Continue Online (Book 1, Memories) (40 page)

The
children had a crazy scouting system that announced my presence
almost a full minute before I limped to the actual building. By that
time Mylia had already opened the door, and one of the larger
children had run off with the bag in my hands. My little
[Messenger's
Pet]
was
poking out of the hood and looking around in confusion. One ear
cocked forward with each new shout and shriek sent him dodging and
rolling around in my hood.

Then
he’d poke back out again and look around.

“
You
made it, Mister Carver.”

“
I
did.” The cane helped me huff a few more steps through the
doorway into a room filled with a dozen already excited children.

“
The
kids have been looking forward to this all day.”

“
Which
one ran off with my bag?” Hopefully, one of the orphans hadn’t
already stolen all the semi-fresh cookies.

“
Probably
Phil, he’s always snooping and finding strange things.”
She sighed and pulled out a rag from her apron in order to clean up
some child’s messy face. “I swear, that boy comes back
with the oddest things.”

“
Not
stealing is he?” That abrupt statement lost me one of my
precious Carver Process points. I should have asked myself ‘What
Would Carver Do?’.

“
I
don’t ask.”

I
snorted. That was as good as admitting Phil’s past times. He
was probably an aspiring pickpocket. Though I hadn’t seen notes
regarding this come up on Carver’s old maps. The local thief
types were scattered across the town. Occasionally confusion crossed
my addled brain trying to picture how one town could be so
crisscrossed with all these personalities.

“
Come
on in, Mister Carver. I’ll have the boys clear the nice seat so
you can rest your old bones.” Mylia stepped into another room
and motioned me forward with a free hand.

“
Thanks,
Mylia.”

This
orphanage was the most run down place I’d seen yet. The
building wasn’t well kept like most of the businesses and
houses, paint peeled, one window was clearly shattered from a rock or
something similar, the furniture inside wasn’t that great
either.

“
Phil!
Bring whatever you acquired from Mister Carver back out here!”

“
It’s
for everyone,” I muttered while shuffling through to where
Mylia pointed absently.

“
Hear
that, Phil!” Mylia was being far louder than I’d ever
heard, but she was trying to out power a room of children. The linens
looked decent and that was positive. Mylia probably kept the place
washed judging by how often I’d seen her back and forth with
armloads of laundry and other supplies.

“
Phil!”

Soon
enough Phil showed himself. This was the same little scamp I’d
seen running after Mylia all over town. He still looked worn and
tired. His eyes reflected a sunken exhaustion. Probably from running
the streets all night in order to find valuables. Food perhaps? He
was clearly shoveling a cookie into his face, looking the happiest
I’d seen the little man.

“
Share
those.” I waved the cane at the youngster and earned a few
points towards progress. Phil got wide eyed and tried to smile around
a mouthful of goodness.

“
Guys!”
Phil shouted and spilled crumbs.

“
They
got a bedtime?”

“
Curfew,
but a bedtime? For this many kids?” Mylia laughed briefly, then
scowled and whipped one of the little ones with her towel. The girl
was trying to grab a handful of cookies instead of sharing.

“
I’m
lucky if I can get them to be quiet and let me sleep.”

“
Kids.”

“
The
older ones help, but it’s never enough. Shawna! Round up the
rest of the littles! Mister Carver’s here!” Orphanage
Mylia was different than about the town Mylia. Walking through town
she seemed to have all the time in the world. Yet here, she was
pressed and constantly moving from room to room.

“
Wa
are yoo gonna tell us, Uncle Carver?” I had to blink twice and
rerun the tiny girl’s voice through my mental filters again.
She was extremely young, three or four if that. Emotionally that put
me on edge.

“
Help
an old man remember, what did I tell you last time?”

“
You
did the beast one!”

“
And
the girl, with talking cabinets and teacups!” That sounded like
a familiar story.

“
What
else?” I prompted other children, they were gathering around,
jostling for a seat. Older kids were busy dragging in more furniture
to sit on.

“
There
was the furry monster in the closet, you told us that one last time
too! Can you do that one again?” This also sounded familiar.

“
Maybe.
I should really do something new, though. What else?”

