About half an hour before William’s shift ended he locked up his office and wove his way out through the sea of desks, out the AGO-Dock’s station, through the front gates of Bell Yard, right onto the usual tram. William had long established that he was incapable of proper timekeeping, so this wouldn’t be considered by anyone to be abnormal. Off the tram, he walked the two blocks home. He grabbed the mail and tossed it on the counter without looking, stripped off his uniform for clothes that weren’t blue, then once again, walked those same two blocks to hop directly back on the tram he just vacated. This time, he rode it past Bell Yard.
Bell Yard itself was just a little north-east of dead center in the Docks District. William lived south-west of it. On his upstairs porch, if he stood at the right spot, well onto the rooftop road, Elysia Street Two, he could catch a glimpse of the ocean.
Manton Stockwell had lived north of Bell Yard, in one of those nicer neighborhoods that had undergone extensive renovations. His house was smaller than William’s and less prone to spontaneous breakages, and also was, as of nine months ago, William’s problem to deal with. That had been a big suprise to all of them, when Manton’s documents were pulled and listed as executor was William’s name. Manton had living cousins who could have done the job, even if he had no siblings, but it wasn’t like he was available to explain himself.
William had to hop one tram to make it to Manton’s house. He supposed he was lucky the place wasn’t too much of a burden to keep up with. Manton had savings William could deduct the mortgage from, and he’d shut off the utilities quickly. He went once a month to grab the mail and make sure the place was still standing, hadn’t been robbed or otherwise. It was a little ritual. From the tram station, he walked the three blocks to the row house, the one right on the end. There was a whole pile of mail he had to collect, which William balanced under an arm as he unlocked the door with the key he’d been carrying around since he learned all this was his responsibility. Manton’s house was dark, and would remain that way, because the power was turned off.
William flipped through the mail then tossed the entire stack into a milk crate he found in Manton’s basement. Other than that, there wasn’t much more to do. The house would sit empty until something changed - it was only half the reason he made his way out anyhow. William locked the door then made himself comfortable on the front steps. Hakra would be by soon enough.
There was a scant breeze in the air. The street between the row houses was interspersed with old, post-war trees, covered in new leaves, and the occasional neighbor of Manton’s wandered by, but they were less chatty than William’s own. Hakra was always late to things in the evening, owing to his army of small children. William closed his eyes, and when the sound of footsteps bid he open them, he did, and there was Hakra.
Before Hakra said anything at all he dropped a paper bag in William’s lap.
“For me?” The bag was warm. William pulled the top just barely open and a puff of steam escaped.
“Soon as I mentioned evening plans with you she got to warming them up. Fresh from this morning.”
Inside were several hand-pies, crimped more neatly than most bakeries could manage. “You’ve eaten?” William asked.
“At home.” Hakra glanced up at the house before him, it’s brown bricks and neatly stacked windows. “You’ve done a decent job keeping the place standing.”
William stood up and fished a pie out of the bag. “It didn’t take much.” He cocked his head back in the direction of the tram station. “The garage is that way.”
“You don’t want to stop to eat?”
William’s mouth was already prohibitively full of hand-pie as Hakra asked. He waved the remains of it in his hand dismissively and started off in the garage’s direction.
Somehow, Manton’s house was less effort to maintain than Manton’s car. William had idly mentioned his intentions to take it on an evening drive earlier that day to Hakra, and while Hakra didn’t ask to join, William could tell he was dying to by the way he went quiet and changed the subject quickly and the look in his eyes, so William invited him along, and of course he accepted.
The garage wasn’t the easiest place in the city to find. The entrance was tucked away and it immediately and steeply dove underground. Inside was claustrophobic and unwelcoming, all concrete walls and orange tinted lights, and for how unpleasant the atmosphere was the rent for a single space was blinding. William knew the bay by heart at this point. Between it’s painted, twin orange lines on the floor rested Manton’s Bourassa Model Two Knight.
“I was instructed to drive it once a month.” William said.
“Or what?”
“Or the…” Shit, what did the mechanic say, “power system will disalign?” William fished the key out of his pocket. He unlocked the door then undid the latch near the front. The roof of the car collapsed over and back smoothly.
“I’m suprised you haven’t sold the thing.”
William paused with the door half open. That hadn’t occured to him, for good reason. It was just… “It’s too cruel.”
Hakra pulled the lock on the passenger door and climbed in. “What about it is cruel? You don’t need more responsibility.”
William climbed into the drivers seat and fumbled the key into the ignition. “It’s his car. It means a lot to him.” Before Hakra could say another stupid thing in reply William cranked the engine and the vehicle interrupted both of their thoughts with a series of loud tones and pops, then it settled into a low rumble right in front of William’s feet. He had three-quarters charge left, per the power indicator on the dashboard.
