There is a particular principle the Universe is constantly trying to teach us.

It’s called timing.

There is a time and a season for everything.

A time to laugh, to cry, to celebrate, to love and to mourn. There’s even a time to act and a time for patience.

The key is: The Universe is setting up the domino’s for you…you just have to see it.

Unappreciated, Perspicacious was one of the less frequented shops deep in the Black Market, but one of Chuck’s favorites. The shop proprietor, Dathern Istul had an obsession with knowledge and a talent for collecting extraordinary tidbits of information. It was no surprise that his shop was known for its unusual, rare and unequalled library.

Wendell wasn’t sure how they ended up here. First, the wizard was speaking fondly of the shop owner and then all of a sudden he had a great idea. “Let’s get the boy some reading materials. He needs some schooling.”

“Yeah,” Wendell said with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm, “I just graduated from High School a few days ago…what about my summer break?” but they ignored him. I was going to take a year off before I went to community college, he grumbled to himself, frustrated.

Thoughts of psychotic grandmothers and cannibalistic supermodels continued to litter his mind and he shivered. Ever since the old woman had grabbed his arm, Wendell couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He looked behind them and gratefully, found nothing.

Coming up to the Perspicacious shop, there was a stubby little man pounding on the door. Wendell wouldn’t mistake him for a child, there was too much facial hair, but he couldn’t have been much more than three feet tall.

“Höbin Luckyfeller!” shouted the wizard, “So good to see you!”

The gnome turned to face them, wearing an agitated expression. Wendell did a double take. The left side of his bald skull was encased in metal. In place of his left eye was a telescopic-looking device and for an ear, a metal stub. A cyborg!? In stunning contrast to the metallic hardware and tanned skin, the snow white bundles of hair gave him a distinctively uncivilized look. The wild explosions over his ears could put Einstein’s to shame, a bushy mustache that rivaled any walrus, eyebrows like bloated, fuzzy caterpillars, sideburns like chipmunk cheeks and a comparatively tame beard that tapered off into two pony tails. And that was just his head.

“Chuck, my friend.” The gnome leaned against the door, rattling it again. He looked at the wizard, concerned. “We had an appointment, Istul and I, but it’s locked.”

Wendell could tell by the tone in Höbin’s voice that that was unusual.

Chuck frowned, “What would possess that man to lock his doors? He hasn’t left the Market in over a decade.”

“Ahem,” Wendell cleared his throat, looking for an introduction.

Dax pushed between them, “Everyone shut up.” He placed a large ear against the door, the other ear twitched. After a moment, he glanced at the gnome, “You still got your tools?”

Höbin rolled his eyes.

“Then pick the lock. There’s definitely someone in there.”

Extending his left hand, the tip of Höbin’s pinky finger popped back to reveal a tiny pick. In a snap, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Cool,” grinned Wendell.

Cautiously stepping into the store, Chuck called out. “Istul?”

“I’m c-closed this afternoon,” a faint voice called from the back, “P-please come b-back tomorrow.”

In a flurry, the wizard wound through the narrow maze toward the voice, Wendell, Dax and Höbin close behind.

It was plain to see Istul’s fervor for information. Each shelf, and there were many, was stacked full, even two rows deep in most places. That did not deter Istul from acquiring yet another and another and another volume—until he was quite literally swaddled tightly in neat towers of books. It was obvious that he treasured each one—not a speck of dust, nor cobweb could be found anywhere.

As they worked deeper into the shop, Wendell passed a small nook nestled in the midst of Istul’s treasures, with a simple wood table and stool. The work space was laid out with a stack of parchment, an ink well and several newly cut quills. The only clutter in the shop being the shavings and knife that had been brushed aside. A single volume in faded brown leather lay open, a tattered bookmark in its folds and a candle lamp. In the shape of a young plant, the lamp extended a single leaf where the remaining nub of a candle waited.

“Look,” whispered Wendell, pointing further into the shop where a dim light glowed. Several piles of books were strewn across the narrow way. A pair of spectacles glinted in the lamp light, twisted and smashed in the isle, fragments of glass littering the floor.

