Chapter 5 – The Man Time Forgot
A fish head pierced through the sky, slightly obstructing the sun for anyone who happened to be walking past it. It dangled with lifeless eyes, it wobbled once, then twice and seized to move. “Five dinar fish!”
“Five dinar!” A burly mans vice boomed through the crowd only to be quickly lost among all the marketers. Other voices echoed, some faint, soft, outspoken or merely nauseating. Old world Persian carpets lined all the halls, rickety wooden booths lined every wall, marketers behind each one, each selling a product you never knew you wanted.
Bright lights shimmered in the building, rotating within the ceilings reflecting upon vases, fresh produce, vanity mirrors and a dozen of other worldly goods. The hallways were littered with individuals, dressed in light garments in the heated enclosed environment.
Grimm sliced through the crowd, his broad shoulders making a path for Laurena to follow. He moved in a straight shot while Laurena fumbled behind, her eyes shifting from each vendor, taking every sight as if it was her first.
“This isn’t what I had in mind when you said an empire.” With a blink of her eye, she envisioned slaves turning cogged wheels, fire torches that lit up dark alleyways and dungeons, but this was a town, domesticated with trade.
“Crimson has a love for fashion, incase you somehow couldn’t tell. He set up trade routes to this city and in consequence other trade programs begun.” Grimm’s eyes shifted, piercing from one area to another. He was focused on the empty obelisks that were within the building, as if expecting something to be there.
“That’s kinda funny.”
“Just a bit.”
“So how is shopping out going to help us?” She pauses at one of the smaller wooden stands, only its content shining in the form of small wooden carving of creatures. “Oh! These are adorable.” She exclaimed.
“Its not shopping. Its someone here.” Grimm stopped near her. “We should move.”
“Is this supposed to be a cat?”
He takes a quick glance at it. “No. I think it’s a white tiger.”
“So it’s a cat.”
“I guess.”
A voice shrills from behind the wooden caravan. “All hand-made! Great oaks!”
“There are no oak trees on this island.” Grimm took a close look at the wooden puppets noticing the figure to the voice behind the counter. “Wait.”
“How much?” Laurena asks picking up a few more. “Is there a deal if I buy enough?”
“Wait.” Grimm mumbles again.
“Okay, how about this one too!” Laurena has a collection of animals now in her hand, held up towards the elderly man whose face was furrowed in bushy eyebrows, hair peeking out from his ears, and mountains of wrinkles that curled over the curvature of his face. His smile defied the toll gravity had taken on his face, creating an emphasis on the blistering set of white teeth that formed his smile.
“Sir.” Grimm inquires. “Sir?”
“Do you know him.” Laurena glances back and forth between the old man and Grimm.
“Yes. Yes. Do I know you?” The old man impositions with what must’ve been small beady eyes that lingered underneath a forest of snowy trees above his eyes.
“It’s me. Grimm.”
“Nope. Can’t say I’ve heard of you, but nice to meet ya young man.” The old man lingers a stick out towards Grimm expecting him to shake it.
“Old Sandro. Its me, Grimm, how did you forget?” Grimm strives to take his acknowledgement in vain.
“Sandro? Nobody called me that since I was—“ He begins to grab the figurines from Laurena. “—well, since I was, well it doesn’t matter. Time to close shop.”
Laurena’s face turns upside down. “But—“
“Fine. How’s this for a reminder.” Grimm’s voice is relentless in its aspiration. He speaks one last word, in a clear slow tone. “Zill.”
“Where?!?” The old man frets, his head twisting from side to side as if on a pivot. He pokes his cane at the top of his stand and in one click shutters come closing down. He then dashes out from behind his booth, moving his way through the market place.
His speed is astounding, his short body seemingly misleading of his prowess, especially when fear has been stricken in him.
Grimm wastes no time taking up the chase. He plows through the crowds, twisting around bodies, attempting to keep up with the old man.
