A Fool’s Errand
George did not get out of bed the next morning.
The attic was safe. The attic had walls and a roof, and—most importantly—it had solitude. It was a small, dusty space with slanted ceilings and creaking floorboards, but it was his, for now. No strangers gawking at him, no reminders of how absurdly out of place he was, and no more horrifying revelations about primitive living conditions. Just silence, stillness, and the comforting familiarity of being alone—something he had long since learned to cherish. If he stayed very still, perhaps he could simply will himself back to London.
Unfortunately, his uncle had other plans.
"Rise and shine, mate."
George startled as a towering man entered the attic, carrying a plate of food in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. How cruel. How utterly inconsiderate. To barge into his sanctuary like this, shattering the fragile peace he had so desperately clung to. Did the man have no sense of decorum? No understanding of personal space? George's heart twisted with resentment, but he smoothed his expression, pressing his lips into a thin, polite line. Because he was well-mannered. Because he was civilized.
The man—his uncle—had kind eyes, golden hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and the overall presence of someone far too cheerful for this hour. George despised him.
“Uncle Phil,” George greeted stiffly, sitting up. Because he was polite.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he added quickly, forcing a gracious smile as his uncle set a plate down before him. “Really, I should freshen up first—”
“Eat,” Phil said simply, perching on the edge of the table, arms crossed. There was no malice in his tone, just a certain casual finality that suggested arguing would be fruitless.
George hesitated. The food looked…rustic. Eggs, bread. It wasn’t the fine dining he was used to, but it was warm, and he was starving.
“Well,” he relented, smoothing out his expression. “If you insist.”
He picked up the plate delicately, as if handling something far beneath him. “Thank you,” he added, because he was well-mannered. Because he was civilized.
Phil nodded, then sat on the edge of the table. “Listen, mate. I know it’s a bit of a shock, comin’ from the city and all. But I promise it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
George did not plan to get used to it.
Phil continued, undeterred. “You should get some fresh air. Stretch your legs, yeah?”
George hesitated. He had been clinging to the small hope that if he simply waited long enough, someone would come to their senses and escort him back to the world of reason and electricity. But that seemed increasingly unlikely. A town, he supposed, was better than this attic. A town meant order. It meant roads, shops, services—a semblance of civilization, even in this wretched place. Perhaps even intelligent conversation. Yes, that would be a comfort. Surely, not everyone here was a rough brute who subsisted on dirt and livestock.
And more importantly—
He had unfinished business.
He needed an outlet.
“Perhaps I shall,” George said smoothly, setting his empty plate aside. “I might take a walk. See the town.”
Phil grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
The town was exactly what George feared.
It was a crude, untamed thing, barely deserving of the word "settlement." The roads were not roads at all, merely stretches of packed dirt marred by wagon tracks and hoofprints. Wooden storefronts stood crookedly along the street, their signs swaying in the breeze, painted letters fading under layers of dust. The air smelled of horses, sweat, and something distinctly unpleasant—perhaps a mixture of livestock and unwashed humanity. There were no grand buildings, no paved walkways, no elegant shop windows displaying the latest fashions. No hum of industry, no electric glow of progress. Just this bleak, uncultivated stretch of land masquerading as a town.
George’s stomach twisted.
This was not civilization. This was not order.
And yet, he had no choice but to endure it.
The first sign of something remotely tolerable appeared in the form of a bar.
George adjusted his cuffs, straightened his posture, and stepped inside.
The inside of the bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of wood, sweat, and something vaguely alcoholic. A few men sat at the counter, speaking in low, lazy voices. A couple in the corner played a game of cards. It was quaint in the way that an actual nightmare would be.
No matter.
He approached the counter, ignoring the eyes that followed him.
The bartender, a broad-shouldered man with a beard and a deeply amused expression, leaned forward. “Well now. Ain’t seen you ‘round here before.”
George cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m new. Visiting my uncle.”
The bartender nodded. “And what can I do for you, city boy?”
George offered his most charming, polite smile. “I require an outlet, if you please.”
Silence.
A long, painful silence.
Then—laughter.
Not just from the bartender, but from the entire bar.
George’s polite smile did not falter, but his soul left his body.
The bartender grinned. “An outlet, huh?”
“Yes,” George said, voice tight. “A place where one may access a source of electrical power.”
More laughter. Someone wiped a tear from their eye.
“Electric what now?” another man scoffed.
George straightened his posture. “Electricity. Power. A means by which devices are charged and operated. A civilized necessity.”
The bartender leaned on the counter, still grinning. “You mean like a candle?”
George inhaled sharply. “No. Not a candle. I am referring to a structured, harnessed form of energy that runs through wires, providing power to various appliances.”
The bartender exchanged looks with another man, who only chuckled and shrugged. “Sounds like witchcraft to me.”
A few more snickers echoed around the bar.
George’s polite smile strained at the edges. He adjusted his collar, clinging to the last shreds of his dignity. “I fail to see what’s amusing.”
The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. “Boy, you’re in the wrong place.”
George took a slow breath. He was composed. He was dignified. He was also beginning to suspect that he had made a grave mistake.
Perhaps…perhaps he would simply go home.
And pretend this never happened.