Chapter 2: The Blind Elf, the Girl with the Lantern, and the Manor

Looking up the boy managed to see two figures making their way to the front, the crowd parting around them like water, whispering and gawking. As they got nearer the boy examined the two. The first person was an elf, who was tall and lanky. He had a blindfold over his eyes, indicating that he had no vision, with his longish white hair that hung over it. He wore a crisp matching vest and pants, a dark blue color that suited him. His shoes were polished and shiny, and the chain on his vest pocket was an assortment of keys. In his left hand he held a cane, black and gleaming with a sharp silver head. The boy didn’t try guessing his age. Elves were finicky creatures with time.

The second figure was a little girl, about six years old. She was a human as far as the boy could see, with neatly trimmed black bangs and two buns atop her head. She wore a gray shirt like a dress, the edges frayed and uneven. Like the elf she wore a vest, this one also oversized, probably a hand -me-down from the elf himself, the color matching with his. The belt around her waist was leather, and it cinched the shirt and vest, making it into a cute dress. Her big black boots clunked as she walked, glancing around her curiously as she held onto the elf’s hand. The strangest thing was in her other hand. She held a staff of polished wood with a large lantern hanging from it. It looked like the ones he had seen during the New Years, round with a tassel hanging from it, except this one's edges and frame were made of metal. The tassel hanging from it was red, with a few golden beads at the top of it. 

“I object,” said the elf again, stopping right in front of the platform as the tension and whispers swelled.

“You object to the council’s decision?” Guardian Bram did not look happy. 

“Yes. Why in the world would we murder a child for the fact that he simply was here?” answered the man calmly. “Elves are not murderers.”

As the boy stood there with the itchy noose around his neck as he thought to himself about the man calling him a child. Him, a child? If he could, he would scoff, but now was not the time.

“Well then what do you suggest we do with the boy?” asked Guardian Bram icily. “Send him back over the border?”

“Certainly not,” replied the man, smiling pleasantly. “I was going to suggest for me to take him in. My house is quite big, and I could use another boy to help out with business. Perhaps I could even help him fly again, because I assume you probably broke one of them, maybe even tore it off. Unsavory business.”

The guards shuffled uncomfortably while everyone stared at the elf in surprise. Who was this man, to have the confidence to waltz into the middle of an official execution, and had the audacity to say of taking the boy under his care and even fixing his nonexistent wing. What nerve! No sane elf would do such a thing here in Dystopia. He would be shunned, maybe even banished.

The boy however, didn’t see him as a threat or a weird person. For once, in a very long time he felt the strangest feeling. Was it possible? Was this feeling….hope?

“Who did you say you are again?” asked Guardian Bram suspiciously.

“Oh, I didn’t say.” The elf gave him a flourishing bow. “I am Lightwood. Callum Lightwood, owner of Clockwork Manor from Starling City.” 

Lightwood. The name spread fast, like a wildfire on every tongue. One of the purest elvin bloodlines, and one of the most innovative. They are said to be able to understand any machine or contraption with just a touch of their fingertips, and can create anything from automen and animals to beautiful ornate clocks and automatic lanterns. Or that’s what the legends say.

However, the boy was more interested in where this Lightwood came from. Starling City, one of the trading posts between elves and humans. This city was renowned for its inventors and machines, along with its ever showing symbol of unity between the two sides. They naturally managed to get along, and it was a free space, full of both elvin and human culture, art, and shops. He’d always wanted to go there and this man might be his only chance. The strange feeling in his chest grew.

“By what authority are you planning to use in taking this....thing?” asked Guardian Bram, the disgust evident on his face as he glanced at him.

The feeling’s mutual, thought the boy, who knew better than to voice it.

“I don’t need authority, good sir,” said Lightwood as he twirled his cane. “You have no need for him. What good does death do either way? Think of it as a favor. A….place for him to think and reflect on his actions.”

The boy held his breath and watched as Guardian Bram frowned, thinking.

“If that’s not enough to please you I suppose the good old fashioned way works.” Lightwood dug around in his pockets and pulled out some coins. “Perhaps you fancy these instead?”

