Chapter 6: Last Night Home
Three knocks, then two. The signal felt like poetry against the worn wood of their door – a rhythm that spoke of safety and secrets shared between mother and son. She heard Thomas’s quick footsteps, the careful sound of him checking through the crack beside the frame, then the scrape of their ancient lock.
The door opened to reveal his face bright with relief and questions. “Mama! Did you find—” He stopped, reading something in her expression that made him step back, suddenly solemn. “You did, didn’t you? We’re really leaving?”
She entered their tiny home, closing the door to the world’s watching eyes. The space felt different now, each corner heavy with the knowledge that this was their last evening here. Thomas’s drawings stirred in the breeze from the open window like leaves preparing to fall, each one a testament to dreams too big for these walls to contain.
“Yes, love.” She knelt before him, drawn by the need to be closer, to anchor them both in this moment of transition. “At dawn tomorrow, we start our journey. Have you chosen what to take?”
Thomas nodded, gesturing to James’s old rucksack, propped carefully by his mattress. The bag looked impossibly small to hold the remnants of their life here. “Just the most important drawings,” he said. “And Papa’s compass. And…” He hesitated, then pulled something from his pocket – a tiny mechanical mouse, its brass whiskers slightly bent, its gears visible through patches of worn copper plating.
“Sebastian?” Hannah recognized the little automaton Thomas had rescued from the scrap heap months ago, nursing it back to working order with patient dedication. “You fixed him?”
“This morning.” Thomas stroked the mouse’s dull surface with gentle fingers. “Papa showed me how to repair the spring mechanism weeks ago. Before he…” He swallowed hard. “I thought maybe we could take him. He doesn’t eat anything, and he’s good at keeping secrets.”
Hannah felt tears press against her eyes. Even now, preparing to leave everything he’d ever known, her son thought of saving something small and broken. James lived with that kindness, that ability to see worth in what others might discard.
“Of course we can take Sebastian.” She touched the tiny automaton’s head, feeling its faint mechanical warmth. “Every journey needs a guardian.”
The afternoon light was already softening as they began their preparations. Thomas carefully rolled his chosen drawings, securing them with bits of copper wire salvaged from James’s workbench. Hannah gathered what little food remained, wrapping it in clean cloth and tucking it into the deepest part of the rucksack where it would stay protected from the waste’s eternal dust.
The mechanical mouse – Sebastian – watched their preparations from his perch on the windowsill, his tiny gears clicking softly as if counting down their remaining moments in this place. Thomas had positioned him there as a sentinel, keeping watch while they worked. Now and then, Hannah caught her son whispering to it, sharing secrets about his fears and hopes for tomorrow’s journey.
As they worked, Hannah taught Thomas about the Wastes, telling him about the sand skiff waiting at Dead Man’s Grasp, about the need to travel by day and find shelter by night. He absorbed everything with quiet intensity, asking questions that showed James’s tactical mind emerging in their son.
Hannah found herself pausing at each corner of their tiny home, committing details to memory: the way the floorboards creaked near Thomas’s mattress, the peculiar pattern of water stains on the ceiling that Thomas swore looked like airship clouds, the smooth spot on the doorframe where James used to lean while watching their son sleep.
“Mama?” Thomas’ voice drew her back to the present. He stood beside James’ old rucksack, now packed with everything they could carry. “Do you think the house in my drawing… do you think it’s really waiting for us?”
Hannah knelt to meet his eyes. “I think your father wouldn’t have sent us on this journey if he hadn’t found something worth the risk.” She touched the crystal through her pocket, feeling its steady warmth. “But even if that exact house isn’t waiting, we’ll find something better than this. Somewhere you can breathe easy, where we can plant those flowers you dream about.”
As darkness settled over Coghaven, they sat together on Thomas’s mattress, sharing their final meal in the home that had sheltered their small family through so much. A feast of endings and beginnings.
“What will our new house be like?” Thomas whispered as Hannah wrapped him in their blanket.
She settled beside him, feeling him curl against her side like he had as a baby. Outside, the fog caught fragments of lamplight, turning them to floating stars in the gathering dark. “It will have real windows,” she began, letting hope paint pictures in the shadows. “Big ones that open to let in clean air. And those window boxes you drew – we’ll plant healing herbs there, and flowers that bloom in colors you’ve only imagined.”
“And a workshop?” His voice carried sleep’s soft edges. “Like Papa wanted?”
“Yes, love. A proper workshop where you can build all the mechanical mice you want. Maybe even learn to repair bigger things, like Papa did.” She stroked his hair. “And your own room, with space for all your drawings. We’ll pin them on real walls, not crumbling ones.”
Thomas nodded solemnly, then reached for Sebastian, cradling the mechanical mouse in careful hands.
Outside, Coghaven’s fog began to thicken with evening’s approach, but for once its damp weight couldn’t touch the warmth of hope burning in her chest. Tomorrow will bring sand and sun, danger and possibility. Tomorrow, they will chase James’ last dream across the wastes.