The Pursuit of Lost

Getting the hour from the poor couch was really easy, and I felt sorry for it.  It was like the mouse and the lion.  The hour had been a thorn for that couch, and even though it was badly hurt it seemed to want to repay us for helping it.  I’m not sure how Mills was able to understand it, and I don’t think he knows for sure himself, but we were given help.

“It’s kind of cute,” I said as the dog-like backpack scuttled up to us.

“I think it can follow their trail,” Mills said as he bent down.

The backpack climbed up his arm, scaring Mills as it latched itself onto him.  The look on Mills’ face was pretty priceless.  It was like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream like a little girl, rip the thing off, or pet it and name it.

“So, it can find Chaz?” I asked.

“Yes?”  Mills voice wavered, like he knew the answer, but he wasn’t sure how.  “It also knows where the last hour is.”

I looked down at the hourglass in my hand.  Thirty-six thousand grains of sand swirled in the ornate tube, flowing normally and yet not seeming to go anywhere.  I held the hour out to Mills.  Without Chaz to hand it to, I figured the Timewight was the next best person.

“You hold onto it,” he told me.

“Why?”

“There’s a reason the thieves didn’t try to get these hours themselves,” Mills explained.  “Even for a high ranking Timewight the hours can be vicious.”

“Like with the couch?”

“Picture a Chihuahua that hates everyone but its owner,” Mills said.  “Only give the little rodent razor sharp teeth, more strength than its body should have, and fast reflexes.”

“You don’t like small dogs either?” I guessed.

Mills shook his head.  “Now picture someone else trying to pick up the dog.  That’s about what an hour can be like.  Only worse.  You and Chaz are like its owners.  You purely because you’re a Finder.  Chaz because he is specifically its Ghost of Lost.”

“In other words, it might eat you if you take it.”

“It might behave for a little while, but I’d have to be constantly watching it.”

I nodded.  The analogy really helped.  Though I did keep imagining myself trying to shove a Chihuahua in my pocket.  It was a funny situation.  I had an hour in my pocket that had just been likened to a small, yappy animal, and Mills had a backpack.  A strong backpack with a mind of its own.  We were obviously taking too long because the backpack snapped Mills to the ground and began to crawl, dragging the Timewight along.

“Okay, okay,” Mills cried out as he struggled to stand back up.  “We’re walking.”

“So, we’ll get Chaz and then come back for the hour,” I said.

“We’ll get the hour first,” Mills told me.

“Is it nearby?”  I wasn’t going for an hour first unless it was along the way.

Mills wasn’t watching where he was going as he tried conversing with the backpack.  Twice I had to keep the two from running into a wall as we hurried out of the crypt-like mansion.  It wasn’t has creepy now that I was on a rescue mission.

“The hour is attached to something that roams freely, I think,” Mills finally said.  “I guess I was wrong.  The backpack only knows what the hour is in.  Not where it is.”

“Then Chaz first,” I ordered.

“Chaz first,” Mills agreed.  “And can you name this thing?  I really don’t want to keep calling it backpack.”

“I already named Chaz,” I told him.  “You aren’t foisting this on me.  Besides, it seems rather attached to you.”

“Very funny.”  Mills said it sarcastically, but then he laughed.  “Fine, fine.  Well, I’m not going to be lame and call it something like Straps.  How about Argyle?”

“Good thing it’s a solid black bag and not plaid,” I teased.