Yes, we probably should go and see what's on the docks before it gets dark. Good plan!
On the waterfront No-one said much as we left, but I thought we were all thinking the same things: what lay behind the boarded up door, what was worshipped in that chapel, and what kind of people had lived here? Why was the furniture so familiar, yet at the same time so oddly proportioned? And maybe a question only I had: why was there a room with a map and keys on it for the whole city. If someone could go in there and take a key whenever they wanted, why lock things up? We were half-way down the steep grassy slope outside our strange building, with the docks in view and the river splashing waves over the wooden jetty when it finally hit me. "All those keys," I said. Ben grunted. "They're storehouses." "What?" "Think about it," I said, looking where I was putting my feet. The spray from the dock was making the grass slippery underfoot. "If you say that all the ordinary people -- us, say -- have to put their keys in there, or a copy of them, then there's no point having keys. Save time and money and just say no-one gets a lockable door." "Folks'll just hide things under the bed, or get a safe," said Jimmy. "Hah! They'll bury them out back, or hide them in tree stumps," said Ben. "Red and I have found quite a few little caches like that. Folks are more like squirrels than they'd like to think." "Yes, but the point of keys isn't to keep your stuff safe, it's privacy," I said. Now that I came to say that out loud it didn't seem as convincing as it had been when it was just in my head. "It's about being able to say that one side of the door in mine, and the other side is not-mine." "Maybe." Ben scratched his head. We reached the end of the grass, and there was a drop of 30-40 centimetres to the water-slick jetty. I jumped, Ben jumped, and Jimmy took more care to step down, but he's got longer legs. "So," I said. "Those keys aren't just to let you into people's houses. That's storehouses, or warehouses, for the city. That's an administrative department we were in." "Ok," said Ben. "Makes sense." "Were there any keys in that black square region?" asked Jimmy. We walked along the jetty to the dockhouse -- two single-story wooden shacks put together in a way I recognised from Elizabethtown. There was a door to each of them, and to my surprise they were both padlocked. "I never really looked," I said. "Me neither," said Ben. "We can always check on the way back." "Or not." Ben looked at the shiny padlock, and then put both hands on the frame of the window by the door and pushed, hard. There was a creak and the window slid back a touch, then fell inside the building. "Oops, butterfingers," he said. "You don't want to find out if there are keys to the black region, Red?" "Nope," I said. "Not unless every other warehouse in this city is empty of everything but dust." Ben thought about that, then put his head instead the dockhouse and looked around. A moment later he emerged and dealt with the window in the other dockhouse the same way. "Fair," he said. "We can stop opening doors when we can't carry any more, and there's no point starting with the most dangerous place. Ah! We have rope and oil and lanterns in here!"
2 comments:
Yes, we probably should go and see what's on the docks before it gets dark. Good plan!
On the waterfront
No-one said much as we left, but I thought we were all thinking the same things: what lay behind the boarded up door, what was worshipped in that chapel, and what kind of people had lived here? Why was the furniture so familiar, yet at the same time so oddly proportioned? And maybe a question only I had: why was there a room with a map and keys on it for the whole city. If someone could go in there and take a key whenever they wanted, why lock things up?
We were half-way down the steep grassy slope outside our strange building, with the docks in view and the river splashing waves over the wooden jetty when it finally hit me.
"All those keys," I said. Ben grunted. "They're storehouses."
"What?"
"Think about it," I said, looking where I was putting my feet. The spray from the dock was making the grass slippery underfoot. "If you say that all the ordinary people -- us, say -- have to put their keys in there, or a copy of them, then there's no point having keys. Save time and money and just say no-one gets a lockable door."
"Folks'll just hide things under the bed, or get a safe," said Jimmy.
"Hah! They'll bury them out back, or hide them in tree stumps," said Ben. "Red and I have found quite a few little caches like that. Folks are more like squirrels than they'd like to think."
"Yes, but the point of keys isn't to keep your stuff safe, it's privacy," I said. Now that I came to say that out loud it didn't seem as convincing as it had been when it was just in my head. "It's about being able to say that one side of the door in mine, and the other side is not-mine."
"Maybe." Ben scratched his head. We reached the end of the grass, and there was a drop of 30-40 centimetres to the water-slick jetty. I jumped, Ben jumped, and Jimmy took more care to step down, but he's got longer legs.
"So," I said. "Those keys aren't just to let you into people's houses. That's storehouses, or warehouses, for the city. That's an administrative department we were in."
"Ok," said Ben. "Makes sense."
"Were there any keys in that black square region?" asked Jimmy. We walked along the jetty to the dockhouse -- two single-story wooden shacks put together in a way I recognised from Elizabethtown. There was a door to each of them, and to my surprise they were both padlocked.
"I never really looked," I said.
"Me neither," said Ben. "We can always check on the way back."
"Or not."
Ben looked at the shiny padlock, and then put both hands on the frame of the window by the door and pushed, hard. There was a creak and the window slid back a touch, then fell inside the building. "Oops, butterfingers," he said. "You don't want to find out if there are keys to the black region, Red?"
"Nope," I said. "Not unless every other warehouse in this city is empty of everything but dust."
Ben thought about that, then put his head instead the dockhouse and looked around. A moment later he emerged and dealt with the window in the other dockhouse the same way. "Fair," he said. "We can stop opening doors when we can't carry any more, and there's no point starting with the most dangerous place. Ah! We have rope and oil and lanterns in here!"
Greg - indeed. Though, to be fair, I'm also a fan of getting out of there entirely before it gets dark again...
I'm glad they managed to get down that slope without anybody ending up in the river. And of course Ben found a way around the padlocks on the doors :)
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