He could see the gears in Guardian Bram’s thick skull working the thought around inside his head. After a long pause, he held out a hand.

“No. I won’t do that. Despite what you think of us, people in Dystopia aren’t corrupt. We have our restrictions.” He waved a hand towards the guard to untie the boy. “If you want this boy so much then you can have him. But I must make one thing clear,” he said as the boy slowly walked off the cursed platform.

The boy turned around and stared back at Guardian Bram.

“If you even try to show your face again in Dystopia, I will not hesitate to kill you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, very,” Lightwood answered smoothly for the boy. “We’ll be on our way now.” With that he turned, beckoning for the boy to follow him and the little girl.

The crowd parted for them, some eyes curious and some accusing. That didn’t matter to the boy. He felt lightheaded, the thought of narrowly escaping death filling him with adrenaline. 

“So, may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” asked Lightwood curiously as they walked down the streets, his cane tapping sharply against the wooden planks.

“Don’t have one,” answered the boy.

“I see. Well, my name’s Lightwood, as you know, and this girl here is Mei, my assistant.”

“Nice to meet you,” replied the boy politely. He looked down at Mei, who glanced back at him before turning away quickly.

Lightwood laughed, as if he knew what happened. “Don’t worry,” he told the boy as they turned a corner toward a train station. “Mei’s just shy. She doesn’t like to talk. But she’s a smart girl.”

Mei beamed at Lightwood’s praise, her small face splitting into a bright grin. Walking toward the ticket booth, Lightwood bought three tickets to Starling and then walked over to one of the benches near the track. Mei and the boy followed him, with her sitting down next to him and the boy standing near the bench.

“You don’t want to sit?” asked Lightwood.

The boy shook his head, his eyes cast to the ground. “No.”

“Alright. In Starling we can speak a common tongue, or human language. You can speak it, correct?”

“Yes,” answered the boy in human tongue. 

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, switching languages as well. “In Clockwork Manor however, we speak a mixture of both. Feel free to use whichever you prefer.”

The boy nodded as Lightwood handed them their tickets. He looked down at it, tracing the golden edges and swirling black letters. The paper was good quality, a nice yellow and beige color. It was a taste of the fancies he hadn’t ever seen before.  Looking up he noticed Mei cocking her head, then jumping up, her lantern swinging on the staff as she did. Seconds later a rumbling sound came from the tracks as a train arrived, screeching to a stop in front of the station.

“Silverton Express! First call for Silverton Express!” called the conductor in elven tongue.

“Well then,” said Lightwood as he stood up, extending a hand to Mei and glancing at him. “Shall we go?”

They filed into the line of passengers, all jostling to get aboard. The boy shifted uncomfortably as some stared at his wing, but didn’t want to voice it. Finally they reached the front of the line.

“That’s quite the little lady there!” said the conductor cheerfully as he punched Lightwood’s ticket and handed it back to him. “I have a daughter of her age myself.”

“Really?” Lightwood smiled as Mei held the ticket up to the conductor. “Though I can’t disagree with the first statement. After all, she’s not my assistant for nothing.”

The conductor nodded to the boy. “Is the boy your son as well?”

Lightwood shook his head. “No, he isn’t. A new apprentice I picked up. They’re so hard to find these days.”

“True, true,” agreed the conductor. He punched Mei’s ticket and passed it back to her, then gestured for the boy to give him the ticket.

He handed it to him, and the conductor punched it as well. After giving it back to the boy he waved the three of them inside. 

Walking through the aisles of seats they found some available ones and sat down. The train was packed with people, mostly elves. It was probably rush hour, assumed the boy. Most of the passengers were likely heading home after a long day at work. A few minutes later the train rumbled, starting to move. He listened to the soft rumbling of the train and looked outside the window to see the blur of trees, sunset giving away a soft hazy light through the cracks. Murmurs and idle chatter swirled around him like a soothing stream, while Lightwood hummed a tune and Mei curled up next to him, snuggling closer. The boy watched with a mixture of curiosity and a small pinch of jealousy. He’d never had someone to depend on, much less someone who cared for him. All he ever had was himself. 

