The intro is totally Harry Potter. Wanna know why? Because this totally started out as a Harry Potter fanfiction. No joke. I wrote a Harry Potter fanfiction.
Kind of. None of the original characters were in it. I never got very far with it. But it was totally the same universe.....except that I decided to put it in the future. Because....you know....haven't you ever wondered what the wizarding world would be like in the future, with Muggles getting more and more technologically advanced every year and pretty much taking over the world, bit by bit? Come on. Don't tell me you never wondered.
Well, anyways, I actually enjoyed writing this. I tried to make it less fanfiction-y - like, Toggle was originally a house-elf (cough). And Esther was originally a Squib. She still kind of is, but not, because this isn't HP. Stop laughing. It's undignified.
Lazarus Peter Johann Savatt was an unusual man in many ways. For one thing, he was blind, which gave him cause to wear round black spectacles that gave everyone the spooks, and walked with an old-fashioned redwood cane that bore an intricately sculpted design of mermaids set in the gold cap at its top.
For another, he spoke in the oddest way. He certainly had a strong accent of some sort – the difficulty was discerning which. It wasn’t English, American, French, Scottish, Chinese, Swahili, Indian, Spanish…….. nothing that the citizens could think of seemed to match. Some of the few who speculated on the matter and had done some traveling in their time commented that it sounded like it had a bit of everything mixed in. To save headache, however, many decided that it was just an unusual speech impediment.
Yet another thing was that he kept mostly to himself. He was very friendly with his neighbors, of course, and polite to strangers, but apart from a greeting and perhaps some small talk, he did not associate much with society. He stayed in his house much of the time, coming out only to stroll down the road and head to the main city, cane in hand.
He also dressed strangely, in neatly pressed suits with long calf-length coats, and had a fondness for bizarre and colorful fabrics (which most attributed to his being blind), as well as pointy, high-heeled maroon leather boots with gold buckles.
Yet the strangest and most unsettling thing of all was that he had a strange aversion to high technology. His house was not fully computerized, as was standard, and from what people had seen of the inside, there was no television, computer, light-switch – some questioned whether his house even had electricity. The only evidence of energy usage was the lamp on his porch, which was always brightly lit at night.
Well, no one could really accuse him of being a lunatic, so for the most part he was left alone. He didn’t do any harm to anyone, and he seemed like a nice enough person in spite of his oddities. So, having their own lives to live, his fellow citizens went on with their existence with only a curious glance in his direction.
*
On one particular evening in March, when most of the residents of Outer New Reddington were asleep in their beds, the streets were very quiet, and empty – save for the tall young woman walking down its length with a purposeful stride.
If someone had seen her, they would have furrowed their brows and said that she reminded them of Mr. Savatt. She had the same arched sort of brow he did, and the same pointed chin, except that hers was softened a bit. That was where the similarities ended, though – where Savatt’s hair was thick, dark and curly (usually combed back and gelled smoothly over his scalp), hers was auburn and cut severely short, barely an inch long; where his eyes were a pale, milky blue, hers were a dark hazel; and where he was usually of a calm, placid temperament, her eyes sparked fiery determination, and her movements were brisk and impatient. She wore loud, clashing fabrics, and a strange assortment of clothes, but otherwise seemed far more normal than he did. Forgetting, of course, that she was currently walking down a deserted street in the middle of the night.
Arriving at Mr. Savatt’s porch, she marched up the steps and, rearranging the bags she carried, knocked on the door.
A high-pitched, rather aggravated voice spoke: “Who is this?”
“You know bloody well who I am,” the woman said, speaking in the same indiscernible accent or possible speech impediment that had puzzled the neighbors for so many years. “Let me in.”
“Master Lazarus is not receiving visitors,” the voice said. “Come back tomorrow.”
“Toggle, for the love of all that is good and holy, open the door.” The woman growled.
There was a pause. And then the lock clicked, and the door swung open, allowing the young women entry into the house.
She stepped over the threshold slowly, looking around with a curious expression at the house’s interior. “How long have you been staying here?” she asked abruptly.
A little man – about three feet tall – closed the door, and turned to look at the woman with suppressed irritation. He was dressed in a very fine red tunic and trousers, with pointed slippers on his feet, an Arabian flavor to his features, and a very dignified set to his shoulders.
“Two years, madam.” he answered shortly.
“Longest yet.” The woman murmured. She looked up at the ceiling again, noting now the constellations painted on the ceiling. “The night sky, as seen from Alexandria.” she said, mostly to herself. She swallowed, and renewed her determination. “Where is he? I need to speak with him.” She said to Toggle.
Toggle’s mouth tightened. “Master Lazarus is busy at the moment – if you would care to wait, the parlor is just this way.”
“No, that won’t be necessary, Togal.”
Master Lazarus Savatt stepped out from a shadowy doorway, looking suitably mysterious with his black lenses and his long, mud-stained purple coat. He smiled, reaching out to touch the young woman’s face. “Esther. My, it’s been….” He raised his eyebrows, his hand sliding over her rigid face to feel her nose. “Good heavens, you’ve grown! I swear, your nose feels longer.”
“Shut up.” the woman said impatiently, pushing away his hand. His smile widened. “Stop that.” She snapped, now somewhat sulkily. “I’m twenty-six years old, Laz. Twenty-six. Not twelve.”
He laughed at that – far too heartily, for Esther’s taste. Her mouth tightened, but she made no remark.
“W-well, then,” Savatt regained his composure, clearing his throat. “Let us repair to the parlor, shall we? Togal,” he said to the little man, “would you mind whipping up some of that special tea I’ve been saving? And while you’re about that, would you also mind adjusting the heat on the antidote in the laboratory? I believe there is a small chance that I might have left it too long.”
Toggle bowed, and briskly went about his tasks. Savatt smiled again. “So, Esther,” he said, walking in the direction of the parlor, the woman trailing behind, “Tell me, how long has it been, exactly, since you’ve darkened my doorstep? I’m having a bit of difficulty remembering. Ten years? Twelve?”
Esther’s mouth tightened. “Thirteen.”
“Oh, so you’ve been keeping track, then, have you?” Savatt said, lifting and waving his cane in the air. The dark room was immediately illuminated with a merry golden light, emanating from several spheres attached to the ceiling.
“Don’t start.” she said, somewhat wearily. Savatt sat down on the exceptionally comfortable-looking couch near the fireplace, and patted the space next to him. Esther hesitated, and then reluctantly took the indicated space.