It took some focus to manuever out of the parking garage, and navigate the city streets. The knight was on the larger side of personal vehicles, with an inclination to chew through reagents to match. When William had first hunted it down when settling Manton’s affairs, he’d been greeted with an entirely empty catalyst, which proved far larger a problem than initially anticipated. The helir that powered Bell Yards fleet of automobiles magically appeared as needed, as far as William was concerned. He ended up asking a cab driver and learned the stuff was available to purchase for personal use near the train stations. Manton’s car wasn’t in close proximity to a train station. Getting the large bag of pellets back was an adventure.
When the crowds thinned out and the road opened up, William went for another hand-pie.
Hakra sat quietly in the passenger seat until they were out of the city. He played with the radio, then opened the glovebox and pulled out Manton’s pair of driving gloves. William spared him only brief glances, as he didn’t drive that often.
“Your name isn’t on the registration.”
William chanced a longer glance over. Hakra was thumbing through the paperwork from the glovebox.
“I only drive it once a month.” William said.
“It would take fifteen minutes, Will.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” William gripped the steering wheel. “It’s not my car.”
“Legally,” Hakra placed the paperwork back in the glovebox, before the wind could whip it out his hands, “it’s your car. You’re going to get a citation.”
“You think a patrol office is going to see the name on my license and issue me one? You genuinely think that?”
The only sounds in the vehicle were the noise from the wind and the music from the radio station Hakra landed on and the pattering of the engine. No voices, which was appropriate because the proposed situation was absolutely ridiculous-
“I could cite you.” Hakra said.
“Do not cite me.”
“I might.” William could hear the smile in Hakra’s tone, and not of the kind sort.
“You know how to issue a citation?”
“Absolutely, I did it for years.”
Shit, William would struggle to issue a citation. He’d probably written less than ten across his entire career.
“If you show up tomorrow morning,” Hakra continued, “and there’s one on your desk, you only have yourself to blame.”
Hakra wouldn’t do it, probably. It would be too cruel, but, distressingly, William could not say with certainty that he wouldn’t. From Hakra’s perspective this was the point.
As William calculated the likelyhood, the city around them thinned out, and the sights turned to clumps of houses and cottages flanked by hills and trees. William took a right, drove a bit, then crested a hill. The ocean rose above the horizon line stretched wide across his vision. William took a left.
This road in particular wove through the bluffs high above sea-level, the ocean always in sight on the right. William glanced at his companion. Hakra was lounged against the door, staring at the sights. Seemed the view was still impressive, even if one lived their whole life looking at it.
In a state as encompassing as Asier, with provinces dotting the whole world over, and a city filled with people from every one of them, there was perhaps one singular point of agreement.
The land, this land, the place where it started, was unquestionably beautiful.
William pulled over into a little alcove and parked right up against the fence.
“We’re stopping already?” Hakra asked.
William shifted the car in neutral and pulled the parking brake. “The radio gives out just over there.” He pointed south.
Hakra hummed, then wasted little time in opening the passenger door and climbing out to stretch his legs. William couldn’t be bothered. He fished his lighter and etches out of his pocket instead. He’d been slowly overwriting the faint trace of tabacco Manton had impressed into the leather seats with entechiana, a smell native asieerans considered odd and too spiced and distinctly northern. This was immensely amusing to William.
“I’ve never been down this way.” Hakra had taken up position leaning up against the fense, gazing over the cliffgrasses out at the ocean.
“Definitely the sort of road for a car. I see bikes sometimes.”
Hakra made no movement from his gazing spot for a good long moment. William fiddled with the red cigarette until Hakra turned back around towards the vehicle and leaned against the fence.
“I’ve never been for a ride in this thing either.” Hakra said with just barely recognizable bitterness.
“Ah”. William took a breath and exhaled thin, pale smoke. Entechiana was pathetic like that. “Me neither.”
“What about all those evenings you spent with him?”
“I was permitted to enter his home and drink his liquor. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the car.”
This was a moment of revelation for him, William could tell. A layer of bitterness pulled back, perhaps, that someone who was once a good friend hadn’t actually left him out? Were they about to speak on Manton Stockwell again? Had the two of them not beaten that topic to death?
“Have you been well lately?” Hakra asked.
This was an unexpected and far worse turn of conversation.
“What makes you think I’m not?”
Hakra leaned up against the fence. There was a whole car between him and William. It didn’t feel like it. “You’ve seemed distracted. Unfocused.”
“I’ll register the car, alright? Tomorrow.”
“It’s not the car, Will.” Hakra hid his hands in his jacket pockets. “You’re acting the same as nine months ago. I know you get preoccupied…” He furrowed his brow. “It’s not grief? I don’t think it’s healthy to dig your feet in at denial and refuse to budge.”
William exhaled. “It’s not that.”
“You wouldn’t listen anyways.” Hakra said.
“Probably not.”
Hakra opened the passenger door and climbed back in. William felt the knight bounce beneath them. It had one of those airy sorts of suspensions.
“I’m glad you showed me this place.” Hakra said. “Beautiful evening.”
The ocean stretched wide to the horizon. To the south the bluffs jutted out into the blue, birds flew overhead. The sun hung at the edge of the sky, close to setting. Beautiful indeed.