“
You
told us about the princess and a frog.” An older girl said. She
sounded about eight but looked five. Okay, pattern established.
Carver was telling stories from our world. That was cute and almost
adorably clever. Walt would be proud to know his legacy reached into
another universe.

“
How
about Goldilocks and the Three Bears?” I asked.

“
Uh
uh.” The younger girl said. She was being pushed by another
tiny child who was grasping at her half eaten cookie.

“
I
can do that one, but it’s a short story, and I owe you a bit to
make up for my absence.”

“
Thumbelina!”
I smiled and tried to let my ignorance show through. Vaguely I
remember the story had to do with a tiny girl raised by her parents
who were normal sized.

“
Sounds
like that’s not a new one.” Oh, I got a point towards my
progress for suggesting we do something unknown to the orphans.

“
Some
of the younger kids might not have heard it.” An older boy who
was maybe twelve helped out the conversation. “Or the one with
a princess and those fairy godmothers.”

I
ran everything through my brain. Children's stories weren’t
high on my list of things to remember. There were animal ones,
princesses, tons from all over the board. Cinderella had been redone
at least a dozen times.

I
added the Princess and the Pea to story time and unleashed my best
confused old man who rambled a little upon the orphan's children.
They laughed and smiled, asked questions and were in general
extremely silly children. It was a blast, and judging by my progress
bar, Carver thought so as well. Finally, the night wrapped up, Mylia
ushered children off to rooms and set the older ones about final
chores. Fairly well behaved, they were quiet aside from scrubbing of
dishes and what sounded like firewood being chopped.

“
Well
behaved.” I sat alone in a room that had once housed two dozen
young faces. Mylia sounded exasperated constantly with them, but she
did a good job.

“
Only
because you were here. They’re always well behaved for a few
days afterward.”

“
Sounds
like I should visit more.” I was feeling extremely worn out.
There was too much energy in the children for me to keep up. Somehow
before I’d started my stories the young three-year-old had
ended up on my knee.

“
No
one here would be opposed,” Mylia said.

“
I’ll
visit more then, for as long I have left.” William Carver might
not last past the two weeks I was playing the NPC. Not if the Voices
were anything to judge by.

“
What
do you mean by that, Mister Carver?” She looked worried.

My
eyes were getting harder to keep open by this point. The kids had
been entirely too adorable, even the older ones seemed pleasant.
Thin, underfed, but they were all around good kids. Maud would be
proud to see those abandoned being taken care of.

“
Mister
Carver? Is it true then? What the
[Messenger's
Pet]
means?”

“
Huh?”
I was losing myself. Old Man Carver's stamina bar had dwindled to
nothing and a warning about exhaustion and pending passing out.

“
What’s
this?” Mylia looked confused. Behind my head, the small
creature had popped out. I had enough time to see a scroll in its
maw. My halfhearted check for drool verified the parchment was
unsoiled.

“
What’s
this?” She asked again.

I
shrugged and faded in and out. She was reading something. A poem?

“
Two
roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both.”
That sounded familiar. I remembered those words and mouthed the next
part, being half functional.

“
And
be on traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could,
to where it bent in the undergrowth.” Poor Carver, his body
could barely get a few words out before needing to swallow from a dry
throat.

“
What
is this?” She seemed ever more confused.

“
Life.
Keep reading, Mylia. You’ll like it.” We weren’t
speaking in English, but from what I’d heard the poem
translated fine. Faust wrote it, and they were good words for a sad
moment. Her voice was pleasant. How long had it been since I’d
heard a woman speak these words? Last time it had been my fiancée
and she’d read this same poem right before her trip. Sleepily I
scowled. Continue was screwing with me again.

“
To
where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other, as just as
fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and
wanted wear. Though as for that the passing there had worn them
really about the same.” Mylia was in wonder, confused, and
seemed slightly pleased. There were pauses where she’d read the
poem and restart. I could hear the pattern of children moving around
in the background listening in on the words.

My
[Messenger's Pet]
friend huffed and searched around the room
for cookie crumbs. After running out of scraps, he crawled into
Carver's lap to sleep. I wanted to throttle him but settled for a
stiff pat.

“
And
both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to
way, I doubted if I should ever come back.”

She
paused.
“
What
does this mean?”

“
Keep
reading,” I grumbled.