Birthday for Brandon

On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Brandon Hollister went to bed believing there was no such thing as magic, no matter how often weird things happened around him.  He could not tell the future, he fell just as fast as everyone else, and animals did not try to talk to him.  Unfortunately for Brandon, none of this was true.

            At the stroke of midnight, there came a knocking sound from his wardrobe.  When Brandon could no longer stand it, he sat up, turned on the lamp, and swung his feet out of bed.  On the off chance that someone should see him, he pulled yesterday's t-shirt on to cover his pale chest, then cautiously turned the knob on the wardrobe.

            There was a dwarf standing in his wardrobe.

            "Would you be Brandon Hollister?"

            Brandon nodded, unable to speak.

            "Pre-paid post for you, sir.  Need you to mark that you've got it."  The little man was holding out a clipboard in one hand and a box about the size of a textbook in the other.  Brandon took the clipboard, skimmed down until he found his name, signed, and traded clipboard for box.  The dwarf gave an odd little bow and closed the wardrobe doors.

            There was nobody there when Brandon opened the doors again.

            Brandon thought about dropping the box and crawling back into bed, but it was his birthday, so if this wasn't a dream, this could be his first gift.  So he sat on his bed and untied the string, cursed the tape underneath, and found a knife to get the box open.

            The contents of the box were as bizarre as how it arrived.

            A big old-fashioned rusty key sat on top of a worn leather-bound book that he could fit in his pocket.  Jammed in next to the book was a wool driving cap.  Brandon pulled out the cap and tried it on, then flipped through the book -- it was blank.  When he went to drop the book back inside, he noticed the letter.

            The letter was written in an odd, flowing hand of spider-web thin lines.  It went into great detail on how to claim his inheritance, but left out the most important one: how to get to Drake's Square.  Not even a mention of what city it was located in.  It ended with a postscript of "Happy Birthday, I remember your father and grandfather both wearing hats like this one, so I thought of you.  Also, you might want to start jotting down odd things you hear, I'm afraid the cat might be out of the bag and your life will be getting a tad bit more interesting."

            Brandon looked in the box again, and there was another little note, this one in a heavy blocky script.  It was only one line.  "The GPS has removed an illegal tracking device from this package."

            Somebody was trying to keep track of him outside the law?  Did they mean him harm?  Were they trying to lull him with an out-of-style hat and a beat up book?  Or was there danger from another quarter and someone willing to step around the law to protect him?  Brandon turned off the light and lay back on the bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

            In the morning Brandon groggily checked his email, then tried looking for Drake's Square in an online map database.  All he got was a Drake Square in Suffolk, UK.  It was a little cul-de-sac of residential duplexes; it contained none of the businesses mentioned in the letter.

            Downstairs, he quickly ate the eggs and toast Betty set in front of him and slipped out the back.  He had been living in Betty's house for two years now, since his foster parents had had an issue with his taking the dogs side over their sadistic son's.  But if he wanted to learn about his parents, he might as well ask them where to start.

            "Happy Birthday Brandon.  Hope you weren't expecting no cake and presents."

            "Could I come in?  I ... I've been wondering about my parents."

            "Hmph.  Don't know nothing bout your parents.  But it might be I do have something for you.  Wait."  When his former foster mother came back to the door, she handed him a small velvet pouch.  "They say this was with you when you were found."

            When the door shut in his face, Brandon took it as a sign to leave.  As of today he was a legal adult and on his own, anyway.  Betty would probably be looking for rent money now, if she would even let him stay there anymore.

            Where was Drake's Square?

            He couldn't afford University, not even Community College.  Besides, he didn't know what to take.  His inheritance ... at least it offered some goal.  That weird postal service ... that suggested there was much more to the world than he was aware of.  Maybe that was where his future lay.

            Brandon had wandered into a little park.  He sat on a bench and opened the bag.  All that was inside was a copper medallion on a length of twine that was way too short to fit around his neck.  In the center was a small arrow that made it look like a compass, but it didn't more.  Well, that wasn't any help.

            He wanted to wear it.  He had a bit of string in his room, from the parcel.  That should be more than long enough to hang it around his neck.  So he headed back to Betty's.  If he was lucky, Betty wouldn't see him come in; she didn't like her wards inside on days when the weather wasn't miserable.

            Luck was with him.

            While he was in his room, he took stock of his belongings.  Rather pathetic, really.  An outdated laptop for checking email, some of his things from High School that he hadn't gotten rid of yet, and just enough clothes to go a week without wearing the same thing twice.  At least he wouldn't have trouble packing if he had to.