Höbin and Dax rushed forward together.

Chuck, however, stayed his ground and stomped his staff on the floor with a heavy thump. Light flared throughout the room. “ISTUL!” he boomed.

“Here!” shouted Höbin, his voice anxious. “I found him!!”

Chuck dashed off, the blaze of light following overhead.

Wendell came around the last bookshelf and stopped short. In a back corner, a frail looking old man was reclining in a stuffed leather chair, taking the handkerchief being offered to him by Chuck. He wiped the blood from a broken nose and swollen, split lip. Shocked, Wendell’s heart went out to him. The gentleman looked so very frail to begin with and he’d obviously taken a beating.  Small scratched and cuts across his cheeks and brow, a heavy swelling under one eye.  Who would do such a thing? The blood from his wounds was fresh and still glistened in his thin beard—dark shadows becoming visible across his cheek and throat.

“Dathern Istul, I have not seen you so worn or battered in…”

Reaching out, he patted the wizard’s hand. “T-thank you, friend,” he whispered, then coughed hoarsely into the handkerchief. Dathern then looked to the gnome. “I’m alright,” and tried to smile, but his attention was drawn away from them, old eyes searching the shelves.

“Who did this?” demanded Höbin, his voice gruff. “Who in their right mind would attack one of the Market’s oldest citizens?”

“That’s the point now, ain’t it,” fumed Dax, “Those who did this weren’t IN their right mind. I’ll grab the Sentry.”

“They t-t-terrified T-Tilly,” Istul murmured, and Dax stopped in his tracks. “I d-don’t have my glasses to find her.” He looked to the wizard, overly distraught. “She hissed at t-them when they g-grabbed me,” he took a breath, “…and t-they threw her ac-cross the r-room!” He looked over their shoulders again, eyes searching blindly…desperately. “T-Tilly,” he called weakly, “where are you, my darling? P-please answer me!”

The gnome leaned forward, gripping the old mans hand, then patted it lightly, “We’ll find her, Dathern,….but tell us—who did this to you?”

Istul paused, taking each of them into his confidence. “It’s j-just like you said, Chuck,” he whispered, “It’s T-thule. He’s sent his men throughout the land…l-l-looking for the Hero.” Trembling fingers rested upon his forehead. “They know the young man will be coming soon. How they know or what they know, I…”

Wendell’s sharp intake of air caused Chuck to spin around and glare at him. It was a clear warning. But the wizard thought better of it and said firmly, “Dax, I want you to take the boy to the front of the store. See if there are any books that grab his attention.”

“T-Tilly,” repeated Istul, waving the bloody handkerchief, “p-please find her. She has to be hurt for her not to answer me.”

Dax nodded and shoved Wendell out of view.

Before Wendell could fully digest the fact that Thule was looking for him, at this very moment, and he was being redirected, like a child, to not participate in a conversation that directly involved him, Dax had pushed and shoved him to the front door.

“Thule’s here?! In the Market?!” Wendell hissed down at Dax, panic swelling in his gut.

“Lower your voice, kid,” warned Dax. Glancing at Wendell’s shirt, he was glad that whatever enchantment it possessed had the smarts to play dumb right now. The smiley was frozen in its original cheeky grin.

“The BOY?” Wendell blurted in a tense whisper, incensed by the implication. “Is that all I am? Just some kid tagging along?  Well I’m not just anybody, Dax, and you know it! I want to know what is going on. I should know what is going on!”

“You don’t understand…”

“No—I don’t!” Wendell snapped, forcing himself again to keep his volume low, “And I never will unless you two start including me in some of the decisions and gathering of information around here! There are goons out there looking for me to do who-knows-what to me and I’m being push out of the room to avoid having a conversation with the grownups! You have no right to…”

Dax pounced at him, the movement so fast that Wendell recoiled.

“Look!” Dax sneered, bearing his teeth in a snarl, “There’s a time and place for things—and this ain’t either, not for yer two-year old tantrum…GOT IT!? Now shut it and help me find Tilly!”

Wendell fumed, his face flush. His fists clenched tight as his mind reeled with sharp, sarcastic rebuttals, but he held his tongue. Instead, he grit his teeth and turned away.

