Guardian of the Sill

He stood on the windowsill in the light of dawn, clicking his pointed legs against the wood, feeling the morning breeze roll over his shell through the broken pane like the little tides of his old river trod. The newborn city fidgeted in its crib, early risers out and about on the cool pavement.  He watched them: lovers arm in arm, men in suits and silk top hats hailing carriages. Distantly, he was proud of his town. He was proud of the little world he alone protected.
This morning, like every morning, his bony newsboy plunked down a box and stood atop it, hollering the headlines to every passerby whether or not they listened. King relaxed on his hard belly. All was right and wonderful.
The minutes drifted by, and his black eyes soon folded in sleep. The same world drifted past like little leaves in the current.
Then, sudden fear startled him awake. His newsboy had fallen from his perch, hollering turned panicked. A dark man with bad teeth scrabbled for his coins. Red copper and red water sprayed the stone. King swiped a claw over the little mirror on his crab-wrist, drawing a glittering spear as he dropped fearlessly from his sill, down into a flowerpot, down onto the walk. Unhand that boy, scoundrel! his mouthparts clicked.
The deviant did not heed King's command until the silver spear struck his ankle, drawing a dribble of life. The newsie shielded the crab from the shouting man's vengeance, and took another blow. King would not tolerate this. He scrambled up the criminal's pants and jabbed and jabbed. The ruffian fled with the coins, shaking King halfway down the block. He plunked down hard, pain jolting under his shell.
"Aw, Pinchy," King wasn't sure how long he laid there in his daze, legs waving, before his newsboy set him upright. The boy's cheek was swelling, red painting his lips. "Ye tried. M'thanks for that."
That man should be imprisoned for his assault on you, lad. King clicked in anger, stepping onto the boy's offered hand and advancing up his threadbare sleeve. He landed a good one. You must learn to fend for yourself.
"'E was a right bully, wasn'e? Boss'll be a right bully likewise f'I don't get back to work. Be joinin' me then, Pinchy?" Whether "Pinchy" was or wasn't, the boy flipped his crate over and started back to work.
Certainly I shall, young Adam, King nested on the boy's shoulder, proud to serve as a personal protector. Adam was his favorite, after all. What news have you?
"DeSoto hotel Flops after 10 Months!" Adam stretched his other arm, waving a rolled up account of the matter. "South-Side Slaughterer Strikes, Six Slain!"
King took it all in, judging each headline in silence while passers-by bought or didn't buy the daily papers. South-Side Slaughterer, eh? Sounded like the monster had his preferred prey, but King still worried for Adam's safety. The boy was all alone, after all. No one to guard him from Slaughterers, Or even common brutes, the crustacean reflected bitterly. Well, perhaps that could change. He would have to plan.
Characters involved in this Chronicle: King Crab
Category:Fiction