The reveal of the recording device induced a squeal from Abraham. He threw down his newspaper and reached for it. Derrick glared and pulled it out of the twig's reach. He closed his fingers around the device. It was designed to appear as a silver gear, and with each spaced dip in the cog's ridges, there was a different button that served its own function. Play, pause, stop, record, and so forth.

"I haven't had the chance to use it yet."

"Obviously, you've only just bought it." Abraham laced his fingers under the table and twiddled his thumbs in aggravation. End game was near enough that he could smell it, and he grew impatient. Luck was on his side, he thought. How perfect it was that Derrick's fondness for the look of silver had led to such a covert selection of technology.

"I don't know how much storage it has, or how much battery."

"It doesn't matter. This could be our only chance," the former captain growled. "Millions of reward money comes from that man sitting at that bar, right now. I can't be seen, or I'll be recognized. All you have to do is hit your record button and slip it into his pocket."

Derrick sucked on his cigarette. He exhaled in Abraham's face. The ex-smoker grimaced and bitterly waved the smoke away. He was almost grateful that Derrick hadn't offered a cigarette. Freed from the addiction by his banishment, his lungs had never felt better. Alas, his mind still guiltily yearned.

"And, what, am I supposed to just ask for him to give it back?" Derrick drawled. "I've a tracker on it, but a tracker is only going to tell me where it is. It isn't going to get it back."

"I don't know," Abraham snapped. He folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his sallow flesh. "We'll figure it out."

"And what makes you think he'll say anything revealing?"

"Didn't you say an Evelyn Marsh was around here? She knew him?"

"Yes...?"

"Then get them together, and they'll be talking like long-lost pals in no time. Surely."

"I believe she comes to the inn closer to seven."

"Then we wait."

"I'll go now." Derrick stood.

"Are you daft?"Abraham gasped. He prodded his glasses up his nose and shook his head. "Wait for him to be a little tipsy before you go shoving things in his pockets. Didn't you see? He ordered a strong bourbon, and no small amount of it. Five minutes, Derrick. Five more minutes."

Derrick narrowed his eyes and slowly returned to his seat. He puffed on his cigarette and rolled the silver recording device twixt his fingers. "That's what got you banished, wasn't it?" He chuckled, and a knowing smile crept crookedly up his face. His dark peach fuzz beard spread with the grin. "Precious little Abe couldn't take the pressure of work and spent all his salary on bourbon liquors."

Abraham bristled, turning bright red. He clenched his crossed arms so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his pale flesh swam with sudden bruising.

"Oh, everyone knows, Abe."

"It is Abraham," Abraham barked.

"Drinking more and more every night until you started showing up to your shifts late and sodden. You've always been pitiful, Abe. That's why it was so easy to turn you in."

The former captain recoiled. His eyes widened with accusation, and his hands blindly drove into the satchel on his seat. "The cameras caught me. No one turned me in."

"Of course not," Derrick agreed, smiling with too much joy. As if he knew something.

It sickened Abraham.

The banished man abruptly rose and glowered down at his smug company. "Mind your own effing business." Except he didn't say effing.

"Ooh, language, Abraham," Derrick cooed. He blew one last cloud of smoke into the man's face and put out his cigarette in the ashtray. He coolly rose and straightened out his prim and proper jacket. He smiled and held up his false silver piece. "I have work to do. Rewards to reap. I know who I'm looking for now. You're no longer of any use to me." He patted the rapier at his side. "I think you had best be gone by the time I am back."

"I disagree. This is my mission, not yours. You're a tool, nothing more. I think you will be taking me all the way along. Do you know why? Do you?"

Derrick opened his mouth to laugh, but was cut short when a pistol pressed between his eyes. His smile wavered and fell away. His eyes looked on the riled face of his once docile former classmate with horror.

"Because, as an officer, you aren't yet permitted to carry a gun." Abraham smiled now. He smiled wide enough that all his teeth showed, because he wasn't being friendly, nor courteous, nor charming. He was baring his teeth because he was angry and tired of fake smiles. "I am."

