Finch

The moonlight was beginning to peek through the cloudy, navy blue sky alongside the million stars, all getting ready for their nightly show.

Hidden behind a tower of heavy, cracked books, a teenage boy’s muscles strained under the weight. Finch was making his way back from a busy afternoon collecting borrowed books from all over Eastpin centre. He hummed happily as he followed the everyday route as if his eyes were tightly shut. Having a pile of books constantly obscuring the view of his feet meant Finch had memorised the streets before him.

He swiftly sidestepped down the length of the alleyway and out into Greenhorn Square. He expertly skipped over the broken drain, ducked underneath Mrs Holloway's washing line and shuffled past the old and faded wanted posters of long forgotten criminals. All he had to do now was avoid the ever present oil puddles from the double headed street lamp and bend his tired knees low enough for his pillar of books to make it underneath the hanging gutter pipes. That was when he realised. The ever present oil puddles were gone.

Finch didn't know what to make of it but he immediately sensed that something more was different in Greenhorn Square. He lowered his pile of books onto a rusty unused bench and scanned the area. The bookshop his Father owned looked much the same. A layer of grease and grime covered it from chimney to doorstep and the cracked, wooden sign creaked in the breeze. A delicate golden bell hung from the door frame, looking completely out of place, waiting patiently to ring when someone placed a palm on the door handle. The flowers within the window boxes reached desperately upwards, searching for even a spec of fresh air.

It was the dirty, golden glow of the double headed street lamps that caught Finch's eye. The light within them seemed to be slowly dimming until with a slight pop, went out completely, plunging Finch into darkness. The extinguished light immediately started to play tricks on Finch's eyes. Shadows danced round in the hidden alleyway bends and the falling factory soot created eerie shapes in front of his face.

A shuffling of footsteps caused Finch to swing his head around so fast that he cricked his neck, sending a trickle of heat down his spine. He found that his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps and his heart was thumping loudly in his chest. Someone was watching him. Someone was measuring his every move.

A sudden gust of warm wind caused Finch's cap to fall from his head and the bookshop's golden bell tinkled excitedly in the moment. That was when the cloaked figure stepped into Greenhorn Square, shadow completely hiding their face.

“I wonder if you could show me inside boy," said the cloaked figure. To say that Finch was more than surprised to hear that it was a woman's voice was an understatement. "Well, should I say, show us inside." Three more cloaked figures emerged to stand before the flabbergasted bookshop boy. It took him a moment or four to gather himself together.

"Um, of course. One moment please," stammered Finch. He knew that his Father would already be making his way through the maze of books after hearing the golden bell ring in the gust of wind. He would be wondering where his son had got to. As usual.

As he ushered the cloaked visitors towards the front door, his, his Father appeared in the doorway. He filled the entire frame in his brown, tweed suit. A pocket watch was swinging lightly from his breast pocket as if it had just been checked by it's owner. A pair of old spectacles poked out from the other. He stood with his hands behind his back and his face set as though a bad smell was consistently following him around.

“What are those books doing on that filthy bench you useless child?” seethed Finch's Father.

I am not a child. Finch seethed back. In his mind, of course. He actually said, “S-s-sorry, Father. Um, these people would like to come inside.” His Father's gaze moved slowly towards to four cloaked travellers and stared at them for an awkward amount of time.

“Yes, I do believe they would. Come in,” he said rudely without introducing himself at all. This struck Finch as rather quite odd. His Father only ever showed contempt towards him. He was the picture of delight towards his customers so he could get as much money out of them as possible.

Frowning, Finch picked up his books from the rusty bench and followed the new arrivals inside.

The family bookshop, to Finch, was a never ending cave full of treasures from all over the world. Books upon books piled towards the ceiling covered almost every inch of the carpeted floor. They leaned to the right, they leaned to the left, they obscured the view through the dusty wide windows and gave out the scent of yellowing pages. Finch had almost read every single one of them. History, geography, science and old Lorian fairy tales filled his head and his heart.

“Catalogue those now, Child.”

I am not a child. Though, he scrambled to obey. Heaving the tower of newly returned books once again, he moved naturally towards the first correct shelf. His Father showed the mysterious guests towards the sitting area. A puff of shimmering dust rocketed into the air as they sat down on the plump armchairs.

Annoyingly, Finch realised that he was just out of earshot but he could see everything perfectly. Whilst absent-mindedly putting the books back in their correct homes, Finch watched their movements closely. He quickly glimpsed at his Father first to sum up his attitude. He was sat with crossed legs and crossed arms. Completely closed off to those he was speaking with. His look of distrust gave away to Finch that his Father definitely knew who these people were.

Next, Finch looked much more closely at the hooded strangers. He immediately noticed their hands. Something that in fact showed them all to be women. They all had immaculately painted nails, all a different colour. The women that had spoken to him had a fresh white paint. The next sitting to her right had a vivid scarlet. The cloaked lady sitting to the left fashioned a powder blue and the last, perched on the armchair behind, had a shade of olive green gleaming in the lamplight.

Finch continued to watch the woman that had first spoken to him and realised that she was the only one that actually spoke out of the four women. She constantly moved her hands in fluid movements whilst nodding her head politely as his Father replied every now and then. Her feet were tapping lightly on the floor, as though she was moving to her own rhythm.

Finch's cheeks turned a beetroot red and he realised that whilst watching her move her feet, all in the party had turned to stare at him. His hand froze in the motion of putting a book back on a lopsided shelf.

“Come here, Child.” beckoned his Father.

I am not a child. “Yes, Father.”

Sheepishly, he made his way over to the reading area, feeling five pairs of eyes crawling uncomfortably over his skin. His palms had grown sweaty and his greasy fringe stuck to his forehead. Something about these cloaked women and his Fathers attitude towards them made him feel incredibly uneasy but he had the feeling that he was just about to be let in on the big secret.

The white nailed women spoke first, “I see you are very skilled and passionate about what you do here, boy.” Her voice was breathy and almost musical.

“Thank you, Miss”

“We would like you to come and work for us.”

Now Finch definitely hadn't seen that one coming. He stood speechless. Go somewhere else to work? He had been born and raised in this bookshop. He didn't know anything else, anywhere else. This was his home.

The woman ignored his silence and carried on speaking, “We can give you accommodation, hot meals and the grandest library you could ever imagine to spend your working days. We would obviously provide your Father with a suitable compensation for losing his only employee.”

Finch struggled to find his voice and courage. Things like this didn't happen to him. His days were and always had been the same from morning until night. He was a part of this bookshop just like it's dusty armchairs and dirty window ledges.

“S-s-sorry, Miss but my F-, the shop needs me here. This is where I belong.” Finch looked full into his Father's face for some reassurance and support. He never found it.

His Father's voice had never sounded colder in that moment. The moment he sold his only child to the cloaked traveller.