Godspeed

Chapter 13

Schuyler Algernon guided me up through a narrow passageway, spiraling staircase, and out into the kitchen. Without much of interest there, we did not linger, though I did pause by the large picture window to stare outside in disbelief for a moment.

The sun had begun to set and lit the sky aflame; brilliant pinks, purples and a wash of elegant blue just the color of Quinn’s eyes. I was filled with emotion as its majesty overwhelmed me.

The outside world seemed a mythical thing to me now; something that existed for others, not for me. As I looked out into it for a moment, I shivered and began to shake, realizing just how little out there, for all it held, meant anything to me.

All that mattered to me in the world was, at this moment, levels below the floor upon which I stood. Pen flying across paper as quickly as his hand could carry it, writing who knew what. Whatever it was, I was certain that it was technical, mechanical, and not at all relative to the fact that I even existed. He was not keeping a diary of thoughts or emotions, he was keeping detailed records of his work, and I am sure that was all he viewed me as; a work to be completed, then sent out into the world to survive on its own.

"You must stay away from the window, child," Schuyler admonished, shooing me back toward the exit. "No one on the outside can be allowed to see you here."

I nodded, glancing up at him and then down apologetically as we moved on.

"Do not look so sad. I only meant to remind, not rebuke."

I followed him as he pointed out a door down the hallway from the kitchen. "That is the entrance to the shop. There are still customers in it now, so I cannot take you in. If you like, I could let you see it later, when it is closed."

"I would like that, thank you, sir. I would love to see the windows. I used to love to…" My voice trailed off with the memory of my father and I walking hand in hand down the streets in town near the Argents’ home, looking at the pretty displays in the shop windows.

“Used to what?”

“On Sundays, sometimes, my father and I would admire shop windows. I would wager yours are beautiful.”

“Perhaps you can help me think of ways to make them even better,” he said with a smile. I tried to smile back, but my mind was still fixed entirely upon other matters.

After the way Quinn had reacted, I hesitated to take up my questions again now, but curiosity was a difficult taskmaster and impossible to deny, so I continued.

"The boy, the one who lives here... "

"How do you know that he lives here?" Schuyler turned on his heel and stared at me, a hand perched on one hip and frustration upon his face. "I never told you that."

Once again, I had let my tongue run ahead of my brain and gotten myself into trouble. "I am sorry, Mister Algernon—"

"Schuyler, Schuyler, Schuyler!" he repeated. Seeing how I winced involuntarily at the tone he'd taken, he softened it, but only a little. "I have told you, I would prefer it if you called me by my given name instead of that unfeeling title."

"Yes, sir."

He sighed. "We'll work on it. Which brings me to the point once again, I still don't know by what name it is that I should address you."

I looked downward, completely silent.

"It would seem we all have things we need to keep for ourselves, don't we? Just so that we know that we are still in control of something."

I raised apologetic eyes toward him. "It is not about needing control, sir—"

"Schuyler!"

"Schuyler," I corrected myself before continuing. "It is simply that it doesn't matter."