            Betty caught him as he was leaving.

            "Thought you was gone already."

            "I was.  Forgot something."

            "When you turn eighteen?"

            "Today."

            "Happy Birthday.  You've got a week."

            "Thank you.  A week?"

            "To find somewhere else to go."

            "Oh.  You know where Drake's Square is?"

            "Nope.  Why?"

            "Someone suggested I go there.  Didn't get a chance to ask where it was."

            "Well go on, get out of here.  I'll have you a proper dinner tonight, seeing as it's your birthday and all.  Six.  Don't be late."

            As Brandon left, he thought it could have been worse.  He could only have today.

            He wasn't really sure where he was going, though he knew an old man with an oddities shop that might have some insight into where he was to go.  Just as he was about to turn to a more direct route, a homeless girl called out to him.

            "Sir, sir!  A moment sir!  You're carrying something, you probably don't know what it does.  For some lunch I'll show you."

            "What are you talking about?"

            "Around your neck.  You've a Point-Me.  Let me see."  Brandon took it off his neck and handed it to her.  "I've lost my way.  Where is my lunch?  Point me."  And the little arrow spun.  Brandon followed her to a cafe across the street, where she ordered.  He ordered some fries so he didn't have to sit there awkwardly.  "You try."

            "I've lost my way.  Where is Drake's Square?  Point me."

            The girl laughed.

            "Copper ones point straight at something on this world.  Silver will show you a route, but you need gold to find something on a different world.  I can show you the way if you take me with you."

            "If you can get there, why are you here?"

            "There's nothing there for me either.  But you look like you need a guide."

            "You don't know anything about me."

            "And you know nothing of me."

            "Do you care why I want to go somewhere that isn't even on this world, which I didn't know?  That I know about Drake's Square but not what a Point-Me is?"

            "Don't really concern me, no.  I'm good with enchanted items.  Can feel them.  We going or not?"

            "Tomorrow.  I'll need ... a trunk.  Or a duffel, I suppose.  To put my stuff in.  I'll have to get you to help me carry it, I suppose."

            "Trunks better.  Where you going to get one?"

            "I don't know, nobody really uses them anymore."

            It took the rest of the afternoon to find one Brandon was willing to pay for and lug it back to Betty's, but he was back at quarter to six.  She stood in the door with her arms crossed.

            "Cutting it close, aren't you?"

            "Needed something to pack in."

            "You know the rules."

            "She's not one of those girls.  Besides, you've already kicked me out, we just need a bed for tonight, we're gone in the morning."

            "Didn't cook enough for her."

            "You always cook extra."

            "Getting mouthy?"

            "Please?"

            "Long as I don't hear nothing."

            "I'll sleep on the floor.  Better than the ground."

            Dinner was a pathetic meatloaf followed by a lopsided cake with just enough icing to cover it and no candles.  Betty and the others didn't say anything when Brandon slipped away.  It only took a few minutes to pack.

            "Woah!  You've got a vault in the Catacombs of Secrecy?"

            "My parents must have, it's my inheritance."

            "Don't need to know."

            "You asked."

            "Didn't mean to."

            "What am I to call you.  I need your name."

            "Give me a new one."

            "How about Flowers?"

            "What?  How?  Why?"

            "You remind me of a character in one of my favourite movies."

            "Can't you think of something better?"

            "No."

            "What if I called you Allbran?"

            "People would look at you funny."

            "What are we going to do this evening?"

            "I don't know, curfew is ten."

            "For you, on your last night here, you can stay out until midnight.  Don't tell anybody.  Here, don't forget your camping gear."  Betty was gone before Brandon could say thank you.

            "I forgot about this stuff.  It's not much, a little pup tent, sleeping bag, foam pad.  It's not like I have a camp stove or dishes."  There was actually more, a pocket knife, some line, and a box of matches in one of the bag's pockets.

At breakfast the next morning, Betty rolled her eyes.  "I didn't hear anything last night."

            "There was nothing to hear."

            "Not a man yet?"

            "She's just a friend."

            "Don't forget your winter gear in the closet, you'll need it."  Brandon had forgotten that too.  But at least he had room.

            "This thing is getting heavy," he muttered to flowers as they pushed out into the yard.

            "Won't be too bad soon enough.  You want to find Evan Burgundy."

            "I've lost my way.  Where is Evan Burgundy?  Point me."  He watched the needle adjust.  "Who is Evan Burgundy?"

            "Crazy man, but good with doors between worlds.  He'll let you through, he might charge you something like a cup of coffee though.  He's not usually far from here, let's go."