin’ himself into trouble, that one is.”
The man got hit in the face by a meat bun a second later.
Wayne ignored that, holding his hat to his head and running all-out. The conner was a determined one. Followed Wayne a good ten streets before slowing, then stopping, hands on his knees. Wayne grinned and ducked around one last corner before slamming his back against the bricks of a building, beside a window. He was pretty winded himself.
He’ll probably file a report, Wayne thought. Hope the fine they make Wax pay ain’t too large.
He ought to find something to bring back as an apology. Maybe Wax needed a wallet.
Wayne heard something beside him, and turned to see a woman with spectacles leaning out the window to look at him curiously. She was holding a pen, and just inside the window a half-finished letter lay on the desk in front of her. Perfect.
Wayne tipped his hat, snatching the pen from her hand. “Thanks,” he said, opening the notebook and scribbling some words. As she cried out, he tossed the pen back to her, then continued on his way.
The final destination, the god’s dwelling, was not far now. He veered down a street lined with trees and quaint smaller townhomes. He counted them off, then turned to the right and stood facing it. The god’s new temple. She’d moved here a few months ago.
He took a deep breath, banishing the music in his head. This had to be quiet . He crept carefully up the long walk to the front door. There, he quietly tucked the book into the spot between the doorknob and the door. He didn’t dare knock. Ranette was a jealous god, known for shooting people—for her, it was practically a governmental mandate. If the constables didn’t find a few corpses on her doorstep every week, they’d start to wonder if she wasn’t feeling well.
Wayne slipped away. He smiled, imagining Ranette’s reaction when she opened the door, and was so distracted that he almost ran right into Ranette herself walking up the path to her house.
Wayne stumbled back. Perfect brown hair, pulled back to expose a gorgeous face, weathered from her time in the Roughs. A fantastic figure, round in all the right places. Tall. Taller than Wayne. So he had something to look up to.
“Wayne! What were you doing at my door?”
“I—”
“Idiot,” she said, shoving past him. “You’d better not have broken in. Tell Wax I delivered those cords to him just now. He needn’t have sent someone to check on me.”
“Cords?” Wayne asked. What cords?
She ignored the question, muttering. “I swear, I am going to shoot you, you little maggot.”
He watched her go, smiled to himself, then turned and continued walking away.
“What’s this?” she said from behind him.
He kept walking.
“Wayne!” she shouted at him. “I’ll shoot you, right now. I swear I will. Tell me what you’ve done.”
He turned around. “It’s just a gift, Ranette.”
“A notebook?” she asked, flipping the pages.
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged. “Writin’ book,” he said. “You’re always writin’ stuff down, thinkin’ about things. Figured if there’s one thing you could always use more of, it’s a writin’ book. All those ideas you have must get pretty crowded up there. Makes sense you’d need places to store them.”
“Why’s it damp?”
“Sorry,” he said. “Forgot and stuck it in my pocket for a moment. But I got it right back out. I fought ten constables for that, I’ll have you know.”
She flipped through it, eyes narrowed in suspicion, until she reached the last page. “What’s this?” She held it up close and read the words he’d scrawled on the back page. “‘Thank you and goodbye’? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothin’s wrong,” Wayne said. “I just figured it was time.”
“You’re leaving?”
“For a little, but that’s not what the words mean. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Perhaps frequently and such.
The man got hit in the face by a meat bun a second later.
Wayne ignored that, holding his hat to his head and running all-out. The conner was a determined one. Followed Wayne a good ten streets before slowing, then stopping, hands on his knees. Wayne grinned and ducked around one last corner before slamming his back against the bricks of a building, beside a window. He was pretty winded himself.
He’ll probably file a report, Wayne thought. Hope the fine they make Wax pay ain’t too large.
He ought to find something to bring back as an apology. Maybe Wax needed a wallet.
Wayne heard something beside him, and turned to see a woman with spectacles leaning out the window to look at him curiously. She was holding a pen, and just inside the window a half-finished letter lay on the desk in front of her. Perfect.
Wayne tipped his hat, snatching the pen from her hand. “Thanks,” he said, opening the notebook and scribbling some words. As she cried out, he tossed the pen back to her, then continued on his way.
The final destination, the god’s dwelling, was not far now. He veered down a street lined with trees and quaint smaller townhomes. He counted them off, then turned to the right and stood facing it. The god’s new temple. She’d moved here a few months ago.
He took a deep breath, banishing the music in his head. This had to be quiet . He crept carefully up the long walk to the front door. There, he quietly tucked the book into the spot between the doorknob and the door. He didn’t dare knock. Ranette was a jealous god, known for shooting people—for her, it was practically a governmental mandate. If the constables didn’t find a few corpses on her doorstep every week, they’d start to wonder if she wasn’t feeling well.
Wayne slipped away. He smiled, imagining Ranette’s reaction when she opened the door, and was so distracted that he almost ran right into Ranette herself walking up the path to her house.
Wayne stumbled back. Perfect brown hair, pulled back to expose a gorgeous face, weathered from her time in the Roughs. A fantastic figure, round in all the right places. Tall. Taller than Wayne. So he had something to look up to.
“Wayne! What were you doing at my door?”
“I—”
“Idiot,” she said, shoving past him. “You’d better not have broken in. Tell Wax I delivered those cords to him just now. He needn’t have sent someone to check on me.”
“Cords?” Wayne asked. What cords?
She ignored the question, muttering. “I swear, I am going to shoot you, you little maggot.”
He watched her go, smiled to himself, then turned and continued walking away.
“What’s this?” she said from behind him.
He kept walking.
“Wayne!” she shouted at him. “I’ll shoot you, right now. I swear I will. Tell me what you’ve done.”
He turned around. “It’s just a gift, Ranette.”
“A notebook?” she asked, flipping the pages.
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged. “Writin’ book,” he said. “You’re always writin’ stuff down, thinkin’ about things. Figured if there’s one thing you could always use more of, it’s a writin’ book. All those ideas you have must get pretty crowded up there. Makes sense you’d need places to store them.”
“Why’s it damp?”
“Sorry,” he said. “Forgot and stuck it in my pocket for a moment. But I got it right back out. I fought ten constables for that, I’ll have you know.”
She flipped through it, eyes narrowed in suspicion, until she reached the last page. “What’s this?” She held it up close and read the words he’d scrawled on the back page. “‘Thank you and goodbye’? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothin’s wrong,” Wayne said. “I just figured it was time.”
“You’re leaving?”
“For a little, but that’s not what the words mean. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Perhaps frequently and such.
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