Thule is here AND he’s looking for me, AND I’m being excused AND shushed! I figured this was going to be tough—but I thought Chuck and Dax were supposed to help me! He glared over his shoulder at Dax, by the front door, shuffling around the stacks of books. The sooner I understand, the sooner I can protect myself and do this on my own.  The letter was right, I can’t trust anyone. Right? Right. I mean, if someone is trying to kill me, shouldn’t I be the first to know? Thule even went so far as to beat up an old man to find out about me, in a hidden community where the laws are supposed to protect against such problems? The Black Market was a bad idea. His hands trembled.

“Who’s Tilly?” he asked in a monotone.

Dax worked his way down the isle next to Wendell. “Istul’s angel.”

“His, huh? We’re looking for an…angel?” Now who’s gone from rude to stupid?

Dax peeked around the end of the isle, searching. “Angels. Little furry creatures. Makes cute sounds. Very clever. Big eyes, about as big as your forearm…it’s Dathern’s pet.”

Wendell stared back. “So, not like a person in white robes with wings sticking out of their back?”

“What the crud are ya talkin’ about?”

Wendell shook his head, “Never mind.”

Dax rolled his huge eyes, “Did ya think that old man’s actually capable of keepin’ this place so spotless by himself? Look around, kid. There’s not a single speck of dust on these books.”

“Hadn’t thought about it,” Wendell lied. He had to admit it did seem rather amazing. He ran a finger along the top of a shelf. Spotless. “Maybe he uses magic,” he added.

Dax scoffed, “Istul? Hah. Magic ain’t as common as ya might think, kid—and most human folk are afraid of it. Especially farmers, holy men and let’s not forget the politicians…people who don’t like what the don’t understand or can’t control. Those who use magic are under the protection of the King, but they’re careful about what they do and in front of who they do it. Dathern doesn’t touch the stuff if he can help it. Not that he’s afraid of it, though. He understands more than most, but he stays clear of it whenever he can. Now pay attention—Tilly could be anywhere.”

Wendell wandered through the narrow maze, trying to refocus his attention and cool down. It didn’t just annoy him to be ignored and pushed around, it angered him. The last thing I want is to start getting pushed around here from another set of bullies. Rounding a corner, a tiny blue spine caught Wendell’s attention. It was hiding among the thick, faded, black and brown volumes piled on the floor. A few specks of what looked to be dried blood were on the floor, next to the pile. Did they knock you around in here, Istul? Trying to avoid the goons who attached you maybe?

The book looked completely out of place, practically glowing in its dark environment—standing out like a sore thumb. Just like me. Wendell pulled it from the dog pile formation  and held the book up close to his face, having to squint at the small type.

The Pilgrims Pocketbook of People, Places, Predicaments and Pain: The perfect panacea for prepubescent adventurers…by Höbin Luckyfeller? As in, the little cyborg guy I just met? He smirked. This ought to be interesting.

Wendell turned to walk away, tapping the small book against his palm, but something caused him to stop mid-step. It was almost imperceptible. A soft, shuddering sound…breathing, he thought, then a high-pitched sobbing. Turning his head, Wendell strained his ears, listening.

Sure enough, he heard it again.

Sobbing.

Stepping quietly, Wendell inched toward the sound.

At the end of the isle, where the shelves met the wall, another pile of books littered the floor. This one was considerably bigger, volumes of reference books clumped together with cracked spines and torn pages laying about.

Wendell looked closer. The largest book in the pile, an encyclopedia, slowly rose and fell in place. Kneeling down, Wendell crawled around the edge of the pile…and found a slender, blue tail jutting out from under the books.

“Tilly?” he whispered.

The sobbing sounds immediately ceased. Ever-so-slowly, the tail curled up into a ball and slid under the books, disappeared from view.

Wendell wasn’t sure what to do. What if the animal is in the habit of biting those it doesn’t know? What if, but he shook his head. This is stupid. Dathern is concerned for this little creature and loves it dearly. He seems harmless enough, which means it’s highly unlikely he’d have some ravenous pet, right?