Pushing the thought aside, he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he told himself. One single moment. 

Seconds later he was fast asleep, his head lolling against the window as he snored lightly. Mei looked at him, then at Lightwood with a question in her eyes. In response he smiled and held a finger to his lips. Nodding, Mei kept silent and soon fell into slumber as well. Lightwood simply sat there, humming his little tune with his arm around Mei with his head turned towards the window as the train rumbled on, a promise of new adventures within its destination.

The boy woke with a start, looking around blearily as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. 

“About time,” called Lightwood, a hint of a smile on his face. “We’ve arrived.”

Mei stretched and grabbed her lantern staff as they joined the passengers filing through the aisles towards the exits. The same conductor from before gave them a tip of his hat as they exited, to which Lightwood nodded in return. 

“Ah, it’s almost dinnertime,” he said as they walked through the station bustling with people. “We’d best make haste. Al doesn’t wait for anyone when it comes to serving meals.”

The boy followed behind them, glancing around as they went back into the open again, the streets lined with shops and a few people hurrying home with groceries or briefcases. It was a nice atmosphere, and he didn’t mind the stares as much. Less people means less attention. What was the most difficult was trying to keep up with Lightwood and Mei.  He walked with such precision, his strides long and even as he navigated the streets with ease. Mei looked almost like she was floating across the ground, somehow managing to match his pace and hold onto that heavy looking staff. 

“Do you live far from here?” he asked.

“No, it’s a fairly short walk from here. However, you won’t find the manor among these houses,” Lightwood responded, gesturing to the neighborhood they were now walking through. “We’re a bit secluded from civilization.”

“Why were you two in Dystopia?” They turned a corner to another set of houses.

“Well, we were shopping. Actually, I was,” he replied.

“Oh?” The boy looked at their hands and saw no shopping bags.

“The truth is I couldn’t find anything good,” said Lightwood as they reached a rural road towards a hill.

“No. Lightwood. Picky.” The boy glanced down at Mei in surprise. The whole time she hadn’t uttered a word and here she was now, talking.

Lightwood gave a sheepish smile and shrugged. “I suppose it’s my fault for having taste. But, that’s simply what makes me myself, no?” He squeezed Mei’s hand. “As for you, it is quite better if you keep quiet and don’t say rude things about me,” he scolded teasingly.

Mei gave an innocent smile and went back on mute.

Soon enough, they reached the top of the hill, and on it, the manor. It was a bit beige colored, with four to five stories. There was a sign next to it that said in curling letters:

Clockwork Manor

Lightwood pushed open the double doors while Mei skipped in.

“After you,” he said, graciously extending a hand for the boy to enter. And when he did, the boy was speechless.

Inside was a lobby, almost like a hotel, with plush armchairs and a gleaming tiled floor covered with strategically placed carpets. At the center near the back wall was a desk, that had a plaque next to it saying:

                           RECEPTIONIST 

Sitting in a high plush spinning chair was a boy, about his own age who was fast asleep. He wore cargos and a vest over a white shirt. Trinkets spilled out of every pocket as he shifted while slumbering. He had messy brown hair and wore goggles atop his head. His fair skin was dotted slightly with freckles, while his shoes were old and worn.

Lightwood tapped lightly on the bell on the desk, the chime echoing through the empty room. The boy woke with a start, his emerald green eyes flying open as he shouted, “I’m awake, I’m awake!” 

“Good. You shouldn’t be sleeping on the job,” said Lightwood sternly.

“You’re back!” The boy grinned. “And empty handed again. Couldn’t pick a thing, could he Mei?”

Mei nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Well, you two made it back just in time. We’re about to have dinner. Al’s almost done cooking. She made blueberry pie for dessert.” He then peered over Lightwood’s shoulder, seeing the boy. “Who’s this?”

“Someone we picked up during our trip,” Lightwood answered. “I believe it would be best if you could share your room with him, at least until we can find him an actual one.”

