Eldren Before the Map – The Night That Knocked Back

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Eldren Before the Map – The Night That Knocked Back
Eldren had been Night Watchman of Mistmoor for eleven years, four months and six nights when something knocked back. Until then, his duties had been pleasantly predictable. Light the twelve street lanterns before sunset. Check the northern gate. Walk from the old bakery to the well, from the well to the bell tower, and from the bell tower back to the gate. At midnight, drink tea. At one, check whether anyone had forgotten to extinguish a chimney fire. At two, remind himself that noises in empty alleys were usually cats. At three, stop believing that. Mistmoor was never entirely quiet after dark. Timber creaked, shutters rattled and fog wandered through the streets as if it had forgotten where it lived. Eldren knew every sound. That was why, on this particular night, he stopped walking when he heard three knocks beneath the cobblestones. Knock. Knock. Knock. He lowered his lantern. “No.” Nothing answered. “Good.” Eldren continued walking. Knock. Knock. Knock. He stopped again. The sound came from directly beneath his left boot. Eldren moved his foot. “I am the Night Watchman. My responsibilities include doors, windows, gates and occasionally drunken villagers. They do not include the ground.” Knock. For some reason, the single reply was worse. Eldren crouched and held the lantern near the stones. There was nothing unusual except a small crack he had never noticed before. Mistmoor had many cracks. Some were older than the houses. One, according to the baker, had once swallowed a spoon. Eldren had never considered this important historical information. He tapped the cobblestone with the handle of his lantern. Knock. Something beneath it immediately knocked back. Eldren stood. “That was a mistake.” He should have fetched someone. Unfortunately, Mistmoor at three in the morning contained only sleeping villagers, several unreliable cats and Eldren. So he did what every responsible Night Watchman does immediately before regretting it: he investigated. The knocking moved when he moved. Eldren took three steps toward the Ancient Well. Knock. Three steps more. Knock. He turned around. Knock. “You’re following me.” Knock. “Stop.” Silence. Eldren frowned. “Thank you.” Knock. “I spoke too soon.” He followed the sound through the narrow streets until it led him to an alley behind a house that had been empty for as long as he could remember. The alley ended at a stone wall. Eldren raised his lantern. “Wonderful. A dead end.” Knock. This time the sound came from the wall. Between two stones was a tiny hole. Something white protruded from it. Eldren pulled carefully. A folded piece of paper slid free. “That is considerably better than a hand.” He unfolded it. It was a map of Mistmoor. At least, it almost was. The streets were correct, the well stood in the right place and the northern gate was marked with a small black square. But there was one road Eldren had never seen.