Along walks a middle aged woman, tugging her overcoat closer to her chilled body. The bitter bite of December frost was harsher than the year before. As a sudden breeze upset the woman's caramel locks of hair, she stomped her brown boot in frustration, causing a puddle of water to spray onto a boy. Letting out a startled yelp, the boy glances towards the woman curiously as she continues her slog of a walk. His face lights up in excitement as he stumbles after the old woman. “Excuse me miss?” The dark haired boy calls, walking beside the woman with a limp in his step. “Can I ask you where Maple street is? I seem to have lost my way and-” The boy is cut off abruptly when the woman turns on her heel, glowering down at the boy. “Can’t you see I’m in a rush?” She scolds, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I won’t give you a nickel, filth! Leave me be,” Startled by his interaction, the boy leans away from the caramel haired lady as she picks up her skirts and trudges away. Frowning to himself, the boy, Nicholaus quickly limps his way back towards the post he had been standing at for the past ten minutes. After leaning on his makeshift walk stick, and staring up at the two signs above the lit candle within the lantern, one read “Brooker Ave” the other sign beneath read “Kinder St”. Maybe I’ll go down Kinder Street, perhaps it’ll be kind to me. Nicholaus thought to himself with a hopeful aurora. Hobbling down Kinder St, Nicholaus becomes wary, noticing the sudden looming darkness of the large houses of London. Scurrying noises around trash cans reminds the young teen of the rats that roam the streets of Britain. If I knock on one of these doors, I’m sure someone will be generous enough to direct me to Maple street. Nicholaus thinks to himself as he knocks his gloved hand on the front door of a large coffee cream coloured house, his other hand holding onto his walking stick firmly. The door opens, a man appearing with a tuxedo and spectacles resting down his long nose with white and grey hairs sticking out from his moustache. “Can I help you?” The tall man inquires with a curious gleam in his eyes. “Yes, please do sir, where is Maple street?” Nicholaus asks, earning a point of the gentlemans finger further down the street. “Continue down Kinder and turn left onto Swann street until the end, there is where you’ll find yourself on Maple street,” With a flash of a sincere smile, which causes his freckled cheeks to crinkle, Nicholaus says a quick “thank you” and hastily hobbles the rest of his way down Kinder street. Once on Maple, the young teen limps slowly down the nearly deserted street muttering the address numbers “4231” to himself. Coming upon a dark brown house with white trims and an address reading “4231”, Nicholaus limps up the steps to the front red door. Giving the wood a rap of a knock, the door swings open. Behind is an older woman wearing a flowery skirt with a white apron, her hair tied up into a perfected bun. “Oh good heavens, child!” The woman exclaims, startling Nicholaus greatly. “You poor dear, c’mon in,” She continues, taking my arm and leading me into the house. Shakily stomping the dirt and sood from his worn and torn shoes, Nicholaus remains standing by the doorway as the fussy woman insists she takes his measly garment for a jacket. It’s then he realises how cold he is, and how warm the house is in comparison. Again, the woman rushes off, leaving his ‘jacket’ hanging limply on a free standing coat rack. Noticing how flawlessly beautiful the interior of the house is, Nicholaus gives his boots another harsh swipe against the front door's rug in hopes to not track dirt or filth. He should be considerate after all. Pretty shiny lights attract his attention to the ceiling, rendering him speechless at the large chandelier that hung above his head. This is only the entryway, how could- Before he finishes his thought, the woman from earlier who must be the housemaid, hurriedly returns. “Now, what was your name?” The maid inquires with a gentle smile. Almost like the smile his mother would give him when he sought comfort. “Nicholaus Ambrose, what’s yours?” He asks, mirroring a similar smile to the maids. “My name is Bethandra White, how can I help you?” Bethandra questions, brushing her apron as if she had dirtied it. “I’m looking for Mr.Herbly, is this his residency?” Nicholaus asks, gripping the small note in his free hand that had “Maple 4231 St” inscribed in blue ink. “It certainly is, what business do you have with him?” Bethandra inquires, a slight frown appearing on her face. “I would prefer to keep this between him and I,” Nicholaus responds, thinking for a moment while adding. “It is very urgent,” With a nod of Bethandra’s head, she motions for the teen to follow her as she walks down the hallway. Carefully hobbling behind the maid, Nicholaus notes the gold and white winding staircase to the next floor. As well as the fancy carpet laid out on the floor that he limped on. Approaching a room, the maid opens the door into a room with a large selection of books along its walls. “Mr.Herbly, a young Nicholaus requests to speak with you, it is urgent,” Bethandra explains while walking into the room a bit. Mr.Herbly turns around, looking curiously as he observes the teenager. “Is this Sir Nicholaus’s letter boy?” Mr.Herbly asks, his groomed moustache moving with his lips. Nicholaus admits to himself quietly that he had imagined the man being far older than he appeared before him. Wearing a nice blue robe holding a miniature glass of whiskey. “I’m no sir and my name is only Nicholaus,” The teenager answers, bowing his head slightly in respect. A small smirk appears on Mr.Herbly’s mouth at the distinguished young gentleman in front of him. “How old are you, boy? Nineteen no doubt?” “Only sixteen sir,” Nicholaus answers, straightening up and finding himself relying heavily on his wobbly walk stick. “Sorry to ask, might I take a seat?” “Oh! Of course, please, take yourself a seat,” Mr.Herbly answers quickly, waving for Nicholaus to sit in a chair across from his desk. “Might I ask, what is it you need from me?” Nicholaus catches the frown on the older man's face as he observes his clothing. “You