A KID called Smooth

The plank under A KID called Smooth’s boots gave a long, sour creak, like a door in an empty house, and three Beasts on three different rooftops winced at once.

A KID called Smooth stopped with the coffee halfway to their mouth. The roofs of Fort Flex ran off in every direction in the grey before sunrise, chimney to chimney, joined by planks and ladders. Under all of it the Hum sat tight and low, the way it had for months. Far out past the last roofs, the hills had gone the colour of an old poster.

A big Bull Beast was laying the last planks along the row, slow and careful, like someone who had done it every morning for years. Chalk numbers were scratched on every plank end. The one under A KID called Smooth said 14.

“That’s the singer,” the Bull said. “Mind it.”

Their name was Rung, and they said it like they were mentioning the weather. Then they looked up properly, and their eyes stayed on A KID called Smooth’s face a moment too long.

“Boxer,” Rung said. “The Jungle still hangs a rope by the door for one of you lot.”

A KID called Smooth didn’t know what to say to that, so they crouched and looked at the plank instead. That was easier. The far end had warped a little and was rubbing on the stone lip of the next roof. Every step would grind it.

On that next roof a Cat Beast stood beside a rack of coats, waiting to cross. Behind A KID called Smooth, stall-keepers were coming up the ladders with crates, and a queue was forming at the end of 14.

“Stalls open at first sun,” Rung said, and went back to work, like they’d stopped expecting anything else.

A KID called Smooth set the coffee on a slate ledge, where it steamed, and lifted the plank clean off the gap.

The queue groaned. The Cat Beast on the far roof was cut off now, with the rack and nowhere to go. A KID called Smooth’s stomach dropped. They hadn’t asked anyone, and they hadn’t thought about that part.

Leaning against the chimney beside them was another plank, dry and pale, with no chalk on it at all. It looked like it had never been walked on.

“I’ll use that one while I work,” A KID called Smooth said.

“No,” said Rung. Just that.

So A KID called Smooth worked fast. They needed something soft to sit between wood and stone, and they didn’t have anything soft. Across the gap the Cat Beast was already tugging at the lining of a coat. They balled up a strip of grey felt and threw it over without a word.

“Collar,” the Cat said, when A KID called Smooth caught it. “Saved you a spot by the rail.”

A KID called Smooth folded the felt under the warped end, set the plank down and stood on it. They shifted their weight once, and then again.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

Collar wheeled the coats across first, nodded, and kept going. The queue followed, crate after crate, and the plank stayed quiet under all of them. The first sun came up red over the roofs.

Rung stepped onto 14 last, stood in the middle and listened for a long time.

“Felt wears,” they said at last. “Might see you to the eve of first frost. Might not.”

It wasn’t thanks, but it wasn’t nothing either. A KID called Smooth picked up their coffee, which had gone lukewarm, and found they didn’t mind. They had mended plenty of things on their own. This was the first one they’d mended with someone else’s lining in it, and they liked it better.

Behind them, Rung had gone back to the chimney. They rested one hand on the dry plank, the way you’d check that a sleeping friend was still breathing, and left it there.