Derrick swallowed and recovered from his shock. He reached up to pinch the barrel of the pistol. "You wouldn't shoot me. You need me. Even if you didn't, you're a coward."

Abraham grit his teeth and cocked the pistol. "Don't test me."

Derrick put his hands up in surrender. "Put it away, now."

Abraham sneered and peered through the inn window. His brow furrowed. The girl had moved. The girl that traveled with Hughes had moved from her stool. Abraham scrambled to get to his chair and clawed for his newspaper. "The girl is coming. Sit down," he hissed. His eyes flicked to the disgruntled Eternal. "Sit. My gun is behind this page, so don't try anything."

The Eternal sat.

The child kicked the saloon doors open and trudged by with her hands driven into her pockets. "Yeh, I'll get yer dumb secret potions. Yeh, don't worry about it," she bitterly mumbled. She stopped and squinted at Derrick. "What're you lookin' at?"

"Your beautiful eyes," Derrick beamed, oozing charm.

"Cut the cheese, green bean," Alyn spat. She stuck out her tongue and carried on.

Abraham squinted over his paper and watched her disappear into the caravan across the street. He jerked his head to the doorway. "Go! Now. While she's gone."

Derrick scowled and dug his recording device into his pocket. He stood and glared at his scrawny companion. "Watch your back, math boy," he warned. He pushed through the doors and stalked into the colorful room. He exhaled a long breath to level himself, and strolled on to the bar with a fresh display of charm splashed on his face. He slid onto the stool beside the infamous Drew Hughes, smiling.

"That seat is taken," growled the bearish man, eyes on his tumbler.

Derrick extended one hand, while his other delved for his device. "Walsh. Derrick Walsh," he introduced, and glanced very briefly at his device to press the record button. "I haven't seen you around here before."

He couldn't help but search for the features that defined a young Hughes, the Drew from the wanted posters that still hung on many ignored, forgotten bulletin boards. Brown eyes, long face, hair that curled in waves only at the ends. Tall. It was difficult to make it out behind the whiskers and wrinkles, but Derrick found the resemblance, especially when the fellow faced him. He was the real deal.

Hughes pulled a partially eaten plate of salad away from the man, who sat in his apprentice's place. "Scram. You reek of lung cancer."

"And you of liver failure," Derrick muttered. He frowned and attempted to reach for the man's pocket. Hughes reared and kicked his chair over, and the Eternal hollered out and tumbled down with it. He groaned.

"I said get outta here, boy," Hughes snapped. He swore to himself and swallowed a mouthful of drink. He looked back towards the inn's entrance, choked, and buried his face in his hands over the bar, irritably coughing on his drink. Derrick rubbed at his ribs and pushed his hands beneath himself to rise. He picked up the stool and sourly looked to the door.

"Shit," he swore, as an all-too-familiar yellow dress fluttered over the carpet. Abraham, an annoyance that pecked at the window with all the charm and appeal of a crow, gestured for him to get on with things. The messenger grabbed a hold of Hughes' right shoulder, which caused the man's entire body to go rigid.

Hughes turn to throw a punch, and Derrick quickly dropped the false silver gear into his left pocket. He ducked and stepped away.

"I said get outta here, dammit!" Hughes barked. He downed the last of his drink and protectively pulled up his coat's collar.

Derrick grinned and triumphantly stepped backwards, his device neatly planted. His grin faltered at eye contact with Ms. Evelyn Marsh. The woman gave him her coldest eye and turned up her nose. He lowered his gaze and withdrew.

Hughes awkwardly flinched at the woman's touch on his shoulder. His eyes flicked up to her, then away. He reached into his coat and pulled out the daisy that his apprentice had given him. Hesitantly, gaze averted, he raised the daisy to her. Behind him, she smiled.

"Is that for me?"

He nodded and nursed his empty mug.

Alyn trudged through the doors just in time to see her take it. Her gift to Hughes, given away so soon. She seethed, pulling at her curls to the point that it hurt.

"Thank you," said Ms. Marsh. "My flower shop is next door, Drew. Come by sometime, won't you?"

"Yes," mumbled Hughes.

She started to drift off to elsewhere, but Hughes stumbled out of his chair to protest.

