"Back again?"
Melchior ignored the jibe and instead took his time shaking the rain from his cloak. Undoing the silver clasp from his neck, he hung the cloak next to the store's front door. Melancholy glanced up momentarily from the map she was studying.
"You know, you really ought to have your arm looked at."
Melchior flinched involuntarily at the mention of his scars but stayed silent. Slowly he unbuckled his sheath and set it next to a stool. A quick rummage through his pack revealed a polishing cloth and oil. Slowly, methodically, he pulled his sword from the sheath and set to polishing it. Closing his eyes he let his hands slide smoothly over the blade. This was his routine for clearing his often confused thoughts. But today, thoughts were not fading so quickly. Concentration seemed out of his grasp and before he knew it the blade slipped out of his hands, ringing clearly as the metal struck the stone floor.
"A bit agitated, are we?"
Melancholy had taken off her glasses and was looking intently at Melchior. Sullenly, he picked up the sword and sheathed it again. He leaned the sheathed sword against a stack of parchment as he walked to the store's small window, . With crossed arms, Melchior stood looking as the people of Westbridge moved through Common Square. "You're going to have to say something eventually." "How do these people not care? You'd think it wasn't sitting up there, waiting for its moment." "Plenty of them care, my boy. You've just not given yourself a chance to find those that do." "Oh, I've found some that care. Indeed." Melchior turned to Melancholy, clearly angry. "Jihad. Seriously? And now they have Emalia believing their insanity. They won't stop until this world is ashes, and she believes that somehow this is a GOOD thing?" "I'm sorry to hear it. She seemed like a good one. Someone you would have..." A dark look from Melchior cut her short. Nodding, Melancholy said, "I am sorry." "Perhaps it's time to just give up. We've heard nothing, we've found nothing. Let these Jenovese have their way." "You can't let a setback like this throw you. Have faith that we'll find it yet. You can't let the progress we have made slide to the wayside." Putting her glasses back on, Melancholy tapped a point on the map she'd been studying. "Now come over here. Give me hand with this map."
Melchior sighed and pulled his stool over to Melancholy's desk. There was little use in arguing. She was right after all. Everything he'd done over the last months had been to one end; Melchior knew he wasn't about to throw it all away.
They would find the sword. They would use the sword if they could. Or they would find someone to use it in their stead. It was to be another long night of study.