Laurena hangs behind him trying to keep up with the action, letting out a final sigh that she isn’t getting her wooden cat before the day’s end. “Does names Zill always cause this kind of reaction?”
Grimm chuckles. “Ya. He knows how to make himself memorable.”
“No kiddin’.” They both continued to run after the oldman, who they might’ve lost long ago, his small figure would’ve blended in the crowd, shorter than most of the women that were in the market. The crowds began to push back, slowly Grimm down even farther. A moment like this would’ve worked perfectly if Zill was around, while he was far from Grimm’s strength he was quick and agile. His youth had taught his hands to work almost as fast as his tongue.
“Lets split up!” Laurena finally remarked, realizing that the old man was not going to get caught by them individually. He had a strong layout of the building and compared to both of them they were running blind.
“You sure?”
“Positive.” She swings a left at the next open hallway, taking a few hops past a crowded stand and she disappears out of Grimm’s view.
Grimm’s lungs did not have the capacity to keep up and after ten minutes, he was near the point of exhaustion. He’d cornered him three times but each time, he’d managed to slip. Either under his legs, around him or by hopping above him. Old people were not designed to move that fast.
“Got him!” He heard a shout from one side of the market, coming from a staircase that led to the housing quarters. Grimm rushed towards her, using the wall to beak his sprint, in order to move up the limestone stairs.
Laurena’s hands were working to pull her shirt down over her waist. Across from her was the old man, mouth wide open, eyes gone wide finally visible amongst the forest of hair on his face. His tongue lobbed to one side like a half chewed popsicle.
Grimm stood at the entrance. “Did you just?”
“Did I just catch him? Of course.” She dropped a glance towards Grimm with a sharp smile then turned back towards the old man.
“Right.” He thinks twice of pursuing this conversation. “Sandro. I need your help.”
“Is he here? Is he?” Sandro shoots glances around the room. He crouches as if awaiting an ambush.
“Old Sandro. He isn’t here. That’s what I came to talk you about.”
“About him?”
“Yes about Zill. Crimson has him captive.”
“So go get him out, you don’t need me for that.”
“But we do.” Laurena interjects. “Crimson is expecting us.”
“I’d be expecting you too.” Sandro salvates at the thought of a nubile young woman.
“That wasn’t what–”
“—Don’t mind him.” Grimm moves over closer to Sandro. “I miss you Sandro, it’s been too long, and you’ve done a lot for us in the past. I feel terrible that I come asking again, but Zill needs our help. Crimson isn’t going to be kind to him.”
“Kind to who?” Sandro’s memory worked much like a sieve. Forgetful and incoherent.
Laurena once again repeats her question. “Are you sure that’s who we’re looking for?”
Grimm ignores her. He places a hand on Sandro’s frail shoulder. “Sandro. I need to know how to get in there.”
Sandro doesn’t respond, seemingly frozen in place. Then in one quick motion he hustles Grimm’s hand away from him. A panicked look crosses his face.
“Who-o have you been near?” Sandro’s voice is raised, losing its elderly humorous panic.
“Just her the past few days.” Grimm points towards Laurena.
Sandro moves closer to Laurena, his cane poking at her midriff. “You’ve changed everything.”
“What?” Laurena asks confused by Sandro’s behavior. “Hey, stop that!” She grabs onto the tip of the cane pushing it away from her.
“Will you help us?” Grimm nods, as if understanding Sandro’s behavior.
“No. Begone, nothing but trouble will follow you.” Sandro paces to the corner wall of the room, taking a seat in the chair. “In my old age, I ain’t got time for trouble.”
“But—“
“—Just go.” Sandro barks at Grimm.
Grimm nods, motioning to Laurena to follow his lead.
They walk defeated back to the ship, which rested half crash-landed in a shallow lake on the coast of the island. The beauty of airships was well they were well equipped to traverse space and waterways, at least, that was their logic. Neither of them were ever pilots in a past life, and learning to not crash the ship to smithereens was a miracle within itself.
