Eleanor and Mark hovered outside, momentarily paused by the towering door above them. Perhaps Mister Saunders is just doing quiet work, was the first thought, and he left it unlocked for us. The door was locked. Perhaps he was working on something important, was the second thought, and he did not want just any old person walking in. They knocked quietly at first and waited.
The minutes went on by and there was no response.
Perhaps he did not hear them. They knocked again, louder this time.
Still no response.
“Maybe he’s still asleep,” Mark mused. It was the best answer he had currently.
His sister, Eleanor frowned, “But doesn’t Mister Saunders normally get up early?”
“Maybe he’s out then.”
“Maybe. Let’s come back later.”
The pair left, disappearing down the street and in with the growing crowd of workers.
Gale was silent. Locked away behind the door, back up against the leg of one of the workstations. The limbs gave out; not due to physical weakness, instead due to the weighted strain that dragged them to the earth. The last of it was spent dragging herself to a position of slumping, legs stretched out before them, arms splayed to the sides. They was not quite sure how long they had been there; part of the mind had cut itself off to registering of time and the slithers of light that managed to creep between the gaps. It did not matter in reality; the lingering dark consumed the rest with the coals of the forge having burned themselves out days ago.
The smith could not bring themselves to replenish it, leaving nothing more than worthless ash and soot within its belly. The tobacco tin was in a similar state, gone of matches and cigarettes. Were they going out to get a pack? They could not remember; it did not matter. They were trapped there on the ground staring into space, eyes half closed, the gentle breathing being the reminder that they were still alive. Their throat had gone dry, lips showing signs of cracking. Head throbbed, a dull ache that started from the crown and was clawing its way down. The eyes were tired, but they could find no rest. Closing them showed the twisting screaming faces of the riot, the splattering of blood and gore, the sounds of screaming and shouting – angered and fuelled by base need and instinct.
Gale did not sleep much these days.
The hammering returned soon, the smashing of tiny fists on the door – calling out for a Mister Saunders. It continued, pitched voices creeping through the gaps. The smith did not move even as the knocking continued.
“Hasn’t it been like this for a few days now?”
It had been longer than a few days, closing in for a week or maybe two by this point. It was not to say the Smith had been inactive during this time, only creeping out when it was quiet and locking themselves away during the rest. Some work had been done, various jobs serving a temporary balm before they too were completed and slipped away. The smith had poured themselves into their work, but that was all done now. Nothing remained, nothing existed.
Outside, Mark’s head swiveled to Eleanor, “What you mean?”
“Well. Mister Saunders didn’t answer yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. No matter how many times we go and come back.”
The boy’s face dropped into an ‘oh’ expression, the hand paused in mid strike. He watched his sister frown, fingers idly playing with her auburn hair and collecting it into ringlets. She was wearing that concerned face again, her brow pushed together and her lips turned into a pout. She continued, “You don’t think somethin’ happened do you?”
“Like he hurt ‘imself or somethin’?”
That caused for a raise of alarm, both their heads turning to the door with intensity, “That or… you don’t think?”
With a renewed vigor the pair drummed at the door, voices shouting out into the forge in unison – a racket of noise that spilled out into the street. The pedestrians gave them a wide berth, their features flickering with confusion but otherwise ignoring the obvious display.
“Mister Saunders? Are you in there? Are you okay Mister Saunders? Can you answer – please, please, please don’t say the meanie Uncle took you away!”