Wanderer "He snickers from the treetop"

I could hear the sounds of their footsteps below me, angrily searching in the night. Every once in a while, I could see the silhouette of the pudgy soldiers through the tree branches; every now and then catch a glimpse of their lamplight.

                “Did anyone find him?!” I heard a man shout across the foggy wilderness. He skulked into my line of vision, his presence boastful, like a man of power. Probably a general, I thought to myself. To his side rushed this mousy man, who shook his head.

                “No sir,” He said in a painfully nasal voice. “We’ve searched the perimeter up and down, general. No sign of him.” I smirked to myself at the name ‘general’. Knew it.

                The general growled furiously, storming to the trunk of the tree. “How could we be so careless?! I can’t believe we lost him again!” He roared, lashing out and punching the tree. He winced at the pain in his hand and clutched his fist close to his chest.

                ‘That’s not nice,’ I thought sarcastically, ‘what did the poor tree ever do to you?’ I silently chuckled at my own joke.

                “Do you want the others to keep up the search?” The other man asked, turning to leave.

                “No, it’s no use.” I crossed my arms triumphantly as he spoke. “Once Rue Hinton is gone, he’s gone. He could be right under our noses and we’d never find him.”

                ‘Or right above them.’ I mouthed, thoroughly amused by the whole situation.

                “What are we going to do about the plans?” The mousy man asked. “You know, he’s going to kill us when he finds out it was stolen, especially by Rue. How can we tell him we lost the el-”

                “Shut up, moron!” He hissed, looking back and forth. Wow. This whole thing seemed like a bad storybook to me. “You and I are the only two soldiers ALIVE that know about those plans. No one else can know.” He gave exhausted look at the smaller man and turned to leave.

                “Sorry…” the latter replied, scurrying off behind the general.

                I had to stifle a laugh as the rest of the troops headed back to their little town. I had to hand it to the Victorian President; he had a knack for hiring the “smartest” people I have ever met.  I counted each man as they passed below me until the last of them walked by. All of them were talking about the “legendary” Rue Hinton, which, in itself, was hilarious to me. A legend was the last thing I thought of myself as.

 I took the contents of my pocket out; a small notebook made of hardbound leather, a few crumpled up dollar bills, five bluish coins, and the paper I’d just stolen from the guards. I held it up to look at it. It was folded in thirds and marked with the Victorian seal of confidence. I opened it, looked at the drawings and plans on it inside, and closed it again. It didn’t mean much to me; I had no idea what it was talking about. I didn’t know exactly what to do with it, but I knew I needed to get it from the Victorians. They can’t have this kind of information for themselves. “Wait.” I remembered, “Didn’t my father leave me a note explaining exactly who I should go to?”

I stuffed all of it back into my pocket except for the book. I flipped it open and began to leaf through the pages, looking for the writing I knew was my father’s. Finally I found it; a yellowed paper fell from the binding of the book. It was unmistakably my father’s handwriting. In his elegant but still masculine handwriting was scrawled a note I’d seen many times before.

Rue,

I know that by the time this note means anything to you, I will likely have been gone for several years. I want you to remember this; if you ever find you need a spark to find your way and I’m not around, find Arthur Docherty. He’ll be able to help you, no matter what. He lives in the Punk region. I have faith that you will be able to find him in your ‘darkest’ hour.

                        ~ Dad.

  “Huh,” I said. “I’m actually not far from the Punk region, I think.” I jammed the book back into my pocket and sighed. “Guess I’ll try to find this ‘Docherty’ guy tomorrow, ask him about it.”

                I relaxed amidst the tree branches and took my pan flute from my other pocket.  I knew it would be a long night, high up here in this tree. It wouldn’t be safe to come down until the next morning, so instead I leaned against the tree and tipped my hat down over my eyes. I played a melody with the pan flute quietly to myself. ‘Ah,’ I thought to myself, ‘Sleeping in treetops. My favorite.’