"Wait!" He stumbled a step. "Wait."

Evelyn regarded him with interest. The corner of her lip twitched upwards briefly.

"How do you know me?" he pleaded. He could barely look her in the eye.

She shook her head. "This isn't the place."

He fumbled in his pockets and held out his room key. "Is this?"

She looked around and thoughtfully rubbed her chin. "It will do."

He gestured to the staircase. "P-please."

Alyn angrily stormed after the adults, kicking the carpet as she went. She glared at Hughes' back as the man started up the staircase. He tightly clutched the railing, and Alyn could see the stumble in his steps.

The flower shop woman slid her hand into his. She stopped him and gestured to the girl behind. "This is your friend?"

Hughes peered back. His brows pinched. "No. My apprentice," he answered. "Where have you been?"

"Well, I was—!" She choked herself to a stop, her hand forming a fist around the two vials of potion that he had bade her to fetch. One for the night, one for the morning. One for now, and one for later. She averted her eyes and bitterly muttered to her boots, "I wasn't nowhere."

"Hm." He gestured to the landing above. "Well, carry on, then."

Ms. Marsh smiled a lopsided smile. The scars on her cheek prevented one end of her lips from fully raising. The pale pink warped with the smile. She reached out a hand to Alyn.

Alyn spat. "No, thank you."

Something was fishy. What was a woman doing with the blacksmith? He had no charm, and whatever looks he may have had were concealed by ratty clothing, a beer-belly, and untidy whiskers. He was old, drunk, scruffy, and though he may have been clean, it was as plain as day that he wasn't usually. He kept fidgeting with his softened hair and clothing. Alyn narrowed her eyes at their backs and stiffly trudged behind. She quietly clinked the vials in the pocket of her breeches and pondered them in secret.

He doesn't deserve them, she thought.

They weren't friends. Hughes was as likely to forget her name as he was likely to open a bottle. For the first time, Alyn decided that his well-being wasn't worth being put first. She was sick of being the mop to his messes and the burro for his burdens. He didn't have her back, and he never had. Indignant and upset, with ego bruised and emotions roiling, Alyn let the potions lie. They were just one more thing he refused to trust her with. One more thing on a mountain of withheld truths that gnawed at her and proved to her how much she really was worth to him.

As much as dirt.

She crawled to the landing and hesitantly looked back. It was warm in the tavern. Warm enough that she had left her scarf and jacket at the caravan, which left her feeling far more vulnerable. She hunched and raised her shoulders to her burning cheeks. She rubbed her bony arms.

Master Hughes stopped ahead to look for his key. A handful of gears tumbled out of his pocket as he drew it out. He squinted at the room number engraved on its face and drifted on. He pulled the flower shop lady—the infuriating flower shop lady—along to the furthest door.

Alyn scowled and, grumbling, collected the valuables carelessly abandoned in his wake. She shoved the gears into her pockets. They bulged, uncomfortable rocks at her thighs. She stalked after the adults, into Hughes' room. They sat on the single bed tucked beneath the window. The curtains were drawn. Dim light from a lone gas lamp peeled over the painted walls, decorated with images of bright birds from past ages. A grandfather clock and a standard bedside table made up the only other furniture.

Alyn grit her teeth and crossly sat on the floor in a corner further from the pair. She trained her eyes steadily upon them and folded her arms.

"You're... pretty," Master Hughes managed, and glanced awkwardly away.

The apprentice rolled her eyes and shook her head. The woman had the exterior beauty of a battery hen; scrappy and gaunt and pitiful, showing a rough life through hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes.

The florist smiled softly. She rubbed a thumb over his hand.

"I've been drinking," Hughes confessed. As if it wasn't obvious in the dullness of his eyes and the redness of his face. "I was... nervous. That you would show. Or-or that you wouldn't. I... I am lost, ma'am. I d-don't understand why—"

"Please. Call me Evelyn."

"E-Evelyn, I d-don't—"

"Drew," Evelyn sighed, turning his face to look into his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Here." She took his hand between both of hers and started to pull at his frayed glove. He flinched. "Hush, Drew." She pulled it off to reveal his scarred palm.

