A Knight Of The Word

He stared at her, astonishment filling his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. “The Lady sent you?”


“Is there somewhere we could talk about it?” she asked, no longer comfortable standing out in the open where they could be heard. “Just for a little while.”

He seemed distracted, uncertain. “Sure, of course.” He glanced toward the building.

“No, not in there,” she said quickly. “Somewhere else, please.”

He nodded slowly. “All right. It’s almost noon. Why don’t we go down to the waterfront, and I’ll buy you a northwest kind of lunch. Some clam chowder, some fish and chips. How would that be?”

“That would be good.” she said.

He didn’t bother with going in to tell anyone he was leaving. He didn’t even pause to consider doing so. He simply motioned her toward the direction from which she had come, and they began to walk. They crossed Second Avenue, passed by Waterfall Park, and moved over to the island platform in the center of Main where the trolley stopped on its way down to the waterfront. They sat together an the wrought-iron bench and stared out over the cobblestones of Occidental Park, waiting.

“Do you know what I do now?” he asked after a minute. His tone of voice was distant and weary, as if he were at the start of a long journey.

“I know You work for Simon Lawrence at Fresh Start,” she replied. “I know about the work Fresh Start does.”

He nodded. “It’s important work, Nest. The most important work I’ve done in a long time. Maybe ever.” He paused. “Did the Lady tell you about me?”

Nest nodded, saying nothing.

“Then you know I’m no longer a Knight of the Word?”

She nodded a second time. It’s what you believe anyway, she thought, but she didn’t speak the words.

They didn’t say anything further for a time, wrapped in their separate thoughts amid the jumbled noise of traffic and people’s voices. This is going to be hard, Nest thought. He was not going to want to hear what she had to say. Maybe he would simply refuse to listen. Maybe he would just walk away. She could see him doing that. He had walked away already from the mast important part of his life.

“Do you still live on the park?” he asked finally.

“Yes.” She glanced at him. “But Grandpa died last May, so I live there alone.”

She could see the pain reflect in his face. He was remembering the time he had spent in their house, pretending to be someone he was not. He was remembering how he had left things with her grandfather. “I’m sorry he’s gone,” he said finally. “I liked him very much.”

Nest nodded. “Everybody did. Pick is still there, looking after the park. He wants me to come back and help him like I used to.”

“That would be very hard for you now, I expect,” he said.

“It is,” she agreed.

“Things change. Life changes. Nothing stays the same.”

She wasn’t sure she agreed with this, but she nodded anyway, not wanting to get into a debate about it.

A few moments later, the trolley arrived and they boarded. Ross gave the conductor two tokens, and they took a seat near the front. They rode the trolley down a hill between rows of buildings, under a two-tiered viaduct that supported an expressway, over some railroad tracks, and then turned right on Alaskan Way to follow the waterfront north. It was too noisy inside the open-air trolley for conversation, so they rode in silence.