A String of Doorknobs

Alice stared at the young man sprawled on the ground before of her.

One moment Cliff had towered over her with his signature smirk, whispering promises and threats with the same breath, the next he was out cold on the alley floor. Embarrassment and anger floundered in her chest, suddenly bereft of a focal point.

She turned to the small, disheveled boy standing over Cliff.

“Sorry. Was he a friend of yours?” The boy adjusted his grip on the cricket bat in his hand, genuine confusion pulling his brows inward as he glanced from the insignia on her jacket to the matching one on Cliff’s.

“No. No, he wasn’t.” Alice swallowed hard, pushing off the brick wall, brushing off her blue school uniform to busy her shaking hands.

“Oh, good.” The boy grinned, then immediately frowned. “Well, not good. I mean that he didn’t seem to be behaving good. Toward you. You alright?”

Alice nodded slowly, her mind finally catching up.

The boy was a couple years younger than herself, perhaps twelve, his clothes ragged and worn through in places as if picked from the trash, yet obviously curated with a very particular sense of style. Lace up boots, trousers cut to mid-calf, cuffed sleeves, two tweed vests with a dozen differed silver and gold buttons, and a scarf that nearly reached the ground. He carried two bags; a large canvas pack on his back, and a leather satchel looped across his body. Bits and bobs hung in clusters from his belt and bags, clattering softly each time he shifted. Yet, neither Alice, nor Cliff apparently, had heard him approach.

“Right.” The boy grabbed her wrist and spun, taking off down the alley at a brisk pace.

“Wait! What are you doing?” Alice stumbled, his long stride difficult for her to match even though he was half a foot short than her.

“You need to leave. He won’t be out long. And his friends are coming.”

“His friends?” She glanced back at the heap of a young man. She didn’t feel bad. But, this probably did further complicate her position within the school’s social hierarchy. Her shoulders tightened. So be it. “How can you tell someone else is coming?”

“Can smell ‘em,” the boy said hanging a sharp left.

“Smell them?”

The boy shrugged. “I’ve got a good nose.”

“I… I see. May I ask your name?”

“Tipp. That’s what I call me, anyway. Most other people, too.”

“Well, thank you, Tipp. For helping me out back there.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded, dishwater curls bouncing, giving her just a glimpse of… Were those pointed ears? Alice shook her head. Surely, not.

“There you be.” Tipp released her wrist and pushed her toward the bright street just ahead, immediately doubling back the way they’d come.

“Wait!” Alice called. But he didn’t wait. She glanced between trim hedges and iron street lamps ahead, and the swiftly retreating figure. She should get back to school. Boring, tedious, miserable school.

She set her jaw¾always a sign of poor decision making¾and hurried after Tipp.

“Wait,” she huffed, trying to keep even with him.

“Can’t wait. Places to be.” He waved back toward the street. “Same as you.”

Her jaw tightened further. “I have no commitments for the remainder of the day. And you? Where is it you’re headed?”

He jerked to a stop, facing a battered door with pealing blue paint that was missing its knob. He swung his backpack around him, digging into a pocket, and pulled out a cluster of doorknobs tied together along a length of string.

“First, need to see Merryweather about the dust harvest.” He flipped through the doorknobs, picking one and shoving it into the empty backplate. “Then, need to check on the fog-feather-flowers. They wasn’t looking so good yesternight.” The knob didn’t turn. He scowled, and flipped through his cluster again.

“And I have a couple of songs due back at the li-burr-ary. Need to sing those back.” Tipp thrust another knob into the door and twisted. It did nothing.

“Why do you have knobs instead of a key?” Alice couldn’t help asking, delighted by the nonsense he spoke with absolute confidence.

Tipp snorted, choosing yet another knob. “Can’t use keys. A lock can be picked. Knobs is much safer.”

He twisted. The door clicked, springing ajar.

A breeze rushed out, cool and whispering of green scents as it flitted across Alice’s face.

Tipp looked her up and down, his brown eyes doubtful. “You can come with. But… you sure you’re sturdy enough? There’s an awful lot of work to be done and I won’t be dragging along someone who won’t work.”

Alice felt her jaw set firmly, a smile growing. “Lead the way.”