are a toy maker, sir, aren’t you?” With his question, Mr.Herbly chokes out a laugh, coughing into his napkin with tears in his eyes. “Oh my, I’m no toymaker, I’m in fact a lawyer,” Mr.Herbly answers, “Have you seen my home? D’you think a toymaker could earn this?” “No, I suppose not sir,” Nicholaus says softly, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “Is there anyone else who resides here with your name?” Finishing his chortle, Mr.Herbly straightens up at this question. Scowling briefly before his expression relaxes. “Ehm, my fathers name is also Mr.Herbly,” “Is he here now?” Nicholaus asks, looking at Mr.Herbly in front of him eagerly. “Uh, yes, Bethandra, please fetch my father,” Mr.Herbly demands, slumping in his chair as they wait. “Why d’you ask for him anyways?” “I have a question,” “Does this question have to do with him being a toy maker?” Mr.Herbly inquires, sipping from his glass. “It’s a question only a toymaker can answer,” Nicholaus responds, peeling at the worn wood on his cane. “Why my father then?” Mr.Herbly continues to prod, swishing his drink in his grasp lazily. “Only Mr.Herbly can fix this,” “Fix what?” The older male asks, sitting forwards, his brown eyes looking deeply into Nicholaus’s blue ones. Interrupting the two’s conversation, Mr.Herbly walks into the room with two mugs consisting of a hot liquid. “You must be Nicholaus,” A slouched, white haired elderly man declares, holding a drink towards Nicholaus. Nicholaus eyes the steaming cup curiously. “It’s only hot chocolate lad,” With that, Nicholaus grabs the hot mug, inhaling its rich scent passionately. His mouth watering at the sight of the two large gooey marshmallows. “Now, how can I be of assistance? Need a toy to be fixed for a friend?” The older Mr.Herbly jokes, sipping from his cup. Eyeing the younger Mr.Herbly, Nicholaus places his cup onto the table. “It has to do with the witch, sir,” At his words, the older Mr.Herbly’s mouth falls ajar, his eyes widening causing his spectacles to slide down the arch of his nose. “Witch? You must be reading fantasies boy,” The younger Mr.Herbly retorts, chortling lightly. “Isn’t he, father?” Only, the older Mr.Herbly doesn’t join his son in laughter, his eyes becoming slightly red as he erects his tired body. “How do you know?” Nicholaus scoots his chair away from the desk, sticking his right leg forwards and lifting his pant leg up. Revealing wood in place instead of skin on his leg. “My word!” The younger Mr.Herbly, first name Samuel, exclaims in shock. “Have you seen a doctor boy?” “A doctor won’t do him any good,” Older Mr.Herbly, first name Benjamin, retorts to his son gruffly while he examines Nicholaus’s leg. “It’s completely wood?” “Yes sir,” Nicholaus affirms, looking up at Benjamin with distant, far off eyes. “Can you cure me?” “I’ll have to go to my workshop, in the meantime you’ll remain here,” Benjamin orders, sitting up and offering a hand to Nicholaus. “I beg your pardon?” Samuel ejects, sitting up from his own seat hastily. “You can take the guest room,” Benjamin continues, leading Nicholaus out of the room. “Father! I will have you know, this is still my house,” Samuel informs his father, stopping the older man at the door. “I will decide if the boy can stay here or not, have you not thought to ask if he already has a place of his own?” Glancing down to Nicholaus, Benjamin clears his throat giving a mock of a serious look. “Do you have a place to stay the night?” Nicholaus shakes his head; no. “Then it’s settled, he stays here,” The older Mr.Herbly declares, continuing his walk out from the room. Causing Samuel to follow after him with heavy steps. “This is my house!” Samuel complains, striding after his father, glancing furiously at Nicholaus. “Please, you’re embarrassing me, Sam,” Benjamin retorts gruffly, “Now, he’ll remain here until he’s cured,” Opening his mouth to complain about his fathers demands, Benjamin shoots him a glance while helping Nicholaus up the steps. Reaching the second floor, Benjamin introduces his granddaughter, Iris. “Iris, this is Nicholaus, he’ll be staying with us for a couple of days,” Benjamin explains, as the two teens observe one another. Iris wore a white night dress, her long brown hair to the side of her neck in a nice french braid. Her green eyes scan the boy's dirty and dishevelled appearance. “Is he poor, grandpa?” Iris inquires snidely, turning her nose away from the teenager as if he were trash. Before Benjamin can respond, Nicholaus steps up for himself rather offensively. “I will have you know I am of noble blood,” Mr.Herbly grabs the boy's arm roughly, pulling him down the hallway. “Are you crazy?” Benjamin exclaims, continuing to pull Nicholaus as fast as he could manage with his limp. “She doesn’t know any better,” He continues to explain to Nicholaus as they arrive at the guest room. “You can’t go around announcing you’re royalty . . .” “I understand Mr.Herbly, I’m sorry for my outburst,” Nicholaus says, seating himself on the trunk at the end of the guest bed. “There’s the bath in there, I’ll have a change of clothes brought to you shortly,” Benjamin explains, glancing towards the teen. “Are you really royalty?” Smirking, Nicholaus nods his head; yes. “How long will it take you to concoct an antidote?” “I’m not sure, it depends if I have all of the ingredients,” Benjamin answers, frowning in concentration as he tries to recall the ingredients. “I’ll let you know, for now, just rest,” With that, Benjamin leaves the room. Shortly afterwards the maid comes in with several pairs of clothes for him to change into for the next couple of days. After his shower, he’s left smelling like vanilla and jasmine. Comb in hand, Nicholaus observes another mug of hot chocolate which has been placed on the bedside table waiting for him. An audible thunk makes Nicholaus groan in discomfort from the noise, followed with a thwink, causing Nicholaus to open his eyes slightly. Movement across the room catches his breath. Slowly moving his head to see better in the darkness of the room, he observes several shadows moving about. Perhaps five or seven in total. The gleam of the moonlight off of a pistol alerts the royal of the danger he’s in.