Handy Homunculus
by
Alfred Tinner
Also by Alfred Tinner:
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 The Maybury Press
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Handy Homunculus
By Alfred Tinner
It was another peaceful day in the great capital city of Highwall, and almost two months since there had been any news of Blackwell’s terrifying army. Of course, none of that mattered to Gabin, as to him the day was made special simply by the fact that it was his ninth birthday.
As usual, Square Market was crowded with boisterous shoppers and sellers, filled with a cacophony of sound and color, but Gabin still managed to see the wooden-and-cloth doll immediately. This was despite the fact that it was filthy and half-buried amongst much better-looking toys. He snatched it out of the pile with his good hand, and only after he had it held closely to his chest did he dare look up, first at the toy-making merchant, and then at his father. Both looked at him with kind disapproval.
The merchant spoke first, “Boy, I have many finer things here than that dirty old plaything.” He stuck his hands into the pile and pulled things out at random: a beautifully carved horse and knight, a wool-stuffed dragon, a toy wizard staff. Not only did they look too expensive for his father to be willing to shell out the coin for them, but Gabin was already clutching the thing he wanted most.
The merchant continued his pitch. “I must have been inspired by a bit too much wine when I made that, as I have no proper recollection of doing so.” He winked and Gabin’s father smiled and nodded the way adults do in false sympathy.
His father and the merchant were saying something else, but the words floated unheard above Gabin’s head. All of his attention was on the doll. It was dirty, to be certain, but nothing that he could not polish out with a clean cloth and some spit. To Gabin, it was perfectly ugly, especially with its mockery of a face. The mouth was lop-sided, with an articulated jaw and a few comical teeth. The nose was long and thin, and Gabin swore to himself right then that he would take extra care not to break it off. The eyes were inset garnet stones, cut and polished so well that they seemed to sparkle with a kind of life. The limbs were skinny, made to look even more so by the bulging belly poking out of the doll’s roughly-stitched jacket. The best part of the doll, Gabin thought, as he stroked its green bristly hair with his lame hand, was that it was a cripple like him: below the doll’s right wrist, there was nothing.