His first encounter with magic was the smoky morning of his twelfth birthday when his father took him to the city. It was a mysterious trip, as unexplained as the scars that decorated the hands of his father, or where the money came from to support their elegant country house. Back then Manchester was an immature behemoth, noisy and young, in the early thrusts of its industrial renaissance. To Jim’s childish mind it was as dark and dangerous as the night time.
It was a long walk that began with trees and ended with chimneys. The transformation was strangely imperceptible, for as they passed through the outskirts, communities retained vestiges of the country next to the tools of industry and modernity. The grass and the fields and the farms slowly faded, individuals became a throng of people, and whispers became a buzzing chatter, but it was a blurred change, rather than a jarring one.
His father barely talked or paid attention to his presence. Not until the air became hot and sweaty, until the smoke burned their nostrils, until the streets became narrow and haunted by tall buildings and all Jim could see was the waists of men after men, did his father grunt and hold his hand. Jim did not like his father’s cold and brittle hands that gripped his in such a perfunctory manner.
The city at first felt like a vicious storm, and he a small raft, drowning in the immensity of it all. Everything was aggressive. From the rancid smells to the clumsy legs of passersby, from the fat lady stood by her cart shouting her prices to the rusty clanks and grinds of the factories.
It was many minutes before he learnt to swim. Led by the stern and unforgiving grip of his father he was half-dragged through the city. A stranger to the places and buildings he saw, he had no idea of their heading or direction. At some point however the crowds thinned and he was given a break from the painful hustle and bustle of their initial entrance. They entered a side alley and his father dropped his hand and stopped.
“You are full of questions, no doubt,” he said, looking down at his son with a steely gaze.
Jim jumped at the opportunity with a quick grin. “Yes, sir, what--”
“I did not say you could ask any.” Those fierce blue eyes that Jim feared so much intensified and caught him in a harsh glare, until the young boy dropped his head and stared at the muddy cobbles. “We have precious little time for explanations. You will have to remember to open your ears, and eyes, if you want to learn anything today.”
About what? Screamed Jim’s head, but his mouth stayed shut.
His father reached into his coat pocket and fetched out a timepiece, nodded, and started walking briskly forward. “Come on, James. Larger boys than you have been devoured by this city.”
A sense of fear and unexpectedness chilled Jim to his bones. If this was an adventure, it was a perplexing one. Swallowing his confusion, he jogged forward to keep up his father’s long strides, mindful of losing himself in the alien surroundings.
The street they emerged onto was a world apart from the hostile, teeming thoroughfare they had left moments ago. They were its only inhabitants. It was a cul-de-sac with only a tiny, squashed grocers in its farthest corner, painted a dark green with golden letters that said WHITTINGHAM’S. For a moment Jim thought they had travelled all this way to purchase supplies, but it was fleeting; his father was too practical a man to waste a day so.
The door made a little jingle as they entered.
A wave of freshness poured over Jim. It was almost as if they had left the city, and entered a portal into the countryside, such was the change in atmosphere.
“Good mornin’, sir, and to you too, young master,” said the clerk, an old fellow with rosy cheeks. “And what I may do for you?”
His father smiled. “I am in need of a particular rare tea I have grown accustomed to. It goes by the title Lapsang souchong.”
The rosy-cheeked man watched Jim’s father carefully. “Expensive stuff. Ten bob n’ a sixpence at the very least, sir.”
“How about we call it two crowns?”
“Indeed, sir. If you would like to follow me.”
Jim was all at sea. The man unlocked the counter and beckoned his father towards the curtain next to the back shelves. Why were they entering the back of the store?
The scarlet curtain was pushed aside and Jim shuffled in behind the two men, breathlessly, unsure about what to expect. To his surprise they carried on past the assorted boxes and wares stocked and went through another door, which the man used a long silver key to unlock. It gave an eerie creak as it opened.
“Much obliged,” his father said, and tipped his hat.
The man bowed and gave Jim a wink as he left them to their own devices, sweeping the curtain back as he disappeared.
“What the --” Jim began, before his father’s hand shot up and covered his mouth.
“Not here, James.” The tone was calm.
Beyond the door was a room cast in an orange glow. Leather books adorned the walls like regiments of soldiers. Cigar smoke lingered and half-full glasses littered the tables.
Not until they were safely inside the room, with the door closed, did his father turn to him, clap him on the shoulder and explain. “Welcome to my workplace, James. Pardon the secrecy.”
“You work at a greengrocers?” asked Jim with mild disappointment.
His father laughed at that. “Not quite. This is not part of Whittingham’s. It’s something else entirely.”
There was truth in that. The room stood in deep contrast with the simple austerity of the grocers’ layout. It was a billiard room and library and study in one convoluted mix. Weirdest of all was the lack of windows that deprived the room of natural light.
“Father, I haven’t the faintest what is happening.”
“Splendid. I would be more worried if you did.” He took his hat off and laid it on a nearby chair, hung his coat up and took out a cigar and held it in his teeth. “Do you ever wonder what my occupation is, James?”
Jim frowned. “Mother always used to say you worked for the Government. Is this my gift? Seeing where you work?”
He lit the cigar and smoke enveloped his face. “Almost,” he said, although Jim didn’t know to which part. “The others will be here soon.”
“Others?”
“Why yes. You think I’m the only officer of Her Majesty’s Secret Police?”
I think "out" should go, or fetched should be changed to fished.