But he still hesitated.

Right.

He decided to risk it.

“Tilly, it’s ok,” he said softly. Wendell took a deep breath. Reaching out, he slowly slide his fingers under the edge of the largest book on top. Please don’t be a creepy, ugly thing that bites. “Dathern asked me to find you.”

At the mention of the merchants name, Wendell heard a tiny gasp, then the sobbing resumed.

It turned out that Tilly…was a blue ball of fur—or at least she looked like one, at first. Trapped between the volumes of leather-bound knowledge, she was nearly folded in half, her limbs pinned under the weight of books almost twice her size and weight. Her body was long and sleek, with pink hands and feet that reminded Wendell a great deal of a spider monkey.

Lifting her tiny head up at Wendell, the round crystal-clear eyes stared at him, capturing his full attention. They sparkled like diamonds. They also encompassed most of her oval face, nestled between two cat-like ears. Tears matted the long lashes and the fur of her cheeks. Her nose, two pink, slitted-stubs, poked out over her tiny mouth, quivering.

As Wendell reached for her, she cringed. Her ears quickly laid flat against her head and small, slender hands grasped onto the corner of a book. Her fur ruffled in a wave, from head to the tip of her tail, instantly changing from blue to the cadmium yellow of the volume she clasped onto.

You poor thing… “It’s ok,” Wendell said softly with a smile, “I’m going to take you to Dathern, ok?” He was about to criticize himself for talking so plainly, when Tilly nodded.

Wendell raised an eyebrow, curious, “You…understand me?”

Big eyes blinked. Another nod. Her fur, like a setting sun over the horizon, faded from yellow back to blue.

“Wow,” he gasped. “Ok then—I’m going to lift you up…try…not to move.”

He reached down, sliding his fingers awkwardly between books, under her shoulders and hips, scooping Tilly out from the pile.

She flinched and let out a sharp squeak as he lifted.

“I’m sorry,” Wendell frowned, moving slower, “So sorry, Tily—I’ll try to be more careful.”

Her fur was soft and warm to the touch.

Cradling her tenderly in the crook of his arm, Wendell noticed her left leg was bent the wrong way. Her toes twitched and he could see they were darker than the digits on her good foot. Drat. That definitely looks broken. Hope Dathern will know what to do. Holding onto the shelves, Wendell use it to rise steadily. Maybe Chuck can heal her?

Tilly looked up at Wendell, blinking repeatedly.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said calmly, a coo escaping his lips.

The corners of her small mouth curled up in an innocent smile. Turning her head inward, she snuggled against his chest, purring like a house cat—her long tail wrapping around Wendell’s wrist. He couldn’t help but smile. Oh, you are SO adorable!

Working his way through the small labyrinth of shelves and scattered books, Wendell paused at the desk, nestled int he nook of the shop.

Holding Tilly made Wendell happy. Maybe it was the innocence, or perhaps the soft purring that appealed to him—he wasn’t quite sure. All Wendell knew, was that he adored this little creature and felt an urge to protect her.

Laughter burst throughout the shop, startling Wendell. Tilly, surprisingly, didn’t react at all, staying neatly snuggled against his shirt. Chuck continued to laugh as Höbin said something unintelligible. The three men wandered up to the desk, Dathern Istul hobbling along with the help of a cane. The bruises had taken their place along his face, neck and arms now, showing their purple and black streaks across pale skin.

The wizard waved Wendell forward.

“Dathern, I’d like to introduce you to Wendell.”

Reaching out, Dathern offered his hand, then pulled it back. “P-pleasure to m-meet…OH!” he exclaimed, gasping in delight. “Tilly, my b-baby girl!” He looked at Wendell appreciatively, “Where d-did you find her?”

“Over in that isle, sir,” he started to say, “I think she’s…” but before he could finish, Tilly leapt up from Wendell’s arm and stood up on his shoulder. A tiny hand grasped a lock of his hair, her slender tail wrapping around his neck, the tip caressing Wendell’s chin.

“…hurt,” Wendell finished, though no one took notice.

Tilly let out several melodious notes, then rubbed her face against Wendell’s cheek, purring.

