The Last Smile in Sunder City (The Fetch Phillips Archives #1) - Luke Arnold Page 0,106

she really seemed to think it over, tapping her pen against her notepad and sucking on her teeth. Eventually, she said, “I don’t know how they can. This is all new to them, isn’t it? For them, this broken world will be the good stuff. I can’t imagine it’s not going to get worse by the time they’re as old as we are. Maybe by then we’ll all look back on today and wish we’d known how good we had it.”

She went back to reading her paper. I took one last look at the empty playground and hoped like hell she wasn’t right.

The day was too hot, too bright, too long and too loud and too full of life and death and me. I needed my painkillers. Sitting on a bicycle, outside the pharmacy, was a little Werewolf-kid who asked me for change.

“Get in school,” I told him, and he laughed and pedaled away.

I got my Clayfields, split open the pack and doubled-down. I wanted to visit Eileen but it was still too soon, and I couldn’t get over that look in her eye as the library went up in smoke.

Before I left the pharmacy, I asked the woman behind the counter whether she knew of any bookstores. She didn’t.

I asked the traffic cop on the corner and the drug dealer in the alley. They didn’t know anything so I went into the laundromat, the butcher, the blacksmith and none of them could think of where one might be.

I stopped asking and just started walking through the streets, hoping to spot one between the ruined buildings, closed shopfronts and street vendors.

The whores didn’t pay me any attention. I spotted a guy who was sizing me up for a mugging, but I just raised my broken arm and told him he was too late. A woman pushed her boyfriend out on to the street, screaming and throwing punches; you knew just by looking at him that he deserved it.

By the time I got home, the sun was setting and I was still empty-handed. I searched through all my belongings for a good book to escape into. I needed to spend some time in a mind that wasn’t my own. There was nothing. I was a stupid brute without a book to my name.

I collapsed back in my chair and started counting through my funds. Enough for a bottle of whiskey to crawl into for the night. I gathered my change and my wits and prepared to face the world again. Then, my eyes fell on the bag beside my desk. It was the leather satchel full of tutoring files. Inside, amongst the notepads and scraps

of paper, was the thick handwritten manuscript. I lifted it on to the desk and looked at the title: An Examination of Change by Professor Edmund Albert Rye.

I opened the first page, started reading, and didn’t stop. Time tumbled past without disturbing me. When the sun came up the next morning I was wading into the final chapter.

I was still out of coffee and wouldn’t have been able to finish the book without some kind of stimulant, so I tucked it under my arm and lumbered my way down the stairs. The restaurant was already open. My old friend was waiting patiently at the door with an apron, a smile and beautifully misguided optimism about the day ahead.

“Good morning!” he chimed.

“Mornin.” I tried to meet his enthusiasm but I was dehydrated and dosed up on too many painkillers. He led me inside and pulled out a chair at what was slowly becoming my table.

“The usual,” I managed to say, and winked. He gave a delighted wink back and hurried towards the kitchen. Halfway there, he stopped, turned on his toes, and returned to my side.

“I’m sorry, sir. I always forget to ask. What is your name?”

For some reason that made me laugh.

“Fetch. Yours?”

“Georgio. Like on the sign.”

I looked around.

“I haven’t seen a sign.”

“Oh, yes. It isn’t up yet. But it will be soon!” His eyes dropped down to the large pile of papers I’d plonked on to the table.

“What is this?”

“Just some light reading. A textbook, written by a teacher. He wanted to explain everything he knew about magical creatures.”

“Oh. Are the Shay-men in there?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I flicked back through the chapters till I found the section that described the tribe he was talking about. They were a small group of spiritual warriors that lived out in the Northern Plains. Though they were warriors of great strength, practically