He nervously gulped. "I... They're from b—"

She placed his hand over the scars on her cheek, and his eyes widened. His tongue turned to stone. For a moment, the quivering of his eyes was his only motion, and after long seconds, he relaxed entirely. A change went over him, softened him. His apprentice's jaw fell as she detected it. His guarded manner washed out, and his eyes welled. Emotions seeped in through the scars on his hand, as if the wounds were reopened and bled inwards. He winced and slouched, tortured by a painful surge of guilt and regret; feelings that he spent his days avoiding, and at the same time, was bound by.

He moved his thumb over her scars. "I did that," he whispered. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. "I..."

Alyn's ears perked beneath her hat. She sat up straight and leaned forward.

Evelyn nodded. "Do you remember?"

His coffee eyes flicked over her face. His answer took its time to roll from his tongue. "No."

"Do you drink like this every night?"

Again. The word slid slowly out. "No."

"Are you going back to Ban-Ken?"

Another wait. His hand dropped to his lap and he lowered his eyes. "Yes."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Maybe."

"There are a lot of people willing to help you, Drew," Evelyn gently told him, helping him to put his glove back on. "All you need to do is ask. You are a hero to many people. To me, and my daughter. To the refugees. We owe you our lives."

Hughes regarded her wearily, massaging his temples. "There is no such thing as heroes, Evelyn. Where there ever, I would not be one." He lethargically prodded his boots off with his toes and curled on his side, sinking into the old mattress. He pulled the pillow over his head. "I am... no longer living in the clouds."

"Those aren't your words, Drew. They are your brother's. You are better than you think you are," Evelyn insisted. "You are a hero. You are my hero." She squeezed his hands. "Remember that."

He didn't answer. For a long while, Evelyn waited. Eventually, she sighed and stood. Her fingers slipped through his freshly washed hair, shifting the many shades of rust and silver. She plucked the daisy from her corset and twisted it absently between her digits. She touched its soft center to her nose. Her gaze drifted to Alyn.

"He disappeared forty years ago," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "The rumor was that he drank himself to death. I believed it for a while. Until a man that had known him and was worried for him found me thirty years ago to see if I knew where he was. Where... Where has he been hiding, for all this time?"

"Who are you?" Alyn demanded, ignoring her question. She rose, hands on her hips. "How do you know him, when he barely remembers you? Why did he break down? He ain't a crying man, ma'am. He ain't. What makes you so special? Why'd he say he gave you those scars? What did he do? Why are you calling him a hero? What—"

"So many questions, dear child!" Evelyn laughed. She quietened and sadly looked to the man. "I... I only knew him for less than a day, a lifetime ago. It was a dark day for the city, and for the manor alike. The day he started drinking." She reached for the blanket folded at the end of the bed and gingerly draped it over him. "I was the last one that he saved before he disappeared." She turned. "Where has he been? Where could he have gone for thirty years, unnoticed?"

"Whadd'you mean 'saved'? What did he save you from? Why've I never heard 'bout any of this before?"

"He said you were his apprentice... How long for?"

"'Bout a week." Alyn shrugged. "Now—"

"Don't be demanding information from me. All I have done is collect it from others over the years. He helped a lot of people. He is a good man. Maybe he has let himself go some, but deep down, he is the best of people. If he hasn't told you things, it's probably with good reasons." Her palm draped over the doorknob. "Please... Tell me where he has been for the last thirty years. If... if you know. Please. I've sat at this inn every night since the day I heard that he was still alive. I've been waiting and waiting, hoping for this man to finally show up. Where has he been?"

Alyn looked to the floor. "West Haven. Indiana."

Evelyn smiled, very faintly, with her gratitude. "Thank you."

The door clicked shut behind her, and her laced boots pattered quietly down the hall. The apprentice stared at her sleeping master, and felt behind herself for the wall. She slid down to her rear, and dug the potion vials from her pocket. Gold and silver gears fell out.

She held the glass tubes in her lap and looked from them to the blacksmith to the door. Her fingers clenched and her brows knitted.

After all of her efforts, after all of her putting him first, why was there so much that she didn't know?