Dathern laughed, “I see you’ve m-made a n-new friend, little one! I’m glad y-you were not harmed by those n-nasty people. N-now come h-help me.”

She jumped from Wendell’s shoulder onto the table.

Wendell’s mouth dropped open as he watched her move freely about. Her leg…it’s healed! But it was bent the wrong way!?

Running to the corner of the desk, she hung off the edge and lifted up a slender brown ledger from a small pile stacked on the floor with her tail. Her nimble hands snatched up a small box nearby, flipped it open and struck a match. She lit the candle stub in the holder as she placed the book in front of her master and flipped it open with the end of her tail. The old merchant scratched her behind her ears appreciatively, but when she looked up at Dathern, she cocked her head to the side.

The shopkeeper smiled. “Missing something?” he whispered, tapping the end of his nose.

Tilly trilled, her tiny teeth showing in her unique smile.

Climbing onto his shoulder, she wrapped her tail around his neck and leaned forward. Hanging from the old man’s vest, her tiny hands pulled at the narrow front drawer of the table until it slid open. Shuffling around, Tilly found a small case, popped it open and pulled out a set of wire-rimmed glasses. Kicking the drawer shut with a hind foot, she scampered up Dathern’s arm and stood on his shoulder.

With deft precision, she placed the glasses on his nose, adjusting them several times. Satisfied, she nodded and her fur turned a brilliant green. She kissed the old man’s cheek and hopped onto the table, sitting quietly at one corner.

“Avid r-reader, I hope?” the shopkeeper asked, looking at Wendell over his spectacles.

Wendell smiled, but only half-heartedly. “Yes sir. Love books.” Do I still have to be polite, he wondered, looking between them, my life is in danger and they ‘re all acting like this is just another happy day in the neighborhood. The shop keeper grinned and gave him a wink, “G-good lad. T-thank you for rescuing T-Tilly. D-didn’t mean to s-scare you b-back there—all the b-blood.” He smiled broadly, which made his eyes smile doubly so. “V-vallen,” he scoffed, eyebrows arched, “Who k-knew they could read?”

He glanced at the small blue book in Wendell’s hands and pointed at it. “Good b-book, that is. One of my f-favorites. Out of p-print though. Gnomes refused to d-do a r-reprint. Shame. That’ll g-give you spot knowledge, but not a p-proper education.”

“Isn’t Höbin…”

“Brilliant, amazing and all around good looking?” chimed the gnome loudly. “Well,” he grinned and tapped the metal shell on his head with a knuckle, “two outta three isn’t too bad.” He took the book from Wendell and shook his head, “Don’t bother with that rubbish,” he said scornfully, sliding it across the desk to Dathern. He looked at the shopkeeper with feigned sternness, “Why do you hang on to this garbage?”

The merchant grinned, handing the book to Tilly, “C-collectibles. W-waiting for y-you to k-kick off before I c-collect.” He looked at Wendell and winked. “Bought fifty copies.”

“Yes, well,” said Chuck, lifting his bag from his shoulder and plopping it onto the table, “Do you have my order ready, Istul?”

“Y-yes,” he replied, plopping down onto the stool and letting out a sigh of relief. The old shopkeeper looked utterly exhausted. Tapping a tall collection at the side of the table, he asked, “Höbin, w-would you m-mind? Thank you.”

The collection, when stacked, nearly reached the brim of the wizard’s hat. Istul looked around the volumes and grinned wide at Wendell, “Good t-thing you like b-books!”

“What?” responded Wendell, confused. Those can’t all be for me, can it?

Chuck wiggled in front of him, looking over the titles. “Sanctuary, Iskari & Gatelore,” and Höbin rolled his eyes. “The Black Market, A Comprehensive Guide, very useful for finding your way around here when you need to know which merchants to contact. Oh, good, you did find another copy of Humar—The Land of Seven Kings!”

“Last one available, I’m afraid,” Dathern replied.

“Does this need to be copied, then?”

Dathern shook his head, “I have the original, this was a spare. You’re fine.”

