Babels of Bedlam - Part 10

Erik entered the café, lifting the gazes of the few scattered occupants still there, sipping on their teas and reading their papers. He made his way for the front counter, Isa’s eyes following him with each step.

“Have you ever heard of a kid named Owen, about your age, maybe a bit older?” Erik asked, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Owen?” Isa asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m sure Britain is filled with men named-”

“Not mann, Isa. An Owen like us.”

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly curious. “No, never heard of an Owen. Why? You have?”

“I met one down at the pub on East. He wouldn’t be one you would miss, if you get what I mean,” Erik informed, his golden gaze easily keeping hold of hers, which made her all the more edgy around him; not many could stand her cold glare. “He said he lived here, so I figured if anyone knew about him, it would be you.”

Isa shook her head, her ponytail swaying in wake. “You should ask Gramps. He makes it a point to know every jotunn in the area. If this Owen has lived here for more than a week, he would know about it.”

Erik nodded, pushing off of the counter and heading for the door to the staircase.

“And Erik,”

He turned.

“Let me know what he says.”

With a nod, the man crossed the threshold. Isa could be very cold sometimes, and he didn’t blame her for that – she was born that way – but he liked her. She was deceivingly innocent and that, to him, was refreshing.

It also said something about Gramps, he thought as he climbed the staircase to the landing. He could be a cold man at times too, but he cared for his brats, as he so endearingly called them.

The door to the small apartment at the top was always unlocked – a constant reminder that nothing in this town scared its tenants.

“Hey, Sindri,” Erik greeted the boy lounging across the couch as he entered the living room.

Sindri only gave a nod, his eyes not leaving the pages of his novel. He was the last of Gramps’ four strays, and the youngest as well, but Erik figured him to be an old soul. He was always quiet, preferring books to people and for very valid reasons; he had an extremely high intellect and tended to be short with people who had trouble keeping up.

“Gramps is in the kitchen,” Sindri spoke, turning a page. “I’m sure he’s who you’re looking for.”

Intelligent and sharp, Erik thought with a chuckle, heading for the kitchen.

Gramps had once told him that Sindri was born close to the Iron Wood – an area within Jotunheimr that was saturated with more mystery than hard facts. It was considered that birthplace of beasts and magic itself, and if what Gramps said about the boy was true, then that would slightly decode the enigma that was him. Of course, not much more was known about the kid. He was quiet enough as it was, and Gramps was insistent upon giving the boy space.

Upon entering the small kitchen, Erik found the master of the house relaxing in a chair at the table, the newspaper in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.

“Erik. You’re back.” The old man looked up from his column. “Better not have caused any trouble on your stroll 'round town.”

“If you think I would test your patience, old man, you clearly aren’t reading me too well,” Erik parried with an easy smirk. “I just went down to the bar on East.”

He paused for a moment. “Do you know of a jotunn boy named Owen? Lives around here, apparently.”

“A boy named Owen?" The old man grunted. "Can’t say I have.”

Erik narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I met one today, playing billiards with some menn. He’s not one you would miss, Gramps.”

The old jotunn folded his newspaper and placed it on the table in front of him, setting his icy gaze on Erik. “There is none that I would miss.”

“What I'm trying to…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t even know how to explain it. But he got the attention of a rider.”

“A rider? At the pub?”

Erik nodded. “Al. Looked like he was after this Owen kid. Confronted him even with me there.”

Gramps slowly placed his mug of tea on the table. “Did you leave him alone with the rider?”

“Hell no,” Erik spat. “I gave them some distance, but nothing happened. They talked for a couple minutes and then the rider left, and in no big hurry.”

“And what about the boy?”

“He spoke to one of the menn he was playing pool with and then went to the john. I left after that, since he was alright, but…” He shrugged, shaking his head. “He seems like someone you would know about. A real smooth talker – especially considering the fact that he finagled out of an interrogation.”

Gramps grunted his agreement, his thoughts elsewhere. “I want you to find him and I want you to bring him to me. It’s not a secret that I keep a close watch on the jotnar in this area, and if he is the way you say he is, then I have no doubt he has deliberately kept himself a secret from me.”

Erik nodded. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“I’ll ask Eve if she’s seen anything in her cards about a stranger of late. You, tell Sindri,” Gramps instructed. “He may be able to help you.”

“Tell Sindri what?”

Erik turned to him, book in hand as he headed for the refrigerator. Sindri didn’t have extremely potent blood, not more than he or Gramps, but Erik had no doubt that the place he was born near had an extreme effect on him. The young etinn was phantom-like in a way – just like the Iron Wood.

Gramps gave a dark chuckle. “We’ve got another wolf lurking about the sheep.”