“Alright, I can do that,” he replied,” hopping out of the chair and moving around the desk. “I’m Jasper, one of the workers here. Nice to meet you,” he said cheerfully. “I have a feeling we’ll be good friends!” 

The boy only nodded to Jasper’s enthusiasm, still awestruck and a little stunned. Suddenly his stomach growled. 

“Oh, hungry? Me too! Let’s go upstairs. Al’s got to be done.”

They climbed two sets of stairs before reaching the third floor. Inside was a small living room with a kitchen and dining table on one end. Sitting there was another boy, this one looking around twelve, with white hair and an eyepatch over one eye, along with a newsboy cap. He looked almost like Lightwood himself, just a smaller version. He wore a black trench coat and shorts, along with knee high socks and loafers.

“Harley! Finished archiving those medical texts?” asked Jasper curiously.

Harley nodded, his cold expression landing on the boy, who stared back defiantly.

“Yeah,” he said, tone bored as he stared down at his plate.

Lightwood took a seat at the head of the table, with Harley to his left, Mei sitting on the right.

“Good job. It must have been tough,” praised Lightwood.

The boy could have mistaken, but something flickered through Harley’s emotionless face. Pride maybe?

“Harley’s our librarian and archivist,” explained Jasper as he took a seat next to Mei. The boy sat next to him, feeling grateful that he wasn’t sitting across from Harley. “You won’t see him very often, so don’t expect much of him.” 

A clomping arose from the stairs as a sixteen year old elf walked up, his eyes roving the dining table. 

“Isn’t she done with dinner yet?” he asked, plopping himself into a chair next to Harley and running a hand through his honey colored hair. He wore overalls and had a monocle on a chain that fit near his right eye.

“Patience Selwin. Al has to prepare all this food, the least you can do is wait.”

Selwin eyed Lightwood, then gave a curt nod. The kitchen doors swung open and a girl Selwin’s age popped out carrying stew. She also had wavy honey hair just like him, making the boy suspect they were twins. Hers was just longer and tied into a ponytail. Over her clothes she wore an apron.

“Sorry I’m late, I got caught up with baking the pie,” she said, placing the pot down. 

“It’s quite alright,” assured Lightwood.

After Al put down all the dishes, she sat down next to Selwin and they began to eat. 

“So, who did you bring back this time?” asked Al, her eyes trained on the boy as she sipped her soup.

“He was about to be executed, so I brought him here to safety.”

Selwin studied him. “His wings….what happened to them?”

“They tore one off,” replied Lightwood, his jaw clenching. “I was hoping you’d build him a new one.

Selwin sighed, then nodded. “We’ll see.” He fixed his attention back on the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t have one,” he replied.

“You don’t have one?” repeated Selwin, a little dumbfounded.

“Don’t be rude,” said Al, nudging him. “He’s only just got here.”

“Why don’t we give you a name?” suggested Jasper, his eyes lighting up. “Ooh! How about Max?”

“Uh, no thanks,” said the boy.

They brainstormed as they ate, occasionally just throwing out random comments, but eventually their brains tired and they finished their soup in silence. Afterwards Al went back into the kitchen to bring out a big blueberry pie, and cut slices for each of them. The boy ate his slice slowly, savoring the sweet berry flavor with his eyes closed.

“Yuri.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Harley. “Pardon?”

“Your name should be Yuri. The founder of this house and business. Yuri Lightwood.” He stared back at the boy, his blue eye glinting. 

“Yuri,” said Lightwood thoughtfully, as if tasting the name. “A unique name to give this unique person.”

“I’m all in for it!” said Jasper, his face splitting into a grin. 

“Why not?” said Al, while Selwin made a sound of approval. Mei nodded in agreement, her eyes trained on him.

“Well?” asked Lightwood, his head turned towards him. “What of it?”

The boy didn’t even need to think. “Yes.”

They all whooped and clapped and cheered, their noise shaking the building to its core. Yuri smiled, taking another bite out of his pie and listening to Jasper as he talked about how to fix a cabinet door. Maybe this new life won’t be so bad after all, he thought.