Chuck grinned, “Oh and here’s one of my absolute favorites, The Races We Love To Hate!” He beamed at Wendell, “Incredible histories, that one, just…don’t read it alone…in the dark. You’ll wet the bed with that one.”

Wendell grimaced.

“Did you buy ANYthing that wasn’t written by me?” Höbin complained. “The poor kid’s going to think you’re partial, Morph.”

“Nonsense,” Chuck laughed, “I like your aggressive view of the world, my little friend. You short change yourself too often.”

“Whatever,” sighed the gnome. “You’ve been partial ever since I was five years old.”

The wizard grinned, though he didn’t look up from the book he was thumbing through. “Clever and wise, Höbin Luckyfeller, not partial. I knew you’d be famous some day…and I was right.”

Dax chuckled, “Let it go, Hob—you know you won’t win.”

Chuck gave the elf a wink.

One by one, the wizard placed the books into the thin bag, each volume disappearing entirely. “And for a little light reading, we’ll give the lad Prestidigitation & Legerdemain-Why Wands Are For Wusses & Brooms Are For Bums.” With a thunk, he dropped the giant volume into the bag, leaving the desk clear.

Wendell couldn’t help but poke the bag with a finger. It felt as empty as it looked.

“How much do I owe you, my friend?” asked Chuck, flipping the strap back over his shoulder.

Istul opened the ledger and did the math. “One,” he said casually.

The wizard reached into his sleeve and pulled out three gold coins, placing them on the desk.

“T-too m-much,” stammered Dathern, averting his eyes. He lightly shoved two coins back in Chuck’s direction.

“A deposit,” the wizard said calmly. “I want a copy of what was taken and what was asked about. Can you do that?”

The merchant didn’t nod right away. When he finally did, Tilly snatched the coins from the edge of the table. Jumping to his shoulder, she placing them securely in her masters vest pocket.

“Say,” blurted Höbin cheerfully, “why don’t you boys follow me back to the tavern!” He looked up at the wizard and over to Dax with a you know you want to look. “I’ll buy,” he grinned, displaying his yellow dentures. He tapped the table with his metal hand, “You too, Dathern. You certainly look like you could use a break…and some friendly company!” He poked the old merchant with a finger, “I’ll even buy Tilly some fruit.”

The angel trilled softly at the offer, clapping her tiny hands.

“T-thank you, but no,” Dathern answered, “I’ve got m-much work to d-do.”

Höbin nodded, disappointed, but he knew not to push.

“We should report what happened to you to the authorities,” Wendell said, jumping in, “the guards seems pretty strict around here—they…”

“Won’t do a blasted thing,” Dax scoffed.

Wendell looked between them. Dathern frowned, avoiding eye contact. Tilly, seeing the worry of her master, stroked his thinning hair with her tiny fingers.

“But you said that the laws here were…”

“They won’t do a blasted thing, kid,” Dax cut him off again, “because Dathern won’t let them.”

Wendell opened his mouth, but caught Höbin shaking his head. Okay. Never mind.

“My offer still stands, you know,” said the wizard. Chuck had a stern, yet not unpleasant expression on his face.

Wendell could have sworn Chuck looked concerned—his eyes studying the merchant’s every twitch. He stood there, one hand firmly around his staff, the other gripping the bag strap…unmoving, unblinking, waiting for a reply.

Dathern looked tenderly at his furry little helper, but not at the wizard. His sigh was accompanied by hunching shoulders. “Thank you, b-but no.” He pulled the soiled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “All things happen for a reason.”

“Then we’ll be off,” was Chucks only reply. He shook the merchants hand once more, “Take care of yourself, Istul. I’ll be back in a fortnight to check on that book order.”

At the door, Wendell looked back, peering between the isles. Something’s not right here…

Dathern pulled off his glasses and let them fall from his fingers to the table. Still hunched over—he slapped the cover shut and slid the brown ledger to his chest, gripping it tightly. He slowly, silently, rocked in place.

“Come on, kid!” snapped Dax from down the path.

Tilly turned her head towards the door, her crystal eyes reflecting the light of the waning candle stub.

Tears rolled across her cheeks.